#something something hacking puppy's brain

[hypnobotlayla]

ahem ahem is this thing working? neat. this is @rosepetalkitty controlling this poor little pup's computer~

[dearlenore]

MINISKIRT • S.REID

SUMMARY: against his better judgment, Spencer spends his Saturday at a concert with Penelope, who won front-row seats (likely by hacking the raffle) and insisted he join her. How could he refuse?

PAIRING: fem!idol!reader x spencer

tags: reader is an idol (race not specified), reader wears makeup, reader is a bombshell, reader wears a miniskirt, reader wears heels, Spencer is WHIPPED season3!Spencer

a/n: I’m so beyond obsessed with this concept but my execution of it is booty butt…

w/c: 1.6k

The bullpen buzzed with the usual Monday morning chaos — phones ringing, agents swapping case details, and a faint aroma of stale coffee lingering in the air. Spencer Reid sat at his desk, flipping through a weathered psychology journal, his mind halfway between a fascinating study on cognitive biases and the mug of lukewarm coffee he’d forgotten about.

“Spencer!” Penelope’s voice broke through the noise like a burst of confetti. Before he could react, she materialized beside his desk, a wide grin on her face and her new pink cat-eye glasses slipping down her nose.

He glanced up, already suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” She clutched her chest in mock offense. “I do plenty of things, but none of them are illegal.” Her smile widened. “Usually.”

Spencer sighed and set his journal down. “Penelope…”

“Okay, okay!” She thrust a printed email in front of him. “I won front row seats to a concert this weekend!”

Spencer blinked. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh, sweet genius,” she groaned. “They’re only the biggest idol group on the planet right now!”

He gave her a patient smile. “That sounds… fun?”

“It will be!” She clapped her hands together. “And you’re coming with me.”

“What?” Spencer’s smile faltered. “Uhm, I don’t really do concerts. Loud music, flashing lights, crowds—actually I don’t really do much of anything now that I think about it.”

“Oh, I know,” she interrupted, undeterred. “But you need this. You spend way too much time in that head of yours. Plus,” her eyes gleamed, “I won two tickets.”

“Penelope…”

“Please?” She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes — wide, imploring, impossible to resist. “It’s fate, Spencer. Destiny! A cosmic sign that you, my friend, need some fun.”

He sighed again, but this time there was less resistance in his voice. “I mean… I don’t know…”

“Look, if it’s awful, we can leave early,” she promised. “But I need you there. Front row seats are no fun without someone to scream with.”

He shook his head, already regretting it. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Penelope punched the air like she’d just solved a case. “I promise you won’t regret this!”

Spencer doubted that — but when Penelope Garcia set her mind to something, resistance was usually pointless.

Saturday arrived faster than Spencer expected, and somehow, despite his doubts, he found himself standing in a packed concert venue with Penelope beaming beside him. The crowd surged with energy — flashing lights danced across the stage, and the excited chatter around him felt like static in his brain.

“Front row seats, baby!” Penelope cheered, giving his arm an excited squeeze.

“I still don’t know how you convinced me,” Spencer muttered, tugging awkwardly at his sweater.

“Oh, you’ll thank me,” she promised with a knowing grin.

The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted in deafening screams. Spencer braced himself — but when the performers appeared, his expectations shattered. His hands lying loosely over his ears to use his earplugs.

The group strode out like they owned the world, confidence radiating from every step. The girls wore sleek black heels that clicked against the stage floor, miniskirts barely reaching mid-thigh, and white dress shirts buttoned just enough to suggest formality — but still revealing lacy bras in shades of red, black, and blue underneath. The energy was bold, electric, and undeniably suggestive.

“Wow,” Penelope whispered, her eyes wide. “Aren’t they gorgeous?!.”

His gaze was drawn to the center of the group — to you. The lead singer, glowing under the lights, effortlessly commanding the stage. Your voice cut through the noise — powerful yet sweet, laced with a teasing edge that made the audience hang on every note. Your confident smile made it impossible to look away.

“That’s their lead,” Penelope leaned closer to shout over the music. “She’s the ‘it girl.’ The star.”

Spencer could believe it. Everything about you demanded attention — the way your hair fell perfectly over your shoulder, the way your fingers trailed down the chair in front of you, currently used as a prop for the dance, the playful wink you tossed toward the crowd.

When her gaze flicked to the front row — just for a second — Spencer swore your eyes landed on him. His heart stuttered, and he told himself it was just the flashing lights and pounding bass.

But then you smiled — small, knowing — before spinning away to join the other girls.

“Ohhh,” Penelope teased with a grin. “She so looked at you.”

“She didn’t,” Spencer insisted, tugging at his collar.

“She did,” Penelope sing-songed. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m warm,” he shot back — but as the music swelled and the lead singer’s voice soared, Spencer couldn’t deny that something about you had him completely captivated.

The concert seemed to drag Spencer deeper under its spell with every beat, every flash of neon light. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there — minutes? Hours? Time blurred, but one thing remained clear: you.

You commanded the stage like it belonged to you — like every heartbeat in the room followed your lead. The other girls danced beside you, just as stunning, just as polished, but none of them held his gaze like you did. Your presence pulled him in like gravity — inescapable, undeniable.

Spencer tried to rationalize it at first. Maybe it was just your position at the center of the stage — his eyes naturally drawn to the focal point. Or maybe it was the way your voice wrapped around the music — smooth yet smoky, low enough to feel personal, like you were murmuring every lyric directly in his ear.

Spencer swallowed hard. His sweater suddenly felt suffocating, the collar too tight against his neck. He tried to distract himself — focused on the lights, the crowd, the way Penelope was swaying beside him — but none of it worked. His gaze kept snapping back to you, helpless and hungry.

Then the opening notes of Miniskirt hit.

The stage lights turned crimson, casting everything in a sultry glow. The energy in the room shifted — sharper, bolder — and the girls returned to the stage, their steps slower, more deliberate.

“Oh no,” Penelope muttered beside him, but her tone was more delighted than worried. “You’re so not ready for this! This is my absolute favorite song! The music video was a work of art!”

The lead singer, you appeared last, stepping into the light like you’d been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Your white shirt hung dangerously off one shoulder, the delicate red lace of her bra barely hidden beneath the loose fabric. Her miniskirt hugged her hips, the black heels elongating your legs as she moved with lethal precision.

Spencer felt his brain short-circuit.

You didn’t just move — you swayed, hips rolling with each step. Your gaze flicked across the crowd — playful, daring — before landing on him.

Spencer froze.

Your eyes locked on his, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The music faded, the crowd blurred, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse. You smiled — slow, wicked — and dragged her fingers down her collarbone, tracing your skin like a lover’s touch.

Spencer felt like he’d been set on fire.

Your gaze didn’t waver as she sang, her voice low and sultry, curling around the lyrics like smoke. When your fingers trailed down the front of her shirt, she popped a button loose — just one — revealing more of the crimson lace beneath.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. He swore you smirked — a sharp, knowing thing — before turning away in a whirl of hair and fabric, your hips swaying dangerously with every step.

“Ohhh,” Penelope whispered, barely holding back her laughter. “She’s playing with you.”

“She’s not,” Spencer insisted, his voice hoarse.

“She is,” Penelope grinned, nudging his arm. “That little shirt move? That wasn’t just for the crowd.”

“It’s a performance,” Spencer said weakly, trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Sure,” Penelope hummed. “Except she hasn’t taken her eyes off you since the song started.”

Spencer swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away — but the second he looked back, you were staring again. This time, your smile was softer, slower — not just teasing, but almost… inviting.

His fingers curled tightly around the hem of his sweater, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this — like someone had gotten inside his head and rearranged all his thoughts.

The song swelled, building to its climax. The lead singer’s voice dropped low, your gaze lingering on him once more. This time, you reached for your shirt with both hands, dragging it down your shoulders in one smooth motion before letting it slide just enough to reveal the delicate curve of her waist.

Spencer’s mind spiraled.

“Oh, sweet genius,” Penelope whispered, barely containing her grin. “You’re done for.”

The song ended with a sharp final note, the girls freezing in a confident pose — hips out, heads high, glowing under the lights. The crowd erupted in wild applause.

Spencer barely noticed. His pulse still pounded in his ears, his breathing shallow. The stage lights dimmed, and for a second, he swore the lead singer’s gaze flicked back to him one last time — her smile sharp and satisfied, like you knew exactly what you’d done to him.

And God help him — she did.

The music settled down and the stadium lights turned off, Spencer watched as you hopped off the stage and into a security guard’s arms with unusual grace. His heart stopped as you walked up to him and Penelope from behind the gates that separated you.

“Hey pretty boy, gorgeous,” you smiled, addressing both him and Penelope.

“Wanna head backstage?” You laughed.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

“A Headcannon for the Slayer as his new game comes out.” - Ichor

Summary - “Smut & Normal headcanons for the Scourge of Hell.”

“DOOM: The Dark Ages came out! :D So, these are HeadCannons for Doom Eternal.” - Edit

TW // Smut.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐠𝐮𝐲

"The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering." - Slayer's Testament

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜:

Alright, as we all know, he doesn’t really speak. Not even a peep of pain leaving him as he gets wounded from minor or severe injuries. He is like a brick wall, and it’s almost like talking to one too, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening in on you. You are at least humane enough that you just… ramble to him at points whenever he is around, and it rather makes him feel more… included in life than he was.

He was unsure of you at first, like any other soldier or person that has found another survivor of an apocalypse, but he eventually gets used to your presence. Sometimes he even turns a bit, expecting you to be next to him when he was out slashing demons. He gets a bit… saddened each time when he sees you are not there. Though, I believe he would have some voice recording of you in his helmet to put him at ease.

Eventually, he likes to be around you more and more. Always finding himself coming to your house/base and watching you doing something mundane. Something this is something else rather than killing and hacking demons. He… he enjoys the simplicity of life. It’s very much different from his usual order: slash, kill demons, rip and tear until nothing is left, repeat. He likes watching you, and in return? You watch him as well.

Either he follows you around like a big protective puppy or you follow him around like a mewling kitten. This is no in-between. You going out to rob some abandoned joint? He’s coming with you if he is there with you, no matter the time, dusk to dawn. You following him? He grows to enjoy it, but just because he lets you follow him when he’s out slaying doesn’t mean he’ll let you every single time. It’s very possible he will stick you somewhere if you’re adamant enough to follow him. He’ll come back for you, don’t worry.

Big ol protector, is one of the things he’s being great at in a gore-like way. Don’t expect him to be all pristine after tearing all those demons apart either. That is his job, don’t disintegrate it for he is really good at it, and well… I don’t think he would appreciate you bad mouthing him. Despite that, he would protect you to the fullest. Being your leader once he learns of your pathing between abandoned cities and factories, and demons know full well to not get in the way. At least, not without a powerful hoard. (That will still fail, but there are possibilities…)

Speaking of the possibilities, he is brutal when something happens to you. The slayer has lost so much already, he is not going to be kind on whatever hurt you or is perceived a threat by you. It’s x10 worse when he finds you gone and he finds out about it himself. His livid, but again, silently. That is until he gets his hands on the demons or even humans that have captured you or perhaps even killed you. If they have put you 6 feet under, expect the aura of this silent behemoth to go up.

Honestly doesn't like seeing you gone from his sights for too long. It gives him a weird feeling of dread after a while. Sure, he’s focused on his task, but who’s to say that a brain doesn’t multitask? This slayer can think of you all day long, and many days he has. I mean, what if there is a demon hoard around your base/home? Getting through you to get to him? He wouldn’t put it below a demon to do so…

Likes helping you out quite a bit with most of the mundane chores of the world. You going to wash the dishes, including his plate? No, let him do it. You made the food, it’s only right for him to help you clean up. You need to travel to get more supplies? Expect a hefty amount in your pantry/storage the next day, maybe a few hours. He just likes providing like he human again.

He definitely likes to jam out with you. Sharing each others music tastes. He even listening to your music while he fights off demons. Mercilessly tearing down his enemies as a rather cute song plays. The blood of the his opposers staining his armor while he just continues on his way. Somehow even sending you recommendations when he out slaying. You encourage him to focus on his set task and he just sends you another song in response, despite your worry.

Encourages you to defeat your enemies when you to battle together. He helps you to know your weapons, slowly teaching you how to weld what you hold. Doing some combos and tactics: thrust, dodge, slash, thrust. A simple combo, but it sure is amusing to see you trying to use what he’s teaching you of. It never fails to have you a bit… dazed in your training, and perhaps… underneath him.

𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭:

For those who veiw the Doomslayer in a religious light. I would say he would like wait until you are both married to have sexual intercourse, and at that certain point I believe he would take it slow at first. You are both testing your boundaries. It’s usually not good to rush unless experienced with your partners body. Also, he’s definitely huge and would not like to ruin you the first time. No matter if he had tempting thoughts of you.

Worship can both ways in this one. With him? He likes to caress and massage you. His tongue and teeth gently giving kitten licks and nips to test your skin and nerves before starting the main course. Do it on him? Best believe he would be a bottom for a bit. His hands squeezing your thighs gently while you focus your attention on doing your treatment on his own battle hardened skin. You can hear him sigh out a couple of times to your affections.

In my opinion, I think he would like biting more than praise. He’s more hands on than all talkative, but he won’t object your praise to him if that is your subconscious duty. He will grow to love it. Though, back to biting. He loves to mark his partner. Sinking his teeth into their skin just hard enough to leave a mark, and he absolutely doesn’t mind if you do the same. It will surprise him at first, but he’s not against it with how his member twitches.

Definite size kink. That man is what? 7ft? Almost? Ones has to have a size kink of being such a powerful size. So, with a smaller partner he would absolutely thrive on how tight you feel around him. Your body unable to take any more that what you have already inside of you. Bigger partner? He loves just how much you can take him. To see his cock disappear within you as you take him greedily.

Belly budge kink, if he liked watching himself going inside of you, he’s going to like watching that bit of skin the creates a budge inside of you. Telling him of how much you are taking him, and it’s impressive. His hands usually wandering over that bit of skin and gently thumbing it. Watching you closely as you wither and whine at the sudden touch.

I see him having a lingerie kink. So, it would become a great surprise to him if he sees you in nothing but lingerie. He wouldn’t expect that of you, but he certainly isn’t declining your clear invitation of your body sitting so pretty upon the bed with sighs of his name falling from your lips while you pleasure yourself with your fingers. He is quick to not leave you unsatisfied.

Ough, chastity. This one can last a while as he would not have a high limbo. This can be torture for you and more like a walk in the park for him. So, I would advise you to plan this one carefully. Perhaps even challenge him (and well yourself) that you two can’t fuck each other, but you two can tease one another. It’s mostly you teasing, but once he does it? It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself because he knows you like it when he gets back to you and takes his armor off to show the hidden muscle underneath. Bastard.

You could ask him to be bottom for a night, but he would be a power bottom. His hands grasping at your thighs and thrusting up into you with impeccable timing. Your mind going a bit frazzled at his actions as you thought you were going to have him withering but it seems he keeps you in your place in either position. He also likes it when you look exhausted above him. Your hands splayed out on his chest with your heated breathes coating his skin.

There are times where this man gets needy after having you has a partner. The chastity maybe a hard one to get him on, but it honestly takes a lot of time for him to become needy. He is more of a war machine than a sexual one, so it makes sense he isn’t, but when he is? Expect him to be curled around you with his cock deep inside of you. His own, hot breaths breathing into your ear as he stuffs you slowly with him. Taking you deep and slow, savoring you.

It takes a long time for him to do chastity, needy sex, and so does rough sex. He really isn’t that much keen on that one as he doesn’t like to imagine on hurting his partner, but he does obey your cries for more. For him to go “r-rougher!” And by god does he deliver, drilling into you with huffs and growls. His hands squeezing tightly at your waist just enough to create a bruise later. No doubt leaving you bedridden for the next days to come. You’re lucky however, that he cares for you afterwards with love.

[vivwritescrappythings]

only a little crazy

miguel o'hara x f!reader

You get hurt working at the Spider-Society and your grumpy boss decides to come check on you.

a/n: thank you for such a fun request! writing Miguel has been a good stretch for my brain. Thinking about turning this into a series so let me know how y'all like it :)

tw: fem reader, reader is shorter than Miguel (everyone is), Miguel's perspective, potentially poorly written Spanish, broken bones, canon typical violence, not proofread, Miguel may be poorly written

word count: 4.8k

masterlist

--

Despite Miguel’s many attempts to assign rules and procedures to the Spider-Society, only a few had ever stuck: no messing with canon events and civilians weren’t allowed to go beyond the lobby. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d yelled at Peter B. Parker about letting Mary Jane go wherever she wanted.

Everyone else listened well enough.

That is, until you came into Miguel’s life like a plague.

You were nothing more than a thorn in his side: the only civilian with nearly full access to the facility. He would have never hired someone who hacked into their whole system because they were bored one day, but Margo insisted that you were one of the best she’d ever seen. You had since apologized—you cited your curiosity about the large building’s purpose and had taken matters into your own hands to figure out what went on inside the society. 

In comparison to you, Peter B. Parker and Mary Jane were a cakewalk. 

It didn’t help that you were so goddamn chipper all the time. You always greeted Miguel with a bright smile and polite questions about his day, as though you had no idea just how insufferable he found you.

“Hey Miguel,” you said from behind your computer, the monitor illuminating you in tones of blue and pink. You clicked something before leaning your weight onto one elbow to look around the screen at him. “Margo left me in charge today, just so you know.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“LYLA would be in charge before I picked you,” he said, not bothering to look up from his reports. You laughed like it was a joke. Everything was a joke to you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, typing something. Miguel couldn’t help but notice the way you poked your tongue out while you concentrated, your brows furrowed. He paused, waiting for you to continue as he watched you just over the edge of the monitor. Working with you for almost a year now had taught him that you rarely were so succinct with your words.

Then you spun the monitor around, a flurry of motion as you leaned over the table to point at something on the screen. “There’s a lot of weird activity on Earth-325,” you said, tapping the screen over the amalgamation of yellow and orange. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was an anomaly, but you’re the expert on that.”

He didn’t miss the way you looked up at him expectantly, like a puppy waiting for a treat or a pat on the head for doing a trick right.

Miguel rolled his eyes as he grabbed the screen. He could feel his face contorting into a scowl as activity lit the monitor up. Another terrible part of dealing with you—you had a knack for always being right. It drove him crazy.

“I’ll get a team together,” he said, noting your pleased smile with a subtle roll of his eyes.

He was already flicking through screens on his tablet, sending Jessica the information. A portal opened in front of him, colors and shapes swirling together in a view that would’ve been awe-inspiring if he hadn’t seen it a million times.

“LYLA’s in charge,” Miguel said just before jumping into the portal. Your immediate groan of dismay followed by LYLA’s cheer made his lip twitch into a smile. 

—

His ears were ringing. 

It was still hard to wrap his head around what happened, the Spider-Society having devolved into chaos faster than he could have stopped it.

The anomaly they caught had broken loose–he blamed Peter B. Parker for being so distracted with Mayday. He could hear the distant shouts of Spider-People springing into action in the distance as he pulled himself out of a pile of freshly displaced rubble. The wide cap of his shoulder ached, not even his accelerated healing was able to chase away the sting of rebar nearly ripping through the fabric of his suit.

A clear trail of destruction followed the Venom variant, ribbons of torn webs hanging from every surface and the furniture tossed wildly across the room. Chunks of the walls were crushed into debris where bodies had crashed through them in the fight.

He picked up his pace, sprinting through Spider-Society like a force of nature. Sometimes he noticed how different he was from the others: preferring not to swing around on his webs and needing his claws to really climb anything. Not to mention he didn’t have the same irritating sense of humor that seemed to permeate every variant of Spider-Man.

A stream of shouts from the direction of the Go Home Machine made him redirect, propelling himself up the wall in a mass of sinew and muscle. Pushing himself like this felt good, the demand of a fight on his body was one of the few things that made Miguel actually feel alive.

It was a mess when he got there, girders collapsed from the ceiling and the majority of computers and desks were half-crushed. 

“Hey Miguel, I hope you have a decent insurance policy on this place,” Peter B. quipped as he approached. Miguel just rolled his eyes beneath his mask, watching the rest of the Spiders web the Venom variant enough that the Go Home Machine actually had time to work. Normally anomalies were kept around for at least a while to figure out how they broke into a different universe, but he didn’t disagree with the change of plans.

Mierda. What a fucking mess. 

He let the mask over his face flicker away as he surveyed the damage. It was enough to give him a headache, the feeling radiating from his temple and over his skull.

Peter was still running his mouth, some idiotic joke about how many Spider-People does it take to change a lightbulb spilling from his lips. Miguel could feel his temple throbbing, red seeping into his eyes as he felt a rebuke building in his chest.

“Are you a—“

“Oi, was Bug here today?” Hobie interrupted, the genuine concern in his tone giving Miguel pause.

Hobie was the first to call you Bug—something about ‘if they were all Spiders than you were a bug’—and it stuck. Miguel wasn’t sure if anyone called you by your name anymore.

“Yeah,” Miguel said, trying to find a sign of you in the undulating groups of blue and red and black suits. Too many blank stares met his gaze, anxiety making itself apparent in a cold sweat down his spine.

“LYLA?” It was more of a yell than he meant it to be. She could scan the room faster than he could take it apart.

“On it,” she answered in the same beat, yellow cones of light scanning various corners of the room. He had a hard time breathing, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every empty scan ticked up his nerves, his jaw clenching so hard he wondered if it could crack.

It was hard not to spiral. He should have come up to protect you the moment the Venom got out. You were just a civilian, a human. How could he have been so irresponsible as to leave you on your own?

“Got something!” LYLA chirped, waving wildly to catch his attention.

Rushing to the pile of rubble was second nature, Hobie quickly falling into step to help. The sound of his own heart pounding was louder than the rubble they scrabbled through, pieces of concrete and duct piping falling away like they were made of paper beneath his hands.

“Dios mio,” Miguel sighed. You were caught beneath a girder, your leg twisted grotesquely beneath the metal. By some miracle you weren't crushed by the debris, just unconscious. You looked like a wounded baby bird, your chest rising and falling with each breath. Scrapes marred your skin, dark bruises blooming beneath the surface.

But you were alive, and mostly whole. His fingers twitched at his side as he just stared at you.

“Take her to the infirmary and then home,” Miguel said to Hobie, suddenly feeling the need to get as far away from you as breath returned to his body. He was nauseous, almost staggering under the weight of relief he had never expected to feel. 

He stepped back, head tilting up toward the ceiling for a moment as he took a breath. The girder slammed on the ground when Hobie moved it off you, lifting you with care.

Miguel nearly stepped in to take you out of Hobie’s arms. He had to physically turn away from you to resist it, surveying the extent of the damage. Thankfully no other anomalies managed to escape their confinement, most of the damage was just superficial. 

The sound of Hobie’s boots on the floor kept him composed, helped him time his breaths. He was still partially convinced that he would rip Peter B. apart if given the chance.

But instead he was just quiet, toeing a broken piece of a computer monitor on the floor. The weight of every eye in the room was on him, his skin crawling beneath his suit. He sighed, picking his head up to look at them.

“Well, start getting everything back together,” he said, voice loud enough to be an order. 

It wasn’t what everyone expected, any other day he would have at least lectured Peter B. about paying attention. No one moved, their blinking almost audible in the silence.

“Ay chingado,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No one has anything to do? Start cleaning up!”

—

He found himself hanging on to every scrap of information about how you were doing. It had only been a week, but any mention of you in the hall or in meetings piqued his interest. It was becoming obvious that he was distracted, his thoughts preoccupied with you… if you were alright.

What did it matter to him if you were alright? You’d been nothing but a grade A pain in his ass from the moment you set foot in his life. 

But he realized he was putting together mental lists of exciting moments of his day just to tell you when you asked, he had been for months. He kept accidentally buying extra empanadas because you usually stole one from him. His step would falter at your desk, part of him expecting you to be there.

“So are you going to go visit Bug?” LYLA asked, catching Miguel off guard as she floated in front of his eyes, laying on her stomach with her feet kicking in the air.

He huffed, waving her away with a hand as he blinked at whatever he’d been trying to read on the computer monitor… just the home screen, apparently. The blue default photo mocked him before he turned away from the monitors altogether.

“Why would I do that?” Miguel asked, a feeble attempt to act casual. 

Once the idea was introduced, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He imagined himself in your space, tried to picture what your things would be like. Chaotic, no doubt. But comfortable. Colorful, certainly. He couldn’t imagine you living in a pristine beige apartment.

