#i think i do need to go outside and touch grass

[jazzzzzzhands]

ooh take some doodles!! Wawwy wizard but FLUFFY!! Feeling veryyyy fluffy lately!! and a FURBY!! i love them!! God i wish that was meeeee laying so calmly in some warm soft grass Oh! excuse the random ascot study! i'm not erasing it! I don't wanna!

[sp00pypumpkins]

I am finally better from being sick a few days ago B] and finished the ref for Zero in the sweet home AU by @asamary (sorry for the tag)

Now I can freely do silly lil comics about it HAHA

[fncreature]

So. updated theory after 1. rewatching some of Kenadian’s other videos and 2. seeing the but there was more video (thank you @brain-empty) I rewatched the last couple videos in the Omziscool saga, to try and figure out the lore, and oh boy did that help. Here’s my previous theory post, which does relate. (Oh, and here’s the timeline order playlist I made)

After Kenadian kills Omz in the hopper prison video, he gets the Omz mask. From the train escape, and an unlisted video in his lore playlist, it’s shown that he goes on a massive hopper rampage, destroying a large city before… something happens. He wakes up in a cell, with little memory, and the mask is gone with no explanation.

But Kenadian isn’t the only important character found in those videos. In the train escape, one of the guards, is Wato1876. Yes, seriously. It’s entirely possible that during Kenadian’s rampage, a guard or player- Wato- killed him and helped imprison him. And unknowingly, obtained the Omz mask in the process.

EDIT BECAUSE I FORGOT TO MENTION THIS: Wato does not have the mask on in the train escape video. This is either because it was an oversight and they didn’t think the lore would go this far, or I was completely wrong. I think it’s an oversight, as I don’t think they had plans to take it further until this april fool’s joke.

Here’s where I go completely into theory. I think that the Omz Mask takes the characteristics or some memories of the previous wearer. Kenadian would never go on a hopper rampage of his own volition- he hates hoppers. But Omziscool loves hoppers- they give him power. And it also makes the wearer lack great decision making skills, which Omz is notorious for not thinking through better options. So, once Kenadian gets the mask, he goes on a blind rampage, not thinking through any better solutions. So, then, what happens to Wato? Well, what would Kenadian do? He’d play the long game. He’d think through his options, and play his escape room long game.

That’s where Evil Wifies comes in. The two meet at some point, and he’s still Wato- he can still make good escape maps. And Evil Wifies, is, well, evil. Wato is a knowing participant- but only because of the mask. So, he creates these escape maps for Evil Wifies, until Evil Wifies gets a bit more power hungry- and decides he wants the Omz mask. This is all about power- he creates the clones to make content, for the viewers. It’s only a show if he can get people to watch it. And Evil Wifies is smart- he knows, surely, the mask has drawbacks. He can see them in Wato. So, he makes some sort of agreement that sounds fair, and using one of the smarter clones and slaying Wato for the Omz mask, Omz Mask Wifies is created. All this occurs during the later stages of development of the map made for the debunk. Omz Mask Wifies finishes off the map.

This explains the behavior of Omz Mask Wifies in the prologue- Wato built the escape room. But he can remember bits of it, just the mostly finished version that Wato remembers.

What happens to Wato? I’m not sure. Likely, he has very foggy memories of the entire thing, as seen in the epilogue. He likely stayed a bit longer with Evil Wifies, helping with the rest of the escape room. We can’t be sure what happens after that.

Now, the but there was more video. I honestly have no explanation for what Kenadian is doing there or how he finds it. But from what I can tell, it’s all of the rooms from Wifies’ previous escape maps put together, along with additional rooms in the same style. This takes place after the epilogue, and at some point in between the two videos, Omz Mask Wifies is killed. It’s the same skin- the Wifies body with the Wato ears, but there’s no mask. What happens to him now, we don’t know. Most likely, he was killed by Evil Wifies, but there’s no evidence to support that.

Here’s what I think the timeline is:

-Omziscool Fiasco

-Kenadian gets the mask after killing Omz

-Kenadian goes on a destructive rampage after getting possessed by the mask and is killed by Wato, who is a guard, and sent to prison. 

-Train escape video

-Wato, who now has the mask, and Evil Wifies somehow meet, and Evil Wifies and Wato start working together, creating escape rooms for the Wifies clones.

-Evil Wifies and Wato create Omz Mask Wifies during the later stages of development for the last escape map.

-Prologue (Except the lore bits)

-Main two videos

-After Evil Wifies’ death in the trivia Omz Mask Wifies is sent into the escape room.

-Epilogue, and prologue lore bits

-Omz Mask Wifies is killed, losing the mask

-but there was more occurs

And, a quick summary of all the characters:

Kenadian: Gets the mask after killing Omz, goes on a rampage, is slain by Wato and then escapes from prison transport. At some point after the epilogue, he finds the massive structure of escape rooms

Wato: Is a prison guard before killing Kenadian after his destructive rampage and is a guard on the train as Kenadian escapes. Evil Wifies and Wato meet somehow, and strike some sort of agreement in which Wato is under his control. At some point in the design process for the escape room in the main videos, Omz Mask Wifies is created and, while no longer having the mask, likely helps finish off the map before he’s somehow found by Wifies and Kenadian and questioned in the epilogue.

The Wifies

Wifies: A clone, created by Evil Wifies. There’s not much more to him other than what happens in the main video.

Evil Wifies: ??? No idea who he is or what his lore is. He creates clones to solve escape rooms created by Wato for content. He works with Wato for almost all of the known lore, and creates Omz Mask Wifies to have full control over the Omz Mask. After dying in trivia, he sends Omz Mask Wifies through the map.

Omz Mask Wifies: Oh boy. Everything about this guy is my own speculation. Created by Evil Wifies and Wato for… something? Likely so Evil Wifies can control the Omz Mask without the other issues the Omz Mask causes. Is sent through the escape room after Evil Wifies is killed. At some point after this, he is killed, losing the mask.

Is all of this entirely speculation and probably wrong?

Absolutely. There are so many things I still have questions about. I’m fairly certain Omz Mask Wifies and Wato are two seperate characters (discussed in my previous post about this), but if that’s true, why does Wato say that he “remembers the sunrise. The escape room was already done”? Who killed Omz Mask Wifies? It was likely Evil Wifies, but why? How does Kenadian get to the place in ‘but there was more’, and why is he out in the middle of the void? What does the Omz Mask even do?

