#the joys of hyperfixation fixing me

[ricecaqes]

siffrin the breather

[girlboyburger]

with my move around the corner and life feeling sort of real again, i'm having Regular Thoughts about hobbies i've been meaning to revisit...

[deathchipz]

im so fucking happy i have someone else to infodump about the chipjinkas........ you will hear my chaos whether you like it or not

[tbaluver]

bridgerton au! sanemi shinazugawa x reader

warnings: none just cursing

wc: 2k

author's note: i was intending to make this with all the hashira's in one post but tumblr said something about 4096 word block???? tumblr pls im so confused I'm still new at this but please let me know if you want me to write the other hashira's and if there truly is a word count ;-; also sorry if he sounds ooc! this story came in mind because i just have a hyperfixation on demon slayer and bridgerton. anyways enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The great hall of Ubuyashiki Palace shimmered with a soft glow of crystal chandeliers, casting intricate patterns of light upon the polished marble floors. It was a significant evening, as the elites gathered for the anual presentation to Her Majesty, Queen Amane. Among the debutantes awaiting their turn, you stood as your heart aflutter with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

You wore a gown with your favorite color in silk, with delicate laces and pearls. Your mother stands beside you with a mix of nervousness as this was your debut into society.

As the strains of the orchestra fills the air with a gentle melody, a hush fell over the assembled guest as the doors at the far end of the hall swung open. Each debutant was announced by name as she stepped forwards to curtsy before Queen Amane, each to all pounding with the weight of expectation and nervousness. Queen Amane, seated upon her throne watched as the debutantes approached. Her expression was composed but those who knew her well can detect a hint of uninterested as each debutant entered.

At last, it was your turn. With a graceful sweep of your skirt, you approached where Queen Amane sat. Your breath caught in your throat as you curtsied deeply, fixed upon the monarch, "Your Majesty," Your mother spoke, "may I present my daughter, (Y/N)"

Queen Amane regards you with a keen gaze, her expression unreadable. "Rise, Miss (Y/L/N)," the Queen's voice was soft yet carried such authority that echoed through the room.

You obey, lifting your eyes to meet the Queen. "And how do you find the season, Miss (Y/L/N)?"

As you gathered your composure, your voice steady despite the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach. "Your Majesty, I am humbled by the warmth and kindness I have encountered. The country has welcomed me with open arms and I eager to contribute to its traditions."

Queen Amane studies you for a moment longer, her expression softening. "You carry yourself with grace, Miss (Y/L/N). May your journey through society be as rewarding as it is enlightening."

With that, Queen Amane signals the end of their audience. You curtesy once more before going back to join your parents, your heart jumped with joy by Queen Amane acknowledgment and the promise of what lies ahead.

-

In society, as invitations poured in and gossiped swirled around, you find yourself at the center of attention.

From the moment you descended on the grand staircase of the Duke's ball, you became the focus of every eligible bachelor's gaze. However you remain blissfully unaware of your effect on the ton. With each delicate step, you sought not to conquer society but rather to savor the fleeting moments of freedom and excitement that this season has promised. You were groomed and taught for this moment ever since you learned how to walk. Your mother's careful guidance has shaped you into elegance and grace.

As you mingled with the crowd, your eyes danced with curiosity, eager to explore the world beyond the pages of your beloved novels. You've held a couple conversations with lords and ladies as if you captivated them. There was just authenticity in your words and how you spoke and how your laughter tinkled like crystal, possibly drawing a bright star in the evening sky that made you feel rare apart from the other debutantes.

Sure, there were a couple gentlemen that caught your eye but your heart remains untouched until you met him.

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

He did not want to be in the halls of the Ubuyashiki Palace to watch the debutantes grace their Queen. He thought the time there was rather a waste of time as he had duties to attend too. With his father passing away at such a young age, he had to be the one to take over the family title and perform his fathers duties. But he had too for his mother and for his siblings. ( He's a mamas boy okay ) His mother insisted that maybe with this season, he will find a wife. He immediately dismissed that idea as he was too busy to find a wife. Instead, his mother insisted that he should go for his siblings so they had an idea for when they make a debut into society.

As each young lady approach the queen, his scowling expression remained the same. possibly scarring the debutants as they pass by

His expression remained the same and uninterested as you passed by. It was until the Queen acknowledges you and a murmur ripples through the assembly. His mother nudges him giving him an idea that you might be the one.

Sanemi and his mother have entered the Duke's ball before dropping off his siblings at their estate taken care of by their maids. His mother mingles with her friends as he goes off to grab a drink.

You were by the drinking station as a young gentleman approaches you. "Why hello there madam." He grins, reaching out his hand, "I'm Maeda, Masao Maeda" He introduces himself as you reach out your hand to shake his. As you shake hands with him, he pulls you a little close to your liking, "You know I own a botique that you can beautifully wear or maybe even model for me" His demeanor and tone changing making you uncomfortable.

Suddenly a rough calloused hand grips Maeda's shoulder as he widens his eyes in fear. "Fuck off." Says this man who has silver uneven hair with a scarred face. Maeda whimpers as a response, letting you go and running away knowing who that voice belongs too.

You look at the man who made Maeda piss his pants. His presence was commanding attention before he speaks. He stands tall and broad shouldered and his physique almost peeking out as his suit was unbuttoned a little bit to reveal his chest. His hair looked tousled almost as if wind-swept. His eyes were piercing and sharp as his irises were a vivid shade of lavender. His skin seemed to have many scars as you can see a couple on his face and on his arms.

"You alright?" He asks as he crosses his arms, his gaze not leaving you. You widened your eyes and a small tint of pink dust appear on your cheeks. Were you checking him out?

You nod, "Thank you. He seems rather...." You trail off looking off to the direction Maeda went off too. "An idiot." He scoffs, "Men like him are fucking disgusting. You have to be careful. You shouldn't go around without your maid."

"And how would I know you're not a man like him?" You now cross your arms. "I can handle things myself, sir." Sanemi's lips curled into a sneer, the scowl on his face deepening.

"Shinazugawa" You quirk a brow as you've heard that title before. The Shinazugawa family is now known for their considerable wealth and prestige due to the direct result of their remarkable career as Hashira's and their strategic endeavors. You've heard victories in battles have not only gained him respect but also considerable financial rewards. "Sanemi Shinazugawa."

"Pleasure to meet you then Mr. Shinazugawa." You say as you curtsey and as he grabs your hand and kisses the back palm of it.

That's how you met the aggressive white haired man.

The grand drawing room of your family's estate was alive with a gentle hum of anticipation. The room was adorned with plush furnishing and elegant decor. You waited for the announcement of your family's butler to announce the caller arriving today only to find out it wasn't one caller. There was a whole line of them outside of your estate.

The door to the drawing room opens with a soft creak as the butler announces the first arrivals with a formal tone. You rise gracefully from your seat greeting your bachelor who came in bearing gifts in his hand. At the far end of the room, nestled a cozy corner by the grand window, sat your mother. While she was deeply absorbed in her knitting, she maintained a vigilant watch over the room. Her eyes occasionally lifting to scan the interactions and ensuring that everyone was being attended to with the utmost courtesy. Conversation flowed easily with each bachelor but as more and more go on you realized how none of them seem to capture your heart so you began to grow uninterested. None of them truly got to understand you deep down or truly got to know your likings. It was rather them talking about the properties or land that they own or what they like to do or the titles they hold.

Sanemi rushed to your estate. He ignored the line of potential bachelors cursing him for cutting in line. He internally cursed himself as well, wondering why he even decided to go here in the first place.

During your first meeting, it was quite awkward. However you didn't realize that you dropped one of your jewels as you walked away. He wished your first meeting could've happened in a better situation. No. Why did he even think of wishing that? He has no time for that. He could've just sent one of his butlers or his maid to send this to your estate so why did he think it was a good idea to barge into your estate to give you back your jewel?

