#but it's not only depressing it's rather frustrating

[alteredphoenix]

The more I read about JJK flooring the gas pedal and any% speedrunning its way to ending this year, the more I lose my confidence in rereading it again.

[transmechanicus]

The mood of the day is "My battery is low, its getting dark"

[malleleothreesome]

Leona who is pining after you...

💛 summary: Cohesive blurbs about things Leona would do and what he would be like if he were pining after you. ༶༶༶ 💛 warnings: gender neutral reader, unedited, pretty much just a stream of my thoughts. There is cursing. Very angsty but also has romance. Mentions of depressive thoughts. A very raw look into Leona's mind. There is smut (wet dream) in the middle, marked with 🔞 if you want to skip to the next bullet. ༶༶༶ 💛 word count: 4.7k because I'm delulu

💛 Leona who is pining after you... tries to gaslight himself and cling to any sort of logical explanation he can come up with to try to convince himself that he definitely does not have feelings for you. It was probably just a one-time thing, and he just needs to find a way to get you out of his head. He's never thought about anyone this way before, so it's definitely just an error in his brain chemistry or something. It was only a coincidence that he happened to be thinking about you at that particular time, and if you had never been on his mind at all, his heart wouldn't be beating so fast every time he interacts with you. He would never allow himself to develop feelings for anyone, especially you, so he must not actually have any. It's really that simple. It couldn't possibly be that he's fallen for some weird, magicless human, right? Right?! There has to be something medically wrong with him! He must be crazy to have these kinds of thoughts about a stranger who just randomly poofed into existence at the beginning of the semester. Why did you invade his dreams? It doesn't matter! What the hell is wrong with him?!

It has to be a mistake, because there is no way he would EVER fall for someone as annoying and boring as you are, even if you do seem to have a better understanding of him than the people who have known him his whole life, and you treat him like he actually matters instead of seeing him as the scumbag you probably should have gotten to know better before giving him your time and attention. It's not like he genuinely cares what you think of him, anyway – he’s just grateful that he doesn't have to deal with another person treating him like a failure or a lazy, worthless piece of shit.

The way you look at him like he could be someone worth loving despite his constant tirade of anger is definitely not a key factor in him caring for you. Your smile and laugh makes his chest feel funny, and the fact that he is suddenly hyper-aware of his body when he's around you is probably just a symptom of mental or physical illness. Maybe he’s finally eaten too much red meat and he’s about to succumb to heart disease at the ripe age of 20. Perhaps he simply hasn't rubbed one out in a while and he’s thinking with his dick and not his head? He's definitely not attracted to you, and he's absolutely not thinking about what it would be like to kiss you right now. That would just be insane, and he can't believe he even let himself entertain the thought! He’d rather die than think about what it would be like to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you sit on his lap, looking down at him with that beautiful smile and those cunning eyes of yours, gently stroking his face as you lean down to press your lips against his… oh, god dammit!

💛 Leona who is pining after you… finally lays down in surrender to the fact that, alright, maybe he does have feelings for your dumb ass – against all odds. He convinces himself that he’s only humoring this pathetic little crush because it makes his monotonous, tiresome days a little more riveting. Lions are predators, and the thrill of the hunt is a key part of their nature, after all. Before you, all he had to look forward to was staring at the ceiling in his dark room for most of the day until the stars showed up in the sky, or until he got roped into housewarden drama and became too frustrated to do anything other than restlessly pace around Savanaclaw before eventually confining himself back to the comforting solitude of his room. He tells himself he might as well allow himself the small luxury of thinking about someone who doesn’t entirely annoy the shit out of him, because he could sure as hell use the emotional relief. At least this way, he isn’t actively thinking about how much he hates his life, and how much he hates himself for letting it become this way. Besides, what would be the harm in letting himself entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe – if he was lucky enough – you could be the first person to ever break down the walls he built to keep himself from getting hurt by other people? Plus, if nothing else, you make for such a pretty daydream.

Every moment he spends with you makes him want you to keep sticking around even after everything is said and done. You can actually keep up with his banter, which is probably why he can actually stand being around you in the first place. No one else is capable of keeping up with his quick wit, or of providing him with a good challenge. You aren't scared off by his harsh demeanor, and you're able to stand up to him when he gets a little too overbearing. You don't take his bullshit, but you still care about his well being and treat him with respect. Despite his public struggles, you don’t see him as some sort of charity case. He's never met anyone else who is able to be so firm with him, but gentle at the same time. He didn't know someone could have such a strong presence without even having magic, but you're somehow always able to pull the rug out from under him, showing him that you're much more powerful than he initially gave you credit for. You're a real pain in his ass sometimes, but you're also the only person in years who's made him feel like life might actually be worth living. Maybe these feelings aren't so bad after all…

💛 Leona who is pining after you… starts leaving his room more often and even attending classes again, hoping he'll run into you on campus. If he doesn't see you, that would suck, but he knows if he stays in his room all day, then he'd risk losing the chance to spend the day with you completely. Besides, if there's even the slightest possibility, seeing you could be the highlight of his day and make even his shittiest days seem almost bearable. When you finally show up, he throws a casual greeting and a nonchalant raise of a single brow, pretending like he coincidentally ran into you in the crowd and totally didn't memorize your class schedule. When your face lights up, telling him you were glad to run into him, his pulse races and for a split second, a goofy grin flashes on his face and he desperately starts fighting his tail from swishing eagerly behind him. All he does is mumble in agreement, then shove his hands in his pockets, rolling his eyes like this isn't what he's been waiting for since he woke up. He says he might as well join you in the cafeteria, because he's starving and it's that time anyway, so whatever.

As you enter the lunch line, your face falls in disappointment when you realize your favorite sandwich is sold out. Leona expected something like this would happen, so he asked Ruggie to grab him one of that type of sandwich along with his usual order, on the chance that he would get to spend lunch with you. He looks to his right, glancing at your slumped shoulders as your mood seems to deflate a little as a frown forms on your face. He steps forward and grumbles an off-hand comment that he snagged one earlier for himself, but since you look so pitiful, he'll let you have it, only because he doesn't want to deal with your incessant whining the whole lunch. When you gape up at him, shocked by his thoughtful gesture, his face starts burning red as he quickly turns away, aggressively stuffing a bite of food in his face to make himself look distracted. When he happens to catch your thankful eyes glistening at him, it feels like the air has been punched right out of his lungs, and the small smile and sincere gratitude tugging on the corner of your lips causes his stomach to do backflips. How annoying that his usually stoic demeanor always falls apart in front of you.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... constantly teases you and tries to embarrass you, attempting to make it sound like you're the one pining for him (even if you're not!) just to try to distract you from the truth. He teases you relentlessly, hoping it’ll make it so you won't feel confident calling him out on the little ways he treats you differently than everyone else. He loves seeing you get flustered trying to deny it, but he also uses it as an opportunity to study your reactions, trying to deduce your real feelings for him by the color in your cheeks, the wavering of your voice, how often you avert your eyes, and how quickly you fire back with an argument. The smirk that emerges on his face tells you exactly that he's not convinced, even if you deny everything. He may be subtle about it, but he uses every opportunity he can find to feel you out, to see if there's even the slightest possibility you might feel something for him. He'll never let you know how badly he wants it to be true with every fiber of his being. He’d be absolutely thrilled if you confessed to him, but he’ll never show it, because it's far more comfortable hiding behind sarcasm. His prideful, guarded heart prevents him from expressing genuine positive emotions and potentially opening himself up to any type of mockery.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... slowly becoming more attached to the idea of you falling for him. As the weeks go by and he hears you giggle as you argue with him, his thoughts linger a bit more when they try to calculate why he's not actually feeling burnt out from spending so much time with you. His patience with the rest of the world starts waning, not really bothering to deal with anyone or anything that could distract him from basking in your aura for as long as possible. He even takes a more active role in interacting with you, whether you two are chatting as he sits on a bench in the botanical gardens, or hanging out after-hours in his room, hoping that this could eventually become a common routine. He loves learning about you and the world you come from. When you open up about your background, he enjoys getting a glimpse into your mind. His brain starts rapidly filing away little details about you, creating a catalog of thoughts for each of his favorite things about you, or the little quirks you have that he secretly finds endearing. The memories of conversations where you both held each other's gaze for a fraction of a second longer than normal or the accidental touches that cause his heart to skip a beat come to life with a vibrance never seen in other parts of his memory bank. The time you grabbed his hand because the tree branches kept making “spooky” noises around you and the time you playfully messed up his hair (even daring to cop a feel of his ear in the process!), are some of his favorite memories to revisit.

As you two grow closer and more comfortable with each other, he pretends to be annoyed at you more often, only because he wants to test how well you can read him, and also how far he can push you. He revels in the way he feels a spark in his chest and a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips whenever your eyes meet. He tries hard to remind himself that the growing heat rising to his face every time you grin at him is all because of the temperature. His playful touches start to become more sensual, his voice dips deeper and more seductive as his hands linger on your skin, his breath fanning against your face and neck with every taunting word spoken. He hates himself for loving the way you bite your lip and blush under his gaze as he continues to run his hand up your arm, causing your eyelids to flutter. He loves the feeling of power your vulnerable, affectionate expression grants him, the rush of endorphins so great he thinks his entire body might collapse. When he pulls his hand back, the stinging absence leaves him in a state of panic, terrified that this might have been the moment you'd realize how he feels about you and finally flee. In an effort to swallow his vulnerability and save face, he'll cover up his aroused desire with aggression. With a bite in his tone, he'll lash out at you, mocking the way you acted so touch-starved and desperate in the heat of the moment, even though the only one truly desperate here is him. He has to force himself to maintain eye contact and an air of dominance with you while he snaps at you, even as he feels his throat tighten, heart slamming against his ribs. He metaphorically shoves you away and leaves before he loses control, before his raw affection for you spills from his lips like a confession.

💛 🔞 Leona who is pining after you... fast asleep as he lies alone in bed, your figure haunting his dreams. Right before he fell asleep, he was having a particularly bad day and he found himself clinging to a fantasy of holding you in his arms, using you as an anchor to help him process the dread of reality. On a typical night, all he has are his regrets and unanswered questions swirling around in his subconscious, but tonight is different – he falls asleep dreaming about being curled up against your warmth, wondering what it would be like for you to stroke his hair, gently reminding him that there's at least one good thing to wake up for, no matter how empty the day may feel.

As he falls deeper into his slumber, his eyelids begin to twitch and his long eyelashes tickle his flushed cheekbones. He finds himself lost within a dreamy state that feels so very real to him as your face fades into focus. You're kneeling beside him in the bed, and his body is covered in the sheets, with your arms wrapped underneath his shoulder. He can barely tell whether or not this is really a dream at this point as you rest your head against his. He can feel his body stirring and his tail twitching, roused by the comforting and blissful affection. The way you smile at him as you run your thumb along the curvature of his sharp jawline stirs a dormant ache in his soul as you lean forward and leave featherlight kisses in the crook of his neck, causing him to whimper under his breath. He buries his nose in the locks of your hair, desperately wrapping his arms around your waist, pushing your face deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder, craving the coziness and comfort of being physically close to the source of his yearning. In his dreams, your lips are able to be as soft and gentle as they are fierce and demanding, as the grip he has on reality grows weaker the longer he lets himself be trapped under the intoxicating spell you cast upon him, rendering him at the mercy of his deepest desires.

His breath becomes more labored and hitched, his temperature rising as a flush spreads across his face. His body starts moving involuntarily and he buries his hips further into his mattress, his aching cock desperate to be touched, throbbing as his precum smears against the sheets. He begins humping the bed, whining from the friction against his bare skin as he pulls you closer in his dream, shamelessly chasing after the erotic thoughts racing through his mind, fueled by the illusion of having you in his possession – ready to be ravished and worshiped by him and him alone. His full lips part as he moans your name. He thrashes around in his bed, a tingling, aching need radiates throughout his groin as his back arches off of the sheets, grinding his cock against the fabric of his blanket. He can almost feel the warmth of your body as he bucks his hips upwards once more, desperate for your heat. His fingers twitch as they clutch tighter onto the fabric, desperately trying to grab onto the illusion of you instead, wishing he could feel the texture of your skin underneath his fingertips. In his hazy state, he bites his lips and runs his fingers down his sculpted abdomen, his hand with a mind of its own, aching to reach lower. With a sigh of pleasure, he teases the tip of his leaking, throbbing erection as the muscles in his legs quiver with anticipation. He pushes his thumb against the slit of his tip, already wet with his excitement. He slowly rubs circles around his cockhead, causing his breath to hitch and his cock jerk at the sensation. In his unconscious mind, it's not his hand gripping his shaft – it's yours.

