#don't hold those years to be static though

[gamebunny-advance]

Hm.

I probably should have paired the 1010 question with "How old do you think 1010 are physically?" since those can have different answers. But I don't want to over-do the polls in 1 day.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Do the ethnostates inherent in major fantasy ever feel real weird to you? You’ve got elftopia (full of elves, where everyone speaks elf and worships the elf gods), orc-hold (full of orcs and maybe their slaves, where everyone speaks orc and worships the orc gods), and dwarfton (made by the dwarves! for the dwarves!).

You might have some cosmopolitan areas, usually human-dominant, but those are usually rare enough in-setting that they need to be pointed out separately. Is this just based on a misunderstanding of the medieval era, and the assumption that countries were all racially homogenous?

This has been bouncing around my brain the last little while. Do you have any thoughts on that? Is it just in my head?

I think what you've noticed is a quirk of derivative fantasy writing, which like a lot of hangups with the genre originates in people trying to crib Tolkien's work without really understanding what he was going for:

Though it contains a lot of detail, Tolkien's world is not grounded. It functions according a narrative logic that changes depending on what work in particular you're focusing on at the time (The Hobbit is a fairytale full of tricks and riddles, Lord of the Rings is a heroic epic, The Silmirilion is a legendary history).

One of the reasons the races are separate is to instill the feeling of wonder in the hobbits as POV characters for the reader, other folk live in far off places and are supposed to feel more legendary than our comparatively mundane friends from the shire. The Movies captured this well where going east in middle earth was like going back in time to a more and more mythologized past.

In real life, people don't stay static for thousands of years, no matter how long their people live. They meet, mingle, war and trade. Empires rise and fall creating shrapnel as they go, cultures adapt to a changing environment. This means that any geographic cross section you make is going to be a collage of different influences where uniformity is a glaring aberration.

What the bad Tolkien knockoffs did was take his image of a mythical world and tried to make it run in a realistic setting. Tolkien can say the subterranean dwarven kingdom of Erebor lasted for a thousand years without having to worry about birthrates or demographic shifts or the logistics of farming in a cave because he's writing the sort of story where those things don't matter. D&D and other properties like it however INSIST that their worlds are grounded and realistic but have to bend over backwards to keep things static and hegemonic.

Likewise contributing to the "ethnostate" feeling is early d&d (backbone of the fantasy genre that it is) being created by a bunch of White Midwestern Americans who were not only coming from a background of fantasy wargaming but were working during the depths of the coldwar. Hard borders and incompatible ideologies, cultural hegemony and intellectual isolation, a conception of the world that focused around antagonism between US and THEM. These were people born in the era of segregation for whom the idea of cultural and racial osmosis was alien, to the point where mingling between different fantasy races produced the "mongrelman" monster, natural pickpockets who combined the worst aspects of all their component parts, unwelcome in good society who were most often found as slaves.

This inability to appreciate cultural exchange is likewise why the central d&d pantheon has a ton of human gods with specific carveouts for other races (eventually supplemented with a bunch of race specific minor gods who are various riffs on the same thing). Rather than being universal ideals, the gods were seen as entities just as tribalistic as their followers.

[rizsu]

wife on the low manjiro, sanzu.

sum. babysitter!reader. idk where i was going with this one

manjirō sano

tension. too much tension. it's not easy trying to focus on a happy baby when you have two eyes digging through your soul. his gaze is terrifying—whether it's just the way he's just there quietly or the fact that he's bonten's leader, you don't know. he's a scary man.

trying your best to ignore whatever he's doing, you focus on cheerful baby that's been slapping her hands continuously on the little container with water.

she's five months currently so you decided it's time for sensory playtime! starting off with water and slowly adding little sensory toys into the container as she plays.

“it's getting messy.”

“oh—should we stop?”

“no, continue. i'll clean up.”

mikey pushes himself off of the door's frame and wanders off to some room for a mop. he walks away with thoughts swimming in his head; delusional thoughts if you asked him.

he doesn't really know what is it that he's feeling. is it love? dunno. he never felt it in a long time. well, it's not like he remembers what love felt like—he didn't even love the mother of his daughter. hell he can't even remember what possessed him to have sex.

coming back into the playroom, he stills for a moment. cute, he thinks. you look fitting like that. something about the way you're giggling with his daughter while she babbles words only those of her kind understands really makes his heart swell.

“'m back,” he announces after a good few minutes of gawking.

moving the baby onto her crib, you pinch her cheek before going to help mikey.

so close, you think. his body's just above yours—close to the point where you can feel his sweater on your head. his hands moves on yours taking hold of the container.

you made the mistake of glancing at him,, now you're stuck gazing into his static eyes, looking for any hints of his current emotion.

five seconds turned into ten and he doesn't break the eye contact. rather, his right hand glides from the container and rests itself on your cheek.

does he know why he did that? no.

is he going to elaborate? also no.

a few more minutes in wondering silence until he breaks it.

“you're pretty.”

oh!

it takes a minute to process it; eyes opened but still looking into his. mikey drifts his gaze from your lips and back to your eyes. he shows no signs of taking back what he said.

“thank...you..?”

chuckling, he notes your confusion and decides to fuel it by saying: “you're welcome. be my girlfriend.”

sanzu haruchiyo

“pick a colour: blue or red.”

“how about no!” hoisting up his daughter on your hip, you circle around the table making your way to the kitchen as you ignore his attempts of getting you to pick the drug of the day.

sanzu raises his eyebrow at you. you sure have a lot of nerve in front of someone that can easily kill you but he won't. why would he kill you when he isn't sure if he, sober!sanzu, loves you or if he, high!sanzu, is just fucking around.

eh, it's not like he's worried. that's something for future him to worry about!!

“sanzu, her formula's about to end!” shouting from the kitchen as you violently shake her bottle, you faced your focus more on the quiet eight month old rather than the twenty-eight years old father.

“is that all?” sanzu moves on arm behind the couch as he looks back at you. she's a natural with kids—especially mine, he thinks. he's going to blame the drugs for that even though he's very much sober.

“yeah, is it okay if i use your card? i need to stock up on the groceries too.” you explained, dropping a few droplets of the milk on your forearm to check the temp.

“why're you askin' me? it's your card. i took it out for you.”

“because i don't wanna—oh???” you paused. sanzu, your boss, couldn't have possibly taken out another card for you right? certainly, right? god, it's so hard to focus after he said those words. you try to not think too much of it but it's just too difficult.

lost in thought, you didn't realize that he's already in front of you, holding up his mini to give her a nose kiss before looking back at you.

“looks like she's finished. let's go.” walking towards to door, sanzu grabs his keys from the holder along with his mask.

“huh—oh, right her stuff. just a minute!” you can't seem to think coherently, not when those words still linger fresh in your mind.

maybe it's the drugs,

maybe it's you,

maybe it's him,

maybe it's the way he holds your hand firmly while smiling whenever an elderly lady compliments your little “family”,

or maybe it's the way he guides you into his room at night after his daughter fell asleep, pulling you into a kiss that answers all questions.

[voonroo]

I have an idea! Only do it if you feel comfortable though 🙌🏻 no pressure

Teen reader with Alastor who have this father-daughter bond. Teen reader has never really 'acted out' in a sense. At least not in ways expected of in a sinner. Always had manners, polite, and reserved, yet was always open and honest with Alastor.

Now imagine reader out on the town doing some errands and they overhear a demon talking some nasty crap about Alastor. For the first time, they let their anger get the better of them and get into a fight with the demon. Not without a few cuts and bruises though, poor thing.

Reader not wanting Alastor to get angry or disappointed at them decide that it's best that just this one, they won't mention anything. They'll not tell him this one thing. It won't hurt. He won't know!

Yet it's Alastor. And he always knows. Mainly because they're reading sunglasses inside and trying (failing) to cover up a limp.

Are Ya Winning Child?

⌐‣Alastor & Teen Reader

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: KSNAKXNSM I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS I AM LIVING FOR THESE REQUESTS. I ACTUALLY HAD TO TAKE BREAKS WRITING THIS TO BREATHE. I WAS GENUINELY TWEAKING LIKE ALASTOR WAS THIS LAST EPISODE WRITING THIS.

Alastor & Teen Reader

You had always been one to hold your tongue and watch your actions. To not act out on rashness. That's how you had always been, even before ending up in hell. You had always been known for your good manners, even as a kid and it's only become more solidified in your character as you grew.

Then why was it so hard to not beat the living shit out of the demon in front of you.

There's no way they didn't know you were connected with the infamous radio demon in some way. Maybe they had seen you and him out and about here recently and knew you two had a connection. People are more courageous than ever to question Alastor’s authority since his 7-year absence.

Maybe the demon is just trying to get a rise out of you. Sinners, who were once people, tend to poke and prod at what they don't understand. “How could some random teenage sinner be so close to the radio demon? Maybe they have a deal? The poor soul probably got tricked…” You've heard it all by now.

But, every time someone said something would be in hushed whispers that were easy to ignore. However, it can be quite hard to ignore some random drunkard spouting lies from his lips. And straight to your face too.

“He’s probably got your ass on a leash doesn't he?” and “Oh! If he's so powerful—” There were a few loud noises, maybe a scream or two.

What…? Oh shit.

The walk back to the hotel was not fun. You really should have just ignored him. Silencing him was not worth the pain you had in your leg and the ache you felt. You're pretty sure you got a black eye too.

By the time you arrive, you have adorned sunglasses on your face come up with an idea as to why you have them, and practiced how to hide your limp until you at least got up the stairs.

By telling those who questioned your weird behavior, “Oh someone was giving out free sunglasses they didn't want anymore so I took one.” and walking past your sorry excuse of trying to hide a limp, you finally made it to your room.

However, you didn't have peace for long until a familiar knock sounded at your door. Quickly throwing back on your sunglasses, you heard Alastor’s static voice through the door.

“I heard you arrived back from town just a few minutes ago!” Oh, he's definitely already on your trail…

You walked- well more so limped, over to the door. Signing in defeat before tossing the sunglasses on your bed.

