#i think i have improved leaps and bounds

[voidbeau]

Eepy sleepy.

Another re-draw from something I did last year in July!

The first ever piece of Plargos fanart I ever contributed.

It also came with my head cannon about Mr. Plant having vines that appear under his skin like veins or tattoos. Which was actually inspired by this post cause Mr. Plant having vines he can use like extra limbs fucks hard.

Anyway

What I neglected to mention then was that some vines were supposed to have texture to them like bulging veins might, while others might be deeper under the skin.

Unfortunately, much the same way I don't draw Mr. Plant's petal patterns, i don't add any extra texture to the vines so they all always look flat on his skin.

Too much work and I am lazy I will not deny. _(:3」∠)_

I already dread having to colour the stupid flower man head as is every time.

The less work for me the better!

But anyway, now you can imagine eerie, bumpy textured vine shapes just below the surface of Mr. Plant's skin!

Which is a fun detail on top of the fact that I headcannon that Mr. Plant's vines shift and move beneath his skin when he experiences high emotion. Usually negative, but they can also shift a lot if he's really excited about something.

Which may or may not be my excuse as to why the patterns on him are never the same. 🥴

But yeah

Understand my vision!!!

Old version below cut:

July 2023

[mumblesplash]

getting better at drawing when you’re not trying for realism is kinda funny bc it’s like wow now my art looks even MORE like the exact midpoint between old-school disney and late 2010s anime. i didn’t think it was possible and yet i’ve done it again. inspiring

[alaraxia]

Lotta art frustration for me is knowing I need to practice anatomy and quicker, low-impact sketching more, but I physically can't because I need to be allocating a ton of recovery and rest time to keep injuries manageable.

Consistent struggle of balancing wanting to draw to improve vs having to do what feels like re-learning and warming back up constantly when skills rust due to the prolonged rest.

[retributory]

my controversial opinion is that i actually think binghe is more stable than shen yuan. binghe was under the influence of The Sword That Kills You And Makes You Evil when he did the craziest stuff in svsss. he's a mentally-ill young adult who's been routinely ostracized from his peers since birth. you'd be hard-pressed to find someone in his situation that WOULDN'T have a catastrophic meltdown, evil sword aside. he improves leaps and bounds even in the short time from the end of vol 3 to the end of vol 4, and he's clearly trying his best to work out his issues and heal. shen yuan is just actually crazy. he was really going to suck binghe's dick as a "straight" "man" because it "would be sad if he had a boner and didn't do anything with it." he saw that binghe was keeping his corpse at his bedside every day for 5 years and adamantly insists that this isn't inappropriate in any way, and in fact finds it gut-wrenchingly romantic. when he initially refuses binghe he gets all mopey and pissy that binghe DIDN'T proceed to tie him up and violate him. he tells his binghe that if he was pregnant with fetushe he would never abort him. he's absolutely insane. you know his reddit account was legendary.

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[al-lewinsky]

THE FLU KNOCKED OUT ALL THE CLUB OFFICERS BUT ME SO I WILL BE MANNING THE SHIP ALL BY MYSELF TOM. … I AM SCARED I WILL ADMIT. VERY .

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[cerastes]

I think some people need to hear this, so I want to say it.

The moment you start taking something seriously, that moment you decide “I’m going to improve at this, I’m going to become better at this”, you become slightly worse at it. This applies to everything: Art, games, sports, analysis, research, anything. You become slightly worse at it because you are actually thinking about it.

For most things, most people tend to run on autopilot, not particularly thinking too much and getting it over with or just enjoying it in the moment. When you really want to improve at something, though, you become slower and a bit worse at it, because now you are thinking about it, you are noticing things, you are making conscious decisions that are not as fast or as spontaneous or as natural as you just simply doing it. Now you’re performing, or attempting to.

This isn’t a bad thing.

It’s because of this period of temporary perceived weakness that we improve. That which we analyze, mull over, think hard about it, we start internalizing it, and the more we internalize something, the better we become, because that now becomes a part of our autopiloting, if that makes sense to you. Slowly but surely, that thing you really needed to focus on to do properly now just comes naturally, and now you have a much better skillset without thinking about it.

And what happens after? Since you became better, you also understand more, and can notice more things, more things that those really good at the thing do, more things that you were doing wrong all along, and can now identify it was bad and that you have to correct it, and now you have more things to think about and internalize. The cycle repeats. You become better through periods of being worse. 

It’s a cruel balance.

Ask any illustrator or writer: First comes the honeymoon period where they are improving by leaps and bounds with experimentation, thought, and exercise. Then comes the downs. “Oh I am so god damn bad at drawing”. “I can’t write to save my life”. Why? Because the artist learns, and they can see things they couldn’t before, and now they see their improvement, but they also see their flaws. It is at these crossroads where the artist will ask themselves, “do I dare go through this period of self-admonishment, or do I go back to the comfy laurels?” The comfy laurels are stagnant, they never stop blooming, but they only bloom once. The self-admonishment is a harsh self-imposed winter, but the flowers that grow after it passes bloom several times, and as the snow clears, yet another crossroad stands before you, and we go back to the same question once more.

It’s a beautiful balance.

Where I am going with this is, if you find your commitment to something has instead made it harder, has made you sluggish, has made you see perhaps too much for your own comfort: Hang in there. These are growing pains. You need these, and they aren’t wonderful to go through and good lord do they weigh heavily on you... Why? Because you care. That’s why you’ll improve. Hang in there.

It’s a necessary balance.

Hang in there. You’ll improve so much. You’ll be incredible, and then go on to agonize hundreds of times more and improve thousands of times more. Hang in there. If it was easy to improve, then there wouldn’t be merit to it. It’s hard because it matters, it’s difficult because you care. If you didn’t care, you’d be blind to hardship, but to so many beautiful things you can only experience after you’ve sought adversity. In the end, the rest follows, but only if you follow through.

Hang in there. You are getting better.

[normanbased]

okay we all know I'm obsessed with this scene but I've just seen Sean described as being "latently homosexual" - which to ME implies that this scene is him quite literally realising he's queer and turned on by whatever the fuck is happening to him - and that just makes it so much more 💥💥💥

This is as close as I’m gonna get to seeing Tony get topped isnt it 🤧🤧

[wolfislost]

Training As Otherkin

It recently dawned on me that despite this being a fairly important part of my otherkin experience for a while now, I haven't actually mentioned it.

So, what do I mean by training?

It may not be what you're thinking.

Essentially I take some time out of my schedule to work on nurturing the skills and attributes that are common to my kintype.

For me that means strength, mobility, and heightened senses.

If you're like me then you're probably sceptical at the phrasing "heightened senses" in the contect of training. For me it's less about gaining "super powers" and more about getting better at using what I have.

As a werewolf my training consists of physical exercises like push ups, sit ups, squats, leg lifts, etc. That's for covering the more obvious strength of a werewolf. I also want to do more jogging and climbing practice, since I have pretty no experience with getting to high places.

Finally, probably the most interesting part, sensory training.

One of my favourites is just walking around in the dark (in the safety of my home!! Don't try this somewhere you're unfamiliar with!!) It builds my understanding of space, and helps me orient myself in situations with limited vision. It's also just plain fun.

Other stuff includes people watching to improve my observation skills, trying to identify the source of various scents and building a better memory for smells, identifying the direction and source of sounds in the environment, and generally taking in more information from the world.

This is all largely for fun, and the most important thing to me is that it makes me FEEL like a werewolf. No matter what limitations there may be on practical progress, it's enjoyable. And I can say with certainty that at least with my physical training I am leaps and bounds ahead of where I started.

My goals right now are to improve my observational skills, and learn how to climb obstacles like trees and fences. I'll make sure to keep you all updated!

Feel free to share anything you do to feel more like your kintype! Is this kind of targeted training something you might consider? Or do you think it's a little bit crazy of me?

[thottyimagines]

Still thinking about Naruto in the year of our lord 2024 so I was wondering what your take would be on a Sannin swap, meaning team seven has different mentally unstable mentors from canon so they can be traumatized/educated in new and exciting ways <3

I've written a few about the potential dynamics between Naruto/Orochimaru, Sasuke/Tsunade, and Sakura/Jiraiya, but let me tell you about the different iteration that really and truly is my favorite:

Sakura/Orochimaru

Mad scientist, came-from-nothing ninja with insane chakra control reporting for duty.

Orochimaru takes one look at this pink-haired freak with a puddle of chakra who thinks she can stand side-by-side with the kyuubi and the last of one of the great dojutsu and says, would you like to live deliciously?

And Sakura says, of course I would.

It is not enough for her to succeed, others must fail. And Orochimaru loves and appreciates this about her.

Sakura runs away from Konoha with the promise of having a mentor who will teach her, who will focus on her, who will believe that she's more than her pitiful background and more than her overwhelming teammates.

She is, at first, foisted onto Kabuto. She frightens Kabuto.

When she gets good enough to replace Kabuto, which happens in a very alarming two years (max), Kabuto suddenly gets to live with the ever-present threat of becoming an experiment.

Orochimaru adores her and encourages her to steal any and all clan techniques and kekkei genkai that she can. Why should she be barred from knowledge if she yearns for it?

Sakura is the most learned woman in the elemental nations. She has figured out Orochimaru's Body Problem. She's replicated the Strength of a Hundred seal Tsunade uses. They are a plague unto Konohagakure.

She's gene splicing like nobody's business.

The only people who care that Sakura up and left are Naruto, Kakashi, a bit of Sasuke, and Ino. Except for...well, no one has that manic desire to bring her back, the way Naruto did when Sasuke went missing nin. They kind of view her as a failed experiment, though Ino misses her and thinks of her a lot.