He wraps his large hand around the length of his dick, letting out a moan of pleasure as he starts to stroke, his pace increasing steadily with each pump, imagining what it would be like to have you kneeling between his spread legs, looking up at him as you jerk him off, begging to be fucked by him. His cock twitches and aches to be inside of you, to see your lewd expression as his dick fills you, his senses overwhelmed by the sight of you under him, sprawled out, sweaty and splayed wide open for the taking, gasping for air in between broken moans. His hips buck into his hand and he lets out a low growl as he feels the pressure building within him, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. He quickens the pace as he squeezes the base of his cock, stroking faster and faster, trying to keep up with the intensity of his dream. He wants to feel your velvety walls squeezing around him, milking every drop of cum from his throbbing cock. He pants heavily as the sensation of ecstasy courses through his body, moaning your name as he orgasms, his back arching off of the bed as he cums all over his hand, shooting thick ropes of hot cum onto his abs. He slows his pace, riding out his orgasm, lazily stroking his cock as it pulsates through his veins, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure tingling down his spine. With a final moan of satisfaction, he collapses on his bed, utterly spent from his activities. The euphoria of his orgasm fades away as he comes back to reality, slowly finding himself coming into consciousness. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the mess he made. He groans as he rolls out of bed, annoyed that he has to clean up after his wet dream before he can go back to sleep.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... falls into despair when he realizes his stupid feelings for you aren't going away – they're actually getting stronger by the day. You’ve made him feel like the world's not actually so cruel anymore, but he knows that his tiny, fragile castle is sure to crumble at any moment. Nothing good ever stays his way, does it? He's been telling himself that this was all some game. It's not like he actually wanted to be in a relationship with you, right? That would be far too much work. But what if you were actually worth the time? What if he could have someone who knew every aspect of his being and still loved and accepted him? What if he could be the person who's worthy of your beautiful, unrelenting love? Even as he chastises himself for entertaining the possibility of a relationship with anyone – especially a herbivore like you – a desperate, longing ache burrows into his bones, overpowering the cold, empty hollowness within him that had haunted him his whole life. This can't be love that he's feeling, and if it is... he knows now that love is the only strategy game in existence he's terrible at playing. There's no doubt in his mind he'll make the worst decisions imaginable because his entire being is clouded with insecurity. He is painfully aware that if he were to ever open himself up to the possibility of being with you, then his first thought would be of a thousand ways you would hurt him. He tortures himself with worries and fear, letting himself be consumed by anxiety.

The thing that frightens him most is becoming reliant on someone else for his happiness. Having someone whose opinion he actually values not thinking he is good enough for them is his worst nightmare. If there's one thing life has taught him, it's better to not have anyone at all. Besides, he doesn't even deserve you. There isn't a soul in this world who deserves someone like you – someone so selfless, understanding, empathetic, and forgiving. If you were his, you'd suffer. Your light would slowly flicker out from the darkness he would drown you in, just like everything else in his life that ever mattered to him. There is so much beauty to you that would go to waste in his care – why would someone as perfect as you ever settle for someone like him, anyway? There's no way you'd ever return his feelings. And even if you did… could he even be brave enough to allow you in? Does he have the strength to accept a heart freely offered to him? Will the scars and darkness within him allow him to accept such pure and unconditional love? He can't possibly be selfish enough to ask you to take the chance on him. You deserve to be with someone who is strong and complete – someone who can give you their whole being, wholly and unreservedly – not someone who is afraid of showing weakness, for fear of you leaving him broken-hearted. Someone who would actually have the capacity to love you like you should be loved. Not a broken, shattered shell of a Prince that could only ever give you pieces of his heart that are full of cracks.

Why the fuck does his chest hurt just thinking about the fact that you would be better off without him? It feels as if someone were stabbing his heart repeatedly, and no matter what he does, the wounds refuse to close and the blood continues to ooze through the cracks. He stares up at the dark ceiling of his dorm room as a single tear rolls down his cheek for the first time in years as he tries to cope with this excruciating feeling of hopelessness, despondency, and despair. The fear that you will one day be gone from his life grips his soul, his heart pleading with him to simply confess, yet his twisted mind forces him to remind himself of his inadequacy. What a sad, pathetic sight you would see, the once fearsome lion, pitifully pawing at your ankles as his heart poured itself at your feet, praying for the warmth of your love and the validation of your approval.

💛 Leona who is pining after you… hates how obsessed he is with you and your opinion of him. Every day he finds himself trying to be better because you make him want to try harder to make the world a brighter place. Maybe you're right, maybe he doesn't need to be King in order to lead people and do great things. Because of the friendship you two have nourished, he finally feels comfortable opening up to you and talking to you about what he's going through: his past, and how much he truly cares about everyone's safety, success, and overall happiness – a sentiment that's foreign to everyone who's ever known him in the past. Although he still can't bring himself to vocalize his emotions aloud, you now truly understand the message his eyes are always trying to relay, no matter how small the glimpse: even if he was destined for a fate in the shadows, his biggest hope is to someday become the leader he was supposed to be. His newfound vulnerability allows you to slowly chip off the armor that guards his heart and bring him peace, healing his wounded spirit. Because of you, he now understands what it feels like to be valued and treasured by another, and he feels empowered enough to put the effort into doing something to change his future for the better. It scares him how badly he wants to impress you, wanting you to be proud of how he's matured.

Before taking on the daunting task of bettering his Kingdom, he starts with something small – making a positive difference in your life. You actually make him feel useful. He loves the way you look up at him with admiration. He knows now that one of the reasons he fell for you so hard is because you always ask for his advice – knowing damn well he's the smartest person in this godforsaken place – and you actually take it. You listen to him and you value his opinions. Seeing things work out for the better when you take his advice and enact his plans gives him a rush of pride and confidence. It motivates him to keep working hard to have good ideas that benefit the world. He's always enjoyed helping people even though he's bad at putting it into words, or showing his true intentions, instead preferring to keep people guessing while he hides behind his indifference and nonchalant attitude. But now, thanks to you, he finds that the more time he spends caring about helping the people around him, the more understanding and honest he is with himself, the happier he becomes. He's feeling more confident stepping up to the plate, having less fear of letting himself or the other people he cares about down.

He started feeling honored to be the housewarden for Savanaclaw again and he actually takes the responsibility seriously, tackling issues and standing his ground with the students and teachers. He wants to set an example for others, making you proud of his actions by raising his standard. When it comes to issues in the school and within his territory, he's calm and diplomatic as he addresses issues – making sure everyone is heard and everyone walks away satisfied. No longer is he plagued by a lack of enthusiasm to make real, significant changes. He now genuinely enjoys himself, striving to go beyond his expectations to overcome his shortcomings, always pushing himself to think outside of the box. It's like the Leona of his past no longer exists, and he doesn't feel any resentment or shame at the thought, simply believing it's for the better that he finally has the strength to make room for a version of himself he can enjoy instead. Because of your guidance and patience with him, he’s slowly learning to no longer fight his introspective nature, instead choosing to work hard every day to embrace all aspects of himself – whether they be negative or positive. Every day is far from perfect, but he's allowing himself the respite of leaning on your shoulder, even though for now, it’s just as a friend and trusted ally, not as a lover. For the first time, he's happy with where his life is going and the person he is becoming. Through this whole experience of falling for you, he learned that there are still things worth fighting for, regardless of if you one day soon reciprocate his feelings or not. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

I was nervous to write this because we all know that canon Leona leaves much to be desired when it comes to his story and the complexities of his character. I've spent over a year of loving him, meticulously crafting who I think he is and who I want him to be. Most days, I'm pretty sure Leona Kingscholar is just a character who exists solely inside of my mind, completely separate from the source material. So, if this resonates with you, I am very glad! Thank you for reading. I hope I was able to bring justice to my beloved Leona! If you would like to see this series with another character, please let me know. 💛 Erica Malleleothreesome

[your-resident-boat-person]

I think it's so sad that Ace Attorney as a franchise has been reduced to the "haha! Lawyers don't act like that!" game. Whether it be real lawyers just reacting to the game and explaining that real courtrooms don't work like that, or literally anyone I talk to going through the "cross examining a parrot?! How silly! And ghosts in the courtroom?! Ridiculous!" schpiel. Meanwhile, none of these people have any context for how and why these things are happening in the game. Of course the parrot on the stand looks silly, but when you understand WHY it's happening, and you've been the one playing the game up to that point, not only is it perfectly reasonable, but it's quite easily taken seriously. None of this discussion is useful or constructive. This is the equivalent of me getting a scientist to sit down and watch the back to the future trilogy for them to explain "well actually, science doesn't work like that." Like, yeah, no shit. The things that happen in fiction are often unrealistic and over the top. This should not be surprising. "Oh my God, a country where lawyers are banned?!" Shut up. This is an over the top and hyperbolic representation of a radicalized and sheltered public, and an exploration of the necessity for people having representation, even if their guilt seems extremely obvious. This is a theme that has existed and been explored in the franchise in game 1. And once you know WHY that country is like that, and the decades long series of events that led up to it, it's not all that far-fetched. Why can Superman exist in his reality without people going "a journalist with the powers of a god?! How ridiculous! This could never occur in real life!" Like I get that lawyers are a rather mundane and ordinary real life occupation, but isn't all fiction an exploration of the fantastical in the mundane, at least to some degree?

Also, those objection.lol skits are getting really old. The punchline is ALWAYS "Lawyers don't act like that!" or “That's not something youd talk about in a courtroom!” Seeing these intricate, well written characters with intense backstories and decades of trauma reduced to literal talking heads used to play out what people THINK Ace Attorney is like just makes me so depressed. You can tell that most of these people have never played Ace Attorney and only know it from the memes.

Like, I don't want to be one of those "stop having fun" people, but like, it is deeply frustrating seeing a franchise that literally changed the trajectory of my life get so deeply flanderized.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | age gap, reader is nineteen | mild exhibitionism | size difference | choking | objectification (f receiving)

BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[cordeliawhohung]

Leftovers [2/3]

Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series

part 1 | part 3

warnings: unhealthy relationships, anxiety and depression, minor smut, possessive Simon, abusive behavior

you're his, now

wc: 4.6k

It had been months since the night your life ended and started again.

For the longest time, you were livid. Inconsolably upset at everything. A special type of betrayal festered in your chest where it rattled and raged against the hollow cavern between your ribs. That betrayal quickly revealed itself to be grief as the days went on. That utter melancholia threatened to suffocate you every time you thought about your old partners, The Prices. How they kept you like a pet, to be played and toyed with. How they decided to have a child without your input. How they only told you when they announced it to all their friends, like you were nothing more than a guest in their lives.

Then, there was Simon. Your savior. Or, at least that’s what he liked to call himself. It didn’t feel like salvation when he ripped you from the grasp of your old partner's bitter and unloving hands, not when you realized the cost of it. Lying wasn’t supposed to be synonymous with loving, and yet it was the very thing that had put you in the palm of Simon’s hands, made you so pliable for him as he fucked and marked you that night, making it impossible for you to ever return to your old life. 

There was nothing but poison waiting for you with your old lovers, if you could even call them that. But being force fed the antidote hurt just as bad when that corruption had become the only comfort you had ever known. 

Simon had a way of making things feel better, which usually consisted of him being anchored between your legs. If there was an issue he couldn’t fix by talking or kissing it away, then he would fuck it out of you, and you hated that it worked as well as it did. When you wanted to be mad at him for lying to you, for tricking you into giving yourself to him, his cock always ended up burrowing into your cunt. Your breath would be lost, stolen from your very lungs, and your words along with it. He had grown to know you so well that he was able to pull orgasms out of you with his eyes closed, rendering your brain numb and incapable of argument or resentment. 

This cycle continued for what felt like forever. Your days would pass by with you rotting in bed in frustration and anguish as you choked on that antidote and feeling of betrayal, and when Simon had enough of your unresponsiveness, he would fuck you into submission. Coo and embrace you like a true lover would. It created some sort of dissonance within your very being. You were supposed to be mad at him for tricking you, and yet it felt divine being held against him. You couldn’t get enough of the searing sensation of his lips along your skin, or his breath caressing your ear as he slept. 

It was agony being torn apart; forever caught between the gravity of your old lovers and the man that stole you from them. 

Eventually, you woke up one day and it didn’t hurt anymore. Whatever frustration or anger that burrowed underneath your skin dissipated; vanished into thin air as if it had never existed in the first place. Things seemed brighter, you cried less, and Simon looked at you with adoration rather than pity for your shattered mental state. 

Perhaps it was the ignorance that made things better. Without any access to the Prices, you had no knowledge at all of how they handled your absence, if they even cared at all. All you knew was that you had managed to find solace within Simon, despite the terrible start to your relationship. He really did take care of you, just like he said he would. He insisted on paying for everything, refusing to let you work, and provided you with everything you would ever need. 

After all, you were his now. 

Which was why you found yourself in front of a boiling pot of water in the kitchen of his apartment. Without the use of your phone, Simon had given you an old CD player to keep you occupied as you cooked or went about your day. Radiohead’s album In Rainbows droned on in the background as you mixed the pasta around the pot to keep them from sticking together. Spicy marinara bubbled on the next burner over, and its heavy aroma hung thick in the air around you, leaving you in a mouthwatering stupor. 

Just as the alarm on the stove went off signaling the pasta was cooked, the deadbolt began to jingle behind you. After you turned the burners off, you quickly slipped out of the kitchen to greet Simon, who flashed you an entertained smirk. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, yet they always seemed to light up when they landed on you, and you couldn’t help but grin up at him. It wasn’t often that he got home before ten, as his new job often kept him late, so you were ecstatic that he arrived just as you finished cooking up dinner. 

“Smells like you’ve been busy,” he chuckled as he locked the door behind him. 

“I thought I would have to leave some out for you again,” you admitted. His hands found your hips and he drew you closer, catching you in his gravity. “I’m glad you’re home.” 

Before he allowed himself to respond, Simon squeezed your hips as his lips descended onto yours. It was the way he always greeted you when he arrived home from work, like he couldn’t get enough of you, or more accurately, like he knew you couldn’t get enough of him. You could taste the stale cigarettes on his breath, and the slight hint of mint that he used to attempt to cover it, and it took everything in you not to moan at the flavor. He was the one to pull away first, and your lips curved into a smile as his thumbs rubbed soothing circles along your hips. 

“Let’s eat, yeah?” he prompted. 

It didn’t take long for dishes to be served and for both you and Simon to settle on the couch in the living room while some programme droned on in the background. Even during meals you always huddled close to him as if you would die without his heat. Your leg laid pressed against his as you leaned into his side, and had Simon not been as large of a man as he was, you certainly would have smothered him with your presence. 

“How was work?” you questioned once half your plate had been emptied. 

“Was alright,” Simon replied with his mouth full of pasta. “Bit slow.” 

“That why you’re home early?” 

“Mhm.” 