Fuck it, he probably already knows.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with the radio demon himself. His eyes already shooting up and down your figure. From your leg to your black eye.

“May I come in?” It sounded like more of a command rather than a question. Without much thought, you opened the door wider before going back over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. Staring blankly ahead like a guilty child who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. There's no point in trying to argue that you're fine when you know Alastor will just keep pestering you until you tell him.

Sitting down next to you, Alastor sat with you in silence for a moment. As if giving you the chance to speak up first, but when you didn't he let out a soft sigh before gently cupping your face, turning your head to look at him.

“What happened.” The average sinner would have been scared shitless at his tone, but you were only mildly frightened. However, there was definitely ill intent behind his smile. He knows you didn't just do this to yourself. You had to have a reason, you don't usually act out of line.

“I got into a fight.” His hand dropped from your face as you spoke, his smile growing wider before he let out a chuckle. His shoulders slightly shaking and his eyes closed in euphoria. His next words were clear when he spoke, looking you in the eyes.

“And did you win?”

“Yeah…?”

Another chuckle left his lips, though, it sounded more like a childish giggle. His hand raised again, landing on your head before ruffling your hair. A proud smile on his face.

“Good.”

Word Count: 735

[deafsignifcantother]

the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh, almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points, the entire cast are characters, hospital scene, I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did, reader is happy to be a mother

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

.

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

[missmonsters2]

—FLASHOVER | SEVEN

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds it's pleasant talking to you. There's a rhythmic back and forth, easy to follow along. So, why is it that you've been making bets and comments in your latest conversations that are way too emotionally charged for someone like Wednesday to know what to do with the static and friction.

Warnings: Competitive!Wednesday. Jealous!Wednesday. Competitive!Enid—she's gonna win that trophy again. Thing—should be getting paid honestly. Xavier—only knows losing.

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

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Note: This is a little longer to make up for the short chapter last time 🤏 let the action begin! I hope you enjoy it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) also yes i did change part 6's graphic nobody say anything shh

Part Six

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Flashover: Noun. The moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was the day before the Poe Cup race, and everyone was finishing the last touches to their boat. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

Enid and Wednesday glanced at each other.

"No."

"Yes."

They say it simultaneously, and you give them an amused smile.

"I mean it's not, not okay," Enid explains to you. "I need to win this trophy a second time in a row, alright?"

Enid finishes polishing the last of the boat, waving the two of you off as Yoko comes in, holding a jumpsuit that makes Wednesday's lip part slightly and sigh. Placing her hand on the small of your back, she begins to push you to walk away.

"Aren't you going to stay and finish helping?" You ask curiously, though not resistant at all to being led away. 

"No," Wednesday drones. "I'm only entering as Enid is down a rower. My conditions were that I'm copilot again this year and that outside of giving my input and checking on the boat, I wouldn't be forced into their team-bonding."

You give her an amused smile, stopping as the two of you stand in the empty hall. Turning to face Wednesday, her eyes are alight with curiosity, even if the rest of her face doesn't show it. 

"Wednesday," you call her name softly, your smile lingering on your lips. 

The ravenette peers back at you, and you feel memorized by how long her lashes are. It takes you to then admire her smooth skin—even if it lacks life. Wednesday's lips are also supp—

"What," Wednesday drives you back to reality. Her eyebrows are furrowed, confused by your intensive study of her face and silence.

You bring the crook of your finger to your mouth, clearing your throat with a cough, trying to suppress the blood rising to your cheeks.

"I was just wondering if you're ever bothered about the fact that we're..." your voice drifts off as you think about the correct way to label the two of you, "involved, and you don't have my number. I have yet to hear even one possible nickname for me from you."

"Why?" Wednesday asks with a raise of her brow. "Are you offering it to me without?"

You smile with a shake of your head. "I'm afraid not," you say but don't look sorry at all. "Rules are rules, Wednesday."

"Rules are made to be broken," Wednesday pushes back. "If I had followed every inane rule since arriving at this penitentiary, everyone would've been none the wiser and perished."

"Hm," you hum, conceding with a nod. "I would argue more that despite your lack of knowing the rules, everyone survived."

Wednesday glares at you, and she's about to demand that you explain, but you cut in before she can say anything.

"I'm enchanted by rule-breakers, Wednesday, but only by those who know the rules well enough to break them," your smile is teasing, but Wednesday can't help but tense her shoulders and stifle her frown. She's about to say something when she spots movement from the side of her eye.

That lanky, stuttering boy. 

"F-Fae!" He started hesitantly but grew more confident when he saw you smile his way.

"Hello, Henry," you politely greet. "How are you today? Are you heading to the practice room?"

He nods eagerly. "I'm good, and yeah. I swear I can do something cool if you can come see it next time," he smiles shyly back but doesn't give you time to accept or decline. "Are you going to the Poe Cup race tomorrow?"

You nod. "Yes, Bianca has asked me to come cheer for her."

Wednesday bristles. 

"Will you be going?" You ask Henry.

He looks regretful as he shakes his head no. "Unfortunately not. My father's birthday is this weekend, and I'm picking out his gift rather last minute. I'll be heading into town mulling over what I could possibly get the perpetually unsatisfied man."

You look on pityingly at him. "I'm sure he'll be happy with what you get."

"Yes," Wednesday cut in. "If not, then get him something he will undoubtedly be miserable with."

Henry looks at Wednesday strangely while you try to hide your chuckle behind your fist. 

"Well, Henry, Wednesday and I better head to class. I'll let you know who wins the race." You wave him goodbye, and he happily returns it back. He looks at Wednesday, waving at her too, but she merely stares at him before turning away to walk with you. 

As they're walking, Wednesday can hear footsteps. There's a nagging feeling in her stomach and a pricking feeling on the back of her neck. She turns her head back to look at the lanky boy but sees him sitting under one of the arches of the hall.

The sight leaves Wednesday confused, but she turns her head back to you. 

"You're cheering for Bianca?" Wednesday asks flatly, leaving out any emotions in her tone that could reveal her feelings.

"Well, she did ask me very early on," you reveal, slowing your walk down as you're in no rush to get to class. 

Wednesday follows your pace, disgruntled by the sudden change in speed and your answer. "You have pledged your allegiance to the wrong side as I will be defeating Bianca for the second time in a row. Switch or you will taste defeat right along with her."

You lick your lips, trying to not laugh. "I don't know. Bianca mentioned she had a very strategic plan. It's possible she may win."

"Over my dead body. Thing is aggrieved with you."

"Thing isn't even here," you point out, laughing. "Alright," you grin. "Why don't we make a little bet?"

"And what exactly will the winner get?"

You look up slightly in thought before looking over to Wednesday. "How about the winner gets to plan the first date?"

Wednesday comes to a dead stop. She looks at you, a little wary. "First date?"

You nod. "I think we're due for our first one." You seem like you're going to say something else but pause for a moment before sighing. "Damn, we really have all of this backward. At this rate, we'll end up doing everything else before you get my number."

Wednesday mildly scrunches her nose, her lip curling at your comment. "Why on earth would I want to plan our...our..." Wednesday can't seem to get the words out. "A date," she forces out instead.

You smirk at her. "Because if I plan it, I might subject you to a night of snood-wearing, hair-braiding, nail-painting, 2000s romcom movies date night."

Wednesday's eyes widen, looking ghastly at the suggestion. Disgust is written all over her face, and it takes everything you have to not burst into laughter. "I thought dates were supposed to be enjoyable for both parties."

"I have to keep you on your toes," you say, trying your best to sound serious. 

They start walking again, and Wednesday's eyes flitter back and forth as she considers your words. "Would you really subject me to that kind of torture?" She doesn't know whether to hate you or be proud.

"No," you admit, unable to continue your charade. "But now you know there is an appeal to being able to choose the activities we do."

The two of you stop in front of the class door, and most people have already arrived. 

"Good luck in the race, Wednesday," you say softly, starting to walk into the classroom. 

Wednesday feels the tension in her ease at your well-wishes and soft tone. 

You look back at her with a brow raised. "And maybe next time, ask me earlier to come cheer for you."

Wednesday clenches her jaw, following after you as she snaps back. "Perhaps don't agree to cheer for the enemy regardless of how early she asks."

It's irritating when you can sense when there is and isn't a bite in her tone because you only turn around, giving her a smile that makes her own lips threaten to match.  

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The sun beats down on Wednesday, making her normally cool skin feel clammy under her catsuit. The race was about to begin soon, and Enid was yammering something to her, but she wasn't listening. 

Looking around, Wednesday spots you chatting with Bianca, looking impressed with the sirens' boat. Her lips purses mildly in irritation as she turns back to Enid.

"What's the matter?" Enid asks, but Wednesday doesn't give her an answer, forcing her to search for what could irritate her best friend and roommate. Enid finds it immediately.

"It's totally fine," Enid dismisses, trying to comfort Wednesday. "Once we win, faerie berry will be celebrating with you."

"You already used that one," Wednesday ignores everything else Enid says, "and it's foul."

"To you," Enid says, stinking her tongue out. "I'll have you know it made Fae laugh."

"What's the point of having the nickname if you're going to call her Fae anyway," Wednesday points out. "Admit it. You've run out of ideas."

"O-m-g, just shut up," Enid scrunches her nose at her roommate. "This is what I get for trying to comfort you while your girlfriend cheers for someone else."

"She's not my—" Wednesday feels the heat flare up in her cheeks, even if it doesn't show (thankfully). But Enid cuts her off and starts dragging her towards the canoe.

As they all sit in their positions: Wednesday and Enid in the middle, Yoko at the front, and another girl at the back. The crowd settles and they prepare to hear the signal. 

Ajax isn't participating this year, so there is no one to distract Enid. Or so Wednesday thinks, but Enid turns her head around and smiles at her boyfriend.

"Focus, Enid," Wednesday sighs. 

The gunshot goes off, and everyone begins to paddle rigorously. It's similar to how last year started off. Everyone except Wednesday is unaware of the secret siren lurking under the waters. The first boat is eliminated almost immediately. 