Sasuke/Jiraiya

Such a miserable duo, but they kind of like it.

Jiraiya is strong enough to keep Sasuke safe, and he keeps the kid out of Konoha, which he really needed.

Sasuke takes to everything quickly and antagonistically. Jiraiya hates having such a talented student - he is, perhaps, even more talented than Minato - who is so desperately antisocial.

You know that one post that's like, someone who's objectively attractive but has negative rizz? That's Sasuke, and Jiraiya despairs on the regular, because this student of his should, in theory, take over this position as horny spy master with the way he effortlessly draws in beautiful women who can act as informants. Sadly, due to his personality, no one would ever believe that Sasuke is just charming these (knowledgable) women into bed with him.

Sasuke takes to sealing, and Jiraiya is petrified that he's going to come up with something to, like, replenish his clan at an alarming rate.

Sasuke gets rid of his brother with some sort of homemade seal that traps him in a Matryoshka doll or something. He didn't technically commit fratricide, but Itachi is suffering in that thing.

He comes back to the village looking way better than he did when he left. Jiraiya takes that as his main point of pride.

Naruto/Tsunade

Naruto, should he learn chakra control, is the ideal healer in that he has more chakra than should fit in a human body, even an Uzumaki.

It's the chakra control that is Tsunade's true challenge in teaching. And, good god, is it a challenge. Sasuke is already murdering his brother by the time Naruto can reliably aid in a minor surgery.

But once he finally learns it, Naruto is improving in leaps and bounds, as is his way.

He completes a Strength of a Hundred seal six months after he finally learns chakra control. Sakura has had hers for two years, and he does not know or care.

Naruto is saving people at unprecedented rates. Honestly, Tsunade struggles to justify making him a combat medic, because he's doing so much good in the hospital just staying at the village.

Naruto is Naruto, though, so Tsunade teaches him to brawl using her style.

He winds up on the most dangerous missions, due to the fact that he has a natural healing ability with his Kyuubi, and is now the most talented healer Konoha has (who insists on getting out there).

Honestly, I could see him winding up in ANBU, given those skills and traits.

His true hardship, after mastering chakra control, is realizing that his talk-no-jutsu isn't going to work all the time and that he can't derail missions to attempt it.

Naruto is a better hokage for it, in the end.

[dellalyra]

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴏᴏᴋ: ᴀᴋɪᴏ ʀʏᴜ ᴛᴀᴅᴀsʜɪ ɢᴏᴊᴏ

ᴀ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴇxᴛʀᴀ

Pixie says: requested by my darling angel mrs.geto (aka @soraya-daydreams) forever ago but I have just finished bc uni has been kicking my booty. i love this - it’s mostly silly but a nice lil extra for FF.

The first time Akio laughed, it surpised nobody that it was his father who elicited the sound. The game of peekaboo had always made the baby smile and gurgle away but today it seemed to especially tickle him as you lay beside him on the bed with Satoru popping in and out sporadically of his field of vision. Satoru popped up with enough gusto to even make you laugh. That’s when the most melodic sound either of you had heard rang across the room. A tiny, bubbling giggle from the stretched out baby on the comforter - you both froze.

“Do it again, ‘Toru.” You whisper, urgently.

So he does.

And he laughs again.

That night you both spent hours coming up with ways to make the baby laugh and recording videos to send to the family.

Safe to say, next time Itadori was over - it became very clear that Akio was a Gojo through and through when he began laughing at Sukuna’s malicious remarks through Yuuji’s cheek mouth.

At 5 months, Akio was on his play mat on the living room floor while you made some food with your husband. Music from the speaker had coaxed your husband into twirling you around and wrapping you in his arms as he laughed at whatever nonsense you were babbling on about, pressing kisses to your cheeks and nose. You’re spun like a princess and when you see the baby mat, you gasp. Satoru stops, looking at you - then the mat.

Akio wasn’t on his back anymore chewing on his teething ring - he was sitting up.

Sitting up and staring at you both.

With a murderous glare of an angry cat, exactly like his father.

“He sat up.” Satoru whispers.

“Yeah, with first degree murder in mind, I think.” You reply.

You approach the baby (cautiously).

His face suddenly changes into a bright smile, wide and cheerful as he has another first.

He reaches his chubby little arms out and makes grabby hands toward you.

Gasping, you scoop him up.

“My baby! Of course you can have a cuddle, my smart little man!” You coo, nuzzling his little head.

Satoru leaps over the back of the sofa and comes to join in.

“Grabby hands and sitting up in one night! Baby boy, you’re spoiling us!” He says, reaching to squeeze his arms around your waist.

The baby frowns.

Satoru pulls away.

Akio smiles.

Satoru lifts Akio from your arms, and he’s fine and dandy, nuzzling his papa.

Satoru goes to kiss you both on the cheek but when he gets to you he’s met with a scowling baby again.

“Holy shit - kid, am I not allowed to touch your mama?!” Satoru gasps.

You test the theory and find that Akio loves cuddling you both still, just - separate. The minute Satoru tries to kiss you it’s back to the scowl (luckily, not a tantrum).

“Listen here - she was my wife first.” He narrows his eyes at the baby he has suspended above his head.

“He’s bound to be a little possessive, he did come out of me.” You roll your eyes, laughing at the two Gojo boys battling for your attention.

Satoru pouts, sulking.

“Yeah well, I come in you.” He retorts.

“You are so lucky that child is only 6 months old and you haven’t scarred him for life like you did with Megumi.”

At 7 months - you and Satoru were waving goodbye to Megumi on a Sunday evening as he went back to stay at the dorms for the week, with Akio on your hip. Feeling movement from the baby, you look at him as he clumsily waves his hand around toward his brother.

“Look! ‘Toru! He’s waving bye-bye! You waving bye-bye to ‘Gumi, baba?” You coo, as Megumi stands at the gate for an extra minute just to wave at his little brother being doted on by his parents. Ijichi, here to collect Megumi, receives a wave too.

8 months - Akio’s hand and finger movements are improving rapidly, slightly advanced for his age if anything. He can grab and pull and push and pick things up now - much to the entire families amazement.

One sunny Thursday evening, the designated day every week for ‘Kooking with Kento’, as you named it back in High School. The tradition formed when Nanami first made enough food for an exhausted young and Satoru one day after a particularly long and frustrating mission, and has been a weekly occurrence since. Nanami would come to the house, you and him would cook and then the family would eat together. This week, with it being a balmy April evening - you sat outside in the garden together, a bottle of wine split between you all and Akio on his Godfather’s lap. Mid-sentence, Kento was cut off as Akio reached up to grab his Uncle’s sunglasses off his face.

It was silent for a moment as the baby waved them around, before you and Satoru burst into cacophonous laughter.

Nanami couldn’t help the small smile as he fitted the glasses on the babies small face.

First word was unsurprising. A day trip out with his parents, sitting in a cafe as you and Satoru share two large slices of cake and milkshakes and Akio drools over the sight in from of him. He begins jabbing his little hand at the plate, poking you both in the face and babbling nonsense.

“You had some cake, ‘Kio!” You laugh.

“This is my cake. Papa’s cake.” Satoru says.

“Eh? Mama and Papa’s cake. ‘S mine too!” You pout, batting his fork away with yours.

“I’m bigger than you, so I should get about 70% of it.” He reasons.

“Absolutely not. I wanted my own slice, you insisted on sharing because it would be romantic so it’s a 50/50 split or go get your own, Satoru Gojo.” You glare. Cake’s a serious topic in your house.

“It is romantic!” He argues.

“I agree, it’s adorable, and I love that you suggested such a cute thing - what’s also adorable is cake. We split the cake 50/50, Satoru. It was literally in our wedding vows that all cakes be split in half so that we can both live happy lives.” You contribute, still sword fighting his fork.

“Cake!” Came an angry little voice.

“Mama’s cake!”

“Papa’s cake!”

There’s silence.

Akio is looking at you both.

You look at him, then each other. Tears spilling in both your eyes.

“Cake!” Akio claps, shouting the word again.

You both let out a sob. Hugging him and then each other and pressing kisses to every face at the table.

“As much as you want, sweet baby!” You say, feeding the 11 month old a bite of your cake.

“Any cake! All of it!” Satoru nods, beaming and ordering three more slices.

His first steps, came toward his father.

Satoru had been training with Megumi all afternoon in school, before they both got into his car and drove home to you and Akio. You had returned to work a month prior, continuing to teach the second years and had picked up Akio from your mom���s that afternoon before driving home.

You were sitting on the floor with your baby, playing with his blocks and reading him stories before the jingle of keys could be heard at the front door. Your son crawled out of your lap and toward the hallway, stopping at the coffee table as the door unlocked and in walked his father and older brother.

“Hi, my loves!” Satoru calls, smiling and blowing kisses toward you both as he takes off his sunglasses and coat.

“Hi mom.” Megumi calls.

Akio squeals, hearing the two voices, using the edge of the table to pull himself onto his feet as he’d been doing for a month now.

The two men come around the corner, and Megumi leans against the archway to the room and Satoru kneels down on his haunches as he always does to let Akio crawl to him.

However, nobody expected him to pull his hands away from the table and begin to take wobbly, determined steps toward him.

“Oh my god!” You gasp.

“Yes, baby! You got this! Come see papa!” Satoru calls, delight evident.

Megumi straightens up, walking around the side - ready to pounce at any sign of a tumble.

The baby makes his way just to his father’s feet on his unsteady feet before his legs give way and he tumbles straight into his father’s large, waiting arms.

The three of you crowd over him, cooing and kissing and crying (you and Satoru), and later when he walks toward Megumi - you record a video - a very precious video to save to the collection.

