#had to physically force myself to stop typing

[curseofbrother]

&& . . . starter for @isforever ;; lucifer

caine had an... odd... relationship with lucifer. the first sinner and the first murderer. son of god, son of adam. both cast to hell to burn. caine was younger than lucifer, more naive. and also more obsessive. cruel. and his rage and hate for god was unmatched. certainly to some he was a threat. he wished to create paradise in hell. he wanted to replace heaven. he wanted to strike down god. prove sinners could achieve paradise in their own way. without the help of god.

he wanted to replace god. to become god himself.

and he had an odd envy for lucifer. and a fascination. many complicated feelings. but tonight they would all be brushed under the rug for the sake of simplicity. it was a party. nobility and the sins had been invited to come. lucifer of course was a star guest after his seven year long depression nap.

caine was here was a plus one to a noble. one of his followers. a donator. but he had strayed away and had landed his eyes on lucifer. he confidently made his way up to the king of hell and scooped a glass from a passing by busboy. caine stood beside lucifer in silence for a moment. he wore a sleek black dress that pooled around his feet yet he never seemed to trip on. his hooves were bare against the floor.

" your highness, it's quite good to see you. " he said with cool formality. maybe at one point he had dared to call lucifer by his name. but this was not the place to do something like that. this was a place of regality and manners. and caine needed to fit in. " i wonder what drew you from your palace to this party in particular. " he hummed before taking a sip of his drink. he wondered if lucifer remembered him. the angry, pathetic bloodied mess that he had been when he entered hell was no more.

[sheeezu]

.Shift by channeling.

Go to your DRs by channeling, again, step to step guide.

This can be used as a separate method, or you could use this when you need a final push.

This isn't the spiritual type of channeling, nor do you need to use AI or something, nor do you get possessed.

Step 1:

Before attempting to shift, choose a person from your DR. It could be your S/O, you can choose to channel multiple people, if you have a friend group or something, but i recommend picking someone whom you have a close connection with in your DR.

Have a voice claim ready, take some times to look at the person's pictures, remember their physical attributes, focus on their personality.

(You can listen to songs which remind you of your relationship with that person)

Step 2:

Lay down, when you're prepared to shift. You're going to start off saying affirmations like it's a normal shifting method.

If you can visualize, i recommend you think of visual affirmations which relate to your DR.

Its a method to affirm, where you go around your DR, whether it's your DR house, room, or a memorable or nostalgic place in your DR, and see your normal shifting affs, carved, written around, for example, your affs formed by clouds, carved into pillars and tables, written on your clothes, finding papers or letter which say your affirmations (so Affirmations ∝ Your DR)

You should try to be hype fixated, so if you are fidgeting, can't stay still, you're too engrossed in what's going on inside your mind to notice your body itching or twitching.

Do this until your symptoms intensifies or reach a peak, everyone feels differently, for some it's more physical (seeing light flashes, tingles, floating) for some it's mental (having a gut feeling, feeling euphoric) so don't get discouraged.

You aren't doing anything wrong.

Step 3:

This is where we come across our special person. While you're seeing your affs, make yourself meet them. Now, if you're confused and going to say this isn't channeling, then just stop. You're creating this reality and undoubtedly every moment you're experiencing, so when you're in a deeply concentrated phase, the only thing that could possibly stop you from having a very real and authentic meeting with your SP is your own self-doubt (anyways, if you're having self doubt then say an aff or two to combat them)

Your SP is standing right in front of you, let yourself loose at this point. No need to force anything scripted, but if you want then you can.

Have a conversation with your SP, whether it's initiated by you or your SP.

Maybe even invite them to drink tea, sit outside, take them to a secret spot.

Now you're having a conversation with them, starting off with your conscious thoughts doing the talking from your part, whatever your SP says is your subconsciousness speaking, or you're directly channeling them (both of which are the same thing, i hate being repetitive, you're creating reality if you believe you're being channeled by your SP, then that's what's happening)

Start off with a normal conversation, like how'd you talk to someone, someone you love and know very well.

Right now, you're going to say a very specific affirmation:

"(your SP's name) is just about to ask me what i was doing in my OR/void reality."

Then let the conversation take a natural turn. That question will eventually be asked, your loved one is just very curious about why you were away from them.

Now, what you will answer back will be the way how to shift.

"Oh, must be a fever dream, i had never had a dream so real, i was touching everything, each and everything felt legit." (best for permashifters, don't be afraid of using this if you intend to come back)

"I guess it was out of responsibility, but don't worry, i'm here now."

"I don't know myself, all i know i didn't like being there."

"I was curious, that's all; you know i like exploring new things, and come on, it was a whole new universe, but now i want to rest at home."

Whatever your SP says in response, whether they're asking you to come join them, or how they're glad you're back, just nod back.

Step 4:

Go to sleep in your DR, if you recall, you're in your home. Go towards your bed, crash down, close your eyes.

From this point onwards, you're going to embody your DR self and fall asleep acting normal, completely abandon the fact that you were shifting, or that you have shifted to your DR, act like a person (your DR self) living in any other world (your DR)

I described this in details in the third phase of my pinned post, you're supposed to do all that.

You'll wake up in your DR.

Why is this method supposed to work?

Connection to your DR environment ✔

Logically explains your involvement with your previous reality, why you were there for so long ✔

Reminds your consciousness that you've successfully shifted ✔

Connection to your loved ones in your DR ✔

Most importantly, connection to your DR self ✔

...

That's the method, you can also shift in between the method as well. There really isn't any reason for you to wake back in your CR, listen to some subliminals to remove intrusive thoughts, then you're good.

You could also make it so your SP had more control over your shift, like they brought you back, you can modify the method according to your wishes.

It's a short and sweet method, believe in your abilities and you'll be out of here faster than lightning.

...

This method is heavily focused on visualizing, if you have aphantasia then your DR SP can just speak to you, when you eventually cross over to your DR self's state of mind (if they can visualize) you'll get the ability to visualize like them, or get flashes of images.

...

Also thanks for everyone who gave me compliments in my inbox I have no clue how to receive them, but I am very grateful (:

[glowettee]

✧・゜: self-discipline doesn't mean hating yourself into action :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✧

i've been thinking about this a lot lately… how did we all collectively decide that being mean to ourselves was somehow the path to getting things done? like, who started this toxic rumor that self-discipline means internal screaming and punishment? because honestly? i spent years believing that the only way to accomplish anything was through this weird self-bullying technique and it was literally the least effective approach ever.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the wake-up call ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

last semester i hit a wall with my essay project. i had been doing that thing where you stare at your laptop, call yourself lazy in your head, promise to work for 8 straight hours to "make up for it," then get overwhelmed and watch netflix instead. but one night at like 2am (why do all realizations happen at 2am??) i wondered what would happen if i just… stopped being mean to myself about it?

what if self-discipline was actually about being the most understanding friend to yourself instead of the worst drill sergeant?

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ what actually works ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

start ridiculously small, i'm talking embarrassingly tiny steps. want to write that paper? commit to just opening the document and typing a single sentence. need to clean your space? just put away three things. the magic is that once you start, continuing feels so much easier.

create environments that make things easier, not harder. i rearranged my desk so everything i need is within reach and visible. stopped trying to work in my bed (even though it's so comfy) because my brain associates it with sleep and tiktok scrolling.

acknowledge the resistance instead of fighting it. when i feel that "i don't wanna" feeling, i literally say to myself "i hear you, and it makes sense you feel that way. what's one tiny piece we could do?" talking to myself like i'm my own bestie changed everything.

use curiosity instead of judgment. instead of "why am i so lazy?" (which never helps), try "i wonder what's making this hard for me right now?" sometimes the answer surprises you. maybe you're actually just hungry or need better lighting.

build in rest BEFORE you crash. i started scheduling actual breaks before i felt desperate for them, and somehow i get more done? it's like my brain knows it's not going to be held hostage forever.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the permission slip approach ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

my favorite technique lately has been what i call "permission slip productivity" where i literally write myself little notes giving permission to:

work imperfectly (first drafts can be messy!)

take breaks without guilt

change my approach if something isn't working

celebrate small progress instead of only the end result

acknowledge when something is genuinely difficult

there's something so powerful about physically writing yourself permission. it sounds silly but it works because it interrupts that mean inner voice that's been programmed into us.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the results speak for themselves ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

the wildest part? i actually get MORE done now that i've stopped the self-hate productivity method. turns out your brain works better when it's not being constantly criticized? who knew!

my essay (very big essay) got finished early. my room stays cleaner. i actually enjoy my study sessions now instead of dreading them. and most importantly, i don't feel that heavy cloud of shame following me around everywhere.

self-discipline isn't forcing yourself through misery, it's creating systems that work WITH your natural tendencies, not against them. it's about making things easier, not harder. it's about treating yourself like someone you actually care about.

and maybe the real glow-up isn't just checking things off your to-do list, but doing it without sacrificing your relationship with yourself in the process.

what about you? have you been trying to hate yourself into productivity? might be time for a gentler approach. you deserve that kindness from yourself. (and honestly? it just works better.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[waitingonher]

NIGHTS LIKE THESE — [hoo boys drabbles]

summary: how they react to your bad dreams.

author's note: i wrote leo's + jason's part imagining that the cabins/barracks have individual rooms sooo...also ik this trope is so ran through in the pjo fandom but it's just toooo good i couldn't help myself

percy jackson

percy has always been the type of person to pick up the phone no matter the time. even as he’s on a lone movie marathon and the scene reaches its long-anticipated climax, he’s reaching for his buzzing phone that’s lost beneath the sheets. having found it after the third ring, percy checks the time and the caller id. why are you calling him so late? he answers, “hi babe. i thought you had to wake up early this morning, why are you awake?” 

“hi percy,” your voice was shaky and congested, as if you’d been crying. percy immediately sits up, alarmed at the state of your voice, “did i wake you up?” 

“no, no, i was up watching movies. what’s wrong? is everything okay?” he’s seated at the edge of his bed now, anxiously awaiting your response. 

you force him to sit in silence as you think of an excuse, “yeah, um…i’m okay. i just wanted to hear your voice. but i’ll see you on thursday, okay? goodni-” 

“(y/n), what’s going on?” percy runs a hand through his hair as he heads out of his room to his kitchen. he rips off a napkin from the roll and snatches a pen from the drawer. on the napkin, he writes a brief message to sally, saying that he’d be over at your place and not to worry. 

“nothing. i’m fine, percy,” you mutter. but your boyfriend knows you too well. the way your voice quivers makes it sound as though you were trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, and you were failing miserably. 

percy places his phone between his ear and shoulder as he ties his shoes, “don’t leave me in the dark, (y/n).” 

“don’t worry about me. i’m fine it was just-” 

“babe, i’m coming over, okay?” and with that, percy hangs up. 

he’s walked this path over a hundred times, usually for dropping you off after dates or simply for hanging out with you. but this time, all percy can think about is how you sounded over the phone and that he needs to seriously pick up the pace. 

upon arrival, percy climbs up the fire escape ladder as quickly and quietly as possible. it’s only now that he’s grateful for his experience from all of those laborious quests. reaching your floor, he knocks delicately on the glass. 

“percy, what are you doing here?” you ask after he closes your window, “i’m sorry, you really didn’t need to come all this way. it’s like three in the morning and you-” 

your boyfriend silences you with a gentle kiss, “i’m okay. it’s you i’m worried about. what’s wrong?” 

“it was just a dream.” 

“just a dream?”

“yes, it was just a stupid dream.” 

percy grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “(y/n), you’re one of the strongest people i know. so if you were crying over it, then it really must be something.” 

you slump on your bed, and percy joins beside you. it's no use hiding it from percy, so with a sigh, you confess, “well, you’re here now. but it just felt so real,” your eyes begin to prick with tears again, “you were laying on the floor…and there was just so much blood, and i tried to stop it—i really did try—but it just kept coming and there was nothing else i could do.” 

honestly, percy didn’t know what to say. but he did know that if your dream was anything like the ones he had about you, they were emotionally and physically crushing. so, he decides that if he can’t say anything, he’d rather show you. percy gently guides your body, until the both of you are laying down. with a strong arm wrapped around your figure and the other rubbing slow circles on your back, he can only hope you understand the message he’s trying to convey. 

“i’m here, (y/n). everything’s going to be okay,” percy continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. slowly but surely, your crying mellows into only soft sniffles. 

as you lay on his chest, you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing body. it wasn’t at all like that dream of yours; his cold body eerily still on the floor. not at all like that. you allow yourself to slowly drift off with the rise and fall of his chest, strangely as if it were its own lullaby, “thank you, percy,” you manage to whisper. 

“i love you, (y/n). i’m not leaving you, ever. i promise,” percy whispers back. 

leo valdez

leo’s used to waking up several times in the middle of the night. considering the demigod dreams, he hasn’t remembered the last time he’s gotten a full night's rest, which is why he’s not surprised to be awake at the crisp hour of two a.m. he can’t even remember the dream this time, but leo bets it was another dream foreseeing his imminent death or the end of the world. 

as he stares at the pipes and wires running along the ceiling of bunker 9, a familiar ringtone sounds from his phone. leo quickly wipes the sleep from his eyes and picks up the phone from his nightstand, “(y/n)? are you okay? it’s so late.” 

there’s a silence, followed up by quiet sniffles. were you crying? “hi leo, i’m sorry i probably woke you up didn’t i? go back to sleep, i was-” 

“no i was already awake, what’s wrong?” the moment your boyfriend noticed your shaky voice, his attitude completely changed. suddenly awake and full of energy, he tears off his blanket and reaches for his hoodie and shoes.

considering the fact that you never really call so late alarms him. you calling either meant that you had a nightmare or you were hurt…and leo prayed it was the dream. 

“i’m sorry…” you take a deep breath, “i just had a bad dream, like one of those dreams, you know?” leo knows all too well what you’re talking about, and if it’s anything close to the dreams he has, he can only imagine what you’re feeling, “but i swear i’m okay now. i’ll see you later?” 

but leo’s already out the door as you finish your explanation, “i’m coming over, stay there.” 

“wait leo-” 

he hung up. 

the trek through the forest was usually something one would avoid, especially at this hour, but leo couldn't give less of a shit as he thinks about you crying in your room. a few minutes later after practically sprinting to your cabin, he arrives. locating the window to your room was easy, he’d done this several times before for your sleepovers. leo knocks as quietly as he can on the glass, hoping he doesn’t disturb any of your other siblings. 

surprised, you pull your curtain aside and are face to face with none other than your boyfriend. he looks sweaty and out of breath. leo ran all this way? pushing your question to the side, you rush to open the window and let him in. 

for the first time, leo really gets a good look at you. your eyes are red and puffy; you look at him with such desperation and he can’t help but pull you into a rib-cracking hug. 

“you actually came.” 