Wednesday finds it suspicious that Kent heads towards her boat despite knowing she has a net prepared. But she's not left with much choice and has Thing activate the first switch. 

Just as last year, the siren is caught in her net. When Thing comes back onto the boat, he describes how the siren slowly sinks to the bottom as he tries to claw his way out. Wednesday hums, her eyes continuing to focus ahead as she paddles.

They reach the halfway point, and when Wednesday looks, she sees you peacefully sitting at the edge of the wooden dock, your feet free of shoes and socks as they languidly dip in the water. 

You send her a small wave and smile at her, which she doesn't return. But then you also look at Bianca, who has also spotted you, and send her two thumbs up at being slightly ahead.

Wednesday rows more forcefully. 

When they reach the Crackstone's crypt, Wednesday runs off to grab their flag as she did last year. She's highly sure that Thing won't be able to distract anyone else from deserting their boat, so Enid and Thing will need to get creative. 

"Hope you don't plan on taking a cat nap this time, Addams," Bianca quips as she catches up to Wednesday. 

"Why not?" Wednesday monotones, not bothering to look over. "I did last year and still managed to beat you."

"That was beginner's luck," Bianca snappishly says before smiling. "Just like fencing."

"We'll see," Wednesday answers with finality before out-running the siren to the crypt. 

Xavier has already grabbed his flag, flashing Wednesday a cocky smile as he passes her. "I'm not losing this year, Wednesday!"

She doesn't pay him any mind as she runs up to grab their own flag. She grasps it, ready to run back, when something catches her eye from the side. Amongst the yellow and green leaves lay a single vivid cobalt teal petal. Leaning down, she goes to pick it up. The second her fingers touch it, her body seizes. 

Controlling her gift has become better over the summer, and she can stop herself from falling over, but she can't contain how it feels like livewire ripping at her skin, unnerving her. 

"Jericho grows these flowers—draeconiums. They're usually harmless and have a short bloom lifecycle."

"They bloomed under an eclipse."

"Poisonous sap—harder than any metal."

"It's the only thing that can cut off a faerie's wings."

Wednesday feels like she's choking. She sees blood coating her hands along with stray black feathers. Darkness slowly clouds her vision until it's all she can see.

"Did you think because I smiled at you that I was kind? That I wasn't capable of hurting you?"

Wednesday's eyes snap open. She looks around and finds herself still standing in front of the crypt, gripping the pole of her flag until her knuckles are white.

"Don't tell me you're winded." Bianca runs up, grabbing her flag and not even sparing Wednesday a glance. "Guess I should work you harder in fencing."

Wednesday doesn't say anything, beginning to run back to the boat. 

The voice was distinctly clear. After all, Wednesday hears it every day and even dreams about it sometimes. She hears it every night she applies the salve to your wrecked wings. The only thing that throws Wednesday off balance is the acid in the tone—in your voice. 

She looks at the creased cobalt teal petal in her other hand.

What was a draeconium petal doing on the island?

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The second half of the race becomes tense. 

Kent seems to not have escaped from the net, which Wednesday found odd. He must've been hiding somewhere. 

Suddenly, the Amontillado team starts to sink, and Xavier lets out a big groan, slumping in the back.

"What did you do?" Wednesday asks.

"Thing and I switched it up this time. I distracted them and Thing drilled holes at the bottom of their boat," Enid wickedly grins just as Thing comes out from hiding under, dragging a cordless drill. "I bought that over the summer. It's waterproof!"

"How did you distract them?" Wednesday was curious. 

"My feminine wiles." Enid looks so innocent that Wednesday almost couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. 

Now it was just the Black Cats, and the Gold Bugs left, and it seems Kent decided to make his appearance known then, coming up to push the Black Cat's boat, steering them off course and towards the buoy. 

Thing throws himself into the water, swimming under the canoe towards the siren, who is smirking. Just as Thing is about to punch Kent in his face, another siren pops up from behind, securing Thing into a bag and pulling the string closed tight despite the thrashing.

Wednesday waits a few more seconds, but the answer becomes clear, especially when she sees two tails splash up briefly from the water. 

Thing doesn't swim back up from the water, and their boat is still being pushed off course forcefully. Wednesday turns on the second switch, which activates the harpoon spikes on the side of the boat. This year, they implemented a few more that would be underwater to deter sirens from getting close. 

It seemed while Wednesday expected Bianca to bring more sirens to assist her under the water, Bianca had also anticipated Wednesday knowing and preparing their boat to adjust. 

Therefore, the queen bee siren had prepared something unexpected at the very end. 

Their boat suddenly stops being pushed off course but then something worse happens. In the water, the two sirens work in tandem, swimming in rapid circles, and a whirlpool near the Black Cat's boat forms with speed, beginning to drag their unwilling boat toward disaster. 

"Paddle!" Enid screams, but it's useless. 

Thing was trapped under. 

It wasn't like he would die or anything, but there was no way his fingers would have enough strength to swim away from the forming whirlpool. He would be sucked in, swirling around until he likely hit the bottom of the river, exhausted and unable to swim back up. 

They were just past the halfway point. Wednesday had seen you as she paddled back, looking just as relaxed and languid. Now, you were peering furiously into the water as if trying to find Thing. 

Your head snaps up, locking eyes with Wednesday as she is being pulled into the whirlpool. She isn't too worried as she's an adept swimmer, and the most challenging obstacle would be holding her breath long enough to make it through to the end of the whirlpool and not slam her head at whatever was at the bottom, then have enough air to swim back up. She hopes her teammates are capable of doing the same.

If she didn't drown, she might try to find the opportunity to discover where Thing was trapped.

But then Wednesday watches you stand, loosening the tie around your neck, discarding it on the ground before you roll your skirt's waistband down several times and pull it higher up your body so the length is above your knees. Then, she watches you do a perfect dive into the river. 

The first feeling Wednesday experiences is apprehension because Wednesday doesn't even know if you can swim. Why wasn't that one of the things she asked you? 

But she only knows right now that there's a continuous rapid whirlpool, getting stronger by the minute. If you get sucked into that, and you aren't an adept swimmer, you will certainly, at the very least, drown. 

It would be okay for Thing and sirens, but definitely not creatures that needed air. 

Wednesday throws her oar back into the boat, ready to throw herself into the water, when Enid grabs her wrists and yanks her back down. 

"Enid!" Wednesday snaps, feeling that apprehension grow into something worse when you haven't popped back up for air yet. 

"You can't jump down there, you idiot!" Enid snaps back. "Unless your skin can absorb water and turn it into oxygen or you're hiding gills somewhere, you'll drown! Our best bet is to paddle into the moving downstream of the whirlpool and slingshot ourselves around and out."

"Yes, however—" Wednesday starts to argue but is cut short when the rapid current of the whirlpool and the pull of their boat suddenly begin to slow down. 

The look of confusion passes through everyone's face, especially Bianca's, as she paddles past Wednesday.

Eventually, the water is still again, and the heads of the sirens responsible for the whirlpool pop out of the water.

"Fuck!" Kent shouts with his hands to his eyes, rubbing them. "I can't see anything!"

The other one near their boat pops up, looking frantic. 

"Why is it suddenly dark?" She sputters, holding out her hand as she wades through the water, trying to find something. Her hand slaps against the Black Cat's boat, and she looks alarmed. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Are you blind?" Enid waves her hand in front of the girl's face, but there's no reaction. She even jumped at Enid's voice, not realizing how close she was. "It's very much still daylight out."

Wednesday looks into the girl's eyes but finds something amiss. 

The girl is still sputtering, asking for help, but Enid is more ruthless than Wednesday thought, especially since it seems like the siren's vision is slowly returning.

"Peace and love to you but goodbye!" Enid shouts as she directs everyone to start paddling. 

Wednesday paddles but looks to the side, where she sees an arm shoot up and grab the edge of the wooden dock. Another arm shoots out, and you're hoisting yourself up onto it. Thing is on your shoulder, and relief floods Wednesday's body. 

Wednesday locks eyes with you, catching you wringing the bottom of your dress shirt and skirt. You smile at her before mimicking the gesture of her paddling, telling her she should paddle faster. 

Turning back to the course, Wednesday puts her back into paddling. It seems that this year, Bianca learned her lesson, building her boat with deadly weapons, and prepared for the worst-case scenario of Wednesday somehow catching up.

Just as Wednesday paddles up next to the Gold Bug's boat with the spikes out, Bianca activates the harpoons from her boat, forcing them to keep their distance. The sirens have planted spikes around their entire boat to prevent the Black Cats from trying to get them on another side. With her team being stronger paddlers, Bianca gives Wednesday a victorious smirk as she paddles away.

But—Wednesday had banked on the fact that Bianca would grow smarter. She activates the third switch on the boat. A lid opens up at the bow of their canoe, and a small harpoon cannon rises. 

"Don't miss," Wednesday threatens Yoko, who waves her off dismissively with a hand and grabs onto the handles. 

"What?" Yoko smirks. "Do you think my eyes being in the dark with the sunglasses on would impede my perfect vision? I only bumped into a wall 6 times this week."

Wednesday doesn't comment back, mostly because Enid already seems too high-strung at this moment that she's confident the werewolf would kill her vampire best friend if the girl missed the shot. 

Yoko spends only a few moments aiming before shooting, the harpoon shooting out with force, piercing right into the opening hole of one of the spikes on the Gold Bug's boat. 

"See!" Yoko grins. "All that worry for nothing." Yoko presses a button to reel the harpoon, and as it yanks back, it rips a hole into the Gold Bug's boat.

Water quickly fills Bianca and her team's boat, and they're left bitterly watching the Black Cats row by them a second year in a row. 

The cheers are deafening as they return to the dock, with everyone jumping and screaming.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Enid screams, hugging Wednesday as the girl grunts with displeasure but allows it. "This better be the only highlight of my year!"