At 14 months, a trip to the playground reveals a lot.

You and Satoru, Megumi and Itadori (Nobara is shopping, unsurprisingly) are sitting having a picnic as you watch the baby toddle around the area playing with the giant abacus and building blocks, and thoroughly enjoying the sandpit.

You see his little head follow something, eyes locked intently on it. Following his line of sight, all you can see is a playhouse. A cute, wooden playhouse.

Looking to your side, you see your husband is staring at the same spot.

“Satoru?” You ask.

“He’s looking right at it.”

“Huh? The playhouse? Why’s he so focused on it?” You puzzle, there’s one in the garden at home so it’s not a new sight for the baby.

“No. There’s - Y/N - there’s a fly head in it.” Satoru says, eyes flicking between the boy and the playhouse.

Your head snaps, toward the baby.

You follow his line of sight, and sure enough he’s staring directly at the top left corner of the playhouse roof.

“Is it in the top left corner?” You ask Satoru.

He nods.

“Holy shit.” You whisper.

“He’s got it.” Satoru says, breathless in wonder.

“Huh? Got what?” Itadori asks through a mouthful of strawberries.

“Shut up, just watch.” Megumi elbows him.

“How…? I thought - ” You begin.

“It’s said to be impossible but… I always wondered with the strength of your cursed energy - combined with my bloodline, if it would create another one.” Satoru says, serious and thoughtful.

“He doesn’t have my cursed energy though? Only yours.” You ask.

“It’s only Gojo energy he has, yeah, but what Gojo energy would have been weakened by one parent being a less powerful sorcerer was bolstered by the fact you’re a special grade yourself. It strengthened my genes to create another one, fully powered.” He says, breathless in his awe.

Your jaw drops. Shocked.

Akio - has broken the mould.

Two wielders of the Six Eyes now exist in the world.

You look back at the baby, grabbing Satoru’s hand who squeezes it three times (I love you.) You squeeze it back four. (I love you too).

The baby pulls himself up. Toddling in the direction of the playhouse. You go to stand up, a flick of a finger from any adult or student sorcerer would exorcise a fly head. You’re pulled back down, onto your husband’s lap.

“They’re harmless alone. It won’t hurt him.” He says.

You know he’s right, and wouldn’t ever let anything hurt a hair on that baby’s head so you sit, leaning back against his chest.

As Akio approaches the playhouse, the fly head comes out and perches on the little bench beside it.

Akio stares at it, tilting his head like a curious kitten.

Itadori jumps up, ready to go fist fight in a playground - but Megumi pulls him down.

“Watch this.” Megumi says, quietly.

The fly head moves toward where Megumi’s divine dogs are flanking the baby and lands on Akio’s shoulder. He just looks at it, curious - until it pulls on his fluffy white hair. Without a sound, just a frown - and a smack of a pudgy fist - the fly head drops to the ground, fizzling into nothing.

You and Satoru just look on in awe, silent and amazed by your beautiful baby boy.

“He’s something special.” Satoru says, voice full of love.

“Course he is, he’s part of you.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Itadori is just sitting slack jawed.

“Did the baby just -” He mumbles.

“Welcome to the Gojo household.” Megumi smirks.

His first conscious choice of style came with a decision at two and a half. He marched into the living room where you sat, his papa’s head on your lap as you stroked his hair. Papa had the same hair as Akio, just shorter.

“Mama! Papa!” He says, standing with his hands on his hips.

“Yes, sir?” Satoru says, one eye open and saluting the child.

“Change my hair!” He says, determined.

Your heart nearly broke - hoping he wouldn’t ask for it to be cut - you adored his long white locks you tied in a little bun. Yet, if he wanted it cut - you’d agree.

“What do you want to do, ‘Kio?” You ask, still combing your hands through the head of hair on your lap, where your husband sat nuzzling the growing bump and whispering sweet nothings to you and the baby inside.

He pats the top of his head, looking at you both from in front of the fireplace.

“Up here! Like Uncle Soso!” He says, smiling.

You and Satoru just smile at him (relieved he’s okay with keeping his precious long hair).

“You want two little buns like Uncle Soso?” You confirm.

He nods, very assuredly.

“Your Uncle Soso’s hair is pretty fire, kid, good choice.” Satoru smiles at him, beckoning him to sit on his lap where he lays.

“Yeah, ‘s so fire.” The baby nods, smiling and grinning.

“Okay, how about we do it the next time we go see him at school?” You suggest.

The baby cheers and claps and tosses himself onto his father’s lap like an Olympian, thanks to his tall height for a 2 and a half year old and then hugs you both.

“Mama? Maybe we watch Toothless? Papa loves Toothless. As a s‘prise for him?” He whispers (he doesn’t, he’s got all the subtlety of his father).

“Oh, is it for Papa? I thought we watched How To Train Your Dragon for Akio?” You smirk.

“No - for papa.”

You look down at your husband.

“No. He’s right. It’s for papa.” Satoru confirms, smirking up at you both before flicking on the film as the three (four) of you curl up under a blanket.

Akio’s first little sibling was a day of great excitement for him. He sat, not patiently, on the floor of his ‘Uncle Soso’s’ apartment, playing with blocks and toy animals with him (his Uncle Soso was very fun to play with, he thought) and asking every 20 minutes if the baby had come. Every time, Uncle Soso would say “not yet, ‘Kio, but soon.”

When the phone rang, and Choso answered Megumi’s call saying the baby was here and it was time to come to the infirmary - he scooped up Akio and said,

“Wanna go meet your sister?”

Akio was enamoured with Mirai from the moment he laid eyes on her. She was so tiny, even tinier than his baby dolls and looked like a pretty snowflake. She had the same hair as him, white and fluffy but her eyes looked like his Mama’s. He kissed her softly on the forehead, trying to remember all the things ‘Gumi and Uncle Soso told him about being a good big brother.

He was so attentive, insisting on playing quietly in the same room as Mirai when she napped so he could keep an eye on her - and keeping a little cloth in his toy box so he could help Papa or Mama if she had too much milk. He would sit and tell her stories every night, trying to remember the ones Mama and Papa told him about the heroes who saved the world, the Knight with the Pink Hair (he thought that one was cool, since his Jiji (Yuuji) has pink hair), The Prince of Shadows, The Piercing Princess and the Wizard Kendo. He told her the love stories of the King and Queen in the stories too, he liked those characters a lot - The Honoured King and The Queen of The Forest. Sometimes, he would wake up in the morning and see Papa asleep, with Mirai on his broad chest and Mama asleep in bed and crawl into bed between them, holding their hands and kissing his baby sister, before drifting back to sleep with them.

The first secret he had to keep was the ring. He was 6 and ‘Gumi was sitting at the table with him, Mirai and their parents.

“Mom, dad - I - um… wanna show you guys something.” He said, awkwardly as ever.

Akio didn’t look up, his pasta was too good.

Well, he didn’t look up until he heard his Papa gasp and his mama shout ‘No fucking way!’.

On the table, in front of Megumi was a tiny black box with a gold ring inside. Whats so special about that? Mama and Papa both wear rings all the time.

“You’re gonna do it? You’re gonna ask him?” His mama asks, voice sounding funny.

“How? Is it super romantic? Oh my god, our baby boy is getting married!” His papa shouts.

“I haven’t asked him yet!” Megumi retorts, his face really red.

“Like he’d ever say no.” His dad rolls his eyes.

“Your dad’s right, ‘Gumi - he adores the ground you walk on! When are you going to ask him? Do you need any help? We can book out a restaurant or something for you!” You squeal in excitement.

“Tomorrow. I’m not going to do anything extravagant - you two always said your private, quiet proposal was really special so I’m going down that route.” He says, shrugging but face focused.

“What’s a posal?” Mirai asks, face covered in sauce.

“When you ask someone to marry you, ‘Rai.” Akio responds to her.

“How did you posal, mama and papa?” She asks, poking her dad in the arm.

“Your papa made a pretty picnic and we sat out in the garden in the summer and he gave me a pretty ring and asked if I would marry him. It was just us two, and it was perfect.” You say, tilting your head to kiss your husband, both softly smiling.

“Of course it was, everything I do is perfect - just look around this table. I’m the strongest.” Satoru nodded, winking.

“Of course I said yes, and we got married and that was 12 years ago! Then we had you two squirts.” You says, sticking out his tongue. You stood up, walking to put your arms around Megumi’s shoulders and kiss the top of his head, eyes teary and smiling.

“And she’ll never get away!” Satoru says, running to lift you up and over his shoulder, tickling your sides as you squeal, before he sits back down, now with you on his lap, arm around his neck. Papa and Mama were always touching, he liked seeing them cuddle, it made them both smile a lot.

“So ‘Gumi is gonna marry Jiji?” Mirai asks.

“I’m gonna ask him to, yeah. Is that okay with you two, because if we get married he’ll be your brother too.” Megumi asks, serious.

“Yes please! Please, please, please!” Akio pleads.

“Get married tomorrow!” Mirai squeals.

“I’ll ask him tomorrow, how about that?” Megumi smirks.

“Deal.” Akio says, nodding.

The next time Megumi came over for dinner, three days later, Yuuji was wearing the gold ring.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Hades with gender-neutral!Muichiro!reader headcanons

warning: manga/anime spoilers, ooc

Special thanks to @justamegafan for the idea on this concept and @deathmetalunicorn1 as well as @enryegotrip​ for their feedback on it and where I could improve on it! :) 

When Hades had learned that there was a prodigy amongst the ranks of the Hashira, he had been initially impressed. Ubuyashiki had designed the selection exams very carefully: in the past, the candidate had to accumulate a kill count of 50 demons or slay a member of the Upper Moon ranked demons. The requirements have now changed; the candidate must kill 70 demons plus two letters of recommendation from different Hashiras or slaughter one powerful demon while in the Bifrost and bring back proof to headquarters. 

