#anyway people with fears like that are always going to be prodded at for the fears

[mins-fins]

everything is romantic — [ na jaemin — 엔시티. ]

where a vampire asshole and an immortal asshole have a centuries long situationship | now playing ❆

you've gotten good at fucking with people.

it's fun to watch the momentary victory someone has when they think (and think is really the key word here) they murdered you, just for you to rise from your place with blood staining your shirt. it's amusing, the horror that is. you aren't a psycho or anything, the fear that crosses each of their features is simply satisfying.

you aren't a murderer either, the blood painted on your hands is yours, the guy died from shock.. literally. you're afraid he might've had a heart attack just now.

that's rich.

and then, a round of applause.

you can't even get a lick of peace, fuck your life (life is an ironic word choice). his laughter is reminiscent of a curse, maybe you should start praying, grab a piece of garlic or some shit.

or maybe you should entertain his escapades for today.

"you murdered someone! it's a start!"

"technically he killed himself" you click your tongue. "..inadvertently" is the final addition to your sentence, indignation your main emotion as you face a certain vampire asshole.

na jaemin is elated by your irritation, his smile growing as yours continues dropping. he settles his hands onto your hips, gaze still. "you miss me?"

"jaemin" you say, each of the individual letters sticking together. you raise an eyebrow, eyes rolling. "you don't look a day over seven hundred fifty two".

his snort is moving. "you missed me!"

"not what i said" you chastise in retaliation, now rolling your eyes as you remove yourself from his insanely tight grip.

he takes a swipe at your stained shirt, sucking your blood from his pointer finger. he places his chin on your shoulder as he observes the blown out eyes of the dead man on your floor, that must've been a traumatizing way to go. "you planning to keep him or something?"

"he died like.. five minutes ago" you scold, lord sometimes you feel like his mother. "you are so impatient".

"not impatient, i know you won't let me take him anyway so it doesn't even matter".

your tongue prods at the side of your cheek, now it's your turn to laugh at his face. "don't tell me your angry" you begin, and he presents a pout.

you have to resist yet another eye roll.

"not mad" he kisses his teeth, dragging his index finger down the side of your neck. his fingers are always so fucking cold, he really just hammers in that vampire shit to 100%. "you could just let me.. a little bit" he whispers, pleading eyes on full display, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

you whistle in feigned ignorance, and his hands again settle on your hips as he forcefully turns you around. "you like me so much.."

"mm, and how do you know that?"

it's a useless inquiry, he can read your mind, he knows exactly what you just said. his grip bruises your hips, courtesy of his vampiric smile. "i know everything" he simply says, face stretching into a grin full of teeth, of course including the fangs.

he leans closer, and you lean back to tease for a moment. "i don't want a kiss" your smile betrays the urgency you attempt to display.

"liar".

"i'm not lying". you are, you really are.

jaemin merely hums, quick to press his lips to yours. it hurts, but you guess that's apart of his.. "charm". you assume his eagerness is due to the wait, which is stupid considering he doesn't do much, he could choose to follow you around all the time but no! he simply appears whenever he wants to (and it's not like you'd be pleased if he followed you all the time, your words may get twisted).

and in the most jaemin fashion, he bites, drawing blood from your bottom lip. your wince is quickly replaced by your glare, yet he seems so pleased. "did i hurt you?"

you scoff, rolling your eyes. he swoops forward to lick the blood from your bottom lip, eyes lighting up. "you're in love with me".

you raise an eyebrow, suddenly very interested in your hardwood floors. "that's debatable".

"i think it may be true".

he clasps his hands together, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you simply stare, attempting to see through him yourself.

it's stupid trying to decipher the mind of na jaemin, especially when he get decipher yours so easily in this moment.

"okay.. sure".

you'll let him entertain himself with that one, it's not like it's true anyway!

"i heard that".

you scowl. "fuck you".

he shrugs, seemingly pleased with that response. "sure, i'll wait for you upstairs".

and there's something a little amusing about that smile of his.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD with a Traumatized!Reader

Requested: Yes [how about the 141 boys with a heavily traumatized reader?]

Warnings: Abuse and trauma

A/N: you didn’t specify what type of trauma or what type of relationship so I tried to do a few different types of trauma with different relationships.

Price - Parental Trauma - Platonic

Price is all too aware of how you, his newest recruit, are all too skittish around him. How you cower when he raises his voice or how you fuck your head and flinch when he lifts his hand to do anything, your voice on the verge of breaking whenever he does get you to talk to him. He figured you were just soft at first, someone in way over their head with this military stuff. He’s certain you’ll never make it. Almost demands that you get discharged before your head gets blown up by some sniper. And then he learns that your fear is almost exclusive to him. He sees you interact with other recruits, rough and loud and mean with you, and you barely even flinch, taunting them right back with your words and fists. It gets him curious but he’s quick to shut it off, it’s your business, not his. But he hears through the grave vine anyways, about how your parent hurt you, with words and touch alike. It infuriates him but he does his best to not treat you any differently just because of your trauma, though he’s unintentionally a little softer around you. A little quieter.

Gaz - Unspecified Trauma - Platonic

Gaz has always recognized that you’re a little jumpy, fidgety, nervous. Always looking around like something is out to get you. He could tell how intimidated you were by loud noises and people bigger or stronger than you, how you seemed to just shrink in on yourself or go all quiet, mumbling whenever you were asked a question, practically inaudible. He never asked what made you this way, and you never told him. But it didn’t matter to him. All the same, no matter your trauma, he wants to help you through it. Gentle and so so patient as he helps you find your bravery, helping you process your trauma in a calm environment, letting you vent and cry to him if you ever needed it, his ears and arms always open to you.

Ghost - Sex Trauma - Romantic

Ghost is understanding of your trauma and all that it ensues. He’ll never push you into anything you’re not ready for, even if you might never be ready for it. Even if that extends to such things as cuddling or holding hands. Sometimes he wishes he could get closer to you but he understands how it feels when everything is just altogether too much. When it feels like you’d rather peel off your own skin then be touched by another human being. And if it’s something you overthink or worry about, he’s always ready to reassure you with his words, telling you that he doesn’t need sex or physical touch to know that he loves you.

Soap - Spousal Abuse Trauma - Romantic

Soap always suspected something was a bit odd with your behavior when you neared the more serious beginnings of your relationship. You started agreeing to everything he said so quickly, never really putting in an opinion of your own. You just seemed to….retreat into yourself. It was really worrying him, though he tried not to let it show, not wanting you to get concerned. When you confide in him about your experiences with your previous spouse, he’s livid. He wants to bash in that person’s face, give you their heart carved up on a platter. It takes him a minute to realize he’s scaring you with his anger and he has to work to reel it back in, his hands so gentle as they cup your cheeks, assuring you that he’d never do anything to purposefully hurt you.

Alejandro - Abandonment Trauma - Platonic

Alejandro knew that there was something different about you from the moment he met you. He could see how quickly you attached yourself to people but also how little you talked about yourself or your life, nothing of your hobbies or enjoyment, no matter how much you were prodded at for answers. How anxious you seemed when someone was just the littlest bit annoyed or off that day, curling in on yourself like you’d done something wrong. Like a kicked puppy. It worried him, even if he wasn’t the closest to you. He’ll prod at you, try his hardest to get you to open up, chipping away at the steel bars around your soul, piece by piece. And he’s so upset when he finally gets you to confide in him about what’s wrong. He doesn’t understand how someone could ever abandon someone like you, and silently vows to make sure you never have to worry about being left behind again.

[possamble]

do you have any particular thoughts regarding marcille being a half-elf? its interesting to me considering the fact that she seems self-conscious about being a half-elf, but denies it when its brought up

i remember marcille looking visibly uncomfortable over laios simply asking her how old she is, which i think the only reason she might feel nervous about this is because it might reveal her as a half-elf to him.

she's never corrected anybody whose called her an elf either.

never mind the circumstances of the reveal, in which thistle goes on about how half-elves are inferior and accusing her of wanting to become full blooded elf, she seemed particularly upset like he struck a nerve-

i wish the half-elf thing was built upon more. also, underrated marcille line:

okay so i revisited this sequence just to make sure I could back myself up and it's just... man. there's a lot going on.

the first reaction we get from Marcille is this huge panel that takes up half of the page

she is viscerally affected. flushing to the tips of her ears with the intensity of it. and we see it again, a few pages later

so it might seem like she's embarrassed about it and lying to herself, but... I really think it's just that Thistle is accidentally hitting sore spots. If you really look at what he says to get these reactions

"you'll live out your entire life [...] and die that way too"

"a hundred years from now, nobody will be there"

Hear me out. I think, if he stuck to harping on about her inferiority without bringing up how terrifyingly long-lived she is, she wouldn't have been as bothered. But right now, Thistle is accidentally hitting all the marks on Marcille's deepest fears-- and this is after the Winged Lion promised her that her dreams could come true in an extremely vulnerable moment, so it also hits her slightly guilty conscience as well.

I do truly believe that Marcille isn't bothered about being a half-elf the way that people assume she'd be bothered by it. To her, the biggest problem with being a half-elf is that it's isolating.

On one hand, it's not hard to imagine why she'd distance herself from elves in the west. A lot of them can clock her as a half-elf on sight, unlike other races, and therefore she's always branded with this weird stigma of being Othered -- I would even say that she considers herself lucky for being born outside of elven culture instead of having to grow up in it. I mean, just... look at the way elves talk about her.

Skipping past the uncomfortable implication of what 'not tolerating the existence' of half-elves would actually entail, this is incredibly fucking annoying. You can see why she wouldn't want to be around elves much. You see a lot of Marcille reacting badly here, but honestly, almost all of it can be attributed to her freaking out that her bluff completely failed. She's honestly more paying attention to Izutsumi's footsteps and trying to coordinate an opportunity to escape.

And in the end, you see her built-up frustration at being asked if she wants to be a full-blooded elf like 2-3 times in a row.

Yeah, yeah, "the lady doth protest too much," and all. But we know Marcille. We know that she's a lot more embarrassed and horrendously unconvincing when she's being prodded about something she's actually self-conscious about.

Moving onto the flipside of things, it might seem weird that she "pretends" to be a full elf around other races, but it's not really that strange if you think about it. Again, people are weird about her being infertile or whatever, and a lots of them don't even know much about what sets half-elves apart from everyone else. I mean, look at how uncomfortable Laios is just asking her about it

and look at how exasperated and resigned she looks

And like... she's right. Where would that come up in normal conversation? Why would she go out of her way to tell them? She's functionally a normal elf to other races anyway -- got the ears, the abnormally long "childhood", and the huge mana capacity. Unless it's directly relevant or important for people to know, I don't think it's all that strange or indicative of insecurity that she prefers not to bother with it.

(This combined with her sense of being an "outsider" to elf culture also explains why she thinks elf superiority is embarrassing. She sees the way elves treat short-lived races from the "outsider" perspective nonetheless, and thinks it's obnoxious; especially more so because she usually has to play the elf around short-lived races and deal with the reputation of arrogance that elves have built up.)

The sad thing is, this all means that... she doesn't actually fit in anywhere. She doesn't like going out West much because of how elves treat her. But she's also an outsider in the continents she was born in, treated like this exotic long-lived alien choosing to live among short-lived races for some reason. She is always an outsider, the Other, no matter where she goes. Add in the fact that she'll live longer than literally anyone she knows, and it's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

And I think that's the crux of it. Marcille really doesn't act like she's at all self-conscious about being a half-elf because of any feelings of inferiority or being half-made or whatever. She considers herself a perfectly legitimate being and might even, in some ways, consider herself superior to normal elves because she's not blind with elf supremacy or whatever. (And whatever "elven biases" she displays, all of them are born more out of the fact that she's kind of bad at conceptualizing how other races age and mature compared to herself, not that she actually considers herself better or more mature simply for being an elf.)

I think that whatever self-consciousness Marcille has about being a half-elf is, instead, related to terror and loneliness. The reminder that it ensures she'll never truly belong anywhere for the rest of her very long life. The reminder that, in truth, even she's not actually sure how old she is by other races' standards (hence the discomfort when asked how old she is). She doesn't want to not be a half elf, or be a full elf or full tall-man-- in her ideal world, she's still a half-elf. She just gets to live out her life at the same pace with the people she loves and doesn't have to say goodbye again and again and again until she dies.

and one last very important panel, right after Mithrun tells her that all her desires would be devoured

In her ideal world, she's still a half-elf and reality magically starts marching at her pace. But failing that, the second best thing is that she's still a half-elf-- but one who is able to accept reality and let go of her fear.

(But the rest of the story pans out the way it does because, to Marcille, taking reality apart and reshaping it was less scary than simply and fully reconciling with it.)