Wednesday finds it amusing before she turns and scans the crowd. She sees you in the far back, trying to not draw any attention to yourself. Your hair is still damp, but your clothes look relatively dry as you've been standing in the sun. Thing isn't anywhere to be seen, assumedly going back to the dorm room to rest. 

You're not cheering or clapping, but you're beaming, seemingly pleased at Wednesday's victory. 

"You're getting really good at this school spirit thing. I know you have no beef with Bianca this year, but you have to admit that it feels good to beat her again," Enid conspiringly whispers. 

Wednesday turns her head to look at Bianca, who is climbing out of the water, looking vexed. "Defeating someone always feels good," Wednesday smirks. "But it feels better when there's a reason to."

That's what her fencing rival gets for asking you to come and cheer for her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday knocks on the door of your room carefully. She's never been to your room before, but she does like how isolated it seems. The room is further down the hall, away from others.

"Come in." Wednesday hears the muffled voice on the other side of the door. 

Turning the knob, Wednesday enters to find you standing at your full-length mirror, drying your hair. You're in casual clothing, a sight that Wednesday is used to. Wednesday, herself, was wearing a striped black and white long-sleeved shirt and a black sweater over that. 

"Hey," you look at her through the mirror, smiling as you lock eyes with her. "Not going to celebrate with your teammates?"

"I told Enid I'd think about it," Wednesday says, recalling the same words she told the blonde last year. Of course, she had been thinking about it if you were there, but Thing brought her a note from you saying to come meet you after she was done celebrating.

Therefore, Wednesday opted to skip if you weren't going. 

You chuckle, not commenting on it. "Do you want some tea?"

Wednesday nods, looking down at the fuzzy black rug and a small round coffee table a few feet away. She strides her way around before sitting on the floor at the coffee table.

There are two mugs and a cordless electric kettle in the middle of your coffee table that you open up before grabbing a water bottle to pour its contents in. You shut the lid before turning it on, and the sound of water heating fills up the room.

Wednesday takes a moment to look around the room, noting how similarly plain it was like hers (her side, at least). The room was much smaller than Wednesday's, but it was obvious it was your room alone. 

You had little personal items, mostly photos you'd taken with your friends. Instead of a twin bed like everyone else, you had a queen-size tucked in the corner. Beside it, against the wall and in front of a window, was a long desk, enough for two people to work on it if they squished. But it was barren besides a laptop and a photo of you and Bianca and you with Enid and Yoko. 

At the end of your desk stood the full-length mirror. There was a reach-in closet on the opposite side of the room, filled with your clothes that hung neatly. A lot of them looked new and unworn. 

There was little walking room, but Wednesday found it comfortable. 

"You don't have a roommate?" Wednesday asks, even though the answer is obvious.

"No," you shake your head. "It'd be impossible to hide my wings with a roommate and I need to let them out every night or they'd be very, very sore. Not to mention how miserable I'd be keeping them for that long."

"It must be nice," commented Wednesday.

You shrug. "I'm used to it, I suppose. But sometimes I'm envious of the whole…" you wave your hand in a vague motion, "roommates thing. It seems nice."

Wednesday snorts derisively. "You say that without knowing Enid's habit for snoring and singing horrid pop music. It's hard to get work done sometimes."

You finish drying your hair, letting the rest of it air dry. You hang the towel on the mirror's edge before sitting down next to Wednesday, your shoulder bumping hers. "Well, you're welcome anytime here, even if I'm not around if you want some peace and quiet," you offer. "Usually if I’m here, I'm not doing anything much except on my laptop and with earphones in."

Wednesday fidgets with her fingers at your tempting offer. "I see you've fallen into the downfall of our age—technology."

You laugh, the back of your hand covering your mouth. It's such a melodic sound that Wednesday can't help but think of her vision earlier and the acid in your tone. 

Was it even possible?

The water finally finishes heating up, and you place the tea bags into the two cups before pouring hot water into them, sliding one mug in front of Wednesday, who nods in thanks.

"I will admit that I've fallen into binging Netflix shows or documentaries, and the occasional snooping of Enid's blog, but I can't say it's an addiction of mine," you reveal. "Fae realms aren't as modern as the outside world. We have things like electricity, heating, and plumbing but technology isn't as prevalent. It's more used for research than it is for entertainment."

"I see," Wednesday tilts her head at the information. She wishes her mother would hurry up with that goddamn diary. 

"I believe a lot of the younger generation is fighting for change but a lot of high lords are against it," you sigh.

Wednesday doesn't know what to say. She's not knowledgeable enough about fae realms to comment on it. But you change the subject before she can even attempt to think of an answer.

You turn to her, a crooked smile on your lips. "Congratulations on today," you say softly. "You were very impressive."

Wednesday shrugs off your laudatory. "Victory was only possible because of you," she acknowledges. She turns to you, narrowing her eyes. "You did something to those sirens. It caused them to be temporarily blind."

You nod. 

"Is that your power?"

You vaguely nod again, swaying back and forth as if that's only part of the answer.

"One of them, yes." You finally say. "It's a mild form of psychic powers. I'm not actually physically impairing their eyes, but rather clouding their mind, cutting off certain brain signals so that they think it's pitch black."

"I'm not really good at it," you hurry to say after, as if worried. "I don't have a lot of practice, and it can only last a few minutes at best."

"That is impressive," Wednesday genuinely compliments. 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks and rub the back of your neck shyly. "Thanks," you mumble.

Wednesday senses your discomfort and decides to not push you about your powers for tonight. 

"I thought you were rooting for Bianca," Wednesday says quietly. "We had a bet, did we not?"

You tilt your head at Wednesday, almost as if you're confused by her words. And then you're leaning closer to her. 

Wednesday is impossibly still. The air suddenly feels electrically charged, sparks forming as the silence drags on. It was infuriating and intoxicating how you could turn the mood so fast.

"Wednesday," you call her name softly, silkily, making the ravenette twitch. "Are you a competitive person?"

"Most definitely." Wednesday answers without hesitation and in a tone that almost seems proud. "I can be obsessive, single-minded, and I don't often lose."

"I'm not a competitive person at all," you admit to her, leaning closer. "I make bets all the time without a care if I win or lose them."

You had taken a sip of your tea earlier, and Wednesday could feel the heat of it on your breath. She could practically feel the heat radiating off your lips. 

"That's ridiculous," Wednesday tries to keep the steel in her voice, but she feels something in the back of her throat wavering.

"Is it?" You retort back quietly. "If I make the bets, I can tell you now that I'm winning either way."

The words take a moment for Wednesday to process. Her eyes focus, recalling the bet, and she feels her stomach knot. 

"I don't care who plans the date," you say the words out loud, forcing Wednesday to publicly acknowledge it. "Because in the end, we'll be having a date."

You smile, and it causes your lips to brush against Wednesday, and her eyes flutter close.

"Although, I do admit it will be fun to watch you attempt to plan a date that will entertain us both," you tease. 

Wednesday's eyes snap back open, glaring at you. "Don't get ahead of yourself," she raises her brow at you. "If I can't be sure to plan the best date, I may settle to plan the worst one."

"Worst?" You try to not laugh.

"It would end in tears…on your end. Uncomfortable displeasure on mine."

"And the best?"

Wednesday is silent.

You let the silence linger between the two of you, basking in the proximity of Wednesday Addams. 

"Want to make another bet?" Your eyes flitter up to look into Wednesday's gaze.

"Exactly what kind?" Wednesday asks. Given your revelation, she knows she should say no, but curiosity has always been Wednesday's killer.

Wednesday watches you observe her, studying every meticulous feature of her face as if searching for something. Wednesday is stiff, but she's leaning closer even if she doesn't realize it.

"If you stay completely still for the next five minutes, I'll refrain and wait to kiss you on our first date," you say, moving somehow closer to Wednesday's face, tilting her face more against hers. Your lips brush but never fully touch. "If you move, you have to kiss me right now."

Everyone knows that Wednesday can stay still long enough to make people believe she's dead. You must've known that, especially having listened to people telling you about last year's events. 

So, Wednesday thinks about what this bet is about. 

"If I make the bets, I can tell you now that I'm winning either way."

And regardless of the results of the bet, you'd get a kiss.

Wednesday swallows, feeling something strange happen to her by just your words. 

It's the kind of revelation that feels emotionally charged. It's a build-up of all the time she has spent with you and pathetically pined after you. 

Wednesday is a very competitive person. She detests losing. It brings pity, rage, and self-disgust.

Yet, because it's you, there's an underlying spark of trust in defeat. 

Wednesday Addams didn't mind losing to you.

Licking her lips, Wednesday moves her hand, grabbing the edge of your shirt at your stomach to anchor herself. She tugs, pulling you closer, and presses her lips against yours.

PART 8

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 12:

TW: Slight references to past trauma, depression

Part 11:

"Godsdammit, not again."

Nezha woke up with a familiar feeling in his body: fever, aches, and overall fatigue that would plague him whenever he felt like he could never feel so low again.

And on the day of Wukong's appointment too...

Wukong was sleeping soundly with his new blanket and plushie, at least. It would likely be a while before he gets up. It would give Nezha a few moments to collect himself as much as possible so he could get them through the day.

Wait...

"Shit."

SWK: Are you alright there, bud?

Nezha: I'll be fine. Just... *sighs*

SWK: Just what? You sure you're okay?

Nezha: Yes, I'm just... overheated a bit.

Nezha: Makes it hard to think...

SWK: *puts his hand against Nezha's forehead*

SWK: Woah! Geez Nezhie, I wouldn't call that a bit!

Nezha: Just... don't do anything...

SWK: I'll get you some ice packs!

SWK: *Grabs his blanket and plushie, hops in his wheelchair and leaves*

Nezha: ...rash...

Nezha felt like the whole room was slowly spinning, like some sick drug had been administered to him. Of course that wasn't the case. His vision turned into TV static after he stood up to try to go after Wukong. No go.

He laid back down in bed and tore his shirt off. Wukong wouldn't mind. He could care less about decency, living with Wukong for two months short of a year taught him that much.

Nezha grabbed a nearby remote and turned on every fan the remote could to full blast. He then turned on his favorite playlist on the TV.