The stakes had been raised significantly, yes, though the lord of the underworld wanted the best warriors of this organization to ensure that no demons slithered their way into Valhalla and feast on the humans or gods. The heavens could not afford to survive another major catastrophe on the scales of the Titanomachy. 

Hades had no doubt that the Titans and the other prisoners in Tartarus would take advantage of the chaos too, but that will be his responsibility to handle. The Demon Slayers will only be in charge of monitoring the Bifrost and demon extermination, nothing more. 

Upon meeting the prodigy in person, Hades was…slightly disturbed at seeing a child no older than fourteen summers kneeling on the floor at Ubuyashiki’s left side, staring at him with a bored expression and dressed in the standard Demon Slayer’s uniform. The head of the organization reassured him that this is not a joke, as [First Name] [Last Name] have proven themselves to be worthy of being a Hashira. 

Still…this little one became the Mist Hashira two months after picking up a sword, right after passing the Final Selection Exam? The leaps and bounds that they made…it was unusual. Hades had seen and heard many demigods become powerful in such a short time span…yet that should not happen to a mortal soul. 

What drove this child to even become a Hashira? What was their goal? When Hades asked them this question, all they said was to kill every last demon that dared to try to come into Valhalla. And protect Master Ubuyashiki. Protecting him and his family was a top priority to the Hashiras.  

Hades raised an eyebrow at them before glancing at the smiling man. “Are you absolutely sure that you want this child to monitor the Bifrost? It is not a playground nor a post to be taken lightly -”

“Shaddup.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘shaddup’. Do you really think the Master would risk sending the Demon Slayers to the front lines if he hadn’t considered every possible option? The Master might have upped the requirements to become a Hashira, but he knows us better than a puppeteer who lurks in the shadows. If he didn’t believe I was ready, even when I fulfilled the necessary requirements, he would have said so.” Their face remained neutral but their tone steadily grew darker with anger. “Do not treat Lord Ubuyashiki as if he is your subordinate. He is your equal. Without him, you would not have us to ensure Valhalla’s protection nor have the knowledge to kill demons. You and the other gods would still be scrambling for a half-assed solution, putting everyone in danger due to your incompetence -” 

“[First Name], that is enough.” 

Hades was speechless at the mortal’s blatant disrespect towards him, a god, and shocked as to how they immediately went silent at Ubuyashiki’s soft command. The family head apologized for his subordinate’s actions, as it is his responsibility to look after the children. He will punish them as seen fit. 

His words satisfied Hades’ bubbling anger, knowing Kagaya was a competent leader. Their meeting soon concluded, and a guard escorted them back to Valhalla. Left alone in the audience chamber, the lord of the underworld pondered on the events that just happened. He is curious by nature, and he is curious about the Mist Hashira’s behavior towards him. 

Did they simply dislike him? Or did they dislike all gods? Perhaps…they are just rude to anyone who wasn’t Ubuyashiki? Hades hummed thoughtfully to himself. He would look into it. There had to be a reason why a disrespectful  brat like that became a Hashira. 

Over the next several years, the lord of the underworld continued to meet with Ubuyashiki as the Demon Slayer Corps flourished secretly in Valhalla. Kakushi were dispatched to gather intel on demon sightings, and the Hashira would go and exterminate them. Those individuals who were the lower ranks would also assist in such cases via communications with a crow messenger. 

At every meeting, he saw the Mist Hashira amongst the summoned soldiers with a dreamy-eyed expression on their face as they stared up at the clouds, not paying attention to their surroundings…or so it seemed. Hades tried to speak to them, but they had no interest whatsoever unless Ubuyashiki gently nudged them into his direction, if at least to be polite. 

One day after a conference had been concluded, the mortal asked him to stay so that they could have a private conversation. Once his children closed the paper doors behind them, the family head spoke to him.

He addressed the lord of the underworld, thanking him for his time and support in the organization’s growth. The Hashira were all unique, originating from different circumstances and all talented in their own way. [First Name] is no exception…though perhaps he might have been too soft on the Mist Hashira.

After all, it was he and his wife who found them that day in the mountains…the remaining descendants of a Demon Slayer’s bloodline. 

[First Name] and their older twin brother, Yuichiro, had lived a simple life as the children of a woodcutter and his wife until their untimely passing. The Ubuyashiki knew their true lineage, and offered help more than once. Yuichiro kept rejecting them. When his wife, Amane, had gone to check on them with food and medicine with their daughters, they stumbled upon the sight of the twins drowning in blood. Yuichiro was already dead, [First Name] barely hung on by a mere thread as his family worked quickly to save their life. In doing so, they lost their memory of who they were. 

Ubuyashiki had faith that they would remember though. Memories cannot be reclaimed in a single night, of course. Their mindset, however, mustn’t be inflexible. They still need to learn from others, understand people. By doing so, they will relearn empathy and kindness. Perhaps…they could become the kind, gentle person they once were, even if it cannot bring back their brother. 

Hades’ anger towards the brat evaporated as their tragic tale rang in his mind. He knew better than anyone just how many mortal souls came to his kingdom or Valhalla, wailing their lamentations and how they wished they should have changed their fates before death came to claim them. [First Name] had his sympathies. 

Perhaps…he’ll try to be a little more understanding himself. Persephone always told him the best way to apologize is with flowers, because their language could speak to the receiver in more ways than one. 

Bonus Content:

[First Name] was extremely confused as to why the lord of the underworld suddenly gave them a white tulip out of the blue and had to ask Shinobu the meaning behind it. When learning it meant a roundabout way of saying “I am sorry”, they just looked at the flower.

Why was Hades sorry? Had they met somewhere before?

Taglist:

@mortemorii

@myrisan-melodies

@nunezs-stuff

@praisethesuuun

@puffy-bangs

@onecantsimply

@thatstrangesheep

@zodiacs-web

@potato-studez-hungryformore

@themoonisrising

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@seii-fantasy

@enryegotrip

@justamegafan

@dance-till-the-death

@zebralover

@sarcastic-cookie

[blue-slxt]

Kinktober 6

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: Neteyam absolutely gets a kick out of sensory play. You can't tell me he doesn't. All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Olo'eyktan!Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Sensory Play, Blindfold, Finger Sucking

“Are you sure about this?” you ask securing the tie on the makeshift blindfold around your eyes.

“Of course I am. You trust me, right?” Neteyam all but whispers right next to your ear. You suppress the chill that runs through your body enough to nod your head.

For the last couple weeks, Neteyam has been helping you in training your combat skills. It’s been grueling work, but you couldn’t deny that the results were astonishing. You had improved by leaps and bounds since he started working with you.

The thing about working with Neteyam, he’s a very hands-on teacher. He’s not shy about when he needs to touch you to help adjust your form. And maybe you imagined it, but you would swear that from time to time, his hands would linger just a second longer than they maybe needed to. You tried to convince yourself that you were just reading too much into it and it doesn’t actually mean anything. But you were still full of nerves right now being hyper-aware of the touch of his calloused fingertips grazing your skin with your eyesight completely blocked. And his breath on your neck isn’t helping either.

“Relax, paskalin. Just remember what I taught you. Wait and listen.” He says finally backing off of you and leaving you to fine-tune your senses to all your surroundings.

Your ears twitch and flick listening to every little sound around you and your hands clench and relax at your sides waiting to feel any sudden, unnatural change in the air around your body. Waiting for any indication of another living thing coming your way.

With Neteyam being as skilled as he is, you almost miss it. He’s nearly silent in his every move. But since he’s the one training you, you know exactly what to listen for. You had just barely picked up on the sound of his footsteps as he approached you from the front. Your fingers twitch readying themselves to spring into action. A sudden warmth gets closer to your face and you immediately reach out your hand to block whatever it is, but your movement is halted by a much bigger hand grabbing your wrist.

“Not bad, narlor.” Neteyam’s voice rings through your ears while he threads his fingers through yours. Your body heats up feeling him step closer and closer to you. His other hand tilts your chin up so that he can lean his lips in closer to yours. It feels like the only thing you can hear anymore is the sound of your own heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You don’t need to see him to feel how close he is. The rise and fall of his chest is in perfect sync against yours, his breath fans your face, and his lips ghost over yours when he speaks.

“Would you think less of me if I took advantage of this opportunity?”

And now, you feel thankful for the blindfold because you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye while he asks you such a thing. You’re positive that the color staining your cheeks gives you away in case your coiled tail didn’t. The tiny shake you give would have been missed if he hadn’t been practically on top of you right now.

Warmth crashes onto your lips and wakes a fire in your body. Or maybe that’s Neteyam’s other hand that’s moved to hold you by the waist. He sighs into the kiss and by Eywa, did that make your knees feel like jelly. When he pulls you more into his body, you gasp giving him the perfect chance to sneak his tongue into your parted lips.

The squeak you let out is embarrassing to say the least, but it only serves to spur Neteam on even more to explore your mouth. Goosebumps explode over your skin in all the places he touches and your head is feeling dizzy with the taste of berries on his tongue. As quickly as it started, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t move away from you. His thumb runs over your lower lip that was now slick from his tongue. Your lips are still slightly parted trying to catch your breath, but Neteyam takes this chance to push his thumb past the barrier of your lips and into your mouth.