[signedeclipse]

Probably really weird and macabre but I would like to request headcanons for Douma, Hantengu and Gyokko with a human s/o who wants to try human meat for once and is really adamant about it (but not in a fetishizing way, just like 'I wonder what it tastes like'). Like what would their reactions be if their partner saw them eat someone and suddenly ask them if they can have a bite?

(If the request is too gross you really don't need to do it that's totally fine. I know cannibalism makes many really uncomfortable.)

Douma

One interesting fact about his human is that unlike others, they didn't seem all that worried by blood and gore

He was used to the screaming, pointing and running by most that ever tried to get close to him, but at worse you looked away, and it seemed more in a respectful way than a fearful way

But that is where he figured it stopped

Certain people weren't sympathetic, but you were

Others were monsters themselves, but Douma only found that to be partially true about you

"I find it's just the natural order of things" you would say "Like a lioness hunts a gazelle."

Douma didn't need ethics to keep him from feeling bad about it, but he was glad it wouldn't be an issue

But once when you walked in and naw him chewing on a leg, you stared way longer than usual

"Hello! Is everything okay?" His smile had bits of flesh and viscera stuck between the teeth

"Oh! Yeah, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts."

When he pushed to learn more, he was surprised to hear you were wondering what it tasted like, and had always wanted to try

Immediately his claws dug into the thigh and ripped out some of the muscles, tearing into the piece over and over till it was almost a sludge

Then, he shoved it in his mouth and kissed you

Of course his first concern was that your teeth couldn't break through flesh like his could so you might choke, so he broke it down as much as he could with his hands and teeth before pushing some into your mouth and parting

He swallows the majority and lets you try what little you did get

Wouldn't care if you spat it out or not, either way nothing would change

If you do like it he would tell you to hunt your own humans

Gyokko

Gyokko didn't really eat around you ever

Mostly because you spent your time in his studio and he actually tried to keep blood and gore away from his beautiful works unless intentional

But when he did he tried to be quiet about it

Surprisingly you didn't mind the gore, but you really hated mouth sounds and when he ate it was far too much to handle

It isn't beyond the upper rank to offer you to try some, but you always laughed it off or said you didn't want to ruin your clothes/appetite incase you didn't enjoy it

But this time, when he caught you staring he decided to offer for the nth time

And much to his excitement, you accepted!

Of course he wouldn't give you anything other than the best, so he ripped the heart clean out of the freshly obtained body and pressed it against your lips

Of course it was really hard to bite into, but he let you take your time before pulling it away and biting out almost half the heart with his left mouth

"Oh I love the way the red stains your pretty lips darling~"

Would laugh and prod at you for being too weak if you couldn't eat it, but would stop asking if you want any afterwards

Hantengu

Hantengu keeps to himself when eating, but he would usually do it while you eat your own meals because he enjoys the comfort of 'normalcy'

It's actually pretty impressive to him that you can keep food down and talk to him while he is eating a human

The other personalities tend to prod you about it and ask if you are a freak or something, but otherwise leave it be

They aren't out often anyways

One dinner, you were frustrated about forgetting to go to the market during the day and how you'd only have plain rice for dinner

You wondered aloud if human meat would make a good protein which immediately Hantengu was by your side

"Be careful!! Eating blood like that could make you ill,,,or worse!"

Very worried about the potential of sickness in someone's blood getting to you

But when you insist, Hantengu forced you to cook it so at the very least any bacteria is killed

You make a little stir fry with just that and mushrooms on a bed of butter rice

Surprisingly not bad, but Hantengu wouldn't let you have more beyond that one occasion

He doesn't want you to get sick, nor does he want you to lose your humanity

Authors Note - Please do not apologize because I REALLY REALLY enjoyed this request! I was a horror writer for a really long time and honestly kinda feel the romance with this <3 Also tysm for requesting Hantengu and Gyokko I love them sm... Come back soon, Anon!

[bobbydagen24]

I wonder if in the next Christmas special we could see Branch trying to hide his old hermit days from his brothers while planning the perfect family Christmas.

so maybe we see over the course of the next Christmas special Bro zone coming to Pop Village to spend this first Christmas together.

and Branch goes to great lengths to try and hide details of his past from them and just gets too over focused on making sure the Christmas is perfect and has no problems.

like maybe Branch is ashamed or even afraid of being judged as some sorta freak like a lot of the village thought of him as for all those years.

so when the Brothers insist on seeing his home while their in the village he panics and pretty much changes everything about it to make it appear more Troll like.

probably adding lots of bright colours and bright flowers and maybe even stuff like discarded wrappers to imply that he throws parties there often just like everyone else in the village does.

and of course hiding all of his own stuff like the rations and the weapons and maybe painting over the crazy wall writings he had.

and maybe as he's showing them around the village he gets some harsh stares and attitudes from certain people and his brothers question him on why these people would be mad at him.

and Branch thinks back to all the special occasions he ruined for people when he kept warning them about the Bergens only for them to be false alarms.

but Branch just nervously tells his bros he can't remember and awkwardly rushes them along on the tour 😂😂😂😂

just so he can make things appear more normal and perfect for their first family Christmas back together maybe even actively changing the subject whenever the brothers try and ask about his life during the past 20+ years.

but Branch trying to make everything perfect ironically gets to the point where the Brothers get annoyed with him since he was acting pretty similar to how JD used to.

and they finally question him on his odd behaviour although they kinda already know the reason why he's been so desperate for things to be perfect.

but they are still fairly clueless and worried about what he's obviously trying to hide from them in regards to his home and the fact he won't talk much about his life.

and this time when Branch nervously tries to shrug it off they act a bit firmer towards him saying they need to talk about this now as they've kept putting it off.

and when he tries to downplay it maybe just saying something as simple as he was obviously a bit upset and went Grey for a little while but he moved on and lived pretty normally for most of the years afterwards.

but the brothers don't buy it and they point out multiple things they found around the Bunker like weapons and traps and maybe they even uncovered the crazy wall writings he tried to hide.

( plus Gary if we're allowed to include him in this cannon lol )

anyway after all this poking and prodding Branch finally goes off on a bit of an emotional tangent maybe saying something along the lines of "" fine what do you want to hear? that I was some Grey freak who hid underground for years that everyone saw me as some crazy person who ruined everything for everyone else that I practically spent every moment of everyday thinking about nothing but the Bergens and fearing they could come back at any moment well fine you win you happy now? happy I grew up to be some freak who's always going to stand out from everyone else because no matter how much I change people around here are always going to remember and even if they didn't all they'd have to do is look at me and they'd know ""

maybe he says all this and turns away looking down in shame with slightly teary eyes but his bros just Hug him rather than Judge him like he maybe feared.

yep good old angst 😅😅😅😅 tho I'm not exactly 100 percent sure how to end the story but anyway what do you think about this as a concept for a future special?

[ishanijasmin]

the 4 horsemen of adulthood

on monday, i consumed a sainsbury’s meal deal and two cream and jam scones and forgot to drink any water until 10pm. or i didn’t so much forget as think, ‘i’m thirsty’ and then just not do tanything about it—i literally don’t know why. i explained it to three separate people today and they were all like, ‘yep, makes sense.’ ??? does it???

it’s been a long time since my self-neglect hit critical mass like that; i went to bed queasy and woke up with a headache and a bunch of my clothes from yesterday heaped in a corner because i’m nearly 30 and i can’t just not drink water for an entire day anymore without feeling it. i have to identify as nearly 30 so that when i turn 30 in six months i’m not hit with whiplash.

i remember being 15 and staying up til 3am talking to my tumblr friends in america. i remember chugging four shots one after the other and then having the time of my life as fast as possible. i remember not stretching, not wearing spf, not being worried about needing a coat. no longer! ageing is just coming to terms with the fact that you do, in fact, have needs, one essential after the next. sleep, sunlight, movement, water: the four horsemen of being an adult, shortening telomeres and all.

someone reading this might think, ‘hmm, sounds like you’re depressed.’ maybe! this year i’ve been in and out of depressive phases, of varying lengths of time—a few days to a week, usually, but sometimes a bit longer. i think part of this is that i never seem to be able to come to terms with who i am. i’m permanently in a mix of white knuckling my own life and holding it together for fear that i might explode.

this year i bought an apartment. i quit a job that was my dream, because having autonomy and not being controlled and condescended to at work mattered more to me than being purpose-driven in the end. i founded a choir, recorded an album, became a trustee, was featured in an exhibition, and went on a bunch of trips. i pulled the rug out from under myself over and over again just to feel like i was alive.

i often feel i am watching myself as a marionette, and big me is poking and prodding little puppet me with a stick, chanting, ‘change! change! change!’ just to see what happens. because i don’t know what happens. now she moves house! now she quits her job! now she starts using different pronouns! now they’ve signed up for a year long pottery class! what will they do next?! who will they become? who are they becoming right now?

a lot of things are scary and i do them anyway because i believe in jumping out of my comfort zone (me, prodding the puppet self with a cattle prod: ‘change! change! change!’). things like showing up, putting myself out there, holding space, reaching out, sending an email, public speaking—they’re the choices i make to have control over my world and my selfhood, even if they do make it feel scarier. it’s not always so deliberate—usually it’s ending something that’s no good for you anymore, which is sad, and feels forced, but choice is change as a process, not as a one off.

and if that weren’t enough, everything is so fast and so slow at the same time! the days are long, the years are short. the days are long. i don’t have much in the way of routine, which theoretically means that i probably experience less time dilation than average. i would be lying if i said the presence of a nine to five actually made me feel better, because i remember being in it, and it didn’t, but it stopped me from feeling like i am metamorphosing at light speed.

that’s the journey, and embracing it (or if not, at least holding on). from the outside, it’s sitting on the couch, going to a museum, eating a pastry for breakfast not because i can but because i can’t think of an alternative, doing admin, catching a friend for a walk, going to the charity shop and leaving empty handed, picking up a prescription, watching 3 minutes of schitt’s creek at a time, bleaching every orifice in your home to stave off fruit flies. from the inside? it’s the wildest ride. let us take a step back, look at our puppet selves, and let them breathe for a hot minute, because change is gonna come, ready or not.

[maximotts]

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎: 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 & 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑

a/n: yes this is a day late, I've had a week from hell and I'm not having a holly jolly holiday season. Hopefully this really long chapter makes up for it! Reminder that we've got a scheduled break for this series for two weeks ask I do holiday things (derogatory) and finish up my Christmas fic

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; after Wanda gets some much needed help from a few friends, she prepares for her first date.. at Carol's house party. Ups and downs ensue, but you try your best not to ruin the rare night out ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; light sexual content with some?? angsty scenarios? more like tense situations; drinking; talks of sex toys; intimidation, but R comes to the rescue; more shameless groping; first kisses; brief make outs; hard conversations and Soft Tummy Wanda Time

✎— words: 7.5k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

“I can’t embarrass her, I don’t know what I was thinking… see you Saturday! What an idiot!” Wanda had been laid out on Natasha and Agatha’s couch between the two women for the past half hour, angsting over the earlier exchange through tears she thought she’d finished shedding back in high school. “I’ll stay home, there’s no way I should go.”

Natasha spoke up first, having been the one to open the door to find her best friend’s twin sister fidgeting in the hallway. As soon as Nat opened her mouth, Wanda was crying, falling into the slightly shorter woman with all her weight. She brought her inside quickly, hauled her to the couch while Agatha made her tea; she hadn’t seen Wanda this distraught in years so whatever happened, Nat knew it had to have been bad. 

Her first instinct was to ask who did what and give them a piece of her mind, but Wanda never let her, always insisting that reactions just made everything worse. “There’s no way you aren’t going. You have to after all of that, or you’ll look cowardly.” 

“But Tasha!” Wanda shot up to her knees, all watery eyes and red-tipped nose, nearly hitting the redhead in the face, “No one wants me there! And Carol was right.. I can’t dress like this.”

She’d never given much thought to what she wore; her dad didn’t let her wear anything too revealing growing up and when none of her mall trips were with friends instead of him, Wanda’s closet wasn’t exactly filled with each year’s trendy clothes. In college, she stayed with the familiar and dressed comfortably— now she feared you’d just been polite every time you paid her a compliment. 

“There’s one person that wants you there!” Agatha chimed in, righting Wanda’s skirt where it’d twisted around in her distress. She’d been assigned Natasha’s roommate in their first year of college; in their second, they’d moved into an apartment together off campus and when Wanda took up residence down the hall for their third, Natasha warned her that Wanda had been heavily sheltered and sometimes needed that extra bit of attention and care. 

Honestly, Agatha thought her friend was exaggerating, having met Pietro once or twice and not sensing anything off, but Wanda was a special case. Still, the younger girl was one of the kindest people she’d ever met and she enjoyed whenever she popped over for a chat. “And anyways, I think you look adorable.”

