ask-everything

[ask-everything]

[Willi just purses her lips. She isn't Wilhelmina Work for nothing- there's a lot of things that she's good at, and a lot of good qualities about her that make her her. So, of course, her eye for detail instantly notices the minute shift in Teddy's expression.]

"Teddy, I asked you what was running through your thoughts. You weren't being selfish," she says gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

[She gives him a nod, looking at this odd discoloured spot in the wood for a second as she thinks about how to say what she wanted next.]

"...Better. I feel better. Heart's not racing and I do feel lighter now," she says tentatively, "So now, let me help you, Teddy. What's on your mind, and what've you been putting on that backburner?"

And So, The Mask Falls.

[A.K.A: Willi dealing with her brain being messy and also her biggest opp. Gifted kid burnout + learning disability combos suck amirite - Agni]

Dead, the sounds of the office are dead, the deafening silence leaving Willi wanting to claw her eardrums out–fuck, just about everything was too frustrating, too uncomfortable, too overwhelming, too…everything. She pawed at the puff on her shoulder absently, digging between the frills and mesh to scratch at the stitching. Left, right, left, she flicks her perfectly manicured nail to find the groove in said stitching she’d already carved out on previous occasions. Sure, this could cause her outfit to be damaged eventually, but, hey, she can sow. Well–maybe, at least. It’s been a few years since she last touched a needle…ha, she can’t even remember the date. Typical. Fucking typical. Of course she forgot something else. 

Willi groans, feeling more energy being siphoned off from within her. She curls up into a ball, her head now slack against the wall. She forces her eyelids shut, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. There’s a nauseous feeling rising in her, her emotions almost about to overflow, about to bring about a shutdown of the century. Her hands find their way to the back of her neck, tucking under her choker in an effort to relieve the heat and itchiness that was slowly building up under it. Of course, this only results in her dragging her nails against the small of her back, but this was not soothing. They felt like very expensive knives that were about to rip into her skin. That’d probably be less painful than the words scattered on the floor, honestly. Maybe that’d even show just how apologetic she was for being such a failure.

“Well, maybe if I do rip my skin apart, then maybe I’ll stop feeling and acting this way,” Willi thinks to herself in a feeble attempt at a joke to get her mood up…ha, when has that ever worked? When has that ever worked? Willi looked up at the ceiling, wanting, trying to feel some sort of anger and adrenaline, some sort of motivation to work even harder to fire back at that…that bitch. But, oh, as she stared up at the white expanse of the ceiling while avoiding the gaze of the spotlights above, suddenly, she was 15 again, and begging for forgiveness for a mistake she did not make.

15, staring at the ceiling, feeling what the little girl could only describe as “nothingness” (and later, “hollow”) as dried tears stained her cheeks, a test paper marked with streaks of red and a staining ‘F’ clutched in her hand. Mom was worried, she hadn’t said much that day, but the look on her mother’s face sealed the shutdown she would have later that day. Her chest tightened, her shoulders tensed, her appetite disappeared, but the tears that pricked her eyes refused to fall past one to two drops onto the hard wooden floors of her bedroom. The fan was too loud, her clothes were too tight, and the air was too stiff. Willi’d slumped against the wall that day, too.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and rather than improving, everything was stuck at rock bottom, and it seemed as if the world had pressed a shovel into the palms of her hand, ignoring the way her voice was hoarse from screaming out for some fucking mercy, for someone to realise how hard she was trying, to recognise all she had sacrificed, to hit and break and shatter the one-way mirrors around her that never, ever let others look in to see how much she was hurting, and only ever let others have a surface glance at a lazy, weak, and foolish young lady who didn’t exist to begin with. The true Wilhelmina was sealed away, rotting under the duress of stress and anxiety. 

And then she was 20, sat down in the therapist’s office, and was finally told that she was, in fact, not crazy for thinking something was wrong with her. That it wasn’t her fault. That she was really and truly just suffering in silence.

But knowing the reason for things doesn’t make taking such harsh criticism easy. Sure, she can put a label on the box and deal with it, but that doesn’t get rid of it, does it?