“what? of course i did, (y/n),” he takes your face into his hands, rubbing soft circles on each cheek. suddenly, tears begin to flow freely down your face. was it something he said? was he not supposed to come? 

you pick up on his confusion, “i’m sorry, i’m just…glad you’re alive,” leo sits you on your bed, and continues to wipe away the tears, his concern growing with each passing second. your boyfriend urges you to go on, “it’s just the same thing every night. i’m at your grave on the hill, and i’m all alone and it’s raining and i just-” 

“(y/n), breathe,” leo pulls you into his chest once more. he holds you so impossibly tight, ensuring that you know he’s there and he doesn’t plan to ever leave. his sacrifice during the final battle against gaia will forever be amongst one of leo’s biggest regrets. not because he had saved the world, but because of how hard it impacted you. without a doubt, you could easily say that those months where leo was gone were the hardest times of your life. and not a day goes by where leo thinks he can ever forgive himself for it, “i’m here. i’m alive.” 

you nod, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups. leo moves the two of you guys to be laying down, and as final reassurance, he gently guides your hand under his hoodie, allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat. your boyfriend’s skin is warm to the touch and you count his heartbeat…one…two…three. and that was proof enough, “you’re alive.” 

“i am,” leo soothes. he places a gentle kiss atop your head and pulls the covers over your bodies. his arms wrap tightly around your figure, holding you close, “sleep, (y/n). i’ll be here in the morning.”

jason grace

it’s late nights like these that jason has slowly come to appreciate. these scarce nights where he’s completed his praetor duties for the night and he allows himself to indulge in some self-care, which usually consists of a cup of hot herbal tea and a good book. 

usually, jason prefers historical books, oftentimes concerning roman myths or the occasional diary of some war general. what can he say? he likes to be all-knowing when it comes to these things. but this time, as he’s curled up in his bed, he reaches for the book that you had recommended to him: a classic romance novel. jason laughs to himself as he recalls you teasing him about his taste in literature. if he remembers correctly, you called him a “history-loving freak?” 

just as jason’s about to open the book, an unexpected ringing sounds from his phone. he huffs, momentarily disapointed. that is, until he sees who’s calling, “(y/n)? hi, are you okay?” 

“oh, hi,” jason noticed the way your voice sounded off, like you’d been crying, “i didn’t think you’d actually answer.” 

confused, he puts the book back on his nightstand, “of course i would, my love. what’s going on? you sound like you’ve been crying.” 

“no, everything’s okay i just…” you pause, “had a bad dream, so i wanted to listen to your voicemail.”

jason’s heart squeezes at the thought of you going so far as to listen to his own ten second voicemail as a method of comfort. but the feeling goes away just as quickly as it came upon hearing you had a nightmare, “oh i’m sorry, my love. do you want me to come over?” 

“no,” you reply, “it’s okay. i’m better now that i’ve heard your voice. you can go back to bed, jason.” 

despite you declining his offer, jason’s already up and putting his shoes on, “i’ll be there in a few, okay? i love you,” and he hangs up. 

within a handful of minutes, jason reaches your cohort’s barracks. the square windows look impossibly similar, but it’s all thanks to practice that he recognizes yours. even as praetor, he still has to enforce the rules and sneak around. with a quiet knock on your window, he waits in the dark for you. 

“you’re here. you’re alive, jason,” is all you can muster up as your boyfriend stands tall inside your room. his expression is clearly written with worry as he closes the gap between you with a hug. as hard as you tried to fight it, the tears came again in a fresh wave. 

“yeah, i’m here, (y/n). i’m not leaving,” he replies, concern laced in his words. jason notices your tears and gently wipes them away, “c’mere, tell me about your dream,” he beckons, guiding you towards the bed. with a gentle plop, he settles down and opens his arms, inviting you to join him.

settling against jason’s chest, you take a shaky breath as he places kisses on your temple, “i was at your funeral, and you looked so peaceful, like you were sleeping. i just can’t stop thinking about how you looked asleep. and then they expected me to, you know, give a speech in front of the entire camp about you, and i just…i can’t imagine a world without you, so please, you can’t leave me like that.” 

“woah, woah, (y/n) i’m okay, breathe,” jason hushes you, rubbing soft circles on your arm. to be frank, he’s pretty shocked about what you had just said. he can’t get over how shaken up you are by this. but jason can’t even blame you, because if it were him who had the dream, he bets he would also be like this, “i’m here and i have no plan of ever leaving, okay? i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he jokes, hoping to get at least a smile from you. 

jason’s joke succeeds as he feels your body shake with a quiet giggle, “good. i wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

your boyfriend checks your face once more, ensuring that you’ve stopped crying. seeing that you have, he places delicate kisses on each cheek, “hey, how about we go to sleep now? i’ll read you that book,” jason motions to the book on your nightstand, which happens to be the same one you recommended him. 

you nod tiredly, “only if you do different voices for each character.” 

“of course, only for you,” jason quips. 

after adjusting your bodies, jason reaches for the book and opens it to chapter one. but before he begins, he pulls the covers completely over your body and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you so much, (y/n). and i hope you know that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[risuola]

▶ NEEDY AND SHAMELESS — Satoru was needy and couldn't deal with it himself.

contents: needy, whiny, whimpering Satoru (that's a warning!), college+roommates!au, nsfw, oral (m! receiving), reader discretion is advised — wc. 2585

a/n: dedicated to my dear 🎶 anon for creating the movement #HeadForGojo, love ya! but also, we're diving into dangerous waters with the trio and i'd like to think that the reader is closer physically with Satoru and mentally with Suguru but fear not, spicy Suguru is coming as well!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

You’re not the type to get easily surprised.

Usually.

Living with two boys and knowing them for most of your life had prepared you to expect the unexpected and it was the spontaneity that was at the base of most of your best memories. The impromptu hitchhike travels during which you’d sprawl on top of either of their lap, the tight spaces in which you slept sandwiched between them, the unplanned sleepovers and long, nighttime rides on their motorbikes.

You’ve watched the stars with them, spread-eagled on the dew-sprinkled grass outside the city, talking the nights away while getting eaten alive by mosquitos and you loved every second of it. You’ve survived few days on nothing but instant ramen just so you three could get the best time at the beach without robbing a bank. You didn’t blink twice when Satoru once dragged you into a kissing competition just so you could win a two nights’ stay in one of the most luxurious hotels in Tokyo for all three of you around valentine’s day — you won of course, and after that you partied like royalty, getting drunk with Suguru on expensive champagne (and getting Satoru drunk), and jumping on beds in hotel-branded robes.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” But this time you were flabbergasted. Blinking a little faster, you tried to force the gears in your head to turn and process what you just heard. There was no way he just asked you to—

“Can you suck my dick? Pretty please—”

—never mind. The question sounded just as unexpected as the first time, if not more. There was no reason to it, no background information, no nothing that could make it sound a little less out of place.

“Context?”

Gojo groaned. You watched his cheeks turning bright red, the tips of his ears crimson as well and his hand met his face, covering it, hiding it from your expectant gaze. He was nervous, he was embarrassed and you had no idea what the hell was going on underneath the white mop of fluffy hair, but it wasn’t hard to tell that there was smoke coming out of there. For a short moment you wondered if he’d be able to trigger the fire detectors in the building.

“God, this is so embarrassing. I can’t— fuck.” He stuttered and it was the first time in your life you herd him stumble over his own words. “I really can’t do this with my hand. I just can’t, it doesn’t feel right and I’m so fucking frustrated because I tried to get some girl from the campus to give me a head but I can’t force myself to get hard for them. I somehow go all limp and useless whenever they throw themselves at me and ironically the thought of you makes me so painfully, impossibly bricked up that I might just chop the thing off to feel some release.” He was speaking so quickly it was almost difficult to understand, looking everywhere but at you. His eyes were bouncing off the walls and furniture, windows and ceiling but not once settled on you.

“And you want me to get you off?” You questioned, making sure that you understand his rumble correctly and the moment you spoke, Satoru finally stopped fidgeting and froze. His gaze slowly made its way towards you and his breath hitched, his heart pounded in his chest, his whole body tensed up. His mouth opened and closed, and then opened again but nothing came out. It took him a good ten seconds to find his voce, and even then, it came out as barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said simply, the single word hung heavy between you. His hands were in the pockets of his sweatpants, fingers curling around something — maybe a coin, maybe his own sanity; knuckles turning white from the strain as he took another deep breath. “I know we’re friends and roommates and all sorts of things that should make this a terrible idea but, I swear to all gods out there, it’s not about me wanting you to get me off, it’s about me needing you to get me off.” He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. This was so wrong, so incredibly bad and yet, here he was, practically begging you to touch him. To taste him. To swallow him whole. “I know it’s weird and fucked up and probably a huge mistake, but I don’t know what else to do here.”

You saw the vulnerability in those cerulean orbs, the raw honesty behind his confession. The desperation in his voice almost broke your heart, he looked like he’s about to pass out from sheer exhaustion — emotional, mental, physical; every kind imaginable, and you knew him. It wasn’t one of his whims, you can see through them in a blink of an eye. He was serious, he was trembling, his eyes seemed to well with tears as he begged you.

“Does it come from the day you asked me to judge your cock?”

“Yeah, I guess so. You said I make you salivate and fuck, the vision stuck with me.”

And then, he dropped onto the bed, sitting on the edge with elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. He swallowed thickly, gulping down the lump in his throat. He hated the thought of ruining what you had as friends, it terrified him.

“Satoru—” you let out a sigh and he flinched, straightening up and looking at you again.

"I'll do anything. I can eat you out after that to pay you back. I can clean the room for a month. Fuck, I can even give you money if you need it. I'm just fucking going to combust if it goes for any longer–“ He rambled, babbled, desperate to get his point across. "I'm so impossibly hard when you're around, it hurts and every time I try to get my shit together, it's just getting worse."

“You don’t have to pay me back, Toru,” you said lightly, laughing at his nervousness. “I love you, idiot, I’m not gonna let you suffer, though I warn you that I might suck at this, no pun intended.”

“You don’t even have to use your mouth, honestly, if it’s your hand I’m sure it’s still going to be fine, as long as it’s you.”

“Oh, no, if we’re doing this, you’re getting the proper, sloppy, messy head,” you teased and he nearly moaned. The very thought of your mouth wrapping around him almost made him cum in his pants.

His cheeks heated up, all of his body felt like it’s on fire and he loved the feeling. You were straightforward; there was never any pretense or games played between you and him and he adored that about you.

“Please,” he whimpered, paralyzed by the thrill of excitement. The nerves were churning in his stomach, ecstasy coursing through him like electricity through wires. He watched as you moved, putting down the phone, there was a grace in the way you were crawling to the edge of the bed and you made a little sound when you got down onto the floor. He was quick to grab a pillow to throw below your knees, and you shot him a little grin.

It felt odd to you, to kneel in front of your best friend like this with intention so explicit but you also felt at ease with it. It wasn’t pity that drove you, you just loved him genuinely and there was no forcing involved in the way your hands moved to give his thighs a little squeeze.

You chuckled, amused by how sensitive he was, how impatient when just the slightest touch of your fingers over his clothed legs was enough to make him jolt. You could feel the heat radiating from his body and as your eyes moved down from his face, you noticed how strained his cock was against the fabric of his pants. There was a tiny dark spot where his tip was underneath, precum soaking through the grey sweats and you leaned in, flicking your tongue over the cotton, teasing him and he moaned.

“Sweets, please, have mercy. Mochi, I beg you–“ he was a whimpering mess, he was flushed, his chest was heaving and you touched him just barely, through the clothes.

“Oh, patience Toru,” you grinned, reaching up and hooking your fingers over the waistband of his pants. The elastic snapped against his stomach, making him whine and you acted innocent as if you didn’t do it on purpose.

“I’d love to be patient but keep it going and I might just bust in my pants and then die,” he dramatized; his knuckles were turning white from the sheer force he was squeezing the sheets behind him.

Finally, you pulled on the band, taking both pants and underwear at once and his manhood sprung free. The tip hit his stomach, leaving a droplet of seed on his light skin and he twitched as the cool air hit his sensitive flesh. The sight of him made you swallow, the saliva gathering at your mouth because he did look delicious and yet again you were reassured at the belief that god has his favorites.

Dragging your nails across his thighs, you reached to wrap your fingers around him, feeling his weight against your palm and the girth you struggled to embrace at once. You stroked him few times, experimentally, and it made him writhe and fidget, with the whiniest of moans. Satoru felt like he’s going to go crazy, your touch was gentle yet firm and it sent sparks shooting up his spine. He bit his lip to stifle another moan, his hips bucked into your hand involuntarily, seeking more friction. Despite his best efforts to maintain control, he couldn’t help but squirm beneath your touch.

“Be a good boy,” you warned playfully, leaning in, and savoring the moan that broke his apology when you run your tongue along the curved underside of his dick, the veins there felt prominent against the flat of your muscle. The kiss you planted on the tip of it was almost tender, gentle; the salty taste of precum mixed with your own saliva when you twirled your tongue around him.

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” he managed to gasp out between his clenched teeth, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure surged through him. He could feel the heat, the tension coiling within him and he swallowed thickly. The sensation of your mouth was unlike anything he had ever experienced before and he felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you took him in. Satoru’s whole world narrowed down to the feel of your mouth on him — so wet and warm and wonderful — enveloping his cock in a velvety embrace that had him seeing stars. Your tongue was hot and slick, gliding expertly over his throbbing length. Each lick, each suck had him writhing in pleasure and he barely managed to hold his hips down, to not thrust them deeper into the dreamy embrace between your lips.

The mixture of precum and your saliva was coating his cock, dribbling down his length and your chin. Messy. You were bobbing your head up and down his length, taking more and more of him sloppily. You were greedy, your movements like a dance to an unknown melody with the main dancers being your tongue and his member. You were twirling, tasting, teasing him mercilessly. Your cheeks were hollowing and your nose meeting the few white hairs at the base as you took him deeper and deeper and he was moaning. Shamelessly, loudly and oh so sweetly.

“Swee–mhaah–‘m gonn—” he stuttered, whined, tried to warn you but the words came out incoherent and stretched along the sounds that were ripping through him. His heart pounded in his chest, a wild rhythm that matched the rapid beat of pulse in his veins. Satoru felt his body tensing, one of his legs bouncing as tried to keep himself from shooting his load into your mouth.

Panting, heavily, shakingly, he watched you below him. You looked pretty like this, so drop dead gorgeous and straight out a fantasy that he’s been pushing to the back of his mind for the longest time now. Truth is, he wanted you, needed you much more than a friend would long for a friend, but he was too scared to act on it.

You hummed, the vibrations of your vocal cords pushing him near the edge, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his balls. His cock throbbed in your mouth, leaking precum that coated your tongue with its salty sweetness and he squealed, reaching to grab your head, your hair, to pull you away before he—

A loud, lewd mewl cut through the room and Gojo’s body went rigid as wave after wave of pure, carnal pleasure washed over him. He saw fireworks underneath his eyelids, he felt them exploding inside his veins, and he exploded too. The feel of your mouth sent him spiraling right into climax, speeding with no brakes and he was delighted. His cock twitched, pulsed with each spurt of cum and his entire body trembled with ecstasy, head tilted back, spine arched and mouth agape.

Joyful. He felt so utterly, unapologetically joyful.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, leaving him panting and spent in their wake. He looked down again, catching the sight of you lapping at his cum, licking him clean and he finally went limp, falling back onto the bed with a weak, gleeful moan.

“Fuck… that was… oh god,” he panted, his blue eyes glazed oved with delight. His chest was raising and falling rapidly, each breath coming in short gasps as he struggled to regain control of his senses but he didn’t want to. He wished to bask in the afterglow a little more, a little longer.