She was trying to help, but instead she only proved Carol’s point. Wanda groaned and fell back once more, head buried in the cushions, “I’m twenty years old, adorable isn’t going to cut it.”

The two older girls shared a look, Natasha’s worried while Agatha’s turned mischievous. Nat knew that look from the beginning of Agatha’s schemes and protectiveness kicked in anew. “Agatha.. I don’t think I like that look.” 

She brushed her friend off with a scoff, prodding at Wanda’s ragdoll state until she could wrench her upright once more. Unlike Natasha, she hadn’t grown up with them all, but from the day she met Wanda, Agatha saw a project. Now that she finally had an in, she wouldn’t pass it up. Especially not when it was for a good cause, “You wanna be hot, is that it? You want your new crush to see you and not be able to keep her hands off you?”

That shook Wanda to attention, cheeks beet red. Sure she didn’t want to be mocked or subject you to any torment just being seen with her, but she couldn’t imagine you wanting all of.. that from her of all people. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of it, but whenever she did, she tried her hardest to shake that seemingly impossible reality away, “No, I-”

“So when you show up to that party dressed like you belong there, it’s because you want to hold her hand?” Natasha laughed, pinching Wanda on the cheek because she knew how much she hated it. Maybe Agatha was right; a little push might be good for Wanda, at least to give her a chance to try. “Have her push you on the swings?”

This was not the conversation Wanda wanted to have today, not when she couldn’t even take the first step to kiss you. Needing to keep her mind from that spiraling train of thought, she spun around to face Natasha now, pouting hard, “I’m not a baby, be real!” 

Agatha tugged at Wanda’s dress gently, pulling at the material and letting the skirt fall back to her thighs. “Admit you want to stop looking like the poster child for an abstinence pamphlet and start dressing for a strip club and we’ll help you.”

“That is not what I want.” Reminders of some of the outfits she’d seen her peers wear flashed in her head with red alarm sirens; they’d be sure to catch your eye, seen you on Instagram with similar girls dancing and laughing without a care in the world. Beautiful as they were, that just wasn’t her. Wanda couldn’t turn into a new person overnight, nor did she want to. If she got new clothes, they had to be things she actually wanted to wear. Things you’d like on her. “I want her not to be embarrassed to be seen with me. I want her to kiss me, to flirt with me even though I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing! I want her to like me.”

Agatha backed off, sighing and taking one of Wanda’s shaking hands in her own. “I’d bet money she already likes you; you’re lovely and it sounds like you two already spend so much time together.” Neither her nor Natasha wanted Wanda to be so down on herself; there was no need to be, considering how, from the picture Wanda painted, you were plenty into her. Telling her outright might scare her though; it was always baby steps with the poor dear. “All you need to do is show her you’re interested and a little wardrobe change never hurt anyone. If you hate it, you still have your old clothes, no harm done.”

Wanda nodded, staring down at her lap until Natasha grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. “Come on, cheer up, you won’t have that much work to do. You’re beautiful already,” Nat cupped Wanda’s cheek, booped her nose before pushing her dress down to reveal bare shoulders. “And I’ve seen you in a bathing suit, you’ve got legs for days and gorgeous tits-”

“Hey!” Wanda jumped as Natasha gave them a squeeze, instantly self-conscious. There was a night a few days ago, one of your lazy nights when you laid your head in her lap while she read an article off her tablet for extra credit, where you did the same thing. Softer than her friend just now, a singular slow touch. 

She looked down, naively thinking a stray hair on her shirt was the cause, but when she asked you only grinned and reasoned they looked too soft not to touch and went back to watching your show. Wanda decided to keep how tingly the action made her feel away from her two friends for now; they’d never let her live it down. “Just help me pick what to wear on Saturday.”  

As soon as Wanda conceded, Agatha was up and searching for her laptop, “Oh, we can do so much more than one night’s something!”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The days leading up to the party were filled with Wanda reassuring not only herself, but also you that she was perfectly fine to go. It was sweet how you worried about her, checking in at least once a day to make sure she knew there was no obligation to show up or prove anything to anyone. 

Wanda appreciated the sentiment, but she wanted to like parties, to go and have fun with you somewhere other than your living rooms for once. Only on Friday, opening the package of clothes she’d bought under Nat and Agatha’s guidance, that she nearly wavered, but when Maria Hill wandered up to where you were eating lunch and whispered something in your ear scandalous enough to make you blush, Wanda’s jealousy wouldn’t let her back out. 

You didn’t mention that you’d caught her pouting, kept that tidbit to yourself for fun. Instead you smiled and flirted right back, ignoring Wanda’s clearly grumpy demeanor. It wasn’t nice, you shouldn’t have done it when the only girl you cared about was the one who’d made the lovely wrap you’d been eating before you got interrupted. 

Once she was gone, you tried smoothing it over with a hug and an apology, but Wanda was smart enough to see right through it, shoving you hard back into your chair and calling your behavior gross. She was still huffy when you left her that afternoon, half expecting her to call off your plans, but she only mumbled out a warning not to be late and shut the door in your face. You only parted for a short while, but in that time, Wanda had a lot to do; she’d been nervous enough without having seen Maria’s little display.

As she sat at her desk, willing a steady hand to apply the eyeliner she so rarely wore, her brain fell back on what it did best: overthink. Visions of the two of you arriving as a pair, just for you to leave her as soon as you found someone better to dance with or talk to, or worse, the whole party being a front for some long game joke, poked at her fragile determination. You’re being annoyingly irrational, she scolded herself, recalling instead the times you stood up for her or held her hand when you crossed the street. Sure, Wanda might have issues with the easy way you lead some of the girls in your classes on, but she refused to let her mind turn you into something you’d never hinted at being. 

The brunette checked the time on her phone before sliding her outfit over her head and as she popped her head and shoulders through the top, her eye caught the device screen light up on its own, a message from you appearing. Wanda read over your cutely apologetic words with a smile, laughing at the I’m sorry sticker attached and quickly typed a response promising forgiveness if you bought her coffee next week. To which you readily agreed and gave her one last minute reminder that you wouldn’t be mad if she decided in the past hour she wasn’t keen on seeing anyone she didn’t want to. No, you weren’t like Carol or Brock, nowhere close to Vision; Wanda didn’t think you could be if you tried.

You were right on time, wanting to tread lightly in case Wanda’s text was more her being polite than actually over your lunch shenanigans, knocking briskly even though you’d texted her you were coming as you locked your apartment door. You expected she’d maybe do her hair and makeup differently, something to fit the night; what you didn’t expect was a whole new Wanda opening the door. “Woah…”

The black dress hugged Wanda’s curves perfectly, accentuating places you’d only felt briefly before. She’d worn sleeveless dresses around you, but this strapless design wrapped around her arms paired with the long hair she’d tied back into a ponytail revealed her neck and shoulders completely… you realized you’d been staring too long when Wanda waved a shy hand in front of your stunned face. “Do I look okay? I think I have enough time to change-”

“Don’t you dare.” You tugged Wanda out the door before she could continue second guessing. And then, being the reassurance you didn’t know Wanda needed so terribly, you slung your arm around her, mostly in an excuse to touch newly exposed skin, speaking loud enough she was sure the whole floor could hear you, “You look hot and if anyone tells you different, they’re lying through their teeth.” 

Hearing that, Wanda already felt like she’d call tonight a win.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

From the moment you stepped through the door, Wanda garnered attention. Not that everyone flew to her side immediately; most didn’t recognize her and if they did, they didn’t know where to even start talking. Most people she went to school with left her alone, a select few people having crafted and weaved stories about the brunette that meant everyone tended to keep their distance. Wanda didn’t mind, really she preferred it; amongst her peers she was completely out of her depths. Small high school gatherings were intimidating enough, and college only added more to the attendance list.

 If you minded her clinging to your side you didn’t say it, relaxed and talking to whoever you pleased all while checking in on Wanda every few minutes. To her credit, Wanda did engage in conversation occasionally, commenting or laughing when something was funny enough. Sitting down, Wanda thought she’d get more time to talk to you, not about anything specific but just to keep your attention. You weren’t brushing her off, no, you were actively listening, nodding your head, everything… but she wanted you sitting closer, asking her to dance, anything.

Wanda wondered if maybe she was going about it the wrong way, working up confidence to ask you herself when mid-sentence, Maria plopped herself down in your open lap and wrapped her arms around your neck. “Hey you…”

For the first time tonight, Wanda felt ignored, her presence non-existent to the grinning girl who so easily disrupted the conversation. You didn’t play into her like you did at lunch, having learned your lesson that an angry Wanda wasn’t a Wanda you wanted to focus your way, but you didn’t want to be rude or cause a scene so you let her stay put for now and hoped Wanda didn’t hold it against you later. “A few of us are gonna play a little game upstairs if you want to join in?”

Wanda watched your face light up, seemingly ignorant to how much the other girl already reeked of alcohol. You loved a good party game, nodding your agreement without a second thought. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, we’ll be right up.”

“Oh yeah...” Maria finally glanced over, a pitying pout on her lips that Wanda felt the strangely aggressive urge to slap off. “Wanda, have you played Never Have I Ever?” The answer was a big resounding no and all three of you were well aware, a game she’d seen countless times on television and never sat down to play. You followed Maria’s lead, sizing up Wanda, but out of compassion rather than anything else. 

In that split minute of silence, Wanda had two choices: be honest and back out or rely on her limited knowledge, go with you, and hope for the best. Maybe she’d have chosen the former if she could read your thoughts, know for sure you wouldn’t leave Wanda alone down here amidst strangers and wisps of smoke— but she didn’t.

“Of course I know how to play, don’t be silly!” The answer was enough for Maria who stood with a wobble and pulled your hand to follow, but your eyes stayed firmly stuck on Wanda. Her words might’ve been confident, but lacquer-polished fingers played with her new array of metal rings and you instantly knew she was lying. You wouldn’t call her bluff in the present company, but your furrowed brow gave away your worries. Wanda tried smoothing them away with a smile, polite as ever, beaming up at Maria who stood in front of you, annoyed that you hadn’t yet budged. “Like she said, we’ll be right up.” 

Maria shrugged, not caring enough to disinvite Wanda upstairs. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, she wouldn’t stop her. “Five minutes or we’re starting without you.” 

Left on your own for the time being, Wanda sprung to her feet  and fixed her dress, letting out a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was your turn to take her hand, stopping her in case Wanda decided to sprint up the stairs without you. You did want to play with her, but not if she felt it was an obligation instead of a fun way to pass the time. “Do you really want to? I won’t be mad down here if that’s better.”

“It’s fine!” Heartwarming, really, and Wanda appreciated your sincerity, but you’d never see her as anything other than a friend to be babysat if she didn’t attempt to participate. At least, that’s what Agatha said. Besides, if it was anything like the movies, you could learn things about each other that Wanda was too shy to ask outright. “I want to play! It’ll be fun, please?”

“Wands…” You couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked so excited, swinging your arm back and forth in her hands and adding a pretty please to sway you further. There was a promise you made right then, silently to yourself, to be right next to her and not let things get too out of hand; it couldn’t be that bad under careful supervision.

Supervision you failed to remember would falter as soon as alcohol hit your system.

The game was enjoyable… until Wanda caught on to the point of the game, everyone taking shots and sharing scandalous stories while she was left with nearly all her fingers up. She’d taken exactly one finger down when Carol tried to put her on the spot with “never have I ever bought a vibrator offline” and she prayed the shot she was finally allowed to take dulled her embarrassment quickly. No luck.

“Can I see it some time?” Wanda nearly jumped to her feet when you leaned over, chin resting on her shoulder like you had so many times before. You’d had no problem with the game, only one finger left; a fact Wanda had to keep reminding you of after the double shots you’d taken. 

She pushed you off and you frowned, but let her have her space, your dejected expression nearly pitiful enough Wanda almost felt bad for doing so. Then she remembered the question lingering in the air, the small group going quiet and watching your exchange play out, and suddenly the gentle rejection didn’t feel like nearly enough admonishment. “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged lazily, straightening up as you realized you were the only two left in the game. It was rare you lasted this long, to your recollection at least; Wanda’s nine remaining fingers meant she was unbeatable though. Such an innocent thing… you wished she’d be your innocent thing. Alcohol loosened your tongue, spiraling thoughts of Wanda carefully unboxing the toy as she did with all of her packages bubbling to the surface, running it over in her hands with that adorable scrunched up face she made whenever she focused, experimenting with the various settings. “Just to see how you use it.” 