Willi breathes in shakily. The tears are gone now. All that’s left is a hollowness where pride usually sits. Her fingers left a mark on the back of her neck. The hands on Timothy have moved from where they were…she doesn’t know how long it’s been. She never does. 

[ask-everything]

Volt, Eddie, Lux uhh... I dunno if "overclocked" is the right word but they're glowing brighter, their ringlights are sparking and some of the bulbs on their shoulders cracked, as well as them being more moody. Do we need to go round the house and start replacing lightbulbs or is this from something else?

We regulate the amount of electricity each appliance in the house gets, if it is a power issue it isn’t because of us.

Yes, what Eddie said. I fear that what Lux is going through may be less effected by a physical feeling and more an emotional one.

We are of little service in that department.

[ask-everything]

Good day Farya how is Freddy condition? (•᷄- •᷅ ;)

Wait, Freddy is sick!? Why nobody tell me this!?

God I'm embaressed, But if he probably just needs to get refreezed, I Hope...

[ask-everything]

My best bro Dunk!!!

Im finally starting badminton this year ,im so excited!!!after i dropped roller skates because it got to competitive and a few girls bullied me there…

still love skating in my free time tho!! Just every time i look at my skates i get a bit sad…

anyways the sad stuff aside! I’m gonna decorate my badminton case and the insp is you!

Because your awesome man!!

(and also maybe some tips how to make new friends because i dont want to get bullied again and loose the joy in a other sport…)

bai bai^^!!!

Yo, that's so cool, dude!!

Badminton is such an awesome sport, you're gonna love it! I promise!

You just gotta make sure you keep your eye on the shuttlecock.

And... Listen. If anyone ever tries to put you down for being excited about something ever... Send them to me. I'll have a word with 'em. Those girls have no idea what they're talking about.

The worst kind of person is someone who makes someone else feel bad, dumb or stupid for being excited about something. Said someone. Somewhere. Probably.

But it's nice you get to practice in your free time, though!! Sometimes you just gotta be alone to fully enjoy somethin'. Hmmm... Tips for making new friends. This is probably gonna sound super cliché, but like, honestly? Just be yourself, dude. There'll be tons of people who are gonna be drawn to your natural energy! For sure !! To make a friend you gotta be a friend! Plus, if you're putting yourself out there with sports and stuff, you're bound to find someone!

[ask-everything]

(3/5)

Dunk!!! How you doing today, sweetie?? You're glowing, and looking super cute like always! 🩷🩷🩷 *kisses Dunk'a cheek*

I'm doing SO good, thanks for checking in on me, dude!!

And- haha, stop !! You're gonna give me like- a complex or something with all those compliments! You're way too sweet to me, bro.

How're you? Been up to anything fun lately? Can you invite me next time?

[ask-everything]

Keyes,

I just wanted to check up on you. I've yet to hear you start playing again, which is truly a shame... If only we could move your piano upstairs! It's much nicer up here, otherwise I wouldn't be up here. Anyways, I don't want to rant... sending you strength from above (kind of like an angel -- I'd make a cute angel, actually; I'd look really good with a halo).

Love, Bathsheba

Bathsheba... How nice it is to hear from you again.

I also wish that I could be moved upstairs... So that the rest of the house would be more likely to hear my melodies... Although... I do rather like my station down here in the living room. It garners much more attention, wouldn't you agree?

And thank you for the strength. Perhaps I shall be needing it with how... disruptive things have been around here lately.

I must agree, you would look good as an angel. You simply must consult Holly about a potential Summerween costume.

[ask-everything]

[Mateo leaned softly against Skips, the knitbull being held close, the last of his tears falling]

We'll get through it eventually... still it's a terrible thing to do though...

[He sighs resting his head on Skips's shoulder]

All we can really do now that the papers gone is hope it gets resolved soon. But it'll be a tense while

I hope it isn't too uncomfortable, Bee anon

❗️🐝 *little bee uses charge 3/5. it has no gifts this time… it does not seem to be okay*

Mister Skips? Can I… is it okay if I sit with you? it seems quieter and darker here, and i think i need that right now…

Of course little guy [skips has his monster high blanket draped around him and Mateo who is cuddling Davi, pluto is quietly purring on skips lap.] I think we all need a bit of comfort right now… everyone in the house is a bit shaken up, I can see it through the shadows.