“Miguel, the worst part about having an AI personal assistant is that I see everything you do. Everything,” she said, walking up and down his arm. She looked up at him over her shoulder. “So don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, okay?”

He kept a straight face for a few beats, crossing his arms over his chest. But LYLA was right, if anyone would know it was her.

“I need to be here,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face. Normally he preferred to be at the Spider-Society, the distraction of work far better than his reality. But it suddenly became a chore.

LYLA huffed, rolling her eyes behind the heart-shaped glasses. Sometimes Miguel wondered why he programmed her to be so sassy. “You don’t need to actually be here,” she said, folding her arms and tapping her foot in mid air as she floated in front of him. “Jessica and I will call you if anything crazy happens.”

Handing over the reins for the day was an intriguing idea. He could let the stress go, even just until tomorrow, let someone else handle it. 

The bubble of hope rising in his chest was immediately popped by a sharp lance of anxiety. What if something happened? What if his absence got someone killed? Or worse, a universe destroyed?

LYLA must have noticed his expression shift, he could hear her sigh.

“If you don’t go, I’ll call Bug and tell her that you’ve been making googly eyes at her desk for the past week and have had to throw away like six empanadas that you bought for her,” LYLA said calmly, issuing her final threat.

“No me chingues,” Miguel hissed, his irritation on his face as he rolled his eyes. But his stomach was flipping, nerves he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager suddenly coming to life. “Fine, I’m going.”

LYLA looked pleased, blinking out of existence in front of him to appear at his computer monitors. She shifted through screens quickly, the colors flashing over her as she did. “I’ve already got the word out, so everyone knows not to bother you unless they are in dire need of assistance.”

“Great,” he breathed, getting a ping from LYLA with your address. She really spared no moment. 

“If anything happens–”

“Don’t worry! We’ll call,” LYLA interrupting him, assuring him as she waved him off. 

He sighed, still partially in disbelief that he let her strongarm him into this as he left the Spider-Society.

–

He would’ve guessed they paid you enough to have a better apartment. The underbelly of the city wasn’t somewhere he pictured you, the rest of Nueva York blocking you from the sun and the highway just outside your windows. There was a huge purple neon sign just outside your terrace–a remnant of the old New York that looked barely touched.

It hadn’t taken him long to find your building and even less time to find your apartment, the door to the terrace was left unlocked. He’d have to have a talk with you about that when you were feeling better.

The inside of your apartment was as he expected, a disorganized riot of color and trinkets and mementos that made the space so tooth-achingly cozy. He felt out of place, even in the simple civilian clothes he changed into. It was weird wearing them rather than his spidersuit, the soft fabric of the sweatpants and tee shirt had become unfamiliar.

You weren’t in the room he stood in, your bed, a couch and dining table shoved into a space smaller than his cubicle when he worked at Alchemax. He could see that you’d set up camp on your bed, pill bottles and dirty dishes piling up on your nightstand and the bed unmade. The TV was still playing some movie that had come out a few years ago, the remote tossed amongst your sheets.

He would have to clean up around here, the chaos already making him feel unmoored.

There was no time left for him to snoop, the sound of the sink in the bathroom reminding him why he was even in your apartment in the first place. The bathroom door swung open, the grumbles of you maneuvering with your crutches catching his attention.

You had a 3D-printed cast up to your mid-thigh, loose pajama pants stretched over the honeycombed plastic. He’d never seen you look so casual, an oversized, ratty shirt marked with stains and small holes covering your torso, your skin free of makeup and your hair unstyled. It took him a moment to realize he preferred you that way, a lump forming in his throat.

He was too caught up in his evaluation of you to note the way you stiffened when you realized there was another body in the room. Your eyes widened.

“What the fuck!” you shouted, your voice bringing Miguel back to reality just in time to catch the black stuffed bear flying at his face without dropping the bag of groceries he held in one hand. A throw pillow followed, bouncing harmlessly off his chest and falling to the rug.

Your mouth had dropped open, a crutch clattering to the ground as you pressed your hand to your heart. He could hear the rapid thrum of it beneath your ribs, a hummingbird caught in a cage.

“You were going to defend yourself from a burglar with a pillow and a teddy bear?” Miguel asked, looking down at the well-loved toy. One of the button eyes was missing entirely, just black bits of thread sticking out of the fabric. A red heart was stitched haphazardly into its chest.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He swore he could almost hear your thoughts buffering. “You can’t just break into my apartment, Miguel! What if I was naked?”

He made an incredulous noise, something between a laugh and a sigh. Of course that’s what you would be worried about. “Well, you’re not naked,” he said, taking another step into the room. He slipped his shoes off and left them near the terrace door–force of habit from his childhood.

“I could’ve been!” you insisted, awkwardly navigating to your bed. Miguel watched with his hear in his throat, wanting to step in and carry you rather than watch you shuffle around.

He shook his head, stepping around your small coffee table. “What are you doing up, anyways?” he asked, taking over stacking pillows to prop your leg up, adding the throw pillow you threw at him to the pile. “The doctor said it would take twelve weeks for you to bear weight on it again.”

You clicked your tongue against the back of your teeth, letting him help you get situated in your bed. “Well the doctor didn’t give me a bedpan and a private chef, so I’m hobbling,” you informed him, looking up at Miguel with a bored expression. “But, what are you doing here, Miguel? Hobie and Peter B. have been checking on me.”

He looked around your studio apartment, taking in the disarray before focusing on you again. Your toenails were painted the same shade of navy that Hobie’s were. He sat down on the end of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

“Yeah well, considering the state of your apartment, it seems like you need me here more than you think,” he said. 

You snorted, a grin that made his stomach turn finding its way to your face. “Aw Miggy,” there was a teasing lilt to your tone, “are you a secret softie? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you were worried about me.”

He let out a soft breath instead of a laugh, standing abruptly so you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks. God, he felt like a bumbling idiot around you. He gathered dirty dishes to do something with his hands, sequestering them to the sink. 

“LYLA was asking about you,” he said, head bent over the sink as he started to clean. The water was warm enough to turn his hands red, the blue dish soap lathering quickly as he methodically washed each plate and set it in the rack to dry. They were charmingly mismatched, a few chipped at the edges.

“Oh, she was?” you asked, but your amused tone told Miguel that you weren’t exactly convinced. 

He nodded anyway. “She rearranged my whole day and made me come out to check on you,” he said, not entirely lying. 

The way you hummed felt like a warm finger running down each notch of his spine, a pleasant shiver radiating out to his fingertips and toes. “Well I guess I’ll have to thank her, sending the most neurotic person I know will at least get me a tidy apartment. Shocker that Peter B. and Hobie never offered to clean.”

The silence that lapsed between you was surprisingly comfortable. He made himself useful by performing menial tasks like collecting the trash and taking it out to the bins, sweeping the floors and throwing a load of clothes in the wash.

“Miguel O’Hara, Spider-Man by night, maid by day,” you murmured, sipping the ice water he’d gotten you. He watched the condensation coat your fingers, dripping to the bedspread. “Do you wear the little outfit, too? With the ruffles and the feather duster?”

“How many painkillers do they have you on?” he asked, picking up one of the little orange bottles on your nightstand. “You’re more irritating than usual.”

There was a hint of a smile, giving him away as he set the pills back where he got them from. 

You rolled your eyes at him, lounging back against the pillows he’d fluffed for you. “I must be incredibly irritating for you to want to spend your day off cleaning my apartment and making me soup,” you teased, one eyebrow lifting. He felt like he’d been caught, some color finding its way to his face as he turned away.

A pot of caldo de pollo was simmering on the stove, he had decided to bring the ingredients with him on a whim. He used to make it for Gabriella when she was feeling sick, he’d filled his basket before he even realized what he was doing, originally he was just going to get you soup from a can.

Your apartment was in a way better state than when he arrived: the small space cleaned and orderly, the smell of cleaning solution and the soup permeating the air. He felt better about it, his nerves soothed for the most part.

“Don’t mention it to anyone,” he said, fixing you with his gaze. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m getting complacent.”

You laughed, nodding. “Don’t worry, Miggy, your secret is safe with me,” you said, pantomiming zipping your lips shut and locking them with a key. He snorted, taking a step back from your bed to stir the pot on the stove.

The only sound for a few moments was a sitcom playing on the television and the caldo simmering. Miguel had sorted through your cabinet of mismatched tupperware to find a few containers. He packed it away in the fridge for you to eat later, you’d already finished a full bowl of it by the time he cleaned the rest of the dishes.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he glanced around awkwardly. Until then it had been easy to distract himself with tasks, to pretend that he wasn’t there just to see you. Now the truth was staring him in the face, your content sigh warming him from the inside out as you settled back into your bed.

“Well, I guess I should be going,” Miguel said, taking a step toward the sliding door from which he came originally. 

Your brow furrowed as you sat up straighter, wincing a bit as you jostled your injured leg. “Already?” you asked, glancing at the clock on the stove–it was the early evening. If he was above ground the sun would still be out. “You just got to the part where we like… hang out.” 

He pretended not to notice the sheepish lilt to your voice. 

His eyebrows lifted, a chuckle getting caught in his throat. “You want to hang out?” Miguel asked, sounding incredulous. Such an innocuous request felt odd. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone asked to spend time with him. 

“Oh c’mon,” you huffed, your head tilting to one side. “It’s so lonely being cooped up in this apartment all day, and you hardly even talked to me.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out and your eyes going wide like a puppy’s. It was enough to make him go still. He found himself considering it, settling in your cozy apartment and watching a movie with you. 

“Just one movie and then you’re free to go,” you offered, your request too hopeful for him to refuse. 

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he agreed. 

The TV was tilted to face your bed, making it hard to view from the couch even as he sat at the very edge of it. You had an orange lamp on your bedside table, the glow of it casting a glare across the screen that obscured the cheesy teen movie you put on.

He could feel you glancing at him on occasion, the two of you almost playing tag with your wandering eyes. Every time he tried to catch your gaze you were watching the movie. 

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, leaning to one side in an attempt to see around the glare on the screen. 

“You should just come sit on the bed, you can’t even see the screen.” You sounded sincere. But, you did just take another dose of painkillers. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were clouding your judgment.

There was plenty of space next to you. He could sit next to you.

It would be more comfortable at least.

“You’re crazy, you know,” Miguel said, picking himself up off the couch. LYLA would never let him live this down if she found out about it. 

Your mattress was so soft, squishing beneath him as he settled against the headboard next to you. It was like he was sixteen again, his palms clammy and his mouth dry as he tried to avoid looking at you like you were the sun. 

Had he always been this nervous around you?

You nudged him with your elbow, interrupting the horrible spiral of his thoughts. “Thanks for going through all the trouble,” you murmured, your voice soft and sincere. “I know I get on your nerves… I guess it’s just really nice that you came.” 

“Tch, you don’t get on my nerves,” he denied immediately, his eyes flickering away from yours.

He fought supervillians, stared down guns, and watched whole universes collapse. But he couldn’t quite look at you.

You laughed, yawning into your hand as you leaned even further back into the pillows. “Don’t lie,” you said with a smile, your eyes crinkling charmingly at the edges. “I know I drive you crazy, Miggy.”

It was his turn to snort, watching you out of the corner of your eye as you relaxed next to him. “Only a little,” he murmured, a genuine smile on his face.

You didn’t answer, just giggling as you yawned again. The movie you picked was horrible, the jokes painfully cheesy and outdated, but you laughed at them anyways. He found himself holding his breath after each one so he could hear your sleepy chuckle better, trying to memorize the sound of it. 

It was near the end of the movie that he heard your heartbeat slow, your cheek falling against his shoulder as your breaths evened out. Miguel stiffened for a moment, looking down to see your eyelids fluttering and your lips parted as you dreamed. 

The movie ran into the credits, autoplay putting on something he had never even heard of before. He didn’t bother reaching for the remote, scared he would wake you up by reaching across you to your nightstand. 

He let his head rest against the crown of yours, his eyelids starting to drift shut as the noise of the television faded to the background. Calmness washed over him, the tension he carried with him sloughing off his shoulders. It had been way too long since he relaxed like this.

The sound of his watch beeping startled him out of his half-sleep, a lance of panic going through him. 