If you weren’t so inebriated maybe you’d have the presence of mind to keep your words a whisper, but if everyone’s laughs were anything to go by, the entire room heard. Wanda begged to blink and open them to exist anywhere but here, “You’re disgusting.” Basic flirting was hard enough; the last thing she wanted to do was have your first discussion about sex toys while there were people judging her every move.

“What’s the matter, Wanda? Bought it and couldn’t figure out how to use it?” Carol sneered, taking a swig of the vodka she’d brought up for the game straight from the bottle. Wanda wanted to fight her on it, but she couldn’t without exposing some of her most private times and well, they’re called private for a reason. 

The blonde turned to you then, “I thought you wanted to fuck her… shame she hasn’t let you yet.” Wanda whipped around, her worst fears threateningly close to being the truth, but you looked just as shocked.

Maria joined in before you could tell Carol to take it back, leaning across you to really make sure Wanda heard, “You know there’s tons of videos that’ll show you how. All that studying you do, wouldn’t kill you to research something sexy once for a change.” Sober enough to deem that over the line, you pushed Maria away before she could continue her taunts, but words weren’t so easily taken back. Wanda was already mortified beyond belief and you were ashamed it was mostly your fault. 

If clinging to you to hide the stinging tears budding at the corners of her eyes wouldn’t cause more attention, Wanda would’ve fallen into your shoulder in an instant. Not that she was particularly happy with you right now, but what other comfort did she have? Your expression screamed an apology Wanda wasn’t ready to immediately accept and she flicked your forehead in warning, “Don’t say a thing.”

You relented with a sigh, still disappointed with yourself, but resolving to do everything in your power to make up for it. But all Wanda wanted was this terrible game over with, anything to get her out of this cramped room full of people who regarded her like a party trick. Her one advantage was being the last to put a finger down, her turn to announce an action and choose one of the many things you’d done that she’d never gotten close to. Whatever she said would scream innocence, but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care; Wanda needed you out so she could “win” and get far away from here. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

You weren’t fully drunk, buzzed enough to be careless, but not to ignore what everyone was saying. Stupidly, you’d taken Wanda’s earlier insistence to play as an excuse to do so just as hard, personal promise forgotten little by little with each shot you threw back, but one look at her clear distress was sobering. Wise decision making wasn’t your strong suit though, drunk or not. 

She wasn’t that far away, close enough to kiss— so you did, leaning forward until your hands rested on either side of her folded legs. The moment your lips met, the little audience went wild, but you kept it short, only wanting to help, not embarrass her. “Silly girl, you can’t pick something you’ve done. Still won though, not bad for your first time.” 

Wanda was stunned, frozen in place even as everyone broke their circle formation to clean up. Instincts screamed to pull you in for another one, but she knew she shouldn’t. You’d done it to make up for the earlier mess you’d started; you wanted to be nice, not spend your night sharing kisses she couldn’t reciprocate. It was only for the sake of everyone else, to temporarily shut them up… a first kiss to placate and entertain.

When you looked at her again, Wanda saw the beginnings of pity and she couldn’t stand it, not from you. Especially not after that. “I’m going to grab a soda, I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Did you want me to go with-” She was up and out before you could get a word in and you sighed, standing slowly to save your head some pain. “Great, see you down there…”

Going off by herself was near the very bottom of Wanda’s smart ideas, but she didn’t have it in her to explain, to pretend to be okay when she wanted to shake you and ask why’d you be so stupid at the worst possible time. 

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Everything happened in a series of threes, good or bad; her father lived by that philosophy. The second Brock wandered into the otherwise empty kitchen, having been seeking her out, Wanda started believing him. First the never have I ever experience from hell, second, you playing said game, and now this way too drunk man stumbling closer; Wanda was more than ready for a good streak any time now.

“Wanda! There you are!” His words were slurred, strung together so messily Wanda wondered if he’d remember in the morning that he’d actually smiled at her. She tried to ignore him, looking at any variety of kitchen accessories she spotted around the room, but Brock was never one to be quiet when given space to speak. “Praying away your first kiss all alone in here?”

“You know that’s not how that works.” Wanda rolled her eyes, taking a step back only to meet the cold kitchen counter. And again, Brock came closer. 

In a perfect world he wouldn’t intimidate her, not even a foot away, his obnoxiously loud laughter pushing his alcohol soaked breath her way, but she couldn’t help it, instinct inching her farther even as his big steps closed the distance. “What I do know is how rude it is to leave someone in the dust right after they kiss you. You ran off so quickly!”

Wanda’s hands tightened around her soda can, denting the aluminum as she counted down however long she had left to endure this. “I didn’t kiss you, it’s none of your business.”

“I could have once, remember?” Unnerved as she was, Wanda still hit Brock’s hand away as quickly as his calloused fingertips grazed her cheek, a hard slap that faded his smug grin into a glower. “You’re just too good at running away.”

“Hands off, Rumlow.” Where you’d come from Wanda didn’t know, but she was never more relieved to see you. It took you longer than you wanted to admit navigating the house, asking first if anyone had seen your date and then, where the kitchen was. Finding her just in time is what mattered most, speeding across the kitchen to put space between Wanda and your classmate slowly, but surely crowding her in. 

You hadn’t heard their conversation, but it didn’t matter. There were exactly zero scenarios you could imagine Wanda willingly talking to Brock, much less with him as close as he was. Boorishly, he raised his hands in the air, backing away without nearly enough shame as he should’ve. “What, is she your girlfriend now? Like, for real?”

Wanda didn’t speak up to correct him, but neither did you, still unsure what you called someone you’d fantasized about more than acted on those with. This was Brock you were talking about though, and he out of anyone didn’t need to know another bit of information about Wanda than he already did.

Ignoring an answer, you held Wanda similarly to how you had a few days ago, arms about her waist, but this was more possessive, more urgent—  another spectacle Wanda longed to hate, but the security your embrace offered left her swooning. She would die happy if she could stay in your arms like this forever; just preferably not in Carol’s kitchen. “Why, jealous?” 

Your hand on her ass should’ve made her cringe; if it was anyone else, maybe she would, but this left her knees weak. To your shock, Wanda didn’t move and Brock’s hazy eyes bounced between the two of you, not willing to fight for someone he didn’t deem worth the effort. “Of your newfound celibacy? No thanks.”

“Well fuck off then, find someone else to piss off.” When you kissed her cheek, it was equal parts to drive him away as it was to calm Wanda’s nerves and by some miracle, it worked for both. Once he disappeared from view, you offered her another, two in succession when she didn’t twist away. “Sorry for taking forever, couldn’t find you… you’re really fast, you know.”

“The game was over so I left.” Wanda tossed her empty and squashed can into the pile atop the overfilled trash can nearby, needing her hands free to affectionately pat your arms. She expected you to let her go again, but you only held tighter. “What-”

Turning Wanda around, you leant against the counter, bringing her with you until she had no choice but to settle between your legs. “You have a cute ass,” Two hands cupped her backside now, squeezing covered flesh as if there weren't dozens of people that could walk in at a moment’s notice. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Because you hardly look at me,” the brunette mumbled, willing herself to relax as you touched her. You only acknowledged her with a low hum, burying your nose in the crook of her neck, sighing as you caught the familiar light floral scent of her perfume. Curious fingers skirted over her hip, following the tight hem of Wanda’s dress along her upper thigh. She shuddered against you, fingers tugging at your shirt, grounding herself as she wiggled against your front. Wanda hadn’t expected to enjoy such shameless groping, but tonight was just full of surprises. 

You’d be more than happy to spend the rest of your time here, exploring her at your leisure, all else forgotten, but your dream was over way too soon. The tired girl wormed her way out of your grasp, instantly missing your warmth, but needing to stop before you were discovered. She wanted to be the type not to care who caught you, wanted to let you hold her tight and kiss her hard right here in the kitchen, but her nerves got the better of her. “You’re drunk, don’t do that here.”

You could insist you weren’t that drunk, completely sober enough to know exactly what you’re up to, but you’d already pushed your luck being so bold after embarrassing her earlier. “Here? Sooo.. you’d let me do it somewhere else?” 

Wanda ignored her hopes soaring at the prospect of you wanting to try again. Not for show or to shut anyone up, but because you wanted her. You saw it on her face, pupils blown wide and fidgeting hands; the girl wore her emotions on her sleeve, and damn if you didn’t want to convince her to let you drag her upstairs to some unoccupied room and have your way with her, but you tried to make peace with just knowing Wanda didn’t completely shut the idea down.

 “I don’t know! Maybe…” This wasn’t the place to discuss how much she craved your touch, much less her feelings on the matter; for Wanda, parties weren’t right for anything she needed right now. Suddenly Wanda felt overwhelmed all over again, brain scrambled and wanting too many unrelated things at once, and the loud bass and equally loud house was too much. 

She’d given it a real effort for you and it wasn’t all bad, but trying to fit in with a group of people who thrived on being high school mean girls even into adulthood? Wanda didn’t want to play that game and as much as she wanted to trust you, she couldn’t take anything you did around them seriously, uncertain if this was all just to show off or genuine interest. “I think I’m going to go…”

You couldn’t say it caught you off guard, not with how the night had gone. Hours ago when you’d first seen her, Wanda stood tall, happy and excited for her first real party; taking in her slumped shoulders and turned down gaze broke your heart. You hoped your disappointment didn’t show because none was for her, all towards you instead, feeling like you’d failed at every turn to keep her safe and relaxed. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk across campus alone in the middle of the night.”

“Well I can’t be here anymore, I’m done.” Staying in this house a minute longer made Wanda want to throw up; she wanted the cozy familiarity of her apartment and her bed, to sleep until tonight was a far off memory. She hadn’t come with much thankfully, only her keys you’d kept tucked safe in your jacket, but you tucked the pocket behind you as she went to reach for it.

“I never said you couldn’t leave,” Stepping forward, you took Wanda by the hand, but didn’t tug her closer, trying to let her have her space even when you wanted to give her the hug she looked like she so badly needed. If Wanda was leaving then you would too, having lost your interest in the party as soon as you saw hers vanish upstairs. “I’m walking you home.”

Guilt crept in quickly and Wanda instantly tried reassuring you, but you wouldn’t hear it, determined not to let her walk off this time. She was upset, you’d seen it on her before, a dark cloud dampening her naturally cheery demeanor; you wouldn’t leave her like that again. “You’re the hottest girl here, I’d rather spend time with you anyways.”

“Alright, but I’m going to bed.” Wanda hit your shoulder, turning her back to you before her smile gave her away. ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

It was cold outside with autumn rolling in, but Wanda was grateful for the quiet. The walk back to your building was short in theory, but grew longer with the brunette doing most of the navigation. You were just a bit too distracted to focus on where you were going, but you’d always remember to follow Wanda anywhere. While dragging along behind her, your eyes remained firmly stuck on her bare shoulders, illuminated whenever you passed under a streetlight, and when you caught her shivering, you were quick to rush in. 

“Are you cold?” She wasn’t for long between your engulfing hug and the heat bursting through her body as your lips kissed along the expanse of exposed skin. It was impossible to walk like this, your hands splayed over her stomach as you clung to her from behind, preoccupied with the new opportunity to touch her rather than getting inside. 

Wanda tried anyways, steps heavy on the sidewalk as she took your weight with her. “I won’t be cold if you let us go home.” She was right of course, often was, but it didn’t stop you from staying attached to her the rest of the way. 

You’d run to the bathroom as soon as she unlocked the door and Wanda made a beeline for her bedroom— where she’d forgotten all about the short white nightgown she’d laid out right before she left. An outfit change planned for the version of her that returned from the party confident, a lot more drunk, and ready to fall in bed with you for a whole different reason than she was now. 

Frazzled, Wanda grabbed the satin garment and shoved it to the back of her closet until it was hidden from view. Her typical safe pajama set was the new choice, shedding her party dress to pull loose shorts over her hips, buttoning the last button on her top just as you emerged from the bathroom. 

Letting you do whatever you needed to do to be ready for bed, Wanda went to the kitchen, pouring glasses of water and picking up her bottle of ibuprofen she knew you’d need in the morning. When she returned, you were already under the covers, head against the headboard and absentmindedly scrolling your phone. “Glad to see you made yourself comfortable.”

You expected her to say more, either talking about the night or give you some random fact as she sometimes did, but after Wanda was firmly in bed, lights off, not even the television on, the typically comfortable silence between you two felt suffocating. “You’re being quiet.” 

“I’m quiet a lot.” She said it plainly, not even a hint of emotion behind her words and when that was all, you had to do something about it. Sitting up once more, you scooted over until you were sat in front of her, sizing up the worry rolling off of Wanda in waves. 