Without any instruction, you open your mouth for him tasting the salt on his skin. Normally, you would be much too shy to ever even dream of such things, but something about not being able to see his face has you feeling bold. Maybe it’s because you can’t see yourself so it’s less embarrassing when you start to lick and suck on his fingers. Your hands hold his wrist and you let your tongue explore around and between his fingers making him growl lowly watching you.

Neteyam doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second. His eyelids are suddenly too heavy and his tewng is too tight. Finally reaching the limits of his patience, he grabs you by the waist and hoists you over his shoulder.

“Ah! Neteyam what are you doing?” you say feeling your entire world turn on its side.

“Just moving this somewhere more private.” You don’t need to see his face to know that he’s wearing a smirk on his face. You could take the blindfold off now. But where’s the fun in that?

Kinktober Taglist: @pandoraslxna @ashlatano7567 @sincerelykaib @jamies-wh0re @quaritchsluts @jakescumdump @delacruzyari @onlyloaksgf @skywonder @taintedlovesworld @myloveforyouisforever @angie-1306 @moodays @childofgod-05 @hadesbabygurl @daddysmurfslefttoenail @loaksulluyswife @y4sm1nsstuff @thewhiltedpeony @lovefrommeelise @neteyamssyulang @rosyjn @imintoomanyfandomscuzihaveadhd @anaclaudiasugar @xxwelshqueenxx @hania11 @xylianasblog @idkanymoregirl @eyrina-avatar @biscuitsaredelish @quinn-sadilla @the_mourning_moon @eyweveng @puddleswimmingnerd-blog @xaxsir @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @navilover24 @sulieykte @iameatingmyhair @leaveitbythewave @ntymavtr @fifilynn16 @kiri-tuk @mstocky78 @neteyamyawne @randumfanfics @sliqeramx @bluewonder @the-morning-moon @nerdfacesposts @vip-btxch @neteyamsyawntu @neteyamsoare

(If your tag isn't working, please check your settings.)

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 28- The Higher Realm

New part is up! More with Liam and Bel!

Masterpost linked here

_________________________

A few days passed, and although it couldn’t be said that I grew stronger in this realm, at least I wasn’t any weaker. Every morning Liam would bring me a cup of his blood, and I would drink it silently, pretending not to notice the strange color and taste.

Despite the need for blood to keep me alive, the days were surprisingly fun. Liam and I would go out each morning and explore the forest. We would find more rocks for his collection, and the rare patches of fruits or edible plants that had survived in this life-stealing realm. We spent the time talking, learning about each other.

“You know I actually like this forest quite a bit.” He said one day as we walked, his hands idly picking dying leaves from the branches as we passed by.

The confession caught me off guard. “I thought you called this place your cage.” A cage for a monster, in fact, which Liam is the furthest thing from.

“Well that’s not the forest’s fault! It might seem a bit lifeless and dull at first, but the close you watch it, the more things you can discover!” He grinned, the expression bringing a warmth in my heart. “There’s the stubborn trees and flowers that survive, the occasional crow and insect! Sometimes when I’m fly… when I’m running through the forest, I see so many different types of life I can’t even count them! There’s something new to find every day!”

Soo.…Liam can fly, right? He definitely said fly.

I didn’t say anything to him about it, though. He clearly was hiding something about himself. He was just as clearly extremely bad at keeping secrets. But I never pressed him. I just hoped that when he felt comfortable enough, he would tell me. Watching him laugh and talk about exploring his realm… his cage... and finding the beauty in it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. What a wonderful person…or whatever it is that he is.

I watched him continue to explore with an excited look, unable to hold back a smile myself.

No matter what Liam really is, nothing could be worse than the company I was keeping in the higher realm. I forcibly turned my thoughts away as they drifted towards Adonis and his betrayal. No use wasting any time or energy on him.

Looking ahead, my eyes widened in shocked delight as a I spotted a familiar object.

“Are those apples?!”

Liam rushed ahead, still much stronger than I was even with his blood, and examined the fruit closely. Finally, he picked one with a broad smile. “It is! I didn’t even know there were any apples in this world! See I told you! Something new every day! Let’s take a break!”

He cleaned off a tree stump and helped me sit down, before leaning on a tree nearby. I pointed at the fruit in his hand, unable to contain my excitement. “Can I have one too?” I had eaten nothing but meat for the past few days, and although Liam’s cooking had improved by leaps and bounds, I was still craving something else.

“Of course, no need to ask!  This one is for you!” Liam pulled a knife from his belt and began peeling the apple. His actions were neat and efficient, with the ease of familiarity. It took only a few moments, and then the freshly peeled fruit was passed over to me.

I held it in my hands, confused. “Liam… How did you know I like peeled apples?”

Liam grabbed another fruit, preparing to peel that one as well. “You told me.” He seemed unconcerned.

“No… I didn’t.” I thought back to our conversations over the past few days. Apples had never come up.

Or had it?

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?” The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

_________________________

A brief memory, flashed before my eyes.  

“No… you did… I think.” Liam’s hands paused and his brow furrowed, something deep within his eyes seemed to flicker and grow.

Silence stretched between us.

Unnerved, I tried to stand up. At the quick movement, I felt lightheaded, almost falling to ground. Liam rushed forward, the apple in his hands dropping to the ground, and caught me, hugging me tightly in his arms. His eyes stared into mine, with only a short space between them.

His eyes were so familiar. I could feel it, even if the memory was just out of reach.

My hand brushed his face, tracing his eyes.

“Who are you, Liam?” I whispered. “How did I know you before I met you? How do you remember things about me I’ve never said?”

Liam turned bright red, but his hands tightened around me, refusing to let me fall. “I’m sorry Bel. I don’t know the answers to your questions.” He gently set me back down on the stump.

“I don’t really even know who I am, other than what others have told me. I’m a villain. I’m a monster.”

He picked up the fallen apple from the ground, cleaning it on his shirt.

 “But even if I don’t know much…  I know what you are, Bel.”

I watched his actions, curious. “What am I?”

He smiled, then turned and walked back to the tree to pick more apples to take home.

“You are a treasure.”

I didn’t know what he meant or how to respond to that, so I sat in silence until he came back to help me up. Together we went back to the cave. Back home.

*** Soul transfer 37% complete. ***

_________________________

After the apple incident more days passed. Without Liam’s blood I knew I would be close to death. But together, we had found our own little peace in this barren world. I was happy, happier than I had ever been in the months in the higher realms traveling with Adonis. Our forced, stifling partnership had been my only social interaction for so long, that I had become resigned to it, considered it normal. Now, I was slowly getting used to being around someone who actually listened to me… cared about me. It was frighteningly addictive, this caring. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t go back to the higher realm, even beyond the desire to spite Adonis and his stupid fate.

But as happy as I was, there were lingering concerns:

First, was the knowledge that Adonis would come back. As much as I hoped never to see him again, I knew it was the inevitable outcome. He had sent me here, yes, but not to die. I wasn’t sure yet what his plan was, but I knew it was going to involve his eventual return.

Not being willing to sit around moping about, I quickly began planning about how to “welcome him” when he did. A few mornings I left into the forest on my own to set up the surprise. Liam was a little concerned when he saw me sneaking around, but I persuaded him it would be worth the wait. I let out an evil laugh as I did so, and strangely enough, the sound seem to reassure him.

The laugh also prompted another change in the glowing blue counter that followed me.

*** Soul transfer 49% complete. ***

The counter was the second concern. It had gone up steadily over the time I had been in this realm, with no clear indicator for the source of its growth. I did think that Liam’s presence might be a catalyst given how slowly it had grown over the time I had been in the higher realm, but I couldn’t quite figure out what about him or my interactions with him was driving it upwards.

Even more infuriating, since the counter had hit 49 percent, it once again was stuck and hadn’t moved. I had grown used to it slowly ticking upwards throughout the day, but now 2 days had passed and it didn’t budge. Any experiments to recreate moments that had led to prior growth ended in failure. I found this incredibly frustrating, wishing I could find whoever was responsible for putting this counter in my head and beat them to a pulp. As that didn’t appear to be a viable option, however, I finally decided to ignore it again.

There was one last thing that kept my time in this realm from being truly happy:

Every night, Liam was forced into a lower realm.

It took me a while to realize it was happening so regularly. I had seen him fall out of the portal when I first arrived, but had heard no similar sounds since. He would say goodnight to me with a bright smile, close the door to my room, and when I woke up in the morning, he had breakfast ready with the same happy demeanor. He never gave any indication that something was wrong, or that he had suffered in any way, and so I continued forward in blissful ignorance.

Until last night.

I had gone to bed, and Liam and wished me goodnight and closed the door like usual. A few minutes later, however, I had a strange feeling that something was wrong. Unable to shake my uneasiness, I stood back up and opened the door. From a different room I could hear the clinking of metal and a muffled grunt of pain. Following the noise, I opened a different door, to a room I hadn’t explored before, not since he had expanded his cave during one of my solo wanderings. As the door swung open, I felt my heart drop.

Liam was in chains.

A glowing portal, similar to the one I had seen him fall from before, hovered before him. Metal chains had extended out from the edges of the portal, wrapping themselves around Liam’s arms and legs. He looked defeated but not surprised by his binding, fighting it uselessly. Slowly the chains started to retract, pulling him into the portal.

“Liam!” I tried to run forward but struggled to move as quickly as I wanted. Liam looked up at my shout, his face shocked for a moment before giving me a sad smile.

“Don’t worry, Bel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No!” I cried out, reaching out just as the portal closed around him. My fist slammed on the bare wall that was left behind.

BAM!

I felt uncontrolled rage. The sight of him in chains… his sad resignation… I couldn’t bear it. I thought about Liam calling himself a monster.