I cleaned up the papers so… I don’t know how many people in the house saw them.

[ask-everything]

[Teddy looks down at the ground. He's made it about himself. He's failed. Stupid, selfish Teddy.]

"I'm sorry, Willi. I really shouldn't have made this about myself. That's...really selfish of me."

[He looks up, but away, not meeting Willi's gaze.]

"I like helping people. I like being there for them. It's my job, it's what I'm made for, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But it's...sometimes it's a lot. I don't know the last time I really took the time to do something for myself."

[He sighs again, clearly not super happy with talking about himself.]

"But that's enough about me. How are you feeling now, Willi?"

And So, The Mask Falls.

[A.K.A: Willi dealing with her brain being messy and also her biggest opp. Gifted kid burnout + learning disability combos suck amirite - Agni]

Dead, the sounds of the office are dead, the deafening silence leaving Willi wanting to claw her eardrums out–fuck, just about everything was too frustrating, too uncomfortable, too overwhelming, too…everything. She pawed at the puff on her shoulder absently, digging between the frills and mesh to scratch at the stitching. Left, right, left, she flicks her perfectly manicured nail to find the groove in said stitching she’d already carved out on previous occasions. Sure, this could cause her outfit to be damaged eventually, but, hey, she can sow. Well–maybe, at least. It’s been a few years since she last touched a needle…ha, she can’t even remember the date. Typical. Fucking typical. Of course she forgot something else. 

Willi groans, feeling more energy being siphoned off from within her. She curls up into a ball, her head now slack against the wall. She forces her eyelids shut, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. There’s a nauseous feeling rising in her, her emotions almost about to overflow, about to bring about a shutdown of the century. Her hands find their way to the back of her neck, tucking under her choker in an effort to relieve the heat and itchiness that was slowly building up under it. Of course, this only results in her dragging her nails against the small of her back, but this was not soothing. They felt like very expensive knives that were about to rip into her skin. That’d probably be less painful than the words scattered on the floor, honestly. Maybe that’d even show just how apologetic she was for being such a failure.

“Well, maybe if I do rip my skin apart, then maybe I’ll stop feeling and acting this way,” Willi thinks to herself in a feeble attempt at a joke to get her mood up…ha, when has that ever worked? When has that ever worked? Willi looked up at the ceiling, wanting, trying to feel some sort of anger and adrenaline, some sort of motivation to work even harder to fire back at that…that bitch. But, oh, as she stared up at the white expanse of the ceiling while avoiding the gaze of the spotlights above, suddenly, she was 15 again, and begging for forgiveness for a mistake she did not make.

15, staring at the ceiling, feeling what the little girl could only describe as “nothingness” (and later, “hollow”) as dried tears stained her cheeks, a test paper marked with streaks of red and a staining ‘F’ clutched in her hand. Mom was worried, she hadn’t said much that day, but the look on her mother’s face sealed the shutdown she would have later that day. Her chest tightened, her shoulders tensed, her appetite disappeared, but the tears that pricked her eyes refused to fall past one to two drops onto the hard wooden floors of her bedroom. The fan was too loud, her clothes were too tight, and the air was too stiff. Willi’d slumped against the wall that day, too.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and rather than improving, everything was stuck at rock bottom, and it seemed as if the world had pressed a shovel into the palms of her hand, ignoring the way her voice was hoarse from screaming out for some fucking mercy, for someone to realise how hard she was trying, to recognise all she had sacrificed, to hit and break and shatter the one-way mirrors around her that never, ever let others look in to see how much she was hurting, and only ever let others have a surface glance at a lazy, weak, and foolish young lady who didn’t exist to begin with. The true Wilhelmina was sealed away, rotting under the duress of stress and anxiety. 

And then she was 20, sat down in the therapist’s office, and was finally told that she was, in fact, not crazy for thinking something was wrong with her. That it wasn’t her fault. That she was really and truly just suffering in silence.