You finished the job with a loud pop as you took him out of your mouth and finally let go. He was softening, his body deflating, relaxing and you took it as the job well done. Once fixing his underwear and sweats, you climbed back onto the bed and dropped next to him, taking in the sight of his flushed face and disheveled hair. He looked angelic, with teary eyes and parted, swollen lips, glistening from saliva. You committed the picture to memory.

“Good?” You asked, though the answer was obvious from the way he looked.

“Heavenly,” he panted out and turned his head towards you. He watched as you reached up to the corner of your lips, thumb wiping off the lone drop of cum that lingered there and he grabbed you gently, pulling it to his own mouth. You chuckled when he sucked on your digit, his warm tongue circling it precisely as his mouth enveloped it whole.

“Nasty,” you teased and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Look who’s talking,” he played back, his words muffled over your finger before he finally let go of your hand. A string of saliva stretched from the tip of it and to his mouth but he licked it off like a kitten. “Thank you, mochi.”

“You’re welcome,” you offered him a smile and got off the bed, heading towards the bathroom. “You’re cleaning for a month by the way!”

He whined and you laughed.

taglist: @kibananya @r0ckst4rjk @rixo-19 @soraya-daydreams@hyun0200 @ilykii @roscpctals99 @mushkasstuff @siimp4youu @juicedcherry @themoreeviltwin @stevenknightmarc @ms5m1th @local-mr-frog @minimorale @lansy-4 @dancer545 @lordbugs @tojislittleprincesss

[metranart]

"She's the fuckin' blood running through my veins, the air filling my lungs-" Hawks admitted unashamedly, giving one last long lick to Dabi's twitching cock before standing on his feet, proudly. "She's irreplaceable to me and I came here to fuck HER…. Not the other way around…."

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Heavy! Dabi x Hawks, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader, sexual content

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 15)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

Yesterday's incident

A few days after the Nomu attack, everyone began to prepare for the sport’s festival, and between that, the classes and training, you felt more exhausted every day. Physically and mentally exhausted, so vulnerable and confused, unable to swallow the bitter pill of what had happened, it was a mix of emotions too complicated to deal with.

And the boy with the crimson stare who was constantly watching you without your knowledge, noticed it too.

"(Y/N), you didn't even try to dodge my last attack," Bakugo's body plopped down next to yours, unconcerned with how close he was, a viciously rough push bumping your shoulder to get your scarce attention. "Earth to (Y/N)."

You grinned tiredly, and returned the push as hard as you could, not even moving him.

"Is that the best you can do?" Bakugo teased with a growl, "I thought you called yourself a hero." He was as friendly as he could be, even so, witnessed your features darken.

The champagne-haired man clenched his jaw, dammit! His body tensed next to yours and a trace of guilt forced your mouth to open, but you were silenced from whatever you were going to say by Bakugo's soft fingers suddenly pressing against your lips.

"Let me start," he asked, and you waited, his thumb caressing your bottom lip with a tenderness almost alien for someone like him and a long sigh, followed. "I know what it feels like to feel vulnerable and incompetent-"

"Jeez, thanks man-"

"Zip it, I’m not done," his fingers squeezed your lobe as he usually did when he wanted to be serious with you, you had a secret language since pups, so, immediately fell silent. "What I mean is, I've been attacked and unable to defend myself twice already," your breath caught in your lungs, it was true. The first time he was saved by All Might and the second time by you and your classmates, "...I know how you feel after the Nomu's attack," his hand slid like a snake that coiled between your fingers, making your heart rant pleasantly, not scared and confused like some other Hero did, "...I know how you feel, that powerlessness that makes you rage inside and leaves you exhausted," every word was hitting home, only it wasn't the Nomu you resented, "you have to let it out somehow, shortie...” you loved his nickname for you, a simple mock of how massive he was compare to you, “or you're going to go crazy," he smirked gloomy, "trust me, I know. It's a nasty thing."

"What does ‘King Explosion Murder’ suggest to letting it out?" Your attempt to tease him worked.

Bakugo chuckled low before set to think, for a moment, "I train non-stop, but I know your quirk isn't the fighting type-"

"For me, training non-stop would be making out with every living boy I can get my hands on," you shared bitterly amused, your brow furrowing at your few options.

"Or-" his fingers played around yours and something in the air thickened, "…... just kiss me."

You couldn't hide the growing blush on your cheeks quickly enough, one very similar to what your best friend sported. Bakugo cleared his throat. "We've been intimate before, we've kissed,"

"Only when drunk-"

Bakugo shrugged. "You gave me head once after training." He reminded you without the slightest care at been surrounded by your classmates. 

"Keep it down, Kat. That was more than three months ago-"

"-I returned the favor almost immediately." He licked his lips, knowing you were watching, and you looked away so fast, your neck cracked.

"Bakugo, cut it out, someone is going to hear." You muttered low.

The explosion boy just shrugged again, uncaringly, highly amused by all the range of emotions he could muster out of you by mere teasing. He just hated when you were gloomy.

"Let them know that I ate you-"

Your hand slapped at his mouth to silence him. "You have no filter, silly boy." You scolded him goodheartedly and felt him smile under your palm. His tongue coming out to lick you, just for the fun of the fireworks he knew he’d unleash inside you. Your skin bristled and you released him as if his wet tongue, burned you.

"If you want, we can," he offered again, watching closely how you cleaned your palm on your uniform sweatpants. Cheeks showing that he was embarrassed but his eyes showing the contrary, shining with implacable determination. "Just say the word, and I'll be your boy toy."

It was your time to giggle, openly laughing at the term; it was the last term you would expect to come out of his brash mouth.

You stayed silent, and for the first time since he started talking, he felt nervous. Were you going to reject him? Would he be able to handle it? ...was there anyone else? Bakugo refused to find out.

"It's for training purposes, (Y/N)," he added, sensing your refusal, pushing for his secret agenda. He just needed time alone with you, not as friends, so that you could see him in another more favorable and less innocent light, "Don’t duel too much about the implications, you have to improve your Quirk control. Who better than me as a test subject?"

Your lips pursed.

"I'm discreet," you raised an accusing eyebrow, "when I want to be."

"We've known each other for a long time," he continued to push as discreetly as his desperation to have you would allow, "not to mention that I have excellent tongue play, you are fervent proof of that." He showed off, sticking out his long, fat tongue and moving it up and down, imitating his latest exploits on your more intimate parts.

You buried your elbow in his ribs this time, hard and he chuckled. 

"I know, what you fear but it won’t happen,” sometimes you forget that he could read your mind, “our friendship is indomitable," he stated suddenly, proud of his fancy use of pompous vocabulary.

“Indomitable, huh?... Pride and Prejudice?” Bakugo sneered a snicker. You, being the only other creature alive who knew his embarrassing and well-hidden, weakness, for period novels. 

“Wuthering Heights. You, illiterate monkey.” Your giggle tasted wonderful to him and seeing his opening, took advantage of the fact that Deku had just broken a training machine, and everyone was distracted by it. 

"Let’s give it a try."

“And, if doesn’t work?”

Without warning, Bakugo yanked you by the collar of your uniform, dragging your whole body to his without even breaking a sweat, to whisper against your lips. “Then, we give it another try.”

His minty lips smashed yours, and your breath caught in your breast while being crushed against the strong pecs of your best friend, his massive frame devouring your petite one. His hand with a mind of its own circled your lower back, sliding around your waist to end up sitting you on his lap, where his two hands gave itself the task of manipulate your head at will, bending you a little to submerge his tongue better, now a little to the other side to suck and nibble at your lips, he wanted to hear you moan, he wanted you to do it for him... he wanted-

A crack was heard, viciously loud as a gym window exploded like a grenade.

Bakugo abandoned the sweet and addictive taste of your lips to cover you with his body and protect you from the rain of sharp glass. Good luck to everyone, it was just the impact of the noise since the rain of shrapnel didn't hurt anyone. Not even you, who were the closest.

"Are you guys, okay?" Deku appeared next to you in seconds, searching with his eyes for injuries.

"We're fine, nerd." Bakugo replied, gruffly. Damn timing! when everything was going so well. Izuku offered you his hand to pull you up and Bakugo could only growl at how frustrated he felt, he was seeing red.

"What the hell was that?!"

The kind green-haired boy shook off the remains of glass he could find off of you, and you quickly found yourselves surrounded by all of your worried classmates.

Professor Aizawa immediately sent everyone to the classroom…. and Hawks couldn’t feel more pleased.

The ever-watching, winged Hero’s aim as perfect as ever. He even managed to break the shield of the UA Academy from the outside, which was a huge red alert but for now, it served a purpose. The blonde’s lips pull into a nasty snarl, if anyone saw him at that moment, they would swear that he was a villain and not the number two hero of the country.

He had felt sorely tempted to barge in and pummel down that Bakugo with his own fists until he was nothing more than a disgusting, bloody pulp of meddling asshole.... but he had promised you a month, and a month he would give you.

“Enjoy your month, baby bird.” He phrased in repressed wrath. “Things are going to change big time, after.” 

-

Dabi couldn't stop laughing and cackling at Hawks, and how offended he looked as he almost ripped off his own Hero costume, his mouth ranting about some boy - apparently a friend of yours - who had the audacity to kiss you... Dabi loved the hypocrisy that his oldest acquaintance could show so carelessly. Hadn't he, himself raped you not less than a week ago without the slightest cordiality or permission? He still treasured that naughty set of photos. This bird was undoubtedly a born narcissist and a real, drama queen.

“Calm the fuck down, birdie.” Dabi suggested, airily, lazily passing his shirt over his head, “What did you expect? The girl hates you-”

“Nah-ha!” Hawks complained, shaking his head brazenly, his hand yanking sharply on the arsonist's belt to get him naked quicker, desperation clear in every pull. “My mate doesn’t hate me,” he stated in pent-up frustration, “…she’s just young—”

“—Too young if you ask me.”

Dabi let himself be bossed around, his belt slipping like a whip from his pants, his boxers pooled around his ankles next, the blonde already on his knees in front of him.

“I didn’t.” Keigo replied, tasting the shin of sweet from Dabi’s hardened cock. Wet tongue licking a fat stripe from his balls, up through the glorious shaft to then envelop the mushroom head in between his lips, kissing and lightly nipping the sensitive tip with noisy, lewd sounds.

“Fuck-birdie!” Dabi growled low in his throat, jauntily. The smallest of smirks twisting his scarred lips, his hands burying in the golden locks of his occasional lover, “Ho—fuck, like that.”

Takami Keigo smirked against the swollen piece of pierced, palpitating meat on his lips, eyes shut tight while he repeated the motion over and over again, teasing and enticing his receptor to the point of almost a sexual assault.

“Sit on it.” came that dark, gritted baritone through ragged breaths, losing all sense of composure and frankly loving it, shoving Hawks handsome face against his pubic hair forcing him to swallow him whole in one gulp. 

Keigo didn't even resist, the tip of Dabi's cock bottoming down to the back of his tight throat as if it were putting on a glove.

No gag reflex, no struggling from the doting Hero who didn't even get teary-eyed, he was a true professional. After doing it more than he liked to admit, his throat, no doubt, had already been well trained to withstand the brutal thrusts of his oldest, inclement friend. 

"Sit on it?" Hawks repeated amused, releasing his lips from the shaft with a smear of saliva and a wet pop.

His smut features got Dabi smirking just a little, his pierced tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. The fire-bender cocked his head down, playfully.

“Worried you loved it so much that you'll forget about your mate?”

Keigo snorted loud, this time chuckling, blatantly. “You? replacing my mate?" he snickered darkly, "Nah—”

Dabi's thin eyebrows raised, quizzically.

"She's the fuckin' blood running through my veins, the air filling my lungs-" The birdman admitted unashamedly, giving one last long lick to Dabi's twitching cock before standing on his feet, proudly. "She's irreplaceable to me and I came here to fuck HER…. Not the other way around…."

The blond motioned his finger in circles, indicating Dabi to turn around and take it like a good, little cumdump. Just a warm replacement for the Pro Hero to play make-believe while that long month passes, and he is welcomed into your warm embrace again. 

Dabi found himself pleasantly surprised by this Hawks, had been a while since someone put him in his place. This promised to be fun.

"Why don't you make me, Number Two Hero of the Country?" The black-haired teased, and Hawks turned methodical.

Roughly yanking the Todoroki who, even putting up some playful resistance, ended up face first against the mattress, his bare butt being lifted into the air by merciless hands, spread like a whore for his tight ring of flesh to be presented and soon eaten by the nation's Golden Boy before being destroyed by his monstrous cock.

"You are going to shut the fuck up," Hawks ordered between twirls of his tongue, "and you are going to let me blow my load inside you," his voice sounded beyond aroused, a breathless snarl. "I don't want to see your fuckin' face while I imagine that you are HER, got it?"

COMING SOON PART 16....

➡️ NSFW Artwork of this story

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87 @geniejunn @justanerd1 @bakugosgirl01 @toxicxmindsposts @kezybear

[andhumanslovedstories]

Writing prompt: death wants to retire

Thanks for the prompt! This sentence is a link to a video where you can watch me write it in real time!

I thought it'd be fun to record myself writing. Partially to keep myself focused, partially because I watch a lot of people play video games for background sound and I was like, "I can do that but nerdier," and partially because I thought other people might like writing along. We can all do one big asynchronous writing sprint together. It's available for free over on the Cracked Spines patreon, which seemed like the least intimidating way to post a 45 min video of me, alone, doing a creative work. It's like a lofi ASMR video. I talk very softly. I cannot stress how asleep everyone else in the house was while I did this.

I wrote the story below in about fifty mins. I wrote most of it by hand in thirty minutes. That's the video. Then I typed up what I wrote here, did some minor edits, and then actually tried to reach any conclusion. The ** below marks where the writing originally ended. I tried to stay true to the idea of free-writing by hand, so I just put down words and powered ahead.

First there was nothing. Then there was something. Then there was Brittany. In the name of efficiency, I am skipping over a few eons between my creation and Brittany's.

She wasn't a bad person. People who believe certain people should die young wouldn't have said she deserved such a fate. No one deserves anything. I am not a matter of morality. A quick survey of any tragedy will tell you such, and there has never been any shortage of tragedy to study.

She died in her bathroom. A lot of people die in the bathroom. That sounds undignified to those who care about such things, but I personally find the concept of dying at all anywhere from anything mortifying. It has never seemed to make much a difference what room of your house sees your end. Still, we must cater (or at least, I occasionally chose to cater) to the tender sensitivities of mortals. Especially those who have just learned how mortal they are.

"Can I please just pull up my pants?" what remained of Brittany asked me. The container than had once enclosed her was slumped face-down on the tile floor. The position looked like it would feel uncomfortable if the body had the capacity to feel.

"No," I said.

"Please?"

"It's not a matter of permission. I have no power to affect the physical world. Neither do you."

Brittany bent down and passed her hand through her corpse a few times. Humans never just believe you. "What if my unfinished business leads me to become a ghost? Do I get ghost powers? Can ghost powers do anything here?"

"There is not such thing as ghosts."

For the first time since I informed her that she was dead, Brittany looked surprised. "Then what am I right now?"

"A soul."

"How is that different from a ghost?"

"The idea of a ghost is that after a person has left their body, something of them remains behind."

"Which I am, right now," she said.

"You're not. I am getting you. After this, I will take you. There can never be such a thing as a ghost because I do my job."

"Every time?" she asked.

"Always."

"What about everyone else who died at the same time I did?"

