#this was from when i was testing things and switching back and forth between my regular cas lighting and the new vyx ones which </3

[mattodore]

theo's little fang poking out 💐🧎

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Four

Summary: With the discovery of a special book, Y/n is one step closer to home. The inner court learns even more about her family back home. And Azriel needs a babysitter of his own

Series Masterlist

-Part Four-

Amren found them in the kitchen, food had been waiting for them on the counter before they’d even arrived, the house it seemed was sick of her not eating as well. She’d simply laughed at the nagging presence and started filling her plate. Azriel had entered moments later, a small scowl on his lips from being left in her dust. He’d huffed and quietly filled his plate, he wasn’t kidding when he said flying worked up his appetite.

“I have use of your stray, boy. Go find somewhere else to be.”

Azriel gives the small female an unimpressed look, “nice to see you too, Amren.”

Y/n pushes her half eaten plate away, waving off the wisps of shadows that angrily dance around her at the action, “Did you find something?”

“I had that insufferable songbird pull any books she could find with your Wyrd marks,” Amren says, snapping her fingers.

A pile of books fall onto the counter, old withered pages that look like they hadn’t been opened in many many years. A plume of dust flies off them and Y/n wisks it away with a small breeze.

“Can you read them?” Azriel asks, eyeing the pages one book that’d fallen open.

“I thought I told you to find somewhere else to be?” Amren snaps, though there’s no threat behind it.

“My babysitter here is vigilant in his task,” Y/n sighs ignoring the withering look Azriel gives her, she takes one of the books into her hands and flips through some of the pages, “My mother taught me what she knew of the marks. Protection, locking, unlocking, many things like that, but we never covered gates, it simply wasn’t possible, and she didn’t want me testing fate.”

“Well to bad, it would’ve been useful to know that now,” Amren sighs, picking a book out of the stack, shoving it towards her, “Gwyn said this one practically jumped off the shelf at her.”

Y/n eyes the title and almost drops the book in shock. Azriel takes a casual step closer to peer over her shoulder at the book, a shadow finds her arm and gently wraps around it, a comforting touch.

“You know it?” Amren asks, giving that wisp of shadow a curious look, “I couldn’t read it, what is it called?”

“The Walking Dead,” Y/n answers breathlessly, “in my native language.”

Azriel couldn’t read the book, but he still looks over her shoulder periodically as she flips through each page. She’d been at it for hours, taking notes on the scraps of paper littered over the dining room table. Amren had taken the remaining books to look over, most had been fae scholars from this world musing over the marks, nothing quite as useful as the book in Y/n’s hands it would seem. Amren would also look over the Book of Breathings, see if anything jumped out at her.

Y/n had barely spoken to him the whole time, quietly mumbling to herself once in a while as she wrote. Azriel noticed that her notes switched between his language and her own in sporadic patterns, sentences switching back and forth, one word in one language then the next in the other. Swirling letters that connected in long strokes of her pen. The words were close together, she hardly lifted the pen as she finished one to write the next, like her brain was moving faster than her hand could keep up.

She was so focused that she didn’t notice Azriel slip out the door, didn’t notice when Rhys had appeared and waved him towards the hall.

“How’s research going?” The High Lord asks, “Amren has yet to find anything useful.”

Azriel turns an eye through the door, at the female still engrossed in that book, “nothing yet, though it seems Y/n may put Amren to shame in relentless focus. I don’t think she’s looked away from that book for more than the few seconds it takes to write something down.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Amren she has the competition,” Rhys chuckles, “I hear you two went for a flight today. All over Velaris people are talking about the almighty Shadowsinger chasing after a bird all afternoon.”

He gives Azriel a shit eating grin and Az scowls back at him, “she was determined to leave her babysitter in the dust.”

His scowl deepens when Rhys just laughs, “what? Don’t like chasing after pretty females?”

“I’m sure his ego is just bruised cause he can’t keep up,” Y/n’s voice calls out from the room behind them, “Big strong males tend to dislike being shown up by us pretty females.”

Azriel glares over his shoulder at the female who hadn’t even looked up from her notes, “I can keep up just fine.”

“Sure you can,” she laughs, turning a page, “I won’t hold back next time if that’s what you wish.”

His shadows laugh in his ears and he turns his glare on them. Rhys next to him grins as he walks into the room, eyes taking in the mess of papers full of Y/n’s half put together thoughts. She finally looks up then, acknowledging the male with a small nod of her head.

Her eyes are tinged red, like she hadn’t even blinked in the time she’d been sitting there. She glances at him, grinning at the scowl still on his lips. He glares harder, shoving his shadows down as they continue to laugh at him.

Rhys looks between them, “found anything useful?”

It breaks their stare and her smile falls. Azriel gets the strangest sense that he wants it back.

“Yes and no,” she sighs, “I recognize a lot of it, this was the book my mother learned a lot of what she knows of the Wyrd marks. She used it to open a gate to the place souls rest once to talk to… a friend. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere, I just need to keep looking.”

He notes the pause, the shift of her tone, whoever Aelin had tired to talk to, it was a sore subject. Take a break, she’s sad again, sad, she needs to rest, working for hours, hours, break. Azriel is half tempted to hiss at the nosey little shadows. They’d been at it for the last hour, as soon as the sun started to dip below the horizon, it’s like they switched into nanny mode. He wasn’t sure why they were so concerned anyway, she was more than capable of taking care of her damn self.

“The gates are the tricky ones,” she continues, grabbing pages of notes, “I’m close to figuring it out, I could probably open a gate, but to get to the right place is the hard part is opening one to the right place. I could just as easily walk right into a hell realm as I could into my own. And as fun as that seems, I’d rather not test my luck.”

“How many realms are out there?” Azriel asks.

“Who knows,” she shrugs, “my mother remembers falling through many, she couldn’t even describe most of them because of how fast she was falling. Give me a day and I think I could figure this out-“

“You’ve been at it for hours,” Rhys cuts in, “surely you could take a break. Maybe join us for dinner? We’ve all stewed up more questions for you, Cassian has a list.”

Yes, yes, yes, dinner, she didn’t eat enough, yes. Mother above, he wished he could get the shadows to shut up.

Y/n hesitantly glances at the papers surrounding her on the dining room table, “I seem to have commandeered the space. I’d hate for it to get stained.”

Azriel could tell that what she really wanted to say was, I need to keep working so I can get home. It was written in the longing glances at the book, in the way she flew towards the horizon like home was on the other side, the way she looked at the sky expectantly, searching for something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“We’ll eat at my home,” Rhys shrugs, “your research will be here, exactly where you left it when you return.”

She looks ready to argue, to deny, to beg to stay, but instead she sighs, “Is dinner a casual affair, or does your lot like to preen?”

Rhys laughs, “It’s whatever you like, preen as much as you wish.”

She hums, “My babysitter and I will be there shortly then.”

Mother, give him strength. She pushes to her feet, giving him that saccharine smile as she walks past him towards her room. Her scent lingers as she leaves, that hint of embers stronger than usual. He can’t help the subtle intake of air, nor the shadow that grazes her wrist like it would wrap around and make her stay.

She’s barely out the door before Rhys is clapping him on the shoulder with a quiet chuckle, “do you need a babysitter? I’m sure Cassian would like to return the favor.”

Azriel snarls at him, “We’ll see you at the house brother.”

Rhys just laughs again, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he moves towards the door, “take your time. I wouldn’t blame you for being a little late.”

“Get out.”

Azriel waits for her in the living room, she’d still been in her room when he’d gotten dressed, which wasn’t surprising since it only took him a few minutes to change into a slightly nicer shirt, he didn’t bother with the preening, Rhys did that enough for all of them.

Heel clicks on the floor alert him to her approach, she turns the corner into the room and Azriel couldn’t stop the way his body goes absolutely still.

He thought night court black suited her but he was wrong, she looked good in it but it didn’t compare to the way she looked in this dress. Deep green of a forest, the silk fabric flows with her body like water, showcasing each of those curves like currents, with accents of silver thread and shining jewels that glow in the light like the stars above. She’d lined her eyes with kohl, giving them that sultry look that could drive a male wild. And her lips, Mother help him, her lips were painted a deep wine red, so dark it could’ve been black.

Gorgeous, she was absolutely gorgeous. He’d known she was pretty, he wasn’t blind, he’d noticed when he’d found her laying in the moonlight, even covered in blood she was beautiful, but it didn’t strike him till now exactly how attractive she was.

“You like what you see shadowsinger?” Her grin is feline and lethal, voice dripping with honey, “I told you I was your type.”

He doesn’t respond, simply continues to look her over. There’s a fire in her eyes that has his shadows whirling around him and when her head angles in that predator way, he’s almost willing to be the prey.

House wasn’t a good discriptor of the giant building that sits before her. Manor maybe, but Azriel had called it the River House. Rhys and Feyre’s personal residence that Feyre had apparently designed herself. The garden in the back had been where she’d fallen into this world, she’d been to frantic to really appreciate her surroundings. It was absolutely beautiful.

Azriel led her through the front door and the interior was just as magnificent as the outside, intricate and elegant, yet it still felt warm and lived in. A multitude of paintings lined the walls as they walked to the dining room. From their conversation earlier, she assumed they were done by Feyre herself. The High Lady had mentioned her art studio, she had a class this afternoon that she would be teaching. Y/n had leaned towards musical arts, but she always loved going to galleries with her aunt Lysandra. According to Rhys, there was a section of Velaris called the rainbow, the artist quarter of the city. She assumed she’d flown through it today with Azriel, the place had been alive, filled with music that she couldn’t help but be drawn to.