I’m still very confused.

[iniziare]

Consider Yelan's facial expression to be my own in reaction to opinions shared on both X and Tumblr, and I guess I'm in the minority of the 'loud ones', but I'm pretty excited for Natlan since that trailer, actually. The previous teasers left me a little 'eh', but this definitely got my hopes back up, and I'm back in the right spirits for it (and ready to catch some Pokémon.)

Now I wouldn't be me if I didn't touch on the salt that I've seen scattered across the dash, so here I go. Listen, I read people's objections and I see what you're all aiming at, but in that light want to note that it's often incredibly easy to point fingers (arguably too much so) at others while being, quite honestly, hopefully rather aware that many of our own countries, cultures, and its populations across the board (and no, I'm not excluding anyone here) would likely be just as easily guilty as MHY is with these things. And no, I'm not blindly defending them, but I also won't point fingers at only one without pointing them everywhere else as well, including those you might think would 'never do such things', because I'm absolutely certain that they would. /continues on in the tags.

[valdotjpg]

escapism can be both a respite and a prison. btw

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

i handed in my last assignment for the uni trimester i need to figure out how to be a functioning human again

i think a good start would be going outside considering i don't remember the last time i left the house. it might've been a month ago??

[itstimeforstarwars]

Spent over 40 hours on my phone this week,,, think I understand why I've been so miserable,,,

[beneath-thestyx]

*reads a post in Tumblr*

"[....] and who disagrees with me is a terf!!!"

*leaves and enters the blog that disagrees with the view*

"[....] and who disagrees with me is a terf!!!"

and then none of the two blogs are terfs bc they do believe trans woman are woman and they're actually generalizing a group of people instead of taking down the terfs that are in the group for some reason or another

guys are we really using tearf as a cheap and easy way to say that you hate someone?

like, we literally are cherry picking a post and saying that everyone inside it is like that when stuff are usually a bit more complex than that

I get it you might not like [thing] for a reason or another (or maybe u do enjoy it) but stop fucking generalizing and go straight to the problem instead of just rolling your eye and calling them a terf!!!

[charlieandluigi]

Lo, praise be to the gods who taketh mercy on my wretched soul!

For I, today, hast been given a great gift. The gods, in all their wisdom, bestowed upon me something more precious than gold.

A sliver of serotonin.

“Go,” they said, “Taketh thy ass out of bed and get your fucking life together. Go! You have til the sun sets in the western sky and it will be yours no longer. Make what you can out of this day—drink water, do your laundry, get your holiday shopping done, apply for more jobs, and for the love of fuck eat something besides the family size bag of skittles on your bedside table. Just make some fucking food.”

“Praise Be!” I replied, “I will not forget this gift!”

“Sure, just go take a shower, Fuckwad.” They continued, “You have max eight hours before we’re taking it back and we know you’re going to waste time feeling paralyzed because you can’t decide what to do first.”

“I will, and I will be singing your praises wherever I go!”

“Piss off.”

Now I write to share the good news with my brethren. Let it be known across the seas that the gods are gracious and kind. None can compare to their power and majesty. They have granted me a fraction of a fraction of their strength on this day. I intend to use it responsibly and productively.

[fieryvoid-scout]

Some ffxiv players are just like,,, pathetic. huh.

[sheeezu]

Emergency shift, tonight.

Another step by step guide, but this time it's mainly focused on how to shift when you'd do anything rather than stay in this wicked reality, perfect for permashifters or anyone frustrated with their current living situation in general.

OK, so I made this method in my WR, since I can't possibly "shift" here (I can switch realities on command by intending, so shifting isn't an activity for me anymore, I don't need to do methods), so last night i went to my WR, with as much skills I had before my first shift, I had an infinite time to figure out the perfect I need to get the hell out of here shifting method.

:)

Step 1, Morning: (divide this into four parts, morning, afternoon, evening and night)

Yes, you woke back in your CR, but don't think about that, get into the mindset that you're happy and you'll shift tonight.

First of all, drop all tasks from the CR, stop, don't do assignments or anything, don't focus on your CR.

Afterwards, what you need to do now is relax yourself, go ahead and pick something to do that you enjoy, so you can divert yourself from overthinking about shifting (personal recommendation, Sims 1 :) listens to subliminals in the background, don't worry about them if you think you have a strong enough mindset.

Don't completely abandon your CR body, don't just become a robot, eat, talk with your family (don't if you're not a fan of them). Avoid shifting forums as much as you can, mainly because there is always something irrational on there which could possibly discourage you.

Quick tldr for this step: relax, calm yourself down, listen to subliminals.

Step 2, Afternoon:

If you're developing a headache or feeling light-headedness due to the excessive subliminal listening then that's good, it means your brain is absorbing the affirmations.

Now, trick your human brain by listening to subliminal boosters, but only those ones which repeat playlists by million, billion, trillion, or zillion or something, it won't matter how effective the subliminal is, as long as you believe the title to be truth, then trust me, it'll work like promised.

After you're finished with your subliminal run, top it off with one of wrath's seal and you're good to go, you're now mentally prepared to shift, and you are in a perfect mindset. (wrath, the subliminal creator, in my opinion their subliminals, especially the boosters are the strongest; search wrath's second seal, in my opinion it's the strongest one in the series).

._.

Now you have eye strain or something, get up, go sit outside for a moment, stare at the trees, birds, skies, and start daydreaming-!

(Don't worry, I didn't tell you to touch grass, you can stay indoors, but, daydream :)

Daydream about your sweet sweet DR, if you're going to your WR, just imagine all the fun things you'll get to do there, or visualize your WR (or script; meaning revise how you made your WR to be like)

OK, back to the DR part, daydreaming can be done in many ways, perhaps you'd like to zone out and fall into deep contemplation about your actions in your DR, kind of like a case study (for me, bringing up old events from my teenage years or something, specific memories arise which didn't make sense; like me ignoring someone I like, and try to figure out why I did it, this all strengthens your bond with your DR)

Or you could simply rewind your memories in your DR, or what you've planned for the upcoming days, what you were doing before shifting, my recommendation would be to kind of add lots of "too much information" like, where did you place the honey after you had finished baking that cake? Didn't you had to put a new bar of soap in the bathroom? Didn't you broke the button of your favorite coat yesterday?