Ignoring your butler's warning that you were busy talking to a caller right now, Sanemi barges right in. You and your caller widened their eyes at the intrusion. "Excuse me I was here first!" The bachelor stands up and huffs in annoyance. Sanemi ignores him and approaches you. "You dropped this yesterday." He says gruffly. You look down to the palm of his hand. "Thank you." You say as your fingers brush against his hand. "I think you had too much time here and let another caller have their turn." Your mother butts in the conversation, kindly kicking out the current bachelor. "Thank you ma'am but I'm not here-" Your mother cuts Sanemi off, "Please I insist. You made a trip here so why not stay a little while Mr. Shinazugawa?"

He shouldn't stay. Yet he decided to sit down and have a conversation with you. At first the conversation was rough but eventually the conversation flowed quite easily later. You learned many things about Sanemi that seemed to interest you than the rest of your bachelors you talked too before him. You learned that he had good swordsmanship and that many of his scars were from the battlefield. You also learned that he has 6 siblings, he likes matcha and ohagi, and that he owns several dogs. He seems to love his family a lot from how much he mentions them which warms your heart.

Although he won't mention it or show it he did seem to take an interest in you as well. He didn't even realize that he accepted your invitation to come back and meet again for tomorrow. He figured he might just send a letter writing that he should've declined and he wishes you well. However he found himself coming back to your estate.

The next time you meet, you made him ohagi with the help of your maids and showed him your favorite books or even played instruments that you knew how to play. You offered to meet another time and he knew he shouldn't accept it. He had family duties to attend too.

Yet he found himself always coming back. The more you both spent time together was like weaving a tapestry of love and understanding that would only deepen with time. You slowly got to uncover different emotions and sides of him, very different from your first meeting.

Eventually he introduces you to his family and his mother. He left to go take care of some paperwork that he thought would be quick but took hours. He comes back to you playing along with his siblings and his dogs and the sight of that completely melted his heart.

I have to marry her.

a/n: hi again if enjoyed this please like or reblog tysm! <3

[foolish-artworm]

FIDDS!!! my boy my pride and joy my favorite guy of all time!!

IGNORE THE FUCKED UP BMU LOGO I FORGOT WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE AND DIDN'T CARE ENOUGH TO GO BACK AND FIX IT also i think it's funny that it says bum OKAY

i hope you guys like my totally cool backgrounds—i can't help but add text & cool geometric shapes it's practically part of my style at this point. i honestly HATE the way i drew fidd's hair here so expect it to change if/when you see me draw him again. also ignore how my art style changes all the fuckin time LMAO i adapt to my hyperfixation and so does my art 🙃 anyway enjoy my og trad lineart of this fella under the cut

[mythica0]

Doctor tickle monster

🎂: Fop: A new wish (cause I’m hyperfixating WOO)

🧁: Dev

🍫: Peri

Summary: Dev is being sad. Sadder than usual. Peri helps.

A/N: my hyperfixations changing faster than life’s trajectory (I haven’t even finished the loud house yet here we are🫡) I needed some Lee Dev in my life so *yeets this fic in your general direction* (P.S we’ll say this takes place after the finale in an alternate timeline but I don’t think there’s any spoilers in here)

Doctor tickle monster

Dev was sad. That much Peri knew. I mean, not really ground-breaking; the kid was sad all the time. [even though he usually hides it behind anger, annoyance or apathy. Pushing people who try to help away because he never learned proper emotional regulation skills or how to communicate with people]

But it was a little.. more than usual. He had been pouting all day, hiding his sad eyes behind his sunglasses. When Peri Asked him what was wrong, at first the kid pushed him away- as he tends to do- but after a while he caved.

“It’s nothing, Peri- it’s stupid.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid, kid. No matter what your dumb, pea-brained father says.”

That got a small huff of amused breath from the kid. “I know that, it’s just- there isn’t really a reason for me to be sad. Which is just making me more upset because I don’t know why I’m upset.”

The two fell into a small silence. Dev looked down at his shoes, embarrassed by the fact that his eyes were forming tears. Peri was thinking.. ‘how in the world do I cheer him up if there isn’t a problem for me to fix..?’ He thought for a moment, and then seemed to get an idea.

He made a ringing sound, and put a hand up to his ear in a phone gesture. “Brriiing, Brriing,” Dev looked up at his godfather, confused.

“Hello? Doctor? We have a level 5 situation here.”

‘What in the world is he doing?’

“What’s that? You’ll be here right away? Excellent! See you very soon.” He let his hand fall away from his ear, and then he turned around suddenly wearing a stethoscope, and spoke in a slightly different voice.

“Hello, I was called about a level 5 case of the blues?”

Dev raised his eyebrows and looked at him. “What?”

“Ah, you must be the patient! Your godfather gave me a call- said you had a case of the blues for no identifiable reason! So I’m here to help!

His curiosity officially peaked, Dev spoke, almost sarcastically. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“Simple! But first, I have to tell you something..” the ‘doctor’ gestured for Dev to come closer, and he did. Then the ‘doctor’ whispered to him,

“I’m no ordinary doctor- I’m Dr.monster-…” he paused for a moment, before scooping the kid in his arms and starting to vibrate his hand in his stomach “- Tickle monster!”

Dev burst into giggles at the touch, squirming slightly in the hold. “Peheheheheri! Whyhyhy thihihihis!!”

“I’m not Peri, I’m Doctor tickle monster- and because this is the number one treatment for cases of the blues! They do say laughter is the best medicine, after all!”

Although he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, dev laughed slightly harder at the silly act his fairy godfather was putting on.

“Cohohohome ohohon! Quhuhit ihihit!!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that- not until you are officially cured! And there’s still a ways to go until then!”

Dev kicked and pushed at Peri’s arms, but it was half-hearted at best. [Dev knew that he could wish for Peri to stop if he really wanted him too. Not that he would say he was enjoying himself]

“And there’s that precious smile! And you do have quite an adorable laugh if I do say so myself!”

Dev’s face went red at the comment, and he frantically tried to deny it. “I ahaham nohohohot cuhuhuhute!!

“Well, your giggles say otherwise~” Peri was having fun teasing and tickling his kid to pieces. It was nice to see him smiling and laughing and full of joy. Lord knows he needs it.

He could tell that the kid was having fun. If he wasn’t, Peri would’ve stopped. His goal was to cheer him up, not make him resentful or more upset.

Meanwhile, Dev was in such ticklish bliss agony, Giddy giggles and laughter poured out of him non-stop.

“Pehehehrihihi! Ihihihit tihihihickles!!”

“Well, duuuuhhh, that’s the point of me tickling you, kid.” At the words, Peri decided to up the ante a bit, moving his hands to his sides and squeezing gently, then moving his head to give the kid a massive raspberry right on the tummy.

Dev squealed, much louder laughter erupting from him without his permission. It tickled so BAD!

“EEEHHEEEEEE! PEHEHEHERIIHIII! THaHAT REHEALLY TIHIHICKLES EHHEHAHHAHAHA!”

“Aww really~? Good! OM NOm” Peri nibbled the kids tummy and made silly noises as he continued to tickle him silly.

Dev laughed and laughed. “Heheheheheee peheheriii StahahahaPpp!”

Peri relented for a moment, not entirely stopping, but moving to much gentler tickles, just lightly scribbling on the kids ribs.

“You cured? Are the blues allllll gone?”

“Yehehehes! Ahahall gohohone!”

“Are you suuuuureee~”

“Yehehehes! Yehehes ihihim suhuhure plehehase stohohop!” The kid giggled out, causing Peri to stop and set him back on the floor, the stethoscope gone.

Dev continued to giggle for a moment, leftover tingles still plaguing his torso.

But, he couldn’t deny the facts. He felt significantly better. He was smiling, and he found that even if he tried he couldn’t stop.