"I am talking with them as well." I paused. "Most of them have already moved on."

"Sorry that my death is slowing you down." She did not sound sorry. Humans say things like that sometimes.

"It is not. Nothing slows me. Nothing stops me. This moment between us will never be longer than a moment."

Through force of habit, Brittany tried to check her phone. Because the habit was so deeply ingrained, she succeeded. Now separate from the imposed frame of the physical world, everything she was and had right now was whatever her mind could conceive it to be. "When did I die?" she asked, looking at the clock.

"You didn't at the precise moment that we are talking. You will never get another moment."

She kept looking down at her phone, though she didn't seem to see it. "I guess that's okay," she said at last. "Who wants to see their roommate find their dead body? God, do you think she'll even be sad?"

Insomuch as I can, my form being what it is, I shrugged. I did not have experience with aftermath. By definition, by the time it arrives, I am gone. "Come," I said.

"Hmm," she replied. "What if--hear me out--what if--"

"There is nothing you can do to rearrange your corpse."

"That's not what I'm asking."

I knew that. She was making her boring request. I received it more often than a human mind can conceive, and each time the person requesting it thought they might be the exception.

"No," I said.

"C'mon."

"Compelling argument."

"I'm not saying forever!" Brittany protested. "Just--not right now. A little more time."

"You may remain in this moment for as long as you see fit," I said. "Then, you will go."

"Do you stay with me the whole time?"

"Yes."

Brittany made an expression that a less detached manifestation of the universe might have found insulting. "So I can spend forever in this exact unchanging moment in time, stuck in the bathroom where I died on the toilet, with the Angel of Death who keeps tapping their foot and checking their watch."

Reader, I possess neither feet for a watch. This is one of the many ways in which Brittany Park misrepresented the situation.

"You are dead," I reminded her.

"But I don't want to be!" She threw up her hands. They were already less hand-shaped than they'd been when we'd first started talking. She was forgetting the shape she used to inhabit. It would not be long now.

"Please," she asked.

**There is no construct in all of creation that has been pleaded to more than I. Once--when I was just formed and new to the concept of myself, when the something that came out of the nothing had just realized that everything eventually ended--begging affected me more. You cannot let such appeals hold sway. As I told Brittany, this was not a matter of permission. She was asking gravity to not pull her down to earth. If gravity felt guilt, what use did that serve anyone?

"No one escapes death but Death," I told her.

She brightened up suddenly. "Okay! Then how do I become Death?"

No time passed in the forever moment we inhabited. If time had passed, you could have said there was an inordinately long pause that followed this statement.

"I am Death," I reminded her.

"Sure," Brittany said flippantly. "But like, forever?"

She completed the dying process shortly after this conversation. It was inevitable. Liquid water does not hold its shape when the vessel that contained it breaks. When she forgot herself entirely, when she could no longer conceive of the division between that which was her and that which was everything else, I swept her gently into my coin purse. Across the world, across the universe, across a vast endlessness that ate even now at the nothingness from which everything had emerged, I performed the same function for uncountable organisms on every scale of existence. I reaped a microbe. I reaped a star. I reaped Brittany. And the work continued, unchanged, as it had been unchanged since the beginning, as I had been unchanged since the distant agony of my first death, when I decided what I did could never again be allowed to hurt so deeply.

And yet I keep hearing the question: forever? She had said it the same way she had said, "C'mon." An appeal to my reason. Asking me to admit what we both knew was obvious, what we both knew was ridiculous. Forever? I am what I am forever?

The answer is in the affirmative. Anything else would be impossible. Humans enjoy pondering the counterfactual. I have never seen any reason to concern myself with more than what is. I will forget the words in time, as I have undoubtedly forgotten others like it. If the thought seems to linger, then there has simply not been enough time. I can wait. I have forever.

[wenclairfamily]

"WEDNESDAY ADDAMS: ALL ALONE": Brand New Wenclair Themed Story

A grown up Wednesday Addams has always secretly wished to get away from everyone she knows. But when Wednesday is kidnapped and left in a room completely alone for hours, her mind keeps trailing back to just one special person.

Art by @emeriart (used with permission)

Links to the Full Story: Wattpad, Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net

-Or just click keep reading to see the full story immediately!

Wednesday Addams and Enid Sinclair. They were a duo that shouldn't have worked... but they did... and somehow their relationship resulted in marriage and two twin children - Harmony and Ana: two incredibly resourceful and talented teenage girls. Harmony, who carries both of her mother's special abilities, continues to grow and explore the world alongside the love of her life: Megan. Ana meanwhile is a very "different" type of girl without special powers, who is still trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life, while going on adventures with her ghostly boyfriend: Gerard. However, despite how seemingly bright Wednesday's life has become now, there are still forces that exist that intend to destroy her...

"Wednesday Addams: All Alone"

Written by: "Fun But Shy Girl"

As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw nothing. Just the empty blackness. I tried to piece together my last memory before I lost consciousness. I remember traveling home from that infernal teachers conference that the Nevermore Academy board claimed I had to attend; for somehow they truly believed that I, Wednesday Addams, needed to be taught something from mere bureaucrats that believe children need assistance in their emotional awareness; when clearly they need more classes pertaining to combating the evils of this world... something I must unfortunately admit I may have needed more of. I never saw the persons or persons that sneaked up behind me and knocked me out while I was stopping to get gasoline for my vehicle. Either I was still exhausted from my recent experience at the werewolf martial arts tournament, or unfortunately I have to concede that my reflexes have begun to diminish with age. Either way, somehow I was captured.

As I tried to first explore my surroundings, I found myself unable to see anything. For a moment I thought I was blind. My initial reaction was relief, due to thinking that I would never have to be subjected to the appearance of bright colors again... but then thought of how I would indeed miss the sight of blood, various shades of grey, and the look of anguish on any potential future victims I would torture. However, I quickly realized I wasn't blind. I had a thick bag placed over my head. As I began to take in my surroundings from my other senses, I realized I was tied to a metal pole. To be more specific, it was an old metal pole, as I could feel the bits of metal paint partially peeled off the metal. Although, it wouldn't seem I was tied to the metal pole. Rather, I was attached to it via many layers duct tape around my arms and wrists. I then realized I could also feel duct tape keeping my feet and lower legs bound as well, in addition to one thick strip over my mouth. I could tell it was duct tape, not just by how adhesive it felt, but by the lack of air reaching my skin. The knowledge that my skin was getting paler by the minute was a pleasant thought... however, I doubted my captors were attempting to improve my physical appearance.

The duct tape around my wrists and feet were very tight. It was becoming near impossible to feel any circulation. Movement was near impossible. I could shake my body slightly, and tap my feet, but beyond that I was being held in place. I tapped my foot for a moment to see what kind of echo I heard. The echo my ears picked up indicated I was in a very large room. It would seem my captors didn't want to hide me in a small room, or something more pleasant like a grave. But why a large room? Immensely large rooms are typically reserved for theater, public events, spectacle... and that's what this has to be. My captors didn't want my capture and seeming defeat to be a quick hit and run. If they wanted that, they would have killed me immediately. They wanted my capture and whatever came next to be a grand event. Even if there was no audience present, they wanted this all to happen on something that felt like a stage.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of an old clock ring. It's echoes were unexpectedly louder than I expected. Was I in an old clock tower? No. The sounds didn't come from all directions. The sound came from one direction. To my right. Also, the clock didn't sound ancient. It's noise was too controlled, too manufactured. It was a sound effect... coming from a speaker. Then from that very same speaker, I heard a distorted voice say, "Welcome to the end Wednesday Addams."

That distorted voice. I heard it before in the hidden laboratory I found in that cave near Nevermore Academy some time ago. The people that worked in that lab were tied to someone or some group of people who wanted me dead. The last time they attempted to do so though was through more complicated means. It looks like this time they finally went for the direct approach. I'll be sure to compliment them on this as I remove all their non-vital organs while they are strapped to my dining room table.

The distorted voice in the nearby speaker meanwhile said, "You may be wondering where you are, and who I am. You are quite the little detective, so I know you enjoy getting answers to all your questions. Well, unlike most cliché masterminds, I'm not going to give you a long monologue that exposes all of my plan. I think it be more fun to watch you die completely confused and helpless. What I will tell you is that you are in an abandoned warehouse far away from civilization. The building hasn't been used in decades, nor has the road. You are far away from the route you were on that would've taken you back to Nevermore. In short: no one knows where you are, you are far from any human beings, and you are completely and utterly alone. Now you may believe your loved ones may eventually find you... and they may... after this warehouse comes crashing down in a fiery inferno, thanks to the explosives I planted. You see, I wanted your loved ones to eventually find you. I want the news media to cover the day that outcast legend: Wednesday Addams's body was discovered."

I was right on one hand. My captors did want this to be a spectacle. However, I began to wonder again why my life hadn't been already terminated. Then as if on cue, I heard the distorted voice say, "Oh, and if you believe the police will eventually discover who I am through some type of an investigation after your demise, it will be some time before you are killed. You see I am in the midst of traveling very far away from your location right now. So when the explosives near you go off in eight hours, I'll have the perfect alibi; as I'll have witnesses that will be able to claim with perfect honesty that I was nowhere near the location of your death as it occurred. In fact, considering your famous desire to talk to no one, and your long drive you were going to have to take back to Nevermore Academy, no one will even know you're gone yet. It'll be of extreme difficulty for any investigators to know when you were kidnapped in the first place. So enjoy the final eight hours of your life Wednesday Addams; knowing that in your final day on Earth, you were completely weak and helpless."

The distorted voice finally ended their long monologue... which I might point out: they claimed wasn't going to be long when they began it. Clearly, my captor is a figure that is nothing more than an extremist bully who wishes to get away with defeating others, all in an attempt to boost their extremely fragile ego. It's a personality type I'm all too familiar with. Creating something productive and lasting for the world takes too much time for the impatient and simple minded individuals of today's world. Thus, far too many take the short cut to just destroy the works and lives of others, all in an attempt to make themselves feel more powerful in comparison. However... right now... power is unfortunately what I lack.

I immediately made attempts to rub my body against the metal pole I was attached to, tried to see if my fingers could find a way to free themselves... but there was nothing I could do. There was no way to make the appropriate amount of friction to tear apart the duct tape, no method that could be found to free myself. There was nothing I could do. I was all alone. There were no more sounds for me to hear due to the isolation I had been thrust into, no sights to see due to the very thick bag tied tightly around my head. I was completely and utterly alone.

I began to think about how my captors in some ways: put me in a scenario I've always wanted to be in. Complete and utter isolation. If they had just let my see and move my hands, and then given me my type writer: this would be the paradise that I've always desired. However... I've found myself over the years now doing some of my best writing when I'm back in my room at Nevermore Academy; the room that Enid and I have shared since we were fifteen years old. Logically, I should be a more efficient writer when working alone. However the glowing colors of Enid's side of the room began to somehow make my writing style more vivid, Enid's humming to her infernal noise she calls music began to add more nuance to my characters, and Enid's constantly interrupting me with her pestering comments and questions about my day eventually resulted in the dialogue of all my characters to contain more complexity. For so long now, I've wanted to experience this: just complete and total quiet, free of distractions and free of having my senses over stimulated... and yet all I want now is to be in that brightly colored loud room again with my wife.

With nothing for my senses to interact with, I had to do something to keep my mind sharp. I needed something to keep my brain thinking. I needed Enid, I needed to be in that room we shared... and so that's what I did. I used my imagination to put myself back there. I'm laying on the floor beside Enid now. We are both teenagers again. I want it to be this way, because this was the time when her essence was new to me. It was unfamiliar, it was confusing, it was distracting... and yet it was so alluring.

Enid is rambling on about topics I have no interest in. She wants to inform me about events at some social gathering I wish to avoid like the plague, or one of her infernal television programs she binges, or about whatever social media posts are trending online that will clearly be completely forgotten from all of human society in less than a week. I tell her how all her interests and behaviors frustrate me... and yet I cannot leave her. How can somehow so extremely different than myself seem so attractive? Then I realize... it's because Enid never tried to change who I was. Others would mock me, attack me, and ostracize me for being the clearly superior individual in the room. However, Enid's desire to pressure me to enjoy her hobbies and interests with her wasn't her way to seemingly change me. Rather, it was due to the fact that it was the only way she knew how to build a relationship with me.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of a clock making a ringing noise. No, not a clock. The sound effect of a clock on the nearby speaker. Clearly, my captors wanted me to know when each of my final hours passed with the appropriate sound effect. I once again tried to rub the duct tape attached to my wrists against the old metal pole I was stuck to... but no effect. There is nothing I can do. For the first time in my life, there is absolutely not a single action I can take.

All I can do now is return my mind to that room. As I laid on the floor beside Enid, I felt the warmth and affection of her presence. Her rainbow colored carpet, those disturbing stuffed animals, the smell of Enid's favorite perfume... once upon a time these were things I despised about that room... but now, they are things my senses miss experiencing to degrees I cannot even admit to myself. As I laid beside Enid, the most important person in my life turned to look at me as she said, "So how are you going to get out of this predicament you landed in Wednesday?"

I simply looked up as I said, "There is nothing I can do Enid. My feet and arms are bound, and most of the circulation to those parts of my body is blocked. I also have my vision obstructed, with a bag tied around my head. Despite the bag not being air tight, there is still very little air surrounding my face. Even though I'm certain I'll still live for the next seven hours, I am clearly already suffering from oxygen deprivation." My loving blonde werewolf made a happy smile as she said, "Well, don't give up Wednesday. Someone may save you. You have to hope for something good to happen!"

I quickly sat up as I looked at Enid with anger in my eyes as I said, "HOPE!? Hope doesn't accomplish anything Enid! Hope is for weak minded individuals who have decided to let others dictate all matters in the remainder of their lives. Assuming things will simply work out for you, puts most human beings in a state of complacency to do nothing to improve the trajectory of their lives. The only thing that is guaranteed to make a positive impact to one's future is building ones' skills, experience, determination, and ability to think creatively in spite of their set-backs. Why in the name of sanity Enid, do you say things that just completely differ from my world view!? How in God's name did we ever work as a couple!?"

Enid however sat up, and just looked at me with those loving eyes... those loving affectionate eyes that have controlled my heart to consistently disobey my brain... and then my wife simply said, "Wednesday... we work because our differences bring out the best in each other. Every time I pressure you to be like me, it pushes you to assert what's different about yourself... which is exactly what made me begin to become attracted to you... and it's also what I'm trying to do right now. So tell me... if Wednesday Addams isn't going to hope for things to get better, what's she going to do? Come on. You secretly have too much ego to allow yourself to appear defeated in front of me. Find a way to succeed. Look for something you hadn't found before! Show me how your way of doing things is the best way!"

I take a deep breath and put myself back where I really am. My wrists are wrapped tightly in duct tape, but my fingers are still free. I move my hands around the dusty hard floor behind me. I look for something, anything I can use. Then my finger feels something. A small screw. A small screw laying on the ground. I use my fingers to grab it. I begin to use it to rub against the duct tape. Nothing happens at first, but I continue to rub the screw against the duct tape. I suddenly hear the sound of a clock ringing on the nearby speaker. Did a whole hour pass while I was talking to Enid in my mind? No matter. I continue to rub the screw against the duct tape. Soon, I finally feel progress. A small piece of the duct tape has been ripped through... only it's the first layer of the duct tape; the first layer of what has to be ten. The rip is also no more than what has to be ten millimeters long. However, it's progress. It's something.