Or If you're good at visualising, you can simply live an entire day in your DR (perhaps not an entire day, just visualise your morning routine)

Another good one, if you can't visualise or don't feel like it, open Pinterest, scroll through your home feed, and try to relate the pins you see to your DR (I was just about to buy that shirt; I swear I saw that exact same house somewhere; that cat looks exactly like my sister's cat)

Feel like your DR self now? If not you're definitely getting excited and prepared by now.

Step 3, Evening:

Now it's time to attach yourself firmly to your DR self.

Consume media which remind you of your DR self, try your luck with Character ai, maybe it'll make sense for once (make your own bots, add a little description of your DR self within the character details, the bot will remember your details, ask ill share a template :) your spotify playlist + pinterest, remind yourself, your DR is very much real, if it's possible, close your eyes periodically for a few minutes, imagine making decisions like your DR self, and facing the consequences right after; or you can have a small conversation with your loved ones, keep it related to your DR.

Eventually, you'll be led to nightfall, it's time to go home.

Step 4, Night:

Listen to the subliminals you've listened to during the day, again, for an hour at least, if you're doubting yourself, or feeling like you won't be able to do it, try to distract yourself by a memory from your DR or something, or simply, already get into you're DR self's mindset, say "affirmations" like these:

"What the heck is going on in my mind? Why am I thinking about shifting, I've already got so much work to do." (That was an example, get creative :)

If you're ready to start shifting, lay down in a comfortable position (or sit up but lean back on comfy pillows if you're in fear of falling asleep) take a few deep breaths, if you like meditation then do so, but it's not at all necessary, just relax.

....

Now shift (just kidding, use my method which I've explained thoroughly in my first post, follow it and no doubt you'll shift, you're invincible.)

...

I am very self assured in my method btw. Also I'll try not to be lazy and answer the questions in my inbox dw.

I'll also upload my script, since for once I've finally stopped crying about permashifting in every post.

Good luck, you'll shift tonight, no doubt.

Remember to look at shrimp colors at least once in your waiting room.

[luveline]

Mothers day lil fic with eddie x reader from june baby? 👉🏻👈🏻

mom!reader, 1.5k “Big stretch!”

You hold your arms above your head, stretching as tall as you can go. Your t-shirt rises and exposes the soft stretch of your tummy, stretch marks decorating your skin and lightened in the sun as you lean to your left side.

“Okay, now we count. One, two…”

“Three,” Junie says. “Five, six, seven.”

“You forgot four, babe. Let’s try again, okay?” You stretch to your right side. “One, two, three…”

“Five, six, four–”

You giggle. Junie, who wasn’t doing a very good job at copying your yoga poses to begin with, hears you laughing and drops her short arms to her sides. “Tummy!” she says, jumping forward to push her hand into your stomach.

“I’m telling Eddie you did that. So nasty.” You drop your arms.

“Tummy,” she says again, poking at your belly button.

You catch her hands in yours and level her with a feigned glare. “What are you trying to say about my tummy?”

She beams. It’s lovely to have a little baby that looks like you. Her joy is yours, her smile made up of your lips and teeth. She’s a mirror, and you could never not think she was gorgeous —it makes you gorgeous too.

“Guess we’re done stretching?” you ask.

She lifts her hands to your sides, a gesture to be grabbed. You lean down to collect her and drag her up for a hug, holding her low at the back to encourage face to face time. “What, you’re not talking to me?” you ask warmly.

She touches your neck.

“I know,” you say. You’re pretty sure you get it.

Outside, tires roll across grass and road alike. You listen for the whine of Eddie’s van as it parks, grinning all over again when it comes. He’s not supposed to see you today, it’s Sunday, he has too much stuff to do.

If he’s outside, it means he swapped his shifts again or called out, which means he’s gonna give you one of his speeches about being sickly sweet in love with you. You can pretend you don’t like them as much as you want, but there’s no better feeling than being loved like you’re something special.

You open the door before he can, and he needs it, anyhow. To your confusion, he’s carrying a cellophane wrapped bouquet made up of a hundred different colours and a white box in the other, arms full and naked, no jacket to hide from the early summer sun. Your eyes widen as he gets to the steps. He looks like he made an effort to see you (and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t always, you love him as he is, but you can’t help asking yourself why).

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Eddie smiles. “What do you mean?”

“What’s the stuff for?” There’s a bag hanging from his elbow.

“This stuff?” he asks, cresting the last step.

“Hi,” Junie says.

“Hi, babe.”

“Hi.” She reaches for the flowers. “Pretty.”

“You think so? I got them for your mommy but I’m sure she’ll share them with you.”

You’re nonplussed as he moves in to kiss your cheek and skirt around you. “Come on. This stuff’s heavy,” he says, the cellophane crunching against his chest as he squeezes past you into your home.

“Eddie, what is that stuff?”

“You don’t know what day it is today?”

You think about it for a second at least. “No?”

It’s not your birthday, not Junie’s. You and Eddie can’t have made it to your first anniversary already, but perhaps six months? You try to do the maths in your head. Eddie puts the white box on your kitchen table, the bag on Junie’s high chair, and the flowers by the sink.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asks, some sympathy in play.

“Eddie, we did stretches!” Junie says from your arms.

You offer her to him. He wraps her up and makes it look easy, baby on his hip. Quick kiss pressed to her cheek. “Yeah? Mom’s got you doing yoga again?”

You’re drawn to the box like a magnet.

“What is it?” you ask.

“It’s for you, babe,” he says easily, smiling as Junie tucks a curl behind his ear. “It’s all for you. You can open it.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I am. Open it up.”

You take the box’s lid off, lips parting in surprise. Happy Mother’s Day has been written in white writing against a baby pink cake. It’s simple, without frills, but it’s sweet and it looks soft to the touch.

“Is it today?” you ask.

“Yeah, babe. I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Eddie shifts Junie forward to stop her from tangling his hair. “That’s a lie, I totally can. Quick, come here.”

You slot into his side, expecting the kiss, but not the second one against the apple of your cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day. I would’ve been here sooner, but I had to make sure my mom knew I was thinking about her first.” He taps your noses together before pulling away. “You’re the best mom ever, so. Me and June got you some presents. No biggie.”

“Junie got me this?”