Peri flew next to him. “Feeling better?”

Dev blushed slightly, but still sighed out a “… yeah.”

“I’m glad. I’ll just have to give the good doctor a call every time you’re sad! ”

“Noooooooo” Dev whined, but he was still grinning ear to ear.

“Yes~,” Peri mocked, “new rule- no sadness allowed!! If I see a sad Dev- he gets alll the tickles until he feels better! I have a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of that smile~~”

“Ugghhhhh” Dev whined again, clearly embarrassed.

Dev was smiling for a long time.

———THE END————————————————

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟳: 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗹𝘆 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a cute little shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work.  📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. witchcraft. familiars. cunnilngus. aphrodisiacs. inherent dubcon. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. sudden orgasm? desperation. coming inside. vague structure and explanation of magic. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: pierre gasly x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: need to know • doja cat

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: inspired by amortentia. what can i say at every fanfic writer's core, they’ve read an unhealthy amount of hp ff’s, i don’t make up the rules. we know pierre is a fiend, but uh, i do not even feel like i truly tapped into his true unhinged power with this. n joy, loves !!!

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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

the shop has been open for fifty-five minutes and it’s already been overwhelmed by desperate humans. valentine’s day is tomorrow; and every naive soul is scrambling to get a love charm or potion. the problem with that is: there’s no magic spell or potion able to mirror true love. however, nobody coming into the shop appreciates that answer. 

after the third time a customer hysterically screamed at you for saying there’s no such thing as a ‘love spell,’ you made a slight tweak to the doorbell. now, every time the door opens a bass-boosted audio of you screaming, “LOVE POTIONS, CHARMS, OR SPELLS DO NOT EXIST” echoed through the shop. unfortunately, that message did not seem to help. you had to change the way you welcomed customers when they stepped up to the counter.

“good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm, which makes the subject pay more attention to you for twelve hours. this charm doesn’t affect their emotions, you still have to make them attracted to you with your, hopefully, natural charm. are you interested in one, they’re buy-one-get-one free for valentine’s day?”

your customer service grimace smile is stained across your lips as you parrot the same words to each customer. you’ve become an npc. the customers try to interrupt your spiel, but you act as if it’s a piece of unskippable dialogue. if they’re going to come here and harass you over their inability to rizz somebody up—they’re sure as hell going to listen when you speak. at this point, you’ve adopted the ‘it is what it is’ mentality. you’re selling a record number of hyper-fixation charms, you think you might run out of your entire supply hours before the store closes. 

at first, you felt a little guilty about selling these charms to the desperate souls. all they want is true love and you can only offer a temporary fix. but after you’ve been screamed at countless times for telling these non-magiques that you can’t supply them with what they’re asking for, the guilt quickly transforms to ‘idgaf.’ with a twitching eye, you kindly told the customers inside the store to wait just a few seconds while you adjusted the door’s charm. 

you grab the outer doorknob with a hand covered in lapis powder, and imbue it with your aura to edit the current protection spell. thankfully, you remembered to meditate this morning, so casting comes easily. you breathe deeply, before releasing the handle and you make your way back towards the customers. and suddenly, the amount of people entering the shop decreases dramatically.

you have such a manic grin on your face that the customers inside the building stare at you in mild terror. one of the humans swallows their fear, and asks the question they’re all afraid to hear the answer to, “w-what did you do to the uh- to the d-door?”

the lights brighten around you as your grin grows larger, and you nonchalantly answer, “the door reads your intentions before you step inside. if a customer plans to come in and harass me over what is magically impossible, they get cursed.”

the humans gasp in fear, and you’re eyes widen in realization, “oh! no-no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad! it’s just a floating rose that screams out ‘i have no rizz’ to every person they talk to for the next forty-eight hours. they’ve ruined their own valentine’s day with their terrible manners,” you state proudly.

the mass of customers inside thins out pretty quickly after that. 

thankfully, the door charm seems to do the trick with keeping out unruly folks. you’re able to start working on requests from your usual customers—the barkeep needs her rune for a bottomless keg replenished, the butcher needs his new set of utensils charmed with sharpness, the baker’s assistant needs your help working on the heating charm for the warming-tables, and so on and so forth. you get a new vampire customer today, requesting a sunshade potion—they indulge in telling you that they’re planning to spend valentine’s day outside with their human partner as a surprise. you coo at the vampire adorably as you check them out, and you see their cheeks faintly tint with pink—they must have fed recently. this is why being open for valentine’s day is worth it to you; customers like this remind you that true love still exists.

you wish him luck with his surprise, and hand over the potion, which was made by your true love, pierre. who was supposed to be helping you in the shop about thirty minutes ago. he claimed to have to run out and get a few extra supplies to be able to fulfill all of his orders, but that he’d be back before the shop opened. when he shows his face, the true love between you two may not exist anymore. because you’re going to kill him for hanging you out to dry. you sigh, and make your way into the back storage closet to get a fresh box of dried peonies for the new batch of hyperfixation charms, when you hear the doorbell scream the warning message.

you call-out, “give me one moment and i’ll be right up to help you out! feel free to look around in the meantime!” you summon the box of peonies forward, and spell it to float after you as you make your way out.

turning the corner, you automatically begin your npc introduction, “good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm—oh, it’s just you—ohmygod—how did you pick up my door curse??”

pierre stares at you in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement, as the rose screams “I HAVE NO RIZZ,” at you. you can only laugh, and summon your phone to your hand to take a video. pierre laughs in reflex, still not sure what’s going on, and suddenly he’s being climbed over like a cat tree by your familiar.

“aha!” you exclaim. “i’ve been looking for you all day, ma’am. what pocket of the universe were you hiding in? you always disappear when the non-magiques come around instead of defending me, cat. what kind of familiar are you?”

pierre struggles to wrangle cat off of his head from where she’s fucking up the rose hanging over him. he side-eyes you heavily when he still sees you recording the whole interaction, and you put the phone down before you step over to get cat off of his head. “madame catalytic converter!” you yell with the force of your ancestors.

yes, you named your familiar catalytic converter, cat for short. it makes perfect sense, she improves your efficiency and decreases the chance for any harmful side-effects when you do magic; just like the car part. pierre says that’s why she never listens to you, for giving her a terrible name. when you asked him what he would’ve named her, he said, “probably, escargot, or something.” you said that’s probably why she hates him more. 

you remove the curse from pierre with a quick touch of your hand to his forehead, and the rose poofs away. madame catalytic converter, hops away quickly, uninterested in either of you again, and struts away to sit on top of the box of peonies you brought up. you narrow your eyes at your familiar, “oh—so you’re not even going to explain yourself? where were you?”

cat stares at you dead in the eyes, before she looks away and starts licking her calico fur clean, dismissing you. you scoff, rolling your eyes, and turn to pierre, “and where were you, monsieur?” you ask, poking a finger to his chest. 

pierre presses a kisses to your cheek in greeting, and raises the one bag he has in his hand as part of his answer, “i told you i was running errands, remember?”

you purse your lips at him, and he smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist to try and pull you in for a kiss. you smack your teeth disapprovingly, gripping his jaw with your hand, and holding him back, “yeah, you told me you were getting extra supplies. plural. and, that you’d be back in time to open the shop.”

pierre avoids your eyes, chuckling anxiously. 

“i’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but, you’ve only come back with one item, and it’s well past the time the shop opened,” you pause, letting pierre simmer, “explain yourself.”

“okaysoilied,” pierre rushes out, and you hum in shock sarcastically, gesturing for him to continue, “but—but! mon amour, i’ve come back with something that could potentially level up my potion making skills!”

you stare at him unamused, “oh ok—well, show me, what is this wonderful thing?”

pierre shifts on his feet, and you are suddenly afraid to know what he’s bought. if his confidence is faltering, you know whatever’s in that bag cannot be good. 