Simon never seemed like much of a talker, and neither were you until recently. A majority of your life had been spent in silent pining for your basic needs and desires, but once Simon had stolen you away, it was like all you ever wanted to do was talk. Perhaps it was because he genuinely seemed to care about what you had to say. Or maybe it was because some sort of loneliness still managed to creep into your life, like a ghost that haunted you. 

“I’m glad you’re home early,” you admitted. “I’ve been missing you all day.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart. I always try to come home as soon as I can,” Simon assured you. 

A twinge of exhaustion lurked underneath his tone, screaming at you that despite the fact he got off early, he certainly had a long day. He always seemed drained after arriving home, proving to you just how hard he worked in order to support you, to give you the life he  told you that you deserved. You always had someone who would crawl into bed with you, someone who wasn’t ashamed to show you affection and love, someone to truly take care of you. Despite the circumstance, Simon was everything you could have ever asked for. Everything you would ever need. 

So why did it feel like something was missing? 

That night after the dishes were washed and the lights were turned down low, you and Simon hid underneath the covers where your limbs intertwined with one another. For some reason he always insisted that you sleep naked, and though you weren’t sure why, you didn’t really mind. In fact, feeling the warmth of his body seep into you was so intoxicating you probably would have come to that conclusion even without his prompting. You couldn’t get enough of his scent, or how his skin felt against yours, and even though the two of you had laid in bed for nearly twenty minutes you buzzed. 

Nothing could satiate your need for him. You wouldn’t be satisfied until you were able to crawl into him and hide yourself away underneath his very flesh. You wanted to shrink yourself down, become some small thing, and tuck yourself into his pocket to be forever stuck with him. A vile yearning for him tainted your very essence, and yet you wished it would destroy you all the same. 

“What’cha so wiggly for?” Simon questioned, half awake yet still teasing. 

“I missed you,” you whined as you buried your face further into his bare chest. 

His chuckle sounded low and grumbly in his throat as his arms wrapped firmly around your center. Wandering hands caressed along your hips and down your thighs, traversing and memorizing every single dimple of your flesh like it was the only story he ever wanted to know. 

“I’m here now, love,” he hummed. 

“I know, I just get so lonely when you’re gone,” you admitted with a pout. “You’re gone forever at work, and I just wanna talk to you. I was thinking that maybe if I had my phone back I could message you-” 

“What did I say about your phone?” 

The tone Simon used to cut you off was sharper than anything you had ever heard from him before, and it stopped you in your tracks. There was a fatigued sort of frustration that drenched his words which left a part of you wishing that you had never opened your mouth in the first place. He was too tired, too irritated to have a conversation, especially one like that, and you were afraid you had pushed his buttons a bit too much. 

You swallowed hard as Simon’s hands moved to your chin, forcing you to look up at him through the dim light rather than keep your face hidden in his chest. Darkness obscured his face, making it near impossible to truly read his expression, and yet you found your bottom lip quivering all the same. 

“Sweetheart,” he urged, softer that time, “what did I say about your phone?” 

“That it’s… better if I don’t have it,” you answered as your teeth bit into the inside of your cheek. 

“Yeah?” His hand moved from your chin to your cheek where his thumb gently rubbed at your skin. The notion was comforting, soothing even, yet you knew he was truly checking for tears. “And why’s that?” 

“Because then the Prices won’t be able to contact me.” 

Just like that, your mood was ruined. Any reminder of your past lovers was a painful one. Even after all those months they still seemed to have some sort of control over you, and the fact that they could sour your mood with just a simple memory was dehumanizing. Your somberness was so potent it exuded from your body like fine mist, and Simon’s caressing of your face increased tenfold in an attempt to calm you before things became catastrophic. You were his sweet, fragile girl, after all. 

“Right. And it’s better that way, isn’t it sweetheart?” he concluded softly. “It’s better here with me, because I take care of you, don’t I? I don’t neglect you, or treat you like some pet.” 

Although he was right, it didn’t make the bitter ache in your chest go away. Simon did his best to sooth the pain with his hands and words, and you shivered as his fingertips traversed from your face, to your shoulders, and down your waist. He had to find some way to distract you, some way to remind you that he was the only one you needed, and that you had to stay far away from Price and his trophy wife. You were too good for them; he needed you to know that. 

“You’re mine, and I’m yours, that’s what we agreed on, yeah?” he continued. His hand began to dip lower, moving from your waist, over your stomach, and between your legs. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers burrowed between your thighs, searching for access to your not quite slick cunt. Your emotions were too high for you to be wet, Simon was well aware, but you both knew he could change that within an instant. “They’ll never see you again, never get to abuse you again because I’m here to protect you. I love you in a way they never did.” 

Right as he spoke those last few words, his fingers greedily swiped against your clit, and your legs had no choice but to fall apart and grant him greater access. A gentle tremor shook the bed as Simon repositioned himself, pushing you on your back so that he could hover over your exposed body like it was a fresh meal just for him. Famished lips descended onto your neck as his fingers prodded against your entrance, forcing your mind to go blank with longing. 

“Needy thing, aren’t you? Need my full attention? I’m sorry, sweetheart, shoulda fucked you the moment I got home, huh? I’m all yours, and you’re all mine. Say it,” Simon urged as he still withheld himself from you. 

Squirming, you reached out for him with wanting hands as you snaked your arms around his neck. This was how he healed you, with his fingers teasing your cunt and his saccharine words plugging your ears. There was nothing else in the world you needed besides Simon. Every chord of your body yearned for him as if he was the only sustenance your body craved. This was how he healed you. With honeyed words and a worshiping mantra reminding you of who you belonged to. 

“I’m yours.” 

That night only added on to the other countless evenings spent with Simon tucked between your legs to voraciously consume you whole. There was no thinking to be done when he could mercifully do it for you, and you were content with that. At least, you thought you were. Things always became difficult when Simon vanished off to work, and he would do his best to make it up to you when he arrived home, to distract you from the empty feeling that seemed to fester inside of your chest. But no matter what he gave you, what he did for you when he was home, your mind always wandered when he was away. 

You couldn’t help but think back to when you lived with the Prices, how cold and lonely that house was, and how colder still your lovers were. Mr. Price — no, John — had sent you over to Simon like a bitch; some obedient pup meant for entertaining but not for loving, and it didn’t make sense. He had sent you over to comfort Simon so flippantly, yet acted as if the world had ended when you never returned back to them that terrible night. Was there some sort of miscommunication? Was that never his intention at all? And still, they left you out of the imperative conversation about their pregnancy like it never concerned you at all. 

You were spiraling again, and Simon was able to pick up on it just as easily as he could sniff out a bad wound. He could only keep you caged up so long, and he knew he needed to remedy it before he was back at the beginning with you. So you shouldn’t have been surprised when he arrived home one day with a gift. Beautiful, blush pink cloth sewn into a perfect sundress sat underneath delicate tissue paper, and you had a hard time hiding your awe and surprise when you revealed the astonishing dress. Simon’s eyes seemed more dilated than normal when he saw you hold it up to your body, and you caught onto his small smirk. 

Without hesitation, you slipped into the dress at his prompting, and you were ecstatic to find that it fit perfectly. Simon had gotten used to your sizing after having to buy you a whole new wardrobe after you escaped the Prices, but even then you were impressed at how well it formed to your measurements. It was as if Simon had every inch of your body memorized after the months you had spent together to the point that there was no way he could mess up your sizing. You couldn’t help but smile knowing that no one else had ever done that for you before.

It didn’t end there. With Simon having to work longer hours that night than normal, he insisted on taking you out to lunch, which was something you couldn’t ever recall doing. Ages had passed since you had even stepped foot out of Simon’s apartment, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt the sun on your skin. You didn’t know why he hadn’t taken you out sooner, but if you had to guess, you were certain it was for the same reason he did everything else; to keep you safe from the Prices. 

The restaurant Simon took you to was the fanciest you had ever seen before. Several art pieces adorned the walls with such vibrant shades you were convinced that the art itself cost more than whatever it took for them to construct the building itself. Crystal chandeliers hung high above your heads, and before either of you could order the waiter had filled your glasses with the finest of wines. The menu itself didn’t even have any prices, but Simon didn’t seem at all concerned with it, and insisted that you ordered whatever you wanted. 

There was something deliciously domestic about being there with him. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you, that much was evident, but there was something exciting about being able to show that fact in public. To prove that someone loved you enough to show it off, rather than hide you away. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t wipe that grin off your face as the two of you talked about nothing while eating the mouthwatering meals on your plates. For a moment, you two were the only beings in the world. 

For a moment. 

A flash of something caught your attention. Maybe it was a giggle, or the cooing and awing, but all you knew was that your eyes suddenly glued themselves on the patrons a few tables away from you. For a split second, you thought you saw them. John and his wife. It wasn’t them at all, but you realized you only feared that because this woman, this beautiful woman with her glowing skin and healthy laugh, was pregnant. Obviously so, too, as her stomach swelled and stretched with the growing life inside of her. Her husband could hardly take his eyes off of her, constantly reaching across the table to hold her hand despite her attempt at trying to enjoy her lunch. It was… stomach lurching. 

By that point, Mrs. Price would be four months along. Or, no, more than that for sure. It had been four months since you had been taken from them, since you had even heard from them. Four months without closure, or the opportunity to talk and get answers. A part of you needed to know why things happened the way they did, but you were completely in the dark. All you had received was whatever Simon spoon fed you, but it wasn’t enough. You weren’t sure if it would ever be enough. Maybe you had been empty for too long to ever be full again. 

“Everythin’ alright, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes tore away from the unsuspecting couple and landed back on Simon. He studied you carefully with a neutral expression, but you saw the slight press of his lips. Dark red wine faintly stained his pale skin, yet you couldn’t find yourself able to appreciate the beauty of it. All you had was a rotten feeling in your stomach and the sudden urge to vomit. 

“Yeah, of course,” you lied. 

Things got bad again when Simon left for work that night. Maybe it was the knowledge that he wouldn’t be home until late that made your brain ceaselessly buzz. Or maybe it was the image of that pregnant woman at the restaurant, the one that reminded you of the suffering you had to endure all those months ago. You attempted to silence that incessant sound in your mind as best as you could, because you knew you couldn’t afford to blow up, so you did anything to distract yourself. Music blasted through the CD player louder than it ever had, certainly to the annoyance of your neighbors, but for once you found yourself incapable of caring about anyone but yourself. 

When that didn’t work, you put on a movie instead. It wasn’t one you recognized, just something you had flipped to when you were browsing through streaming services. You had gotten dressed in one of Simon’s plain tees in an attempt to drown yourself in his scent, and yet that didn’t dull the ache either. All you could think of while the images flashed in front of you on the screen were the movie nights at the Prices. How John would make you cuddle up next to Simon, how the only comfort you could find was in his beating heart as he held you close to him…

There had to be a reason for it all. 

When the movie ended and there was nothing to accompany you but silence and the sound of your own breathing, that’s when you knew you couldn’t handle it anymore. You needed something. You needed answers. 

Like a feral rat, you began to search every nook and cranny of the apartment for your phone. If you could find it, maybe you could get some answers from John. Even if Simon said it was bad for you, you knew you needed closure, no matter how much it hurt. Wherever Simon had put it, it was well hidden. You nearly tore apart his dresser, every drawer in the kitchen, the corners of the bedroom closet; everywhere you could think of, and it wasn’t there. 

Just when you were about ready to tear the floor up, you finally found it. Really, you had half expected him to have thrown it away, yet there it sat underneath the bathroom vanity, hidden behind a myriad of cleaning supplies so far back the overhead light couldn’t illuminate it. When you finally had it in your grasp, you nearly cried, and you weren’t sure why. A fit of emotions bubbled in your stomach, each of them violently conflicting, yet frustration took over when you attempted to turn the phone on and the screen wouldn’t light up. Of course it wouldn’t, it hadn’t been used for months. 

Rushing off to the bedroom, you quickly borrowed Simon’s charger and let your phone sit on the nightstand as it ever so slowly charged. Answers almost within your reach, and yet your anxiety bubbled up more than ever as you waited for that black screen to flicker to life. 

It took ages for the thing to fully load up once it was charged enough to turn on, and you held the device in your shaking hands. All your old apps appeared on the screen, countless pictures that you had taken over the years, but the most eyecatching of them all was the amount of notifications you had for your text messages. 172, all within the last four months. 

When you clicked on the app, you quickly realized that all of those messages had been sent by John, and you hated the way your stomach dropped. But this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Answers? To have him explain why he did what he did? To make it stop hurting? With a heavy breath, you clicked on his name, and the app instantly scrolled up to the very first message he had sent in his cluster over the last few months, and it was then that you noticed something was wrong. Just before his onslaught of messages, there was a reply sent by you, one you didn’t remember sending. 

Don’t contact me again. 

This wasn’t you. That had to have been Simon, because he had taken your phone from you before you ever got the chance to respond to them yourself. Their worried messages, their pleading for you to come home, to know that you were okay. It didn’t work, obviously. The next few messages after that one was full of John pleading to speak with you, of several missed calls, of him apologizing for anything they did to upset you. The texts dated back only hours, sometimes minutes apart, and it was strange. You had never seen him so desperate before. Not for you. 

Eventually they seemed to stop for a while, only to start back up again weeks later. There were plenty of comments saying how much they missed you, how they wished you would change your mind and come home, and it felt… wrong. Hadn’t Simon told them that you were with him? He told you he did. He had even quit his job with Price because he didn’t want any bad blood, so why did they act as if you were lost? Like they didn’t know where you were at? 

Confused, you continued scrolling, eyes glossing over at the repetitive messages, until eventually you stumbled across pictures. Baby clothes. Cute little shoes. Ultrasounds. Pregnancy announcements. A gender reveal. They were having a girl, and they painted the nursery a cute shade of pink, just like the dress Simon had gotten for you that day. And then there was a video. It was short, and though it wasn’t visually stimulating, it had a rhythmic pulse accompanying the audio. The baby’s heartbeat. 