As I continued to rub the screw against the duct tape, I try to place my mind elsewhere. I need something else to have the rest of my senses dwell on while my three fingers continue to attempt to free myself. I put myself back in that room with Enid. We are standing before one another. She looks at me with the type of unconditional affection typically reserved for puppies. Meanwhile I cannot help but look at her with reluctant respect and acceptance that I now wish I showed her far more than I have in the past.

Enid looks at me as she simply asks, "Do you think you'll survive this?" I look back at her as I simply say, "I have cheated death more times I can count now. However, the odds of probability would seem to state that all my near death experiences would eventually lead to my demise at some point." As Enid's expression remained unchanged, she asked, "What about our daughters? Don't you want to keep living for them?"

My immediate thoughts come out of my mouth as I say, "Harmony and Ana are strong. They'd have to be, considering they grew up enduring all those horrific Disney princess movies you exposed them to at a young age. However, they are well trained in their combat skills, and already have the ability to provide for themselves adequately... with the exception to Ana at times. But if she's motivated enough, she'll be able to provide for herself at some point. Also, it is natural for children to move on from their parents. It is the natural order of things. If I died, it would only speed up the natural development of my daughters asserting their full independence."

However, Enid continued to look at me, her face unchanged as she said, "Yes, but don't you want to keep living to see what happens next to them? Don't you want to see Harmony somehow finally introduce you to your first grandchild? Don't you want to see how Ana and her boyfriend are gonna make their unusual relationship work for the next twenty years? Also... don't you want to keep living alongside me? Do you really want me to grow old without you? Think about how living day after day without you by my side would break me."

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a clock being played on the nearby speaker. Yet another hour has passed. I continue to push the screw with my three fingers against the duct tape. I can feel it starting to break more. As I do, I put myself back in that room with Enid. I look at her as I say, "Enid, basing your entire emotional state around the existence and well being of one person is weakness. You must base your character off the strength that comes within; not the person that stands beside you."

However as Enid continued look at me with those powerful attractive eyes of hers, she said, "Wednesday, I don't rely on you because I'm weak. You give me reason to be strong. I'm strong because deep down, I know you need someone strong to support you... just as you believe I need someone strong to support me. That's one of the major reasons we work... because deep down, we make ourselves stronger to help the other be stronger. Now be strong Wednesday. Be strong for yourself so you can be strong for me."

Suddenly, I found my fingers moving faster. The screw moves against the duct tape at what feels like lightning speed now. The duct tape begins to rip more. A small tear in all ten layers is starting to grow. I hear the sound of the clock again. God, do my thoughts of Enid really absorb more time than I realize? I try to rub the screw against the duct tape again, but then suddenly... I drop it. I hear the sound of the screw hitting the floor and rolling away. Desperately I try to move my fingers against the floor... but I cannot feel the screw. My one single tool of salvation... now gone.

I put myself back in my room, looking at my wife as I say, "Your motivational speech failed Enid. I lost the one tool that could save me. Now what do I do?" Enid continued to stare me down with those loving puppy dog eyes of hers as she said, "First, don't give up so fast Wednesday. Imagine what the real me is doing right now. Remember, whoever kidnapped you assumes that you're a creepy outcast with no loved ones. They don't realize that I call you every four hours we're apart. Now they obviously didn't knock you out and take you to a remote location in an instant. That alone probably took hours. So by the time mister mysterious evil guy did his long bad guy speech, I was already beginning my search for you. Also, you can probably guess that I got our girls involved too."

I reluctantly admit, "Your exasperating need to worry more than I do can be a nuisance at times... but it does raise the odds in me being found. However, only by a small margin. If I am in an abandoned building of some sort, the chances of me being found before it explodes are still extremely small." Enid however took a step closer to me as she said, "But think about it Wednesday. I'm the kind of wife that would look high and low and go to the ends of the Earth to find you if you went missing. I would give my life to save yours. So please... fight for your life, to save my heart."

I go back to the reality of where I'm sitting. I think on everything Enid has done for me before, and also think of everything she would likely do for me in the days yet to come. I think of the real Enid out there, right now, in the dark forest, running past every tree in her attempt to find me. As I think about her face, I cannot let the reaction on it when it finally finds my body be something that brings her great pain. As I hear the sound of a clock ringing again, I decide to begin flexing my wrists. They are extremely weak due to the severe lack of circulation. However, I continue to flex them. I try to stretch them. Then I try rubbing the opening of the tape against the metal pole I'm attached to. I can hear the faintest sound of a tear. It's the sound of progress.

I know another hour has passed as I hear the sound of the clock ring again. I try to rub the duct tape against the metal pole even harder and faster. I try to shake my entire body to help with the process... only to feel the side of my head hit the metal pole. I feel some blood run down the left side of my head. It is painful, but it is just a flesh wound. I can recover. I try to move my hands and wrists with more precise and controlled movements. I am finally creating a friction now that is slowly breaking the duct tape. However I know I am not making enough progress when I hear the sound of a clock ring again. I've counted the rings as I've heard them. I was told I had eight hours to live. The clock has rung seven times since the announcement of my seemingly impending doom. I only have one hour left to escape. Perhaps only one hour left to live.

I am logical and realistic when it comes to expectations. It's what has kept my mind from falling into a deep pit of despair all these years. If I was barely able to make nothing more than a partial tear on the duct tape over the course of seven hours, how much additional progress am I to still make in these last sixty minutes? I try to put myself back in my room, try to have the Enid of my mind say something to give me further reason to try harder... but I can't. The Enid I invented in my mind is gone now. Even my delusions of her cannot help me anymore.

However, I cannot stop thinking of her. I have more memories of Enid than I can count now, but for whatever reason: I think back to that first semester we both shared that special room together. I remember the night she was dressed up, ready to go meet Ajax for their first date. At the time, I tried to act like I was more interested in my writing... but deep down, I didn't want Enid to leave. Suddenly I find myself changing my memory, as I stand up and look at Enid. As Enid looks back at me with those perfect pleasing eyes of her, I say, "Enid... don't go meet Ajax. Can you... stay here with me tonight? I wish to see you show me your favorite mind numbing social media videos until my eyes bleed, I wish to hear you ramble on and on about the excruciating boring details that our peers at this institution partake in, and I wish to have your nauseating positive attitude stay in my presence for as long as possible... because there is nothing else in reality that I would endure that form of torture for, except for the unconditional love, dedication, and strength that you give me Enid Sinclair."

Enid looks at me with that wonderful smile of hers... the only smile to ever pull at the strings of my heart. It is then that I realize that I have to see her again. I have to see that smile of hers again... and I have to live in order for that smile on her face to never die. So I continued to rub the duct tape attached to my wrists against the metal pole harder than ever. However, this time as I do: I continue to look at Enid. I continue to look at that amazing inspirational smile of hers; that smile I once tried to convince myself I detested... but now I realize was the smile that made my life far superior than what it had been.

Soon I hear and feel more of the duct tape breaking. I flex my wrists as hard as I can. I haven't eaten in perhaps half a day now, my body hasn't gotten enough oxygen, and not enough circulation is reaching my arms still. But I keep flexing my wrists. I pull, and I pull, and then... the duct tape breaks. My hands are now free. I immediately pull the bag off my head. I now see the dark room I've been in for the last eight hours, but I have no time to take in any details. I rip the duct tape off my hands and arms as fast as possible. It is extremely painful, and some skin is torn off part of my left hand, resulting in blood being revealed. I can also now clearly feel some blood on the left side of my head, from when I banged it earlier. But there is no time to think of anything else.

I use my hands to rip the duct tape holding my feet and lower legs together. It doesn't rip in an instant, but I still pull hard. I am so close to complete freedom. I cannot stop now. Then finally... my legs are free. I try to stand up, and yet I immediately fall. I have lost all feeling in my legs. I am extremely frustrated, as I cannot wait for the feeling to just simply return. So I crawl towards the nearest emergency exit I can see. Completely free, and yet still feeling so helpless. However as my legs tingle, I slowly get to my feet again. I can walk once more, but the speed of which I can move is nowhere near my best. However, I picture Enid's smile one last time. I realize that I have to make it out of here alive; for Enid... for my world.

I make it to the emergency exit and push it open. Then I realize that in the end: every second counted... when I hear the sound of an explosion behind me. My captors were not exaggerating. They had planned to destroy this place with me in it. I jump as I feel the force of the explosion behind me propel me forward. My head hits a pile of leaves laying on the outdoor grass. I feel extreme levels of heat... but fortunately not on my body; but rather closely behind it. The building is indeed falling apart in an inferno... but without me in it. I survived. My captors lost.

Then suddenly I heard a familiar voice yell, "Wednesday!" I turn towards the nearby forest... and there I see her. My wife, the love of my life, my world: Enid, running towards me. She had been looking for me... and she had actually been far closer to my location that I would've ever expected. I see our daughters: Harmony and Ana trailing behind her. I see Harmony on her phone, smiling as she immediately says, "We found her! It looks like some building exploded near her, but mother is standing and seems okay!" Meanwhile I hear Ana yell, "I can't believe that soul searching spell you found hidden in the Nightshade library actually worked! Everyone thought that spell was a myth."

However, my focus quickly fades away from my daughters, and even the mystery of who kidnapped me. All of that can be focused on some other time. For now, my focus is completely on my wife. As she comes closer to me, her face and body tell a story all by themselves. Like me, she too has leaves on her head that obviously got stuck to her as she was rushing through the dense forest. The scratches and bruises on her body are clearly from falling down or hitting multiple obstacles along the way. Perhaps she even had to combat some wild animal as she moved through the woods.

However as Enid comes up to me, her eyes alone tell me how worried she had been for me for the last several hours, along with how relieved she was now that we were together again. She puts her right hand on the side of my face as she looks at me. I put my left hand on her right arm as I look back at her. Despite talking to the imagined version of Enid in my head for so many hours earlier, I find myself having no need to speak to the real version of my wife now. All of the actions we have done for each other, all the things we have chosen to experience together... have said far more than any words could.

Then, as the rest of reality temporarily became completely meaningless, I moved forward and hugged my wife. Unlike our first hug we ever shared though, this time it was I that made the first move. I felt Enid immediately hug me back as we wrapped our arms around each other. Immediate relief swept across me. Not just because I was reunited with my wife… but because I now fully understood that I had been reunited with the person that all this time had made me far stronger than I ever realized.

THE END

*The story continues next week in another Wednesday/Enid centric chapter. Don't miss it...

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mexican GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Waking up this morning was awful. Sure, I felt fine physically—no soreness or stiffness from yesterday’s qualifying session—but mentally, I was dragging myself through the motions. Dreading the moment I’d step into that paddock, knowing Henry would be glued to my side, invading my space, throwing his condescending comments, and forcing his "help" where it wasn’t wanted. The only bright spot ahead was the cockpit. The second I climbed into my car, I knew I’d find some peace, if only for a while.

I forced myself to get out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water work its way over me as I planned my day. My mind, as usual, wandered back to Henry’s endless pestering and inappropriate comments. The "compliments" that weren’t compliments at all, the subtle digs at my abilities, the way he always seemed to loom over me with his too-familiar tone.

It wasn’t just infuriating anymore—it was exhausting. And it wasn’t stopping.

As I wrapped myself in a towel and headed back into the main room, I grabbed my phone and stared at it for a moment. There was no way I could go to management without proof. What if they didn’t believe me? Or worse, what if they dismissed it and I ended up with an even bigger target on my back?

I opened the voice recorder app and stared at it for a long moment, hesitating. Could I really do this? Was it even worth the risk?

Yes, I told myself firmly. If I wanted this to stop, if I wanted a shot at feeling like a human being again, I had to do something.

I tested the app, slipping my phone into my pocket to make sure the microphone still picked up audio clearly. Satisfied, I turned it off for now and finished getting ready, pulling on my team polo and jeans and brushing my hair into a sleek ponytail. If I looked the part of a calm, confident professional, maybe I’d feel it, too.

A knock at my door startled me, and I frowned, wondering who it could be. Opening it, I found Fernando Alonso standing there, dressed and ready for the day, looking as collected as ever.

“Morning,” he said casually, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Uh, morning?” I replied, still confused.

He held up his hands in mock surrender at my skeptical tone. “Relax. I just thought I’d ride to the paddock with you today. Of course if that is fine with you?”

I raised an eyebrow. Fernando wasn’t exactly known for hanging out with his teammates outside of the track. Sure, we got along, but this was out of character for him. Still, I couldn’t exactly say no.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my keys from the counter. “But don’t touch my music. Driver’s picks only.”

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

As we rode down in the elevator, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this than a simple carpool. Fernando wasn’t exactly the type to go out of his way for casual company.

When we reached the parking lot and I unlocked the car, he slid into the passenger seat without a word, letting me set up my playlist before we pulled out.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked after a few minutes on the road.

“Just thinking,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not pressing me further. It was a relief, really. Having someone like Fernando with me—someone who commanded respect just by existing—gave me a small hope that maybe Henry wouldn’t be quite so unbearable this morning.

I parked in the paddock lot, and as we walked in together, I couldn’t help but glance sideways at Fernando. His presence felt like a protective barrier, and I clung to that feeling, telling myself I could handle whatever the day threw at me.

At least for now.

As I entered the paddock with Fernando, the buzz of the pre-race atmosphere filled the air—engines humming, team personnel rushing around, fans lining the barriers hoping for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. It was a world I loved, but today, it felt more like a battlefield.

I spotted Henry almost immediately. He was standing near the garage, arms crossed, already looking irritated. His eyes locked onto me and then flicked to Fernando beside me, his jaw tightening. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t thrilled about my choice of company this morning.

Good.

I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see the satisfaction bubbling under the surface. If Fernando noticed Henry’s sour look, he didn’t say anything, though I caught the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.

“See you out there,” Fernando said casually as we parted ways, heading toward our respective garages.

I made my way through the paddock, greeting a few drivers as I went. Lando gave me a bright smile and a quick thumbs-up, and Charles paused to ask how I was feeling about the race. Even Max gave me an approving nod as he walked by. Their small gestures of support were like tiny sparks of warmth in the cold shadow Henry had cast over my week.

Finally, I reached my driver’s room and closed the door behind me, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For the first time all morning, I felt like I could breathe freely. This was my space, my sanctuary, and Henry couldn’t touch it.

I started to change into my racing gear, the familiar ritual grounding me as I pulled on the fireproof layers and zipped up my suit. But as I worked through the motions, my mind started to churn.

Henry’s voice echoed in my head, his cutting remarks replaying like a broken record. “Don’t screw this up.” “You’re lucky to even be here.” “Do you even understand how this car works?”

Anger began to simmer in my chest. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was done letting his words define me.

For too long, I’d let Henry make me feel small, like my achievements didn’t matter, like I wasn’t worthy of the seat I’d fought so hard to earn. But not today. Today, I was going to prove to myself—and to everyone else—that I belonged here.

My jaw tightened as I secured my helmet bag and gloves. This race wasn’t just about points or podiums anymore. It was about taking back what was mine. The joy of racing, the confidence in my abilities, the pride in knowing I deserved to be here.

I grabbed my radio and earpieces, shoving them into the bag with a determined glare. Henry might think he had control over me, but he didn’t. Not where it mattered. Not out on the track.