And then the phone on the bedside table started ringing.

It was Li Jing.

Fuck.

~~~

Sun Wukong made it down to the refrigerator in the kitchen to collect the ice packs for Nezha. Finally, he could be the one giving help instead of receiving it.

But that didn't mean he stopped having problems of his own.

Wukong exhaled and felt a wave of depression topple over him like a weighted blanket he couldn't shake off. He tried.

"For the sake of Buddha, pull yourself together Wukong, you've been like this for too long!"

No amount of telling himself that was going to make things any easier.

Just for a moment, he breathed and laid his head back on the chair.

He picked it up again when the doorbell rang.

~~~

Wukong opened the door to see Li Jing standing on the opposite side holding groceries.

SWK: What are you doing here?

Jing: I came here to help my son.

SWK: Really?

Jing: Yes.

SWK: ...

Jing: *sighs* I'm not how I once was, if that's what you're thinking. I know about my son's condition, and since he hasn't called in sick for some time, I figured it would be soon.

Jing: Whenever he is in good health for an extended period of time, his condition tends to come back with a vengeance. By the amount of ice packs in your lap, it would seem I was correct.

SWK: Yeah, dude was burning hotter that the furnace you and the others stuck me in all those centuries ago.

Jing: You're still upset about that? It was over a thousand years ago!

SWK: You still think of me as a beast? It was over a thousand years ago! You still felt the need to "collar the beast" back there. You haven't changed your views of me, why would I change mine of you?

Jing: ...

Jing: I believe I deserved that.

SWK: Wait, really?

Jing: Yes. It is rather foolish and hypocritical of me to think you to have moved on from past events when I clearly haven't done so myself.

SWK: I... wasn't expecting that of you... of anyone, really, but especially you...

Jing: I have been working on myself since those days.

SWK: Uh... good to hear! I'm still a little shocked by it, but hopefully it's impacted you and Nezhie in a good way!

Jing: Nezhie? Does my son know you call him that?

SWK: Yeah. He hasn't ever complained, so I think he likes it. Kinda hard to be sure though.

Jing: Indeed...

Jing: Does my son speak of me at all?

SWK: Um... not really... sometimes he'll tell me about occasionally running into you at work or what you say in meetings but not much else.

Jing: I see... I may still have a ways to go before fully mending things with my son.

SWK: Hey, if what you said earlier is any consolation, I'd say you're on the right track!

Jing: You think so?

SWK: Yep! I do my best to stay positive. Kinda hard when I'm like this *pats wheelchair* but I'm trying.

Jing: It would seem you are doing good as well.