Wish you were here to share these moments with us. 

You weren’t able to stop the tears streaming down your face, or the food that came back up to say hello. Indignifying as it was, you sobbed on the cold bathroom floor as you vomited and continued to dry heave the emptied contents of your stomach. Everything crashed down on you all at once, and yet you felt numb at the same time. Nothing made sense. Why were they still trying to talk to you after all that time, like there was still a chance you would return? 

Then, you suddenly thought back to the morning Simon admitted his lie to you. How he had done it so easily and without remorse. How he grabbed at your cunt like he… owned you. You would have thrown up again at that thought if you had more food in your stomach, but you instead rose from the cold tile to rinse your mouth. You didn’t feel like a lover. You didn’t feel cared for. For the first time in months, you felt like a pet. 

So you did the only thing you had ever been good at doing: you ran. You ran just like you did back at John’s club, and every other time your emotions conflicted so bad you swore you would die. After you gathered a small bag full of personal items, your phone and wallet included, you rushed out the door and didn’t bother to look back as it closed behind you. 

an: this was only ever supposed to be a one shot, but i decided to expand on the story a little more, as i felt the first part wasn't able to fully convey the story i was trying to tell. once the 3rd part is posted though, that'll be it, so please don't harass me about more parts again (: gives me anxiety

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader

cw/tags: Your usual mentions of slavery and sexual themes, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. Also allusions to depression and mentions of death.

notes: Aahahaha this took forever..... allow me top explain: first of all my new job is killing me and second of all I'm going through a hard period where I don't really like anything I write anymore. This work in particularly I kept struggling with the pacing, the dialogues, the way I wanted feelings to come across or scenes to flow it's just hhhnnnggg. I told a couple of friends that I set the bar so high with the first part I feel like nothing else I write will be that good. Then the second part was "ok" but cut off in a cliffhanger and has been there for SO LONG that now I feel this will be underwhelming after all the buildup//hit

I hope it's not. I hope it's good.

Anyway this part is in Zhongli's pov and contains flashbacks which will be fully in italics! Enjoy! and thanks for caring so much about this story ;w; ILU all <3

<- Part 2.

Your instincts mess up with your head.

Your crying and anxiety have simmered to a cold numbness.

Hours blur together, time loses meaning.

The doctor comes by sometimes. The maids bring you food. But everything feels… off, distant.

This doesn’t feel… like your usual heats.

You curl up and sob, a choked soft noise.

You don’t feel hot, but rather cold. Limbs weak. Dizzy.

Your heart aches.

You’re so tired.

And so sleepy…

Zhongli puts down the seal stamp and deflates back into his chair with a sigh, he must have read the same line at least five times already. He cannot concentrate at all. It’s not even been three days and each hour, each minute, feels eternal.

He’s already gotten so used to your presence, so smitten with you and your little quirks, your rare smiles, the way your ears and tail flicker, your pretty eyes…

And he remembers those same eyes begging for him, teary. Your pitiful cry. Your distressed scent.

Guilt eats at him. As well as something else…

He’s been restless, barely slept. Your scent is a siren’s song on the blankets, tart and fresh and tantalizing, but you are not with him. Anxious energy flows in his veins. This emotion, this thing that is like regret and sorrow and fear all tangled together, cleaves him through. His instincts are screaming at him, rattling inside a cage of his own making. His mate, his precious Omega is in heat, you’re scared and lonely and need him. Zhongli has to suppress a growl and feel the shudder of his scales at the fact that he’s not with you. In your nest. Taking care of you.

It’s agonizing.

"How is she?"

The same question, over and over, at any chance he gets.

"She refuses to eat, your majesty." Xiao tells him, and he can feel the concern in the younger Alpha’s voice. “According to the maids she only took a few bites of the ajilenak nuts, the rest of the food was left untouched.”

…

"She's um... she's always sleeping when I go check up on her." Ganyu explains a little crestfallen. She too is worried. “A-at least I think she’s in no pain… she was clinging to one of your hanfus.”

…

"You should go see her, Zhongli." Ping states, a rare serious expression on her usual gentle factions. “Baizhu says she’s going through the worst case of separation sickness he’s ever seen. Is that really what you want your poor Yin to go through?”

He lets out a frustrated rumble.

“Of course not. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to… take advantage of her, or force her to anything.” Zhongli frowns, trying to focus on the papers in front of him again, in an attempt to ignore her piercing gaze.

“Is it really any of that if she wants her mate?” Ping retorts. “She was begging you.”

I know.

He growls this time, and shakes his head at his memory of you. It haunts him.

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“So, you’re deciding for her then? Is that it? Honestly, are you listening to yourse-”

“She’s been conditioned to serve.” He cuts her off, voice grave and somber. “Trained to be submissive and please. She likes me simply because I’m kind to her, she wants me because she thinks it’s her obligation as my mate. I feel the pull of the bond too, the need, the yearning. But I also know she is afraid of Alphas and she thinks… she thinks she has to obey me. That she owes me something or that own her.” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t need to bond her. I shouldn’t have bonded her. I just… wanted her to be free and instead I chained her to me. And now she’s in heat…”

And it drives him insane.

“Listen to me, we’ve both spent time with her, enough to know she’s opening up and learning to voice her feelings…” Ping reasons gently. “It’s a slow process, don’t hurt her this way. At the very least… go see her.”

“I lost control once with just one kiss from her. I will not do it again. I will not harm her any further.”

The elderly woman keeps silent for a few moments. Zhongli sighs and rests his forehead in his palm in defeat.

And then Ganyu approaches, a little tense, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Your majesty, the Qixing are starting to arrive, council meeting will begin soon.”

“Very well. Thank you Ganyu.” He stands up and nods at her, then turns to Ping and his demeanor softens a little. “You know I just want to correct my mistakes, and give her the life she deserves. At least a fraction of it, of happiness.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way… Zhongli sighed as he walked up to the room where the “reunion” with the sumerian would take place. It was long overdue seeing as he had spent the night by your side, refusing to leave after you had cried and begged so desperately…

After he had bonded you.

He had initially taken the eremite’s claims with a grain of salt, but naturally he had to make sure. The last dragonblood had supposedly died decades ago, so how…?

And yet when he saw you for the first time in that room, he knew.

You were real, you were beautiful. Suddenly he felt a million things at once: He wanted to get to know you, stay close to you, protect you. Old draconic instinct vibrating excitedly on his soul. You smelled vaguely familiar, your tail was gorgeous, your ears adorable. What if you didn’t like him though? What if he harmed you? Scared you? Suddenly he was nervous, nervous of ruining this, nervous in a way he hadn’t been in so long, like when he’d been young and Liyue had been at war and he had lost everything to fire and smoke and dust and he had to make difficult decisions and-

He had always calculated his moves. No room for risks. Too much at stake.

But you, you disarmed him. Completely.

You, with your polite gentleness despite the obvious cracks beneath the surface.

You, with your beautiful looks and enormous potential, even if you didn’t see it yourself.

You, with that look of yearning and hope, with your soft lips and sweet moans, with your warm body fitting perfectly against his.

For once, he allowed himself to make a decision with his heart, not logic, not politics. Just instincts.

And he claimed you…

…

He enters the room. A couple Millelith soldiers stationed by the door, Xiao standing by his side loyally as he sits at his place of honor as the emperor. Your ‘master’, an Alpha eremite named Zaheer, kneels respectfully a little below.

“I see you liked her, your majesty” He offers a sly smirk. “Did she satisfy you properly? She’s been trained on her gag reflexes to-”

Zhongli -Morax- resists the urge to growl. “We are not here to discuss that.”

“Ah, of course, business!”

Business.

“Since she’s such an exotic and well-trained slave I suppose we could agree on…”

“Do you think of me an idiot, Zaheer?” Morax’s eyes narrow.

“P-Pardon me?”

“She is a pureblood xiānshòu. I want to know exactly how she ended up being enslaved by you and your people.”

Cold and calculating golden eyes stare down at the eremite.

“W-What… she’s desert-born!” Zaheer retorts back angrily “She was born at a heat house. Maybe she has traits from your people because one of them decided to get a cheap fuck while traveling.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Morax asks unfazed “Liyue has records of the last of her kind disappearing and presumably being murdered when a village near Sumeru borders was razed to the ground. Do you have a disclosure?”

Zaheer stands up and growls, clearly an Alpha not used to having to bow his head and accept things not going his way.

Clearly an Alpha used to intimidating and attacking others.

Xiao wields his spear and changes his stance to an offensive one. The Millelith guards also tense.

Zaheer gets even more irritated, feeling like a caged animal. Backed into a corner. “Emperor or not” He starts through gritted teeth. “If you’re not going to pay me then I’ll take my merchandise back and do business elsewhere where I’m not being accused of ridiculous claims.”

“You’re right that I won’t be doing any business with you, but we’ll see how ridiculous those claims truly are. Zaheer, by my word as the emperor you will now remain detained in Liyue.” Morax sentences.

The eremite’s red eyes widen in shock and rage and the desert-dweller shoots up to attack Morax, getting easily overpowered and neutralized by Xiao’s quick moves. In seconds his weapon drops to the floor as the Yaksha general points his spear at the unconscious man. The Millelith quickly retrieve him and the blade before Morax simply nods at them.

Months. It had been months since then and he had to begrudgingly release the man as no accusation connected him to anything. They were essentially out of leads. There did appear to be documentation of your birth at a desert village but Zhongli would be hard pressed to believe the half-assed story you’ve been told…

And since you are pureblood, then both of your parents, and most importantly your dam, was also a dragonblood. That’s at the very least one Liyue citizen enslaved in a foreign nation.

He would get to the bottom of this.

For now, however, he had to cast those worries aside.

The Seven members of the council sit around the large table, the Liyue Qixing, leaders of all the commerce and trade sectors of the nation.

Zhongli takes his place at the head of the table. Ganyu does so as well by the sideline.

“Very well, what’s our first topic today?”

“Did Master just… leave?”

There was silence at the table, Zhongli and Ping sit frozen and you get just a bit nervous.

It’d been a few days since you started your new life, and though Zhongli was sure you were warming up to it he knew you still had a long way to go. It was probably still a little surreal for you… such a big change from everything you knew.

The tension on his shoulders quickly drops again. He continues eating. “Yes.” He says simply. Ping follows his lead, saying nothing.

The faster you forget about that eremite, the better.

“Hm…” You continue eating as well. Your expression is a little conflicted…

You inhale.

“Was he… happy… that I finally found a mate?”

Zhongli turns to you sharply and tenses again like a cat bristling. He holds back his tongue so as to not say something he’d regret. Why do you still care about that despicable man’s opinion? Why do you still seek his approval? Did you really think he cared about you? Zhongli desperately wants to make you understand how that slave-owner only saw you as an object, how he fed you lies, how his mistreatment is inexcusable…

But he can only imagine how deep your scars run, and how that toxic mindset has settled and accompanied you for years. He cannot judge you for caring about someone who doesn’t deserve it.

“Why do you ask, dear?” Ping asks instead.

“I don’t know…” You mumble, poking at the congee with your spoon. “I always wanted to make him proud.”

Proud.

Him?

“I think what matters most is how you feel.” Zhongli says, his hand reaching out for yours invitingly and you place your fingers on his palm, getting a soft reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to rely on how others view you or think about you.”

You seem thoughtful for a second, your ears flickering back insecure but then standing up alert again. “I am happy” You admit. “Very happy. I have the best mate in the world.” You smile brightly.

Zhongli’s heart does a flip.

“With the excessive rains in the northern villages, there have been many floods and a lot of crops have been severely damaged or lost. Our previous contingency plan is in action already and donations are being sent to help the affected families. However, we must prepare for a decline in the harvest of certain grains and vegetables this season, as well as an increase in prices for a few months due to the shift in demand and supply.” Keqing explains expertly, the young alpha’s expression is serious and solemn.

“It’s an opportunity to strengthen commerce with Mondstadt and Sumeru.” Ningguang chimes in, leaning back on her chair, arms crossed. “The value of jade and other crystals is on the rise as well.”

“Not to mention, we’ll be employing several architects from the Akademiya to help with the rebuilding.” Keqing adds, turning to Ganyu, who nods.

“Greater lord Rukkhadevata and lesser Lord Kusanali have agreed on a certain exchange program with Liyue. I started drafting up some proposals already if you’d like to see.” The blue-haired secretary passes along some documents.

Ningguang’s eyes skim along the page. “It’s almost like our new Sumeru-born empress was a sign.” She smirks. “By the way, where is she?” She turns to Zhongli, curious about her fellow Omega.

“She’s rather indisposed at the moment.” The emperor replies dryly, not wanting to delve much onto the touchy subject. “Ganyu this looks good, however we need to think about-”

There is a knock that quickly surprises everyone. Who could interrupt a council meeting and why?

Baizhu peeks in with Changsheng curled around his neck, a frown on his usually gentle features. “Your majesty, a word. It’s an emergency.”

All the members at the table stare silently as Zhongli stands and follows the doctor.

Ganyu has a bad feeling…

“We have no time, follow me.” The green-haired doctor walks briskly along the wooden corridors, he looks… frustrated, dejected.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t want to panic. He never panics. But something inside him does. It’s obvious that this has to do with you. 

“I apologize, your majesty. I thought it was just a case of separation sickness but… the empress is showing signs of widow’s wasting.”

Zhongli stops.

His heart skips a beat. His skin prickles with dread.

“She’s… dying?”

Baizhu shakes his head. “It hasn’t reached that point yet, but… she’s deteriorating.”

The guilt is back. The fear.