By the time I left my room and headed toward the garage, the fire in my chest had turned into a roaring blaze. I was ready for this. Henry could glare all he wanted, but today, I wasn’t racing for him, or the team, or anyone else.

I was racing for me.

The moment I made my way to the car, Henry was there, as usual, lingering far too close for comfort. He had that smug, self-satisfied look on his face, like he knew exactly how much he got under my skin. He always seemed to find a way to insert himself into my space, to make himself the center of my attention, even when I didn’t want it.

As I settled into the cockpit, the tight fit of the car around me should’ve been comforting. I was in my element, surrounded by the familiar hum of the engine, the feel of the steering wheel under my hands. But Henry was there, too close, and his presence made everything feel suffocating.

I could feel his eyes on me as I prepared for the race, the way he loitered just out of my line of sight, hovering like a cloud that wouldn’t go away. As if sensing my discomfort, he leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against the side of my neck, sending a wave of unease through me.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a touch of arrogance that made my skin crawl, “if you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved... congratulations.”

The words were veiled in that same suggestive tone, a tone that twisted something as simple as praise into something gross, like he was offering more than just acknowledgement. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react, but the moment the words left his mouth, I felt the bile rise in my throat. I had been dealing with his crap for days now—weeks, really—and it was getting harder to just ignore it.

I didn’t want to show him that he was getting under my skin, that his comments were starting to break through my tough exterior. But the truth was, they were. Every time he opened his mouth, every time he made some inappropriate remark, it felt like a little piece of me was eroding, like I was losing my place here, losing the confidence that I had worked so damn hard to build.

With a final, disgusted breath, I shoved the thoughts out of my head as I snapped myself into focus. I could hear the pit crew’s final adjustments happening all around me, the last checks before I was cleared to go. The buzz of the radio crackled to life, but my focus remained on the track. Henry wasn’t worth the energy, not right now.

But I swore to myself that I’d get the proof I needed. He wasn’t going to walk all over me anymore. I just had to bide my time, hold on long enough until I could catch him in the act, and when I did, I would expose him for what he was.

The lights on the grid flashed brightly, one by one, signaling the start of the race. The tension in my chest, the frustration, the anger—it all collided into a single burst of adrenaline, and suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the car in front of me, the track stretching out ahead like a challenge I was ready to conquer.

I felt the revs of the engine rumble under me, the anticipation thick in the air as the lights blinked out one by one. And when they finally turned off completely, the sound of roaring engines filled the air, and everything else—the pressure, the weight of Henry’s words, the lingering disgust—vanished in an instant.

The car launched forward, and my foot slammed down on the accelerator, the wheels spinning as I surged ahead, cutting through the noise of the paddock and the nerves like a knife. Every turn, every shift in gear, every decision was sharper now. The anger wasn’t just a distraction—it was fuel.

Henry thought he could break me. He thought he could manipulate me into doubting myself, into questioning my worth. But instead, I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to show him that no matter what he said, no matter how much he tried to push me down, I was still a force to be reckoned with.

As I tore through the track, dodging rivals and pushing myself to the limit, his words twisted and reshaped in my mind. If you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved congratulations.

I laughed bitterly inside my helmet. Henry had no idea. No idea what it was like to truly race. To feel the rush of adrenaline, the power in the car, and the pride in your heart when you know you’ve earned every single second of it.

The first few laps were a blur, my focus entirely on the track, on the cars around me. I was sliding through corners, making precise adjustments, trusting myself in a way I hadn’t been able to in days. For the first time all weekend, I felt in control. I felt like me again.

But every time I passed a monitor, or saw a glimpse of Henry on the pit wall, I remembered what he had said, and I channeled that anger. Every corner, every straight, every ounce of speed—this was my victory.

As I crossed the finish line and the car slowed down, the reality of what I had just done began to sink in. P3. It wasn’t a win, but it was something significant. A solid performance, a breakthrough after everything I’d been dealing with. I hadn’t just survived the weekend—I had fought through the pressure, the frustration, and come out stronger.

As I pulled into the parc ferme, the pit crew's cheers and the roar of the crowd in the distance became distant background noise, replaced by a familiar and comforting feeling. Lando and Carlos were waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear as I climbed out of the car.

“P3! That was amazing!” Lando exclaimed, his bright smile infectious as he pulled me into a quick hug.

Carlos clapped me on the back, his smile wide. “You’ve come so far. We knew you had it in you!”

I laughed, my chest full of pride, feeling lighter than I had in days. “Thanks, guys,” I said, genuinely grateful. The camaraderie was exactly what I needed after everything.

We stood there for a moment, the friendly banter between us filling the air, until I noticed my team was waiting for me by the barriers. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them, and a rush of warmth spread through me. They had been with me every step of the way, working tirelessly to make sure I was at my best.

I gave a final wave to Lando and Carlos before heading towards my team, a smile stretching across my face. But as I approached the barriers, I spotted him—Henry. He was standing front and center, a smug look on his face like he had somehow been a big part of this victory. The sight of him made my stomach twist, but I pushed down the anger and disgust that had been building all weekend. I had worked so hard for this, and nothing—not even him—was going to ruin it.

I reached my team, and they crowded around me, clapping me on the back, cheering, and congratulating me. The warmth of their genuine support wrapped around me like a shield, and for a moment, I was able to forget about the tension I had been carrying. That was, until Henry made his move.

He came over to me, his hands too quick, too sure, as he wrapped me in a hug. His touch was supposed to be comforting, but the way his hands lingered, moving lower than they should have, sent a chill down my spine. My heart raced, and the urge to push him away flooded through me, but I couldn’t do it—not with the rest of the team surrounding me.

His hands traced over my ass, too slow, too deliberate. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from reacting, from slapping him right there in front of everyone. But I couldn’t make a scene—not here, not now. Not with my team standing around, celebrating this moment with me.

“You know,” Henry’s voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear it, “you’re looking damn good today. You earned that P3, but I’m sure you’ll be ready for more soon. I might have a little reward for you if you keep it up.”

The words made my skin crawl, and I felt the heat of fury rise in my chest. But there was nothing I could do—not with my team so close, not with everyone watching. All I could do was force a smile, nod as he released me, and try to push the disgust back down into the pit of my stomach.

The team started to break apart, their congratulations fading into background noise as I tried to focus, trying to remind myself that I had earned this moment. I hadn’t let Henry’s words get the best of me before, and I wasn’t going to let them now.

As I walked away from my team, heading towards the cooldown room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Henry’s hands lingering, his words echoing in my mind. I clenched my fists, frustration and disgust boiling over, but I forced myself to breathe.

The cool air in the cooldown room did little to calm the racing thoughts that flooded my mind. I slumped down against the cold concrete floor, instinctively grabbing my water bottle but hardly registering it. The headphones I’d put on were more of a shield than anything else—something to block out the noise of my spiraling thoughts, the feeling that my chest was going to tighten and crush me under the weight of it all.

What had happened in parc ferme… Henry’s hands, his words. It had all happened so quickly. It had been so blatant, so blatant that it felt impossible to ignore. And the worst part? No one said a thing. No one even reacted. My team, the same people I trusted with my career, had just stood there. It was as if his actions had become so normal to them that they didn’t even bat an eye. And that terrified me.

The panic started to claw at me again, pushing its way up from the pit of my stomach, but I fought it down. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t break down, not here, not now. Not in front of the cameras.

The sound of the door opening snapped me out of my spiral, and I felt my body tense immediately. The last thing I needed right now was more attention. But when I looked up, I saw Carlos and Lando walking in. Neither of them said a word as they approached, not wanting to make it obvious they were aware of my presence, and they didn’t push me. They just quietly sat a little farther away, pretending everything was normal for the cameras, as if this was part of the routine.

But I could tell they were concerned. It was in the way Carlos kept glancing at me, his eyes flicking to my headphones, to my stillness, to the way I was avoiding everyone. Lando was just as quiet, but I could feel the worry radiating off him too, even if he was trying to hide it behind a calm façade.

I didn’t want to acknowledge them, didn’t want to give in to the thoughts swirling around inside my head. The cold concrete floor under me felt grounding, like it could somehow anchor me in the moment, but it wasn’t enough to push away the feeling of suffocating pressure.

I let the seconds stretch out, forcing myself to breathe in deeply, slowly, to remind myself that I was still in control. Eventually, when I felt the weight of the panic lift just enough, I pulled myself together. The cameras weren’t far off, and I knew I had to put on the mask again.

I pushed the headphones off and stood up, quickly wiping my face as if it would erase the emotions from earlier. My legs were shaky as I adjusted my racing suit and straightened my hair.

Carlos was the first to speak, his voice carefully neutral. “You alright?”

I plastered a smile on my face, the same one I’d learned to wear so well over the years. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, you know?” I shrugged, trying to make it sound convincing.

Lando nodded, not entirely buying it but not pressing me either. “You did great out there today,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks,” I replied, my smile faltering slightly. I couldn’t bring myself to really believe it, not when everything felt so hollow inside.

They both seemed to sense the shift, the subtle way I was trying to bury everything beneath the surface, but neither of them pushed. They just kept their distance, respecting my space without letting on that they were paying more attention than they’d like to admit.

As the cameras finally moved out, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The moment they were gone, I found myself alone in the room again, the quiet stretching out before me.

I glanced back at Carlos and Lando, who had already started to leave, and I realized they hadn’t pressed me for the truth. They knew something was wrong, but they were waiting for me to say it first.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell them what was really going on—not without risking everything. The team, my career, everything I had fought for. I couldn’t let them see me as weak. I couldn’t let them see me as someone who needed help for such a pathetic problem. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered under my breath as I walked out of the room, past the lingering shadows of my own fears. And for now, that was all I could hold onto.

The walk to the podium felt like a blur, a strange mix of pride and dread swirling inside me. The crowd’s cheers reached my ears, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was being observed. I had the weight of a thousand eyes on me—both the crowd’s and the team’s, and of course, Henry’s. I could feel his presence even though he wasn’t standing right next to me. His words from earlier still rang in my ears. But for the moment, I was determined to shut it all out and focus on the victory, no matter how hollow it felt.

As the podium ceremony started, I climbed the steps to third place, the media-trained smile sliding onto my face with practiced ease. Lando was already grinning from the second spot, and Carlos gave me a brief but genuine nod as he stood on the top step. 

The national anthem played, the flags waving around me, and I stood tall—making sure to appear every bit the champion I was supposed to be. The smile never faltered, not even when the champagne was passed to me. I knew the drill by heart.

“Alright, time to have some fun,” I muttered under my breath, already feeling a little bit lighter. A quick spray of champagne hit Carlos first, and he let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. Lando was next, taking the spray like a champ, both of them laughing and trying to spray me along with each other. There was an almost childlike thrill to the chaos of it all. The champagne dripped down our suits, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to forget about everything else.

Lando, ever the joker. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he teased. Carlos joined in, throwing his arm around me and pulling me into a half-hug. The laughter, the camaraderie, it felt good. For those few seconds, I felt good, like Henry was a whisper in the wind and everything would go back to normal. 

But even as I grinned, holding up the third-place trophy, a small voice in the back of my mind kept reminding me of the danger lurking behind the scenes. Henry. The way he had touched me earlier, the things he had said. It was all eating away at me, just under the surface.

As we made our way off the podium and back into the hustle of the paddock, I kept my distance from Henry, knowing his eyes were on me, even if I couldn’t see him. The adrenaline of the podium was wearing off, replaced by the gnawing worry that would follow me until I had proof of his behavior.

Carlos gave me a pat on the back as we walked toward the waiting cars. “You did great today,” he said quietly, his voice a little softer than usual. I could tell he meant it, even if we all knew the race had its ups and downs.

“Thanks,” I replied, forcing another smile. “It’s been a crazy weekend.”

Lando, noticing the change in my tone, shot me a look, but said nothing. He just gave me a small nudge, and we continued walking, the sound of our footsteps mixing with the fading cheers from the crowd.

But Henry’s shadow loomed over me, and the thought of him trying to undermine my every move made my blood boil. I had to make him pay. I had to get that proof. Whatever it took, no matter how long that took.

[pompompourrite]

VERSO X DEPRESSED READER HEADCANONS !!

pairing: painted!verso x gn!reader.

contents: fluff, verso tries to help readers when their spirits are low, mentions of depression and stress, just verso being a cutie patootie.

a/n: my depression has dealt me a big blow recently and i've mainly written this to make myself feel better. english is not my first language, so i'm sorry if it's badly written. i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! requests are open ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

He's very good at guessing what's going on in people's heads, he pays a lot of attention to his team-mates, so when there's the slightest change in you, your expression, your attitude or just the way you walk, he knows something's wrong, and believe me when I say that all his attention will be on you all day long.

He won't ask you directly what's bothering you, not when danger could come from anywhere, and he doesn't want to take the risk of everyone knowing that you're not in your right frame of mind, he doesn't know how you might react to receiving everyone's attention all at once.

Also because he wants to be the only person who can comfort you.

He'll wait until the evening, when everyone's doing their little group activities to relax, while you sit on your own. He won't waste any time coming and sitting next to you.

In general, he always asks permission to sit down. But not this time, not when he knows something's bothering you.

Let's be clear: he'll never force you to talk, but he'll stay close to you all the same, to let you know that he's there, that you're not alone, and that you can come to him if you ever change your mind and pour out everything that's on your mind. In the meantime, he doesn't mind sitting silently for hours on end, if it means he can look after you.

Either that, or he'll tell you all about the funniest adventures he's had with Monoco, or even one of the rare moments when he'll let Monoco tell little secrets and anecdotes he's ashamed of, just to cheer you up.

He'd ask Esquie to shower you with hugs. (seriously I think Esquie's hugs could cure anything)

If you're the type of person who doesn't really appreciate physical contact, he'd probably be happy with a pat on the shoulder or back. On the other hand, if physical contact doesn't bother you, he'll put an arm around your shoulder to pull you back against him and gently rub your shoulder.

If you're in love or in a relationship, he won't hesitate to sit behind you and give you a hug, holding you close to him to make you feel safe.

In any case, friends or lovers, as I said, he won't force you to talk, he'll just ask you what's going on. If you remain silent, he'll respect your choice.

But if you talk, he'll listen carefully, he won't cut you off, except when he hears you talking down to yourself. It hurts him to hear you talk so badly about yourself, he feels obliged to stop you and tell you how wrong you are.

Do you feel useless in the team? He'll list every single thing you've done to help the expedition. Do you have a problem with your appearance? He'll drown you in compliments. Do you feel like a bad person? He could spend hours telling you what a wonderful person you are.

No matter what makes you sad, he'll never run out of arguments.

If you ever burst into tears in front of him, he'll take you in his arms and offer you to cry against his chest while he rubs your back to soothe you.

Bonus point if you're lovers: he'll kiss the top of your head and/or your forehead.

If you end up crying yourself to sleep and falling asleep in his arms, he won't dare move for fear of waking you up, and there's a good chance he'll end up falling asleep with you in the same place where you sat together.

If not, he'll suggest you sleep next to him for the night, or in his arms. The choice is yours, he's happy with either. He just wants to keep an eye on you and make sure you sleep well, even if it means he won't be able to sleep all night.

He won't tell anyone about what happened or what you said to him, even if you give him permission. What happens between you stays between you. Unless one of the other members unintentionally says something that makes you feel bad, he'll tell them so they'll be more careful.