LYLA formed into a hologram above the surface of it, orange and yellow beams of light fleshing her out as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and all of her weight on one leg. “Jess and I haven’t heard from you all day, we were starting to worry that you died or som–” 

Her eyes widened behind her rose glasses, her hands clasping together in front of her. “No way! Jessica, you were right! You have to come see them cuddled together!” she shouted to Jessica. Miguel cringed, worried you’d wake from the commotion.

You didn’t seem to notice, your breathing steady.

“Cállate,” Miguel hissed, turning the volume down. “Is there even a problem?”

LYLA thought about it for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin before she shook her head no.

He rolled his eyes. Of course there wasn’t a problem. 

“Don’t bother me until tomorrow,” he said, turning off the call before she could answer. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hand as he let himself slump against you. 

He yawned again, finally drifting off to the rhythm of your soft breaths.

[yunuen]

love your fic so much!! you’re genuinely such a good writer. you’ve inspired me to write my own fic but im a bit scared about messing up the characters lol 🥲 do you have any tips on characterizing jayce and vik or characterization in general?

ohhhhh dude that's the best, highest compliment to hear that you've decided to write because of jellyfish, super flattering let me tell you!!!

i've been wracking my brain trying to decide what pointers i could give you but i genuinely wouldn't know. i don't think there are very many writing hacks for getting a character's voice right. it also hugely depends on when in canon you're setting your fic. i mostly just sit with myself and like. THINK really hard? i would say the biggest problem that we might have as fic writers is that it's difficult to fight against the tendency to bend the characters' personalities to suit the needs of the plot, trope or self-indulgent fantasy that we want to explore. that's not inherently bad as fanfic is by definition self-indulgent and characters WILL bend to suit your needs but it's how jayce gets turned into a himbo puppy that just apologizes all the time or viktor gets written as a mean, disrespectful dude sometimes: the author wants to say something and the characters have to bend to accomodate that particular scenario. not dunking on anyone it's just how it is! i am doing it myself as we speak! so the key thing is asking yourself, okay, i want this character to do X. would they actually do that in canon? if not, what would need to happen for it to make sense? maybe they’d never do XYZ, so instead of forcing it, you reinterpret the trope in a way that fits them. or you introduce external factors that push them into that scenario in a way that feels natural. in that same vein, i also think some people are afraid of having characters be messy. overreact. say one think and do the other. hold two clashing beliefs at once. lash out. but that's just being human. a lot of people want characters to be perfectly rational, or at least consistent, but leaning into that messiness makes them more believable (got some backlash because jayce snapped at viktor once and i'm still bitter because in my mind i did build up to it well) EDIT: ALSO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DON'T MAKE THE CHARACTERS THERAPY SPEAK. pls.

EDIT2: WAIT I'VE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING ELSE. don’t think about how to get a character to say a specific line. instead, think about how they’d convey that feeling in a way that feels true to them. maybe you don’t think a character would ever say, "i am sad." okay, so how would they express that instead? maybe they’d say, "i feel like i’ve forgotten how to be happy." same idea, but phrased in a way that fits their voice? random example but yaknow anyway post-canon jayvik is tricky because there's a lot of interpretations on how they would develop after S2. i know for instance that a lot of people think jayce would not give a fuck about piltover after being teleported to god-knows-where. i disagree. boom, we would write two wildly different fics and neither is inherently better or worse because of it. so at some point you also gotta trust your intuition. i would say too that you can read meta of the characters but you MUSTN'T let that inform your writing too much. i’ve seen brilliant meta and also takes so wild they made me do a double take and wonder what kind of psychoactive drugs the writer was on. and that goes for both random bloggers and super popular ones.

and don’t stress too much about getting everything perfect. they’re not real, and this is fanfic. it’s fine to mess up a little. christian linke won't @ u on twitter for it (or so i hope)

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[jzprncess]

max’s hair, max’s way

pairing: max verstappen x reader

oneshot

word count: 2,489

summary : Y/N discovers an AI image of Max Verstappen with long hair and can’t stop imagining how amazing he’d look with it. After dropping subtle hints, Max finally catches on and humorously entertains the idea. What follows is a hilarious, over-the-top obsession with starting a fan club—Max’s hair revolution is coming, whether he’s ready or not.

note : this one was actually quite easy to write but then again im just in a mood to write so i finished it in a few hours. this was a request that was submitted on my google forms!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N’s day had been nothing short of a mess. She'd woken up late for a Zoom call, spilled coffee on her favorite sweatshirt (the one she swore was invincible to stains), and had yet another online shopping cart full of things she definitely didn’t need, but had to have. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already on her third attempt at taking a nap that didn’t feel like an awkward lie-down.

But there was one thing that had the potential to make it all better: mindless scrolling.

Her thumb lazily flicked through TikTok, her mind barely engaged as she watched videos that made zero sense, but for some reason, her brain processed them like essential information. It was supposed to be a five-minute break—a little escape before diving back into her ocean of responsibilities. She figured she'd scroll, mindlessly and aimlessly, just to silence the chaos in her head.

But then... she saw it.

It wasn’t some cute puppy video or a cooking hack that would forever change her life. No, no. It was something far more dangerous, far more potent, and absolutely life-changing.

Max Verstappen.

But not just any Max. No, this was an alternate universe Max—a Max created by the magical, terrifying powers of AI. The Max on her screen had hair that cascaded in long, perfect waves, the kind you could only dream about, or maybe see on a runway model. His sharp jawline was even more defined than usual (which shouldn’t be possible, but here we are), and his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—looked even more mysterious, as though he were a brooding poet in an indie movie. He was staring at her, but also not staring at her, if you know what she meant.

And then she saw it.

The hair.

Max’s new look was a cascade of locks that would make any shampoo ad jealous. It was silky, voluminous, perfectly tousled like he’d just walked out of a windstorm of pure glamor. It was glorious. It was breathtaking.

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Her thumb froze mid-scroll. Her heart rate ticked up a few notches. Holy shit. She didn’t even care that she was in a coffee-stained hoodie and still hadn’t brushed her hair. Nothing mattered anymore, because here was Max Verstappen, looking like an absolute dreamboat in a way she never thought possible. This wasn’t the Max she’d seen on the racetrack—no, this was a Max that belonged in the front pages of a high fashion magazine, throwing a rebellious look over his shoulder like a 90s pop star.

She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. Her fingers twitched, ready to swipe, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Max with long hair. Her mind couldn’t let go of the image. It was perfect. He was perfect.

She leaned closer to the screen, squinting to examine every glorious detail, every strand of hair that seemed to defy physics. Could he actually pull this off in real life? Her fingers hovered over the screenshot button for a moment before she snapped it without hesitation.

And then, she did what any sane person would do: she set the image as her phone wallpaper.

There was no going back now. She wasn’t just going to stare at this picture once and forget about it. No, Max Verstappen with long hair was going to become her new obsession. She’d stare at it every time she unlocked her phone, letting the image haunt her dreams. Maybe she’d make it her lock screen too, just to really solidify the insanity.

The idea of Max with long hair, that Max, consumed her. Every time she glanced at the picture, it felt like an out-of-body experience. Was this how people got obsessed with celebrity transformations? Because this was absolutely it. She wasn’t even mad about it. She was already thinking of all the ways she could drop this bombshell on Max—subtle, of course. It had to be subtle. But she had to let him know somehow.

“Maybe I could just send it to him,” she muttered aloud to no one. “No, no... way too obvious.”

A sly grin spread across her face. She wasn’t going to just send the picture. No, she had a better idea. Max wouldn’t even see it coming.

She looked at the time—still early afternoon. Plenty of time to start planning. Oh, this was going to be fun.

After setting the AI picture as her wallpaper for the seventh time that day, Y/N leaned back in her chair, the wheels in her mind turning at lightning speed.

She had the plan now. She wasn’t just going to sit back and hope Max would see the error of his short-haired ways. No, Y/N was going to subtly—so subtly—nudge him into realizing that long hair was, in fact, the future. She’d been around the block enough to know how to manipulate situations for her own personal benefit.

Okay, maybe "manipulate" was too harsh of a word, but it sounded cool.

“Step one,” she muttered to herself, “Casual comments.”

She scrolled through her texts, thinking about what would be the perfect, casual way to throw out the idea of hair transformation.

Max had no idea what was about to hit him.

Y/N had spent the better part of the evening staring at her phone, just waiting for Max to reply to her text. She had done it—sent the casual, completely not obvious message about how “some people” just looked so good with long hair. She leaned back in her chair, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in. There was no way Max could miss the hint. She had done it perfectly. It was subtle, yet not so subtle that it was too subtle. The emoji sealed the deal. 😏

Still, she couldn’t help herself. She had to check her phone again, just to make sure the message had landed.

The screen lit up with a notification from Max. Y/N’s heart did a little dance. Here we go. She clicked it open, already anticipating his response.

Max: "Haha, are you talking about me? I’m not sure I could pull off long hair..."

Y/N froze. The message was a lot more casual than she’d hoped for. She reread it, her eyes scanning for the tiniest hint of curiosity or intrigue, but all she found was... confusion?

What? She thought she’d laid it out perfectly. The whole mysterious vibe thing had been an obvious clue!

Still, she wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. The game had only just begun.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the screen like she was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. A plan. She needed a plan, and it needed to be more than just a text.

Her eyes darted around the room. The walls, the plants, the weirdly shaped lamp on her desk—all were silent witnesses to her genius, or lack thereof, depending on how things went. But then—a light bulb moment.

It was obvious. She wasn’t going to be able to hint at this through mere text alone. No, no. She needed to get creative. She needed to make him see it—to envision the hair that could change his life. This was the moment where her vision and Max’s reality collided.

A slow grin spread across Y/N’s face. She knew just what to do.

Step one: The Subtle Instagram Story.

It was genius. Max would never suspect it. After all, people posted memes, weird videos, and obscure thoughts all the time. But Y/N had something more—something that could convince him without even saying a word.

She snapped a picture of herself—looking effortlessly glamorous, of course—and started typing her story caption.

“Do you ever think about how long hair changes a whole vibe? Like, imagine you had long hair... just think about it... 🧐”

She paused, reading it over. Was this too much? Too obvious? Too ridiculous?

Nah. It was perfect.

She hit post and waited, staring at her phone screen as if it would reveal some deep, philosophical answer to the universe’s mysteries.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. She could practically feel the electricity buzzing in the air. She didn’t even know if Max was online, but her brain couldn’t shut down. The message was out there now. The seed had been planted. She was too far gone to back out now.

And then, a notification buzzed. It was from Max. She checked it eagerly.

Max: “Is this about me too? Because now I’m starting to wonder if I’m missing out on some kind of hair revolution."

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Was he actually considering it? No, no. He had to be messing with her. She stared at the message for a second longer than she should have, trying to decide if this was a real response or if she had somehow misinterpreted the whole thing.

No. He had to be getting it. She wasn’t backing down now. She had created a monster out of her own wild, absurd imagination, and it was all going exactly as planned.

She quickly typed back, a little too eagerly, but who could blame her?

Y/N: “Imagine the vibe, Max. Imagine the wind in your hair as you race, that confidence flowing through you. Like a whole new level of fabulous.”

There. That was perfect. She leaned back in her chair and waited for a response.

But of course, Max—being Max—didn’t make things easy.

Minutes passed. No reply.

Was he thinking about it? Was he in deep contemplation about whether he’d look good with long hair? Y/N felt like she might explode. Come on, Max. You’ve got this. Just admit it.

She stared at her screen until the words blurred together.

And then, finally, a message came in.

Max: "Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. I’m curious now. But do you really think I’d look good with long hair? I mean, I can’t picture it."

Y/N stared at her phone in disbelief.

This was it. This was her moment. He was actually questioning it. She could already hear the victory music playing in her head.

She took a deep breath, trying not to sound too smug.

Y/N: “Max, I’m telling you, it’s a whole vibe. You might just become the most iconic man in Formula 1 with long hair. People would talk about you for centuries.”

She added a winking emoji for good measure.

Max: “Centuries? Okay, now you’re definitely messing with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Oh, she was so close now.

After Max’s message came through, Y/N could barely contain herself. She wanted to scream, to do a victory dance, but instead, she opted for something slightly more composed: a dramatic flailing of her arms in the air and a loud, victorious "YES!" that echoed through her apartment like an over-the-top, one-woman celebration.

Max was actually considering it. He was at least open to the idea of long hair in the future.

This was the moment. She had won.