“Given what happened, I’m pretty certain the shock of your rejection was the trigger. Still, it is highly unusual for a Yin to suffer from widow’s wasting without their partner actually dying, even more so for it to settle so quickly. Her reaction is akin to someone who had never left their mate’s side for years.” Baizhu explains.

You trusted him.

And he turned his back on you.

What have I done?

“In any casssse, it’ssss not too late.” Changsheng’s little voice pipes in. Baizhu keeps leading the way and Zhongli follows, though he obviously knows the entire palace like the palm of his hand, at the moment his thoughts are scattered and far far away.

“She needs her mate’s reassurance. I have done what I can with medicine but this is a bonded pair matter.” Finally, he stops at a juncture and turns to Zhongli. “Please, your majesty, only you can save her. I will tell Ganyu, Xiao and Ping of the situation, and if you need anything, just ask.”

Zhongli nods, mute.

The snake narrows her eyes. “Don’t leave her sssside.”

“Changsheng.” Baizhu shushes.

She is right to chastise him. He deserves that and more.

“I won’t.” Zhongli nods and heads down the hall.

Widow’s wasting.

The words echo in his head. He’s seen the damage it can do. How a broken bond, the loss of the most important person, can destroy someone inside. Did you really care that much about him? Did he really hurt you that badly?

“Please…”

He didn’t mean to.

“I have the best mate in the world.”

He feels like a monster.

“I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.”

He needs to see you. He needs to make sure you’re ok…

He stands in front of the nest room. The same one where he first met you.

Opening the doors only slightly to slip inside, Zhongli's eyes widen and a hand flies to cover his nose and mouth when a strong smell shakes him to his very core.

The room he expected to be completely saturated with intense heat pheromones… instead bears the acrid scent of despair.

This isn’t the lustful call to breed and have children that made an omega vulnerable and pliant. No. It is a desperate cry from a heartbroken omega for their mate to come back, to stay with them, to love and protect them. It is grief.

You are suffering because of him.

To think all this time… he was afraid he'd make you uncomfortable. That he’d scare you, hurt you, ruin the bond you’ve carefully built. Instead, he is overcome by an all-consuming terror. Every part of him screaming at his mate's weak essence.

And there you are, his precious treasure, his sweet dragoness.

You lay curling in on yourself letting out small muffled sobs.

“Y/n…” 

No reaction.

“Darling, my dear dragoness…” He rushes up to you immediately, grabs your hand and pets your hair. You look so weak, your skin is feverish, how has it only been three days? It feels like a lifetime…

You shift a little and your eyes blink open, staring at him dazed, red and puffy and your expression defeated. You let out a pitiful whine and more of that bitter sad scent is released. 

“No my dear, don’t cry, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Zhongli coos as he curls up to you, frantically starting to scent and nip at your neck and shoulders affectionately. His horns manifest and his tail follows through, lashing about a little restless. The bond… feels wrong, broken. He should be able to intimately feel you this close and yet…

He tries to reposition you a little so you can lie on top of him, rest on his chest. It’s concerning how easily he can do so, you’re like a ragdoll in his arms, unresponsive and unmoving. His hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing at the traces of tears in your cheeks. You let out a frustrated whimper. “Shhhh shh it’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

Even if he says it a million times, it won’t feel enough.

Zhongli nuzzles at your neck and proceeds to do something he hasn’t done since he was practically a teen. He purrs. It’s a little rusty, comes off more as a grumbling but it seems to work as he feels you relax just slightly in his arms.

“I’m right here” Zhongli’s deep voice assures you, tugging you closer, mouthing at the soft skin along your collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m all yours, I promise, I promise. I won’t leave you alone, not ever.” He soothes.

He lowers a bit of your clothes at the shoulder and grazes his fangs along your faded mark, you tense and let out a long shaky breath.

“Everything will be ok.” He kisses the spot. “I’m sorry.”

And then he sinks his fangs in to reestablish the claim.

You cry out in pain and squirm, clawing at his clothes, but he holds you, his hand rubbing circles at your back, his tail intertwining with yours.

...

.....

...

At first nothing changes, but after a few moments… a low strained purr bubbles up from within you again.

[thatanimeramenchick]

Hi! I’m new and wanted to ask if it’s alright you you could do something for Yander Lucifer?(Hazbin?) if not that’s alright!

Yandere Lucifer Headcannons

Ah, no problem, I’ve been waiting for this one. Out of all of the guys on this show, he is my personal favorite. I have suddenly become a fan of short kings. Also, hope you have fun on this personal little hell spawn known as Tumblr.

I feel like his character very much would be in line with soft yandere content. Despite being Lucifer himself, he comes off as very gentle and affectionate, wanting the best for those he loves, even if it means doing things that make them unhappy. He just wants what’s best for you. Or at least he thinks he does.

He also comes off to me as someone who is afraid to get too close to people out of fear of either disappointing them or hurting himself. Before making up with Charlie, he doesn’t talk with her much, seems to be internally clinging to the memories of the family he once had, and views most if not all of his citizens as too far gone to salvage. If he found himself with feelings for someone, I see him trying to push the object of his affection away, until something happens that causes his feelings to spiral out of control. This could be fear the of you being corrupted or permanently endangered; it’s something that pushes him over the edge to acting on the feelings he been trying so hard to push away.

Some of this manifests in being overprotective. He can present this as being a reasonable stance considering how dangerous hell actually is. Besides the typical problems of sinners running rampant and demons trying to trick you into deals, there are also angelic weapons floating around hell that you could be killed by even when it’s not extermination day. The idea of losing someone he cares for deeply in such a permanent manner is horrifying to him. He’d rather upset you by having you locked away by force than have you tainted by hell.

Has a jealous side, as can be seen with how he interacts with Alastor. Even as the king of hell, he can be quite insecure with his relationships considering his separation from Lilith and estrangement with Charlie. He can easily see other friendships in your life as competition, depending on who they are and how much time they want to spend with you. While he isn’t against the idea of you having any companions ever, he frowns on you spending too much time with them. Besides, they’re literally citizens of hell, why would you even want to be associate with them?

Tends to pamper you. He may have you trapped in a bubble, but he wants it to be pleasant for you. Anything that you wish that is within his power to grant he will do so happily. Your imagination is the only thing limiting you when you’re with him. Well, that and whatever restrictions have been placed on you to keep you “safe.”

Showing repeated frustration at his treatment, especially if you are being particularly passionate with shouting and tears, will leave him depressed. While he’ll try to hide it from you, in private there may be long bouts of self disgust and guilt. If you are lucky enough to find out about this and you’re particularly emotionally intelligent, you may be able to work this to your advantage. It’s your best shot at escaping him, as you’re definitely not going to be overpowering him any time soon and probably aren’t going to be able to outsmart him.

[abbyromanoff]

YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MINE

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,475

WARNINGS: angst, cheating, divorce, depression, fluff, mind manipulation, the hex being created, pregnancy, kinda dark, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Wanda hummed as the flavors hit her taste buds, her eyes directed at you as she smiled warmly.

“How do you like the dinner, sweetheart?” You grinned beneath the fork inside your mouth, instantly returning your lips back to a thin line when her eyes left you.

“Well, I hope you’d like it, I spent many hours prepping this.” She chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze from across the table. You still didn’t utter a word, she was growing concerned.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You shrugged, nervously playing with your food as you bit the inside of your cheek, a habit you started and failed to stop, much to Wanda’s liking.

“C’mon, you can talk to me, that’s what I’m here for.” You looked up, noticing her intense gaze that showed she knew exactly what you were going to say.

“You still haven’t signed the papers.” Her body tensed, her eyes shutting as she sighed. Her hand balled into a tight fist as she continued to eat. She could see you were lacking the ring on your finger, the sight making her want to crawl into a corner and cry her eyes out. There was no way out of this, she realized, so she had to make one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“My fucking God, Wanda,” You slammed your hands down, standing as you paced urgently. She refused to look, instead finding her meal all the more interesting.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? You can’t sign some fucking papers, really? This marriage has been ruined the moment you slept with that tramp.” The realization made her throat tighten, tears nearly ready to spill from her loopy eyes.

“I told you it was a mistake, it meant nothing-”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that it happened, Wanda! Do you think it’s easy for me to have to live here daily? To see you and constantly be reminded of what you did? I worked so hard to even convince myself I was worthy of you, and you go and do this?” She cowered down, wiping her hands on the small cloth in her lap while you stared at her, nostrils flared and eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you did-”

“God, will you let me fucking speak?” She yelled, growing frustrated with the constant interruption. You didn’t refute, instead placing your hands on your hips as you waited for her voice to return.

“I told you, I was drunk and she looked so much like you. We were fighting, I was upset, you were too, so I went out and got wasted to the point I could barely walk. I saw her there and I…I let her take me home, but when I woke up I- I realized what I did and I knew I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.” You already heard the story before, the same one that haunted you in your dreams. You imagined someone else being able to hear the moans she promised were only for you, it made you violently ill.

“I made a promise to you, and I plan to keep it. I will never, and I mean never, touch a drink again. I won’t even look in another woman’s direction because I don’t need to when I have my wife right in front of me. My perfect, breathtaking, loving wife that I care for so much.” She wrapped her arms around your waist as she dropped to her knees, placing her forehead against your thigh.

“Please, baby, I don’t know how many times I have to apologize before you forgive me, but I’ll continue to tell you for the rest of my life.” She placed small kisses against the covered skin, feeling the warmth that you supplied, the same warmth that brought her comfort at night. Now it brought her shame and guilt, but she’d rather carry that burden for the rest of her life than lose you for even a moment.

“I don’t want to have to be reminded of what you did for the rest of my life, Wanda. I’m constantly having someone down my ear telling me how terrible you are, and how I should never forgive you. For fucks sake, even our friends have told me to leave you! How am I going to look them in the eye again knowing all they see is someone who’s too gullible to even leave their cheating wife?” You sobbed, and the look on your face only brought misery to the woman. You seemed so lost, so exhausted, and she was the cause.

“I know, I know, and none of this is fair to you, and I’m so sorry I caused this-”

“Stop saying sorry. Please, I can’t do this.” You begged, your voice cracking as you drew more emotions.

“But I mean it! I never want you to feel like I don’t want you because I want you more than anything. I need you, Y/N, I need you in my life.” It was true, she didn’t know how to properly function without you. You were the only one who kept her going, you were the one who held her when she felt like she couldn’t stand. When she was ready to give up, she had you holding her back. Without you, she’d be nothing.

“You say you need me, but you don’t consider what I need. And what I need is for you to let me go, and sign the papers.” You wanted to give in, to fall into her embrace and let her make it up to you. But you couldn’t, your mind would never let you forget the scene you walked in on. And maybe you’d still remember it vividly without her, but at least you wouldn’t have to be in the exact place it happened with the person who did it. At least you could move on and find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like this, intoxicated or not.

“No- no, I won’t do it.” Tear stains painted your shirt from where her head rested, you knew you’d have to throw this out sooner than later.

“Wanda, please, just do it.” You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to ignore her pleas.

“But-”

“I’m begging you, Wanda. If you truly loved me, you’d want me to be happy.” She rushed towards you when you tried to escape her tight hold.

“You’re happier with me-”

“I can’t be happy with you, not when I can’t stop thinking about what you did. It ruined me, Wands, and it continues to haunt me every breathing moment.” The nickname brought a crack to her rotting heart. Her body felt like it was decaying the more you pulled away and the more she tried to hold on.

“You’re going to sign the papers. And then I’ll be gone. This is best for the both of us, you’ll learn to live without me.” She felt as though she was going to be sick, why were you still denying her? She couldn’t let you go. No, she couldn’t.

You leaned down to her level, moving the hair that covered her face out of the way. You cupped her cheeks, smiling sadly as her sobs caused her hands to shake lightly. She reached out hopefully, copying your action and bringing herself closer.

“Can I- can I have one last kiss, at least?” You looked down, sighing as you shook your head before returning her gaze.

“If I kiss you, I don’t think either of us will be able to stop.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” You chuckled, and it felt like music to her ears. She smiled warmly, even though her chest tightened and her breath cut short.

“I love you, Wanda, I always will. Maybe we were just never meant to be, and that’s okay. But if I don’t let you go now, I’ll never be able to be happy.” But you could’ve been meant to be, she realized. You could’ve been the best, most loving couple. Your kids would’ve grown up in a healthy, safe household full of love. But that all came to an end when that night left her hopeless, she pleaded with God constantly to rid her actions but they were never heard.

“I love you too, Y/N, and I want you to be happy, I just wish I could’ve been the reason.”

“You were.” The past tense was what caused her body to crash into yours. She lost all control as your arms brought her a sense of comfort she lacked for so long.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

In a few months, the divorce was being settled and you officially moved out. You had been staying with a friend for some time, and she was more than happy to help you out. She had been in a similar situation before, so it was clear what she had to do when she saw you standing on her front porch. Wanda thought she would be able to see you when you would gather your stuff from her place, but a multitude of your friends went instead, all of them giving glares to the older woman as she refused to look at the empty home. It seemed wrong without your stuff here, and all she had were pictures of the two of you that she couldn’t remove.

She felt hopeless as time progressed, and the lack of messages or calls from you only made time move slower. Every day felt like a decade as she failed to execute basic human needs. She often struggled to get out of bed or brush her teeth, and now it’s been two days since she last showered. She wondered how you were, she hoped you weren’t in such a horrid state like herself. But a part of her also hoped you were, just so she knew you still cared.

Eventually, it all became too much. She hadn’t slept in her bed in over a year, the constant reminder that another laid where you once were disgusted her. The couch had become her home, but even the couch seemed to shame her. Her favorite movies didn’t feel the same without you laughing with her. The sitcoms she loved so much now annoyed her; she had changed completely, and it was all her fault.