“Who do you think wrote on the cake?”

Eddie pretends to eat Junie’s hand, to her delight. You feel the cardboard of your box between your fingers, no attempt made to hide the achingly huge smile that’s taking shape. “And the bags for me too?” you ask.

Eddie can hear it in your voice. “The bag’s for you too, of course. You're the mother.” He snarfs against Junie’s wrist. “Um-num-num.”

You drag the bag from Junie’s blue and orange high chair across the table to peek inside. It’s a flat, paper bag from a clothing store, so the contents surprise you for being much more than clothes. Your smile gets worse with each item unveiled from its tissue paper depths: a humble box of fancy chocolates, a bag of your favourite chips, a small black box and a pair of pyjamas wrapped together with a ribbon.

You hesitate with the box, hand atop it, head tilting toward your shoulder. Eddie doesn’t notice your hesitation, or at least he’s pretending not to, pretending to nibble Junie’s sleeve where she’s laughing it up in his arms.

“What’s in the box?”

He looks up quickly. Not pretending. “Oh, that’s– If you don’t like it, I can take it back. It’s nothing crazy.”

“You’re proposing.” The box is shaped for a bracelet or necklace rather than a ring.

He nods severely. “Will you do me the honour?”

You laugh softly and line your thumb to the box’s seam. It opens on a tense hinge, clicking into place.

It’s a bracelet made up of silver beads. There’s a small flat-circle charm between the beads, that, upon closer inspection, harbours two hearts, one bigger than the other.

“It’s nothing fancy, okay? So if it breaks you won’t feel bad. It’s real silver though, you don’t have to take it off much if you don’t want to. I don’t know. I think it’s, like, a reminder of her when you’re not together.” Junie whines, encouraging Eddie to press another peck to her cheek as he hugs her tighter, and takes a step closer to you. “If you don’t like it, it’s really fine.”

You slip the bracelet onto your wrist. It goes without saying you’ve never had much jewellery.

Taking his face into your hands is easy. Holding him tenderly is second nature. “Thank you,” you say, eye to eye, willing it to sink in deeply. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you, too. And Junie loves you more than anybody. You deserve to know that.”

“I do,” you say, glad when he puckers up for a kiss. You kiss his pouting lips misaligned to nobody’s worry, adding another for thankfulness, and a third just because. He’s smirking before you’ve so much as pulled away.

“And thank you!” you add saccharinely, stroking Junie’s cheek, though the idea that she had anything to do with your gifts is funny. “I wouldn’t get to be a mommy if it wasn’t for you. I love you.”

“Love you,” Junie says distractedly, more interested by the stud earring in Eddie’s lobe.

He gives you both a soft, soft look, startlingly yards away from his previous smirking. “You’re the best girls in the world.”

“You're the best boyfriend.” You curve an arm around him to steal him and press your face into his arm. “I love you,” you say, smushed. “Thank you so much for everything. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says.

“I really love you.”

“Yeah,” he says, his nose touching your head as he cranes his head down to you. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I love you too. You deserve it, alright?”

Junie pats your head. “Love love love you. Kiss?”

She almost blinds you trying to kiss you in the eye as you turn your face toward her, but it’s nice.

[afterglowsainz]

crush | lando norris

summary: charles pr manager is always looking at lando while he’s being interviewed and fans think she has a crush on him

fc: lily-rose depp

a/n: who said fanfic about THE MIAMI GRAND PRIX WINNER

—

liked by charlesleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and others

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liked by charlesleclerc, carlossainz55 and others

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tagged landonorris, yourusername

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and others

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landonorris broke my nose, won my first grand prix, celebrated with my one and only❤️ nice weekend overall

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[shrenvents]

Guard Dog II

Part one

Warning: minors dni, fluff, smut, fingering, penetration, no protection, language

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x you

Summary: You and Daryl have started seeing each other, but not much has changed between you two. Yet, all you can think about is how much you need it to —need him to touch you, but he hasn’t made a move. Thus, you take charge.

Word count: 1.6k

…

Though it hasn't been said, flat out, you and Daryl are dating. And although nothing about your dynamic has altered, you’re still fairly certain, you're dating now.

But, the routine is just the same. You go somewhere, Daryl follows. However, nowadays you talk regularly, and he's visibly more comfortable. The others even started to notice your relationship and the changes in Daryl as well. One of which is, according to Eugene, is he seems happier, lighter, like a weight has lifted from his shoulders.

So, how is it that you feel something missing? You guessed a relationship with Daryl would be nothing less than this. But deep down, you expected him to at least touch you. And all you really wanted, was a kiss.

Sometimes, when he's close enough, you feel his warmth radiate over your very being. Sometimes, you sense his touch from when he grabbed your wrist, and held you in his arms weeks ago.

It left you craving more. Perhaps it did for him too...

Various times you swore his hand would hover over your skin, debating whether to reach out to you or not. Other times, he follows you to your house, but never steps foot inside, not since that day. He continuously stops short at your front deck, giving you a prolonged nod for a goodbye.

You’re shy in many ways, as is he, so if things were to change, you figure you have to be the one to take the reins. After all, he did admit to "wanting" you, so what did you have to lose?

…

Sighing, you open your door, squinting to welcome the blazing sun.

As of late, your mornings consist of this smouldering summer shine, and a mouthwatering, sleeveless Daryl Dixon, leaning against the pillar upholding your porch, waiting for you to wake.

"Morning!" You greet cheerfully. Daryl looks at you, and his scowl instantly softens. "I'm thinking we should do something today, together," you boast, trudging off the porch. "You know, switch up our usual routine somehow." Pausing thoughtfully, you notice how patiently Daryl observes you, waiting for your word, without any interruptions. It almost shocks you how docile he truly is, beneath that dim, tough exterior.

Your eyes explore Alexandria's landscape, catching areas with dull greenery. Your mouth opens in 'ah!'

Daryl appears disquiet and you holler, "Gardening!"

"No," he contradicts, quickly shutting down your idea. You huff, hindering a small smile. "Oh please, it would be fun!" You persuade, "This place needs more character, it's too-" desperately searching for a word, you make Daryl smirk a bit. "Colourless right now," you proclaim.

"And adding some flowers, will make this place look less like a 'dump'?" He mocks plainly.