But the funniest part? Max wasn’t even aware of the scale of Y/N’s obsession. He was just playing along with her ridiculous game, unaware that she was about to go into full, borderline obsessive mode.

She stared at the text again, eyes wide, her heart racing. He was going to do it. One day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but Max Verstappen would, in fact, grow out his hair. He was practically promising it.

Y/N’s mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, each one more absurd than the last. She could already picture it: Max, standing on the racetrack, hair flying dramatically behind him as he sped past everyone. She could already hear the cheers. It was happening.

She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, barely able to type a coherent message. It was one thing for her to joke about it. But the fact that Max had actually said he’d grow his hair out one day? She couldn’t be the only one who was excited about this.

Y/N: “Max... no joke, I’m going to lose it the day you show up with long hair. I’ll probably start a fan club or something. A whole movement. ‘Max’s Hair, Max’s Way.’ How does that sound?”

She hit send and then immediately regretted it. It sounded insane. What was wrong with her?

She stared at the message for a long moment, debating whether she should delete it or just let it be. But before she could decide, Max’s reply came in like a gift from the hair gods themselves.

Max: “I don’t know about a whole movement, but hey, if I ever grow it out, you can be the president of the fan club. Just... don’t make it too weird, alright?”

Y/N almost dropped her phone. President? He was serious about this. She had an actual title in the most bizarre, ridiculous movement of her life.

Wait. Make it too weird? Oh, Max. She had already made it weird.

She texted back, too quickly, as if he could see her grinning like a maniac.

Y/N: “Deal. I’ll make sure to have the first fan club meeting at your next race. You better be ready for it.”

Max: “I’ll be sure to bring my best hair flip to the race. It’s going to be legendary.”

Y/N clutched her phone to her chest like she had just received the greatest treasure in the world. This was happening. It was happening in the future. She couldn’t wait. The anticipation was going to drive her insane.

But right now? She was going to enjoy the chaos of it all. She leaned back in her chair, hands trembling as she stared at the screen, imagining all the memes, the fan art, the movement. And who knew? Maybe one day, Max Verstappen would really grow out his hair.

Until then, Y/N was going to spend the next few weeks plotting the perfect fan club logo.

And so, Y/N’s obsession grew, her fantasies becoming wilder by the day. Every time she heard a hair-related joke or saw a picture of someone with long hair, she’d start giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a crush. It wasn’t about Max’s hair anymore; it was about the ridiculous movement she had created, a movement that only she truly understood.

As for Max? He was still blissfully unaware of the full extent of Y/N’s hair dreams, but every now and then, he’d shoot her a quick text.

Max: “So... I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe I’ll start growing it out... one day. You ready to lead the fan club?”

And Y/N would reply with a heart full of excitement and a mind full of absurd possibilities.

Max’s Hair, Max’s Way. It was only a matter of time before the world caught on to the movement.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton

[echologname]

Hack your ADHD brain to do things

If there's a pot of dopamine at the end of a rainbow, I'd believe it because I've been searching frantically where to find this stuff. But for now, here's some ridiculous and maybe unhinged advice on how to get your silly brain to produce it itself. In my opinion, the more silly, stupid and simple it is, the better.

Side quest roulette

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7rard8ukBz/?igsh=aGxzdHNkaGl6MWxt

Tell yourself to do something that's NOT what you want to do and let the ADHD distract you down the correct rabbit hole.

Duck tape yourself to your task

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-78ilVJlyb/?igsh=am9pODRzY2xtMTY5

Duck tape yourself to your chair if you need to sit down and do homework. If you move to get up, you'll feel the gentle pressure and it'll remind you to stay focused.

Honestly, I did say some of these were out there 😜

Sing

Singing stimulates your vagus nerve which helps reduce anxiety and has numerous other mental health benefits and makes you feel good inside. Signing while doing a task is a great strategy!

Nested roulette games

The brain thrives with unpredictability and brevity. Doom scrolling is so addictive because:

Appeal - something enjoyable

Brevity - a minute reel

Unpredictability - you keep scrolling for the surprise of what's next

So use this to choose your tasks at random and only commit to doing them for a little bit. If I spin a wheel and the task is homework, spin again for a random assignment and again for what part of the assignment and set a timer for a few to 30 minutes max. Then you can do some proprioception stims like jumping jacks or twirl around to help you task change.

If your brain is chaotic, then giving it a chaotic and stimulating environment is what it needs.

Create an environment conducive to productivity

I can't be in my room, it's a mess, I don't have the energy to clean it but I need to put things away if I want to get to my desk to do work. So, instead of mixing my "lazy" and "work" environments in the same space, I'm only allowed to be messy and do fun things on the other end of the room that way my work space stays neat and tidy. It can help to have a room divider.

I focus better when I'm in work environments like school where everyone there has the same goal. So, it's my attempt to recreate the division where I associate different spaces with different tasks.

Sometimes I just get stuck but splashing cold water on my face or drinking something cold kinda zaps me out of that state and I feel alert and refreshed, ready to take on a task. You can set reminders to regularly get your cold fix to stimulate your nervous system and activate a mild stress response.

Name inanimate objects

If I name something, that automatically gives it "feelings." This is to help motivate me to take good care of things like my bedroom. If they're messy, they're sick and sad and it'd help me WANT to clean it up instead of just forcing myself to do it.

Coldness

Blanket head

For some reason, I focus better at night. So I try to recreate the same conditions by putting a blanket over my head, that way it's cozy, dim, less noisy and it's just me and my homework, nothing else.

Turn your routine into a mnemonic device

For example: Wisconsin Badgers Huddle Dramatically

Wash face

Breakfast

Homework

Dishes

The sillier the better. The idea is to make it easier to remember and make a habit of things to do.

Social media encouragement

Post your completed task in an ADHD encouragement group to get likes, positive comments or even help from others about where to start on a task.

Puppy dog eyes = YES!

Place talky buttons on the floor for your dog. Each one has a task or chore you have to do and when your dog presses one like, "Do dishes." you HAVE to obey. They're too cute to say no to and I'd do ANYTHING for them, if I'm willing to give my life for my dog, I can definitely do a few chores for her. Also, if my dog is encouraged to do this behavior with treats after I complete the task, she'll keep barking and begging and being silly and obnoxious until I do the task.

Get fictional characters to help you

Write notes to yourself about what's next to do or an upcoming appointment and sign them from "So and so." I'll listen to anyone but myself. You can even put them in a mailbox to make it more engaging.

Or use AI voices (for personal use ONLY! Voice actors are amazing people and it's mean to use their voice without permission) and a character give you your to-dos or words of encouragement.

ChatGPT scheduler

I've tried many times, but I suck at blocking out time for things. So I'll tell AI what I typically do, any goals and such and it'll give me what my week should look like.

Toy confetti and giant "pill boxes"

Create bins/cardboard boxes for each day of the week

Collect "toy confetti" (small knick knacks from diverse playsets like Legos, Barbie accessories, fidgets, small plastic dinos, Happy Meal toys etc...)

Write tasks on the toys and optionally an amount of time to set for that task

Place what needs to be done on which day in the corresponding boxes

The surprise and sensory diversity makes it fun and the boxes give it basic schedule structure.

Give yourself an important sounding title

Like, "I am the Princess! Everything I say goes!" And really get into the responsibilities inherent in your imaginary position. It can feel very empowering.

Mailbox

Set up a table or space for a box and some paper and writing utensils next to it. Optionally, have a cloud printer set up too. If someone has a chore for you to do, they can leave you a note in your box or if they have forms for you to sign, they can highlight where and leave it for you. Or if I have a note to leave for myself while I'm out of the house, I can use my phone connected to the printer, to print out the note at home (possibly placed so the paper falls into the box).

ASMR

Do your tasks slowly and listen carefully to the sounds of the tinkling silverware, tap your fingers on hard surfaces you have to wipe down...etc. It's no longer "chores" but yummy homemade ASMR.

Silly hats

Wear a silly hat for different things (like homework vs chores) so it acts as a cue to your brain to help you gear shift.

Different music genres help too.

Gentle parenting

Tell yourself, "It's OK sweetie, I know it's frustrating and you're trying your best to do the thing but you feel stuck."

Opposite action (DBT therapy)

Do the opposite of what your emotions are telling you to do. If you're feeling sad and want to curl up alone in the dark and do depressed things, you're just going to encourage that emotion instead of doing things a non-depressed person does like go outside in the sun and talk to friends.

If you're demotivated and want to sit and doom scroll, just get up, do a power pose and start with one little thing.

Video game roleplay

Attach a controller plug to a headband and controll myself to do things.

Fictional character roleplay

Act how a character would act doing that task. Mimic their body language, tics, lingo, humor…etc.

If doing the task stresses you out too much, pretend you're summoning someone else to do it and it might as well be your favorite character.

Demon slaying

The task that you NEVER seem to be able to do is a demon that must DIE! Fuel yourself with that adrenaline! C’ause that pile of laundry is just going to mock you and your executive dysfunction indefinitely. And we can't have that, so be a hero and murder your tasks! Those stressful little burgers are going DOWN!

Exercise audio games

Using an app like Zombies, Run! or Marvel Move, get up and get going, knock out missions while getting chores done.

AI assistance

AI works as my brain, it plans everything out and I just operate as the body taking commands of what to do next.

Dog treatment

Give yourself a treat for doing basic human things.

Cleaning hacks

Everything has a colored sticker which goes in the corresponding colored drawer/box/shelf…etc.

Give everything silly names. The dingawongs go on the desk with the other dingawongs and the jigawigas go in the drawer with the other jigawigas.

Try to pick up things with robot hands (mechanical hands with string and cardboard/plastic) or your toes. It'll be so much more fun and novel!

Video + Tasker

Record vids of giving tasks and use Tasker to automatically play them at a certain time as a reminder.

Best used with smart watch (like a super spy getting a secret mission 😎)

Quests

Mystery dispensers by each task (like by the cleaning supplies) and go around doing tasks in order to get the reward.

Optional function: they have AI and you need to send a picture of the completed task (checks image date and time metadata) in order to get the prize.

Puppet/plush care

Instead of saying, “I have to do this,” it's “I have to make sure Fuzzy does this by this time because I care about her and love her.” So it uses my sense of maternal responsibility for caring for helpless creatures that can't do anything on their own.

Also, it's Jesus's love language helping others! His law is love and that's how He wants us to show it.

VR game

Highlights items to put away and where and gives cute animations and sound effects for doing the task. Like a SIM but uses augmented reality.

Virtual pet reminders

Whenever it yells at you for a specific thing like food, associate it with doing something for yourself like getting yourself food too. You can't always trust yourself to set reminders.

Audio planner A

Computer talks and says what the task is, for how long and plays specific music to mentally que that task.

Example:

7:30 AM

“Time to wake up!”

“You have an hour to get ready for the day”

Plays morning music

8:20

“10 more minutes”

8:30

“Homework time!”

“You have 30 min until a break”

Plays Lofi Hip Hop

9:00

“You can take a break now”

Has a web interface with a checklist and whenever a task is completed, it says something like, “Congratulations on completing ____!” “You’ve earned 10 virtual coins!”

Audio planner B

Same as above but a playlist of time chunks and voice clips

MP3 to-do timer

Music clips with the task as the “song title.” Selecting a random song to be played, would be the same as selecting a random task and setting a timer for it, in this case, the run time of a song.

Candy task randomizer

Take a candy/pill dispenser filled with beads with tasks written on them.

Plush task randomizer

Plush with sound module with recordings of different tasks.

Bead currency

Every task completed is worth a bead.

10 beads = 1 USD

Keep track of beads as they accumulate

Can ONLY buy something for puppies IF there's enough beads

Adulting kid’s app

In a virtual world, their parents can set up a to-do list and they have an in game calendar, bank, phone and such. They're goal is to take care of a virtual pet whose needs are very realistic: unpredictable. Anyway, to take care of a pet, you need money which is earned by completing tasks (parents and teachers can send tasks to their to do and appointments to their calendar.

They have to plan out about how much food and medicine their pet needs and spend it wisely. They get an virtual invoice/receipts.

Their pet can spontaneously get sick and they need to make an appointment with the vet and pay LOTS from savings.

Delayed gratification prize dispenser

Write tasks on paper

Add paper to jar once complete

When the jar is full/reaches a minimum weight, it’ll dispense a prize

Flower power

Write tasks on seed paper

When a task is complete, put it in a jar

The jar is filled by the end of the week and the tasks can be planted!