“so, you remember how people were saying the potion shop a few towns over has actual love potions,” pierre starts eagerly, you nod in resignation, already knowing where this is going, “i bought one! well, two actually. i tried to bug the potion maker into telling me what he put in it, but he was so shifty about it. which is completely understandable, if i made a new potion as great as this, i wouldn’t tell anybody my secrets either.”

“okay, pierre,” you sigh, rubbing a hand across your face, disappointed, “why did you buy two of them?”

“oh,” pierre begins, his usual ludicrous smirk returning to his expression, “one for me to study, and one for me to take! the best way to see if it works is to test it out myself.”

you tug his hand off your waist, and step away from him, pointing at him in vindication, “that’s why my curse worked on you! you’re harassing me with this goddamn love-potion shit—you snake, we both know it’s not real!”

pierre groans, following after you as you storm back to the front counter, the peony box floating over as well, cat yowling at the sudden movement. 

“oh, come on, mon amour,” pierre pleads, brandishing the love potion at you, “where is your hunger for magical breakthroughs? aren’t you curious to learn how it works?”

“pierre, babe, it doesn’t work! that’s why i don’t care! and, why would it work on you? we’re already a true love’s match. we’re soul-tied!”

“so, there’s no harm in me taking it,” pierre claims, like he’s found a loophole. 

“pierre, you shouldn’t,” you warn him. the potions master deflates at your words, and you sigh at the sight of his point. you take a few steps to press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, and your aura swells with pierre’s love passing to you.

“if you do end up taking it, which you probably will anyways, at least take the time to properly study it. you don’t know if they’re any weird side effects,” pierre perks up, his blue-green eyes losing their saddened look immediately. he happily presses a few more kisses to your lips, and pulls away before pressing a kiss to your hand.

“i will! i’m going to go to the back now and start studying it—“

“uhm, no you are not! you still have to help me run this store, sir! i have plenty of things for you to do. starting with cleaning our cauldrons!”

pierre groans in disgust and whines like a child, “mon amour! please, you know i hate doing that. you can do it with a snap of your fingers, why do i have to do it with manual labor?”

you arch a sharp brow at him, and gently remind him of his behavior, “you shouldn’t have lied to me then, hm?” pierre sulks, and moves towards the back to get started on cleaning the cauldrons.

“don’t look so sad—i could’ve had you collecting the eyes of spiders!”

pierre cringes when he accidentally slams the drawer of his desk closed, pausing cautiously to listen for any movement in the house. it’s late, and you’ve gone to bed hours ago; he’s stayed up trying to identify what exactly this so-called love potion is made out of, and what order of processes it was created with. the frenchman is certain that there are at least seven ingredients in the brew: mature peonies, smashed pearls, crushed dates, powdered rose thorns, rose water, and a potion base of moonstone and lapis. it’s odd, because to pierre the potion smells like warmed vanilla, shea butter, a dash of espresso, and a brush of peppermint—but with every extraction he makes from the potion, there’s no sign of those ingredients. in addition to that mystery, he can tell that this potion took a few weeks to prepare and that it needed constant stirring. he can figure out when ingredients were added to the potion based on how much affect the cooking and heat had on them; the dates and pearls were first, followed by the rose thorns, and it seems like the peonies were added last—he just can’t figure out how they were integrated in the brew. were they added in batches, all at once, did they need changes in stirring motion, etc.. 

putting aside all the unknowns, there is one thing that pierre is sure of: none of the ingredient combinations in this potion would cause any harmful side effects. the powdered rose thorns and crushed pearls are a rare sight in potions but, they create the base of hyperfixation charms and he hasn’t heard of any reports of strange or harmful reactions from these two ingredients. so, the only responsible option for the potions master is to drink the concoction and see if it lives up to be the ‘true love’ potion everyone is claiming it to be.

pierre knocks the draft back quickly and hums pleasantly at the taste, a curious eyebrow raised at how it doesn’t mirror the scent at all. the flavor is sweet and tangy, with a lingering dash of saltiness—it’s delicious. he finds himself wishing he didn’t waste the first potion with experiments so he could taste it again. 

the potions master rocks back and forth on his feet impatiently, he expected the brew to take immediate effect, alas, he feels nothing. pierre shrugs, the potion may take longer to kick in if it’s replicating one of the strongest emotions. he leaves his study and makes his way to the bedroom, and right before he enters the bedroom, he stumbles over cat. your familiar looks at him reproachfully, before she pauses and comes over to sniff at pierre. in the dark, he can see the calico’s eyes shrink into pupils and suddenly she hisses up at him, before she apparates into thin air. pierre scratches at his scalp in a confused manner; cat hissing at him and then disappearing, is not out of the ordinary (it reminds him of the you first brought him home and he tried to charm her with a laser pointer—the familiar stared at pierre like he disparaged her family name), he doesn’t know if that was a reaction just because of him, or if it was a reaction to the potion. 

he continues with his usual nightly routine before he joins you in bed, dressed in a pair of old sweatpants alone. you pout in your sleep, pierre can feel your aura calling to him, unhappy that he’s not curled up against you. he tucks you into his chest when he settled comfortably on his back. he feels your magic calm, the air relaxing when the force of your influence fades. 

the potions master tries to stay up for as long as he can to see if he notices an effect from the brew, but deflates when he doesn’t feel any changes. he knows the chances of this potion working was slim to none, however, he kind of hoped it at least had some effect on him. pierre’s eyes flutter shut as he drifts to sleep, and his last conscious thought is that you were probably right, the potion may not have an effect on true love’s matches.

you squirm awake. it’s boiling hot under the sheets and it shouldn’t be, you placed a cooling charm on the bed. as the fog of sleep unfortunately fades from your mind, you notice that the heat is radiating from pierre. turning around in worry and slight annoyance, you check in on your boyfriend, and the annoyance disappears when you examine his state.

he’s still asleep, but he’s drenched in sweat. his brow is furrowed in what must be pain, and his body squirms across the bed in discomfort. you press a hand to his forehead and hiss at the burning heat from his skin. you groan, already knowing what happened to your dumb potions master—he should be stripped of his title after this. he was working on the damn potion before you went to bed, and he fucking drank it, ignoring your warning, and now, he’s suffering the consequences. you take the same hand that was on his head, and bring it to his shoulder to gently shake him awake. pierre, on the other hand, awakens dramatically, jackknifing upright like you’ve poured water all over him.

the man pants desperately, chest heaving with his stuttering breaths, tongue swiping at his upper lip to clear the sweat gathering there, his teal irises swallowed by enlarged pupils, and his hair is matted and curling against his forehead from the mixture of sweat and heat. his eyes are glazed over, you can tell he’s not quite aware of what’s going on—that’s probably thanks to the incredible fever he’s running—but there’s a hidden glint to them that you can’t puzzle out. 