As they moved down the hall she could hear the sounds of the Inner Court, as they called themselves, growing closer and closer. Their laughter reminded her of home, of dinners with the cadre and her uncles visiting from Adarlan, or even Nesryn and Sartaq all the way from the southern continent. They were never quiet affairs, always full of laughter and teasing, usually from Fenrys and Dorian on the later.

The last dinner like that had been little over a month ago. She’d dressed up in a gown this exact color. Her aunt Elide had helped her do her makeup, she’d practically had to hold her down in her chair so she could finish, to excited to sit still. It was her favorite nights of the year, these dinners, seeing her family come together all in one place. Sometimes they’d even convince Manon to join them, never aunt Manon, though she’d gotten away with that once when she was a child. It was always magical seeing her and Dorian dance around each other as if they weren’t desperate for the other.

She would sit there and watch her family, watch the way everyone loved each other. How her parents would stare into each others eyes and grin like someone had told a joke. How her uncle Aedion would dance with her aunt Lysandra to music only the two of them could hear. How uncle Chaol and aunt Yrene would bicker together with smiles still on their lips, to the utter annoyance of her cousin, Josefin. She watched them all, and hoped one day she would have someone who would love her just as fiercely

“Where’d you go, princess?”

Her mind drifts back from that far away place across the stars, finding Azriel’s gaze on her. Stoic as always, but she could see the bit of concern behind those whiskey eyes. It warms something in her, just barely, just enough for her to give him a small but genuine smile.

“Home,” she says quietly, “I was home.”

“So you’re telling me, a demi fae is one of your strongest warriors,” Cassian says, throwing quotes around the words, “and the guys power is death, just pure death? And he’s how tall exactly?”

Y/n laughs, “My uncle Lorcan has described it to me as death, I’m not sure what that means exactly, it was a gift from the old God of Death, Hellas. It looks like Azriel’s shadows, though they’re not sentient little creatures more like whips of shadow that he controls. I don’t know how tall he is exactly but he’s taller then you, he’s taller than all three of you males, actually. You should see the height difference between him and Elide.”

Azriel couldn’t help the small grin on his lips as his brother continues to pester Y/n over the apparently giant uncle of hers. It’d started with him asking about her father, and then the rest of his cadre. She’d told them all about the mighty warriors. Fenrys, who she could only describe as very very pretty, he could shift into a giant white wolf, and winnow, though not quite as much as those here could. Lorcan, the giant shadow wielder, who’s name is apparently Lord Lorcan Lochan, to everyone’s utter amusement. And a mysterious figure named Vaughan, who she admits wasn’t around a lot when she grew up, usually away in Wendlyn, he could shift into a massive osprey.

“There’s no way, he’d have to be like seven feet tall,” Cassian argues, mouth opening to ask yet another question.

Nesta elbows him in the side, “I want to hear more about the shapeshifter.”

“Lysandra,” Y/n supplies the name with a warm smile, “Her favorite form is a snow leopard, lethal creatures, but the softest fur you’d ever felt in your life. When I was a child she’d let me cuddle up next to her by the fire to take naps.”

“You’d mentioned a sea battle earlier,” Mor chimes in, “what was the creature she shifted into.”

Y/n’s eyes light up, “One of my favorite stories, I would beg to hear it again and again. It’s called a sea dragon, the companions of the Mycenians of old Terrasen. When they were banished from their home centuries ago the sea dragons all died out and it became legend that once the dragons returned, so would the Mycenians.”

Azriel watches her, enraptured by her stories. It had been like that the whole night. She’d been stolen away by Feyre as soon as they’d arrived, more and more questions being thrown at her throughout dinner. He’d taken a seat across from her next to Cassian, who had by far asked her the most. But she met each one with a story, that look in her eye from out in the hall hidden but not gone. She’d seemed lost, far far away, and so sad. He’d almost turned around and brought them back to the house of wind just so she could keep looking for a way home, just to erase that look. But when she’d smiled at him, all he could do was stare.

“During the war my mother had traveled to Skulls bay.” She talked with her hands, Azriel noticed. “One of the missing Mycenians was there, she’d figured it out a long time before that when she was still an assassin, when she’d wrecked the whole port to free hundreds of slaves. Captain Rolfe, the pirate lord, was not happy to learn the assassin who’d ruined his island was actually the long lost Queen of Terrasen. He refused to send aid, so my mother did what she does best, she schemed. Her and my aunt devised the plan to bring the sea dragon back. The battle didn’t go quite as planned, the valg had sea wyverns, vicious and powerful. But that sea dragon form, huge and magnificent was stronger, smarter. She used them against the valg forces, sending those beasts straight into the hulls of their own ships. My mother tells me that she could barely keep up with Lysandra’s speed, if you blinked she was gone. It was close, she was badly wounded, but she won.”

“Wow,” Elain breathes, eyes sparkling, “That’s amazing.”

“My uncle Aedion tells it better,” Y/n shrugs, smiling at the memory, “He always told me that it was then that he decided he could not live without her. When he saw her bleeding on that beach still in that huge form, half wild from the fight, he wasn’t afraid of her even though she looked ready to bite his head off.”

Cassian laughs, hooking an arm over the back of Nesta’s chair, “I know the feeling.”

Nesta looked half tempted to bite him right then to prove his point. Cassian simply grins at his mate, that telltale look in his eyes that would usually have the pair leaving early at any moment.

Azriel rolls his eyes at the pair, looking towards the female across from him. To find Y/n already looking right back. She’s got that overly sweet smile on her painted lips that she knows gets under his skin. He gets the sense that she enjoys it, the way he glares at her, it’s like a game. See how much she could push before he finally pushed back.

Rhys leans forward, that knowing grin on his lips again, “How fast can you fly in that hawk form? You said you went easy on poor Az earlier.”

She laughs and somehow he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense, “Very very fast, I can shift the air under my wings to go even faster. I could make it to the house of wind in less than a minute if I wished.”

“Impressive,” Azriel says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh don’t be a sore loser, Az,” she taunts.

It’s the first time she’s called him that, he quite enjoys the sounds of it, “Is it really losing if your competitions got a boost?”

“Only using what’s in my arsenal,” she shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip of her wine.

Azriel’s eyes zero in on the motion, appreciating the way her lips rest on the edge of the glass. He was right, that color stained.

Careful brother, Rhys whispers in his mind, Or I really will send Cassian to babysit you.

He glares at the high lord, I do not need a sitter.

That’s what Cassian said, Rhys shrugs, Now look at him.

And it’s like a timer goes off on his patience, Cassian stands from his chair, taking his mate’s hand in his own.

“Well I think it’s time for us to go,” Cassian declares, he’d lasted longer than Azriel thought he would.

Nesta turns her eye on Y/n, “We train at the house of wind every morning, 8 am sharp, be there.”

Y/n grins, baring those sharp canines, and Azriel has the good sense to be wary of letting those two near each other in a sparring ring.

Tag List- Anyone in white could not be tagged. Let me know if I got your tag wrong!!

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 @fussel9913

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

[issybee06]

Because…

Part ii

Warnings: swearing, smoking, underage drinking, trauma but it's ✨trauma✨, bad flirting, uncomfortable conversations, bro Kakashi is still 18…just a baby, TI building shenanigans, insomnia, coffee addiction…thats a warning right?

Eunoia

(n.) beautiful thinking;a well mind

…………………………………………………………………..……

I sigh, squeezing the bridge of my nose as I push back from the lad bench. It was 3 in the fucking morning and I was still here in this tiny lab.

Anbu had returned home two days ago, severely wounded, with one of their comrades dead. They had been in the Stone Country when they encountered their enemy and a new poison. A new poison meant a new threat, and that meant I was pulled from my 3-day break on the first day.

My head fell back and I looked up at the grey ceiling, closing my eyes when the fluorescent light began to sting. Yeah…this is better than fieldwork my ass.

It could be worse, I reminded myself as I unconsciously reached for my chest to press the grey fabric... This is why I picked this job.

Groaning, I stand up. I look down at my notes, all scribbled and messy, 1/3 of it was Japanese, another was fucking scroll marking and the rest was just chicken scratch…how the fuck was I supposed to read that when I could see straight?

That's a problem for future me, I think as I walk out of the lab, closing the door firmly behind me. I don’t bother with turning the lights off…I’m coming back. Walking down the hall, I stuff my hands into my pockets.

Moving to the kitchen, I open the cabinets to grab the unground coffee beans before dumping my version of a cup into the machine.

I grab a glass bear bottle, dumping the residue into the sink before washing it out and then filling it with water. I fill the coffee maker with water, before pressing the button, filling the quiet quarters with the irritating grinding.

Sliding to the ground, I sit with my back against the cabinet. TI was…grey. The walls, the uniforms, everything was grey. The only colorful thing here was the people, I smirk slightly.

“SENSEI!!”

The world was on fire, licking at my face and burning my hands.

Konoha was gone, flattened by the heels of the fox demon. Houses, trees, hills, and buildings all whipped away like crumbs on a table by the claws and nine swishing tails.

I go to run, only to be dragged back by arms circling my waist.

“Let me go! I can save them! I CAN SAVE THEM!!!”

“Don't be stupid!”