That nightgown was a painful reminder of how badly she felt she’d failed this whole party thing; there was no lingering high from buzzing events, no giggles or wandering hands like Natasha hinted might happen if she’d done any number of certain things. No, Wanda had run from you, pushed those wandering hands away, played off shoulder kisses as nothing short of an annoyance and now… now you weren’t touching her at all. If you went back to your place, she wouldn’t be surprised, but she dreaded being alone right now, left not only to wallow in self-pity, but properly unkissed. It was all too miserable to say aloud. 

You waited until she conquered her visible hesitation, but when Wanda sighed, more interested in fidgeting with her blankets than speaking up, you decided it was time to step in with reassurance. “You did really well tonight. I hope you know you really didn’t have to come with me, but I’m happy you did and you looked beautiful.”

Wanda gave a bitter chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief, “You’re not upset you had to watch me all night and make sure I wasn’t completely falling apart?”

“What? No! I had a good time!” A different time than what you were used to, but not bad. Really you didn’t mind looking out for her, felt honored she even trusted you to do so. You’d gone home with the best person in that place; you’d love to be doing something different with her right about now to round out your night as usual, especially when you could easily remember how soft and warm Wanda felt against you, but you didn’t want to push her. Except… “Hey Wanda?”

She picked at the stray lint she could barely make out amongst her sheets, trying not to dread whatever else came out of your mouth next, “Yeah?”

“I liked kissing you earlier.” It was the truth, simply put between your exhaustion and intoxication, but honest nonetheless. “Was that really your first time?”

“Well…” She thought about it, wondering long and hard if she could count the years old close call that stuck in her head in her worst thoughts. No, Wanda wouldn’t pay that any mind. “Yes, it was.”

“Oh..” Before you could second guess anymore, you inched closer, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. Wanda was tired, that much was clear, but her eyes still stayed wide, gaze locked on your lips as she licked her own. If the desperation was mutual, one of you might as well do something about it. “Would you like a second?”

Wanda paused, not because she didn’t want it, she did so terribly badly, but it scared her. All of this, you, scared her. What if you changed your mind? If you only kissed her before to be nice, what did this count as? Back there, you’d been so quick about it, a peck to end the game in your own mischievous way; this time you were free to carry on and she had no idea how to handle that. Were you about to find out she’s a terrible kisser? 

While her thoughts raced, you sat back, giving her space to decide properly. You wanted to kiss her, sure, and with any other girl maybe you would’ve just taken it, but with the careless way you’d taken her first, you couldn’t let Wanda’s second be something she woke up regretting. “You can say no, I won’t be mad-”

In a split second, your world went black, Wanda crashing into you with a strength you didn’t know she had. Her lips were clumsy against yours until you took over, shock dissipating as everything that was Wanda clouded your senses. She’d had enough pushing you away for one night. Here in the privacy of her bedroom, if you really wanted to kiss her, she’d freely admit she needed you to do so. 

Wanda’s arms wound loosely around your neck, acclimating herself to the feel of your kiss. You were slow and inviting, skirting the tip of your tongue along her bottom lip so gently Wanda didn’t say a thing about your hands drawing up her bare legs. Eventually, you eased her back until she laid reclined, deft fingers undoing the bottom few delicate buttons of her pajama set. 

“It’s not fair how sweet your lips are…” You chased her as she broke for air, shifting your weight to kneel between her legs; Wanda was about to ask you what you meant when you slipped. Still lacking all of your coordination, you leaned too close to the edge of the mattress, falling to the floor with a loud thud. When you regained your senses, Wanda’s laughter hit you before anything, loud and uninhibited, and as much as your head ached, you found yourself laughing right along with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but…!” Wanda could barely breathe she was laughing so hard, your dramatic pout way too exaggerated to be real. You looked so pitiful curled up on the floor, rubbing the side of your head; she wanted to kiss you all better. “Come on, come up here. You need to go to sleep.”

You might’ve protested harder if the brunette wasn’t holding out her arms, covers pulled back to let you climb right in. It was an uncoordinated scramble from the carpet into her bed, but Wanda pressed a little kiss into your hair, smoothing it over before guiding you down. “At least I don’t have to sleep down there…”

Head laid heavy on her midsection, snuggled into what felt like the warmest blankets of your life in your drunken state, exhaustion hit you like a freight train. At some point Wanda’s hand snuck into your hair, brushing strays away from your face, nails lightly scratching at your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never gone on nights out.”

“Pietro’s to thank for that,” Wanda laughed again and you heard it against your ear, the smooth, happy rumbling you’d missed all night. “Someone had to pull him back together before morning and it certainly wasn’t going to be dad. He always likes to remind me I’m twelve minutes younger, but I feel years older most of the time.”

She was a natural caretaker, always had been, especially after her mother died, but besides her family she’d never heard that type of compliment from anyone and it helped her relax in this otherwise unfamiliar territory. If nothing else, Wanda knew she could show her affection through some tried and true TLC, but looking after her loud and drunk brother was miles different from the clingy drunken behavior of the crush she’d just been making out with. If you weren’t so cute when you got sleepy, Wanda might’ve exiled you to the couch. 

After a while of nothing, Wanda unintentionally lulling you to sleep with the gentle stroke of her fingers on your head, her thoughts drifted again. “Was Carol right?”

“Hm?” It was too late to have any discussion past something silly, but from Wanda’s tone, you knew it was anything but and you prayed you could keep it together long enough not to look like a complete asshole.

“Did you only ask to hang out to see if you could have sex with me?” Wanda nearly bit her lip to bleeding in the long silence that followed, wavering between thinking you’d finally fallen asleep and convincing herself you were pretending just to avoid giving an answer. She thought about waiting but if that stupid game taught her one thing it was the way alcohol stripped you of all filters; she needed to know for sure, but she couldn’t look you in the eye to ask. Her dark bedroom was the perfect cover for questions she’d never be able to ask after tonight.

“No, of course not.” Truthfully, you hadn’t drunk enough to be anything past buzzed; you’d been stupid earlier for sure, but nothing extreme. If you wanted to lie, you could easily, but you’d never think of it. Not when you’d already let her down repeatedly. “You’re hot though, I would if you wanted me to.” 

“Oh… thank you?” Wanda stiffened and mentally you were kicking yourself, hoping she didn’t kick you out of her bed when you were so warm and cozy right where you were— but then you felt her thighs squirming against your midsection. You wanted to test your hunch so badly, but you knew better. Soon maybe, but not when you were both so painfully tired. Instead you hunkered down, pushed against her until she let you roll onto your stomach between her legs. 

Wanda’s sleep shirt made the perfect cover for her soft tummy, a pillow you were scared you’d miss next time you fell asleep on your own. You dotted it with kisses, mostly the area under the buttons you’d undone, a gentle show of gratitude  before laying your head back. “Mostly I wanted to see if you’re as cute up close. You are: mission accomplished.”

She wanted to shake you for calling her cute again, but it was too late to revert the conversation and she couldn’t exactly jump for her phone and text Natasha without looking obvious. Wanda sighed and settled for running her hands over your shoulders, hoping desperately her breathing stayed even enough to hide her personal panic. Soft snores finally made their way to her ears and her head fell back against actual pillows, waiting for anything to tell her how to make some kind of move. Talking wasn’t it, parties certainly weren’t it… Agatha’s advice was next up. Plan C, she’d called it— Wanda feared Plan C.

[arcplaysgames]

I am a Persona 5 enthusiast above all else and a Persona 3 Portable lover directly after that, but fuck if the MC x Yosuke relationship doesn’t own my entire life

I should prob wait until I'm fully done bc I think I'm at the final dungeon now (or, there's a bonus one later i guess that's optional?) but

jesus fucking christ can i please just talk about Yosuke finally because I feel like i'm gonna explode

I don't think I see Yosuke as bisexual is the thing that I have settled on. I feel like Yosuke is a badly closeted scared shitty teenager who is simmering with so much repressed anger and resignation, he doesn't know how to adequately handle it (and frankly he's slowly getting better over the course of the game). But all of his worst moments in the story feel like he's acting from a script, namely the CompHet Script From Hell.

(Also, I would say that I think of Kanji as The Bisexual One while Yosuke is just attracted to dudes, which isn't what I anticipated from the start.)

But Yosuke mostly makes me sad. I feel like the expectations on him, the ones that he has wrapped around himself like a shield in an attempt to ward off people hurting him. Because he's so isolated and desperate for affection, he's willing to do stupid shit to get the attention he wants. All of his bad antics always feel like.... they come from less of a place of horny lust and more from a place of....... fear?

Like when he does the shit around the camping trip and his other sketchy actions, it always feels like a way to say "please be with me in this thing, this is what guys do, right?" like if he hits his mark well enough, he'll unlock some happiness he hasn't figured out yet.

but it's all so SCRIPTED! like when does Yosuke go off the deep end? when there's a script he thinks he has to hit. oh, the spring camping trip can't just be a school trip, it has to be a chance to score with the ladies. oh, you can't just want to get motorcycles and hang out with your best friend, it has to be for laaaaaadies.

but as soon as you separate him from those scripts and he goes back to being him, he's.... such a fucking decent, empathetic guy. he takes in teddie and outright fights to keep him living with him. he takes the lead in the case alongside naoto. he is the first person to rope in Nanako into the group and consistently keeps her involved. and once he gets over his homophobic panic over kanji, he keeps fukcing trying to wingman for kanji, even if kanji would prefer he didn't. and that feels genuine! kanji reacts to it like a cat in a bath, but more than once, yosuke prodding kanji for his taste in boys (and girls and naoto) feels like real interest, not a set up for a punchline. and I've remarked before that he's REALLY decent to naoto re: gender, esp in comparison to the rest of the game, which was STUNNING.

and then he's like "OH SHIT i need to be more of a Dude's Dude" and he morphs into an asshole for a day. then he snaps right back.

the out of universe explanations are clear, i'm not a dumbass. but I am choosing to kill the fucking author and examine what all this genuinely means for the character.

and the guy who attaches himself the MC's hip, and who's growth thru his bullshit is linked to the MC, and who cries around the MC and who accepts a long lingering hug and lets not forget if you roleplay wanting to date him, he's happy.

Maybe in the future this will change, but for the Yosuke of now, in the moment, it feels like his expectations of what Guys And Girls are supposed to be gets in his way of forming stronger relationships (which, again, is why the Naoto thing intrigues me). It feels like he thinks he's supposed to want to date Chie, but when he seeks out intimacy that veers into the romantic, it's not with girls.

ANYWAY I THINK YOSUKE'S GAY, but his closet is sadly made of knives, and it cuts him as he tries to keep himself contorted into the correct shape to keep hidden.

best case scenario is him hanging around the MC until he trips happily into the relationship he wants, built brick by brick until the plausible deniability is left out in the cold

worst case is he's going to get married at 20 and make some poor woman abjectly fucking miserable until they're divorced.

phew okay, all that felt like an exorcism, i feel better now

[serpulalacrymans]

headcanons for Lawrence as a father?

//Oooooohh this one's fuuuuuun~!

Character HC's listed down below.

Lawrence's effort to be a good dad would hang in the balance of how he's feeling that day. Some days he looks at the bundle of sunshine and feels conditional pride. Others he just sees another vessel rotting with the seconds. This means he more or less keeps up on active care- but he always makes sure they are fed, at the very least.

Lawrence develops a routine to protect the lil' tyke from his explosive outbursts. His anger issues combined with a babies continuous crying creates a monster- one he does not like to present to them. They're neglected while he can learn to calm down in another room, but as a consequence, the child develops a fear of yelling/loud noises.

They are pulled from school for little to no reason time and time again. He gets anxious and worries for their wellbeing, as well as worries about his position as the leading guardian in their life. They are reenrolled just as much for the same reasons. He doesn't like other people being able to poke and prod at his youngling, yet often gets overwhelmed by their presence, so appreciates the days he's left alone.

Gender rolls do not exist to Lawrence. Same rules apply for sexuality, or any other identity-related questions. He may be sad to see certain parts of them die, but he knows those parts were hardly them anyway, if they must go. (He may also be ignorant to some things, like small statements such as "Isn't that for girls?" but his naivety does not reflect his overall beliefs.)

He tries to be an inviting father when his child eventually makes friends and wants to bring them around. He just ends up being weird. Not weird in a creepy way, but weird in a "aren't you the kid with the plant-dad?" kind of way.

He educates them very well in his way of art. They are never allowed near his subjects while still alive. They grow up adjusted to death and gore. They're very helpful nonetheless! Like helping pops out with his fancy arts!

Raising a little one of his own is actually very healing. He loses the plot a lot of the time, but he is also quick to remind himself of his own upbringing. He will never treat his child the way he was treated. He will never make them feel like he did.

He doesn't entirely hate fatherhood! Mainly when they get old enough to become an actual person. They're raised to be incredibly quiet, and very, very polite and clean. This makes them enjoyable to be around.