“oh, pierre,” you lean forward, hands coming to grasp at the sides of his face, steadying him, “you fucked around and found out, didn’t you? there’s no chance you’re capable of telling me the antidote to this, it seems. maybe a spell can alleviate the effects briefly enough…”. as you ramble on, mostly to yourself, you fail to see the look in pierre’s eyes change. the hidden intentions you weren’t able to make out are as clear as day now. the haze over his stare is still present, but the confusion has disappeared. only hunger remains.

you startle when pierre’s trembling hands grasp at your waist. you quirk a brow at him in question, but don’t receive an answer, a verbal one at least. you’re suddenly knocked flat on your back and pierre bodily shoves himself between your legs, hovering over you. and the intense look in his eyes is made aware to you; you’ve seen it before, but it’s never felt this ravenous. you press your eyelids closed and whimper under your breath at your revelation: the ‘true love’ potion is a fucking aphrosodiac.

pierre is so hot. he feels his body shivering dramatically as he holds himself on his hands above you. his muscles weaken from the strain of the fever, and he collapses on top of you. his head lands in the valley of your neck, and he moans at the cooling feeling of your brown skin against his face—he needs more of it, he needs you naked. reinvigorated, pierre attempts to wrangle your clothes off, but he’s unable to do much with his shaky limbs. he begins to anger when your sleep shirt fails to disappear, and tries to rip it down the center. you force his hands away, and tug the shirt up and away before tossing it aside, leaving you in just panties. his anger dissipates, and he presses his body against yours again, and a choked groan escapes him at the relief your naked torso gives him, he goes boneless. 

the relief lasts for less than a minute, before he starts squirming desperately again—he needs to be closer to you. he suckles marks into your neck, moaning lewdly when he feels your hand tangle in his hair, pulling at it firmly. he fights your grasp, unsatisfied with his unfinished claim on your neck and chest, but he submits when he notices you’re guiding him to your lips. 

the meeting of your lips is messy, he can’t manage to find any of his usual finesse. he pants into your mouth in between sloppy, wet kisses, if you can even call them that. his tongue fights against yours, and his hips buck forward at the feeling, which reminds him of the fact that he still has sweatpants on and you have on panties. pierre jerks away, resisting the urge to continue kissing you when you whine out for him so prettily, chest arching upwards, nipples perky and egging him to bite, the bruises on your neck blossoming with reds and purples—he shakes his head erratically, and focuses enough to tug his sweatpants off; he’s never been so happy that he’s not wearing underwear. the skin contact must have done him well, because his hands aren’t shaking anymore as they grasp at your panties. he may not have torn apart your shirt, but the cotton undergarment doesn’t stand a chance, he rips through it like water.

the sound of your shriek at his actions is muted in his ears, and he barely registers the feeling of you shoving at his shoulder in irritation. pierre can only see your pussy. a broken whimper escapes him as he stares; his eyes tunnel to your throbbing hooded clit, the way your entrances tightens and relaxes, like you’re taunting him to fill you up, and you’re soaked for him, lips shining with your wetness—he should just get a brief taste, before he fucks you. he lays between your legs, hands coming around to grip at your thighs to firmly hold you against his mouth, and he’s eating you out like he’s never had a meal before.

the potions master vaguely hears a pleasure-filled scream burst from your chest as he broadly strokes of his tongue against your vulva to collect any wetness you’ve spilled. he muffles his moan into your pussy at the taste, and shifts downward to prod his tongue inside of you to coax more of your juices out. he feels your hips try to buck him off of you, and he growls into you, tightening his grip on your thighs to allow you no escape. you leak steadily into his mouth, even as you try to run from the constant barrage of his lips, tongue, and teeth. pierre’s brow furrows with the effort he puts into eating you out—your taste is addicting. it’s a mouthwatering combination of sweet and tangy, with lingering saltiness. he has a small lapse of deja-vu at your flavor, but it’s quickly dismissed at the drag of his cock against the bed. 

pierre whimpers into you at the pleasure flaring behind his eyelids, as he begins to hump against the bed. he switches from forcing his tongue inside of you and moves his attention to your clit, suckling and twirling his tongue on the button. it sounds like he’s making out with your cunt. your thighs to clamp shut around his head, your hand scrambles to tug at his hair and hold him exactly where you want him, and you start rubbing your pussy against him. fuck, how did he not realize how hard he is. pierre sobs into your pussy overwhelmed, he wants to keep eating you out, and the friction of his cock against the bed feels so good. he knows being inside of you would be better.

the frenchman breaks free from the grasp of your legs, and scrambles back upwards, not giving you time to register the change in position before he breaches your entrance. when the head of his cock pops inside of you, he throws his head back and moans erotically at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. he starts to burn hotter. pierre struggles to hold-off from thrusting into you in one smooth motion—he’s usually cautious when he fucks into you for the first time because he’s well aware of his size and how you struggle to take it all in one sitting. he whimpers hotly, and picks his head up to look at you—and all sense of waiting for you to adjust leaves him head. a line of drool has slid down your cheek, your eyes have rolled back in pleasure, and the sounds of your squeals of pleasure from just the tip of his cock break his restraint.

the man drives his cock deep inside of you in one smooth thrust, and he shudders on top of you, humming in satisfaction at the pulsing grasp of your cunt. pierre feels how he forced the air out of your lungs, your corresponding scream still rattling in his eardrums, but he can’t help how he grinds his cock into you, one, two, three times. he groans out, and starts making proper thrusts into you—he needs to fuck you properly. one of your hands sneaks between your joined bodies and presses at his navel in a weak attempt to halt his movements. pierre knocks it out of the way, before he brings both of his hands to tighten on your waist and starts fucking you with a purpose. it’s selfish and dirty; in a way pierre usually isn’t. he uses himself as a tool to make you cum first all of the time, but you can tell tonight, this is all about him—your orgasm is just a byproduct. he gathers you up in his arms, making sure there’s no gap of air in between you, and starts pumping his hips into you deeply, not pulling out of you any more than a few centimeters.

it’s feels so pleasurable that it could be torture. he’s applying pressure against that spongy spot on your walls so consistently, that you’re legs have already started shaking. he’s fucking you up the bed with the force of his thrust, and he’s conscious enough to place a hand on the headboard to make sure he doesn’t shove you up to hit your head. pierre’s making these sweet, whiny, whimpers, that he attempts to muffle into your neck as he feels himself start pulsating inside of you, dancing along the edge. he feels your nails claw into his back, and it’s like his senses are suddenly returned to full strength from where they were clogged with fuzz. he can hear you try and moan out for him, but his thrusts are so powerful that you keep choking on your words.

he catches the ending of your warning, “pierre-oh—m’ gonna cum! oh, fuck!”

the clenching of your orgasm pushes him into his own, and it’s the most intense crash of pleasure he’s ever felt. his vision whites out and it feels painful in a way only too much pleasure can give. his whole body shakes through each wave of pleasure, and he feels lightheaded at the feeling. pierre can’t even do anything more than jerk his hips forward to pump through the aftershocks, he falls limp on top of you, pinning you under him. his skin feels raw and blown open, and there’s a ringing noise in his ears. he whimpers against your neck, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and then he’s pretty sure he faints for a few minutes.

when he comes back to the present, you’re humming underneath him, hands rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. pierre brokenly moans against your throat, oversensitive. you shush him, and scratch at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes but won’t admit to. his breaths slowly even out against your skin, and in a croaky voice he starts talking, “the potion—it smelled like the shea butter of your lotion, the vanilla and coffee of your perfume, and the peppermint of your aura.”

you pause in your motions, and softly ask, “really?”

pierre shifts, hissing at the jostling of his cock still inside of you, and settles again, raising his head up to make lazy eye contact with you, “yeah,” he whispers quietly, before carefully pulling out of you and falling onto his stomach next to you.

you nuzzle up to his side and press kisses against his shoulder, before you offhandedly mention that his fever’s gone down. pierre’s fighting the call of sleep, and mumbles something into the pillow that you can’t make out, and he turns his head to the side so you can hear him, “i dunno how, mon amour, but it tasted like you too.”

you stare at him with wide eyes, neither of you are aware of an aphrodisiac of this caliber. pierre falls asleep, and you close your eyes in a quick prayer—this potion better have run its course, you won’t survive another round of that.

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© httpsserene 2023

[longlivedelusion]

hi uh can you do a fluffy jegulus at some point? idk if you do fluff but uh yeah

@ninkiminjaaaj I absolutely do fluff. And I've been actually reading a ton of Jegulus lately! Hyperfixation, activated 😎

Been in a bit of a writing rut tho so this isn't as good as I'd like it to be, but hopefully you enjoy 🥲

+

You Made Me a Poet

Summary: Regulus gets too caught up in his writing, and James takes him out of it. Fluffy and lots of looking back on their relationship.