BAM! The skin of my hand broke under the force as I slammed it again. Red blood stained my fingers, dripping down onto the ground, the bright red color quickly dulling and turning greyish as the world absorbed the energy from it. For a moment in my mind, I saw the bright gold blood Liam gave me each day, his insistence that it was “normal, human blood.”

There’s still so much I don’t know about him.

I sat on the floor, staring at my bloody hands. I prayed silently, desperately, that his words were correct, and that he would be back in the morning. Until then, I could do nothing but wait.  

It was a long night.

_________________________

After what felt like countless hours, the portal opened up again. Liam dropped down onto the ground onto his back, his hands holding his head, his whole body shaking with pain.  It was too similar to the incident that happened the night I arrived.  

“Liam!” I hugged him tightly, ignoring his shocked yelp as he was yanked into my arms.

“Bel?” He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and then sat next to me on the floor. “Have you been waiting here to whole night?”

“…” I hugged him tighter. Liam hesitated, then slowly wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“Bel… are you okay?”

I buried my face against his chest. “I was scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared you weren’t coming back.”

“…” I could feel him freeze in shock at my words, and then a happy chuckle echoed in his chest. “Of course I came back, Bel! You’re here waiting for me. Nothing could stop me from returning to you.”

“What if you found a way to escape this cage? Wouldn’t you take it?”

“Only if I’m bringing you out with me.” One hand slowly rubbed my back as he spoke, a soft, comforting motion. “It’s not really freedom if I’m leaving you behind.”

Finally, after a long while, I backed out of his embrace, ignoring his sad puppy eyes as we moved apart. “What happened tonight? Did you get pulled into a lower realm?”

Liam nodded silently.

“I’ve seen this twice already, on both nights that I left my room. Does this happen to you every night? Have I just been completely clueless and left you to suffer alone?” I felt my eyes fill with tears but held them back.

He panicked, “No it’s not that bad, it’s not every night!” He paused, seeing my silent stare, and slowly admitted. “Okay, so it’s most nights, but still, there’s nothing wrong with you sleeping while I’m in the lower realm. You’re weak from this place sapping your energy, it’s better that you rest so you can do what you want at other times.”

“What about you? How could you be getting enough sleep?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” He waved a hand. “I hibernate every few months for a day or so… I mean…" He blanched. "... I sleep a normal human amount…”

“Right... Liam, I want to go with you next time.” I interrupted his ramblings on normal human sleep. “Don’t do this alone.”

“…” Liam fell silent, looking uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to traveling the lower realms, I can watch your back!”

“No I know. You are extremely capable.”

I met his gaze. “So why do you look so concerned?”

“… I don’t get assigned very good roles to play in these worlds.” His hands wrung together his eyes not meeting my own. “Sometimes weak, sometimes powerful, rarely beautiful, often grotesque.” He hesitated again. “Always evil.”

“Just because you’re assigned the villain role doesn’t make you evil.” I laughed bitterly. “You’ve already seen what the so called ‘hero’ is capable of. I don’t care what character they force you to be. I’ll be there to protect YOU.”

At my words, a smile slowly spread across his face. “Okay then. Let’s go together next time.”

_________________________

The next night, we waited for the portal, hand in hand.

“We’ll have to move quickly once it arrives.”

I nodded in agreement, and then had a thought. “What about the chains?”

“Those only come out if I try to avoid entering the portal.” His voice was calm, but I winced at the memory of him being dragged into the lower realm. It’s okay. I’ll protect him this time.

Before I could say anything further, the portal appeared, hovering in the center of the room.

“Let’s go!” Liam grabbed my hand and rushed forward. I closed my eyes, leapt through the portal, and then in the darkness between worlds immediately lost the sensation of his hand within mine.

“Liam!” I reached out, but I could feel nothing, see nothing, hear only the sound of my own ragged breaths.

And then the darkness cleared.

_________________________

Splash!

Someone threw wine in my face. The smell of alcohol overwhelmed my senses, and I felt the room temperature liquid run down my neck and soak my dress.

What a great way to start off. The sarcastic thought quickly came and went as I sighed,wiping my hand across my face. I could now see that I was in a crowded room of well-dressed strangers. The woman who was the likely wine-throwing culprit, stood in front me with a gloating smirk. She was clutching an empty glass in one hand and a man’s arm in the other. The man with her was watching me with disdain, his expression ruining otherwise classically handsome looks.

“Oops, my mistake.” The woman shrugged and gave a fake laugh. “My hand slipped.”

The man beside her smiled with approval at her action, chuckling at the site of me. “Looks like red is your color.”

Hmm… No idea what kind of story this is, but one thing IS for sure…

I grinned, and punched the woman in her face.

I’m gonna make sure they regret trying to humiliate this lady. I could still feel my character’s deep sadness and sense of betrayal. Whoever these two were, they weren’t good people.

The woman fell backwards from the blow, clutching her face. I watched her fall with a smile, all while speaking in a monotone voice. “Oops, my hand slipped, my bad, teehee.”

Stating the word “teehee” out loud particularly seemed to enrage her, which only encouraged me further.

“El, don’t be childish!” The man snapped, only to break off with a shriek as I kicked out his knee, knocking him to the ground on his back besides the woman.

“Oh no. Look what totally happened by accident.” I continued blandly, while stepping carefully on his crotch. “I’m just so clumsy you see, and it gets so much worse whenever I’m confronted by stupid.”

“You Bit…AHHHH!” The man broke out in another cry as my stiletto came down again.

“Bitahh?” I shrugged. “Haven’t heard that one before. Perhaps you meant, ‘awesome’? I would have also accepted ‘terrifying’.”

He gasped for air, his eyes filled with rage. “Pretend all you like, I’ll never love you!”

I felt a stab of pain in my chest, a holdover from the character I had become, but all they saw from me was a broad grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

I walked away, leaving a stunned, silent crowd behind me. As I hurried away, a phone in my pocket went off. I grabbed it, pulling up the familiar text.

**** NEW WORLD: Love is Torture ****

This is a dramatic romance story featuring the bright and innocent young Ella and her husband, the rich, handsome, dark and broody Cameron.

“Oh, you got to be kidding me!” I nearly threw my phone. “I’m married?!”

This dark tale of lies and misunderstandings focuses on the forced marriage between the two leads. Cameron, under the false impression that his younger sister was murdered by a rival in business, dedicates his life to revenge. Forcing the man’s daughter, Ella, to marry him to save her father, he spends his energy trying to break her spirit, hoping her pain would hurt the one who killed his family. He insulted her, humiliating her both publicly and privately. He brought his mistresses to public events, encouraging them to bully her as well.

“So Cameron is the villain, right?” I groaned. “Why did you say he was the lead?”

Little did he know that his sister was not dead, but had in fact suffered amnesia and was living quietly in a small town nearby. In fact, Ella was the kind stranger who saved her life. His deep misunderstanding of her, however, causes a large amount of drama as he fights his growing attraction to her.

“Gross.”

The first book was met with mixed reviews, as most of the readers struggled to support such an abusive male lead. As the story continued, and more and more controversy circled around it, the author abandoned the whole series in disgust, leaving the world unstable.

The Author’s regret was not being able to bring a happy ending to the heroine of the story, leaving her trapped in an abusive relationship and facing a dark future. Your mission is to give the heroine a happy ending.

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION? ****

YES?                                           NO?

“…Does the ending have to involve a relationship with Cameron?”

NO.

“Great!” I tapped the "Yes" button with a grin and found a corner to sit down in as I slowly accepted the memories of this poor character.

“Oh dear, this was worse than I thought.” I muttered.

Ella, the poor girl, had been so very innocent. She had no thought but to save her father, whose business had been crushed by the mis-aimed revenge of a madman. After the marriage, she resolved to make the best of the situation, trying to get to know the handsome man who had become her husband.

Her efforts only brought her pain.

Fortunately, he avoided touching her at all costs, which limited any physical abuse. But the constant insults, tearing down her appearance, her talent for art, her speech. Any perceived flaw was trotted out and exposed for all to see, breaking her heart each time. He flaunted his affairs in front of her, shattering her dream of any loving, committed relationship, frequently and vulgarly comparing his conquests to her which only further spiraled her self-confidence.

I frowned as the memories moved forward in my mind. I hate drama romance leads the most.

This party actually marked a turning point in their relationship. After having wine dumped on her by Cameron’s mistress, she had cried and gone upstairs to change. There, a triumphant and intoxicated Cameron had forced her mid-change against a wall, kissing her. He had soon left, disgusted himself for succumbing to his attraction to her, This was the first time they had had physical contact, and from then on Cameron had found himself more and more drawn to Ella, and she felt trapped, unable to refuse his advances, hoping to protect her father.

I leaned over, puking into a trashcan.

Ella’s memories all too clear about her suffering.  After emptying my stomach, I stood back up, wiping my mouth with a shaking hand. I should have crushed his genitals harder. I was so relieved at having derailed the plot.

Now to go derail it further....And then I need to find Liam.

Following Ella’s memories, I went straight to the home she shared with Cameron, only changing my clothes once I was back in my own room with a locked door. Grimly, I put on loose, comfortable clothing, and packed a bag with Ella’s original belongings in it. I ignored the expensive, shiny jewelry on the dresser, leaving behind anything that could be traced to Cameron’s money.

I also made a phone call to one of Ella’s father’s old lawyers, who agreed quickly to bring the requested paperwork to the house within the hour.  

And then, packed, dressed and papers ready to go, I sat on the couch with a hot cup of coffee, and I waited for my hero to arrive.

SLAM!

Cameron rushed into the house, his face red with rage. Seeing me sitting calmly he paused, as if confused, but then stepped closer with his fist raised threateningly.