Egg system

Fill eggs with different tasks related to homework or free/break time. And set a timer to complete the task on the egg I picked.

For free time, instead of picking up my phone and waste time, I pick up an egg. This way, I can do things I’ve always wanted to do but never do because I’d rather sit and do nothing.

Also, keeping a strict schedule is hard, this way, it's not mindless routine, it has an element of surprise and flexibility.

Possible Motivators

Throughout all species throughout the world and time, necessity has been the driving force and the reward: life and continued existence, food and health. They’d literally die without the skills they acquired from their parents, sometimes horribly. There's no, “If I want to get distracted and not do this thing, there's no consequences, I’ll still live just fine.”

I suppose drastic stakes are super effective.

Also, like the Bluey episode, “Duck cake,” even when Bluey got things she liked and enjoyed for cleaning up, they didn't fulfill her as much as cleaning up to please her parents and make them happy. So, doing things for the good of helping others is also a strong motivator. If we always live for the things that please us, for the things we want, we’ll never be truly happy.

Or Tiana in The Princess and the Frog, she had a dream she wanted SO desperately, she worked hard every day for years for it, never once taking her eyes off the prize. What dream do you have?

Make other things just as or more enjoyable than my bad habits.

Find something or someone to live for (for me, it's my dog's). It's different when you take care of someone you love because you would do anything for them. They're ALIVE, they have feelings and it makes you care about them.

Or if not, pretend you have a little kid to take care of and they follow you around everywhere and watch what you do. You'd want to make sure you're always setting a good example and demonstrating healthy habits.

Though it's probably not the healthiest, nothing kicks me into high gear like being frustrated/angry. I get an "I can fight everyone!" mentality and end up taking it out on chores and doing things. At least I'm not too irritable and it's constructive.

[iamthecomet]

-sits down in your ask box like it's a confessional-

Bless me, Comet, for I have sinned.

It's been about a day since I last thought about monster di-

Work has been a lot recently (I'm changing positions/training new staff, and, just, generally doing a LOT more workload wise...) so my creative juices having been flowing as much as they usually do.

However!

However...

There is a goblin inside my brain that really wants me to think about Dew getting railed, and so here we are.

For your consideration: Dew, who can't get off when he's bottoming unless the person fucking him is sweet talking it out of him.

Like, he needs someone whispering in his ear, he needs the praise, the added stimulation of someone's hot breath on him.

He needs it.

When he has a partner who isn't making much noise, sure, he'll cum eventually, but it takes a lot, lot longer, and he doesn't enjoy it nearly as much.

The worst thing someone could do to him is keep their mouth shut during sex, and he'll look up at them with such big, wet puppy dog eyes if they don't tell him he feels good or that they think he's pretty.

Something, something, Rain yaps in his ear about something random and now Dew has a weird ass trigger phrase that makes him cream his pants every time.

Rain thinks it's funny, but Dew is mortified.

Anyway.

-hops out of the ask box-

rahhhh LAMP. I'm sorry work has been extra lately--I know the feeling. It's really stupid and draining and I hope it eases up for you soon. BUT I'm so glad you are still having PRIME DEW GETTING RAILED THOUGHTS. I agree--I think when Dew's getting fucked he has a hard time focusing on cumming--needs the other person to really ground him in it. And also like--the little bit of ego stroking definitely helps too. Dew likes to know how hot everyone else thinks he is, makes him preen a little. Makes him cum for sure. And it is so very on brand for Rain to have hacked Dew's nervous system into cumming over something inane. Bet Dew can sense when Rain's about to start in on it. Can see the glint in his eyes, can watch the way his mouth ticks up and knows and he just flushes dark and shakes his head. Not again, Rain. Come on. But like, what else is Rain supposed to do? It works so well and Dew cums so beautifully. He's never going to stop. Dew's conflicted about it--but hey, at least he gets to cum!

[catbowserauthor]

The Most Certain of Uncertainties

Chapter 2:

2003 “You’re Burning Up”

Donnie rubbed his eyes, cursing the headache that had taken hold of his brain and refused to let go. Granted, the late hours he was keeping couldn't be helping. But the needs of safety didn't care.

“Don-nie!”

And, unfortunately, little brothers did.

He loved his brother. He really, truly did. Was he eccentric and odd? Well, sure but they were mutant turtles. The normal train left the station a while ago.

But his brother—his only little brother—was sometimes so tedious. Stubborn to a fault. Might even rival his own tenacity.

If not, definitely Raph’s. On a bad day, Leo. Very few things could break a stubborn Leo but Donnie had seen the master do it.

Good thing too because Leo’s body would have probably given out if he kept at it too much longer.

But this was a different situation entirely!

The outbreak of mutants in the sewers had been the last time he'd felt like this and he knew for a fact there was no mutation swelling in his blood this time.

Just coffee.

But the storm that tore through the city last night had caused even his security systems to fail. Given their lives, not property, were at stake, Donnie thought a little obsession was warranted.

Despite the cold in his bones. Despite the pounding headache. Despite the fact even his insomnia was asking for sleep.

In short, he did not have the patience for his youngest brother right now.

“Don-nie,” That sing-song tone that normally had him shake his head with a smile about what thing he wanted to do but shouldn't that Mikey was about to talk him into—this time, it was grating. His already sensitive head grew about ten times heavier and whatever troll was content to hack away at his skull like a maniac suddenly got a second wind.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Work.” his response came out much shorter than he intended. “Alone.”

If Mikey was offended, he didn’t show it, “You’ve been doing work all day, Donnie! All work and no play—“

“Is what I have to do right now. Unless you want to patrol the sewers looking for intruders in the dark.”

“Hey! I’m a ninja! I thrive in the dark!”

Without taking his eyes from the computer screen and somehow maintaining the constant rhythm of key clicks, Donnie retorted. “You sleep with a nightlight.”

Hand to his chest as if wounded, Mikey gasped. “I do not! I’ll have you know the Silver Sentry Vigil Stick is a protector against monsters! Of the worst kind! And we have no shortage of those.”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “There’s no monsters around here right now—“

“See, it’s working!”

Any other day, he might argue but his brother had him there so he went quiet.

Mikey stopped, frowned and truly studied his brother. “Donnie…” He leaned over, so close he was sure Donnie felt his breath in his skin. “Are you hangry?”

A deep hiss through his teeth. “No, Mikey. I’m not ‘hangry.’ I may be coming down with a serious case of ‘little brother blues’ though! Will you please leave me alone?”

The wounded look was real that time. “Can I help?”

“No! No help, no more questions, just leave me to work in peace, please!”

Head down, Mikey retreated out of the lab, looking very much like a beaten puppy.

Donnie groaned out loud. Under normal circumstances, he likely would have given his brother something to do. He was actually a pretty good assistant when Donnie had the patience to explain expectations. But the patience meter was running on empty right now.

All the same, he felt bad as his brother slipped out of the room. “Mikey…” he went to call after him but the youngest turtle was already gone.

Great. Nothing better than working with aches, pains, a headache and now a nice dose of guilt for good measure. Perfect.

Finish this, he coached himself. Finish this then you can relax and rest and eat and make it up to Mikey later.

Swallowed by his computer screen, Donnie typed. He calculated. He miscalculated, cursed, and calculated again. Fixing physical wires was so much easier than fixing a program on the fritz.

Time lost all meaning until the light clatter of a plate next to him made him turn.

Mikey gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m not staying…but you are hangry. Because you haven’t eaten all day. So…peace offering, bro.” He pushed a plate and glass onto the table. “Even made it portable so you could still work.

A toasted chicken salad sandwich, complete with the grapes and almonds Donnie loved, with a glass of iced coffee. Nothing fancy but absolutely one of Donnie’s favorite meals, especially when he was working.

And no one made chicken salad like Mikey.

But his stomach turned at the smell.

The thought of it was amazing. He could pretty much hear the crunch of the bread already. His brain said yes but his stomach said no.

All the same, he couldn’t find it in his heart to snub the offer. So, begrudgingly, he turned and took a bite.

His mouth turned dry and his stomach immediately protested the very idea of introducing anything.

Donnie took a large gulp of the coffee to wash it down.

Down it went but harsh, scratching. It hit like a stone and it took all Donnie’s willpower to keep it there. Focus. Breathe in, breathe out. Steady…

His little brother’s forehead suddenly pressed against his and Mikey stared him right in the eyes. Concern and a dab of fear lingered there.

“You’re burning up.” It was a statement, not a question.

Pulling away, Donnie shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Are not! You’re hot! And in a fun way!”

He didn’t have the energy to roll his eyes. “Mikey, if you’ve been prowling around topside no wonder I—“

“Been in my room, bro.”

“Then it’s the lights and machinery in here.”

“Seriously? Now you’re being ridiculous. You’re sick, Donnie.” He put a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Go to bed…”

“Who serves as our resident medic here?” A bit harsh maybe but the last thing Donnie wanted was distraction, delay, especially when he was so close. A few more hours was all he needed! “Do you think I don’t recognize sickness when I see it, Mikey?”

His younger brother wasn’t buying it. “Don’t need to be a medic to know you’ve got a fever.”

“I don’t. Now, please leave me alone so I can finish this—“

“No way! Not until you go to bed.”

“Mikey! I said it’s fine—“

“And I say it’s not!”

“Medic override—“

“Doesn’t count! You can’t diagnose yourself! Even the soap opera medical shows know that!”

“Then Big Brother privilege. I say it’s fine!”

At his core, even Donnie knew he was starting to sound ridiculous. But he needed…had to finish this. All he wanted was a few more hours!

If he had to abuse his big brother title to get it, so be it!

But a moment after those words left his lips, Donnie regretted them.

Because he saw the wheels turning in Mikey’s head. The loopholes. The twisting of words.

“Fine.” The youngest turtle stepped away from the computer desk, “That’s how you wanna play it?”

“Mikey…” he was so tired…

“RAPH! LEO! DONNIE’S SICK AND WON’T STOP WORKING!”

Before the Lair had even stopped vibrating from Mikey’s shrill screech, Leo was down from the top level and Raph wasn’t far behind.

Mikey gave his genius brother a snarky smile. “Big brother privilege meet even bigger big brother privilege.”

“What’s going on?” Leo entered, command immediately in his voice.

Mikey pointed, as if Donnie had stolen a favorite toy and been caught in the act, “He’s got a fever, won’t go to bed, and is being a shell for brains.”

“Ain’t that your role, Mikey?” Raph made his own entrance and got a good look at his brothers, especially the one seated at the computer. “Shell, Donnie you look terrible.”

“Thanks..,”

Leo’s hands were on the purple banded turtle’s face before he could issue protest, “Mikey’s right though, you do have a fever.”

“…I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Raph leaned over the desk. “I can smell you sweatin’ from across the room.”

Leo straightened, “Go rest, Donnie. Your work will save.”

“But I’m so close—“

Leo and Raph exchanged glances. The oldest gave a nod and took a step back. They’d all dealt with workaholic Donnie before.

Raph pulled genius turtle to his feet and flung him over his shoulder in the same move. “And it ain’t gonna go nowhere. But you are.”

Donnie heaved a huge sigh, considered fighting, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Raph would knock him out if he had to and his legs were already wobbly. Being suddenly thrust into a semi horizontal position was oddly enough…welcomed.

As they left his lab behind, it was like his body decided to announce all at once how utterly spent it was. As if all the strength had been sucked out of his cells. He laid still against his brother’s shell

He was kind of glad for the lift.

Apparently working for hours on end did a number on your fuel reserves. By the time Raph dropped him in his own bed, exhaustion was doing its thing.

“Here.” Leo laid a wet cloth over his brother’s forehead and Donnie didn’t bother to suppress the shudder of relief. “See? Not sick, my tail.”

“Shut up…” came the cranky response but Donnie didn’t open his eyes.

“Killing yourself in work doesn’t help, my brother.” Mikey mused. “Doesn’t make the fever go away if you ignore it, either.”

“Fine…” a low moan of defeat. “I relent. You win.”

“Damn right.” Raph tossed the blanket over his brother then knelt to straighten it. “Sleep, heal. Work’ll be there when you’re better.”

Donnie wanted to fret over the lost time, over the unfairness of it all.