Kakashi…he pulled me close to his chest as tears cleaned the dirt and ash off my face. I sob, falling to the ground and he falls with me, burying his face into my hair to hide his tears.

“…there's nothing we can do.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Mother fucker…?”

I open my eyes, pulling myself up to see that the coffee was done.

“Oh fuck yes, come to mama.”

I grab a mug, pouring the black liquid into it, “you are going to keep my body functional…”

Inhaling, I move back down the hall to the lab. Looking down, my eyes droop at seeing my chicken scratch notes. You know what? Inoichi can just use his freaky mind powers to pick at my brain.

I sit back down, taking a sip before placing the cup on the desk. I lean on my hand, mental deciphering the notes as I switch back and forth between the papers and the microscope.

This poison…it isn’t like anything I’ve studied before.

When Inoichi, Ibiki and I had gone to the Autopsy of the Anbu member it was too hard to look…he was almost interlay eaten away on one side; skin, muscle and bone.

The poison had disintegrated him, but when we took the samples and stored them in the glass test tubes…nothing happened.

This poison only ate away at living tissue, and not just flesh but also flora too I had come to realize after running a few test.

I reach for a tube, holding it up to the light.The poison was oddly pretty…it was an almost impossible electric blue, reminding me of chakra almost.

My job was to break this sucker down, find out what made it tick, then use my finding to conduct an antidote with the help of the medical core.

“Fucking chemistry…” I sigh, placing the tube back and replacing it with my coffee.

As I sip, the lab door opens.

“Setsuko-Chan…is my shift done already?”

The young women blushes, adjusting her glasses, “I-I’m truly sorry I’m late Senju-Hime! I promise it won’t hap-”

I raise my hand, continuing to chug the coffee down. She shuts her mouth, gulping.

I place the empty cup down, giving her a smile, “don’t worry about it, I get into my groove around this time anyways.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief and I can’t help but raise my brow at this kid. She’s a Chunin, fresh Chunin, that Inoichi recruited after seeing her skills in making laxative drugs out of berries during the forest part of the exams. I thought she was hilarious, I knew one of the kids she got, and I think that’s why I liked her.

I stand, grabbing my old notes and handing her the clearer ones.

“Here’s my findings, coffees in the pot-don’t accidentally drink the poison…I’ve done that once.”

She makes a concern face as I walk past her, heading to the front to clock out.

It’s still winter, I think to myself as snow lightly flutters down from the sky. The walk back to the apartment, thank the gods, isn’t that long but I can’t seem to stop myself from dragging my feet as I walk. My shift…was from 3pm to 3am, you do the math, and I was really starting to feel those fucking hours.

I was praying silently that Genma would leave me the fuck alone when I got home, he never did and always seemed to break something in our shared apartment.

My relationship with Genma…i wouldn’t ever say I was closer to the lay back brunette then our other childhood teammate Gai, but we just understood each other a little more.

Nothing about our relationship was sexual, he just didn’t want to buy and pay rent for an apartment and I understood that. We shared the rent, 50/50 and split the chores somewhat evenly. He did the cleaning while I cooked, I was not going to let someone who burns water cook in my kitchen.

We had offered Gai a room in the apartment, but then Kakashi bought his own apartment and Gai just had to beat his rival by buy a bigger one.

I stop, looking over at the bright lights of the 24-hour open food shop that was set up for Shinobi. I didn’t want to cook…but I had only drank coffee and ate food pills while working to minimize how much cross contamination could happen in the lab, and I was starving.

Heading in, I raise a hand in creating to the shop owner who smiled in return. I move to the frozen food, eyes zeroing in on the microwaveable soup dumplings. They were shitty, but so good at the same time.

I grab two boxes, knowing Genma was going to bitch and complain if I didn’t get him something. I also grab two soda bottles, more coffee beans, and a can of cat food for my cat, not me.

I head to the register and the old man smiles, “hard work today?”

I smile kindly, “yes, but it’s worth it right?”

The old man nods, “you Shinobi do a great service to the village, remember that.”

He hands me my spoils in s paper bag, and I pay up. Walking out, I give him another wave before making a B-line towards the apartment.

I sigh, opening the door but furrow my brows when I find not only Genma up, but also four other shinobi that do not pay rent, in the living room playing cards.

“Genma…it’s 3 fucking 30.”

He grins and the others snap their necks to look at me. My confusion fades and I sigh, “of course it’s you guys, hi Gai-kun.”

Gai grins, a faint blush on his cheeks from the Saké. Next to him on the couch is Kakashi, which is a surprise, in the armchair sits Ebisu and on the floor is Asuma who is smoking what looks like to be his third cigarette.

Ebisus face turns crimson and I raise a brow, shutting the door. Ebisu always seemed to have a crush on me-well, he did have a crush on any woman who breaths-but I never understood why…I punched him in the face when we were kids.

Genma jumps up, drunkenly giving me a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Hime~ come play cards with us! I know for a fact you’re a better gambler then your cousin!”

I duck under his arm, “ no can do, Babes, I’m crashing. But I brought food.”

Asuma and Gai perk up, getting up to see what to had.

“That’s a relief-don’t look at my cards Ebisu!”

“Gods Asuma! I wasn’t!” Ebisu groan, also getting up.

Kakashi stayed on the couch, eye staring straight as his sneaked sips of his Saké. I frown at him, opening the packages of soup dumplings. The boys hover, sitting on the counter top and island as I cook for them. I knew Kakashi was watching, I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head.

Dishing out the food, I give the boys a tired smile.

“Welp, I’m beat…don’t stay up drinking again.” I warn, walking to my room as the shinobi in my living room all but jump on the food.

I pulling off the lab coat, then the grey TI jacket revealing my white tank top and the sealing that began on my back, can up onto my shoulders and wrapped around my arms.

I sigh in relief, those grey jackets were heavy and uncomfortable. Unbuttoning my pants, I hear a soft tap on my door.

I open it, and a soft blush rises to my face when I see Kakashi leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a commanding look, quite frankly he looked like he was about to bolt if I spooked him.

“Can I help you?”

He clenched, then unclenched his jaw, “…the poison, do you have any new leads?”

Ah, work. I had almost forgotten he was apart of the small circle of people who knew of the poison.

I wave him in, “yeah, come in we can go over it.”

I nods, stiffly walking in. I close the door behind me and walk over to my desk were I had sent my jacket down. Fishing threw the large pocket, I pull out my notes.

Blushing, I hand them over, “sorry…when I get tired I switch between real words and sealing symbols…and then just random shit.”

Kakashi looked over the messy writing, and if he couldn’t read it he didn’t voice it, all he did was look over at me with his tired eye, “…I remember you used to switch between kanji and Fūinjutsu symbols, old habit?”

I blush harder, not thinking he’d remember something like that-hell, even Genma would forget and get pissed trying to read my notes.

He looked away, his milky skin showing just a bit of color. He sunk into my desk chair, lifting his hitae-ate to reveal his gifted eye.

I move to my bed, flopping down on it as I waited for him to finish storing all my notes into his memory. I felt a small shift, and was treated with a high pitch meow as my cat decided to show himself.

I smile, scratching behind his brown eye as his big blue eyes blinked slowly at me. He purred, flopping onto his side and I continued to pet him, almost therapeutic like.

Kakashi made a noise and I look over at him, but his eyes stayed away.

“I…uh, Arigatō.”

I snort, “it’s fine, Kakashi. You don’t have to thank me.”

He made a face, and my eyes soften. He was raised right, Sakumo made sure of that. Kakashi had been a little shit when we were growing up together, but over the years as he grew he began to fall more and more back into his father’s teachings (whether he knew it or not).

I sit up, and Kakashis eye stays on me, “when’d you get a cat?”

I look down at the rag doll, smiling.

“My Kaa-San got him for me when he was a kitten…birthday present.”

Kakashi nodded, and the air went tense again as we both couldn’t seem to decide if we wanted to have our eyes stay locked or if they were going to wander.

“…does he have a name?”

Was this 20 questions? How much did he drink…?

Sober Kakashi wouldn’t bother with this, he would have left by now, and I don’t just mean my room but the whole apartment. Sober Kakashi wouldn’t be sitting at my desk, cheeks red.

“…his name is Saké.”

He snorts.

He fucking snorts at that.

“You named you cat after an alcoholic beverage?”

My legs cross and I wave my hand, “no, no. I didn’t name him, Genma did! I wasn’t even home when my Kaa-San dropped him off!”

Kakashi shakes his head, softly chuckling and I smile back. He really did have a nice laugh…

He stands, and I do too. My cheeks pink when I have to look up to meet his eyes.

He grew since joining the ANBU…

We stare at each other, both of our faces slightly flushed. We haven’t seen each other since Gais birthday, and that was a month ago. He had been close back then too, so close.

“…I should go.”

I release my breath, nodding, “Y-yeah, it’s getting late.”

He gulps, brushing past me as he reaches for the door nob. He twists it, but doesn’t open it.

“…I could read your notes, I understood it.”

And then he’s gone.

[ceescedasticity]

Another Silmarillion illustrated music outline which I do not have the skills to illustrate

This time to 'Runs In The Family', because I saw a video on YouTube! but it was just a random assortment of other people's illustrations in no particular order. I can do better than that. Except for the illustration part.