“I’ll make you regret what you did tonight!”

I smiled. “Actually, unless you want my knee in your crotch and my hot coffee in your face, I suggest you sit down and talk to me like a big boy sociopath.”

“…” He didn’t seem able to process my words, but in his shock he sat down on the chair across from me so I counted it as a win.

“Good job!” I applauded briefly. “Now, onto the important stuff.” I tossed the partially signed paperwork onto the table. “Divorce.”

“No.” His voice was an unrecognizable growl. “You’re mine! You are stuck with me. You have to pay for your father’s sins.”

I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Broody McPsychopath, as much as I’ve NOT enjoyed playing house with you, listening to your abuse, and watching your affairs, I’ve got more important things to do.”

“I AM the most important thing to you! You OWE me!”

I tossed another paper onto the table, this one with a photo and an info sheet. “ I heavily disagree with that statement, however, I also would prefer you not stalking me in a pitiful attempt at misguided revenge. So take a look:”

He picked up the paper. “What is…” His eyes widened in shock as he recognized his sister.

“She’s not dead. I saw a picture of her on your desk today, and recognized her as a person I helped out of a car accident several years ago." I made a reason for my sudden knowledge of the plot with ease. "She had amnesia, and settled in a nearby town. The info is written there.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I know this is foreign, but what I’m doing is called COMMUNICATION. It’s where we talk clearly about things to avoid stupid and painful misunderstandings.” I pointed at him. “First: you forced this marriage to punish my father, under the foolish impression that he arranged for your sister’s death. Two: Your sister is alive and well, and even a cursory investigation into the car accident will help you find the actual people responsible for the accident. And finally…” I pointed my finger at myself. “I only married you to protect my father, and thus with this misunderstanding resolved would like to be free of you.”

“…” He seemed overwhelmed by the concept of not having misunderstandings. I nodded sympathetically and sipped my coffee, giving him time.

“You won’t leave.”

“Pardon?” I asked, confused.

“You can’t resist me. I’ve felt your eyes following me,” He smirked. “Even if I divorce you, you’ll be back and begging for more within a week.”

“Hmmm… Okay. Let’s totally go with that delusion, and have you sign the divorce papers to prove me wrong.”

He reached out, now overly confident, his pen hovering over the paper. “Are you sure, Princess? This is your last chance to have a claim. After this you’re just like any other woman to me.”

I struggled to keep a straight face. “You mean less to me than the house plant that I killed, and that was made of plastic. I think I’ll take my chances.”

He signed the paper, shaking his head with a smug look and a light chuckle. “Here.” He passed it off, trying to brush my fingers with his but I took the papers with kitchen tongs I had brought instead. No accidental physical contact for gross jerks! ”I’ll see you in a few weeks when you come to beg me to take you back.”

“Sounds good, buddy.” I stood up and waved, taking my signed divorce papers happily. “And don’t forget to leave cookies and milk out for Santa while you’re at it. He’s about as likely to visit you as I am!”

I walked out, with a hearty, evil laugh, the sound familiar and comfortable.

And now… I have a villain to find.

_________________________

I found Ella’s car and drove out of the long private drive from Cameron’s mansion. As I traveled, my phone rang. I quickly answered, whistling cheerfully.

“Ella!” My character’s father’s voice rang out, clearly worried. “What happened? I’ve heard all kind of rumors…”

“Oh hi Dad!” I called out cheerfully. “Great timing! I just lost some weight! A whole load of abusive, nasty annoying dead weight.”

“What?”

“I divorced the dirtbag! Aren’t you proud of me?!”

“YOU DIVORCED CAMERON?! It can’t be official, right?!”

“Already uploaded the signed paperwork to our lawyer! Should be submitted any minute now and I’m a free woman.” I thanked my lucky stars for the unrealistic insta-divorce setting in this world, which was great for generating quick drama that a years-long court heavy process wouldn’t.

“GO BACK AND QUICKLY TELL HIM YOU ARE SORRY!” Ella’s father yelled, panicked. “Hurry, he might still take you back!”

“Oh, dad, I’m so sorry…”

“You should be…”

“I didn’t realize you were in the throes of dementia.” I sighed dramatically. “I guess age catches up with us all! Don’t worry Pops, I know a few great nursing homes where the staff are nice, the colors bright and the food soft and easily consumed without teeth.”

“ELLA!”

“It’s okay!” I interrupted, speaking slowly and loudly. “I’ll take good care of you!”

“Stop being ridiculous!”

“I’m not the one talking nonsense, old man." My tone was now serious. "Cameron is a psychopath, abusive, piece of trash. If you had any mental capacity left, you would be absolutely cheering at the news that your daughter was free of him.”

“What about my business?”

“If you can’t run your business without your daughter’s marriage to protect you, then you are better off leaving the business world and moving to the nursing home. And I’m happy to help you do that.” I paused and then added with emphasis. “Anytime. Just try me.”

I then hung up, betting internally on whether or not he would come to his senses.

_________________________

I headed over to a club on the fringe of the city, called “Fortress.” From my character’s memories, I knew I would find the villain there.

A mysterious club owner who rarely showed his face, the club was a front for his secret criminal organization. His group has clashed several times with Cameron’s, leading to a growing feud between the two men. At the end of the first book, close to the end of Ella’s memories, the villain had kidnapped Ella to try to force Cameron into giving up on a business, only to be shot and killed by Cameron in the rescue attempt.

Most likely, Liam had become the club owner/crime boss villain of the story.

I parked in front of the non-de script club, and knocked on the front door.

A very large muscular man opened the door, a deep scowl on his face. “We’re closed.”

“I’m a friend of the owner.”

“Sure you are, lady.” He tried to close the door, and I shoved my shoe in the way, glad I wore boots.

“Trust me, if you call him, he will definitely want to see me. Just tell him Bel is looking for him.”

With much more convincing, I finally managed to enter the club. TO my dismay, Liam wasn’t there. I sat awkwardly on the couch in the VIP lounge, snacking on peanuts, waiting patiently.

I could here the men in the background arguing.

“How could you bring her here?”

“She says she knows the Boss!”

“I thought the Boss hated women.”

“The Boss hates everyone.”

“True… should I get rid of her? I already called him!”

“I think…”

The door slammed open, and a panting disheveled man in a suit came tumbling in. In one hand he held a large baseball bat, the other clutching a cell phone. I studied the man carefully, taking note of his dark hair, a face covered in scars, including a long diagonal slice across one eye. His eyes however, were a familiar blue.

I jumped up, and threw myself into the man’s arms. “Liam!”

_________________________

After Liam calmed down, we found a quiet place to talk.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked, quietly clutching my hands in his.

“I’m fine.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “I was so worried! When I got here, I saw the story… saw what was going to happen to you at the party… and I rushed over.”

I thought of the baseball bat he was carrying. “What were you planning to do when you got there?”

“Education.” Was his firm answer.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“But when I got there, it was just a bunch of crowds of gossiping people, and a really loud woman who kept screaming about how she was going to kill someone. That’s when I got the call you were here.” His hands squeezed my own. “I’m so relieved you are okay!”

I explained to him my actions so far, which caused him to laugh and congratulate me on my quick divorce.

I added, “Fortunately, I didn’t feel Adonis’s presence in this world.”

“Yeah, he’s been less frequent about coming into the lower realms since pushing you into my realm.”

I thought about that. “Wait, so are you in every lower realm I’ve visited?”

“I don’t know for sure." Liam shrugged. "I get set to a different realm every night.  Sometime Adonis is there, sometimes both of you, plenty of times it’s just been me.”

I had a strange realization as I thought back to the last world I had gone to, the two kingdoms realm. Remembering the familiar feeling I had gotten from the kingdom-destroying beast... “Liam… you wouldn’t happened to have been a large monster before, would you?”

“WHAT?! I have no idea what you are talking about!” He turned pale and panicked at the question, avoiding eye contact.

“Really? In the lower realm where I was the princess? Didn’t you help me take over the world?”

Liam grabbed his chest and let out a sigh of relief, “Oh THAT’s what you meant!” He nodded. “Yes that was me.”

“…” I once again knew I was missing something, but felt too awkward to keep pushing. Instead, I explained to him the mission given to me, to have a happy ending.

Liam offered to hand over all of his underground criminal organization resources to my disposal. “What do you want to do?”

The question caught me off guard. I'm still not used to having someone ask me what I wanted to do, instead of trying to force me to follow a plan or some predetermined fate.

I smiled at him. “I think the best revenge for a woman who was humiliated by her ex-husband to get revenge on her father, and who was sacrificed by said father to save his own business… is to become more rich and powerful than both of them.”

"Sounds good." Liam nodded. "Let's go to work!"

And so, we got to work.

_________________________

I had lived in more than enough lower realms that centered around business, and was fairly comfortable with how to build a company up, (especially in the cheat worlds of romance novels where rich, handsome men who somehow spend zero time on their company abound). With Liam donating some starting capital, I was able to grow a business over the next year that became the talk of the town. Soon I pushed my father’s business into a corner, and began a forced acquisition. His horrified and bewildered expression once he realized it was me in charge of the mysterious rival company, gave me a nice warm feeling inside and prompted another villainous laugh.  

As for Cameron…

He had reunited with his sister, and through the magical medical treatment available in the novel, gotten her memories back. He had tried to contact me twice that I knew of. Once after finding her, and another a week later. I blocked his number and ignored all other attempts. Taking advantage of his distraction, I snatched up a large portion of the big deals from his company, using the memories of Ella and the previous story of this world to be able to pinpoint which ones to target.

I was quickly becoming the richest person in the world, and my mission progress bar was slowly up-trending.