"I don't think it's a 'dump,' it just needs some," once more, you seek the appropriate word, and Daryl expels a breathy chuckle. "Sprucing," you finish, and he nods with a tiny shake in disbelief. "Let's go!" You shout, heading to a plain field of grass.

"Yes ma'am," Daryl grumbles behind you, and you giggle.

...

The both of you spend hours outside, digging up weeds, replanting flowers, and spreading plant seeds across the lot. The whole ordeal left you both filthy, decorated in dirt. Though it's nothing new for Daryl, you feel pretty disgusting, not to mention 'hideous.'

Engrossed in your obsessive thoughts, you miss the way Daryl longingly watches you. That’s until you feel a plant stem, tuck your hair behind your ear. You spy Daryl’s calloused fingers, gently placing a pink flower there. His pinkie lightly coasts down your locks, to your shoulder.

You peer into his eyes, struck by his tenderness. His dilated pupils hold so much depth, that you get lost in them. So absentmindedly, you shift closer to Daryl.

His eyes roam your face, down to your lips, focusing on them.

A short breath escapes you, heart dropping, and he stands up. Now on his feet, Daryl brushes the grime on his hands in a clap, then lends one out to you. “You’re covered in dirt,” his throat bobs, “Let’s call it a day,” he heaves you upright, “take a shower.” You nod in agreement, kind of discombobulated.

Hand in hand, you silently walk to your house. Once you get there, he retracts his palm from yours and scratches his crown awkwardly. “You’re not coming?” You mumble shyly, and his wide eyes shoot to yours.

You fight to remain calm, staring at him. He licks his lips, once again, looking at your parted ones. “Separate showers, or...?” He asks airily.

“Whatever you want,” replying in a whisper, you slowly back up your steps, intently watching him. He refuses to break eye contact as he follows you inside.

When the door clicks shut, the only audible sound is his breathing, which is more like panting.

“You sure about…?” He trails off, delicately admiring your face. When you faintly mouth a 'yes,' his eyes train to your figure. You leisurely stride towards him.

“You’re so,” before he finishes, you peck his lips. He jerks his jaw moderately, and his gaze struggles to decide, whether to look at your eyes, or your body.

“Touch me,” you practically beg, nudging his abdomen with your knuckles. His sharp breath fans your face, and his expression distorts right before he instinctively, crashes his mouth into yours. Tongues mingling together, he grunts quietly, and you hum a whine in return.

Bodies pressing hard against each other, his hands tangle into your tresses, cupping your head. He rolls his hips rather harshly and you whine louder.

Breaking away with his name on your tongue, you clutch his hand and haul him upstairs.

Reaching the top of the staircase, he hugs you from behind and buries his face into your neck, breathing in like you're his lifeline.

“Daryl,” you sigh then gasp when he suddenly lifts you up. Your toes drag on the floorboards while he sucks on your nape. “Bathroom,” he rasps.

“To your left,” you huff in response, pushing your backside atop his crotch. Daryl just about growls, hastily carrying you into the bathroom.

Putting you down nicely, he forcibly tugs the shower curtain to the side. You spin to look at him and see him surveying you, staring down at your frame like he's in heat. You bite your lip, raising a hand to push away the black hair blocking his eyes.

“Can I?” He asks politely, gesturing to your clothes.

“Yes,” you nearly moan.

Together, you remove each other’s garments, one by one, piece by piece. Eyes equally wandering, to every newly revealed section of flesh. Daryl adorns your naked body and his lip tilts. You lean towards him to turn the shower knob.

The shower head roars, and Daryl tenses when the tips of your breasts graze his chest. “God,” he groans then takes your dome in his hands again, yanking your mouth upwards.

Your fronts fix together, and he palms your ass, reddening the skin there. His hard-on rubs your cunt, and he ambles you both under the flowing stream of water.

“Fuck,” you moan wildly when your spine hits the cool wall.

“Ya feel amazing,” he resounds into your ear, kissing it with a swipe of his tongue. You grind onto him. “Like that baby, again,” he instructs hoarsely, almost pained.

Moving in sync with each other, his cock continuously moves over your clit. You whine his name over and over, scratching your nails across his biceps. You moan out appraisals and smooch a trail from his chin to chest.

His hushed tone chants your name, trying to get your attention. But, when he gets tired of you ignoring him, his digits abruptly slip into you. You instantly cry out, then move in rhythm with his fingers, riding them. He begins to elicit an orgasm, so you pull away from his aggressive kiss. “Wait, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Good,” he groans with a smirk, trying to capture your mouth again.

“No, no, I wanna cum with you,” you plea, whispering, "on you," barely coherent. His fingers immediately slow and withdraw, at once, replaced by his girthy cock.

You scream a yelp and Daryl releases a lengthy, unreserved, animalistic groan. “So, tight,” his dark voice grates your ears. He cups your breast, playing with its nipple, and you sob while he mutters how badly he needs this.

After a moment of adjusting, Daryl starts thrusting. "Harder!" You express, and his hips lunge into you, untamed and vigorous.

Though his bottom half ruthlessly takes you, his hands and mouth are kind and attentive. His palms glide over your torso, holding you securely, and he kisses your features.

“Daryl, I love it,” you exclaim, then repeat yourself.

“Y-yeah?” He stammers, pinning his forehead to the side of your skull, and you grip his muscular biceps. “Yes, you’re so good.”

He growls your name, pumping even faster, evidently getting closer to his climax.

His hands move to squeeze and spread your ass, and ever-so-slightly, his finger sweeps across your unfilled hole, circling it. You squeal and huddle into him, and he murmurs something so quietly, that you can hardly hear it.

“What?” You gasp, craning your neck back.

“-fucking love you,” Daryl moans roughly, hoisting up your leg by its thigh. “Shit.” Pushing into you one last time, he pulls out to cum on your stomach.

Daryl's confession strikes such a cord, that you also cum when he removes himself.

Blanking, you aimlessly watch him stroke himself, and he grits his teeth at the sight of you flushed and wet.

Eventually, his meaty arms embrace your trembling form, snaking around your curves firmly. And after a short while, you hug him too, burying your face in his sternum.

“Can you, say that again?” You ask meekly, and as if he can hear your smile, he chuckles. “Later,” he pauses to kiss your scalp, “Lemme catch my breath first baby.”