I don't have total detail, mostly an outline, but

My friend has problems with winter and autumn They give him prescriptions, they shine bright lights on him They say it's genetic, they say he can't help it They say you can catch it, but sometimes you're born with it

This is Eärendil's verse. Tuor aging on 'winter and autumn', Silmaril on 'shine bright lights on him'. Otherwise, we want some ocean-sailing, some dragon-fighting, some star-sailing. Maybe some Fall of Gondolin, but only a little and at the end, because

My friend has spite, he gets shakes in the night And they say that there's no way that they could have Caught it in time takes his[?] toll on him It is traditional, it is inherited, predispositional

This is Idril's verse. Waking up from visions on 'shakes in the night', pre-Fall-of-Gondolin stress on 'takes its toll'. Besides that we want some Helcaraxë, some Fall of Gondolin, maybe some 'made it to the Havens of Sirion but knows they're still screwed', if you can convey that in a drawing.

All day I've been wondering what is inside of me Who can I blame for it? I say it runs in the family

Maeglin, and Maeglin and Idril's interactions. Maybe some quick images of Aredhel and Eöl.

This family that carries me to such great lengths To open my legs up to anyone who'll have me

Still Maeglin, and Maeglin's capture and betrayal.

It runs in the family, I come by it honestly Do what you want 'cause who knows it might fill me up

I'm not sure — could still be Maeglin, or we could switch to Finduilas hoping Túrin will make everything better somehow.

Me up x7 Fill me up Me up x7

Montage of ships, taking particular note of separations and deaths but not just that. In the second half also include non-romantic relationships. Should include:

Aredhel and Eöl, weird meeting, tempestuous relationship, Aredhel running with Maeglin

Nerdanel leaving Fëanor

Aegnor and Andreth

Pissed-off Fingon in Araman and not-happy-about-this Maedhros at Losgar

Finarfin and Eärwen together but maybe not 100% reconciled yet — back-to-back?

Turgon losing hold of Elenwë

Finrod at Bëor's deathbed?

Lúthien in Mandos?

etc

My friend's depressed, she's a wreck, she's a mess They've done all sorts of tests and they guess It has something to do with her grandmother's Grandfather's grandmother saving civil war soldiers Who probably infected her

Elwing's verse. On the first line Elwing afraid and uncertain in the Havens, then show Thingol & Melian, Lay of Leithian scene or two (Beren's death? the disguises? Lúthien locked up?). Second Kinslaying on 'civil war soldiers'. On the last line, closeup of the Nauglimír+Silmaril, not clear who's wearing it. Put the Nauglimír Out Of Its Misery 2k24

My friend has maladies, rickets, and allergies That she dates back to the 17th century Somehow she manages in her misery Strips in the city and shows all her best tricks

Orodreth's verse. Struggling with the 'king' thing; maybe brief glimpses of Finrod's death, and Fingon's; in the second half of the verse, Túrin and the bridge and facing Glaurung.

With me, well, I'm well, well I mean I'm in Hell, well I still have my health, at least that's what they tell me If wellness is this, what in Hell's name is sickness?

Celebrían after being wounded. She wants to stay but she can't. If we didn't include Finduilas earlier, she could also be put here, cutting back and forth between Celebrían and Finduilas trying to be fine when everything is not fine.

But business is business and business runs in the family We tend to bruise easily, mad in the blood

Gil-Galad, at the beginning of his reign and at the end, carrying the burden of kingship.

I'm telling you 'cause I just want you to know me Know me and my family, we're wonderful folks But don't get to close to me 'cause you might knock me up

Not sure about this.

Could do more Gil-Galad.

Alternatively, Elros and Númenor.

Alternatively, Edain — Tuor, Huor & Húrin, Morwen and Rían, etc.

Me up x7 Knock me up Me up x7

Probably a violence montage

Various battles against Morgoth

All Kinslayings

Finrod's capture

Maedhros, captive

Celegorm & Curufin vs. Beren & Lúthien

Fëanor holding Fingolfin at swordpoint

Burning of ships at Losgar

etc

Mary, have mercy, now look what I've done But don't blame me because I can't help where I come from And running is something that we've always done well And mostly I can't even tell what I'm running from

Celebrimbor's verse. For the first line Celebrimbor facing Sauron with the One. Then we want some compare/contrast with Celebrimbor and Fëanor — Celebrimbor shares rings, Fëanor hoard[eth and hideth] Silmarils; Fëanor turns away Melkor, Celebrimbor welcomes Annatar; Fëanor with three Silmarils, Celebrimbor with three… Three. Could finish the verse back facing Sauron, about to lose, or else just he's very upset. Or the battle flag thing.

Now some micromanagement—

Run from their pity, from responsibility

Indis leaving court, or Indis and Nerdanel together

Finwë leaving Tirion with Fëanor

Run from the country and run from the city

Turgon leading people into Gondolin

Aredhel leaving Gondolin

I can run from the law, I can run from myself

Celegorm and Curufin getting thrown out of Nargothrond

Finarfin turning back after the Doom (bit weaker than some of these, but)

I can run from my life, I can run into debt

Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth

Finrod swearing oath to Barahir

I can run from it all, I can run 'til I'm gone

Maglor being a Beach Cryptid (or throwing the Silmaril with future Beach Cryptid status implied somehow?)

Maedhros with Silmaril jumping into the fire

I can run for the office and run for my cause

Fingon in the Nirnaeth, as king leading into battle

Galadriel, persisting — probably not in any identifiable time period, just, she's persisting

I can run using every last ounce of energy

Fëanor's spontaneous combustion death

I cannot, I cannot, I cannot run from my family They're hiding inside of me, corpses on ice Come in if you like but just don't tell my family They'd never forgive me, they'd say that I'm crazy But they would say anything if it would shut me up Shut me up

Elrond's verse, which means it's time for the Elrond Bereavement Conga Line! (Eärendil, Elwing, Maedhros, Maglor, Elros, Gil-Galad, Celebrían, Arwen, did I forget anyone?) But focus more on him reaching fruitlessly after people than on the actual deaths. If there's any time left over, perhaps Elrond being torn between the different aspects of his heritage?

Shut me up Me up x7 Shut me up Me up x7

The entire rest of the song is Eldarin Royalty Death Supercut deaths/bodies. (That's sixteen lines and some deaths have been covered already but some people may still need to double up.) (Do not forget we're including the Doriath royals here.) (If there's somehow extra room there's Edain.)

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: That Escalated Quickly

I went to the ER Monday morning, but they would not believe me my pharmacy was closed for Memorial day and refused to give me prescriptions for a pharmacy that was actually open. This means I am late on my second antibiotic dose and I can't do anything at all except cold compresses for my eyes. I think the oral antibiotic they gave me at the hospital helped a little as I was functionally blind for a while, and now I can switch the compress back and forth between eyes to use one at a time for brief periods. I spent Monday lying in the dark listening to documentaries between naps with the compress over both eyes, which is likely the best thing I can reasonably do.

They didn't get back to me on the original pathogen, though they took samples.

So Tuesday Morning I called my pharmacy to ask them to please do my antibiotics up so I could come get them right away, since I'd already missed a dose.

Turns out the hospital lied about calling my two antibiotics in. Because of course they did. So now I am calling around trying to sort ity and the denial of coverages from the surgery and the physio reschedule, so that's super extra fun.

Update:

Test results in: It really isn't COVID. It's also noy strep or influenza, and given that my lungs are responding to the anti-biotic, but not my throat, my bet is the lung infection may be a secondary bacterial like the ears and eyes.

This sort of thing happens when your immune system can't fight it's way out of a wet paper bag.

[urmindisastreamofcolors]

Santa, baby (pt. 2)

A/n: here’s part two :)))) I’ll probably end up consolidating this part and part 3 when I edit them! I just have a bit of writers block at the moment :/

Tag list: @weightofdreams-gvf @maverick-rose @gretavanbitches @loveisonaroll @welightthefire @theweightofstardust @doodle417 @milkgemini

Jake was trying to his best to drive as carefully as he could along the snowy streets. Your water hadn’t broken yet, so there was still plenty of time to get to the hospital.

His large calloused palm was still gently holding your wrist as another contraction hit and you moaned lowly.

“We’re almost there, okay,” Jake reassured as his thumb continued rubbing gentle circles into your skin. You couldn’t find it in yourself to speak, so you simply nodded your head instead. He sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth as he put a bit more pressure on the accelerator. Thankfully, you two didn’t live far from the hospital, but it felt like it was taking forever to get there.

The crease between his eyebrows seemed to be permanent as he kept switching his gaze between you and the road. The same butterflies that danced in his stomach when you showed him the positive pregnancy test were practically doing somersaults at the thought of you actually pushing two babies out of your body.

He had read all the books and you two had went to multiple birthing classes together. Your birth plan was already made and Jake knew exactly what his role was, but he was afraid. Twins were automatically considered a high risk pregnancy and so many things could go wrong at any minute.

“On a scale of 1-10, how bad are the contractions,” Jake questioned softly once you seemed to have caught your breath.

“Like a 6 right now? They’re not that bad, but they’re not a pain I’ve ever felt before. There’s just a lot of pressure,” you said gently as you moved to hold his hand in your own trying to reassure the anxious, new father.

“Okay, Mama. Well, we’re here anyways. I’ll pull up to the doors and go grab a wheelchair,” Jake said as he maintained his composure the best he could. You looked out the window and wondered if your Toyota suddenly turned into an airplane with how quickly Jake had gotten you here. The nerves from before had turned into excitement again as he put the car in park and jogged into the hospital through the emergency entrance doors while you stayed in the SUV.