He knows that moods don't change overnight, so he'll stay close to you for the next few days to see how you're feeling.

[eversionimpulse]

How We Learned to Front on Command (and maybe you can too!)

a post by Naomi (she/her) about how we use voice and body language to control who's fronting

-

When we first realized that we were plural, back in 2014, we had no control whatsoever over who was fronting. There was no way of passing the baton back and forth, not that either of the alters who existed at that time would have wanted to. We didn’t have amnesia about each others’ experiences, but we essentially lived separate lives that intersected with each other at random. One alter would front for a long time, and then a random circumstance in our life would force the other one to the front, who would front until she was forced out. Things continued like this for a while. One of the alters was much more active than the other anyways.

Around 2018, we first started trying to actively pass fronting back and forth. We would do it by thinking very hard at each other, by getting into situations the other would want to front in, or occasionally by trying what was basically a summoning ritual. The first method was unreliable, the second method was a lot of work, and the third method took too much time and too much obviously weird behavior to be used in most social situations. Things continued like this for a while, too, until life circumstances led one of those two alters to suppress the other entirely for a couple years.

In 2020, our relationship to plurality changed quite a bit. The temporary singlet we had become realized she was miserable that way, and tried to mentally reach out to where the other alter had once been. In response, I began to exist. I’m not the alter she was reaching out to (who was at that point definitively gone), but I had a lot of her traits, especially at first. It was a messy awakening, and again we mostly switched based on circumstances or with considerable mental effort. However, after a while, I noticed my mannerisms starting to become noticeably my own. This is where we had a bit of a breakthrough.

I had the thought that I liked being different, and that it would be nice to assign mannerisms more strongly to each of us: voices and body language, mainly. So I set about deciding what kind of voice I’d like to have, and she decided what kind she’d like to have. I developed a low, languid, fry-heavy style of speech with a lot of intonation to it. She spoke as fast as she could think, with lots of vocal pauses and a more casual, breezy tone. I caught myself making poised and calculated movements, hip-driven and limp-wristed. She lurched through her day a little off-balance, letting her full strength fall where it may. One day, she tried to imitate the way I moved, only to discover that after a second or two, it was no longer her imitating, but me fronting. That’s how we figured it out.

So, to stop being coy about it, here’s the idea: by deliberately attaching different vocal and physical (and typing) mannerisms to different alters, by noticing the differences between us and cultivating or exaggerating them, we’ve trained ourselves to front on command, and I think that perhaps you can too. The way I see it, we’ve managed to anchor mannerisms so firmly into our individual personalities that to perform the mannerisms of an alter is to be that alter. Except in situations where one of us is really having a hard time fronting (or isn’t willing to), imitating another alter will bring that alter to the front.

You can think about it like an actor getting into character, which brings me to the actual technical advice. My number one piece of advice is to develop ways of moving or speaking that, at least to you, make each of your alters really feel like themselves. At first this will feel like clumsy exaggeration, and probably like you're just pretending, but once you get a feel for it you’ll be able to settle into something more natural. Whichever behaviors or vocal tones you want to use as a switching trigger should be ones that are fairly distinct to each alter and not shared by others. If you don’t have those, then make them up! Try out different characteristic voices and behaviors until each of your alters finds at least one thing that makes them feel like themselves.

It can really help in this case to use specific anchor phrases, usually paired with a gesture. I’ll run through our anchors here as an example. The anchor we use to bring Cass to the front is to sigh, slouch our shoulders, and wince out “sure” in the sort of breathy growl he tends to speak in. For Jules, we perk our head up as if noticing something, take a deep breath, and let out a higher-pitched, friendly “yeah!” on the exhale as if we’ve been asked for a favor. For me, we roll our head back and forth, cracking our neck, then shake the tension out of our upper body, find a comfortable pose with our shoulders back, and go “hmmm” nice and deep. Elise is new as of writing this, but for now it seems like we can get it to front by ceasing to try to make any facial expression at all, looking directly at a (real or imagined) conversation partner, and giving a monotone “hello.” And for Marceline, we tuck our elbows in tight to our sides, press our knees together, and say “ok” in her distinctively nasal voice. We don’t always do this full routine in order to switch, but it’s the guaranteed version we rely on if we can’t do it either by thinking at each other or with just vocal tone. Yours don’t have to look exactly like this either. You could use smaller or larger gestures than we do, or you could use full sentences as anchors. Ours are one word because they’re essentially out-loud responses to having been silently asked to front. 

So, why learn to do this? I’m sure the idea of switching on demand, for readers who can’t already do it, probably sounds pretty appealing. But just to spell it out: this helps us make sure that in situations where one alter feels safer than another, or where one alter’s skills are more valuable than another, we get to decide who is there and experiencing that situation. It lets me front in situations where we need to be confident and assertive, it lets Marceline front when we’re in pain and need to avoid using up our limited energy, it lets Cass make small talk with strangers in public. It can also help to make sure than an alter who is getting distressed can switch out and cool off instead of having a meltdown. But it also has some unexpected benefits- developing distinctive voices and mannerisms on purpose can keep us from bleeding into each other or merging at times when the boundaries between us are getting porous. It also means that people we trust enough that they’ve spent time with all of us tend to eventually start recognizing who’s fronting without having to be told, which is a tremendously affirming feeling once it starts happening. Not only is it a useful tool, but it also makes us feel more like our own people. The cooperative aspect of this technique has made it easier for us to remember that we’re a team, too. It’s a nice feeling.

One question remains: when doesn’t this work? For us, it tends to be less effective when the alter being imitated is in a particularly unstable state, either emotionally or in terms of identity. We can also fall out of practice with it if we don’t use it openly for a while due to social isolation, even if it’s just relative isolation from people around whom we feel safe being openly plural. It comes back with practice, though. For others, we’re not sure how possible this technique is for systems who have significant amnesia between alters. I suspect it may also be less effective for systems who tend to go very long stretches of time without switching. Plurality is so varied and experiences with it so individualized (it is, after all, your life) that it’s really hard to say how well what works for us will work for others. If you try it out, though (or if you already do something like this), I’d love to hear about it! Tell me how well it works, how it feels, what your most exciting discoveries have been. This especially extends to systems whose experience of plurality differs dramatically from ours (number of alters, degree of separation, degree of amnesia). I’d love to know if systems unlike ours can use something like this, or if not, what it was like to try anyways.

[cerezzzita]

Wish You a Devilish Christmas! ★ A Fluffy Fic with the Sparda Family

Hello, @queenmuzz! I am your Secret Santa for @dmc-secret-santas of this year! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing and so sorry if the ending is kinda wonky, I managed to finish it all today and didn't had much time. I, myself wish you all a Devilish, Merry Christmas!

1) Pandoro is an Italian type of bread, culturally and usually made on Christmas, covered in sugar, tasting like vanilla and shaped like an six-pointed star.

Pat!, Pat!, Pat!, the wooden floor responds to the bare footsteps of tiny feet. On that newborn morning of the first day of the joyous month of December, the little Nero had risen even before the sun broke through the skies in his flavescent chariot, timidly piercing the thick curtain of gray clouds and the crystalline winter veil, venturing to run through the extensive corridors of the mansion in search of the right door. There were so many of them! He vaguely remembered the moment when his grandfather, Sparda, a great demon in human skin but always enframing a gentle and inviting smile on his face, had told him that his own demonic sensors were as young or younger as he was; and for Sparda, someone equally vivid and prolonged as time, Nero was very, very young. And despite his best efforts, the little one was unsuccessful in his hunt for his father’s bedroom door.

Pouty, Nero increased the weight of his steps and opened the first door within reach of his large, glacial eyes. His chubby cheeks widened again. It was his grandparents’ room. Blazing like a lightning, soon the boy was vibrating with euphoria, jumping on the bed without hesitation to snuggle into his grandmother’s lap, who until then was comfortable in the physical arms of her husband and in the dreamlike arms of the solemn Morpheus.

“Nonna! Nonno! Wake up, wake up! It’s already Christmas!”

Faced with the significantly strong shaking for a seven-year-old child with a quarter of demonic blood in his organism, Eva was forced to wake up from her pleasant sleep even in the heat of fright; she blinked, bewildered, slowly adjusting her blurred vision to the current scene in front of her — and to her side, where Sparda had already raised his robust figure, presenting them with his usual smile. 

“Nero, darling…” She stammered at first, rubbing her heavy eyelids with the back of one hand, the other cradling the little boy against her chest. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”

“Good morning, little Nero!” Sparda saluted, with an exciting glow in his eyes, something alike someone who hadn't even really slept. Soon, the grandfather’s long, robust arms cradled his wife and grandson. “I take your grandmother’s question as mine: What are you doing out of bed at this time? Don’t tell me that the fleas of an Cerberus invaded your bed?” The theatrical gasp at the end of the speech made Nero laugh, unfolding himself on the sheets to fit in among the adults. 

"No, no!" He vehemently denied it. “Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s Christmas!"

Eva, already a bit more awake, drawing an arch in her blonde eyebrows and an amused smile pulling at her lips, giggled as she said: 

"Christmas? As far as I can remember — and for the last time I stopped to look at the calendar before going to sleep — today is the first of December.”

The little one looked at his grandmother as if something very obvious was being declared — as or more obvious as someone exclaiming that his hair is white. Silver, actually, but he liked to compare the coloring to mounts and mounts of fluffy snow, too.

“And that means it’s already Christmas, nonna!” Nero threw his hands up, trying to reinforce his point. “We have to decorate the house! And make cookies for Santa and pandoro¹! Oh, and hot chocolate with cinnamon rolls! We have to buy presents and call Uncle Dante!” 

“Agreed,” says Sparda, preparing to leave the comfort of the sheets and his wife's redamantic warmth with his grandson in his arms. Automatically, Nero hugged the kind demon’s broad shoulders. “Nero is right, my beloved Eva. We have a lot to do until Christmas Eve!”

“Yeah, nonno!”

“How can I disagree and say no to two stubborn people consumed by the Christmas spirit?” Eva blows, also planting her feet on the woody floor of the room. She placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead and another on her husband’s lips, to which Nero was instinctively reactive when he vocalized an “Ew!”. “But one thing at a time, you hear me? Come, Nero. Let’s see if your father is awake while your nonno calls your Uncle Dante.” 

“At this time, he shouldn’t be up,” Sparda pointed out, transferring the child into the woman’s arms. “Our son has a peculiar sleep, or as some say, a ‘stone sleep’.”

“He had someone to take after…” She said, vulpine. The demon gasped again, breaking the drama with the giggles exchanged between her and little Nero. 

That was the cue to leave the room, Sparda cutting through the distant corridors towards the retrograde and central telephone in the living room, Eva and Nero going towards the door of the room furthest from the others. With three knocks on the fine mahogany and without immediate response, it was concluded in the matriarch’s mind that Vergil was no longer enjoying a good morning sleep; not that it was like him, after all his biological clock was quite… peculiar. All this to say that her eldest son and father of her precious grandson had a practically incurable case of insomnia.

“I already know! He must be in the kitchen, nonna!” Nero pulled his grandmother back from the noospheric halls with his high, childish tone of voice before something else waltzed into them. 

Eva nodded, her pair of hazel irises sparkling, a small smile adorning her face. 

“Let’s see if we can guess what he might be doing: pancakes?”

“I highly doubt it,” the boy wrinkles his nose. In a glance Eva remembered her boys, sometimes unhappy and discordant with each other. The similarities between Nero and Vergil were striking on many occasions. “Dad doesn’t like pancakes unless they have blueberries in them.”

“That’s right, how could I forget? You have a point, dear. So, it seems that he must be drinking tea while leafing through his favorite book of William Blake poetry for the umpteenth time, right, Vergil?” 

The man who held the steaming cup with a minty aroma — ah, mint tea, usual refuge for his taste buds — centimeters in front of his mouth frozed, his thumb wrapped around the page that was about to be replaced and his characteristic glacial eyes expressing surprise at the scene that his mother and son witnessed when they arrived not far from the kitchen counter.

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” he hissed, his voice a fine line between caution and annoyance. The journey of his field of vision went from Eva’s candid face to the glimmer in the blue of her son's orbs. Vergil sighed, sewing a tiny smile on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, Nero.”

Just like that, the little boy jumped off his grandmother’s lap and sailed towards his father, grabbing his legs, the limit he could reach at such an age and height. Vergil stroked his hair and for a moment he thought that the shy sun of that morning was actually hidden between Nero’s broad and peachy cheeks, so bright and lukewarm was his beaming. 

“Morning, dad! Dad, dad! We’re going to start preparing things for Christmas! Nonno is already calling Uncle Dante and we’re going to decorate the house, make cookies, and hot chocolate and-”

“Nero… Breathe, one thing at a time.”

“That’s what I told him,” Eva said, laughing, with her back turned and in the background as she poured herself a cup of tea. “And there’s no point in making that face, Vergil. Your brother is coming to spend Christmas with us like he does every year, so I ask of you two is to behave, please. You’re already too big for your beaking.”

He widened his eyes. “But I didn’t-”

“Vergil, I am your mother. It’s the least I can assume what’s obviously going through your head.” 

Nero hid a not-so-subtle laugh in his father's pajama pants.

“She’s got you!” He laughed, with his finger pointing towards him. 

Sparda burst into the room before Vergil could react, the phone hooked to his ear. 

“Yes, son, we need to decorate the house! Well, the sooner the better! Soon Christmas Eve will be at the door! As long as you don’t eat half the ingredients for supper — because I know what you and little Nero are capable of doing when Eva isn’t looking — and don’t fight with your brother... Dante, my son, now exactly is..." He paused for a moment to glance at the clock high on the kitchen wall. “Seven in the morning. What do you mean you won’t be in time for breakfast? I know the roads are covered in snow- Oh, of course! Activate your Devil Trigger! No, no one will see! We’ll be waiting for you in twenty minutes!”

“Tell him I sent him a kiss and a punch because he doesn’t call us often! And that I will make pancakes now!” Eva shouted, albeit jokingly. 

“Yay!” Nero rejoiced, sitting next to Vergil. 

“Your mother sent you a kiss and a punch for not calling us often,” Sparda clearly swallowed a laugh. “And she said she’ll make pancakes now. Eva, he said to separate the ones with strawberries.”

“And mine with blueberries, please,” Vergil vocalized, between pages and sips. 

“Can I talk to Uncle Dante, nonno? Please?” 

“Son, Nero wishes to speak to you,” and the phone was gently passed into the boy’s little hands. 

“Hi, Uncle Dante!”

With a yawn, Dante exclaimed on the other end of the line: 

“What’s up, kid! So that means you’re now responsible for the family’s Christmas spirit, right?”

“That’s on me!” Nero used a pompous tone in his voice, a chuckle soon after. “Come quickly, Uncle Dante! We have to put up the Christmas lights after breakfast!”

“Relax, Devil May Cry Express is already sending the package. A really nice package, I must say. Adios, my favorite nephew!”

“Hey, I’m your only nephew!” He protested.

But Dante had already ended the call. Pouting, Nero handed the phone back to Sparda — who was hiding a petit smile with the back of his hand — and went to help Eva with the pancakes. 