But knowing the reason for things doesn’t make taking such harsh criticism easy. Sure, she can put a label on the box and deal with it, but that doesn’t get rid of it, does it?

Willi breathes in shakily. The tears are gone now. All that’s left is a hollowness where pride usually sits. Her fingers left a mark on the back of her neck. The hands on Timothy have moved from where they were…she doesn’t know how long it’s been. She never does. 

[ask-everything]

[Teddy looks down at the ground. He's made it about himself. He's failed. Stupid, selfish Teddy.]

"I'm sorry, Willi. I really shouldn't have made this about myself. That's...really selfish of me."

[He looks up, but away, not meeting Willi's gaze.]

"I like helping people. I like being there for them. It's my job, it's what I'm made for, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But it's...sometimes it's a lot. I don't know the last time I really took the time to do something for myself."

[He sighs again, clearly not super happy with talking about himself.]

"But that's enough about me. How are you feeling now, Willi?"

And So, The Mask Falls.

[A.K.A: Willi dealing with her brain being messy and also her biggest opp. Gifted kid burnout + learning disability combos suck amirite - Agni]

Dead, the sounds of the office are dead, the deafening silence leaving Willi wanting to claw her eardrums out–fuck, just about everything was too frustrating, too uncomfortable, too overwhelming, too…everything. She pawed at the puff on her shoulder absently, digging between the frills and mesh to scratch at the stitching. Left, right, left, she flicks her perfectly manicured nail to find the groove in said stitching she’d already carved out on previous occasions. Sure, this could cause her outfit to be damaged eventually, but, hey, she can sow. Well–maybe, at least. It’s been a few years since she last touched a needle…ha, she can’t even remember the date. Typical. Fucking typical. Of course she forgot something else. 

Willi groans, feeling more energy being siphoned off from within her. She curls up into a ball, her head now slack against the wall. She forces her eyelids shut, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. There’s a nauseous feeling rising in her, her emotions almost about to overflow, about to bring about a shutdown of the century. Her hands find their way to the back of her neck, tucking under her choker in an effort to relieve the heat and itchiness that was slowly building up under it. Of course, this only results in her dragging her nails against the small of her back, but this was not soothing. They felt like very expensive knives that were about to rip into her skin. That’d probably be less painful than the words scattered on the floor, honestly. Maybe that’d even show just how apologetic she was for being such a failure.

“Well, maybe if I do rip my skin apart, then maybe I’ll stop feeling and acting this way,” Willi thinks to herself in a feeble attempt at a joke to get her mood up…ha, when has that ever worked? When has that ever worked? Willi looked up at the ceiling, wanting, trying to feel some sort of anger and adrenaline, some sort of motivation to work even harder to fire back at that…that bitch. But, oh, as she stared up at the white expanse of the ceiling while avoiding the gaze of the spotlights above, suddenly, she was 15 again, and begging for forgiveness for a mistake she did not make.

15, staring at the ceiling, feeling what the little girl could only describe as “nothingness” (and later, “hollow”) as dried tears stained her cheeks, a test paper marked with streaks of red and a staining ‘F’ clutched in her hand. Mom was worried, she hadn’t said much that day, but the look on her mother’s face sealed the shutdown she would have later that day. Her chest tightened, her shoulders tensed, her appetite disappeared, but the tears that pricked her eyes refused to fall past one to two drops onto the hard wooden floors of her bedroom. The fan was too loud, her clothes were too tight, and the air was too stiff. Willi’d slumped against the wall that day, too.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and rather than improving, everything was stuck at rock bottom, and it seemed as if the world had pressed a shovel into the palms of her hand, ignoring the way her voice was hoarse from screaming out for some fucking mercy, for someone to realise how hard she was trying, to recognise all she had sacrificed, to hit and break and shatter the one-way mirrors around her that never, ever let others look in to see how much she was hurting, and only ever let others have a surface glance at a lazy, weak, and foolish young lady who didn’t exist to begin with. The true Wilhelmina was sealed away, rotting under the duress of stress and anxiety. 