His feet were damp by the time he entered the doors from sloshing through half melted snow in a pair of slippers. Jake shook his head slightly causing pieces of hair to fall from the loose bun his hair had been gathered into when he realized he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his old sweatpants and Frankenmuth high school hoodie.

Glancing briefly at the clock above the nurses station, Jake felt a bit of exhaustion settle into his shoulders when he realized it was quickly approaching one o’ clock in the morning. Despite the ungodly hour, the young lady working the desk seemed to be wide awake and quirked an eyebrow at the seemingly healthy young man that approached her. Her brown hair was in a French braid and her blue eyes seemed to bore into Jake’s skull as she waited for him to speak. His hands were shaking slightly, but his eyes were bright as he greeted her with a grin.

“My wife is in labor and I need to get her in a wheelchair. She’s about a week early, but we’re expecting twins and she’s been having contractions since this morning,” Jake stared quickly, not missing a beat and took a deep breath.

Without a second to waste, the young nurse was on her feet and following Jake closely to the SUV with a wheelchair in tow. They chattered a bit back and forth happily and Jake was grateful for the nurse’s kind words of encouragement. The automatic doors slid open to reveal you had swung the car door wide open and your feet were halfway to the ground, but it looked like something had stopped you.

Jake felt panic fill his body. He didn’t even notice the pooling liquid on the leather seats of your brand new RAV4. You looked a bit pale and your mouth was hanging open slightly as you stared at your now saturated leggings with a bit of irritation at the feeling of the wet fabric.

“Y/n! What’s wrong,” Jake asked as he raced to you and stopped when you held your hand up to keep from stepping in what could only be amniotic fluid from your water breaking.

“I thought I was peeing my pants and I was trying to get out of the car, but I’m pretty sure that’s my water that you’re almost standing in,” you said simply as looked at him with large eyes. Your cheeks were bright red and you could feel the heat coming off you.

“Oooooh my God….okay. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

“Everything kind of hurts at this point,” you said sheepishly as you sighed at your passenger seat and moved to get out of the car.

“Don’t worry about the seat, honey! It’s…well, I’m not sure what it actually is, but I’m sure it’ll be easy to clean up,” Jake said with a shrug and a smile at your current predicament.

Jake said with a shrug as he picked you up and placed you in the wheelchair that the nurse held in place. Taking long strides, he grabbed your bag and the babies’s diaper bag before handing the keys to a valet that appeared out of nowhere and following you inside.

“So, if my water broke, how long will it be,” you asked hesitantly as you rubbed your belly.

“It’s still hard to say. We’re going to get you through triage and then straight back to labor and delivery,” the nurse answered enthusiastically.

You didn’t really say anything else as you were checked in and vitals were taken. You and Jake took turns answering questions pertaining to the birth plan that you had so carefully crafted. It felt like it took forever before you were both finally led back to a room with a hospital bed surrounded by monitors and a small couch was pushed under a window.

The nurse who led you back showed you how to control the TV and told you to feel free to make yourselves at home while she left to grab Jake a few pillows and blankets for the couch. Before she left, she had placed a crisp pink hospital gown on the bed for you to change into. It took all of your strength and 90% of your husband’s to strip out of your clothes and into the gown. Jakes hands were gentle as he tied the strings in the back before giving you a kiss and helping lower you to the bed.

You sat on the edge of the hospital bed with a groan at the intense pressure that kept building in your hips and between your legs. Jake took his place at the foot of your hospital bed and slipped your house shoes off and propped your swollen feet up in his lap.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you both soaked in the moment. Without a word, Jake scooted forward and placed a kiss to your very pregnant belly right above your belly button.

“Man, I don’t have too many of those left. It won’t be long before we’ll be kissing our own little boy and little girl. Which do you think is gonna come out first,” Jake asked as he started to rub your feet.

“I don’t know. They’re so entwined right now that at the last appointment they couldn’t figure out which was which,” you chuckled as you rubbed your belly.

Tears filled your eyes again as an intense rush of emotion filled your body. You were so excited for your babies to be here, but you would miss being pregnant. You were going to miss the late night Sonic runs because “the babies need it” or Jake snuggled into your side as he played the guitar and sang to them. Of course, he would still do that with them earth-side, but it would be so different. You opened your mouth to speak and tell Jake how you were feeling, but you were interrupted when a knock sounded on the door and your doctor waltzed in.

“It’s baby time! How you guys feeling,” Dr. Jones practically exclaimed as he bounced into the room followed by two nurses. It was hard to believe that he had been called in the middle of the night two days after Christmas with the amount of energy coming off the man.

Jake swallowed hard and gave a small smile as if he was debating on answering the question honestly while you sighed heavily through your nose.

“Oh okay! I see we’re a little worried. That’s totally normal. Have there been some things going on that raised some concern,” Dr. Jones asked gently as he read the room.

“I think we’re both a little restless. I just don’t like seeing Y/n in pain and there isn’t much I can do about it,” Jake answered honestly and you gave them both a small smile.

Much like earlier, you felt another round of contractions starting to build and saliva pooled in your mouth as you fought the urge to vomit. Knowing you like the back of his hands, Jake felt your body stiffen and jumped up. He grabbed your hand and didn’t make a face or utter a word as you nearly crushed it in an iron like grip.

The doctor and nurses started moving around you trying to time how long the contraction lasted while sticking little white pads to your chest to keep track of your heart rate.

“Ow! Ow! Ow,” you yelled out as you forced yourself to finally breath.

“I know. I know, but you’re doing great. I know it hurts,” Jake consoled as he wiped away the few stray tears that made their way down your face. Less than a minute had passed, but it felt like an eternity to you as you fought the urge to sob.

Your head flopped back on the pillow behind you as exhaustion filled your body. Jake stroked his thumb along your cheekbone as you whimpered slightly. His one and only job was to be your biggest support system and he would be damned if he didn’t do his job properly.

“Alright! We need to get you all set up and ready to go. It won’t be long until those little Kiszka’s make their way into the world,” Dr. Jones said kindly.

The doctor took his time explaining every step of the process while the nurses checked your blood pressure and put something on your stomach to keep track of the babies heartbeats. A knot loosened in your chest at the strong sound, almost like a drumbeat, that filled the room. An ultrasound machine was brought in and the beginning of a very long night had officially started.

[hydrangeahayze]

RobRae Week 2023, Day 1, The Bond

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46887964/chapters/118108672

“This is so stupid.”

“No! It’s science!”

“It's ridiculous.”

“Just stand there and close your eyes!”

Raven sighed and closed her eyes as the other four moved around in front of her like a magician would move his cups on a table. 

Robin had made an off-handed comment of him and Raven always knowing where each other were, even if one was on the other side of the city. The other three had a moment of confused and excited yelling about how dope that was, how incredible it is, how did they never know that?

So naturally, they wanted to test the talent. They had Raven stand behind the couch and the other four in a line in front of her. She was to close her eyes and pick out which one of them was Robin. They thought they were making it difficult for her, moving around so much, but-

“There.” Raven pointed to the Titan on the right end of the line, it indeed being Robin. 

“No way!” Beast Boy exclaimed. “You’re cheating. I bet she peeked. Turn around!” He demanded. 

Slowly, not caring to play their game but finding it slightly amusing, she turned around to face the tv and windows. 

“Move, move, move!” Beast Boy rushed the others. 

“God, gimme a minute.” Cyborg swatted. 

“I find this skill quite impressive.” Starfire commented. 

Robin just stayed in place as the three switched places around him. 

“Ok Rae,” Cyborg called, “how ‘bout now?”

She didn’t need to turn around to tell Robin hadn’t moved. And she didn’t. 

“He’s still in the same place.”

“Prove it.” Beast Boy challenged, not fully believing her. She could after all have looked in the windows reflection. 

She turned around with her eyes still closed, took four steps and stopped in front of the spiky haired teen who had a grin upon his face. 

Starfire gasped. “It is like the videos of the blindfolded children asked to locate their mothers amongst other women.”

“Pretty neat right?” Robin asked. 

“And you can do that too?” Cyborg asked. “This isn’t just a Raven following emotional signatures thing?”

“Yes.” Both birds replied simultaneously. 

Raven opened her eyes to meet the masked ones in front of her while the others looked back and forth between the two. 

“You know you gotta have a turn now Rob right?” Cyborg asked. “Because this is just-holy shit.”

Robin nodded, moving around Raven and placed himself in the spot she previously occupied, facing the windows. “I will admit, I’m not as good as Raven is.”

The others tittered as they moved themselves around, switching spots trying to make it harder for the leader. 

When the noise stilled, Robin turned around, eyes still closed, and walked slightly to the left, arms wide open and closed them around the empath. “But I can always find my best friend.” He exaggerated dramatically. 

The others lost it. Hoots and hollers howled through the room as they tried to fathom how the hell they were able to do that. 

Robin grinned at the chaos then smirked when he looked down to meet the eyes of the girl he was bonded to. “What?”

“Don’t you think that was a bit dramatic?” She asked. 

“There’s never such a thing as being too dramatic in this house.” He countered. 

“Then can you at least get off of me.” It was a statement more than a question. 

“I know you like it.” He teased, knowing fully well she was happy from his embrace by the feelings being sent through the bond. “And is it a crime to show my friend my affection?” He emphasized the word “friend” again and watched as her cheeks colored. “Because I had some things planned for you tonight, but if you don’t want them then…”

She rolled her eyes and pulled out of his grip effortlessly. He laxed his arms at the feel of resistance. 