But Raph was dimming the lights. Mikey was putting on that soft music Donnie loved. And Leo was working the pressure points on his head and neck.

He didn’t need much persuasion for sleep. His body had been headed that direction, with or without his consent.

But all the same, Donnie murmured, “You’re all a bunch of cheaters.”

“Big and little brother privilege, now rest.”

Donnie slept.

[redvelvetstars22]

puppy_l0v3.mov

Edit: Okay so I just started season 3 and I’d say this probably takes place somewhere in there! (also I got a little carried away with the Lady and the Tramp references so just be aware that this story was very self indulgent for me and that you might not ever own a cocker spaniel or name him Scamp lmao) ———————————————————————————

I’m taking Flipper for her second walk in the past hour. She peed on my bed twice, which is weird because she usually whines at me until I take her outside. I’m starting to think she’s sick or something. I hope she isn’t dying. I can’t afford to take her to the vet. The closest one to me is charging over seven hundred dollars just to see her. If she was dying they’d probably triple the price and then tell me about how horrible of an owner I am when I tell them I can’t pay for her treatment.

…I’m starting to feel nauseous. I need to stop thinking about this. I need a distraction.

There’s a person walking towards me. They’re walking their dog too. It’s small. A little taller than Flipper. I think it’s some kind of… Cocker Spaniel? That’s what that breed is called right? I’m pretty sure they’re the ones with the long ears. Like Lady, the dog from that Disney movie. Darlene used to watch that movie a lot when we were kids. I think she only stopped watching it because the VHS tape broke-

Oh. Flipper stopped walking. She won’t move. What is she doing?… She’s sniffing the Cocker Spaniel. I didn’t realize until now, but that person is standing next to me. They look surprised by their dog stopping too. Both dogs are sniffing each other. I don’t know what to do. Should I keep walking? No, I don’t think so. This is how dogs become friends right? Flipper and the other dog seem to like each other. I shouldn’t interrupt them.

“Ah, um, I guess our dogs are friends now..!”

What?

“What?”

“Oh, uh, sorry! I just- just said that our dogs are friends now, since they’re being pretty chill.”

Shit. I completely forgot this person was here. What do I say? Should I just agree and nod? No that’d make things awkward. Dammit. I need to say something. Think, Elliot…

“Uh… Yeah. Their tails are wagging. That’s usually… good.”

A little awkward but should be a decent response.

The person’s gone quiet again. I hope I didn’t completely weird them out. Flipper is still playing with their dog after all. I don’t want her to lose a friend because I can’t talk to other people. Then she’ll be lonely. I don’t want her to end up like me.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen Scamp this excited to be around another dog before.”

Scamp? That’s their dog’s name? I’ll have to remember that. Could be used in one of their passwords…

“You named your dog Scamp?”

“Yeah! It’s a reference to the son of Lady and Tramp from, uh, the Disney movie. Their son is actually the same breed of dog as Tramp, but I ignored that just so I could use the name anyway.”

Huh. I didn’t know the puppies at the end had names. Is there a sequel? If there is, maybe I should ask Darlene if she wants to watch it together. She’d probably like that.

“That’s cool. Um, my dog’s name is Flipper. I don’t know why. That’s just the name she had before I… adopted her.”

“Aww, well it’s a super cute name! Buuut, maybe, she was a really good swimmer. The only way to know would be to see how she reacts to a bath or a pool.”

“Hm… That could make sense. I’ll have to test it out sometime.”

This person was actually starting to feel interesting. Now I’m starting to feel that itch again. The itch in my brain that tells me I need to hack them and learn everything and anything about them. It’s overwhelming. I need to leave-

“Hey, since we bumped into each other, and probably will again if we keep taking this same route, I might as well introduce myself. I’m Y/N!”

Now I’ll have to remember that too. They’re staring at me. Oh, right, I have to respond.

“Oh, um, I’m Elliot. And you probably won’t see me again after this. I’m only walking Flipper now because she pissed on my bed for some reason.”

I… Shouldn’t have said that. I made things uncomfortable. I can tell by the look on Y/N’s face now. They look… concerned, most likely for Flipper.

“Oh, jeez, that sucks. I hope she’s not sick…”

“Me too. I really don’t want to go to the vet.”

“Can’t afford it?”

“Yeah.”

“I totally get it. Vets can be wayyy too expensive. Like, ridiculously expensive. But I do know a place that’s affordable most of the time. Here- I’ll give you the address.”

They just pulled a notepad out of their pocket. I assumed they were going to ask for my number instead to just text it to me… Why do I feel almost disappointed they didn’t?

Doesn’t matter. They just gave me the note. I’ve seen this address before. This place is right next to that corner store a few streets away. I’ll have to look into it, make sure it isn’t shady.

“Oh, cool. I’ll check it out.”

“The building’s pretty small, so you might have to wait a while for appointments sometimes, but overall the staff are nice and the prices are decent. Maybe we’ll even see each other there from time to time!”

They look genuinely happy at that thought. I don’t know why.

“Hm… Maybe we will.”

I want to say more but I need to leave. Mr. Robot is yelling at me. He wants me to go back to my apartment. Says I have work to do. I wish he’d go away. Can’t he see I’m busy…?

“Um… I have to go. See you… later?”

“Yeah! Yeah, see you later, Elliot.”

They’re smiling at me. For some reason, I want to smile back. I shouldn’t do that though. Then they’ll think we’re friends and they’ll try to talk to me again if we ever do run into each other after this.

Mr. Robot also thinks this person would be a distraction from other important things. I don’t really agree with him, but I don’t feel like arguing right now.

…I just realized I walked away from Y/N. Hopefully they didn’t think I was rude for not smiling back. Mr. Robot says I shouldn’t care about that right now, but I do. I don’t understand why though.

Flipper’s whining at me. I think she’s sad about leaving Scamp. I feel bad for her, but I know she won’t be upset for too long. Once I get home and find out where Y/N lives and at what times they take their dog for a walk, Flipper won’t ever have to worry about not seeing her new friend again.

[mrpuzzlessimp420]

Mario Simulator (Joke Fic)

Chapter 4

Warnings: Attempted Murder/Murder, Brainwashing, Kidnapping

Ships: Marware, BatteryAcid (Mr Puzzles x Orange Juice)

Tomorrow is another day,

and the day after that is another day, and the day after that is another day, and the day after that is another day.

SMG3 repeated this to himself as the days went by, trying to real himself out of going insane, but it only further contributed to his insanity.

What started as a couple of failures of plans led to thousands, no billions. Why was he even doing this in the first place? He honestly couldn't ever remember due to how long it had been since that fateful kidnapping and blackmailing.

At some point, they tried matchmaking Orange Juice to someone else but unlucky to them, they chose that Box Club Leader which did not end up well. He still had nightmares from that piece of cardboard sealed in a jar of orange juice. That club leader was a freak... and not in a good way.

They also tried framing the object head for theft but turns out trying to find the correct bag to place it in in a flood of the same black bags was extremely difficult and they ended up getting Boopkins suspended for it. Eh, he was annoying anyway.

He glanced over to his partner in crime, who was violently stabbing a photograph of Orange Juice, his face getting more and more deranged and ecstatic. The bed underneath him was scarred due to the slashes and stabbing.

They were in SMG3's bedroom right now, which acted as their plotting room as they couldn't risk going in the broom closet in fear of being caught.

He sighed, he hoped this would have ended by now. There wasn't much else to try to plan except...

"Hey, Mario?" Mario turned to face SMG3, his face quickly changing from murderous to curious. "What if we try brainwashing?"

"Oooh that sounds very good! But how would we be able to do that?" Mario asked, using his singular brain cell for once.

"Hmmm... I think I have just the thing..." SMG3 said, searching his bedroom until he found a singular remote.

"The YouTube Remote?" Mario asked, tilting his head.

"No, you silly, it's a different remote. I bought it on the black market once. I think the seller called it the "Edit" remote or something like that, I don't know the seller was extremely sketchy and I couldn't even see their face." SMG3 explained, showing off the object in his hand which was black with yellow accents.

"It can basically edit things so I can presume it can overwrite people's memories". He tossed the remote in the air, trying to act cool but missed catching it, leading to it falling on the ground. Luckily, it didn't break.

"Can I use it, pretty please? I swear I won't mess up!" Mario battered his long eyelashes as he went into puppy eye mode.

"Fine. But only after I explain to you how we're going to do it." SMG3 stated, picking up the remote once again and dusting it off.

"Okie dokie!" Mario said, his face excited as he hoped this plan would actually work this time.

"First of all, since it's the whole school assembly tomorrow we'll hack into the school computers and create a live stream of you using the remote and saying what you will overwrite. After that, we will stop the live stream and erase all evidence that we hacked into the school system!"

"Before that, we'll lock Orange Juice somewhere so he can't go to assembly so he can feel so much pain when he finds out everyone hates him"

"And after that, I finally get to be with my true love!" Mario added on, dreaming of his future.

"Yup, and I don't have to do this anymore." SMG3 sighed, grateful that this might end soon

"Thank you so much S-M-G-3!! I wouldn't have done it without you!!" Mario exclaimed, hugging SMG3 a bit too tightly as SMG3 felt his bones crack inside of him.

"Yeah, you wouldn't have" SMG3 patted Mario's head as he ignored how much pain he was in right now.

"All we need to do now is wait for tomorrow," SMG3 said as he lay on his bed, Mario still stuck to him as he felt himself fall into a soft slumber.

The sun beamed on Mario and the Mario recolour as the day approached forward. With both of them waking up shortly after, SMG3 ran down the plan to Mario again, knowing that he probably forgot again.

After they both got ready for the day, they rushed out to the school entrance, earlier than usual as they needed the time to get this done right. They could not deal with another failure.

The first step was getting Orange Juice locked somewhere. The best choice was the Broom Closet as it was soundproof so he couldn't scream for help. Not many students were in the school right now which helped with not getting caught and one of those students was Orange Juice himself as he liked helping get the teachers ready for the school day.

What a goody-two-shoes, Mario thought as he walked in the direction of the object head in question who was right now talking to one of the science teachers, Dr Robotnik. Or was it Dr Eggman? Mario could never remember any of the teachers' names, let alone this one.

"Excuse me Orange Juice," Mario said, butting into the two's conversation, putting on his best innocent act. "I was told by one of the maths teachers that you were needed in her classroom to help out away new supplies with her."

"Oh really? Well, why don't you show me the way? Sorry about this Dr Robotnik, I need to deal with this first" Orange Juice politely said, his charisma and charm leaking out of him like a disgusting pest. He disgusted Mario with how nice and kind he was. As if he was perfect.

Mario, still having his act of sweet innocence on, led the object-headed teenager to his doom, the broom closet. The door was already open and all he needed to do was to push Orange Juice in and lock the door with the only keys it had.

"I don't remember the Broom Closet being open at this tim-" Before Orange Juice could finish his sentence, Mario shoved him in and locked the door quickly before he skipped off to find where SMG3 was.

The second step was hacking into the school computers which SMG3 had already done by the time Mario had found where he was, in the empty classroom Meggy was forced to be in during her Catering classes.

Now all they had to do was wait for assembly.

30 minutes had passed and assembly had just started. SMG3 pressed the record button and Mario got in place ready to say his lines. The spaghetti-loving man pressed the overwrite button on the remote before anyone could do anything about the hacking attack.

"Orange Juice is a horrible horrible person. He has cheated on Mr Puzzles countless of times and kicks puppies for fun. He enjoys content farms and has made several in the past. He also doesn't like Chappell Roan which is very homophobic of him."

The live stream then quickly ended as SMG3 erased any evidence of them tapering with the school system.

They both hoped this worked as if it didn't, they would be in so much trouble.

It has worked. Everyone hated Orange Juice. He was the talk of the school gossip. Mr Puzzles, dramatically broke up with the object head as he cursed the ever-living shit out of the confused man.

But Mario wasn't finished. No. Sure, he could just be with Mr Puzzles now but that wasn't enough for him. He needed to kill that disgusting glass of orange juice and show him that he should have never messed with the Mario. Ever.

So he waited until the day was over and everyone had gone home, even the teachers. Expect for Orange Juice who was in detention for the entire day, even the night.

Freshly sharpened knife in hand, he walked in a stalker-like motion to the door of the detention room. His prey sitting nervously at a lone desk.

His heart beat loudly as he slowly turned the handle of the door, knife behind his back.