[misssilversunny]

Ok wait i just had a funny idea

Why stop at just a yandere batfamily? Why not all of Gotham?

Like, imagine Bane kidnapping you, calling you his "firefly" or whatever because you're a fleeting light in the darkness or something, and you're more guarded than the actual thing he stole.

And despite that, Poison Ivy manages to nab you, her "little rose", while Bane is busy dealing with Batman. She takes you back to her apartment, where you greet the plants you recognize and introduce yourself to the new ones (There aren't many, you were here 3 months ago).

At some point you take a breath of fresh air through an open window, and Scarecrow grabs you, taking you to his lair, into a room which is also pumped with a special strain of fear gas that makes you cling to him for safety.

And then, shock of all shocks, the one and only, motherfucking Joker snatches you from the lair, leaving behind a dummy for Scarecrow to find. Unlike the others, Joker's obsession is in the fact that everyone else is obsessed with you. He finds it hysterical how one person can have all of Gotham in a spin!

Eventually, the Batfam grabs Reader from the Joker, since he's not actually obsessed so he has them the least guarded, maybe a short conversation with Batman, but even Joker knows he's in water too hot to joke about severe injuries, especially since he doesn't know if Red Hood is nearby.

Batman might not kill, but he cannot guarantee that anyone else wouldn't if he killed their favorite person, and he does not have the influence where he could get away with that.

You get returned to your nice cage room in the manor, where the Batfamily scolds you yet again for another failed escape attempt trip outside getting you shipped around Gotham for weeks!

At this point, you're pretty sure you not only can't leave, but also any attempts at a normal life are pointless. You mostly do this because humans are animals and animals need enrichment, and no, the cycle of games/quality time they're giving you are not a suitable replacement for touching grass and seeing new faces.

Even the brief moments of time between kidnappings, the short moments of normalcy that the other villains, the other heroes and vigilantes give you, are a welcome change of pace.

Bonus points if it's literally everyone in neighboring cities/Justice League, so Superman finds you and you're just like "Well shit" because now you're taken to his house, maybe his parents' farm, and you're kept there until someone catches on that Clark has you.

Also if you tack this onto Spoiled!Reader, this becomes infinitely funnier because In my mind I'm treating that AU as 90% a crack/lighthearted fic, and another thing is I think of them as being ~12 sometimes, so it's the entirety of Gotham fighting over a middle schooler.

If it's an adult Reader, it's more of a "This is fine" as they are carted from villain to villain to vigilante to hero because their family literally has a fan club for them, so their perception of what is "normal" levels of interest is severely skewed.

If you want to go for the Neglected!Reader, then it would be really interesting for them to try and figure out where is a good level of "interested in your hobbies", and doubts whether they're so uncomfortable because they're actually too invested in their day to day life, or if it's because they were neglected for so long that any interest feels overwhelming.

Btw all asks about Spoiled!Reader and this Reader are welcome!

[please-destroy]

Moments of Respite

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

.

Your body aches with the fight you’ve barely survived. 

The flight home from Sokovia is the longest of your life. Steve had practically thrown food rations  at the team, but they are all long finished now. So is any conversation, sheer exhaustion flattening the atmosphere.  

Wanda Maximoff sits on the far side of the Quinjet. The rest of the team are quiet, wordlessly favouring the other half of the aircraft. 

Wanda seems uncaring of her surroundings. Her long, dark hair is matted with dirt and blood. It shrouds her figure strangely. Only Clint watches her as openly as you.

You can’t keep your eyes away from her. There is something about her stillness. It scares you and thrills you in the same breath. Wanda watches the blue sky outside the jet, as if she isn’t really here, as if nothing is real. 

Her eyes burn with bitter life. 

When you land, it is Clint who clears his throat and walks over to her. Wordlessly, he nods his head at the exit. Wanda follows him with the empty footsteps of grief.

You aren’t quite sure why you follow them too.

Sunshine slicks pleasantly over your skin as you hurry across the lawn toward the Avenger’s building. Already, Clint and Wanda are disappearing inside.

You wait for the elevator to the residents’ quarters. When the doors open at last, Clint is standing there alone. 

He touches your arm. 

‘We don’t know her.’ He reminds you calmly. You wonder what he can see on your face. You nod but don’t answer. 

You enter the elevator as he walks out. Clint shakes his head and you worry that you really are making a big mistake. You try to ignore the thought, trusting the strong new instinct inside you that wants to follow her. 

When do you ever listen to Clint anyway?

You press the elevator button for the floor with the largest guest rooms. 

When the doors open, nerves strike you. 

You press the ‘doors close’ button hurriedly and go to your own floor instead. 

In your own living quarters, you go to your window, watching as the other Avengers disembark slowly from the Quinjet. Your fingers tap a nervous beat against the windowsill. 

You watch as Pepper meets Tony in the middle of the grass, bringing him into a tight hug. You watch Natasha’s arm slink around Clint as she leans tiredly into him. 

You think of Wanda and her dead brother and feel your gut twist with pity. 

It’s why you go back to the elevator.

This time, you get as far as Wanda’s door. It’s already ajar. You clear your throat as you push it open. 

Wanda doesn’t react. She sits stiffly at the edge of her bed. Her figure is silhouetted against a large window. She faces away from you, watching the same scenes play out on the grass. 

Your feet walk you forward. 

You look down at Wanda and the feeling of sympathy only doubles. 

Her eyes slide over to regard you dully.

You offer out your hand, not sure if she’ll take it.

‘You need to wash your hair.’ You tell her quietly. You have never spoken to her directly before. 

Wanda closes her eyes and you watch sudden, unbearable heaviness return to her shoulders. You hate yourself for bringing her back to reality.

‘I can’t.’ She whispers, voice rasping from lack of use. 

You take her hand and squeeze it once. Wanda grips it tight as she gets to her feet, following you into the bathroom. 

As her feet hit the tiles, Wanda begins to strip automatically out of her grimy clothes. Her eyes do not glance to you. You hold back your shock, realising with sudden clarity just how invisible you are to her. How meaningless everything is.

The thought bolsters you weirdly. You kick off your shoes, before removing every other piece of clothing, except your t-shirt and underwear. Wanda keeps a tight hold of your hand as you lead her into the shower. 

She lets go obediently as she turns to face the jet of water. She washes herself numbly, as you work through the wet tangles in her hair, applying shampoo and conditioner in turn. 