He is, unfortunately, a helicopter parent. Tracking on their phone, shared accounts, a curtain in place of a door for their bedroom, the works.

Lawrence remains pretty selfish as well. If he doesn't feel like getting up at night to tend to the lil' one, he won't. They can just cry it out. He is also pretty irresponsible, but that's just because he refuses to take other parents advice and just doesn't know any better. Making it up as he goes.

Speaking of irresponsible- he takes the baby to bed often. Likes huddling around them until they both fall asleep. Has no idea how dangerous this can actually be. Or, maybe he does.

Had he named a child, it would be something just as artistic as his works. It's a tiny life, one that grips his fingers and relies on him to survive... It must be cherished. (I personally have a "Next Gen" Oleander OC named Kveta, in collab with a friend. I feel like going above and beyond for first names is like, his thing.)

And finally, the last one for the time being- I do not believe he would ever have a desire to be a father. It doesn't seem ideal. I feel if he ever had a child, it would have to be accidental. Not like a pregnancy scare, as we know that can't happen, but perhaps nabbing an individual he was not aware was pregnant and simply keeping the leftovers.

//Hope these were good ??? This was a LOT of fun, thank u nonny !!!

[oldestenemy]

“Initiate!” Velma Von Venkman’s voice is always a bright note in this place—at least compared to Ione and Fitzhume, who the wizard hears more often. “I know you’re preparing for Mirage—but since you’re waiting on Quismah to locate the spiral door—can I have a word?”

That’s the other thing they like about Velma.

She asks for their time.

She doesn’t demand it like Ione or Baba Yaga—or like Ambrose used to.

“Of course,” She was right anyways—they couldn’t do much until Quismah sent word that she had found where in the sprawling deserts the spiral door for Mirage had been lost. “what do you need?”

Velma smiles, and maybe they imagine it but there might be a hint of sadness in it. “Look at you, always ready to throw yourself at a task—but it wasn’t really something I needed, it’s more—come with me, I don’t think this is really Panopticon chatter.”

So they follow her into the Hall of Shadow.

“Alright, so I know I didn’t ask in the beginning—I usually try not to pry into people’s pasts—most of the scholars are very private people—okay maybe not most—doesn’t matter, would you mind taking your hood down for me?” Maybe it’s the way she talks, maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t appear to be more than a decade older than they are at most, but out of the people they’ve met here—Velma is the one who puts them on guard the least.

It doesn’t stop them from jolting a little at the question.

Because it means she’s recognized the scarring. In some form or another.

They suppose there was never going to be any hiding it from a scholar of Shadow. The wizard lowers their hood, and the thin veil of darkness that conceals all but their eyes vanishes with it. Sometimes they wonder if getting used to it was a mistake. They feel almost exposed without the cover.

They do not have a lot of time to dwell on the feeling—thankfully—because Velma is fiddling with the high collar of her shirt, eventually undoing enough of it to reveal scarring in a similar coloration—though not welled so deep—in the shape of a jester’s collar. Or an echo of one. Not quite so well defined, jagged on the edges but still clearly there. “I thought I recognized those—I just haven’t been able to quite pin down how you ended up with them,” She says, “I came back with this after the first time I brought the Trickster into existence, and when I spoke to Sofia Darkside—you know her don’t you?—she theorized it was because I was the first person to pull that type of Shadow creature under magical control. But the tears—”

“—it’s overuse.” The wizard answers before her ramble goes any further. There’s no point in keeping it secret, unlike everyone else here Velma is unafraid of Shadow. She is dedicated to poking and prodding and learning its secrets. “The first time was after I killed Morganthe—I absorbed so much of the power pouring from her that it was trying to escape my body any way it could. It came out like the night sky made liquid, like—” why bother describing it.

The wizard takes a breath.

Reaches inward for the coil of emotions they keep a tight handle on. Rage, grief, guilt, pride, desperation and fear. Loosens the locks. Just enough that their eyes burn. Cold and dark and starry.

They run two fingers under an eye, holding their hand out to Velma. “I can call it up, I couldn’t on Khrysalis, but later—I was trapped, I was angry and desperate—it’s pure Shadow magic, I can use it to bend reality around me like you would with any of its spells. I’ve made battle placements, door sigils, altered spell cards—” Embedded Shadow creatures into duel circles, burnt themself into a husk…

Velma pulls open to a blank page of her spellbook, and holds it out to them, “Would you mind?”

They run the ink-dark fingertips down the page, tracing the sigil for Shadow because it seems appropriate. When Velma sets the book down on her desk and comes back she’s peering at their eyes in curiosity—not even bothering to hide the way she is buzzing with it.

“It comes with a price.”

“All Shadow does,” Velma replies, still inspecting the drying starlight.

“This is different,” the wizard insists “you can use it and use it and use it without backlash until you either engage and finish a duel, or use a proper spell that induces backlash itself.” They tell her in more detail than they’ve told anyone—even Cyrus—about Nidavellir and Darkmoor and the ways this usage of magic ended when pushed too far.

To her credit, Velma listens with wide eyed interest. Only stopping them here and there to clarify how something felt, or how it looked. When they’re done, she rests back against the edge of her desk, the thin arm of her monocle tucked between her teeth like it’s helping her think. Eventually, she does ask the question they’ve been expecting. “And these are your only scars from Shadow?”

Nobody knows about the one hooked under their sternum.

Jagged and puckered, knotted tissue poorly healed.

The wizard nods. And lies. “They’re the only ones. I think they get deeper whenever I try to dip into that well.” That part is true, they think whenever they let the tears come fully, run down their face again like all the times before—it paints an ever deeper well into the soft plane of their face. Another reason for trying not to take things too far anymore, though certainly not the primary one.

The idea of what happened in Nidavellir being repeatable haunts them.

They do not want to chance a creature like what they became released on a wider scale.

They’ve got too much to lose.

[lazyrants]

My Treehouse (prod 113)

Original airdate: November 11, 2004

Story by Magnus Scheving

Written by Noah Zachary, Cole Louie, Magnus Scheving

Directed by Magnus Scheving

Executive producers - Magnus Scheving, Ragnheidur Melsted, Raymond P. Le Gue, Mark Read, Brown Johnson, Kay Wilson Stallings

Starring Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Steffanson, Julianna Rose Mauriello

Puppeteers - Ronald Binion, Gudmondor Thor Karason, Jodi Eichelberger, David Matthew Feldman, Julie Westwood, Amanda Maddock, Sarah Burgess

My Treehouse is the last episode of LazyTown to air in 2004. From here and the rest of the season you can see a slight increase in quality.

The episode begins with Sportacus timing how long it takes for him to cartwheel and flip into the skutla - approx. 14 seconds. He says that this is too slow for saving people, so he tries again. Twelve seconds. Not much of an upgrade, but it's improvement.

Sportacus visits town to see what the kids are doing, and they're hiding in a treehouse - Ziggy, Stephanie, Trixie & Pixel. They've started a secret treehouse in fear that Stingy will hear about it and try and take it all for himself. He's a young little boy, he can't just take a treehouse.. then he takes the treehouse.

He doesn't go far because Sportacus grabs hold of the rope he's using to steal the treehouse because 'if they don't want me in the club, I'll just take the club!...house'. So they change their minds, not because they want to, because they don't want to piss Stingy off, and let him join the club. Milford is making an announcement on the loud-speakers and Robbie.. is sleeping. Outside. After two episodes of doing the same goddamn thing he hasn't learned his mistake.

Anyways, Milford announces a big treehouse building contest with big 'prizes'. Robbie wakes up and decides to listen to the Mayor. I'd just not join, I'm hopeless with building houses. I can't do it in a video game, what makes me think I can do it in real life? Anyways, he announces that they have to be in teams, the best treehouse in town wins, and they get a HUGE trophy.

Watch the episode yourself to see what it looks like. Might not be as astonishing as you think. Anyways, everyone thinks the trophy is really cool, especially Stingy, who wants it the most. The president has ordered one person to help all teams, and for LazyTown, that person is Sportacus.

Robbie is of course, amazed by the trophy and attempts to steal it, but Bessie yells at him (LOL) and he goes away. The kids start building their treehouse, but Ziggy has a bunch of lollipops in his mouth, and Stingy is too busy looking at the trophy.

Other then that, he is hogging all the supplies for the tree house (does he WANT that trophy?). Well, at least he's working on the treehouse. Bessie is getting Milford to build it for him while she relaxes (this is just ridiculous now) and Milford almost falls and drops all the wood, but Sportacus pushes a wheelbarrow so Milford doesn't fall on the ground.

Robbie is also trying hard for that trophy. He is trying his best to build a treehouse but he has no expierence and hurts himself multiple times in the process (smashing a piece of wood with a hammer, making that piece of wood fling onto him, and hitting his hand with a hammer).

He realizes what a waste of time this is (he should have some kinda invention for this task, but he doesn't think so) and decides to cut the kids tree with an axe. But the axe is rubber and it starts shaking, so he scraps that idea. Then Stingy's hammer flies away and instead of moving away, Robbie covers his head. Luckily, Sportacus is there and he catches the hammer. There are two more minutes remaining and the treehouse looks pretty good, the kids perform Teamwork, and Bessie is reading the headline of Lazy Town News: "LAZYTOWN SPRING IN THE AIR". What a boring newspaper. I genuinely don't know why she's always reading the newspaper in this season.

The time is finally up and what's left to do is to send the photos in to the president and see who wins the day after. Sportacus is the man taking the photos and he's wearing a red cloth on his face. Maybe to divert attention? Or to not get hit by the flames?

Bessie does a closeup to the camera, so you can't even see all the hard work that Milford did. Not to mention the photos are black and white (I'm no color expert, but I am pretty sure color photos existed in 2004), so the painting of the treehouse was useless. And Robbie says 'Cheddar' when Sportacus tells him to say 'Cheese'. LOL!

Despite how terrible his treehouse, Robbie still thinks he will win, and he mails the letter in along with everyone else. Anyways, Stingy can't handle the idea of someone getting given the trophy (jeez, it's like there's the secret to life in this trophy) and he rips up the photo so only him and the treehouse can be seen.

More proof that if Stingy is your favourite character, you're a 'fan' who discovered the show in 2017 after We are Number One and The Mine Song and have only watched 3 episodes. Anyways, the winner 'Stingy' is announced the next day and Robbie is on the verge of crying. He did put in a lot of effort and Stingy did almost nothing.

Everyone is unhappy with Stingy (well, maybe not the Mayor considering he doesn't know what Stingy did until Trixie tells everybody), but he is just happy he got the damn trophy. I respect the grind, but I don't respect lying about it.

He goes to the treehouse with the trophy, and they want answers. He says that it's his treehouse because he 'owns' everything used to build it, excluding Stephanie's flower pot, which he throws out. (What a jerky move) So they leave him alone.

To take Stingy off their minds, they play a game of basketball and some of Pixel's video games while Stingy plays ping pong, rock paper scissors, and chess.. alone. He lures Ziggy into visiting the treehouse (Siggi Sæti from 'Let's Go, LazyTown!' (1997) is background music) with candy which is pretty smart. He says he can have tons of candy if he plays with him, but Ziggy declines so Stingy turns the handle and breaks it.

I like how we can see he feels remorse for his actions but doesn't want to show it. It's good writing. Robbie is watching and he sees the trophy and decides to steal it in the mailbox costume and Stingy eventually decides to leave the treehouse (to go apologize), but he nearly falls off and now he's in trouble.

Stephanie hears his yells and convinces Trixie to save him. What character development! She climbs up the tree and tries to grab his hand, but the trophy distracts her and she almost falls until Stingy grabs her hand.

Robbie finally sees his chance to get the trophy (which is in multiple broken parts, but to each their own) but he falls over a leftover piece of wood, and Sportacus has just came to save the two.

Sportacus has saved the two (hip hip hooray), but Robbie is still lying on the ground in his mailbox, and the treehouse is about to fall on him. Thus comes more proof of the power of Sports Candy.

THAT'S RIGHT. HE HOLDS AN ENTIRE TREE HOUSE UP. Anyways, the gang make up, they sing Bing Bang and Robbie is in the lair with the trophy. He polishes it and takes care of it.. then he falls apart.

THE END.

8/10. Amazing lesson.

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel thoughts : Foils 4

(Foils 1 here)

(Foils 2 here)

(Foils 3 here)

Masterpost here.

(Or the one where I'm starting to think I'm not really creative with title names.)

Anyway, I'm on a roll (seriously, what's happening. Motivation is perking up from its deep slumber. Didn't happened since last October. Is it a full blue moon tonight or...?) and I did say I was gonna talk about Lucifer and Sera, so here goes.