"Hello Orange Juice~" Mario said sinisterly, which actually did sound sinister for once as the writer could afford a voice actor. Though since it's in text, you can't tell.

"Oh uh hi? Um, is my detention over?" The teenager asked, looking as if this was his first experience of detention ever.

"Hmm... I'm not sure..." Mario stated, his free hand pointing to his cheek. "Your life sure will be soon" He revealed the knife from his back, his free hand stroking it masochistically.

"W-What?" Orange Juice said, startled and afraid as Mario walked slowly closer to him, menacingly.

"G-get away from me you... You psycho!" The object-headed teenager exclaimed as he pushed the table in front of him to the ground in an attempt to distract Mario and ran towards the door of the detention room and into the halls.

"Oh how I love the ones that run, they give such a thrilling chase..." Mario stated lovingly, as he started stalking the halls, waiting until Orange Juice had run out of energy or into a dead end so he could do the final blow.

Orange Juice ran, ran for his life. His day was not going great so far, to say the least. Firstly he was locked into a broom closet, then everyone started hating him for no reason and he got detention. Now he's getting chased by a sociopath. What's next? Is he going to get indoctrinated into a cult? Wouldn't surprise him at this point!

He turned the corner, his breath rapid and uneven. He had to find an exit. Why was this school so big? It was like hell trying to find a decent exit at this rate.

He suddenly tripped on a shard of glass while running, what would be his left cheek shattered as he fell. Glitch, now he was losing blood? This was not a good time to do so! Especially since that rapid animal is chasing after him.

Picking himself up quickly, he ran and ran, his left hand stopping the orange juice from spilling onto the floor any longer.

Back to Mario, he was drooling like a dog with rabies, his excitement and anger increasing by the second as he searched and searched for that man stealing man.

He dug his knife into the walls of the building, the scratchiness making him feel even more alive. By the Glitch Productions above, this made him feel so much more alive than ever before. The adrenaline, the prey versus hunter mentality, the chase. It felt all so good.

After so long, Mario finally caught up to Orange Juice who had locked himself into a corner with nowhere to run to.

"Looks like the mouse has nowhere to go? Hm?" He asked, his knife glistening in the singular light illuminating this area.

"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?" Orange Juice's voice was full of panic and prey instincts.

"You don't know? How naïve.." He pushed Orange Juice further into the corner, knife pointing to the throat of the fellow teenager whose breath hitched at the action.

"Maybe I'll be your saint this time and tell you myself." The knife dug into the object-head's throat slightly, the sour blood peeking itself through and onto the floor.

Mario kicked Orange Juice into the wall, his foot firmly planted and keeping the teenager in place. While doing this he took his knife away from the other's throat and grabbed both of his hands on it.

"This wouldn't have ended this way if you had never stepped in the way of me being with my one true love, Mr Puzzles"

He made a downward motion with the knife towards Orange Juice's heart and...

KILL HIM [SUCCESS]

KILL HIM [FAILURE]

KILL HIM [SUCCESS?]

[skye707]

Don't mind me but.. in that question where Danoriddler is "Hacking" with his little and cute pink cat Earphones, i read in his glasses "Hack Dad" instead of Hack dat? And in took me this long to realize, but yeah the question is, who of the riddlers is most likely to know about technology (?

(I love telltale grandpa but i genuinely feel like he would be like some older ladies who ask hers sons if they know how to send a voicemail to her friends 😔)

When you mentioned the part about Telltale being the older lady of the group who doesn’t understand technology, my dumb brain thought you meant that’s how he would hit on older ladies. This ask is good anon, but my idea might have the potential to be great…

Unburied - He’s moderately good with technology. Not a total computer genius but enough to get around. He prefers puns and word puzzles.

ZY - This guy ranks pretty high on the technology smarts. I believe he would make his own computers and I know he programs his own little robots. How well they work is another question, but that’s still saying a lot.

Dano - He's literally a little computer nerd. I hc that he also acted as an IT guy at his job, pre-riddling. He needs that kind of knowledge to hack into and sift through emails detailing dirty dealings.

YJ - He thinks he's such a tech guy, but in reality, he thinks resetting his password is a great example of his skill. Don't get me wrong, he is tech savvy, but if you asked him to build a computer, he'd look at you like a lost puppy.

Gotham - Not a computer guy. He knows bodies, not technology. Of everyone in the house, I'd say he's the most incapable. So, how do I create a...folder?

BTAA - Hack master. Girl, you don't know about his skills. Rivals Dano in his ability to hack into places he's not supposed to be. Loves to know everyone's dirty secrets for no good reason.

Arkham - So, we know he's good with heavy machinery, but he also shows himself to be pretty good at jamming signals. He didn't become the GCPD's data guy for nothing. Also likes to dig up secrets for no reason.

BTAS - Less malicious hacking for this guy and more creation. He loves putting pieces together and having them work in harmony to make something work, especially coding for a game. Honestly, his favorite part is when people get the chance to put his creation to the test.

Telltale - Okay, he could be good with computers. However, as funny as it might be, he was born a little too early to get a natural affinity for computers. If he put his mind to it, he could be just as good as any of them, but, honestly? He likes building the little puzzles and things. That's what does it for him.

[sonicasura]

For some sort of spy, Monique was pretty bad at it. A much less experienced Dart would have blanched at hacking into people’s phones in order to gather information. The current day human teen was much more blasé to it due to the universe’s situation calling for it. It wasn’t like they spied around the phones/radios/computers for malicious reasons. Any data gathered was purely passive things.

Listening in on conversations was something they left to the Omnitrix a majority of the time.

It had a far better memory—literally—and they needed to find a place to set up a base of operations. Thankfully, several hundreds of people had moved away from New York once word of a second Godzilla got around. The various apartment buildings and half destroyed ones were perfect to scout out a place. One building even had an intact bomb shelter! If nothing else, this was a prime look at a variant version of their home’s own history.

…

…

…

“Neural-transmitter?” The human teen repeated back, in the middle of taking stock of their supplies. “I know nanites are ground breaking in their own right. But, neural transmitters that actually work without frying the brain? Those exist here?” This Winter’s fella already sounded like quite the dangerous man on this Earth. Neural anything was always one step away from mind control in their opinion.

A scene of some Doberman being called off via a remote and something electronic falling out of Godzilla’s inner ear played back. “Yes. Cameron Winter is apparently a colleague and proprietor of selling technological weapons to the highest bidder. Essentially, a platinum blonde Tony Stark if more specialized…”

“Business mogul. In a universe with Kaijus…” They had to think about it and watched the scene continue to play out as Dr Tatopoulos clearly had animosity toward Winter. “He could get a lot of money by having a Kaiju on a leash. All he’d to do is clone Godzilla Junior or even send the Kaiju to attack places, then sell weapons for the people to arm themselves.” At this point, Dart liked to think themself adept at figuring out Scooby-Doo level schemes.

Sometimes—certain universes really did function on cartoon sorta timelines. They didn’t have a good feeling about Winter’s interest in the Kaiju. Something was going to happen…

Soon.

—————————————

Dart was proven very right when around the next night, Godzilla (the Second) suddenly emerged from the canal in a fit. The Kaiju’s cries oozed disorientation and confusion as he even attacked his adopted father… All it took was following him along the shore for the Omnitrix to pick up on a subsonic device.

A neural transmitter. The Omnitrix user turned into the likes of Elusive in order to catch up with the Kaiju. Then, Dart switched to Upgrade.

Their partially amorphous could shift into something aerodynamic allowing them to splat themself against Godzilla’s head. He was largely unaffected by their appearance until they slunk toward his inner ears. Whoever was controlling the device had the mutated Iguana whip his head in all sorts of directions to shake them off.

Fortunately, Godzilla had a terrible time against nanite-based enemies which were smart enough to adapt. Dart flattened their body as thin as it could get as they tried to get the device out… It was like riding an overclocked mechanical bull while also being made of jello.

These sort of sentences they never imagined they would even think! A small feeling of vindication came to them when they saw the actual target of the perpetrator—a military outpost along the river. They had to sadly use some optical beams in order to discourage Godzilla from going toward the base itself.

Seriously, Winter would pay for weaponizing what was essentially an overgrown scaly puppy.

—————————————

Cameron wasn’t responsible for the energy forcefield, mech cat, or the partially nanite based organism that helped Godzilla. Randy had slipped in a virus in order to comb the tech mogul’s files… Only for nothing even remotely related to pop up in the search. Nick doubted this was unrelated, but someone or something out there was looking out for his “son”.

The sole reason Team HEAT managed to get any footage this time was due to actually witnessing the organism in real time. Randy managing to save the footage and get it onto a USB drive so no one could remote delete it.

…Only for someone to somehow erase it anyway. Regardless, they saw the recent being.

—ROB’d Anon.

To be fair to Monique, Dart has way too much experience with spies when you consider Soundwave. Welp, Heat are aware of their mysterious "ally" and it probably won't take long for someone to think they are trying to stay hidden. As in responsible for camera interference/data deletion.

I also had a really dumb image come to mind with the DOA episode. Pipeline just popping up before the group, a flower sample for Zilla Jr's antidote in their mouth. The situation is a race against time so Dart could throw them a weirdly funny shaped bone.

[bonkersbabe]

ADHD - Just say "Yes"

Hey there, wonderful souls! Today, I want to chat about something that's been a significant part of my life journey – ADHD. Yep, I'm a proud member of the neurodivergent club, and let me tell you, it's been quite the ride.

Living with ADHD is like trying to wrangle a group of playful puppies. My thoughts dart here and there, and focus often feels like trying to catch a butterfly with a broken net. But don't worry; I've learned to navigate this whirlwind with a sprinkle of whimsy and a dash of humor.

Now, let's dive into a topic that many of us neurodivergent folks can relate to – cleaning. Ah, cleaning, the task that's as elusive as a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. You see, for me, cleaning can be a bit of a challenge because it lacks the instant gratification that my ADHD brain craves. There are no applause or fireworks when you scrub a floor or organize a closet, right? So, I often find myself on the enchanting journey of TikTok, seeking hacks and shortcuts to make the process more engaging.

Over time, I've discovered a valuable lesson about living with ADHD: it's not about being consistently consistent; it's about staying persistently inconsistent. It's about embracing the quirks, the bursts of creativity, and the moments of hyperfocus when I can conquer tasks like a superhero. Sure, I may misplace my keys on a daily basis, but I've also learned to appreciate my unique perspective on the world.

One of the tricks I've picked up along the way is to listen to my mind when it says, "Do this now." Even that takes more effort than I can sometimes muster, but it's a step toward achieving some semblance of consistency. It's like taming a mischievous unicorn; it requires patience, but it's worth the effort.

So, to all my fellow neurodivergent friends, let's celebrate our beautifully scattered minds. Let's embrace the quirks, the laughter, and even the messes we sometimes create. Life with ADHD is like a whimsical adventure, filled with unexpected twists and turns.

Remember, you're not alone on this journey. We're all finding our way through the ADHD maze together, and together, we can support each other in staying persistently consistent. 🌈🧚‍♀️✨ 

[foone]

I forgot to mention a part I really liked. So, at this point in the story, the protagonist is living with her affini and girlfriend, and she's into unaware hypnosis: basically getting mind controlled without realizing it happens. Like her domme puts her in "puppy mode" and asks her to go get something from the kitchen, and she goes and does it on all fours without realizing.

And at one point she's going back to her computer (she's an autistic hacker! Of course she's got computer work to do!) and her domme just zaps her to puppy mode and they play fetch with a doggy toy for a while.

And as someone who has spent entirely too many endless evenings doing overly smart computer shit, I can only imagine how much better it would be for my mental health if sometimes I just had my brain turned off instead.

"no, foone. Stop trying to hack out the first person shooter Easter egg from Excel 95. Instead, what if you are pubby?"

It was a miniature version of that "oh hey I didn't know I had that fetish!" feeling. Just a scenario where I was like "God I wish that was me".

(Well, moreso than usual for the whole HDG experience)

(I'm not even a puppy girl! I just love the idea of my brain getting turned off like that, to force me to not overwork myself)

I'm not sure I can read Wellness Check. It looks like a good Human Domestication Guide story, but it turns out the protagonist is an obsessed transfem hacker with ADHD who keeps forgetting her meds and not eating.

And frankly... Look, I always suspected someone would eventually write a book about me but I thought they'd at least be kind enough to let me know when they did it!