And then she was 20, sat down in the therapist’s office, and was finally told that she was, in fact, not crazy for thinking something was wrong with her. That it wasn’t her fault. That she was really and truly just suffering in silence.

But knowing the reason for things doesn’t make taking such harsh criticism easy. Sure, she can put a label on the box and deal with it, but that doesn’t get rid of it, does it?

Willi breathes in shakily. The tears are gone now. All that’s left is a hollowness where pride usually sits. Her fingers left a mark on the back of her neck. The hands on Timothy have moved from where they were…she doesn’t know how long it’s been. She never does. 

[ask-everything]

[Time pauses for a second again, as Willi scrutinises the look on Teddy's face, worry clouding her expression. A beat passes in the silence as she chooses the right words to say.]

"Teddy," she begins, gently. Her expression doesn't change a whole lot, save for the fact that her deep brown irises now held a new sort of firm warmth and concern, "Maybe I'm wrong about this, but you're the only one in this household who's checked on the rest so far." She tilts her head, "Just how many objects' hurt are you keeping safe in your heart? How much more of this until you shut down?"

The question is not direct, but her question was clear: When was the last time you rested, and let others shoulder your grief and strife?

Willi shifts her weight, her body starting to relax. "What's on your mind, Teddy?"

And So, The Mask Falls.

[A.K.A: Willi dealing with her brain being messy and also her biggest opp. Gifted kid burnout + learning disability combos suck amirite - Agni]

Dead, the sounds of the office are dead, the deafening silence leaving Willi wanting to claw her eardrums out–fuck, just about everything was too frustrating, too uncomfortable, too overwhelming, too…everything. She pawed at the puff on her shoulder absently, digging between the frills and mesh to scratch at the stitching. Left, right, left, she flicks her perfectly manicured nail to find the groove in said stitching she’d already carved out on previous occasions. Sure, this could cause her outfit to be damaged eventually, but, hey, she can sow. Well–maybe, at least. It’s been a few years since she last touched a needle…ha, she can’t even remember the date. Typical. Fucking typical. Of course she forgot something else. 

Willi groans, feeling more energy being siphoned off from within her. She curls up into a ball, her head now slack against the wall. She forces her eyelids shut, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. There’s a nauseous feeling rising in her, her emotions almost about to overflow, about to bring about a shutdown of the century. Her hands find their way to the back of her neck, tucking under her choker in an effort to relieve the heat and itchiness that was slowly building up under it. Of course, this only results in her dragging her nails against the small of her back, but this was not soothing. They felt like very expensive knives that were about to rip into her skin. That’d probably be less painful than the words scattered on the floor, honestly. Maybe that’d even show just how apologetic she was for being such a failure.

“Well, maybe if I do rip my skin apart, then maybe I’ll stop feeling and acting this way,” Willi thinks to herself in a feeble attempt at a joke to get her mood up…ha, when has that ever worked? When has that ever worked? Willi looked up at the ceiling, wanting, trying to feel some sort of anger and adrenaline, some sort of motivation to work even harder to fire back at that…that bitch. But, oh, as she stared up at the white expanse of the ceiling while avoiding the gaze of the spotlights above, suddenly, she was 15 again, and begging for forgiveness for a mistake she did not make.

15, staring at the ceiling, feeling what the little girl could only describe as “nothingness” (and later, “hollow”) as dried tears stained her cheeks, a test paper marked with streaks of red and a staining ‘F’ clutched in her hand. Mom was worried, she hadn’t said much that day, but the look on her mother’s face sealed the shutdown she would have later that day. Her chest tightened, her shoulders tensed, her appetite disappeared, but the tears that pricked her eyes refused to fall past one to two drops onto the hard wooden floors of her bedroom. The fan was too loud, her clothes were too tight, and the air was too stiff. Willi’d slumped against the wall that day, too.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and rather than improving, everything was stuck at rock bottom, and it seemed as if the world had pressed a shovel into the palms of her hand, ignoring the way her voice was hoarse from screaming out for some fucking mercy, for someone to realise how hard she was trying, to recognise all she had sacrificed, to hit and break and shatter the one-way mirrors around her that never, ever let others look in to see how much she was hurting, and only ever let others have a surface glance at a lazy, weak, and foolish young lady who didn’t exist to begin with. The true Wilhelmina was sealed away, rotting under the duress of stress and anxiety. 