Lucifer VS Sera, and for good measure Charlie VS Emily. Both Lucifer and Sera come from Heaven (revelation of the century, wow, I know - oh lookit dat, my sarcasm is awake early today), happen to both be Seraphim (with Lucifer as one of the most powerful and Sera having been involved in the creation of Earth apparently, if Ep 1's intro is to be believed) and a parental figure to their younger charge : Lucifer is Charlie's literal dad and Sera is a mentor motherly figure to Emily. They also both want to protect the ones they love, but go about it in different ways : Lucifer made a deal that no hellborn demons are hurt during the yearly Exterminations, while Sera enforces Heaven's flawed system to keep the heaven-bound souls and Emily joyful and safe. However, hurt Charlie and Lucifer will come down on you like a meteor, despite having spent time estranged from his own daughter, while Sera keeps Emily out of the loop despite always being with her (they are no on-screen scenes of Emily alone up to now, even if at one point Sera did separate to talk to Adam, which means that Emily was showing Vaggie and Charlie around on her own, off-screen).

This is fairly interesting to see that while Lucifer - due to depression, growing cynism (10 000 years at least of waking up each morning and being met first thing looking out of the window by Hell's cesspool of sin and violence - the reminder of his broken dreams and awful unforeseen consequences of his well-meaning gift of free will) and plain just life going sideways with his wife missing for 7 years and his daughter going down the same road as him, also unintentionally hurting Charlie by not supporting her dreams (at first) - is not much involved in Charlie's life but still wanting to reconnect with her and is ecstatic when he has the chance to ("My daughter wants to see meeee !"), Sera is always present in Emily's life, working together with her ("It's my position as the Head Seraphim to protect our people at all costs ! And it's your position to keep them happy and joyful") in tandem : one takes care of the technical side, the other of the emotional side of things. Bread and circuses (funnily enough, Lucifer and the other Sins have a circus theme going on) - yet she's more distant and disconnected from Emily, keeping her (and the majority of Heaven) in the dark and using her position to uphold the status quo over what Emily wants or feels. Lucifer, while reluctant at first, actually agrees to help Charlie the way Charlie would like it to go, and is there to pick her up when things go south, fully supporting her once he comes around (More Than Anything and Finale).

Sera and Lucifer are also kind of two sides of the same coin : the latter is a known dreamer, extremely creative and open-minded, which blew up in his face when he changed things, unintentionally made shit hit the fan and got casted down to Hell for it. Sera on her side upholds the rules, doesn't dare to question the system, strives to not change a thing even if she seems to deeply regret how it's done, and lives in constant fear of her or her loved ones suffering Lucifer's fate. At the point of the first season, both are motivated by the same thing : fear, especially of losing or seeing their loved ones hurt, and especially this exact thing happening to their daughter figure - a very relatable thing. Yet Lucifer, after some prodding, chooses to fully stand by his daughter's side (and what's more, she (unknowingly) succeeds !) while Sera feels forced to squash Emily's hopes with the intention to spare her anguish and pain. At the end of Ep 6, both have disappointed their daughter figure at least once, but Lucifer did it in the past and strives to get better, while Sera is currently doing it and worsening things (in Ep 8, she's probably keeping Emily from intervening in any form about the Extermination). Lucifer, the fallen angel, dares to go where Sera, the high seraphim, would not, overcoming a fear Sera still can't shake off.

Quick aside, they make a nice foils triangle with Carmilla : Sera on one side as an angel not changing the status quo even if it's flawed and even if it brings her anguish and she has to put her daughter figure's feelings down for it, Carmilla on the other side as a demon who broke the rules by defeating the undefeatable to protect her daughters no matter what and helping out indirectly, and Lucifer in the middle as a fallen angel that has tried but given up, ending up doing a pendulum swing from one side to another, both with his own daughter in mind too - first not supporting her dream to avoid her getting crushed, then saying 'screw it let's do it' and standing by her side no matter what. Probably not intentional, but the fact that he starts with his more angelic form (ep 5) like Sera and ends up in his more demonic form (ep 8) like Carmilla when at peak protectiveness is smile-inducing to observe.

Charlie, Emily, Odette and Clara really should organize a tea party sometime.

Which brings us to Charlie VS Emily. Not gonna lie, they're a lot alike (the sun also rose today, also, breaking news : water is wet), idealistic, optimists, two piles of sugar sweetness in the shape of a young woman (chronological age notwithstanding) with a certain naïveté to them - basically, they're each other's counterpart in their respective realms of Heaven and Hell, as high-ranked figures in charge of seemingly less important stuff that actually have their weight : Charlie is the Princess of Hell and founder of the Hotel, wanting to repent Sinners, while Emily is a seraphim in charge of making citizens in Heaven happy. Both strive to bring joy and kindness to their own people and fully believe in their cause, so it's no wonder that they immediately click very well together. In Welcome To Heaven (both the song and episode), Emily is absolutely gleeful in meeting both Charlie and Vaggie, can't wait to show them around, and openly welcoming no strings attached (which contrasts Sera's tempering : "You're gifted to be here", and "of course it's just temporary, I'm sorry you can't stay" - she's quick to remind everyone that it's not where the two demons belong).

However Emily looks like a Charlie that's still sheltered. To be fair, while Charlie is, in some measure, still naive about her own world (though not naive enough to think every Sinner wants redemption), with not-really-thought-through plans (Puppy dog kisses and puffy-wuffy clouds, anyone ?), has grown up under the protection and love of her parents, and is ready to Fluttershit the shy (yes, you read that right) out of everyone who comes knocking, she's still out there working for it (even during Exterminations, as seen when she found Vaggie), knowing it'll be a hard road and that she's going to get rebuked a lot. She's also more or less on her own, at least since 7 years, estranged from her parents and managing the Hotel alone (later with the help of her girlfriend since 3 years). Emily on her side, from her own point of view, lives in a world where nothing is wrong (as far as she knows), has been kept away from what's really going on (though no fault of her own) and is always around her mentor, having the task of keeping people happy. The moment the truth is out, her world shatters ("What are you saying, let me get this straight - you go down there and kill those poor souls ?!") and the pedestal her mentor figure was on, in her eyes, completely falls apart. However, just like Charlie, she shows inner strength and maturity, immediately calling out and condemning said actions, showing that she's not a child to coddle - just like Charlie who is capable of showing a more competent and dangerous side. They also have both less human forms (Charlie's demon form, Emily's seraphim form) that partially pop up when they become emotional or agitated (the horns and eyes for Charlie, the halo and torso eyes for Emily).

Where Charlie rekindles her bond with her father, realizing how much alike they are and at one point having believed in the same dream before also rekindling said belief, Emily on her side ends her episode realizing how different she is from Sera, who fed her beliefs and morals she herself doesn't hold - and rightfully calls her out on the hypocrisy, because just like Charlie, who's out during Exterminations to help her own people, she's willing to risk herself (falling) for what she believes is right, fair and just. Is it any wonder why the joined duet of Charlie and Emily is such a cathartic banger ? Everyone together now !

If Hell is forever then Heaven must be a lie !

If angels can do whatever and remain in the sky !

The rules are shades of gray, when you don't do as you say,

When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again !

As a side note, I also wanted to talk about the representation of Heaven itself : I was awaiting the classic "everyone looks like humans with wings, back to how they looked like on Earth for the Winners, with some form of uniformization", just like St-Peter basically. But the show did me one better : Heaven is just as diverse as Hell - there are animals, anthros, monster-like people, some have still object-heads and item-like bodies, just with a vaguely gold-and-white aesthetic and some angel wings. There are things that crawl, fly, twist, people with multiple eyes and limbs, fangs, gills, scales and fur, just like Hell. The only ones uniformized (and looking like flat-out classic demons) are the Exorcists - and those are the fanatics hellbent on carnage and suffering. When Sir Pentious ascends, he's still a snake, just with a more angelic-like design. Take Molly's wings out and put her in Hell, or stick them to Angel Dust and put him in Heaven, and you won't see the difference. Heaven dips just as much on the "monster, abomination, humanly incomprehensible" side as Hell, and just like Hell, not everyone is a jerk (even if not everyone is nice either. Right, Adam ?) : Emily is genuinely kind and open-minded, St-Peter is accomodating, and despite agreeing to actions that bring the misery to thousands of people, Sera is sincerely compassionate and regretful of her decisions (even if she believes them necessary - funny, since she was the one to call Charlie "misguided" earlier).

Again, it's a spectrum. There's no real box to fit people in, simply because here, Heaven and Hell are just like us humans : flawed. They have the big lines down, but the edges are blurry, and a lot of people fall through the cracks. They're like two districts of the same city, each on the opposite side of the road. Once more, people being people.

Again, Masterpost here.

[vampireacademysims]

Well, I guess it's time to address the situation... or the lack of situation lol This is gonna be long, be warned. There's a TL;RD at the end if you wanna skip the wall of text. To start, thank you to the two anons who took the time to read the comic and prod me about it and the new people who started following this tumblr in spite of the Hiatus warning. Altho this place has been collecting dust for more than a year now, I'm still around, updating my side reblogs tumblr, so it's not like I dropped from the face of the earth.

The truth is, at this moment in time, I've feel out of love with making this comic. It was always a lot of work due to me being a perfectionist. I never used any extra rendering apps, all you've seen here is raw sims images and a lot of work on Photoshop, so much so it gave me a muscle contracture on my right shoulder (because I did all my work in bed with my laptop/drawing tablet in my lap. I never said I was a smart person lol) that still flares up from time to time because I learned nothing. Then the VA fandom was already quite small by the time I started doing this in 2015 and I never really advertised this in the fandom anyway. I always got the impression most of the fandom didn't like the OG comics as it was and most of the people that followed the comic were sims 2 fans because, well, it's made with the sims and the images were pretty (forever holding in my heart the people you said this &lt;;3) The recent "Vampire Academy" TV series (it was just in names, honestly) was the final nail in the coffin of my motivation. After information had leaked I was already disappointed in it, but after actually watching it, yeah no. Only plus to it was the surprise to see it was partially filmed in my country, in places where I have been myself. And lastly, and probably most importantly, I struggle with motivation a lot. It happens to us all, I am sure. It's no secret that I hated to panel, if I'd start all over again I'd just post the big images like many of you telling stories are doing now, it'd be less of a stress for me, but alas, I can't change formats now. And I said many times I was doing it mostly for myself, because I did love the comics based on the books, but doing it for yourself only gets you so far until you get bored. And I got bored. I'm actually surprised my hyper-focus on it lasted for as long as it did. I haven't been to Photoshop for editing - I used to make photomanipulations and other kinds of editing - for way over a year, so it's not only the comic that stopped.

I still have 7 pages to end chapter 6 in various degrees of editing, Veninorchid and Esotheria-sims have seen them, so they exist lol I will eventually finish editing them - it's mostly a Romitri flashback - and post them. But after that, I will have to decide how to proceed. Spending less time editing would help, but lowering the quality of my pages, the only thing people like about it, really doesn't sit well with me, because yeah, perfectionist.

So at the very least the remaining pages will be posted in early 2024, I might go back to it slowly, a little bit everyday so I don't burn out or put stress on my shoulder. But after that, it's up in the air. It's not like I've been staring at the walls during this time, I had other things taking my goldfish-like attention. I got interested in home bookbinding, which made me dig out old unfinished stories I once started and I've been trying to finish them and later try to bind them, because why the fuck not lol And on my reblogs tumblr I had this set of pictures about a Regency little story that people really loved and I'd like to add to it, but then again, all the editing it'd need *cries* I feel tugged in so many directions I fear I'll end up doing nothing lol

So the TL;DR is, I got bored with the comic because it was too much work and resulted in physical pain, I lacked the motivation and other things got my attention meanwhile. Chapter 6 will be be finished eventually, but after that it's up in the air. Cross my fingers that I get my mojo back while editing those pages. Still, a thank you to all of followed and are still following, sorry these were not the good news you wanted to read just because I made a post. You support up until now was what kept me going in the past, I can't thank you all enough.

[lady-assnali]

Seven (Rosé’s Version)

I guess all of these are going to be named after Taylor Swift songs, here’s the next part. No Rosenali but Rosé deserves a chance to be heard.

(This goes with Rosenali (10 Minute version) and the whole of the teacher au, which will be on AO3 at some point I’m so sorry, for now it’s pretty decently tagged on here)

———

“Are you awake?” Jan hears Rosé’s whispered question right away. She hasn’t been able to sleep, the events of the night still sitting funny in her gut. Also, they’d all been allowed to have an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner, and even though she hates to admit it she’s old enough by now to know that the restlessness in her body is definitely caused by her choice of Moose Tracks and Rosé letting her sneak some of her hot fudge when she’d run out of her own. 