The steady thrum of water is comforting as you focus on your task. 

A few minutes later, you turn the shower off and find Wanda a towel. It is a comically large and luxurious one. Wrapped in it, Wanda seems encompassed in a fluffy cloud of cotton. 

You dry yourself efficiently then, removing your wet t-shirt and putting your dry sweats back on. Wet underwear seems like a ridiculous discomfort to worry about. 

When you turn back to Wanda, she hasn’t yet moved. You say her name quietly.

Wanda’s stare turns to you with sudden intensity. Her mouth hangs open slightly as her breathing becomes more rapid. 

Desperate emotions cross her face, but grief chokes them all. You touch her bare shoulder cautiously. 

Wanda’s lungs desperately search for air. She curves slightly, as if her stomach cavity has been hollowed out.

She hurries past you, back to the room that is barely hers.

You follow her cautiously. 

She is sitting again on the edge of the bed. This time, you sit next to her. Her shoulders are curved inwards.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ You admit, more to yourself than to her. The words feel blunt and honest. Part of you wishes immediately that you hadn’t spoken.

Wanda’s head tilts, moving slowly to rest against your shoulder. Your arm moves automatically around her shoulders. Her wet hair soaks through your sleeve. She cries tiredly.

You feel your heart beating steadily in your chest. You are glad that you followed her.

Minutes later, Wanda leans heavier against you as overwhelming exhaustion lulls her to sleep.

Your back aches unbearably, but you focus on the feeling of gladness. 

.

Pietro’s funeral is barely a funeral. 

Wanda wanted to bury him. But a superhuman’s body is valuable, dead or alive. 

A twisted embarrassment runs over Wanda’s face as she scatters his ashes below the large tree. 

You hate knowing that it feels so wrong to her.

Sokovia’s borders are not open to pilgrimages of grief. There wasn’t anywhere else special to do this.

‘Put me here too.’ Wanda murmurs as she walks back over to the small group of you, Clint and Steve. You nod silently. Clint seems entirely impassive. Steve touches Wanda’s shoulder supportively, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

As you walk back to the Compound, her cold hand finds its way back into yours. You squeeze it tightly. 

The full team is waiting inside. Tony and Pepper hadn’t been invited out to the tree, the Stark Industries connection being an unspoken barrier. They wait with the others, just inside the main door.

You are frustrated at their insistence in being involved at all. It is not the time to reopen old wounds.

Inside, several traditional Sokovian dishes have been provided by a catering company. The drinks bar on the other side features Sokovian vodka prominently. You watch a careful wall develop behind Wanda’s eyes. You understand why. The gesture feels jarringly intrusive. As if Tony has dug up pieces of Wanda’s past and put them on display.

Steve talks to Wanda earnestly, telling her that Pietro was a hero. You watch her jaw tighten slightly at his words. You squeeze her hand again, wishing you could do anything else. 

Wanda slips her hand out of yours. She ignores the empty plates provided, instead going straight to the drinks bar. 

The atmosphere settles familiarly with everyone else, especially with Wanda on the other side of the room. Rhodey starts talking to you about something mundane. 

You watch Wanda pour herself a drink.

The awkwardness of the formal event makes every minute spent feel like an hour. After polite conversations with most people in the room, you watch Wanda slip away. 

Barely five minutes later, you do the same. You pretend not to see the others commenting on your hurried exit.

Her room is empty. You step into it briefly, scanning for signs of occupation. You stop at her window, heart sinking as you realise Wanda looks directly onto the large tree with ashes scattered beneath it.

A tight claustrophobic feeling binds itself around your chest. You hurry from the room, down the emergency stairwell, intending to find some fresh air. 

You nearly trip over Wanda, huddled on a stair. 

Apologies fly from your mouth instantly. Wanda stands up, brushing her dress off. Her face is pale and you can see the tremble in her fingers. 

Her attention is turned to you. 

‘Are you okay?’ She asks. 

‘Are you?’ You challenge unthinkingly. Wanda rolls her eyes. Her foot taps a large stolen bottle of Russian vodka, standing on the step below her.

‘No.’ She replies matter of factly. ‘I’m having a funeral.’ 

You nod, eyeing the vodka with a surge of envy.

‘Can I join?’ You ask bluntly.

.

Twenty minutes later, the world is getting hazy at the edges.  

The door at the bottom of the stairwell thuds open and you both startle. 

Together, you peer over the ledge. Wanda’s hand presses down on your inner thigh as she leans for a better view. You try not to think about how it feels.

For a moment, there is silence and no movement below. Then, Natasha appears, looking right up at you.

‘That is my vodka.’ She calls out. 

‘Was.’ You correct her teasingly. Natasha’s expression crinkles with a half smile.

‘Toast him from me.’ She requests simply, gaze meeting Wanda’s. 

Wanda nods and Natasha leaves, the door thudding again behind her. 

You lift the vodka bottle in silent toast, taking a drink before passing to Wanda. 

As she drinks, you notice a beauty mark on her cheek. Your eyes linger a little too long. 

Wanda watches you thoughtfully, before she puts the bottle down. 

She takes your hand carefully into her lap and lays it there gently, palm up. She traces the outline of your hand with her forefinger. Tingles shoot along your arm and down your spine. 

Drunkenly, you decided that Wanda is in fact magic. 

You watch as she carves a featherlight ‘P’ into your palm with her finger. You know the rest of the word to follow. 

When she’s  finished, Wanda begins again. You watch half hypnotised, overwhelmed by a feeling that you can’t name.

She writes her brother’s name again and again into your skin.

You don’t realise you are crying until the tears slide from your face.

‘He was your brother.’ You whisper with strange reverence, staring down at your palm. Wanda nods silently, pressing her thumb slowly into your palm. You curl your fingers gently around her and kiss the fist you make.

.

Weeks fly together after the funeral. Everyone seeks out a sense of routine, including Wanda.

Missions and training are the group focus of each day. 

There is no use denying the way you feel about Wanda. But, you try anyway. 

You are her only friend. You do your best not to mess it up.

Wanda trains far longer each day than you do. She is passed between different Avengers for specialised training. Natasha and Steve have sessions with her every day. 

Each afternoon, Wanda seeks you out in your room. You lie together on your bed, watching old sitcoms on the TV in the corner. Wanda’s hair is always wet from her shower and you fight a feeling of deja vu when she leans against you. 