Warnings: None really.

"Reg," the sound of his name came with a groan as James peeked in through the door. "How much longer? You promised we'd go flying today."

Regulus didn't look up as he scribbled away at his book, "Just a few more minutes, I'm just about done."

Another grumble came from the doorway as James made his way into the room and onto the couch across from him in a dramatic huff.  "You said that half an hour ago."

Regulus lifts his head and blinks, turning his gaze over to the clock and his clearly perturbed boyfriend in the corner. "Oh." He looks back down as his nearly finished chapter.

He's so close to finishing a huge part of his book, and he's been on a creative roll all day which has been great. But then again, he did promise James some flying time since they hadn't spent too much time together lately with work and all.

Regulus's eyes turn towards James, assessing. "Okay, give me precisely 5 more minutes and I'll call it a day. I promise. You can stay there and time it if you'd like."

James sighs but nods, leaning back with one arm to get comfortable. 

It used to bother Regulus, having people around him like this. James especially. When they were in school, it took him years just to feel comfortable hanging out with James one-on-one, let alone having him there observing him while he worked. First, he was Sirius's loud, annoying best friend. Then he was his Quidditch rival. Then tutor and eventual friend. Which turned into years of pining before they finally confessed their feelings. Or, well, James did. 

If it wasn't for James, there would be so much that Regulus wouldn't have right now. An adorably needy boyfriend for one. A home, a real one. A decent relationship with his brother. Merlin, even his career in writing. If it wasn't for James, be wouldn't have even tried, probably would have gotten some ministry job that he would have hated, lived in an apartment alone, unhappy, and with no family.

But that wasn't his life. And so much of the joy he felt was because he had learned what it meant to be happy through James. 

As he finished up his final notes, James sneaks up behind him. Regulus feels a soft breath on his ear and arms wrap around him, "Time's up." 

Reg reaches up and back, stretching and using this chance to lace his fingers through his boyfriend's soft, brown curls. He gently pulls the brunette down to softly kiss his lips. 

Jame smile, but pulls back. "How was your day?" 

Regulus pouts at the loss of contact but responds nonetheless. "Good. I finished the chapter about the masquerade today."

James' smile brightened instantly, "Oh! That's amazing. You're about finished then aren't you? I still can't believe you've managed to knock out an entire book in less than a year! Well, actually I can but only because it's definitely cut into my quality Reggie time which I've definitely noticed, but of course I support you, I just miss seeing you so much you know?" 

Regulus's frown turns into a small, fond smile. "Don't jinx it," He warned. "I'm not finished yet. And I still have to go through editors and I don't even have an agent yet."

He feels James let go before he suddenly turns the chair, making Reggie yelp in surprise. "You're an amazing writer," he starts, eyes serious as they fix on Reggie's. "You're going to finish that book, get an editor, and then get it published. Everyone will buy it and love it. End of story."

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, making James chuckle.

"Now you just need to make sure you don't burn yourself out before you get there, which is why... Flying!" James says, picking Regulus up bridal style.

"James!" He yells, arms wrapping around James's broad shoulders. "Give me a warning next time, please."

James softens, his arms securing tighter around. "Sorry."

Regulus shook his head, but the small smile blooms again on his features, one he reserves only for his adorable boyfriend. He lifts his hand, pale fingers tracing the smooth, deep brown skin that always felt like heaven under his touch. Features he could trace time and time again yet never get tired of, finding new lines as he aged, a new softness or sharpness across his jaw or cheek.

This man, the love of his life.

Regulus still couldn't believe it. 

Whether it was now or the first time James' hands laid flush against Regulus's own, their fingers tracing slow paths around their joined hands. Exploring, tentative touches after they'd confessed. Their hearts laid bare in a way neither had ever done, and now this whole new world awaited them. 

Regulus knew then, beyond a doubt that James was going to be the death of him. And the rebirth of something entirely new. And he wasn't so afraid, not if he got to have an enternity of that feeling.

And still years later, he had that feeling every time James' touched his lips, pressed a hand to his back or whispered an I love you.

Nothing could beat this, these moments. This life. Not when James was by his side.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Not to be sappy on the tumblr dot org, but at the beginning of this year, I literally began to question if I was ever going to really write again. If maybe I just didn't love it anymore and I'd been wrong for years thinking it was something I would do for the rest of my life. That maybe somehow I'd just grown out of it at some point, or I just didn't have enough room in my head for it anymore.

Which is wild because I've been writing stories since I was six or seven. Like they taught Tiny Me how to form sentences in first grade and she took that pencil and ran with it. (My first ever story I remember writing was a Charlotte's Web fix-it fic btw, I'm not joking) But that's how much writing means to me, I'm twenty years into this now. It's been with me all this time, and in January I would've told you I didn't even want to try to write anymore.

It was maybe the most I've ever questioned my own sense of self, because I'd been forcing myself to write for almost four full years at that point and never felt that same sense of joy I used to when writing. I kept hitting my head against a word document trying to remember what I thought was so wonderful about this, and again and again I was disappointed and gave up.

And yet a few months and one (honestly kinda silly) hyperfixation later and I've written around 105-110,000 words just this summer. That's a full-length novel. That's more than I've written in the last four years combined. By a lot.

And the amount of joy it's brought me again? Just to remember what made me love writing in the first place? It's like stumbling over the other half of my personality I've been missing and going- Oh, there you are! Let's go, dude, we've got stuff to do!

All of this rambling to say, if you've lost the spark for that thing that you thought you'd always do forever, even if it takes almost four years like it did with me, give it time and give yourself some grace. Life sucks sometimes, we're all tired, and it takes a period of dormancy for your brain to rest up and recharge.

And then when you do find that weird or silly or angsty or whatever Spark of Inspiration, take that little guy and run with it. Go build it into a bonfire or wherever this metaphor is going. Have fun and revel in the joy of it again. Ignore anyone who tries to tell you that you're doing it wrong, it's your bonfire, dude. Toast some marshmallows or something, you deserve it.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not sure if this was asked before but... how do you get your *passion* back for writing - or any old hobbies at all? Maybe bc of ADHD, but I used to hyperfixate on writing, reading and other things. They were my world. Now, when I actually have time to write... my interest is meh. Mild. Barely exists. But I'm still interested. Just not passionate. My heart doesn't flutter at new OC ideas anymore - or ships. Or family dynamics. I'm bored... what gives?

ADHD: Interested in Writing, But Not Passionate

I really struggled with this. Mainly, because I have a hard time wrapping my head around, "My interest barely exists but I'm still interested." I can't make sense of that.

I've written three different versions of an answer, none of which I liked in the end, because I think the long and the short of it is this: you can be interested in writing generally, but stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally. And there are all sorts of reasons why you can be stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally (including executive dysfunction... thanks, ADHD!) However, at the end of the day, if writing was a hyperfixation for you, that may be all it ever was. Even if some part of you is still "interested."

Which brings me to a story from answer attempt #2, which I think is still worth sharing. Years ago, I hyperfixated for weeks on a particular historical topic. I couldn't get enough. I read about it, watched documentaries about it, subscribed to magazines about it, fell down topic-related rabbit holes for hours at a time. My brain needed to understand every single thing there was to know about the topic, which was troublesome because everything about this topic isn't known... even by those who study it.

One day, my attention shifted to something else, but I never really lost the "interest" in this topic. My ears still perk when I hear something about it. I still skim articles about it when they come up on social media. I would probably pause in my channel surfing if I happened on a documentary about it. But my interest isn't the same. It's not enough for me to dive in to the extent that I did when it was a hyperfixation. And this was tested by the fact that not long ago, I visited a museum with a whole wing dedicated to this topic. And I knew it was a big deal that I was there, and that hyperfixated me would have blown a gasket out of sheer joy, but I just wasn't able to engage with the exhibits the way I wanted to or felt I should. I was looking at the artifacts and absorbing the words on the exhibition labels, but I wasn't feeling anything about it. It all fell flat. Which was kind of depressing, to be honest.