“You’re lucky I love you.” She whispered. 

“If you didn’t then I don’t know what you would call what you did to me the other night.” He whispered back. 

She could only deepen her flush as Robin chuckled, the other three completely unaware of their conversation as they continued to try to fathom the experiment they witnessed. 

[shadowsong26x]

Hey friendo! Asking you the weird writer questions : 1,5, and 23 ❤️❤️

All right, cool <3

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

Generally the default. Although I had one program where the default switched from Arial to Calibri at some point during a transition from an old laptop to a new one, so I would switch it back for the things I used that program for? Basically, if I'm starting out in a new program I'll use whatever the default is, but then I Don't Like Change, lol.

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

Hm. I don't know that I do, exactly? I'm trying to think if there's anything I would call a superstition. I guess like I said above, once I'm used to things being set up a certain way, I don't like change, maybe that would count? I remember at one point I wrote a solid chunk of a like 100k-word fic on these little notepads I stole from the supply cabinet at work. When I switched jobs, the supply cabinet didn't have notepads in the same size/shape/style and it became Significantly Harder to write things out longhand? (I did eventually adjust, lol, but it was a Process. And I don't do it nearly as often as I used to. ...it also helps that I work remotely...part of writing things out longhand was that it was Much subtler/easier to hide a bunch of scribbles on a notepad than an extra window on my computer...lol)

...yeah, so if that counts, that would be it? But I don't really have like...rituals, or needing to be in a specific space/have things set up a specific way. Sometimes I listen to music, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I'll set like a 10-minute timer to get myself going, sometimes I don't bother. Other than some vague 'the stars are not in position for this tribute' stuff when I sit down to write and the words Will Not Come but there's no consistent way to fix that other than Deadline Panic. Soooooo yeah.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

Ahahaha, I should read what the next question is before I answer the last one lol. Wasn't that a thing for like tests in high school, too? "Read the whole thing before you start answering questions?"

...anyway.

Like I said, I don't have a super consistent place? The three most common would be probably my work desk, which is a long light-brown rectangle, probably two feet by six feet? I have a desk lamp (I usually don't bother with the overhead light), a little platform/lapdesk in the same wood that I usually put my work computer on, and a little bowl for candy, and a handful of soda bottles that need to go out with next week's recycling. If I'm writing there, my work computer gets shoved over to the left, right next to the lamp, so I can keep an eye on emails/etc./bounce back and forth between tasks. My personal computer goes on the right, and I pull up whichever writing program is the correct one for what I'm working on.

If I'm writing at home, it's one of two places. First is in my chair in the living room. Which is a chair and a half, and grey. I have an old Amazon shipping box I use as a lapdesk, so I'll have my laptop in my lap. Sometimes my roommate will be watching something on TV while I'm doing this, or I'll be checking in and out of conversations. Or sometimes we're just doing parallel play.

The second is--I have a loft bed, and underneath it I have several bookshelves and a very cheap twin bed. That's where I'm usually hanging out on tumblr/just chilling if I want to be in a Private Space. There's a pink blanket, a black husband chair/armchair pillow and then a regular pillow. I have a lapdesk I got for like $10 at Best Buy a million years ago and I shift position a lot.

Ask me a writing question!

[markxmelon]

Parings: WinWin x Simp!Yuta & Simp!Y/N

Pronouns: She/Her

Genre: Fluff, Slightly Comedic

Warnings: Switches between Sicheng and WinWin, WayV members make an appearance(including Lucas), they’re in high school, let me know if I missed any

Word Count: 1.3k

This was on my Wattpad account and I hope it gets more love on tumblr! I’ve been kind scared to post on here because y’all are elite on here lol. I hope you babes enjoy!

Winwin walks down the school hallway casually. However, he was scared. Nothing was amiss, but that's what terrifies him. He’s scared of losing this serene feeling of calmness. He's almost to his class. Maybe there's nothing to be afraid of, he thought. But he thought too soon.

"AHHH THERE HE IS! I CAN'T BELIEVE WE ALMOST MISSED HIM!"

"SICHENG, OVER HERE!"

He sighs to himself. His foot steps quicken as he heard the owners of the voices run in his direction. Sadly he wasn't quick enough. The cheerful y/n and Yuta show up on both sides of Winwin.

Y/n and Yuta are Winwin's biggest fans. They know everything about him. His favorite foods, outfits, number, music, etc. They worshipped and loved Winwin. He, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with them.

"Sicheng, did you eat breakfast today?" Yuta asks.

"Yes."

"Do you have lunch money? If you don't then I-"

"Yes."

"Yuta stop annoying him!" Y/n says as she wraps her arm around Winwin's arm. "You sound like his mother. We need to sound cool."

Yuta nods. "You're right!"

Y/n clears her throat. "You and us Sicheng. Lunch. Be there or be squared." Her smirk full of confidence.

"No."

Winwin pulls his arm away from y/n and walks into his class.

Y/n pouts and Yuta pats her back. "We'll get him one day, y/n." Yuta puts his fist out, y/n puts her hand over his fist, and they vigorously shake their hands. "GARBAGE COMPACTOR!!!" They yell with smiles on their faces.

A girl and her friends walked passed them, "Losers." The girl and her friends laugh.

Yuta and y/n look down and scurry to class.

Ten and Winwin walk into the cafeteria together.

"Today just sucks. Test, annoying teachers, my head hurts, I even spilled coffee on myself this morning. Thanks for the hoodie by the way." Winwin says to Ten. "Yeah no problem." Ten replies with a wave of his hand.

"I swear if one more thing happens today I might lose it." Winwin sits at the table with the rest of his friends. "Long day?" Lucas asks. "Very." He puts his head down. "Looks like it's about to get even longer." Hendery says with an amused chuckle.

"Sicheng!" Y/n and Yuta yell in sync as usual. Winwin groans.

"You came to lunch late today so we managed to save all the good stuff for you." The two gave up their lunches to Winwin. "Thanks...go away now." The duo still didn't leave. "Do you need help eating Winwin? You look tired." Yuta asks. "No stupid! If he's tired he clearly needs a massage." Y/n argues. "You'll have to kill me to have a moment like that with him." They argue back and forth, Winwin's headache only gets worse. The two stop arguing at the sound of Winwin's voice, "Can you guys please leave?" "Of course, but first," Y/n pulls a note out of her backpack, "I wrote a note for you. I hope you like it and that it makes your day." She holds the note out but Winwin doesn't take it.

"Sicheng, aren't you going to take it?" He keeps his head down. "Sicheng?" No response. She pokes his arm. Nothing. She continuously pokes his arm and, eventually, he snaps. "Oh. My. GOD! Can you take a hint?! I don't want your stupid letter!" He takes the letter from y/n's hands, then rips it up. "When will you understand that I hate you?! All you do is annoy me! Please do me a favor and stay the HELL OUT OF MY LIFE!!"

Y/n's eyes fill with tears and she runs out of the cafeteria. A worried Yuta chases after her, not before he picks up the ripped pieces of paper off the floor though.

Winwin turns back to the table annoyed. "Weren't you a little harsh with her?" Xiaojun asks. "Yeah poor girl." Kun adds.

"She'll be fine. Her and Yuta will be running back to me tomorrow." He says with a shrug as he eats the food his ultimate fans left for him. "If you say so..." YangYang says.

Winwin walks down the school hallway casually. However, he was scared. Nothing was amiss, but that's what terrifies him. He’s scared of losing this serene feeling of calmness. He's almost to his class. Maybe there's nothing to be afraid of, he thought. This time he was correct. "Or so I thought." Winwin mumbles to himself as he saw y/n and Yuta walk in his direction. He sighs, but then feels nothing but confusion as they both walk straight passed him. He shrugs, maybe they have to be early for class. He continues on with his day as if nothing's wrong.

"So how is today going? Anything new?" Ten asks as he and Winwin walk to lunch. "No...today has actually been very quiet. Y/n and Yuta haven't talked to me all day." "That's weird." "Very."

Winwin makes it through the whole day without one interaction with y/n and Yuta. I'll probably have to pry them off of me tomorrow.

They ignored him the next day and the day after that. Soon it was a whole 2 weeks without them.

"Hey I left my wallet in my locker, can you help me pay for lunch?" Winwin asks Ten, who was in front of him in line. "Sorry bro. I only have enough money for me." Winwin sighs then leaves the lunch line to get his money.

He gets his wallet out of his locker and when he closes it, he sees Yuta standing in front of him. Winwin jumps. He raises an eyebrow at Yuta.

"I miss you Sicheng. I know you low-key love me and y/n, but have a hard time showing it. However, y/n doesn't know that you're like that and you really hurt her feelings."

Winwin rolls his eyes and sarcastically asks, "Aren't you guys supposed to know everything about me? How did she not know that?"

"I don't know...that girl is horrible at telling emotions." Yuta responds obliviously.

"Well her being upset is not my problem. I've been less stressed lately without you guys constantly bugging me." He tries to walk past Yuta but he grabs his arm. Yuta grabs a note from his pocket. "Please just read this." He pleads. Winwin looks at Yuta for a moment then grabs the letter. Yuta lets go of his arm and walks away.

Winwin notices the clear tape on the note. He must've taped y/n's letter back together. He finally takes the time to read the letter.