SWK: Thanks! Now let's get these ice packs up to Nezha, my legs feel like they're gonna get frostbite!

~~~

"Bittersweet Symphony" played on the TV as Nezha laid chest up awaiting Wukong's return. He had no idea what the lyrics meant as he didn't speak English, but Wukong seemed to enjoy the message, so it likely meant something good. Plus the instrumentals were really good.

As usual, Wukong made the loudest entrance possible.

SWK: *opens door slightly by hand and kicks it the rest of the way open* YEET!!!

SWK: *gently tosses the smallest ice pack to Nezha*

Nezha: *catches ice pack while barely paying attention*

Jing: I have so many questions...

Nezha: Good morning, father.

Jing: Good morning, my son.

SWK: We got you ice packs and some other stuff!

Nezha: Good morning to you too, Wu.

Sun Wukong gently positioned each ice pack on Nezha's body with Li Jing's help. Li Jing helped Nezha eat some breakfast and get some pain medication in him.

The three conversed for hours on various topics: Nezha's music taste, Wukong's fluency in multiple languages and each person's favorite snacks, as well as everyone's current health condition.

All in all, the day went much better than any of them had anticipated. Nezha was just happy that his best friend and his father somehow managed to get along with each other, though that did lead to some interesting conversations...

Li Jing: What is a... yeet?

Part 13:

[diealittlesometime]

They're Wrong

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n is confronted with the idea that Natasha is growing tired of her.

Warnings: angst but ends with fluff

Word Count: 899

Navigation | N.R Masterlist | W.M Masterlist

"You're growing tired of me," You say flatly, the words sounding harsh even to your own ears. The corners of your mouth turn downwards into a frown, and you drop your gaze from her intense green eyes to the ground in shame.

Her eyes flicker with guilt before she sighs heavily and shakes her head, "That's not…It isn't true!" She says quickly. Her face is set in determination, and you almost feel bad for bringing that up after all those years of silence. "Don't say such things. I could never ever…" She trails off in hesitation as if unsure how to finish the sentence.

The way her voice wavers at the end makes your heart twist painfully. A lump forms in your throat and you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes. You swallow the emotion and try again. It doesn't work. "But everyone else thinks it." You mumble, looking away from her again.

Your voice sounds choked, but you don't care. You don't want her to see that part of you anymore. The one that's weak, pathetic, and ugly. Your fingers wrap around your arms tighter and you pull them close to yourself, trying to make yourself smaller. "Everyone always tells me that you're getting tired of me-"

"They're wrong."

"Are they?" The words come out more bitterly than intended, but you can't bring yourself to care. "Or are you only saying that to make me feel better?" You ask bitterly. Anger bubbles inside you until suddenly you find yourself on the verge of crying again, unable to hold back any longer.

Her shoulders stiffen and you can hear the crackle of static over the phone before she speaks softly, "Of course not, Y/n."

Your name rolls off her tongue easily, smoothly rolling over each syllable, like oil on water. Her tone is so comforting and gentle that your anger immediately begins to fade away, replaced by a warm sense of relief. But there's still the smallest spark of uncertainty in your chest.

Something about this whole situation feels so wrong, but you know what she means when she says 'they're all wrong.' So, why do you think she's lying?

Her soft voice breaks through the fog clouding your thoughts, "How could you possibly think that?" Her concern is palpable and the warmth spreads further throughout your body.

You huff a small breath of air that escapes your nose in a puff of smoke. "You tell me," Your voice comes out muffled by the fabric of your sleeves.

There is a long pause, filled with nothing but static crackling between the two of you. Then she whispers, "I don't think anyone would ever get tired of you, Y/n." She finishes quietly.

The sincerity in her voice makes your heart swell with warmth despite your worries. It takes a moment for you to respond, but you finally manage a shaky, "Really?" The corner of your mouth quirks upwards and the knot in your chest loosens just a little bit more, "Even though I'm always causing trouble and making you deal with all my problems?"

She laughs lightly, her deep baritone warming your soul, "Especially because you're constantly being a pain in my ass and making me have to put up with your shit." Her laugh is laced with amusement and you find yourself grinning against your will. She pauses then adds, "…and I love you for it."

A warm feeling swells in your chest. There was no denying it now, you were absolutely in love with this woman. You knew you had been since day one, but somehow it had never quite occurred to you before today. Maybe it was because you'd been too caught up with what the others were saying and acting on their opinions instead of yours.

"You love me?" You sniffle a little and wipe the corner of your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie.

Her laugh turns into an exasperated snort, "Yeah, idiot. I love you. I love you. I love you." She says each word as if they are a mantra of sorts, as she walks towards you. When she reaches your side, she wraps her arm around you and pulls you flush against her, her nose buried in your hair as she nuzzles closer.

There's another brief pause before she continues, "So, don't you dare say that to my face ever again. Because that will never happen. Understood?" She mutters into your ear.

You nod, your lips brushing against the soft skin of her neck. "Understood. I'm sorry for doubting you." Your voice is barely audible as you reply.

She hums happily, her grip tightening a little. "Good," She replies simply and you feel her smile against the top of your head. The warmth radiates outwards from her touch. You can't help the grin on your face.

You press into her embrace, inhaling deeply. She smells good and you feel safe and secure as she holds you securely. It's something that you've missed dearly. And although it's selfish, you hope that she'll keep holding you like this for a long time. Forever, even, if it's possible.

"I love you, too." You reply quietly.

Her laughter vibrates through you and sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You feel her smile against the crown of your head. And then you both stay silent, letting the warmth of her embrace take over.

[willtheweaver]

OC interaction tag

Shoutout @somethingclevermahogony for the tag

SCM's OC: Bop is a wind spirit of indeterminate age, at least 2,000 years. They don't actually remember how old they are. Bop is not a name which they gave themselves, but rather it is the name which has been given to them by Narul, a reference to their current living situation. It is not at all certain that Bop ever had an actual name before they were given one by Narul, certainly most spirits do not give themselves names. Bop is trapped inside of an Arkodian Bronze hammer, placed there by an unknown sage or group of sages centuries before the beginning of the story. It is unclear if they can be freed and what would happen if they were. They are blinded and deafened to the outside world unless the hammer which they are trapped within is held by a person. This allows them to access the mind of the wielder, to speak with them and to see and hear through them. Touching the hammer also allows the wielder to have access to some of Bop's magic, including the ability to heal minor injuries and an increase in strength. A person must be touching the hammer in order to communicate with Bop and to feel the effects of their magic.

They have become close friends with the current wielder of the hammer, Narul. Bop is a deeply caring individual, though centuries spent in the darkness of the deep sun's cave, their inhuman nature, and a reliance on the eyes of their wielder sometimes mean that the spirit can be somewhat naive and tactless. Their sense of humor is somewhat childish and they take particular delight in puns. When seen in the mind’s eye, Bop typically takes the form of an amorphous misty shape, an ever-shifting humanoid silhouette. So too does their voice shift, changing drastically in tone, depth, and speed over the course a conversation. Bop is defined by a lack of staticness, a constant nature of change.

My OC: Sorrel epitomizes what it means to be a fox of the forest. Inquisitive and adventurous, she loves going out and spending days away from the village. Free-spirited, she is not afraid of letting her opinion be known, and can be quite willful and stubborn at times. But she also has a softer side, and she is fiercely loyal and compassionate to those that earn her friendship.

How they'd interact: This may be the most unusual interaction Bop has had…or maybe not. They have met many different individuals and maybe nothing surprises them anymore. Of course, Sorrel will be curious about Bop. What would take getting use to would be communicating with a being with no physical form, and can only interact through the mind. Sorrel would be surprised at first and drop Bop’s hammer. But I’m sure that she would figure things out, even if she doesn’t fully get what’s going on. The stories they would share would certainly something to behold. What would put a damper on things would be the sickness Sorrel had acquired (and would eventually succumb to) in between the prologue and the main story. Once they find out, Bop would immediately become worried and ask if there was anything they could do. Sorrel would reply that the sickness is incurable. As their hammer is very old, Bop would have witnessed the deaths of quite a few individuals they have gotten close to, and each one probably would have saddened them greatly. Sorrel would do her best to remain cheerful and enjoy what time she has left. Bop would tell Sorrel to hold the hammer close, for while their magic would not cure her, it would at least make the pain more bearable.

Tagging @honeybewrites @tabswrites @theeccentricraven @rickie-the-storyteller @autism-purgatory

@revenantlore @late-to-the-fandom @talesofsorrowandofruin @fortunatetragedy @indecentpause

@little-peril-stories @mysticstarlightduck and open tag

[superman86to99]

Superman: The Man of Steel #35 (July 1994)

"WORLDS COLLIDE," Part 1! And "THE FALL OF METROPOLIS," Part 2! And a Wonder Woman crossover! And a long-time character dies, as spoiled by the cover! This issue might be peak '90s. This is the most '90s you can cram into 22 pages without the comic exploding.

Things are a bit rough in Metropolis after Lex Luthor's main lackey launched some missiles that destroyed almost every building in the city (Action #700). Keith the Unlucky Orphan and his friends are trying to gather food from what's left of their orphanage, when a bunch of gangsters with machine guns show up to steal everything, reminding us why we call him Keith the Unlucky Orphan. Luckily, though, the kids are protected not just by Keith's pal Superman but by Myra, the Orphanage Lady, who decides to keep a couple of those machine guns in case the ruffians return.

Combined with the scars she got on her face after saving Keith from an hypnotic lizard lady last issue, Myra is only some shoulder pads away from looking like a badass '90s anti-hero.

While Superman tries to help people around the ruins of Metropolis, a Giant Robot That Shoots Death Lasers From Its Chest (GRTSDLFIC) emerges from the ground and starts creating more ruins. The monster runs into Keith and the other orphans, so Myra bravely stands in front of it with her new toys and tries to distract it.

And she does! For about a second.

As he holds Myra's body, Keith yells out for Superman, who arrives right in time to save him from getting death lasered too. The Special Crimes Unit also stops by to help, and the GRTSDLFIC turns out to be smart enough to target Maggie Sawyer out of all of the officers because it can tell she's the top dog (or maybe it's just homophobic, dunno). Superman saves her, because one strong female supporting character death is enough for this issue.

Superman realizes the GRTSDLFIC is alive and needs to breathe, so he flies it up into orbit to take out its air and leaves it suspended there while he goes deal with other problems. (Presumably by also throwing them into orbit, like usual.) Meanwhile, Keith begs Maggie and SCU to take Myra to the hospital, but it's too late for her. The kid has an understandably tough time accepting that another mother figure has left him.

RIP, Myra the no-nonsense orphanage lady. When we met her back in Man of Steel #1 (1991), I don't think anyone guessed that she'd die wielding dual machine guns while facing a Giant Robot That Shoots Death Lasers From Its Chest. But we should have, dammit. We should have.

Plotline-Watch:

So, wait, why is this part of a crossover called "Worlds Collide"? Because a whole 5 pages are devoted to Lois Lane's mailman, Fred Bentson, who is still having weird nightmares where he finds himself in another universe. Professor Hamilton meets Bentson at a Red Cross shelter and takes him to a clinic to treat his sleep disorder, which involves becoming immaterial while he sleeps and being haunted by an inter-dimensional monster. At the clinic, some rather shady psychologists hook Bentson up to a machine that can project his dreams, and they all see him naked as he's chased by the nightmare monster and tries to get help from... STATIC?!

By the way, the shady sleep clinic happens to be located right under the bridge that was half-destroyed during Superboy's fight with that Spider-Man wannabe called Stinger almost a year ago, which is still half-destroyed. At least it doesn't stand out from the rest of the city anymore (thanks, Dr. Happersen!). The half-bridge will be a relevant plot point during this storyline.

And why is this a Wonder Woman crossover? Because she appears for a single panel while Superman is fighting the Giant Robot and wishes she'd picked another issue to come ask for his advice. The comic tells us to buy Wonder Woman #88 (which briefly shows WW helping Superman against the robot) for the rest of the story.

On that subject, Don Sparrow says: "Superman doesn’t appear very prominently in the connected issue of Wonder Woman #88. All that happens is Wonder Woman requests that Superman stop her if she ever loses control of herself. It’s not a great issue, largely because Christopher Priest writes both Diana and Superman fairly out of character throughout, and the art in the issue manages to depict Wonder Woman as both matronly and pervy. (The issue also features the choice line of dialogue “female be trippin’”, so if you don’t rush out and find the issue, you’re not missing much, apart from another great Bolland cover featuring Superman)."