She couldn’t hold it back anymore, she broke. Her small, empty home in the town of Westview became full once again. She didn’t know what happened. One moment she was sobbing uncontrollably while huddling close to the stuffed animal she had won for you on your first date, then the plain walls filled with hope. Her heart slowly gained a beat, and her hands felt warm again. She stood in front of a door, her fist finding the wood and creating a small knock.

“It’s open!” She heard, and she stopped in her tracks. It was you, it was your angelic voice that was slowly fading from her mind. She gulped fearfully before twisting the knob, letting her legs take control as she stepped forward.

“Love, you’re home!” You greeted with a smile, turning to face her as Wanda’s eyes fell on the toddler being held in your arms. She had the same hair as Wanda, and while it wasn’t easy to spot from so far away, she could see her green, piercing eyes looking back at her. The child giggled and pointed her chubby finger her way, causing a smile to break out on her face.

“Everything alright, sweetie?” You asked when she didn’t move, her mouth agape and her hands nearly releasing the briefcase she held.

“Yes…everything is just perfect, my love.” She mustered out, rushing towards your figure and embracing you in a tight hold. The replica of her was left with a small kiss to her forehead before she took her into her arms, blowing raspberries on her exposed tummy. Alana giggled again, and it felt like Wanda’s ear would explode. She felt like she was dreaming, only this wasn’t the nightmare she fought with every night. No, this time you were here to cure her.

“Momma!” She heard from a distance, seeing a young boy running to greet her. He hugged her leg tightly, causing Wanda to stumble before she leaned down, ruffling his hair before she gave him a small side hug, the baby in her arms restricting her from embracing him as much as she wanted to.

“Hey, kiddo! How was your day?”

“It was amazing! Me, Mommy, and Alana made dinner!” She gasped, showing her appreciation towards the excited boy before he ran off to the kitchen as she requested. He was still too young to carry his little sister, so she continued to do so.

“And hello to you, my sweet baby.” Wanda placed a small kiss against your stomach, placing her hand against the bump and rubbing her thumb in small, soothing circles.

“Have they been giving you any trouble today?” She asked, resulting in a small sigh from your end.

“They’ve been kicking all day. I swear, if they’re not professional soccer players, I don’t know what else they’ll do.” Wanda laughed before leaving multiple pecks to your lips, grasping your hand in hers before leading you to the kitchen.

“Well, it’s only a few more months until they’ll be out of you, I know you can do it.” You stopped in your tracks, eyeing her and causing the taller woman to stall. Nobody wanted to see you angry, especially when you were pregnant.

“First of all, I don’t see you carrying two demons in your stomach, so I’d shut up if I were you. And, second of all, this is the third time I’m doing this, you are no longer allowed to go without a condom.” She placed her hand on her chest as if she was offended and you grinned, leaving a kiss on her cheek before walking through the kitchen door where your son laid out all the dishes for you four. You thanked him before he climbed onto his seat, still finding himself to be too short for the chairs you had. Wanda placed your daughter in the high chair before taking the seat next to her. You noticed her smiling large, her eyes being filled with more joy than usual.

“What’s got you all happy?” She admired the scene in front of her, Pietro Jr and Alana sitting peacefully, both of them sharing the genes she was blessed with. Her partner, smiling back at her while they carried her twins, she couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to have all of you.” You blushed, tilting your head slightly as you bit your lip.

“Well, that’s never going to change, sweetheart.” ‘I’ll make sure of it’, she thought.

[luisjuanmilton]

What people don’t understand is that the reason we hate RBR/Max’s dominance so much compared to other eras is that everything just feels so clinical and passionless and empty.

The current world champion doesn’t feel a single thing as he wins race after race and it’s so fucking frustrating because if he doesn’t care then why should we?

Schumacher lived and breathed this sport, Vettel would have married his car if it was legal, Hamilton felt every win like it was his first. And now the only emotion this fucking guy has is indifference, to the point where I honestly believe he’d rather be playing a video game than actually racing and it’s just depressing.

[chronicbeans]

Romantic Lucifer x Maladaptive Daydreamer, Sinner Reader

Not me self-projecting or anything 👀. Plus I love the whole "dreamer and broken dreamer" dynamic I can make with this, even if it isn't the same type of dreams. This is based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make it more generalized lol.

TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, mentions of depression and anxiety, escapism and dissociation, poor self-care from forgetting, fear of disappointment and disappointing others

• You probably met him at the Hazbin Hotel, to be honest. Normally, he wouldn't even look at a sinner. You're also not outwardly that different, either. The only thing that he might notice is that your eyes always look a bit distant, but he'd probably not question it. Why have a conversation with someone who is not present and in the moment?

• Charlie would have to introduce you, too. As said before, he wouldn't see the reason to talk to someone who doesn't seem to be paying attention. If Charlie wants him to talk to you, though, he'd do so. He wants a closer relationship with his daughter, and if simply introducing himself to you makes her happy, he would! Though, he is shocked to hear you are, according to her, an interesting person to talk to.

• So, he follows her over to you, all while she's saying "(Y/N), this is my dad, Lucifer! Dad, this is (Y/N), a guest at the hotel! They're a bit spacey, but they're trying their best... They're pretty unique, too! I'm sure you both will get along!"

• Once he gets a closer look at you... yes... you're very unique, to say the least. You look a little disheveled, but at the same time, like you're trying to look presentable. The look in your eyes also seems to flicker between paying attention and drifting off into your own head as he talks. When you respond, though, it sounds like you're at least retaining the basic information of the conversation.

• It takes a long time for him to actually become interested in spending time with you. Sure, you're an odd sinner, but still a sinner, and sinners are the worst in his opinion. However, he does visit the hotel every now and again to check in on Charlie in person. He's realized that calling her is not helping them get closer, even if he's still a bit confused as to why, so he's been visiting in person. Over time, he begins to notice odd things you do...

• You usually sit in the lobby, with a few other sinners, but don't talk to them often. Instead, you just sit there, making odd facial expressions every now and then. At first, he just assumed it was you reacting to the conversations the others were having, until he realized many of your expressions don't fit the topics. They'd be talking about exterminations, while you look calm, or about a pleasant event, with you looking sad or angry. Then, they'd be talking about fashion, and you'd look mortified. This sort of behavior interests Lucifer... You aren't like any other sinner he's seen. He, honestly, probably just assumes you're hallucinating or something. He'd rather ask Charlie, though.

• Unfortunately, she doesn't give away much about you. Something along the lines of "not wanting to talk to much about someone's personal problems without their consent", or whatever. He understands, but come on! He's her dad! A little gossip would be better than what he sees as a long silence between them. She does assure him, though, that you are not hallucinating. That, and she pushes him to interact with you, saying that his perception on sinners might change if he talks to some of the ones at the hotel.

• It's something that frustrates him... however, he pushes himself to do so. Anything for Charlie. Though, to him, it feels less like he wants his views to change and more like she's trying to to avoid talking to him. She never calls, after all... He still tries talking to you, though, and every time you seem extremely distant. That same flickering attention and that same disheveled look. Though, you definitely look worse than when Charlie called him to visit the first time, probably because you were caught on a regular day.

• You do make a few interesting statements, though. Mentions of days flying by fast, barely remembering parts of your life, a journal Charlie recommended you begin writing... Now you're getting interesting! Like a little mystery. He wants to figure you out.

• He'll try prying to get you to speak about yourself. What was your life as a human like? What were your sins, or biggest sin? Why do you look so... distant, all the time? Give him an answer! He'll take what he can get, and won't get upset.

• Daydreaming. That's the answer you give for looking distant. You don't really explain your answer, as if it should speak for itself. Though, you do mention that you're aware it's a "big problem", at this point. Dreaming... ugh... He doesn't even like the word, at this point, even if your type of dreaming isn't the same as his.

• You don't seem to want to tell him what you daydream about, outside of saying it's the types of things you can write a book about, instead of a simple self-fulfilling fantasy. You've got him hooked, now. This mystery has shifted gears. No longer is he as interested in you in general. Instead, your dreams are what he must know about. Which, granted, they probably will tell him a lot about you if they're so personal that you won't tell him.

• Whenever he spots you writing, he tries to sneakily look over your shoulder to read it. Usually, though, you spot him walking over before he can even try and close your journal. You do the same when anybody else walks by... except for Charlie. It honestly doesn't surprise him, since most everybody in the hotel seems to trust her, to some extent. He's just so frustrated. He wants to know more, but you won't say a thing, and Charlie won't, either!

• So, he decides to bite the bullet, and ask Charlie for help. Not the answers to his brewing questions, but instead about things you like. Interests the two of you might share with one another. Surprisingly, he learns that you and him share a lot more in common than he'd have expected a sinner to...

•He decides to try to talk to you about music, instead. What types of music do you like? Can you play an instrument? Do you have a favorite song, perhaps? The entire conversation is fascinating. Do you want him to play you a song, sometime? He'll be sure to bring an instrument the next time he visits.

• Once you do, eventually, listen to his music, he's absolutely entrance by the way you react to it. He's never really bothered to take notice of how you react listening to music before, assuming it's just like anyone else. He should've known that wasn't the case. Instead of a smile, or an attentive gaze, you're completely zoned out. Your expression is dull, which he'd normally be offended by, but he's quick to put it all together, now. That distant look isn't necessarily boredom or a disliking of the music... It's a dreamy look. You're daydreaming to his music. It only becomes more obvious once he changes the tones and your expression changes a bit, as if your daydream is changing alongside it. He's seen people dance, he's seen people sing, he's seen many types of reactions to music. However, to sit there and daydream is one he hasn't seen... At least, not so obviously and intensely.

• He doesn't want to embarrass you, so once he finishes playing his song, he won't mention it to you. He'll simply ask if you liked the song or not, then ask why. He'll slightly giggle, though, if you call it something along the lines of "inspiring" or "thought-provoking". A tiny little hint that he's slowly figuring out what is happening.

• Alongside your reactions to music, he does notice other things. Such as how sometimes, when he walks by your room in the hotel, he can hear the sounds of constant footsteps from behind the closed door. Sometimes he even hears tiny whispers, too, which sounds like your voice. Again, he doesn't say a word. If you're so secretive about such things, he won't pry... Which he, himself, is finding a tiny bit odd. He usually doesn't hold a sinner's privacy to such high regard, under the idea that he's King and needs to know what is happening... That, and his own anxieties making him feel the need to know as much as possible... But, for you, he's becoming a bit more aware of how odd that behavior can be when brought to a certain degree.

• So, he waits for you to tell him about it, yourself. And once you do, mentioning your little prancing, pacing, and your slight habit to act out your daydreams, he's ecstatic! For one, he's earned your trust enough for you to tell him such a thing. The other reason is that he has an idea! Why don't you try dressing up as the characters? It'd be an interesting way to engage in it. He's a musical man, he's probably heard of musicals, if not been in one! He could try getting you an outfit. If you don't want to, though, he's fine with it. It might be strange, after all...

• It takes a while, but soon, you both become close friends. Close enough that he's probably talked to you about feeling a bit lost and depressed, feeling very anxious for Charlie's well-being... In which case, he's probably a bit shocked to hear you relay the fact that, similarly, you are lost. Be it you feel depressed and or anxious, as well, or perhaps it's because you can't stop daydreaming. Either way, you let him know you feel similar, and he's shocked. He's always kind of assumed you daydreaming would help you escape from those types of feelings, not contribute to or possibly cause them.

• He listens more to your concerns and worries... and he relates more than he'd like to admit, in certain situations. Dissociation? You both kind of do it, in your own ways. Your daydreaming, you mentioned, might be that. You've never gotten checked, though, because therapists in Hell aren't the best. He knows all too well that he dissociates, from time to time, because Lilith pointed it out to him shortly before she left to do... whatever she's doing. You both forget to take care of yourselves, in your own ways. You daydreaming for so long, causing time to fly, and eventually forgetting whatever you forget... And him working on his rubber ducks to cope, focusing too much, and forgetting to do whatever it is he needed to do.

• He does get worried for you, and you probably get worried for him, as well. However, while he's not so sure about you, he's taking his worries for you and his daughter to try to better himself... Though, with you and him sharing things in common, he sees you as being a big reason to specifically better his mental health while Charlie is his reason to try to be a better father. How can he provide any sort of help to you when he's suffering, himself? Any advice would either, in his opinion, be bad, or be good but seem bad from the hypocrisy of him not following his own advice. So, he's got to help himself, yeah? He can do it all on his own, too! Watch him! He's not going to burden anybody else!

• Yeah, no. He's failed. Now, he feels worse. Luckily, though, you're there for him to go to! He would go to Charlie... But, he doesn't want to burden her with it. Quite frankly, he doesn't want to talk to you, either, but you can at least relate to him a bit. That, and he knows that keeping it all in is a part of what's made him feel horrible. So, again, you have your talks about life together... You mention your problems and he mentions his. You give him advice. Pretty good advice, actually. He gives you small tips on a few things to make life easier. Then, as always, the conversation shifts to happier topics. What made you happy, recently? Did you have any nice food today? Stuff like that.

• Though, one day, you seem to be thinking about something. You look from him, to nothing, then back to him almost on a loop. He simply assumes it's one of your daydreams, and instead speaks about whatever comes to his mind, being patient with you. From how his relationship with his daughter and her girlfriend is going along, how his rubber duck creation is going, to what he thinks of a few of the other guests at the hotel. However, he is a bit shocked when you begin speaking, very suddenly.

• You start talking about a seemingly random daydream you had, recently. Beautiful music, nice outfits, fun dances... You describe a scene of you dancing with someone on a glorious night. However, you don't say who it is you're dancing with. You just describe a beautiful scenario, which is about you dancing with someone. When he asks who it is, after you finish talking, you kind of just stare at him awkwardly.