Half an hour later, the youngest son returns to home. Dante was ultimately hugged by his parents and exchanged playful faces with his twin brother, not for long before the matriarch intervened and pulled his ears; “And no coming at me with your sweet forehead kisses! You still owe me for not calling often!” she said at some point during the reunion. Of course, Nero threw himself into his uncle's arms and then the two promptly volunteered to be Eva’s sous-chefs with the Christmas meals, although they were removed from such duty and placed to help Sparda with the lights and garlands throughout the mansion. Vergil was selected to help his mother instead, much to the duo's chagrin. 

“Learn that life is not always fair, dear son and little brother.”

Winter dragged the crystals from its veil through the days until Christmas Eve. Days filled with hot chocolate, the infamous hazelnut cookies made by Eva — much appreciated by the men in the family, by the way —, toasted marshmallows and sweet, vanilla-tasted pandoros in just the right amount. When the twenty-fifth day finally arrived, the family was settled in the living room, by the fireplace, surrounded by thick, soft blankets, more cups of hot chocolate and precious cinnamon rolls. A silent Christmas, yes. Pacific, too. Not very common in the Sparda family, but comfortable nonetheless.

Little Nero couldn't ask for any better gift.

“And we, from the Sparda family, wish you all a Devilish Christmas!”

[jackattack20writes]

Ngl after that ep im patting myself on the back for getting as much right as i did, like half of that I don’t think anyone would’ve been able to guess let alone all of it. I would do the stocks rising meme for NyaChu but they never went down for me, my delusion was correct on that front. Also I was right about the actual fight basically ending as soon as NyaChu realised who they were fighting (also nice detail of Nyaan not thinking it was Machu becuase it makes sense it wouldn’t be the omega psycommu wasn’t active yet.) and fuck yeah! Nyaan shoot the fascist groomer in the back also the “what are you doing here?” “I don’t know it just happened” so true Nyaan you dont care about Zeon you’re just trying to not get arrested or killed and then “what are you doing Machu? I thought you wanted to protect Shuji?” And the comments about how sick she felt and not even knowing yogman’tho had to recharge and willingly targeting earth with it, Nyaan had no clue what yogman’tho was doing. Mwah! I was so right about Nyaan that I had to stop myself from screaming wth joy. Although they’re somehow even less toxic Yuri now like SuleMio is still winning the Gundam toxic Yuri off and it’s not even a competition (again not dissing SuleMio, I love SuleMio)

Also fascinating char got forced back into the char identity rather than choosing to return to it, I’m sure that’s partially set up for next ep especially if Amuro’s the one in the OG RX-78. And that’s all just a new kettle of fish like I had a feeling after lalah showed up in ep 9? (I’m sorry the episodes blur together a bit for me after 7) that she had some influence on Char getting the rx-78 but I wasn’t actually expecting the whole reality to seemingly be created by her. Like that’s even crazier than my crazy ideas. Like everything with char, lalah, the red Gundam and Shuji is 10x crazier than my wildest dreams of what might’ve happened.

Actually that’s a nice segue to Shuji, so I would say this is jumping the shark but since lalah did that already I think there’s two Shuji’s. One is the actual Shuji that’s the weirdo sniffing people’s hair and painting while the other is the spirit that was floating around this ep from the other side of the Kira Kira, a spirit that was in the red Gundam. So this is based off a few things in this ep, firstly just how different other Shuji(actually let’s go OS vs OG to save me typing it out each time.) acts to og Shuji when there isn’t really a need for it, like other than just wanting to be weird none of the way og Shuji acted before this ep leads to this ep like I’d argue any feelings between NyaChu and Shuji start after they’ve already agreed to help him get to earth and before that they were at least a little weirded out by him. Secondly is Shuji suddenly had agency, he’s not doing what the Gundam wants, he is destroying the gquuuuuux timeline there’s no personification of the Gundam anymore OS Shuji is expressing his desires directly in regard to the rose and OS Lalah, something that previously the Gundam wanted, OG Shuji was very careful never to say he wanted the rose he said it because the Gundam wanted it, and we know for sure now that none of the other top runners were in the Gundam, char even very explicitly says it’s the two alpha psycommu’s that are linking not necessarily the people connected to them so it’s unlikely that the Gundam was actually OS Lalah.

The third reason is smaller but it makes sense that OS Shuji would avoid a physical body crossing over if he’s so worried about OS Lalah’s presence, he’d want to minimise the exposure he has to the alternate universe. Fourth is that if OS Shuji was the one who got the red Gundam off char in that flashback, why would he go to side 6? Like we could assume that he maybe somehow found out OS Lalah’s location on side 6 but otherwise it would’ve made more sense for him to go straight to earth. Finally fifth reason is I don’t think that after Nyaan’s utter horror at shooting Kycilia, not even killing her just the shooting and the horror of using the yogman’tho for everyone I don’t see the ending of Gquuuuuux being either the killing of Shuji or the destruction of the universe, and so there needs to be something to pull Shuji back to eg. the OG Shuji.

Last thing I have to say at the moment is the appearance of og RX-78 seems to confirm that it was episode 47? Of MSG that Lalah was talking about not CCA. Oh and it’ll be funny if Amuro is actually controlling the Haro and so it freaks out seeing/hearing him in the og RX-78.

[theredqueens-blog]

Hiiiiiii, could you say your success stories like what you’ve manifested and/or what you plan to manifest if you don’t mind :))

Hi

Yes!

I think my "biggest" manifestation yet was getting out of a VERY toxic situation I was living into,and I didn't even knew much about manifestation, I had just stumbled upon it.

I was sharing my house with a very abusive parent,physically and emotionally, verbally too. They're squizofrenic and bipolar.So I found manifestation and at that time I just affirmed and visualized. It wasn't easy,sometimes the days were hell,but I kept going because not only I had no choice but I'm no a quitter either. Once I make a decision there's no one,no force in the world that's going to stop me. I'm going to get what I want even if it's the last thing I do! 😅

My goal was making them move out and never have contact with me again. Since the situation was in my face all the time I used it to my advantage. I would affirm "I'm so glad that I live alone. I'm so glad that my house is peaceful. I'm so happy that I have my house all for myself. I'm ao glad they're finally gone" everytime I was getting "triggered". And I think affirmations are really good in these types of situations, when you're really immerse in some intense shit. It didnt felt like I was doing a chore,it felt natural and it calmed me down. AND I wasn't affirming out of desperation or to make something happen outside,I was affirming with conviction that it would happen no matter what.

I would also do little visualizations about simply being alone in my home,enjoying my life,enjoying the peace and quiet.

So it took two months,from the moment I found manifestation to the moment they simply got up one day,made their bags and were out of my house and I haven't seen them in years.

Now I that I'm more advanced I know that I caused it,like I caused everything in my life,from the poor self concepts we pick from our family,in school,society,news,etc,we make our own lives a living hell. I've learn that we have to let what people "did" to us behind,because it was really us,the 3d only show us what we're assuming about ourselves all the time. So since I had a VERY shitty self concept,since I hated myself, since I would only think against myself all day and always expect the worst, my 3d kept showing me what I was assuming in every single possible way.

NOW I'm revising everything,my family,childhood,all of it,because I understand that what I experienced is only one reality,and there are infinite realities that I can choose to experience from. The past reality will always exist,but I'm not bound to it.

So yeah,that's it.

🥰

[ornii]

Hi love your works! Was wondering since it’s that time of year would you consider doing a Bitterly Beautiful Halloween Special or One Shot?

I already had something planned!

Bitterly Beautiful: Hallows Bearing

“Absolutely not..”

“Aww Cmon..”

The Spookiest Time has come to Nevermore and the the decrepit school has been given a thin white blanket of frost to freshen it up. (Y/n) sat on Wednesdays bed, tilting his head to her direction. It’s been a few months since the duo defeated Crackstone, Tyler and Thornhill. After his near death, well technically his death experience, (Y/n) and Wednesday have a newfound love for each other, even if Wednesday barely shows it.

“You seriously don’t want to go to the Hallows Eve celebration?” He said, Wednesday keeps her head forward into her novel, typing so calculating on the Typewriter.

“And bore myself to death outside? I’d rather watch the others freeze in the discomfort of my own room.” She said, (Y/n) chuckled and stood up to approach her, he gets behind her and peers over her shoulder. Wednesday doesn’t stop him, him being blind severely limits his ability to peer into her work.

“You really don’t want to spend time with me? Your favorite Blind helpless boyfriend? I know you have a hero complex.” He says smugly, Wedensday stops typing and tilts her head to him, “I couldn’t predict how annoying you’d be, if I knew I would have preferred you stay dead.” She say with her mundane flat tone, but he knows she didn’t mean it. He, with all the brazen pride, gives her the softest peck on the cheek. Wednesday, still not fully understanding of her emotions, slowly began to burn a shade of rose red. Wednesday scowled and he laughed.

“I can hear your brow furrowing. You’re not mad at me, are you?” He backs up and Wedensday approached, she doesn’t say a word, her death stare was more than enough to say that he’s made a crucial mistake. (Y/n), taking the biggest risk, gently pokes her cheekbones.

“Aww, don’t pout, you know I love you.”

“And you know I hate human contact.”

“Even If it’s my contact?~” (Y/n) utters with slower tone, letting his words dance in the ears of Wednesday. He felt the sudden force of being pushed down on her bed, before he can sit up, Wednesday gripped his wrists, and fully mounted him pinning his wrists to the bed, they were face to face. The sudden shift in the power dynamic was always something that occurred in their relationship, (Y/n) would tease and prod Wednesday, only in good loving spirit, and when she finally cracked and gave in, he got what he wanted.

“Even your contact… your Tried and tiresome acts of physical contact are overused and are fit to stay in the 30’s.” She said, she slowly leans into his ear and spoke sternly into it.

“Luckily for you, I consider myself.. Old Fashioned.” She replies, before their lips could get to know each other more intimately, they hear the doorknob shake, as if someone is trying to enter. Ajax opens the door to (Y/n) and Wednesday, who hurried got off of each other, Wednesday on her Typewriter while (Y/n) playing sorrowfully on the Violin.

“(Y/n).” He said, the inconspicuous boy stops his playing.

“Ajax, is there something you need? I was in the middle of something very important.” (Y/n) says, and Ajax nods and leans in the doorframe.

“Me and Enid are gonna go for the Permafrost Ball. You two wanna double date?”

“That sounds—“ (Y/n) began.

“Positively Suicidal.” Wedensday replies, cutting him off. Ajax shrugs and walks back. (Y/n) tilts his head to her direction.

“Is being liked that hard for you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for a response. “I’ll leave you to your book.” He said, and left the room, Wednesday sighed with relief, and felt the pain in her back swell. She could only come up with one solution, ask the one person who seemingly knew everything but absolutely nothing at the same time, Enid.

The two stood in their dorm as Wednesday reluctantly asks.

“Enid, I… require your assistance.”

“Of course! Anything for my best friend and roomie.”

“Riveting… anyway, it seems I have come down with.. something… and I cannot conclude what Illness befalls me, so I’m asking the girl who knows everything.. but absolutely nothing.”

“What was that last part?”

“nothing, can you help?” She asks and Enid casually flips out her phone.

“Obviously! Now what’s hurting you?”

Wednesday walks around, pacing as Enid types.

“I awoke feeling dreadful during the mornings, even nearly vomiting… I, frequent the woman’s restroom more often, my taste buds have soured… my, my breasts have been feeling, tender… I don’t understand what this is.”

“Okay all done!” Enid searches and gets the result, “Drum roll please!” She Said, Wedensday just stares at her.

“Fine, and the winner is.. Pregn—“ Enid stares at the message for what seems to be forever, until she slowly looks up at Wednesday.

(Y/n) wasn’t in his form, he was assisting Eugene with his Bees, as Winter was coming and the lack of pollen will severely affect them. He exits the Bee house, as he does he senses that something is terribly wrong, little does he know, Wednesday Is storming over to him with Enid trying to defuse the death bomb heading straight towards (Y/n). He heard the footsteps approach and could tell by the shoe size and pace it was his girlfriend, and a less than enthusiastic pair following. He smiles as he senses his girlfriend.

“Wednesday my Love, you reconsidered?” He asks, her silence was usual but something was very off.

“I am going to castrate you...” she said with the scariest huff. (Y/n) was backed into a wall of the bee hive, completely confused by what’s going on.

“What? Why? What did I do?” He asks.

“You, put This parasite in me!” She scowls, Enid finally catches up, tired.

“Wednesday… don’t be so angry I hear it’s bad for the baby.” She said, basically spilling the beans, Wedensday turns around to say something but (Y/n) already picked up on it. His hand softly gripped hers and she turned back to face him.

“Wednesday?…” he asks, tilting his head down to her abdomen and Wednesdays cold and callous anger slowly subsided. She kept her eyes locked on his face, scanning it for any mood. But he suddenly but lovingly hugged her, feeling her icy but still body suddenly pressed up against him.

“I, didn’t know you were—“

“I was, afraid to tell you.” She mutters in his ear. “Wednesday Addams, afraid? Color me surprised.” He says, and she squints, not finding his little jabs amusing.

“I’m still considering the castration.” She hisses. (Y/n) relents with an awkward laugh.

“Okay, sorry… uh, who else knows?” He said, “You and I and unfortunately, Enid.” Wednesday said, and Enid waves from the back.

“Isn’t it great? I’m gonna be an aunt!” She says with auch giddy joy, Wednesday didn’t want to show it, but the tiniest smile was on her face. (Y/n) and Wednesday decide it’s best to spend time together, for them to discuss the next steps. But it was mostly (Y/n) kneeling at Wednesday, rubbing her belly so lovingly.

“Hey there little one, I can’t wait to hold you one day.”

“Why are you talking to the parasite.”

“Wednesday, Baby, please don’t call them a parasite…” He says, and gently nuzzles her abdomen.

“Have you told your parents?” (Y/n) asks, and Wednesday was silent for a moment. “No, I had not informed them of my current situation, I suppose we must eventually and I will tell them… I suppose telling yours will bear no fruit.” She says.

“I could care less about what they think, my Uncle will be overjoyed. But now that I think about it..” he begins, “If Enid knows… and being the social butterfly she is… she’s most likely told everyone already.” He says, (Y/n) gently took her hands once more.

“I understand if things will be, different, people tend to talk a lot and, I hope you won’t let what they say waver you. It, scares me… what if our child opens their eyes for the first time and vaporizes everyone? They hurt you or me or… be drones on, afraid of what this means. He said, Wednesday looked at his face, she calmly removed his deep black glasses, seeing his closed eyes, tears slightly welling up, Wednesday’s palms gently gripped his face and spoke as lovingly as she could.

“You are not your father, you will be a loving and fantastic father, regardless of what transpires with our.. Child.” She spoke so, reassuringly, this wasn’t some facade she was putting up, it was honest, genuine and loving. His lip quivers, but he shook down his fear and smiles.

“Now.. open your eyes.” She says, (Y/n) took a few deep breaths and nodded. He slowly began to open them, worried about what will happen, but then he finally gets to look Wednesday in her perfect deep auburn brown eyes. It was all still somewhat of a Blur, but he could make out her face. Wednesday could finally see his, the magic in his eyes faded. And his eyes were tinge of yellow, deep rooted gold. His head leans in and embraced her with a kiss. Their lips depart and there was only one question he had left to ask.

“Wednesday Friday Addams… will you marry me?”

“Yes (Y/n)… a thousand times over… yes.”