Yes, the Keith stuff is pretty depressing, and could be seen as another example of Superman comics going all "Dark Age," but at least it'll lead to positive things for the character in the near future. Now, those other orphans who lost Myra, not so sure...

Patreon-Watch:

The results of the Superman/Doomsday: Hunter/Prey bonus artwork poll are in, and after tallying up the votes here and at Patreon, the character who will get drawn by the great Don Sparrow is... Maxima, in her post-Doomsday purple suit! Who won by a whole vote! (For those keeping count: 5 votes for Red Cyborg, 10 for Pouch Superman, and 11 for Purple Maxima.)

Don's work will be posted for all to see, but the original artwork will be given away to one of our patrons, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, Gaetano Barreca, and Dave Shevlin. If you'd like to decrease their chances, join them at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And speaking of Don, stick around for his section, after the jump...

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

It’s an interesting cover, with the protagonist and even the title trade dress obscured by shadow.  It’s not really an action-type pose, but Superman’s angry expression indicates that action will follow.  We also get a hint at the tragedy within, with an injured Myra Allen below Superman.

Inside the book, we get our first glimpses of post-cataclysm Metropolis, seen through the eyes of hard-luck Keith.  The double page spread on pages 2 and 3 is a great drawing of Superman, exuding power even in a static pose. 

The cybernetic monster, who in this issue gets neither a name, nor an origin (unless the story’s title, Afterburn, is maybe the robot’s name?) but it’s an appropriately Fleischer studios-like design for Bogdanove to draw. 

Normally I quite dislike photo-stat backgrounds, but the panel with Superman carrying survivors gets a pass from me, because I love images of Superman saving kids—especially the way Bogdanove draws it. 

Myra Allen’s last stand against the robot is stirringly drawn, and to me visually recalls Frank Miller and Dave Gibbons’ “Martha Washington Goes to War” which was hitting newsstands around this time.   It’s interesting to see Bogdanove’s version of the famed Brian Bolland pose from Wonder Woman #72, even if she’s facing away. 

Keith’s grief at Myra’s passing is as powerful and sad an image as we’ve ever seen in these books, and my heart breaks for the poor little guy (look at his little hand clutching the cape!  What an astonishing detail!).  Though he’s fictional, it’s hard not to feel for him, when he’s endured so much tragedy in his young life.  I appreciate the restraint here, from a story standpoint—Superman offers no words of comfort, or guidance at what comes next, because they would only be trite and empty in a moment such as this.  All Superman can do, he does—which is to hold Keith, and let him weep.

Our final cameo of the book is Milestone’s Static, another character Bogdanove seems born to draw.  The introduction to him, as the milquetoast Bentson jumps to the Milestone world is fittingly energetic.   

SPEEDING BULLETS:

I appreciate the detail early on that Superman has put “a lot of time into locating” gas leaks and shutting them down.  It’s nice that the writer considered something like that.

We’ve known for a while that the DCU version of Coca-Cola is Soder, but nice to be informed that Sprite is called “Spritz” here. 

Professor Hamilton is perhaps a bit casual about the fact that Bentson was briefly immaterial! [Max: Maybe he's like "Have I been immaterial before? Maybe during the Husque storyline? Don't remember..."]

The great Jose-Luis Garcia Lopez gets a sort of shout out on page 7, as a fresh fruit stand bears his name.

At the time of this issue’s release I remember being very curious about the Milestone characters, and excited about them crossing over with my favourite character, but I still question the choice of having an uninteresting character like Bentson be the initial conduit between the worlds.  Maybe if the previous issues had established him as a recognizable Metropolis fixture (as well as Dakota City) like Whit or Allie or someone, it would have a little more impact (though they do try to build up his importance here, as the mailman who delivered the damaging evidence about Lex Jr.).  But I find it hard to really care about the Egon-looking guy, particularly when he’s running around naked.

[hopeintheashes]

Some episodes call for fic.

This will get cleaned up and properly posted later, but here's what I've got for now. Post 6x10, for the BTHB square "Adrenaline Crash."

In the circuit, the frequency's breaking up / The speakers can barely move / (This is not a test) / Look in the mirror / Adjust the V-hold / Shatter the lens, pull out the shards / Choke on the words caught in your throat / How long can the wheels maintain a spin at this velocity? - Thursday, "Tomorrow I'll Be You"

Hen catches him.

Four a.m. and he hasn't stopped, hasn't stopped pacing, hasn't stopped— praying? Is that what he's doing? This fervent whisper in the back of his mind, Hail Mary, full of grace, words he doesn't even— hasn't since— But it doesn't matter, they're there whether he wants them or not, the echo of his childhood in the spaces between please— and no— and he can't, this can't—

His boot catches on the layers of wax on the linoleum floor and he stumbles, and Hen catches him.

You were— he wants to say. You were following me.

"Yeah," she says. "I was."

He's shaking. That isn't right.

The catch of panic in his chest.

Chim, on Buck's bare chest, hands slipping in the pouring rain. The wild thought, Don't break him, even though he knows damn well he has to be broken to be saved.

No.

He needs to— keep it together. Keep his jaw set and his head up and push through to morning. To the light. As if that that's what will bring him home, walking through the waiting room door with an easy smile, a half-amused grin: What are you guys doing here?

(It'll be at least a day. He knows it'll be at least a day. They'd passed the message back and forth between waiting-room chairs like they were eight years old playing telephone, like Bobby hadn't just told them all, his words settling over the room like a stifling blanket. A day? A day. The doctors said— medically-induced coma. At least a day. We'll know more later. We just have to wait and see.)

He wants to be here; he wants to be home. Christopher is at home.

Christopher is asleep and doesn't know, doesn't know, and that's what finally takes him out at the knees.

Hen catches him, and they're all alone on a hallway bench in the florescent light and the hospital might be empty; might be abandoned; this might be the end of the world.

"Eddie."

Through the scream of static in his ears.

"Drink some water." Two bottles in her hands. Had those been there before?

He stares at the thin plastic where it's going concave under her fingers, like Buck's pale chest under the heels of Chimney's hands, and he has this faraway conviction that he's going to be sick.

He swallows down the same sour taste that had flooded his mouth when they showed up (as if this wasn't the first time in years, in decades; as if they hadn't let their son cut himself to bits his whole life on the flint of their indifference) and tells himself he's going to reach for the bottle; take it; open it; drink.

Now that he's stopped moving, though, he can't find a way to start.

Hen opens the water and puts it in his hand and taps at his elbow until he takes a sip. "Good," she says, no more than a murmur, and he supposes that's right, objectively speaking, but it just feels so goddamn unimportant in the face of the end of the world.

Bobby, he wants to say. Maddie. Chim.

"Drink," Hen says again; taps his elbow again; and he does, and he doesn't heave. "That's it," she says, so quiet he barely hears.

He's shaking. Again. Still? The water is trembling, threatening to spill.

"Okay." Taking the water out of his hands. Capping it again. "C'mere."

Where? There's nowhere but here in this terrible limbo.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this is all an echo of before. Of fear and ropes and pouring rain and waiting-waiting-waiting for news. Of a crack that comes after the damage is done, the speed of sound too slow.

It's too much. He lets the ringing in his ears flood the rest, drown it out.

"C'mere," Hen says, and pulls him close, numb and trembling in the adrenaline let-down, breath coming in gasps, and she holds him, there in the empty hallway, and doesn't say anything else at all.

[scarecrow-in-a-hatake]

what is so special about the icha-icha plot? I remember you kind of saying that one of these books is a detective/noir novel? is that what it is?

Okay, to be honest? The reason why I hold this series so close to my heart includes more than just the plot— and not in that way, get your mind out of the gutter. Apologies in advance for rambling.

As a bit of context, since I'm hoping most of you who are reading this have never done a deep read of the entire thing: it's officially a trilogy of three books, with those being Icha Icha Paradise, Icha Icha Violence, and Icha Icha Tactics. There's also Icha Icha Innocence, which was published as an interest check just before the three-year hiatus preceding Tactics that the wider fanbase considers an official omake, and Ero Ero Paradigm, which is an unofficial parody spinoff of Paradise released around the same time.

You may have heard some wildly varying reviews about the story, and for good reason. The characterizations are... well, the writing gets better, but the characters don't develop in the sense that they mature, exactly. The protagonist and the main love interest especially are quite static as per traditional legends and folklore, compared to the dynamic characterizations that have grown increasingly popular since I was a kid. But as the situations they're thrown in get more serious, the audience gets to delve deeper into who they are, what makes them tick— what makes them fight. Their motivation to keep getting back up when the world knocks them down, you know? If Paradise is a nostalgic caricature of a halcyon youth, then Violence is symbolic of the struggles of adulthood and maintaining those connections. Or not maintaining them. There's a well-beloved bastard of a third wheel who kind of just disappears, and the implication is that he was lost to the war that the book very subtly hints is going on in the background. Tactics is the one you're probably referring to as a detective-noir novel, since two of it's five parts are dedicated to finding said bastard. I won't spoil any further than that.

Anyways. Paradise is divided into three sections. I didn't make it far into the first one when I skimmed through it as a young teen— Jiraiya-sama himself left it on my nightstand during a hospital stay, if you can believe that. Signed and everything. It was only after Icha Icha Violence was released that I gave the series a genuine shot, though, and I'm glad I did.

...but if you're looking for pure filth with no deeper meanings attached, get yourself a first edition copy of Tactics for the fifth section. You don't even need to know anything about the rest of the series to enjoy the, er, celebratory activities. Fair warning, though, it's a bit intense. There's a reason why the publishers stopped including it after the initial release.

[tokenstraightman]

It's come to the point where my Harry Potter fixation has come around again, but instead of just re-reading the books and going on Pottermore to harass other people like a regular person-- my smooth brain is wanting to rewrite the entire series.

The world is great, the magic system can use some work but oh my sweet mother of crust do the characters need work

So many of the characters end up being static when there is SO much room for satisfying character arcs that don't mess with the story too bad :(

Aunt Petunia for example.

She has a truckload of resentment twords lily because of Lily's decision to go and live in the wizarding world rather than stay with petunia. Just think- for years, petunia would write letters to dumbledor almost everyday begging to go to Hogwarts.

That little girls hope to be as special as her sister, that little girl emotions when she was treated lesser than.

Petunia always had too much neck, she was a killjoy, and she would never be as special or as pretty as her sister.

But when lily would come home from Christmas the first person she would run to was petunia, to tell her about the school year, about a new crush or new spells she's learned. That's when she felt special. With her sister.

There is so much potential for raw emotion here. Petunia is such a static character, why?

I understand the books were made one by one, there wasn't a planned story really. This is mostly lead to characters like petunia to be static.

But think of a Harry Potter book where petunia shut herself in the master bedroom for days after getting the news from dumbledor her sister was killed.

The resentment, the anger, the sadness.

Petunia would have been a changed woman, and would she not have looked at Harry differently?

Harry's existence would just remind petunia of what was lost, what lily did to herself. But oh..he has her eyes, doesn't he?

Harry would look at petunia and she would flinch back. For a second she could have sworn she was a little girl again, playing with lily--

She would resent Harry too. How dare he live when her sister couldn't?

She would grow to hate those eyes.

When Harry gets his letter, petunia, for the first time in 11 years felt those raw emotions start to resurface. She would fling herself into Harry and hold him so close to her chest that Harry could feel his lungs compress.

For such a strong woman she had a strong grip.

She would sob and beg him not to go. Not to leave.

"there's only death for you!"

She would wail. She read the letter, she knew his fate. If she had to bury her nephew along with her sister the poor woman felt as though she would break.

Dudley was beyond shocked into silence. He'd never seen this hysteria over his cousin before. Vernon would be right beside his son, bewildered and scared.

Hagrid even felt pity for her, prying her off of Harry and holding her tightly as she sobbed hysterically.

Imagine this happening, imagine the change in character relationships. Harry would sure as hell not understand what that was be he had never gotten any kind of hug from his aunt before.

That could lead into questioning what that was about and Harry would learn about his parents ect.

In conclusion I'm falling into the stereotypes again--

[sunwarmed-ash]

For my patient babies 😘👀💙

The Eden Club smutty preview 😘🔞😈

The glass door to Connor’s room opens as soon as Gavin gets within walking distance and slaps closed when he steps out of range. Inside the soundproof room he’s instanty assaulted with the pronographic sounds of their roboboyfriend, still being broken again and again over Hank’s cock. 