" Dear Sicheng,

First I want to thank you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for being so annoying and consistently bothering you. It's just ever since I first meet you, I knew you were the one for me. Even if you wanted nothing to do with me. You protected me from those mean girls and even helped me run away from them. I'll never forget how kind you were for doing that. I even met my best friend Yuta because of you. Thank you for existing Dong Sicheng. I love you ♥︎.

From the bottom of my heart,

Y/n y/l/n “

Winwin's heart did something as he read the letter. I kinda miss my simps. He looks around for y/n, but can't find her or Yuta anywhere. After running around and noticing that lunch ends in 15 minutes, he gives up and goes to sit in the school's garden. Feeling sorta bad about what he said to y/n.

He finds a bench and sits with his head in his hands. His stomach growls. That's right. I haven't eaten yet... Winwin moves his hands from his head and noticed a hand holding out a bento box full of food. He looks up and sees that it's y/n. He takes the box while still looking at her. She's still so kind to me. Even after what I said to her. Why? She sits next to him. Not a word has been said.

Without thinking Winwin places his hand over y/n's and pecked her cheek. "Thank you."

He takes y/n's flushed cheeks and sheepish smile as her forgiving him.

[captmickey]

+✏️ Marley-Threepwood family shenanigans?

Lucas always found ways to entertain himself during the long span of sailing. Whether it was coloring, helping Uncle Winslow with the maps, or reading, he found ways to subside his boredom for a few hours at a time.

Unfortunately, it was just that: a few hours at a time.

This particular sail was longer than usual thanks in part to the winds not being in the ship’s favor (or so he heard his father grumble) which, unfortunately, meant the usual activities he would do was not sufficing at the moment. He trudged to the wheel of the ship where his mother was currently helming, hopped himself up on the crate and let out a very apparent and very loud sigh of boredom.

“Everything alright, sweetie?” Elaine asked, side eyeing him ever so slightly.

“Bored.” Lucas huffed. 

“You don’t want to color?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Read?”

Another head shake.

“....Sort maps?” She asked, hesitantly, however.

“No.” He let out another huff. “I can’t think of a thing to color, I read all my books and Uncle Winslow is with Auncle Anemone so I can’t help with the maps.”

Valid point, she knew Winslow got rather cross when the maps were sorted incorrectly. “I didn’t think we were out of books already… hmm… what can we do to have some fun?”

“I dunno.” Lucas plopped his back on the crate, kicking his little feet slightly.

“Just like your father, I swear….” she muttered under her breath but then quickly lit up. “Just like your father…. Oh. I have a wonderful idea for you.”

—

With a final tug of the rope, Lucas hopped off his father’s desk. A smile beaming on his face.

While he ran out of books, drawings, and maps to play with, making puzzles was an endless supply for this little Marley-Threepwood. 

Lucas took a few steps back, eyeing his handy work. The amount of ropes that were zig-zagging were a bit excessive, even by his own standards, but for what his mother asked him to try and solve, it was doing the trick just fine. 

The puzzle, his mother asked, was to find a way to make a system to help bring an item from one side of the room to the other.

(“And for this sake, start in a smaller room.” Elaine added.)

Well, he thought, what better start than in his parents’ room? His father was always going back and forth between the journals on the bookshelves and the random knick-knacks that were in the treasure chest, surely this was the ideal and perfect place to run such a puzzle.

“Now to find the test subject.” Lucas spoke to himself, opening up the treasure chest. He needed something that was not too late but not too heavy, but enough to see if the rope could hold. Practically falling into the chest and kick his legs, Lucas dug around until…

“Aha!” He beamed, pushing himself out. In his hands was a weird looking horse head made of metal. He never did know what it was for, and according to his father…. Neither did he.

(“Stan gave it and insisted it would help.” Guybrush recalled.

“Did it?” Lucas asked.

“....no.”

“So why do you still have it?”

“Um… reasons?”)

Lucas tied the rope through the horse’s eyes, securing it tightly. Now all he had to do was go to the otherside of the room, hit the activation switch and–

“You sure it’s in here?” Guybrush’s voice called out.

“Positive!” Elaine’s voice projected. 

Oh. Clam dip.

Before Lucas could warn his father, before he could run and stop the activation, Guybrush opened the door and inadvertently freed the rope from it’s restraint, letting lose the flying unicorn head at full force.

“Dad, look out!” Lucas shouted, hoping he could warn him in time.

Instead, Guybrush mumbled a ‘huh’, looked up from his paper and saw the incoming projectile and grimace. 

“Oh fu–!”

The papers fluttered in the sky like snow as Guybrush collapsed hard onto the floor, his eyes shut from the world as he laid there motionless.

“Dad!” Lucas screamed and ran over, trying desperately to shake his father awake. Neither a groan or a mumble was heard as he stayed still and the young pirate felt his eyes prickle with tears. He kept shaking him, over and over and over again but Guybrush wasn’t responding.

Lucas stood back, his breathing hitching and ran out of the room, screaming as loud as he could in absolute tears.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!”

—

Guybrush sat in the galley with a cold rag pressed against his forehead. Having been knocked one too many times in the head didn't anger the Mighty Pirate, not in the slightest. He would even argue that if he didn't get hit in the head then that there was a sign for alarm. 

But having been knocked out cold by his own son? Yeah… that was definitely alarming.

Especially so when he regained consciousness to a concerned Elaine and a wailing Lucas who was swearing up and down that he didn't mean to kill him.

("I assure you, it will take a lot more than that to kill him." Elaine softly spoke.

"WHAT?!" Lucas cried harder. 

Elaine quickly backpedaled and tried to calm him once more before Guybrush mumbled how mommy was right.)

"So, if I hear you right, you tried to do a pulley system with my items?" Guybrush asked Lucas, still being held by Elaine who only just managed to calm his crying to simple sniffling. 

Lucas nodded. 

"Huh. Not bad. Might need to um… ease the speed." Guybrush chuckled.

Lucas stared… then hid his face in Elaine’s shirt. Guybrush sighed and lowered the rag. 

"Kiddo, look at me." He spoke softly, watching his son turn his head. "In all my stories, I've gotten bonked on the head at least once, right?"

"Y… yeah…"

Guybrush smiled. "Then this is nothing. Just one more bonk."

"I didn't mean to…"

"I know, I'm not upset."

"....promise?"

"Promise."

Lucas stared and slowly smiled. Calming down a bit more. 

"Your turn to apologize." Elaine then said, speaking up to Guybrush, smirking ever so slightly as she adjusted Lucas in her arms.

"My– apologize? I need to apologize?" Guybrush sounded flabbergasted. 

"Yes." She nodded.

"Why do I need to apologize?"

"For scaring him."

"For scaring Lucas?"

"Yes."

Lucas giggled in Elaine’s hold and Guybrush sighed.

[everygame]

Avalanche (Arcade)

Developed/Published by: Atari Released: 6/1978 Completed: 26/07/2023 Completion: Played it for a while. Version Played: Atari Flashback Classics (Nintendo Switch) Trophies / Achievements: n/a

One of the first Atari arcade games to be released after Space Invaders had already been released in Japanese arcades–alongside Fire Truck and Sky Diver–playing Avalanche is like seeing the dinosaurs not even looking up at the asteroid that’s about to hit them, changing their world forever. Tomohiro Nishikado took his obsession with Breakout and turned it into a (unarguably) completely different game that (unarguably) would come to define video games, and with Avalanche you get something that feels, intriguingly, like half an idea, something that shows the difference between genius and inspiration and, er… not that.

Avalanche, you see, isn’t really that far from Space Invaders when you get down to it. Originally designed as a game about catching eggs with baskets (which tested poorly, but the re-theme is weak, to say the least) you have a column of six paddles which you move back and forth along the bottom of the screen with a rotary controller a la Breakout. You do this to “catch” the rocks that are falling from the top of the screen–there are multiple rows of them, and as each row clears, you lose one platform, the rocks become smaller and they fall faster, meaning that you’ll have to zoom back and forth across the screen to catch as many as possible by paying attention to the order in which they fall. Thankfully, however, the game is quite forgiving with collision, and you basically just have to slam any paddle into any rock to catch it, you don’t have to make a point of it landing on top of a paddle or anything.

So yes, it’s sort of Breakout (don’t let anything drop past you to clear the rows above you) and sort of reverse Space Invaders (get hit by every projectile instead of avoiding them) even though they wouldn’t know what Space Invaders was yet.

Avalanche is… fine. The closest thing I can really compare it to, actually, is a rhythm game. I mean… ignore Space Invaders, Trombone Champ is pretty much just Avalanche on its side! It’s telling, however, that in this nascent period of game design there’s no sense that the designers grasped that the rhythmic nature of the game was what made it interesting, and in fact it just seems like a happy accident.

Not that it does all that much, really.

Will I ever play it again? There’s some charm to the real cabinet, so I’d play it… once.

Final Thought: The most interesting thing about Avalanche, really, is that it would, eventually, become beloved! Larry Kaplan (designer of three of the Atari 2600’s launch titles) would rip it off wholesale in 1981 as Kaboom! For Atari 2600, lowering the number of paddles and recognising the rhythmic nature of the game by having players essentially “follow” the movements of a “mad bomber” at the top of the screen (although apparently this was just because they couldn’t actually line up rocks at the top of the screen, so perhaps another happy accident.)

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up a digital copy of exp. 2600, a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

[lostcontrolfreak]

I love your page! Was there a past, presumably embarrassing, experience that you think led to you developing this very specific fetish?