You eat dinner together every evening. Sometimes afterward, Wanda’s head rests even heavier against your shoulder. You stay as still as you can, praying she might fall asleep. She never does.

You know that eventually something will disrupt the carefully balanced routine. 

It is a Tuesday. You are talking with Sam in the kitchen. 

A muffled explosion makes the building shudder. 

You are both already on your way toward the noise, when Jarvis informs you that it is a training accident. 

Sam slows down when Jarvis clarifies that nobody is hurt. You don’t.

As you approach the main training room, Steve is exiting it. He brushes past you like you’re not even there, shaking his head in preoccupation. 

You enter the room cautiously. Natasha is standing just inside the door. Her voice is pitched low, intentionally calming. 

You take in the scene. 

Mangled fitness equipment lies scattered. Training weapons are embedded like makeshift javelins in the wooden floor. 

Wanda stands at the heart of the explosion. There is no red aura around her, but it’s like you can taste the residue of it in the air.

Natasha gives you a cautionary look, as if she’s the zookeeper standing between you and a tiger.

‘Wanda.’ You call out anyway. The red pulse that marks your words is unmistakable.

‘Don’t come near me.’ Wanda spits at you. Her eyes train on Natasha again . “Either of you.’

Natasha’s jaw tightens as she nods.

‘Okay.’ She says calmly, keeping her front to Wanda as she backs out of the room. Through the glass pane in the door, Natasha waits for you to follow. 

You shake your head imperceptibly. Concern floods Natasha’s face before she leaves. 

You slide to sit on the ground, back against the wall.

You are alone together. There is the loudest silence. You can hear Wanda’s frustration in her breathing.

‘I told you to go.’ Wanda tells you in a tight voice. Minutes have passed. You wonder if she knows. 

‘You’re not a monster.’ You tell her resolutely, stretching for one of the unopened water bottles left discarded along with some kit bags. ‘I’m not treating you like one.’

Another minute passes. You sip the water that you don’t really want, grateful to have anything to do.

‘I am.’ Wanda whispers finally. She falls slowly to her knees.

‘You’re not.’ You counter firmly, climbing back to your feet. You walk over in a quick few steps, refusing to acknowledge any danger in being here. 

You feel Wanda tense worriedly as you get closer. So, you sit back down several feet away from her.

You slide the water bottle across the floor and Wanda takes it.

‘I’m not normal.’ She amends, fingers twisting the bottle cap. 

‘Doesn’t mean you’re a monster.’ You insist, feeling a hot protectiveness in your chest. 

‘You don’t know.’ Wanda tells you; and you see the echo of her mistakes written across her face.

‘I’d like to.’ You admit unthinkingly. 

Wanda looks back up at you. Her eyes feel fiery but her expression is pained. 

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She warns, her accent curling harshly around the words. 

‘Never.’ You promise immediately. 

Realisation falls upon her face as you hold her stare. Wanda blows out a shaky breath. 

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She whispers again. 

You crawl across the space between you. Your heart is in your mouth. 

‘Never.’ You hear yourself repeat. 

Wanda’s eyes are desperate, but she faces you with perfect stillness.

You brush her hair as you cup her jaw. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation, her lips part slightly. 

You kiss her gently. You think of how delicate she doesn’t know she is. Her lips feel soft and then they feel like home.

—-----

You find her alone in the kitchen. It has been four weeks since the kiss in the training room. A month since everything clicked into place.

‘Hey.’ You call, unable to wipe the immediate smile from your face.

Wanda tenses and then she swears in a language you don’t understand. 

You hesitate in surprise.  

‘I’m cooking you dinner.’ Wanda informs you tensely, a moment later. 

You smell the air and hesitate at the strong but unfamiliar aroma. Wanda catches your unsure reaction. 

‘Something you’ve never heard of.’ She tells you, looking down at the stove in an attempt to hide her smile.

‘Yum.’ You tell her enthusiastically, walking over to the island counter. 

Wanda snorts, leaning familiarly back against you as your hands slide around her waist. You rest your head on her shoulder, sneaking a glance down at the mysterious dish. You are relieved to recognise chicken.

You revel in Wanda’s closeness, holding her tighter for a long moment.

‘I really do want to try it.’ You assure her. ‘It looks good.’ 

Wanda nods, but she doesn’t speak. 

Your fingers slide under her top, resting at her hip. You rub circles with your thumb against her skin. 

‘It’s my favourite meal.’ Wanda tells you quietly. You press your lips against her collarbone as you listen. ‘But it’s supposed to be something that you share.’

The echoes of her past feel weighted now. You stroke her cheek unthinkingly. 

‘Let me set the table.’ You offer simply.

.

You take the first piece of chicken from your plate and go to try it. You pretend Wanda’s eyes aren’t glued to you in anticipation.

The spice kicks in at the back of your throat and you splutter a cough. Your eyes water and you hear yourself wheeze as you reach for your drink.

Wanda is already on her feet, panic radiating from her. Her hand is on your back. 

There is an awful, embarrassing moment as you continue to splutter.

‘No.’ You finally force yourself to speak hoarsely, hitting yourself in the chest. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’ You give an awkward thumbs up as you finally swallow.

Wanda falls back in her seat. You watch her cover her face with her hands. A strange laugh bubbles out of her,

‘I thought I’d killed you.’ She admits suddenly.

You touch her shoulder unsurely. You can feel her start to shake, as her laughter descends into strange sobs. You taste the lump in your throat as you realise how very real her fear was. 

You want to tell her it’s illogical, irrational to worry about something like that. That you won’t die so easily. That it would never be her fault. 

You can’t lie.

You take her hand instead, pulling her wordlessly to your lap. Wanda buries her face against you, and you feel hot tears trickle down your neck. 

She clings to you in a way that she never has before. 

She has never seemed so vulnerable. You rub her back, hoping desperately that she doesn’t feel so vulnerable too.

Her cries slow and she takes a steadying breath. Wanda lifts her face to face the ceiling and wipes the tears from her pale cheeks. Your eyes catch automatically on her beauty mark. 

She moves to leave your lap, but you keep her steady. 

Wanda turns to face you, confused. 

You offer her your fork, another piece of chicken on the end. You shrug.

‘It’s meant to be shared.’