“Gavin! Gavin please,” Connor begs, eyes immediately finding his and pleading for mercy. Hank’s got him good and worked up, and it was a hell of a view. Hank’s grunts as he surely tries to hold himself from unloading into that tight, slick ass. Gavin understands, its phcking nirvana. 

“Yeah baby?” he coos and Connor looks so thoroughly fucked out it makes his cock ache. 

“pleasepleasepleasecanIcum?” he sobs out, all one word, and grabs onto anything he can reach as Hank’s thrusts just don't stop. Hank’s dick is probably more than Connor’s body was ever designed to take and that’s so phcking hot to think about.    

“Not yet baby. Let me get over there.”

Connor sobs as another denied orgasm leaves his body twitching and Hank groans as Connor’s channel tightens around him. 

“So good Con,” Hank praises and Gavin watches the android phcking beam. 

Gavin makes quick work of tearing off his own clothes before wrapping his hand around Connor’s lube-slicked, silicone cock. 

“Ready baby?” Gavin asks.

“Pl-eas-ee,” Connor begs, before his eyes open and catches the matching bars through Gavin’s nipples. His pupils dilate. Gavin wishes more than anything he could take a picture. It was a hell of a life accomplishment. ‘The moment he rendered the most advanced android speechless.’   

“Like em?” He chuckles. 

Connor nods and Hank finally looks over his shoulder to see what Con was referring to. 

“When the hell did you get those?”

“Couple years ago,” Gavin shrugs, pumping his hand up and down Connor’s slicked up cock. “I don’t always wear ‘em though. They phcking hurt under Kevlar.” 

“Fair ‘nough,” Hank chuckles.

“Pleaseee, come on,” Connor whimpers and their attention goes right back to Connor. 

“Go ahead Sweetheart, you’ve been so fucking good,” Hank agrees and that’s it. 

Connor’s body twitches hard, and his voice comes out pure static. Gavin for a moment is worried he’s going to shut down again, but his eyes flutter close and his face looks pinched as the hardest parts of his orgasm wash over him. 

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou'' Connor sobs on repeat, still thrusting up into Gavin's tight fist as his continuous orgasm coats both their bodies. It leaves them sticky and messy and,

“Fucking beautiful,” Hank growls.

“He really is.” Gavin can’t help but agree. 

“Pl-ease,” Connor continues to beg. Even as his body trembles as it attempts to recenter itself. 

Check back sunday night for the full chapter!

[frecklystars]

💌 here’s a free gush pass for officer k!

OH 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 AHHH!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON you are so so sweet!!!!!!!!!!! This is just what I needed today!!! 🥺🥺💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Officer K!!! OOGHH WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN????? I've been yearning for him just about every day!!! Definitely one of my top favorite RG F/Os, probably even within the top three!!!! ;u;

I'm gonna go OFF, thank you, sweet anon, for allowing me to explode:

I've been dying to gush about Officer K and how he's become synonymous with Elvis. to me.

I used to be a hardcore Elvis fan when I was ten years old -- you know, normal, like all ten year olds. How did anybody assume I was neurotypical when I had an Elvis themed birthday party and did absolutely nothing but live, eat, and breathe Elvis Presley for a full year? Elvis on my walls, my mugs, my backpacks, my lunchbox, my clothes, my mousepad, even my breath mint case was a guitar shape with Elvis' face on it. You know, like all ten year olds have?? ANYWAY. I fell out of liking Elvis as I grew up, then flash forward to a decade later, I'm watching all these Ryan movies and there's so many instances where he'll say a line and it'll have the same bit of drawl or click of the tongue the way Elvis did, the same push/control of breath that makes his voice curve "up", and I'd think "huh... that sounds... familiar"

Then I watched br2049 for the first time, and there is that scene where an Elvis hologram shows up, glitching, singing "suspicious minds" for a moment, and it got me all excited. K was looking at it curiously for that split, split, SPLIT blink-and-you-miss-it second, and "I can't help falling in love with you" played a minute later, and he looked at the hologram again for just one moment. I just... started associating him with Elvis from that point forward. I don't even know if he liked Elvis' songs while they were playing; he was kind of, uh, going through quite a lot at the time, haha. but if he knew I liked Elvis' music/voice quite a bit, he'd come to associate it with me, and maybe he'd like it too.

I really love daydreaming about him coming home from a long day, he's just exhausted and jaded and there's this ache in his chest, and I know exactly what to do to try to make him feel better, feel loved, wanted -- or maybe I wake up from a nightmare or something, and he knows exactly what to do, to make me feel safe, cared for, secure -- I don't go a single day without daydreaming about us holding hands during those moments when we need each other terribly, slow dancing a little bit in his living room while playing Elvis records. He could just easily play the songs instantaneously from another device that would fill the whole room, but there's something... different... about a record player that he's so dearly drawn to. It's all Barbie pink (I had to bring it to him from some other dimension after all!), and he likes the faint sound of the stylus scratching, the little bits of static electricity.

"Love Me Tender" makes me teary-eyed every single time I listen to it now, just because it makes me feel so comforted to think about him. I think he'd hum it softly in my ear while we're slow dancing. Or just laying on the couch and cuddling, his coat as a makeshift blanket for the both of us, him rubbing my back and my fingers in his hair. If I can't sleep, he'll tell me fairytales in a soothing voice. Most of them he makes up on the spot, something something there's a princess with stars glittering in her hair, something something there is a stable boy named Joe who falls in love with the princess, something something he works to become her knight to protect her at all costs... she makes him feel like a prince even though everyone else views him as a mindless, worthless thing; he makes her feel safe and loved and like she's almost herself again when they have late night talks in a garden full of yellow flowers. They make each other feel things they have been missing out on for so long. And they live happily ever after. He always makes sure to end it that way; always a happy ending.

"It's Now or Never" is one of my favorites to associate with him too... when I listen to that song, I often think about him looking out his apartment window, waiting to see a shooting star (for context, my self insert enters universes via falling star, then transforming into a human once reaching the ground). He can never see a star in the sky, not in that universe, not when there's smog and advertisements in your face all the time, not when there's so much pollution, that the only stars, the only sunlight he could ever dream of seeing is a picture or drawing in a textbook. But he sees one star so vividly every few nights twinkling above him and slowly drifting toward where he is, whether that's home or in his office or out in the field. And he drops everything and bolts outside toward it, catches it, then tucks the star away in his coat, protecting it from the cold as he walks back inside. If he's going into his apartment, he feels a surge of protectiveness overtaking him. All of these people yelling at him, spitting at him, shoving him, throwing slurs in his direction - none of that matters, he's got a star tucked away near his heart and he's gotta make sure nothing happens to it. If he's getting shoved, he turns his body so he only gets hit in the shoulder or the back, not the chest or whichever side where the star might be tucked away. When he goes inside his apartment, he locks the door, takes a breath -- and suddenly there she is, there's his girl, still a bit of stardust in her hair from her travels. And we hug!!! One of those big tight hugs where you close your eyes and your fingers curl in the fabric of the other person's clothes. Desperate. And he lets out this big SIGH of relief.

I think about him listening to "Rubberneckin'" and he pauses and says "hey sweetheart... what does that mean?" "what?" "rubberneckin', what is that?" 👀 cue a visual demonstration here. it really doesn't help that the song has girls moaning in the background that he asks about too lmao

You know that scene where he's walking through the ruins of Las Vegas? I always remember "Viva Las Vegas" when I watch it. One of these days I hope to make a (very roughly) sketched animatic for the first 40 seconds of that song with Officer K.

"Baby, Let's Play House" describes K very well, as he literally comes home every day and plays house with Joi lol. That's not one of my favorite songs but I listen to it on occasion and think of him. "Don't Be Cruel" is probably my favorite Elvis song to associate with him so far. I always think of dancing to it with him, and him laughing. Actually laughing. Feeling good. I want him to be so happy around me. "Bossa Nova" is a good dancing song for us too!

I think about AUs for Driver and K, like, what is it called... a greaser AU? 70's AU? I just want the excuse to draw them in a black jacket, me in a cute poodle skirt, us sharing a milkshake at a diner or dancing to a jukebox. I wanna draw things. I WANNA DRAW THINGS.

ANYWAY ANYWAY I've rambled enough. Thank you SO MUCH for giving me this free gush pass. Whoever you are, I am sending you the biggest hug and lots of love and chocolates and all of your favorite flowers. That was really nice of you to brighten up my inbox after such a hard day ;w; and it's so sweet of you to remember how much I love this guy. Ahhh. This means a lot to me. I hope when you get something from the vending machine, it gives you two snacks for the price of one. I hope you find money on the ground. I hope all of your favorite songs come on the radio when you go grocery shopping. I hope you have the most delicious meal in the world the next time you go out. Thank you for your kindness, it doesn't go unnoticed. Quite the opposite. Sending you so much joy and love and good vibes 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[fandomregression]

I saw the flip!Ash post and little!Gary has my heart <3 please share your headcannons of him 🥺

when i say that gary is my favorite character ever in all media i mean it. with that in mind, pls enjoy some headcanons ajsldkfjashljg

Regressor Gary Oak Headcanons

gary learns about regression pretty young. he learned what it was when he was about 11-12, and he only learned bc he was apprenticing with prof rowan and one of the other apprentices (lucas maybe?? pls pokemon gimme the boy in the anime) regressed sometimes

for a couple years, gary doesn't really think about it. he doesn't try to regress, try to do anything regression-like

then he has a Super stressful year apprenticing in kalos, and one night he's in his room crying because the power went out and he lost his research progress on his computer

umbreon is beside him at the time, and she does her best to calm him down. she crawls on his lap and nuzzles his cheeks, puts her paws up on his shoulders, basically hugging him. eventually, gary stops crying, and he's just trying to get his breath back. umbreon drags over a pillow for him to squeeze, and he hugs it super-super tight until he finally feels better

after a little (haha) rest, he starts his computer back up and manages to recover most of his work. he saves it and closes docs, pulling up the pokemon equivalent to netflix. he starts a cartoon he and ash used to watch all the time as kids, and just lets himself get absorbed in the adventures of clefairy and all her friends

gary doesn't regress again for a few months. he doesn't even really consider what happened that night to be regression. the second time, though, he throws a fit and ends up battling some jerk that was making fun of him and research partners (blastoise and electivire are a lil suspish about fighting when their trainer sounds like a fussy toddler, but they do as he says anyway)(and after the battle, blastoise makes him sit down and eat a snack and drink some juice until he calms down)

once again, gary doesn't consider this regression. he is not regressing

the third time gary regresses, he does have to accept that it was actually regression. it's kind of hard to deny it when he jumped all over his room because he was getting pancakes for dinner. he put on fuzzy pjs (backwards oopsie) and fuzzy socks, and when he scooted across the floor to build up static electricity, he started calling himself elekid

over time, gary ends up getting quite a few plushies that he hides in his closet (with the door cracked open so they can breathe ofc). he gets a plush eevee first, and a squirtle and elekid, then he gets plushies of the rest of his team, and then he starts getting plushies of ash's team(s). he names every single one, too, and he makes lil profiles for each of them, with fake dex entries, in a little notebook

when gary starts getting more comfortable with his regression, he starts getting more obvious gear. the first thing he ever gets is a sippy cup. it's covered in super cute miltank illustrations, and it has a flip-top so it's not too obvious that it's a sippy cup

after he gets his cup, he gets a pacifier and a teether...and he maybe starts sleeping with the pacifier. shhhh...

after those, he gets some toddler toys, but he tries to get tiny ones so he can hide them better. he really, really doesn't want the professor to find out abt his regression because that's embarrassing and it might get back to his grandpa

gary's pokemon do their best to take care of him and keep him out of trouble, but even sometimes they have to encourage him to go steal some cookies >.>

really they don't do a good job of holding him accountable, so when ash finally learns abt gary's regression, he's a total brat and he gets so many disappointed sighs

gary's nicknames are pretty simple, just gare and gare-bear

he calls ash just ashy, but it usually comes out more like "ashyyyy-uh!"

he learns very quickly that he can bribe pikachu to take his side with the promise of ketchup. this does not bode well for ash

professor oak and tracey do eventually find out abt gary's regression, and they're very accepting. tracey and gary will hang out in the field and draw pokemon together. professor oak just treats him the same as he did when gary was growing up, and it seems to make him rlly happy

i'm gonna stop here ajsdlfkahglakdjfh gary is so good i love him so much ;-;