“I’m here.” She answers. Her voice floats through the darkness, softer than usual. Her peppy demeanor leaves her body as soon as Rosé crawls up to her from the trundle. She’s been quiet all night, sitting between Jan and Lagoona during dinner with her eyes trained on her plate. She hadn’t even fought with them over why the crust is the best part of the pizza. She’d barely touched hers. Their mother had told them to leave her alone, that sometimes people just don’t feel like talking.

But this is Rosé.

She’d just gotten to star in her first musical as a high schooler. As a freshman, no less. But she doesn’t seem to have anything to say past thanking them for coming to the show and letting her stay over. She always wants to talk. Between her and Jan, Lagoona can barely ever get a word in. Lagoona tries, and they’re not mean to her, but lately her ten feels young compared to Jan’s twelve and Rosé’s fourteen. They can’t talk about Lemonade Mouth all night long no matter how beautiful Hayley Kiyoko is.

This isn’t her.

She crawls into bed beside Jan, tucking herself in and facing the ceiling. Even in the darkness Jan can see the frown painted across her face, how her cousin doesn’t even try to start whispering silly things into the empty space between them. 

“Hey,” the younger blonde prods, turning her body to face Rosé. “Would you rather…”

“I don’t want to play right now.”

Jan sinks back into her own space, taken aback. Their sleepover games had always kept them awake well past bedtime, causing her mother to lovingly scold them all for sleeping too late the next day while making them breakfast far after the sun has risen. She’s restless in this silence, feeling awkward and young and not like herself at all. But there’s something wrong with her cousin, and she’s pretty sure she can guess what it is. Jan wiggles her way across the bed, fingers threading themselves through soft pink curls with a maternal humming.

“I know she’s your mom, but she’s stupid.” She says, and Rosé can see the roll of her eyes and the irritation through the way the blonde squeezes her tighter, arranges the blankets into a cocoon.

            “But what if it’s me?” The question sits between them, a broken admission of the fear that had been following the older girl throughout most of her life. It’s been a conversation she’s only had through silly jokes and self-deprecating jabs. I’m the ‘special surprise’ baby; the accident, the oops.. Now, all of that just feels real. Jan refuses to answer, partly because she doesn’t want Rosé to hear the way her emotions are clogging her her throat, how the crackling of her older cousin’s voice had sent her stomach an unrelenting, menthol-lingering pang of grief. 

            “She never really wanted me anyway.”

“Don’t say that.” Jan rebuts, her hand stopping in Rosé’s curls. “She’s just…” she attempts to explain the situation away, but even her level of optimism is shaken by the reality of it all.

“Exactly.”

The words seem final; Rosé closes her eyes, sighs against the familiar darkness of Jan’s room. Even though she doesn’t sleep with a nightlight or a sound machine like Rosé does, she doesn’t need it here. There’s nothing to block out. She can hear her aunt moving around the kitchen, stacking the rest of their dishes while humming to herself. Lagoona’s quick footsteps hop up and down the hallway until her father gently chides her, the two of them laughing as he catches up to her. 

Give the big girls a night alone, he warns. You can stay up for an extra half hour if you give them their privacy. Rosie needs a good night’s sleep after all that singing.

Relief floods her as she listens to their footsteps grow faint, the click of the television in the living room. She lets herself get lost in the mundane noises a house can make, the dishes and the chatter and the smooth movements of night until everything is quiet again. She isn’t sure how long it takes; Lagoona attempts to put up a fight to stay up even longer, but it’s resolved with a gentle finality. No screaming, no arguing. Jan’s breathing deeply beside her, and she looks around at the glow stars and the broadway posters and wonders how they got here-how their mothers could be sisters but act nothing alike. She’s not Jan’s sister, but the two of them have always been alike, even as babies. Maybe things like warmth aren’t doled out evenly in families. Maybe there always has to be one bruised-up banana in the bunch.

But then she gets to thinking about the cousins; her and Jan and Lagoona, Marcia and Lemon…she knows who the pick for rotten fruit would be. She hopes that skips a generation.

Jan rustles next to her, lays on her back with her hands on her stomach.

“I can’t sleep.” She says, although Rosé knows she must’ve been asleep for at least fifteen minutes before this. She grunts in agreement, keeping her eyes trained on Jan’s ceiling. “You were really good up there, Ro.”

“Thanks.”

“You deserved to be Ariel. You nailed it, and I’m so proud of you. You’re a freshman!”

“They lost a bunch of people last year, they had to pull from somewhere. Plus, my hair?”

“You got that role because you deserve it. Do you really think that girl who played the chef could’ve sang as hard as you?” Jan giggles, mimicking the French accent the senior girl playing the chef had all but butchered. It makes Rosé smile in spite of herself, and it even prods a laugh out of her when Jan uses the terrible accent to start whisper-singing Kiss the Girl. But it fades out too quickly, and the hush of the night brings back the cloud that Rosé has been sitting under. 

“What’s going on?” Jan prods.

“I’m just…really sad.” Rosé stops, attempting to keep her emotions at bay. It doesn’t work all that well; a fog crowds her eyes, a pressure that makes tears sit in their corners waiting to drop. “I thought maybe this time, she’d come. And I think that maybe that makes me an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Then why do I keep doing this to myself? She’s never going to come. I’m never going to get that perfect mother daughter moment. The chef got that moment. Fish #3 got that moment. But I didn’t.”

“You know what you did get? What you’ll get for the rest of your life? Us. Me and Goona and mom and dad in the front row cheering you on. You’re my sister too. You belong with us.”

“I don’t want to go home.” She sounds as little as Lagoona now, tucking the blankets up to her chin and trying not to cry. 

“Stay here.”

“I can’t. She has nobody.”

“So that means you have to be all alone too?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, so she says nothing. Rosé closes her eyes against the familiar room, the posters and the wall of photographs and the trophies lined up in a row on Jan’s bookshelf. She tries to picture what it might feel like to live here with them, Jan and Lagoona. She’d have to share a room. She’d have to change schools. 

Her mom would be alone, maybe even wondering where Rosé had gone. She’d be angry. Everything would be her fault and nobody else’s. Or maybe she’d feel lonely, or sad. She wouldn’t have Rosé there to keep everything clean, or remember where her spare key had gone. She’d have an empty apartment for her dates but there’d be nobody there when she got broken up with again. She can’t let her mother feel that deep, empty hole in her heart. She feels it every day.

Just as her eyelids begin to feel heavy, she feels Jan’s hand slip into her own.Her younger cousin’s voice is the only love you she’s heard in weeks

[sixcrowsbooks]

The angsty Chaos (i.e. Phantom) headcanon that was originally a twitter thread that nobody asked for:

You ever think about ghouls being summoned by cruel people, those that only use them and use them and use them until they inevitably throw their contracts away and send them back to Hell as if it were nothing? You ever think that was Chaos’ whole life and they cover it up with this confident af swagger and a whole bunch of snark? And when Copia summons them they keep doing that, keeping distant from everyone because, hey, they’re just going to be fucked over anyway, none of these other ghouls mean anything to them. But then over time, they learn that Copia may be a different kind of summoner, that just maybe he could learn to get along with the other ghouls.

But once they learn to live with the ghouls and Copia, perhaps learn to let them in behind the thick-ass walls they learned to build around themself, Aether comes back. And everyone is fucking ecstatic to see him, of course they are, it’s Aether. Chaos tries their best to not to think about what that means for them, because of course this was only temporary, they knew Aether was going to come back and they would be sent on their merry way back down to hell. But fuck it, it hurts because they actually spent the time to get to know these fuckers and their fucking ringleader, and dammit they actually enjoyed their time. But of course it would have to end. It always fucking did. Nobody wanted them long-term, and why would they? They were just a prickly, no-good ghoul with too much biting charm and snark for anyone’s good.

So they simply disappear from the festivities, and they wait for the time Copia sees them one last time to say “You served your purpose, now it’s time to go.” But that time never came, and Chaos becomes increasingly antsy and irritable because why hasn’t Copia rescind their contract yet? Aether’s back, they should be gone. They just continue to isolate themself and retreat back into the angry, chaotic ghoul they were at the start, but now the others aren’t going to take it.

There comes to be a breaking point where they just continue to prod and poke at Chaos until they let loose every single piece of worry and anxiety they have been carrying around for weeks and weeks because this isn’t supposed to happen, nobody chooses to keep them around for this long, why aren’t they back down under yet?? They explode in front of everyone, Copia included, and they’re all just….confused. And like they are prone to do, they start talking over each other, and it becomes overwhelming for Chaos. They try to escape again, but the group doesn’t let them. It isn’t until they all force them into the middle of a ghoul pile (with Copia as an honorary member) that C sadly but firmly asks, “Is that what you want? For me to send you back?” And Chaos just doesn’t know what to say because they never had a choice in the matter, that was just what always happened. What did Copia mean if that’s what they wanted? And it took all night for them all to get it out of Chaos what happened to them previously.

At the end, everyone was full of indignant rage for them, and Chaos was simply…well, they were stunned. They knew that this was a loyal group, nearly to a fault, but they never even considered that that would include them. They never would’ve thought that they would want Chaos there, always, even after Aether came back. They had no idea what to do with that knowledge, but in the meantime, they chilled out a bit, tried not to be so thorny. Their confidence stayed as-is but that’s only because Chaos is genuinely confident in what they do even though they tended to use that confidence as a shield against others. And while the fear of being thrown back to Hell never fully went away, it diminished greatly with every night they spent with Copia and the other ghouls.

[astriiformes]

Poking and prodding at my brain now that I have another potential dose of context for why it melts down and spirals over things so often and like. Putting everything in a list there really is a pattern I should have been paying more attention to probably, but have always just identified as bad anxiety or neurodivergent quirks

That said, it is also making me feel immensely lonely because I have lots of neurodivergent and anxious friends I've gone to for advice over the years, but I'm realizing that my possible pure-obsessive OCD and scrupulosity tendencies may be why I've often responded poorly to their attempts at help. Which is good to understand, and ultimately may help me tell them what I do need but. Also means I am suddenly hyper aware of how irrational the stuff I can't help but meltdown over is, and feel really stupid for it and also like the people I'm closest to aren't going to have much advice for me.

Anyways. For my own connecting-the-dots purposes. Some very normal thoughts I have had breakdowns over before:

As a kid who was raised Evangelical, had a pretty classic case of the religious/blasphemous intrusive thoughts often associated with OCD that caused me an immense amount of distress. This one has calmed down entirely now that I have extricated myself from that environment, but also for a couple years after leaving the church I would have similar thought spirals literally any time someone mentioned the concept of the afterlife/hell.

Adjacently, the second part contributed to me having a fear of death so intense for a while that I once broke down crying in my mom's car during the 7-minute drive from my dad's place to hers on a night where there were no other cars on the road because I was so convinced we were going to die in a car crash.

Unfortunate fact: I was trying to get into Discworld at the time and read Mort while all this was going on and my opinion of the series has never quite recovered.

.......Have multiple friends very into Discworld and used to spiral any time it got mentioned because it felt like a moral flaw that it stressed me out so much because I shouldn't feel that way about something to important to my friends, and additionally felt like it would be, essentially, thoughtcrime to blacklist it.

(This is better now and I am probably going to give the books another try, but for a while I was very stupid about it)

Spent actual years searching for a place to buy gatorade powder that wasn't Walmart or Amazon even though I need it for actual health reasons, because they were the only places I could find it and I have an obsessive avoidance of both companies and couldn't bear the thought of buying from them for the first time in years. Over something I needed. For my health.

Opposite of the Discworld problem: some of my friends have problems with a TV show I like which means I have spent entire evenings crying myself to sleep with guilt because obviously I cannot like things that the people in my life are bothered by

I am not joking I missed class regularly as a result of the last one for several weeks, I was so distraught.

And like I also have dealt with a lot of other things over the years, including really upsetting intrusive thoughts (usually of the "what if something violent and gory happened to you and/or your loved ones," variety, with a side of self-harming and suicidal thoughts -- being a really visual thinker makes this particularly terrible) and constant spiraling over perceived social/moral missteps.

And I guess I'm feeling kind of frustrated because so many people have latched onto the more... hm... relatable I guess aspects of my anxiety in ways that have made me think the above are like. Normal for someone with really bad anxiety (and trauma too, I guess, though I think that really is the source of some of them) and I've fallen into beating myself up over not being able to overcome mine the way everybody else seems to. And now I still don't even entirely feel like I'm allowed to self-diagnose any of this as OCD specifically but I'm also realizing that there is something much more fucked up and irrational happening in my brain than I thought because I just assumed this was how mental illness was for everyone and I was just. Really bad at managing it.