So, I'm telling that story because I think there's a very real possibility that may be what's happening for you with writing. It may just be a hyperfixation that still interests you in some way, but which can never really inspire that same level of interest you once had--unless you become hyperfixated on it again, but there's no way to force that. And there's no way to know for sure if that's what's going on except to try some of the things suggested in the links below to see if you can troubleshoot a cause or kick start your motivation. If not, it may just be something you did once and may come back to again eventually. ♥

Guide: Filling Your Creative Well Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! Feeling Unmotivated with WIP

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

Hey there! Hekate has pointed me toward your blog and I just wanted to say hi 💞

I do have a question though, have you ever had deities help you with motivation and executive functioning skills? I've got ADHD and the "laziness"(🤢) or what I call "going slug mode" (staying in bed all day, no motivation to shower, etc) really commands my life.

My periods of deity work tend to coincide with my periods of productivity and energy, but I often fall off when, well, everything else falls off. So I guess I'm also looking for advice or at least to connect with someone who's had similar experiences.

(I've also connected with Aphrodite and Loki! Other gods I've worked with in the past are Mother Hathor and Brigid)

First off, I may or may not have had so many feelings upon seeing "Hekate has pointed me towards your blog" because the idea that my blog can be useful enough that a deity would go "go look at what that dude has to say" just brings me so much joy.

Second off, OH THIS IS ABSOLUTELY SOMETHING I SHOULD SCREAM ABOUT THANK YOU. I can't believe I haven't already made a post about this!!

I, too, am an ADHD motherfucker and I have always had so many issues with keeping up with my craft. I will absolutely be calling it "slug mode" from now on, that's the best fucking way to put it. I've had deities help me with executive function at times, but if I'm honest I've forgotten lately that I can ask them for help with that. More often than not it looks more like nudging me towards a task than giving me the energy- but that doesn't mean you can't ask! It just means I forgot I could, lol.

This is gonna be a chonker post, so I'm breaking this post up into two parts; 1, why accepting "falling off" was the best thing I could have done for myself and 2, how to still connect with your craft (and deities) through those times anyway.

So for one, you're not broken or a failure, and your deities fuckin' love you.

Call me philosophical, but hear me out; I've always worked in cycles. Cycles of insane productivity, cycles of tiredness, cycles of hyperfixation on one thing, then another, then another. I'm just someone who works that way, and I've always viewed it as a problem to be fixed. I've always viewed MYSELF as a problem to be fixed, which really started with the school system but that's an unrelated rant. So, apologies for getting a bit intense especially since this may not apply to you personally, but just in case:

You're not a problem. You don't need to fix yourself. The world works in cycles. Seasons, reincarnation if you subscribe to that belief, the water cycle, and a billion other things I've forgotten- working with cycles is just a natural way of going about life that I think shouldn't be forgotten. I have intense periods of growth in my craft, and I have periods where I don't do much and instead play my favorite video game for eight hours straight- and that's okay! One of the best things I did for myself and my craft was give myself permission to do that. I, and you, are not failures as witches for "falling off" and our deities love us anyway. Not in spite of it, either, because of it. They know how to work with the cyclic nature of things; people are no different.

So honestly, there's a chance that none of this will make sense to you- but there's a chance that you, and maybe others seeing this post, might find that giving yourself permission to go through cycles might be the best thing you could do.

Okay, now that I've yelled about that, here's ways that I keep myself connected to my craft and my deities during my less witchy periods.

I give myself permission to use witchcraft for "dumb shit." I have at least one post on this, but witchcraft can BE childish, playful, "dumb-" it doesn't need to be serious all the time. So I'm learning to let go of what I think it should look like and recognize that sometimes the way to stay connected is to lay in bed and draw a sigil on my phone as a mini-spell to manifest a nice little treat or a thing I want in a video game.

This isn't deity work, but it had been huge for me: SIGILS. Sigils my beloved. I don't often have the time, energy, or supplies to do what most people think of when they talk about spells. So instead, if I'm feeling like I could do a spell for something but that's just too much, sigils can be done on my phone or computer while just chilling. Also, if you're like me and a writer, I just write spells too. Literally the same way I write statements for sigils, but a bunch of 'em.

Personally I just talk to my deities. I would like to do this more, actually. You don't need to have a big reason for calling them in, just ask them to sit with you and talk about your day or infodump about a special interest. They're not going to deem it unimportant; you're important to them.

Turn anything into a devotional activity if you want. Any self-care. Not just the typical stuff; I mean food, meds, literally any sort of "maintenance" to keep your body and mind running! If you can't do those, play music you associate with them, or watch a show/play a game and invite them to just sit with you. Whatever you're already doing, you can just ask them to do it with you. If that's literally just laying in bed doing nothing but feeling crappy, I can assure you I've asked them to sit with me during those days too and they've been more than happy.

Literally most of my offerings are just random food. As we speak, I have a little tiny thing with a few sips of soda because I give Loki some when I drink some. If you don't have the time or energy to put it on the altar, literally just drink it with the intention that you're drinking it "for" them. When I did a reading and Kali visited for it, she asked for a graham cracker of all things. It doesn't have to be associated with them. Virtual offerings too! If you can, I've seen people just scroll through pinterest/google images and pick images to offer to their deities.

This might not be something you struggle with, but this is definitely something I would need someone to tell me so: ASK. PLEASE. ASK FOR THINGS. They're not going to riot if you ask for things!! Let them help!! Ask for things, unapologetically if you can muster it!!! I am using excessive exclamation marks for a reason, I swear. My deities are in a constant state of telling me to just ask for things.

Be gentle with yourself. Genuinely, I think one of the best ways to honor your deities doesn't even require them to be there at all; just try not to hate on yourself for being the way you are, because they wouldn't want you to.

Overall, my only advice is just... throw away what you "should" be doing and find out what you LIKE doing. What works for you? It's a hard question to answer, but it gets a lot easier when you start looking away from what "should" work. Your deities are working with you, they wouldn't be working with you if they didn't accept every single part of you. That includes slug mode.

As always, my DM's and asks are open if you have any more questions/just want to connect because being a neurodivergent witch sometimes just feels isolating at times! If you actually read this whole post thank you, I hope some of it helped!!

[dance-like-an-idiot]

HAPPY FALSETTOS DAY!!! congrats trina and mendel falsettos on your 45th anniversary 🙏‼️

i would do something because im hyperfixated so here's whizzvin i wrote yesterday

writing under cut :D

"I'd love to be somebody's "The one who got away"," Whizzer said for the millionth time since they've been together. And it's been 10 months, —Not 9 Whizzer stop smelling the damn roses.—

Marvin rolled his eyes and he knew by proximity alone that Whizzer saw the action. Whizzer slouched from where he sat in Marvin's lap and pouted with a huff that blew on Marvin's stubble. Marvin could barely stand him. "Ever thought of monogamy? It's a joy, I'm sure you'll love it," He drawled, repeating words of his own. 

"I'd love to leave you, ever think of that?" Whizzer quips mercilessly, but still it's repeatitive. He's smiling now, though, testing Marvin. They both know where this leads. 

"I'd love for you to love me, or want me, or need me even." 

Whizzer scoffs, "Don't be so foolish, Marv. You know you'll never get what you want from me." Whizzer's smirk is wide, Marvin wants to kiss it off. 

So he does, because he always gets what he wants. 

——

"Marv, did I end up as your "One who got away"?" Whizzer asks off handedly one afternoon on the weekend. Which means Jason is quite literally a room over and Cordelia will likely be busting down the door any second now, Charlotte in tow. 

It's been years since Marvin's heard that phrase, and every time Whizzer would bring it up they would fight. Marvin hates those fights now, and that phrase is so negative in his mind now that he freezes up. 