And then she was 20, sat down in the therapist’s office, and was finally told that she was, in fact, not crazy for thinking something was wrong with her. That it wasn’t her fault. That she was really and truly just suffering in silence.

But knowing the reason for things doesn’t make taking such harsh criticism easy. Sure, she can put a label on the box and deal with it, but that doesn’t get rid of it, does it?

Willi breathes in shakily. The tears are gone now. All that’s left is a hollowness where pride usually sits. Her fingers left a mark on the back of her neck. The hands on Timothy have moved from where they were…she doesn’t know how long it’s been. She never does. 

[ask-everything]

Hey Dorian! How are you doing? I was wondering how door decorations would work? Like if you were to put wreaths on the door for Halloween or spring or fall, would you get an accessory too? Thank you!

-music anon

I've answered this a few times already but I keep finding these old pictures. You humans have so many holidays. Too many, quite honestly. How I find myself wrapped up in every one is a mystery I've yet to solve.

[ask-everything]

[Teddy sighs, looking down at the ground.]

"I understand that, trust me...if I'm honest, I put a lot of pressure on myself to help others. I don't remember the last time I did something for me...it's been especially difficult with everyone so worked up about those papers. And yet..."

[He grumbles, not quite content with what he's about to say, but he says it anyway. He looks like he might cry, but maintains an apologetic expression. He's not supposed to make this about him.]

"Stupid pushover Teddy can't even stay mad at the person who wrote them...I just hope they're okay. Sometimes I wish I could just take a break from feeling things, y'know? From being so...empathetic all the time. But it's just the way I'm built. It's sewn and stuffed into my fabric. We can't help who we are, or how we feel, or the pressure we put on ourselves. But we can at least acknowledge that sometimes, we need a break, and there's nothing wrong with that."

[Hypocrite. When was the last time you took a break, stupid, hypocrite Teddy?]

And So, The Mask Falls.

[A.K.A: Willi dealing with her brain being messy and also her biggest opp. Gifted kid burnout + learning disability combos suck amirite - Agni]

Dead, the sounds of the office are dead, the deafening silence leaving Willi wanting to claw her eardrums out–fuck, just about everything was too frustrating, too uncomfortable, too overwhelming, too…everything. She pawed at the puff on her shoulder absently, digging between the frills and mesh to scratch at the stitching. Left, right, left, she flicks her perfectly manicured nail to find the groove in said stitching she’d already carved out on previous occasions. Sure, this could cause her outfit to be damaged eventually, but, hey, she can sow. Well–maybe, at least. It’s been a few years since she last touched a needle…ha, she can’t even remember the date. Typical. Fucking typical. Of course she forgot something else. 

Willi groans, feeling more energy being siphoned off from within her. She curls up into a ball, her head now slack against the wall. She forces her eyelids shut, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. There’s a nauseous feeling rising in her, her emotions almost about to overflow, about to bring about a shutdown of the century. Her hands find their way to the back of her neck, tucking under her choker in an effort to relieve the heat and itchiness that was slowly building up under it. Of course, this only results in her dragging her nails against the small of her back, but this was not soothing. They felt like very expensive knives that were about to rip into her skin. That’d probably be less painful than the words scattered on the floor, honestly. Maybe that’d even show just how apologetic she was for being such a failure.

“Well, maybe if I do rip my skin apart, then maybe I’ll stop feeling and acting this way,” Willi thinks to herself in a feeble attempt at a joke to get her mood up…ha, when has that ever worked? When has that ever worked? Willi looked up at the ceiling, wanting, trying to feel some sort of anger and adrenaline, some sort of motivation to work even harder to fire back at that…that bitch. But, oh, as she stared up at the white expanse of the ceiling while avoiding the gaze of the spotlights above, suddenly, she was 15 again, and begging for forgiveness for a mistake she did not make.