In between becoming a rival CEO to destroy my father and the male lead, I spent the rest of my free time with Liam. It became the norm for us to spend time together every day. We always found time for something, whether it was eating a meal, going for a walk, watching a movie, or just sitting next to each other while we dealt with the paperwork of our respective business empires. We told jokes and laughed, plotted and schemed against the male lead and my insufferably self-righteous father, and overall continued the comfortable existence that we had lived in the woods of Liam’s realm.

One night, we both fell asleep on the couch at “Fortress,” me holding a laptop, him clutching a remote and a bowl of popcorn. The next morning, I woke up and looked over to see his scarred, strange but still familiar face. I had a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. If I had woken up in this world, and the man I had been married to was Liam instead of Cameron… I would have been happy to just stay married.

The realization of that thought hit me hard, and I stood up, confused.

Do I have feelings for Liam?

He was a strange person, much like me. A mysterious existence with too many secrets. One I knew very little about. But he was also kind, gentle and caring person. Someone who I wanted to protect with everything I have, and who I trusted to protect my back no matter what.

Liam woke up, seeing my staring. “What are you looking at. Do I have something on my face?”

“…” I hesitated unsure of what to say, but after taking a deep breath, blurted out:  “Liam… let’s get married!” I looked away, filled with horror once I realized what I had just said, but at the same time, felt no desire to take it back. Why not? What better happy ending for Ella on top of being rich and powerful than being in a nice healthy relationship with someone wonderful?

“…” The silence stretched on. I finally worked up the nerve to look over to Liam only to see wide eyes filled with shock, and a bright red face.

“Bel…” He finally said with an embarrassed look. “Before I give you an answer, I need to tell you something: We talked about your mission in this world, to save and stabilize it… but you never asked about  what MY mission was.”

“You have a mission too?” I asked, distracted and mildly confused as to why this was relevant to my sudden marriage proposal. “What is it?”

“It’s…”

Before he could answer, a man burst into the room. Behind him in the club, the sounds of fighting and shouting could be heard. The man stood before us with a vicious grin, holding out an outstretched arm.

He was holding a gun.

“Cameron what on earth do you think you are doing?!” I shouted, standing up. Liam got up next to me, his hand grabbing mine.

The look in Cameron’s eyes was feral. “I’m saving my wife from this villain!” He snarled, pointing the gun at Liam.

I stepped in front of Liam. “First of all, that’s ex wife to you! Second of all, why would I need saving from Liam?”

“He kidnapped you! I know everything, Ella! He built up a rival corporation to compete with me and your father…”

“No that was me…”

“He even forcibly acquired your father’s company!”

“Still me…”

Cameron kept talking, as if he hadn’t heard me. “And I know that he’s been preventing you from contacting me, or answering my phone calls.”

“No… I blocked you. And I didn’t want to see you.”

“It’s okay!” He smiled at me, but the expression sent chills up my spine. “I’m going to make things right, by getting rid of this snake first.”

I held my arms out. “You’ll have to go through me.”

“Bel.” Liam whispered.

“What is it Liam? I’m kind of busy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“For what…?” I broke off into a horrified gasp as he stepped around me, distancing himself and moving into a clear line of site from Cameron.

BANG!

Liam fell to the floor.

I saw red.

Grabbing the baseball bat, I swung it as hard as I could at the man’s offending hand.

CRACK!

I felt his wrist break from the blow. He let out a scream of pain, looking up at me with a confused expression. “Why are you doing this, Ella? I’m saving you! I love you!”

I glared at him,  kicked his gun away, and swung the bat again, hitting his chest. He fell to the floor with a grunt.

“Love? You call your madness and selfishness love?”

Crack! I broke his other arm.

“No, you’re just a petulant child, whose mad because he thinks that other kids might play with his toy.” I smiled coldly. “Well guess what?”

I kicked his chest, knocking him onto his back. “I’m not your toy. And just like you don’t really love me, I don’t love you.” I put my foot in “crotch stomping” position.

“And I’ll make you pay for killing the man I lo…”

“Bel!” Liam’s weak voice called out, interrupting my rant. I dropped my bat, causing it to hit Cameron’s face as he let out another groan of pain and rushed to Liam’s side.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded, showing the clear wound on the muscle of his shoulder. Just a few inches to the left and the bullet would have… I shook my head, and hugged him, trying to avoid the injured arm.

“Why would you step out like that?”

“I tried to tell you... my mission.” He held up a cell phone, and to my surprise, I saw an interface very similar to mine.

100% complete.

**** You have finished the mission! ****

I stared at the words. “Your mission was to get shot?”

His smile was faint and bitter. “That’s the villain’s job. To create conflict and then to get defeated. My ending was liked by the readers. They didn’t want it to change.”

“Is every world like this?” I was horrified.

“Pretty much.” His expression became happier. “But on the bright side, since I’ve been shot, but didn’t die, I can answer your question!” He blushed, but pushed forward with a whisper. “Yes.”

“Yes?” I was confused, and then realized what he was saying, and coughed, trying to cover up my embarrassment. “Well then, I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

“Bel?”

A strange voice called out. I looked over to the bruised and beaten Cameron, who was staring at me with an incredulous look… and with contained rage.

I knew that look.

“Adonis.” I said quietly, positioning myself in front of Liam to protect him. "Welcome to the party."

“Why are you here? Did you get dragged through the villain’s portal?” He shook his head. “Even if you try to escape, you can’t. I’m your only salvation. Only the hero can save the princess from the monster.”

“I think you and I have very different definitions of the word ‘monster’.” My phone chirped and I looked down to see a notification that the latest deal had gone through, officially making me the richest and most powerful person in this small world. Between that, and an upcoming happy wedding… I waited a moment, and sure enough:

100% complete.

**** You have finished the mission! ****

My mission was complete as well.

Adonis try to scramble to his feet. “Wait, Bel, what have you done?”

“Fixed the world again. Without you. The usual.” I tilted my head, staring at him with a cold smile. “Don’t try to come after me again, Adonis. You won’t like what will happen to you.”

“Bel!”

The portal opened, swallowing Liam and I both.

“BEL! I AM COMING FOR YOU!”

I waved cheerfully, and Liam flipped him off as we disappeared.

“YOU HEAR ME?! I AM COMING FOR YOU!”

We were back in the villain’s realm. Immediately I felt tired, as the drain of the world set back in. I leaned against Liam shoulder, which was fortunately no longer injured and gave him a grin.

“So… when’s the wedding?

*** Soul transfer 59% complete. ***

Liam stared at me, shocked. But before he could answer, he stopped in his tracks, and seemed to sense something. “As much as I would love nothing more than to talk about this, Bel, we’ll have to save it for another time.”

“What’s going on?”

His serious gaze met my own. “Adonis is here.”

[alwaysforevermaybenever]

YANDERE REGRESSOR: INTRODUCTION

× cw: yandere stuff; gaslighting; manipulation; stalking; threatening; assault; pretty tame actually

× note: this is like luca from change the genre but older and probably worse 👌

⌗ Your very best friend since childhood! He’s a noble of a high class family full of legendary knights and warriors.

⌗ Honestly, he used to be such a sweet, polite child who worked hard and did no wrong to any person or beast…. but that all changed when he turned 16. At first you and everyone else brushed it off as adolescence and teenage rebellion, as all boys go through. It was subtle, but you’ve been with him all your life, so of course you’d notice the little differences. 

⌗ Like how he seems more subdued (and even… depressed when he thinks you’re not looking), and he only smiles out of courtesy (in front of the adults). He just seems so much older than he is, as if he’s shouldering the burden of the world on his shoulders - lifting up the weight of the sky all by himself.

⌗ There’s also unexplainable things about him. Like how his swordsmanship techniques and skills improve by leaps and bounds in what seems like overnight. Instead of watching a prodigy train, it’s more like watching an experienced soldier who has seen the gore and horrors of war as he sharpens his blade, prepared to fight for his life once more. Like how he knows five languages even though you’ve never seen him study them (and you’re by his side almost all the time, because your families have close friends. Companions, even). Like how he knows more about your trade of magic and sorcery then even you know, a sorceress-in-training. What gives???

⌗ He’s also… way more overprotective and, dare you say, possessive. Yeah, he’s always been the one to protect you from insignificant bullies who are jealous of your position and prestige, and the one who shields you from scalding insults (baseless, he calls them all. They don’t know anything!) and defends you when jealous fools question the work you poured blood, sweat and tears into.

⌗ You don’t mind it, really. You can understand why he acts like you’re his one and only companion - because you are. You may have a million acquaintances, a thousand friends, a loving family. But only one companion: him. You’re a little selfish, because you’re scared that he’ll leave you for someone else, someone more skilled, someone better looking, someone who is in perfect synergy with him.

⌗ He’s your favourite boy, the guy you’ll depend on to comfort you when you’re down. The person you trust with all your deepest, darkest secrets. The companion who will stick by your side through thick and thin, who will help you bury a corpse, who will lie to any and everyone if you just ask him to. He who puts you before all else. 

⌗ So why do you feel like something’s off when he swears he isn’t hiding anything from you? When he just shrugs off your uneasiness (because you always feel eyes lingering on you when you’re not with him) as paranoia, because you’re in the city! Of course someone will look at you. It’s just a passing glance, anyway.

“Let’s go to the bookstore! There’s a newly released book I want to buy.” You link your arm around his, grinning excitedly. 

“You wanted to buy the newly released book of your favorite author, right? Isn’t the author something like Lemonela?” he responds, treasuring the close proximity with you. 

Your blood runs cold. “But I just discovered her this morning. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. How did you know?”

⌗ Uh oh. How is he going to explain that he’s traveled back in time?