Whizzer who is sat on the chair in front of him notices —of course, Marvin couldn't be discrete about it— and he seems to perk up. What? "You okay?" Whizzer asks simply... But could it ever be that simple? Two years ago Whizzer would have never showed that kind of care however simple. Instead Whizzer's mouth would form a familiar insult, whether it be about his clothes or rightfully calling out the sack of shit Marvin was. 

So hearing such a simple question fills the burnt pit in his stomach before he feels the words finding their way up his esophagus and out of his mouth. "I am. I am so much more than okay with you." 

Whizzer smiles and his face scrunches together like he's trying to surpress it. He looks uncharacteristically bashful. Whizzer stands from his chair and walks to Marvin, causally taking a seat beside him, so close their knees touch. Marvin responds by placing his hand on Whizzer's thigh. Whizzer lowly chuckles and takes Marvin's hand in his own. He traces Marvin's knuckles, rubs circles into his palm, and Marvin had never thought he was a touch starved man until now. Until Whizzer. Whizzer had flipped his entire life upside down. Whizzer indirectly made him better. Whizzer was constantly on his mind for the last two years. Whizzer speaks, "You still didn't answer my question."

Marvin snaps out of his trance and looks at Whizzer's eyes which are fixed on their connected hands. "Shit, what was the question?"

"Oh, it's only the question i brought up pretty much everyday for nine months straight," He lightly teased and Whizzer connected their hands fully, tilting his head to return eye contact. His smarty smile is beautiful. 

Luckily the hint lands and Marvin squeezes Whizzer's hand and smiles faintly, wanting to return his joy but still the thought of that question... "Yes... But you're here now, aren't you?" 

"I am," It's a finality. "I just remembered how often I would ask that and got curious." He leans into Marvin and their hands never part. 

Marvin preens at the contact but takes a finger to guide Whizzer's head up again. Their eyes meet and Whizzer must be the most beautiful thing in the world. Marvin has never felt so lucky to be loved, to have Whizzer again in his arms and in his hands. Marvin pecks the tip of Whizzer's nose before saying softly, "Then that makes you the one who stayed."

[silencedrowns]

I was joking about a category 5 “oh this character is just ME” new cosplay event which made me wonder what the other categories look like, so here’s a garbage post

Category 1 event: you try on the new costume and you like it. You’d wear this again

Category 2 event: you try on the new costume and you REALLY like it. You start planning upgrades immediately for the next event.

Category 3 event: you try on the new costume and you love it. You start considering alternate outfits and rewears.

Category 4 event: you try on the new costume and you absolutely adore it. Everything about wearing it makes you happy. You’re definitely making an alt, definitely rewearing, and you start making casual versions so you can be this character when you don’t want to wear the full outfit.

Category 5 event: you try on the new costume and it feels like it’s permanently unlocked a new aspect of your personality. You look in the mirror and there is a sense of correctness and joy that’s normally reserved for when you’re wearing your favorite clothing. Not only are you going through the category 4 reaction, but. Well. This is your life now. Other plans are instantly dropped in favor of this character. Hyperfixation level 2 has been unlocked now, so good luck to all your friends and family. This is how you wind up with six or more outfits for the same character and five or more wigs because you’re going to not only fix your wig until it’s perfect but also you’ll probably need a wig or two for alternate styles. Your wallet is seen in the distance, weeping dramatically.

[historia-gloria]

Hey hey okay

Maybe people have said this already, but I'm gonna say it:

The end of mentopolis was so fucking good.

Okay so I'm autistic and I tear through hyperfixations at the rate of knots and only a few latch on to my brain so deeply that they make a lasting difference. But because I tear through them so quickly and they can feel so all consuming when I'm in them, I often feel very guilty about abandoning them, especially when it's something that other people also like and have passion for and then my passion just... moves on.

But this series, with The Fix and the love he has for the wayward interests and the way that it ends, with him and Pasha N. taking over the Home and looking after them all? I get to feel a little better for letting go, but also able to go back and open up those old books and those old fixations and just enjoy them again.

So thank you, Hank Green. You sure did teach me so much when I was younger and you know what? Maybe it's okay to go back to those old videos and feel that joy again 💖

[swords-of-a-soilder]

Just Shapes

I'm just venting here, I'm not asking for advice if anything the most I'd want is a supportive word or two.

A random day in 2022 I was playing the Sims on my mother's laptop, I had a lot of mods of course, a few risky ones in including.

I had a queer couple, that I loved playing with, but suddenly whenever they got intinment, they had a moodlit in which they express not being intersed in each other.

It felt like my entire world had fell apart, I was in frantic tears trying to fix. I would constantly jump back and forth from create a sim trying to figure out what mod was breaking their relationship.

I eventually fixed it, but once I did, once I looked back at these sims again, they became shapes, pixels on a screen they weren't real they were never real.

I close that save, then never opened it again.

Perphas I'm parasocial in what I'm about to say, but the reality is we're all parasocial it's why certain careers exist. streamers depend on the viewer being parasocial, our enjoyment is what pay them.

Its just some people take things too far, and it gives parasocial behaviors a bad name, I knew the qsmp characters were different from their actors(streamers) that played them.

I'm not the type of person who thought Philza minecraft was my best friend but q!Philza was someone else entirely. Someone I felt close to, someone who's journey I felt apart of; Those eggs were just as much my kids as his own, I felt like a resident.

With Forever's removal and q!forever with him I became painful awear of what I was watching.

The series that keep me company when I quit my abusive job and was seeking new ones, The series that made me forget the pain of being hit by a car, the series that made me forget the Sexual abuse I expressed at my newer job that I shortly quit after.

The pain I felt over and over non stop, the continuous cycle of trauma I was able to process slowly without feeling alone. Living in that tiny space, with nothing to eat but determine not to go back to my abuser, at least with them I wasn't alone.

Perhaps I'm parasocial for feeling like a resident, perhaps I'm parasocial for loving Chayanne and Tallulah like my own children, perhaps I was parasocial for cheering for my team in Purgatory.

But it meant so much more to me than just a Minecraft roleplay server, it was my entire life. And now it's just shapes, pixels and shapes on a screen.

I think back to Qsmp 2023 and it's there, the joy, this overall sense of Happiness these people I know and care about, I made a Tumblr account just to see more art of them, I engaged in headcannons, joined discord servers with other residents we were all residents.

Whether you were a crow that sat top q!Philza's head, the voices in q!Fit's head; your art sat in the museum, your head canon's adopted into canon and your jokes acknowledged.

We were residents, without ever stepping foot on that island....

Now Tumblr still recommends me clip, There are some people I forgot to unfollow or choice not to. They show me the new Island and new creators, they tell me about the new mods and new characters.

They show my children, they show me my friend q!Philza, they show me all these things I love but..

It's Just Shapes...

Now in it's current existence it's just shapes, pixel on a screen actors In a play, I see nothing but the actors behind it, nothing but improvised roleplay, nothing but a video game.

Shapes.. and it drives me insane that some people don't understand that, and it comes with the neurodiversity I Know. no one ever talks about how painful hyperfixation death truly is.

Its made worst by seeing how the fandom, the other residents have started turning on one another. Residents bite and growl at me like I'm a villain came to kill them, I was one of you!

It wasn't my choice but it's one I'm glad for, seeing how cruel We've became. It isn't even the same island anymore, they left me behind on the old one.

And that's fine, the new one is just a pixilated mess to me.

[artcorvid]

Bug Of The Day: RHINOCEROS BEETLE

Been hyperfixating on insects recently because i`m drawing them for my school project. I've always loved bugs but this just started a whole ass obsession, they bring me so much joy ^^ What beetle should i draw next?

Edit: Only now realized the typo in the name. Will have to fix that if i want to turn it into stickers :/

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