15, staring at the ceiling, feeling what the little girl could only describe as “nothingness” (and later, “hollow”) as dried tears stained her cheeks, a test paper marked with streaks of red and a staining ‘F’ clutched in her hand. Mom was worried, she hadn’t said much that day, but the look on her mother’s face sealed the shutdown she would have later that day. Her chest tightened, her shoulders tensed, her appetite disappeared, but the tears that pricked her eyes refused to fall past one to two drops onto the hard wooden floors of her bedroom. The fan was too loud, her clothes were too tight, and the air was too stiff. Willi’d slumped against the wall that day, too.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and rather than improving, everything was stuck at rock bottom, and it seemed as if the world had pressed a shovel into the palms of her hand, ignoring the way her voice was hoarse from screaming out for some fucking mercy, for someone to realise how hard she was trying, to recognise all she had sacrificed, to hit and break and shatter the one-way mirrors around her that never, ever let others look in to see how much she was hurting, and only ever let others have a surface glance at a lazy, weak, and foolish young lady who didn’t exist to begin with. The true Wilhelmina was sealed away, rotting under the duress of stress and anxiety. 

And then she was 20, sat down in the therapist’s office, and was finally told that she was, in fact, not crazy for thinking something was wrong with her. That it wasn’t her fault. That she was really and truly just suffering in silence.

But knowing the reason for things doesn’t make taking such harsh criticism easy. Sure, she can put a label on the box and deal with it, but that doesn’t get rid of it, does it?

Willi breathes in shakily. The tears are gone now. All that’s left is a hollowness where pride usually sits. Her fingers left a mark on the back of her neck. The hands on Timothy have moved from where they were…she doesn’t know how long it’s been. She never does. 

[ask-everything]

Dearest Penelope,

I wasn’t joking. I would very much like to get to know you better, and to show you the pieces in our gallery. You looked at me with intrigue, and… well, frankly, you didn’t look that embarrassed at my choice of dress. You’d be surprised how many people get on my case about it despite me being a statue.

I think your laugh is some of the sweetest music I’ve heard, and the way your curls bounce as you walk makes for such interesting lines of motion. If it won’t be taken poorly, I’d like to sketch it out sometime, to show you what I mean.

With a warm and fluttering heart, Artt

O-Oh! Oh wow... Oh- gosh... I'm so.. so flattered! My goodness, I've never been described so... artistically before! Uhm- I have no words! I'm.. I- Okay.. keep it together, Penelope! Not like a hot guy just asked you out..

I would love to see you, Artt! I MEANT- See... YOUR ART! Haha- uh... And to be one of your muses... absolutely! Yes! It's a date! Positive!

[ask-everything]

Volt, I heard about the incident with the socket from Arma. It's nice that you and Eddie apologized. So are you guys going to keep a close eye on that crazy sink Sinclaire from now on? I hope the human and Maggie finds a way to cure his madness.

Well, I hope our dear bouncer Dorian plans to keep an eye on that Sinclaire character.

We can't stop the flow of electricity for every unstable guest in the house. Despite Eddie's apologies, I believe Sinclair to be more at fault with his careless use of water.

[ask-everything]

(2/5) Connie what do you think of old games getting remastered? Totally not based on me playing oblivion remaster again

Well I guess that depends how well they remaster the game! I personally love the remastered version of this one old game, Ni No Kuni: Wrath Of The White Witch! It's unfortunate that the sequel wasn't as good though...

[ask-everything]

Curt, Rod have you two ever seen wildin out ? It feels up your alley !

Hey I love that show! Mac showed it to us a while back. My favorite sections that they play are "Kick Em Out The Classroom" and of course, "Got Damned!"

Curt watches it too, but not as much as I do. I'm a huge fan.

[ask-everything]

Volt, I see how much you care for Eddie. I really admire it. I wish I could help you both more. Is there anything I can do for you two? I promise to be on my best behavior, I know you two are already so busy…

Well, I know you do so love to flick the light switches, but that can give Eddie headaches. It's something I've been meaning to bring up.

And typically when there is less electricity being used, Eddie has less work to do.

I do appreciate your consideration of him, live wire. It makes me glad to see his well being is of importance to both of us.