• It takes him a few moments, then once it hits him, he begins to laugh hysterically in disbelief. No. You couldn't possibly be implying it was him! Once you outright say it, and add that you love him as more than a friend, though, he's both ecstatic and terrified. He feels the same way, yes, but he knows he has his own set of problems he'd be adding into your life if he got with you... And then you start talking about how you are worried you'd make him feel bad, as you know that your daydreams can hype up future events, like dates and such, to an unachievable expectation... then everything is disappointing, despite it being perfectly fine.

• He, however, wants to change that... or, at least your outlook on it. He will happily hold out his hand and admit that he feels the same. He feels the same love for you, the same worries for the future, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth trying. Just because something wasn't to your expectations, doesn't make it bad, yeah? Once you realize that you still had fun, you'll learn to still enjoy your life, even if it'll never live up to your daydreams.

• That's how you two began dating. You're both used to helping each other through rough times, and comforting each other, so there wasn't really a big adjustment period of having to learn to do so. Instead, the first few months were spent on sweet dates, as well as helping you with your daydreams causing expectations that can't be met. As each date goes by, he asks if you had fun, even if it wasn't all you dreamed up to be. As you realize how often you say "yes", you begin to feel much more confident that everything will be fine and doesn't need to be perfect.

• He's gotten into a little habit of planning a secret date or surprise every once in a while. That way, you don't have the chance to build up such high expectations of what it'd be like. You'll come home to see that he's made the most delicious looking dinner buffet, and spread it out over his dining table. Or, you'll come home, and he'll say that he wants to take you out to go dancing somewhere. Small little surprises.

• He's going to make a rubber duckling based on you. Or two. Or three... Or twelve dozen. He can think of so many designs based on your lovely stories. He knows that he shouldn't feed into the habit, and he's actively doing his best not to, but he wants to show you that you can create beautiful artwork with your daydreams. Music, paintings, books, plays... If you find that you can't daydream less, you can try to at least transform them into a real, tangible thing that others can see or hear. His duckies are just an example of that.

• He sometimes wishes he could create something that catches your attention more than your daydreams, but he can also understand that you may not have complete control of it. So, instead, he'll try to gently get your attention if he needs you, just wants your attention, or wants to remind you of something you need to do. Be it a little tap on your shoulder, him calling your name, or walking into your field of view and doing something silly.

• He's sure to check in on you daily, asking if you've been making sure to take care of yourself. Did you eat today? Did you take a shower? Did you drink a glass of water? You gotta stay hydrated! In return, whenever you can, you do the same for him. You both take care of each other as best you can.

• If you're one of those daydreamers who has trouble falling asleep because your brain won't turn off, he'll do whatever he can to at least help you relax. He'll cuddle you, try humming a little soft tune, or get you something to drink to help you relax a little.

• Sometimes, although he'd never admit it, he's a little jealous of your daydreaming. Yes, he's aware the grass is always greener on the other side, and that's why he wouldn't say it. He knows you'll chew him out and reminding him of the issues it's caused you. He can see them, so you don't really have to remind him. He's just... missed the feeling of having such an imaginative mind. Sure, he still has had one. Ever since he was dropped into Hell, it's been a bit harder to do so... then, once Lilith left, it has gotten worse. He's been a bit too depressed to dream...

• Though, he knows that you can dream enough for the both of you, and that you'll happily share ones you think will cheer him up. He loves you for how much you've reminded him of the importance of dreaming... Just, in moderation. He'll be there to ground you, whenever you need it.

[inbarfink]

Part of Fionna’s frustrations with Mundanewold were subconscious longings for her old life of magical adventure, but a lot of her problems tied more into deeply-rooted issues of monotony and a feeling like she can't do anything to change her lot in life and like her actions don’t matter.

And it does seem like Fionna and Friends’ lives have been kinda Stuck in a Rut - especially when you compare the way their lives parallel and diverge from their Mainworld counterparts. Most of the differences are... rather than just different choices diverging into different arcs - it’s the same arc, but the Fionnaworld characters are just stuck behind.

Fionna is still reeling from the breakup with DJ Flame and only met Hunter at the very day our story starts. Marshall Lee has more Unresolved Issues with his mom compared to Marceline and her dad. He and Gumball haven’t even met yet. Not to mention the Mundaneworld-specific problems like Fionna being unable to hold a steady job or Gary eternally spinning his wheels about opening his own bakery. 

Fionna thought she wanted a world of magic, but while the added bits of strangeness and whimsy to Fionnaworld by the end of the show are certainly a cool fun bonus (and Cake is surely thankful to have the ability to freely think and speak her mind and stretch) - what Fionna and friends were really missing was a world where their actions matter, where things change, where they are real. 

And especially important for Fionna and Cake to admit it, because handling the fact their actions have consequences has been a huge part of both of their character arcs. For Cake it was all about getting used to the fact that her newfound human-like sapience means being measured against human-like morality. For Fionna it's about not comparing everything in her life to video games and thinking through her actions at least a little bit.

Consequences are the thing Fionna and Cake struggled with the most, but it was what they were missing all along.

Now this seems to be, like, an actual metaphysical thing. I mean, the show hasn’t gone super into detail of how Fionnaworld worked but it does seem like Prismo’s stories had an active role in moving the events of the World forwards, possibly using the same event-manipulating-Magic that make sure his Wishes have that Obligatory Ironic Twists?

And once Ice King turned back to Simon, Prismo lost all ability to observe or create stories for Fionnaworld. And what happens to characters of a story once the writer can’t access their external hard-drive anymore? They just sorta get stuck. Moving their own lives forwards without Prismo’s stories is just a lot harder.

And if there is some sort of force in control behind the scenes of Fionnaworld at the start of the series, it’s only Simon’s subconscious - a fact F&C alludes to numerous times 

And at the start of the show, how was Simon’s feeling about his own life?

In addition to Simon’s longing and memories for the pre-War world shaping the exact form of Fionna’s nonmagical world, perhaps his feelings of ennui and depression and helplessness have also subtly ‘infected’ this world?

It is perhaps not a coincidence that Marshall Lee and Gary Prince’s storyline only starts moving forwards after Simon embarks on the adventure and starts climbing out of his mental rock bottom. When things seem to move forwards for him as well.

As such, ‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld solves more of Fionna’s problems much more than simply making it as magical as Ooo but keeping it as a tiny hidden bubble in someone's dome. It ensures the World’s inhabitants’ free will and agency and ability to enact change on the status quo with no need for Prismo’s stories or being dependent on the still-kinda-shaky mental health of Simon Petrikov. Thus giving them a world where everything matters and things can always change.

But also there's a psychological element for the Fionnaworld protagonists. You know, the reason why Fionna is stuck in her rut is because she’s too impulsive and careless. Gary is too perfectionist. Marshall never had someone who would stand up to him against his mom.

Fionna’s whole arc in the show is about learning to be more thoughtful and careful and considerate through her Multiverse Adventure. While Gary and Marshall Lee find release from the thing holding them back within Fionnaworld, with each other. 

‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld is like... half actively altering their world into a ‘real’ one where change is possible, or at least easier - and half about an affirmation that their world was always real because change is about them outgrowing their personal issues (and also, y’know, about protecting their universe from the spiteful Beetle Cop).

And with how Fionna used to feel ‘trapped’ in the City, with nowhere to go and nothing to do - there is another change in Fionnaworld as a result of ‘canonization’ that feels very notable. 

I’m not entirely sure, but from Scarab's dialogue it seems likely that becoming a ‘real’ authorized universe just kinda manifested a whole planet and universe beyond the borders of the small existing Fionnaworld. Although I guess it's also possible that the process of repairing the existing city they found a way to expand it gradually - maybe it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that either way, Fionna’s horizons have been literally expanded. 

So you know, if she ever gets that thirst for adventure again... she actually has a Whole New World to travel and explore, it might not have (a lot of) magic but... she already heard Simon's stories of his adventures in a similar low-Magic world. It's a totally viable outlet for her.

What Fionna really needed to find the joy in her life is to be Real - to know that her actions have consequences for ill and for good. Because sometimes an adventure looks like saving a Prince of candy from an evil Ice Witch, or going on a multiverse journey to uncover a cursed Magic Crown… but it can also look like backpacking through Europe or campaigning against your evil landlady.

[novlr]

How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my sister I think she should put down her dog?

(cw: animal death, animal erection mention (I shit you not), suicide mention)

So, I (21nb) have a sister (Amelia, 23f). She’s been living with a friend for the past two years, but she still stops by the house every now and then. Most of the time, it’s just to drop off her dog (Max, toy poodle, 16?m) so that we (Dad and Mom, 63m and 55f, and Jamie, 25f) can dogsit him while she’s at work. We’ve already got three dogs of our own, and because both of my parents work full-time (and Jamie works from home part-time), I’m usually the one who has to take care of him during the day (along with our other dogs).

Unfortunately, because Max is an older dog, he has a lot of health issues. He’s mostly blind, fully deaf, and he has intense separation anxiety. He also bites when he’s startled, which is often because he’s deaf and blind. So most times he’s over he’ll pee in the house because he doesn’t know he’s inside, we’ll have to carefully pick him up and put him in the backyard so he can do his business, then stand outside with him so we can keep him from getting lost in a bush or bumping into a tree or freezing to death because he can’t find his way to the door, then we have to carefully pick him up again to bring him back inside. After that, he’ll often walk around the house while screaming because he can’t see or hear anyone and he thinks we’ve abandoned him. It’s hell to deal with, and I’ve had breakdowns on several different occasions while trying to deal with my other responsibilities and also keep him from screaming 24/7. When he’s not aimlessly wandering and screaming, he’s asleep in his dog bed for most of the day. It’s depressing to watch him so sad and unmotivated. He doesn’t know how to be a dog without her.

Recently, Amelia’s been dropping him off more often and for longer stretches. She works retail, so I can understand that her schedule is fucked most of the time. But she’s also been dropping Max off because he’s so overwhelming for her to deal with. He has the same issues when he’s at home with her, but he’s also like 10 times more energetic when she’s around (and he screams when she’s around but not holding him or giving him attention), which is hard for her to deal with after three days of back to back shifts. She’s called my mom before to ask us to take Max for a night just so she can get some sleep.

The most recent time Amelia dropped Max off, she said that he’d been having painful prolonged erections, and that we’d probably have to wipe his penis down with a damp washcloth to get it to go back in. Now, I’ve had dogs for most of my life, I’m not exactly a stranger to having to wipe down doggy nether regions (hell, I’ve dealt with so many clingons you could call me a starfleet ambassador). But having to do that for a blind dog who’s known to bite when he’s startled? Just the idea of having to hold him while someone else wipes makes me want to cry tears of frustration. I’ve already got two scars from him biting me, I’m not aiming for a third.

With all of his health issues, I’m convinced that it’d be much more humane to put Max down now rather than letting him (and quite frankly, everyone who has to take care of him) suffer indefinitely. But at the same time, he’s Amelia’s rock. She’s struggled with depression and anxiety all her life, and she was even hospitalized for severe suicidal ideation two years ago. She’s told me herself that some days, the only thing that gets her out of bed is having to take care of Max. I’ve had a dog like that before, and when he passed suddenly, it destroyed me for months. I’m worried that if Amelia did have to have Max put down, it might lead to her being hospitalized again, or worse. I can’t keep living with him, but at the same time, I can’t expect her to live without him.

TL;DR: my sister’s dog has many health issues that require special care, and I’m responsible for babysitting him while she’s at work. my sister has mental health issues, and taking care of her dog is both incredibly stressful for her and one of the few sources of joy she has. I believe it’d be more humane for everyone if she puts her dog down, but I also don’t want to take away one of the few things that makes her happy. Would I be the asshole if I told her I think she should put down her dog?

What are these acronyms?

[stsgooo]

Love, Hate, Love.

✩࿐ summary: shoko reminisces.

warning(s): death, description of gore, angst, hurt no comfort, depression, bit of a character study(?), sad yuri. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): ieiri shoko/fem!gojo!reader.

a/n: this is kinda messy, but i love shoko and wanted to write something for her so :3 excuse anything that just

SHOKO STARED DOWN AT THE BODY OF ITADORI YUJI AND SHE FELT AN ARRAY OF EMOTIONS.

Disdain. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Exhaustion. Slight, slight sadness. Emptiness.

She didn’t know Itadori Yuji well. She had only met him for a few minutes when he was passed out and thrown onto one of the many medical bay beds by Gojo. Had patched up the rather small cuts and bruises, listened as the tall teacher described the King of Curses. Then sent him on his way.

Shoko hadn’t seen Itadori again until he was a corpse on her table.

It wasn’t that Shoko was sadden by this strange boy’s loss. Not entirely. She had no attachments or thoughts on the boy. Even when he had gotten everyone talking.

No, it was more about what Itadori Yuji represented in that moment.

Death was a common thing to happen within their world. Every day it was something new. Whether it be non-sorcerer, sorcerer, or a random animal, there was death to be following. Random at most, but there were few instances where it was intentional. Where the grapevine of gossip lead to something catastrophic. That it lead to the death of a young sorcerer with great potential.

Itadori hadn’t been the first to die. And he certainly wasn’t the last.

No. No, Shoko could recall her first vividly.

First, it had been Yomada Han in their first year. A third year that had been the last of his class. He’d run into a trouble, died messily. It’d been the first time she dissected a body. The first time she threw up over it too. It’d been the first time she had a cigarette too.

He’d been sent off to slaughter because of his hand in some clan mess. They thought it was justification enough for his murder death.

Dissecting and seeing death got a little easier from then. Shoko didn’t throw up anymore. She didn’t get angry or question why someone was on her slab. It was just what happened. She came to accept it.

The second had been… well, Gojo Y/N.

Shoko was still unclear on what exactly happened that day. She can just recall the dread and sickness that flushed over her when she saw her sprawled out on the cot. The way Gojo’s voice shook and pleaded with her— desperately trying to appease to Shoko’s good side as if she hadn’t wanted to save her. As if that’s the only thing Shoko wanted to do.