No really. But then again kinda?

As far as I can remember, I've never had a personal experience like the ones I describe in my captions and stories. I never wet myself (unintentionally) past an age at which that sort of thing would be considered normal.

However, I do remember once in elementary school, right around the time I was developing a serious interest in girls, when a group of female classmates accused me of wetting myself. Even though I had nothing to actually be embarrassed about, it really played on my anxieties about appearing grown up, especially in the presence of girls, whom I'd been repeatedly told "mature faster than boys".

I also remember having a strong sense of urgency in stressful moments, such as when time was running out on a test. It never resulted in anything outwardly embarrassing, but it always reminded me of how mortified I would have been, had I given anyone a reason to believe that I was still an immature little kid who didn't know how to make it to the bathroom on time.

I may have had an accident at some point during kindergarten, though I can't remember it. What I do remember is sitting directly across the table from a girl who suddenly and completely wet herself while sobbing. I was fascinated by that vulnerability. I wanted to protect her, but of course that impulse was at odds with the desire to see her, or someone else I liked, reduced to that state again.

Even though this blog is like 95 percent about men wetting around girls, my interests in childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood were almost exclusively focused on female desperation and wetting. At some point, I guess in my late twenties, a switch flipped and I stated fantasizing a lot more about dominant women reacting to accidents, or making them happen, and taking on a role like that of a school bully with a gleeful sense of superiority.

My interests still go back and forth between dominance and submission, but the roots of the fetish are the same either way. I am helplessly hung up on childhood ideas about boys and girls competing to see who is more mature, and thus who is in control. Now my fantasies exist in a world where it's still possible for one little mishap to prove that a man and a woman are not actually on the same level, even if they're the same age.

Obviously, there's more to it than this, but those simple childhood experiences were definitely foundational.

[annieoftheshitposts]

GOD right yeah so the scrapped arg. this stuff is OLD, like, from 2018 ok. but even if it never went anywhere i did have a ton of fun coming up with the mechanics and story, and did a decent bit of groundwork for getting it set up, so this is a long post with a lot of images.

for a good long while i was kicking around the idea of a doing “double takeover” thing where, for one reason or another, annie would just be Not Around, and not the one answering questions. just suddenly switch to double shapeshifted as annie and never comment on it until someone tried to point it out. i did a handful of sketches exploring this.

the sword? you mean this sword that ive defintiely always had and didn’t just shapeshift out of my body? yeah it’s a cool sword.

i like to imagine double would just be really fucking salty about any praise annie gets too. and then the inevitable heel turn when someone Did catch on and call her out.

it never really went anywhere because frankly annie’s too powerful for most forces in the sg universe to be able to keep her restrained somewhere against her will; there was a vague idea about her somehow having gotten separated from sagan, which would not only severely nerf her power but also provide prime angst material. ultimately though it was all still just idle musings, until i started thinking about how i was gonna handle annie’s eventually being included in indivisible, and how to do asks with the characters in that game.

so first off, there was gonna be this whole Mechanic™ for how she passed between the two games; nothing super fancy, if anyone remembers star vs. the forces of evil and how the “dimensional scissors” worked there, it’s pretty much the same thing. just a little trinket she can pull out and make portals/holes between game universes.

second, only annie and sagan can use the said portals; any other characters or objects that try to go through, from either side, are met with a sort of ‘compatibility error’; just in that the programming to let them exist isn’t present in the other game, and so they can’t pass through. anything else that does try to go through just kind of gets vaporized. momentarily. it re-materializes a few seconds later, wherever it was last before trying to go through so nbd. yknow the material emancipation grids from portal? it’s like that but it just sort of rewinds stuff a few seconds instead of killing it.

i was going to have beowulf try to follow her into indivis world and then promptly get vaporized to demonstrate this, which would have been really funny. for me. not so much for annie, watching it happen.

dont worry though hes fine. again it’s only momentary, it just caught them off-guard. i could never hurt dear sweet beowulf.

so anyway we go on answering asks normally with annie going back and forth between indivis and sg for awhile; however long it takes to get comfortable with the game-hopping mechanic, and then at one point when we’re Supposed to have her travel back to sg-verse, i just pull out the pink double-annies and say Nothing. this is where the arg begins.

the first leg of this is figuring out what the hell happened to annie. someone would have to call double out for Not Being Annie and start questioning her about what happened, and at some point i’d find a way to slip in that double has been using “console commands” on the blog, which you are to also then do. i did actually make the console command page, though it’s still 100% in messy beta test phase and there’s not really anything there that finalized or presentable or functional. but it exists and you can go look at it if you want, i don’t intend on deleting it. the important thing there is the “camera focus” toggle/links; this would have been the main gimmick of the arg. the camera is, by default, set to “main”, which is this “annieoftheshitposts” blog. annie is the player character here who receives the asks, so there’s not usually any discrepancy. however, now, with her being missing,  when you toggle the camera to view the “player character”, you’re brought to a DIFFERENT blog, where the real annie is, and where you are met with a post of annie now getting the whole “being vaporized when she tries to pass between games” deal.

very rough bc i only drew it for testing/placeholder purposes but you get the idea. so anyways then you’d send annie questions on this Other blog to ask her what’s going on and get her caught up to speed what you know about double being on the main one now, etc. at some point you would be told about an Additional camera control, to let you see/go to a Third blog with venus and aeon to send THEM asks and get further information. [fun fact, if you remember my venus redesign? this is what it was for!] anyway we’d spend a good bit of time here just bouncing back and forth questioning the characters and relaying information between them to piece together what was going on.

and what’s going on is this: you know how in that one ending it’s shown that venus and aeon have a Physical Cartridge of the game skullgirls?  they noticed annie had been slipping in and out of the game/sg universe, and thought “hey, wouldn’t it be neat if we could lock her out permanently so she’s not always fucking up our endeavors?” and then they hacked/modded their game;  specifically to remove/patch annie out so that she gets the same ‘compatibility error’ thing when trying to return home and just becomes Stuck in indivis universe. yknow the whole shtick with vanellope in wreck-it ralph? pretty much that.

so then the second leg of the arg is getting her written/coded back IN to the skullgirls ‘verse. i never really figured out much about this part though. i was doing some stuff on twinery about like, passwords or something; you’d have to go on this whole goose chase to find them and then enter them on there and it’d let you access the actual stuff to do the little ‘coding’ activities or whatever. i dont know it has been like 4 years since i was actively planning all this. but anyway once all that is Done you’d go back to annie to let her know, and then she can go back home to this main blog to beat double’s ass and get things back to normal. the end!

but yeah i killed this blog to go focus on working with my own original stuff, and then indivisible itself also Fucking Died before annie ever got added, so all this is 200% never happening. but now you know.

[moonrisecoeur]

heyyyyy, bdsm test anon here, that was a pretty fast reply!! your results are actually pretty similar to mine LMAOOO Like first 3 are almost 1 to 1... I think all the Leon fics have been affecting me

== Results from bdsmtest.org == 100% Rigger 100% Sadist 100% Degrader 96% Dominant 91% Owner 79% Master/Mistress 78% Switch 75% Brat tamer 73% Masochist 54% Experimentalist 51% Primal (Hunter) 36% Rope bunny 33% Primal (Prey) 21% Vanilla 20% Brat 18% Slave 17% Pet 16% Submissive 0% Ageplayer 0% Daddy/Mommy 0% Degradee 0% Boy/Girl 0% Non-monogamist 0% Voyeur 0% Exhibitionist

================ ... I think you get it, lol, also our 0%s are almost the same Honestly I was kind of surprised you got 100% on both sadist and degrader (not sure what I expected tho given the leon fics) mostly bc the majority of results I've seen from talking to others have generally been pretty heavily subby, so it's pretty nice to see someone who's also dom-leaning for once (yayyy I'm not alone and deranged!! :>) It's interesting to see dom and sub right next to each other like that, I feel like I'm kinda exploring switchy stuff a bit (*nudge nudge* a certain resident evil someone could probably help with that) but I still don't really like the sub experience too much So I guess we're comrades!? 🫡

i’m good at going back and forth between dominant and submissive headspace so that’s why both seem so high. i do think it should be much lower for the submissive and i am definitely a lot more dom than sub, but i do also think i’m just insecure as a sub!! i’ll get kinda vulnerable here for a second, i am kinda insecure about my looks and my body and so being submissive is hard for me because on one hand, being praised is nice but i’ll literally start crying if they’re nice enough to me (and not smexy crying like full on ugly crying).

also i’m sure you wouldn’t know but i’m a very awkward person, kind of a prude honestly, and i struggle a lot in social situations. i find being dominant to be freeing because i can control every little thing and it gives me the like mental peace i’m looking for. i don’t need to know how to hand social situations with a partner if they’re too fucked out to talk LMAO so it’s easier that way for me!!

submissiveness is something i’m much more comfortable exploring by myself, in the comfort of my own presence. for this reason i don’t talk much about my sub thoughts on any of my blogs. i’ll vaguely mention it sometimes but i’m not comfortable with talking about it detailedly. i try to stick to dom!reader or neutral because vanilla is also amazing!! let’s not forget that not every sexual encounter needs a dom and a sub. sometimes it’s just people :)

also again a lot of my submissiveness comes from the fact that i’m a wee bit masochistic even when and especially when i’m the dom >.<

it’s u and me comrade 🫡 just two switches looking at each other like 👀👀