She’d seen a lot by then. Geto’s chest wide open, the insides of various students and curses, bloody limbs. But she had never seen something quite like that.

It was so surreal to have been speaking to someone a day before, smiling and laughing, sharing touches and secrets. Then have half of their brains scattered on your table the next.

Still and silent. The entire time she had been still and silent.

It was all so sickening.

Shoko hadn’t even been able to take a step towards her before she was throwing up the food she’d consumed in the last 24 hours. Tears flushing down her cheeks and bile rising in her throat. Brains trailed into the room and blood dripped from the end of the table onto the ground like a leaky faucet.

She was sick. She was sick. Shoko couldn’t stop being sick.

Then, she hadn’t been sure what to do as the white haired boy pleaded and cried. As his twin remained limp in his hold. Shoko had just watched with trembling lips, shaking hands pressed against her mouth.

She was dead before she was even found.

Shoko had concluded such during the autopsy. As she pushed tears away behind her protective goggles, cutting into her… her….(what? Her friend? Her friend.) As she cut into her friend’s bones and body. Gojo Y/N had been dead the moment the curse made contact and dealt the blow. The moment her skull cracked open and her brain turned to mush, she was gone.

At least, that’s what she reassured Gojo and Geto (and herself) with.

"They said it was a Grade Two," Gojo had said in a whisper, slumped in his seat, eyes uncharacteristically vacant as he stared at the ground. A hollowness that embraced them all was evident and clear. "They sent her with Nanami and Haibara because it was a Grade Two. So why are they both dead? Why is my sister dead? Why was it a fucking Local Deity? It was a Special Grade!"

Gojo had broken down then. A mess of rage full tears as he uttered on about how it was a mistake. One that costed his other half, since birth, to die. It was surreal to see the Strongest reduced to this. A bumbling mess. While he tried to piece together the puzzle of death. As he questioned the justification behind his sister’s death.

Shoko had wished she was afforded the same.

"Satoru," Geto had whispered, oddly blank and hollow himself. As he always had been back then. For a year he’d been a husk of who he once was. Body always tense, always frail and alert. Tired and withering. "You know how she is… was. She would’ve tried saving Haibara no matter the grade."

Haibara had been the third.

He held out longer than her. Given that she’d jumped in front of the curse to save him. Still, he’d been split in half. Nanami only retrieving his upper half with a pale face and hollow eyes. Still, he died.

What was the point of her dying if the one she saved died too?

Shoko wasn’t sure

And neither was Gojo.

"Yeah, and now there two dead sorcerers!" Gojo had shot from his chair. Fast enough that it bounced off the wall and made a horrible sound throughout the empty hallway. Shoko could recall the way she flinched back the moment she felt Gojo's technique fire up. A barrier between him and the people he cared about. An unrelenting and unchecked power that kept his rage contained. "W-Who even cares about Haibara—?"

"Satoru." Geto's tone had darkened considerably. His face shadowed under the flickering fluorescent lights. Any other time Shoko would've ran away. She would've made some comment about them being annoying trash, then stalk off with her in her shadow.

Not now. Not ever again.

Gojo's face crumbled, he grew desperate at Geto's call, "I... Why does it have to be her?" His eyes split to Shoko, narrowed and angry. "I thought you could do something."

Shoko, taken aback, had tensed. "Half of her brain—"

"You love her, right?" Gojo had continued, ruthlessly, "Right?"

A nod.

"Then you should've saved her!"

"Satoru!" Geto's hand wrapped around Gojo's arm, pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm wrong?"

"Yes!"

"What the fuck do you know, Suguru?"

"What do I know? I know that you're..."

Their voices had faded away as Shoko stared endlessly at Gojo's previous spot. A well of tears collecting in her eyes as her hands buried deep within her pockets, clenched and shaking. Her technique was great, it was amazing. She'd done a lot even before she was 18.

So why couldn't she save her?

It stuck around with her for a long time. Well after Gojo had stomped off with tears flowing down his face. Well after Geto had conjured up the last bits of his fake kindness and apologized, tried to comfort Shoko. Well after she was alone in her dorm, holding onto the pieces of her that were suddenly all Shoko had left.

Death was sudden. It was the last curtain call. In their line of work, there was usually no time for goodbyes or last words. Much like this situation. It was inevitable and everyone would meet their making sooner or later— it was only a matter of when. It was better to accept you wouldn't get nice little bows in at the end of your life instead of constantly thinking about it.

Still, Shoko had wondered if there was a possibility she could've saved her. Wondered what she would've said in her last moments if she had the chance to say goodbye.

It was a bad downward spiral to commit herself to. Especially when she was alone in the dark, laying in her bed, staring endlessly at the ceiling above.

It was flat-out dangerous to wonder when she was wrist deep in her chest cavity.

Shoko was best for it. Allegedly. She was the best bet to tell them all exactly what happened to her technique and body as she died.

Originally, Shoko had been tempted to just write that Gojo Y/N lost her brain. What else was there to report? What else could her family possibly want to know?

But then bitter curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know everything. She didn't even care about what the Gojo's wanted to know. Shoko herself had to know if her soul— if the technique just... vanished.

She wasn't really sure what she expected when she stood over her in the morgue. How she would possibly cut her open and scoop out her organs as if she hadn't been speaking to her two days ago. Had been engaged in conversations. Blushing when their hands brushed against one another. As if she hadn't—

"Shoko, what do you want while we're gone?" She had stopped by before they were to be sent off, lightly sprinkled white H/C hair. Expression light, but serious, as it usually was. "Treats, shirt, another body for you to pick around in? Ew, by the way."

Usually, a girl wouldn't think anything of it. But Shoko, elbow deep within a curse, blushed like she was an elementary girl. "Sorry"

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smile small yet tender, "So? What does sweet, sweet Shoko-chan want as a souvenir?"

Shoko always had a hard time believing Y/N was a Gojo. Especially the same product line of Gojo Satoru, who was just... the opposite of her. This girl was intelligent and kind, beautiful and timid. Self-aware, selfless, and She wasn't anything like the boy she shared the womb with, or birthday, or name. A twin. Same blood, same name, everything them. But so distinctly different.

"I'm not really interested in anything." Shoko had replied with a tilt of her lips and a shrug of her shoulders, pulling away from the curse corpse to face her fully.

Y/N's eyebrows raised, "Really? You're not interested in a single thing?"

"Not really," She walked closer, "What did the others get?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not entirely sure—"

"Gojo-senpai!" Haibara had barreled around the corner, loud and grinning, his hair flopping as he bounced around. "Geto-senpai would like something sweet for himself and your brother!"

She had released a bitter sound, fond and amused, but bitter all the same, "Of course he'd be thinking about Satoru." She turned back to Shoko with a small tilt of her lips. "You sure you don't want anything, Shoko?"

Shoko wondered if things would be different if she said anything else than what she had. If she asked for some ridiculous sweet or a stupid shirt, would things have ended differently? If she kept her around for a little longer, would someone realize the misclassification of the curse? Could Shoko have done something?

Who knows. All she said was, "Just come back. That's enough for me."

Her face had scrunched up, a light laugh leaving her as she turned, waving a hand, "Just for you, Shoko! See you around."

It wasn't anything special. Her goodbye had been a teasing promise. A nonchalant wave. Nothing special. Another day. It wasn't anything special.

So why did it have to be the last?

The autopsy ended abruptly. As Shoko held onto a trash bin, sobbing and throwing up the little food she had in the past two days, Yaga put it in the hands of someone much older. Much more detatched.

Gojo Y/N had died almost instantly. Before she could even activate her technique.

That sparked up a chatter at her funeral.

If the affair wasn't sickening and horribly in the first place, the conversation that took place most certainly was.

The people that attended outside of Shoko and Geto where just some old clan members either from the "Big Three" or some lowly ones. They all kind of just loitered around as they ate food and conversated. Nothing exciting, nothing entirely too telling of their grief either.

She couldn't ever recall Gojo or Y/N talking much about the other clans. If only to drag them through the mud, express their great distaste, or general displeasure. Shoko just knew that an occasion like this, filled with old people and terribly traditional things, was something that the girl nor her brother wanted. She knew that they all like the Gojo's about as much as the Gojo's liked them. Which was not very much.

It was only as Shoko was using the bathroom that she overheard what they truly thought.

"I heard that she didn't even have the time to activate her technique before it killed her."

"It's not like her technique would've done much against a Special Grade anyway. The Six Eyes got all the potential. If anything, that boy that got killed alongside her had more skill."

"I thought she had some type of power?"

"That's just a lie the family put out to calm their egos. They gave birth to the Six Eyes while giving birth to a useless girl right after."

"Poor thing."

"I wouldn't worry. The girl was a bit airheaded, she probably didn't even know she was boring."

It took everything in Shoko not to snap. To not ruin their gossip with her petulant cries of anger. It was just wrong. What they thought of her. There's never been something so wrong.

Y/n was different and amazing, magnificent and interesting. She was strong in ways that Gojo wasn't. She could hold her own. She was intelligent on things outside of jujutsu just as much as she was in things regarding jujutsu. Shoko wasn't sure where they got their information but it was wrong. It'd always been wrong.

Seven days later, Geto killed an entire village.

Thought about her and Haibara the whole time. The mountain of bodies that came with being a sorcerer. Killed 112 people just because he was angry and sad. At least, that's what Geto had said to her.

Shoko wished she could've destroy a whole village in her grief.

Those are all the things Shoko thought as she slips on her gloves, glancing back at where Gojo and Ijichi were standing in the corner.

"Hey, you guys, I'm gonna get started," Shoko says flatly, with her usual detachment. It'd been years since she felt uncomfortable or disgusted with this job. Just a normal routine now. "You gonna just sit there and watch?"

She snaps her glove into place at the same time Ijichi's face visibly pales and his jaw drops, Gojo's own face screwing up into something akin to shock. She was about to ask what was wrong, but—

"Whoa! Full frontal!"

Shoko whirls around to look at Itadori Yuji who looks, shockingly, fine.

Well, Shoko's never had someone come back to life in her morgue before. (No matter how much she's begged.)

She tugs down her mask, staring at the boy with disappointment, "Well, this is too bad."

Itadori blinks, a faint blush on his cheeks, "Um... who are you?"

"Yuji!" Gojo stands, a beaming grin on his lips as he walks forward, hand extended. "Welcome back!"

The teen lets out a loud laugh, clapping his hand against his teacher's for a loud slap that almost makes Shoko wince.

"I'm back!" Itadori cheers, smiling back.

"You sure are!" Gojo then tucks his hands into his jacket, turning around to face Shoko and Ijichi. "Hey, can I speak to you outside for a minute? Ijichi, get Yuji something to change into."

"O-Of course, Gojo-san!"

Shoko doesn't even dignify Gojo a response, lazily making her way out of the room with bored eyes. There went an afternoon of digging through Sukuna's vessel's organs and finding out what made him so different from the others. What allowed him to inhabit the King of Curses while so many others had died trying. It would make for perfect research. Fun and interesting.

But the kid just had to wake up. From death.

(She tired to ignore how many times she'd imagined her waking up on her table too.)

"Ugh, now I have to go back and change the report." Shoko utters bitterly once the two adults are outside.

"No, leave it as is." Shoko snaps her eyes to Gojo, who keeps his carefree smile on his face. "Before he's targeted again, I'd like to at least give Yuji some basic training. Please leave him listed as deceased in the report."

Shoko frowns, tucking her hands into her pockets, "Then Yuji will have to go into hiding for good."

"Nah, I'll have him ready in time for the Goodwill Event."

The Goodwill Event. Now, that was something she wasn't entirely concerned with. Something she didn't think Gojo was either.

"Why?" Shoko utters.

"Easy. I refuse to keep that kid from losing the best years of his life. Not just him, but everyone."

The way he says it is tender and true. Said with his heart and his soul. Despite how childish Gojo has always been, he's been terribly aware of when kids should be kids. Something he'd been keenly aware of when he was a kid himself.

Gojo suddenly tilts his head, smile distant and incredibly sad, "Not to mention... he kind of reminds me of Y/N, y'know?"

Shoko's steps falter. They've never really engaged in a conversation about her before. Never really a chance or reason to. Shoko figured they always had their own thoughts and opinions about what happened. Their own grief pushed down to be ignored. Never addressed.

But he—

"Bit of an airhead, but he means well. Smart when it calls for it. Wants to do the right thing no matter if it's his life on the line." Gojo stops a few feet ahead of Shoko, back stiff and, unfortunately, unreadable to her. "I wonder what she'd think of all this."

Shoko draws in a breath, inching closer to lean on the railing overlooking the courtyard. "She'd be disgusted to learn you're a teacher."

"Disgusted?" Gojo repeats with a pout. Shoko just knows that his eyes are narrowed behind his blindfold. "And she wouldn't judge you for cheating your way through med school?"

"She would, but I wouldn't care." Shoko rolls her eyes.

Gojo presses his lips together, leaning on the railing next to her, "I don't think I would either... as long as she was here."

Shoko tenses and her eyes grow distant as she watches leaves twirl and fall in the distance. Her ears begin to ring and she thinks, for one single moment, that Gojo is right. If she just had her right next to her. Breathing, talking— living. Then Shoko might be one of the happiest people alive. She wouldn't care about any of this. She wouldn't worry about anyone leaving or dying. She would just—

What was the point of think about something not possible?

11 years. They needed to let go already.

"I'll make sure Itadori is, in all the official ways, dead." Shoko pushes away from the railing and begins to make her way back to her office (ignoring the soft snort Gojo gave). "Make sure he doesn't die again before you can train him."

"I'll do my absolute best."

11 years. What's a few more minutes with her memory.