#A therapist is such an smart choice for that!!

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[sleepwalkersqueen]

OhhhhhhHhshssgaggs scHahshsjsjsby

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Gorgeous

Inspired by "Fear of you" written by @sleepwalkersqueen

Note: Hello! I am very new to all of this posting stuff on tumblr so I hope this will be received atleast okay. But considering how nice most people are here I think it is safe in a way(atleast I hope so). And my first little story is a fanfiction for a fanfiction. Since I still have an absolute brainrot from the story "Fear of you" from @sleepwalkersqueen and it kinda kicked me out of my writersblock that I had for... Like 5 years? So yeah that is hopefully ending now.

Disclaimer: mentions of torture, english is not my first language, mention of mutilating, mention of psychological abuse

Summary: Howashi Amayas first thoughts while meeting with Takami Shinyo back in Tartarus for the very first time.

The moment I walked into the tiny cell my breath stopped and it felt like it may never return again. Leaving my lungs hollow just like my heart felt since forever.

Not because the whites from the walls and ceiling that looked clearer than the clouds in the sky, with the harsh lights from the room that burned my eyes. It wasn't the smell of something rotting away aswell. Or even how tense the room felt when I stepped into it, a pair of eyes glaring at me.

It was the colour of the sun going down in the horizon. The sky that turned this golden orange making everything feel peaceful and free. The sun that held this ruby colour one could sink into. Like the most beautiful reddest strawberry one could eat.

A red richer than a rose but just as many thorns.

Sharp eyes that looked way too clear for being forced to stay here in the most high security prison in the world, Tartarus.

If it weren't for the eyebags forming under his eyes I would have thought he might aswell just be a doll, too perfect and pretty for a human.

His golden hair that looked a little too sticky to be clean still hold something so beautiful it reminded me of the fukuroda falls.

And yet all this thinking about how good he looks made this scene even more absurd.

The silvery metal that covered half of his face, like a biting dog that needed a muzzle. His hands tightly held by heavy chains. Strapped onto some weird chair that doesn't let you sit but instead forced you to stand. No comfort in being a prisoner.

The beautiful red that was behind his back were pierced with metal rods and more chains. I could smell the never ending blood that came out of the pierced parts of the rods. How rotten it smelled, like a bird at the side of the road that was hit one too many times with a car.

A caged bird. A caged dangerous bird that for some reason made the most dangerous villain in this facilty look like they are weaker than this kicked chicken. They were stronger than him.

Takami Shinyo, imprisoned for theft and taunting a hero on duty. Multiple tax evasions, smuggling and so much more I can't remember.On his file was written he killed people but that was never able to be proven, for now.

Since he was captured by the No. 2 hero Endeavour he behaved god right awful. He only ever gives snarky comments and made the most hilarious awful bird puns. He fighted off any guard at any given moment and he even bit someones finger off that later was never found and so the poor lad lost it forever. He refused to eat and drink properly resulting in having to force feed him, that also explained why he bit off the finger, the guards lost their humanity just like all the prisoners afterall.

But even if he would have behaved any better I can't even blame him. Being tortured and having to endure the panic of mock executions surely messes with ones head even if he did that since day one.

Now I even had to start questioning why I am here in the first place, why I agreed to be here.

Perhaps deep down it was because Endeavour has been trying really hard to get one of the people involved with Takami-San out of this floor and I felt pity. Him trying to find someone that would be a better person for the position in his eyes. Resulting in him interviewing the entire facilty staff before he saw me walking around at the higher floors and ultimately decided I was good enough, atleast in his words and with the few words we shared with each other. Even though I was not a guard but a therapist but that seemed to make him even more sure. Laughing and telling me how much of a lost course he is, still finding it a good opportunity to break his soul more, what a cruel hero.

And now here I was standing, staring at the chained man that I only saw once at another time. Flying in the sky like a free bird. Not caring what anyone might think about a mutant using their powers they have since birth. How admirable.

If I could go back to that moment, before everything else started to go down hill. How he escaped the highest security prison to ever exist and how he tortured Iwamashi maybe while escaping, what a man. I wouldn't go back.

Maybe I would allow him this freedom he deserves, because if I know one thing for sure that is that Shinyo is not a bad person, maybe a bad human sure but not bad.

But to relive this very moment? Me staring at him with wide eyes and the most professional phrase one could say to their new patient.

"You're so gorgeous"

[astriiformes]

Had a really good conversation with my therapist yesterday that has left me feeling better about life & the future than I have in... months, honestly (which also has me feeling really good about her ability to help me continue sorting through things).

I was talking about my distress about the future and in particular what I'm going to do when I graduate, since grad school isn't the most stable option, and she pointed out that since I was spiraling over hypotheticals, maybe it made sense to simply make up my mind about the first step, since applying to grad school is hardly the same as committing to grad school. And she was so right. I am so good at feeling like I need to make the right, perfect decision -- especially after making mistakes with school in the past -- that I have been worrying myself into depressive spirals over what the "right" decision is here. But making up my mind to at least apply and find out what my options are is a decision, that will give me a lot more information in the long run than paralysis over if it's "okay" to apply at all.

It'll still take a lot of work, obviously, and l don't know if I'll even get in anywhere, much less actually commit to doing a PhD if I do. But it has taken such an incredible weight off my shoulders just to say "Okay, I am going to apply, what next?" Because it means I can put all that nervous energy to actual use! Instead of spiraling the next time I start thinking about my options in the future, I can go do research on different PhD programs (without feeling guilty the whole time, like I have been until now)! I can ask my favorite professors for advice! I can reach out to current grad students to ask what they think of their advisors! All of which is actually productive and will help me make the most informed choice I can if and when the time comes, instead of ruminating endlessly on what the "best" one is!

TL;DR -- my therapist is very smart and understands me and the things my brain gets stuck on in a big way, and her advice has dislodged literal months of extremely disordered thinking just like that. Because now I feel like I've made a choice and have something to work towards. And also like I can breathe.

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

[rebtr1bution]

"little" rant

thinking about how much potential dylan (klebold) had genuinely pisses me off. i can't read his diary anymore without wanting to punch my monitor in.

dylan wasn't cruel - at the end of his life he was, he took innocent lives and created a tragedy that even today people cannot get over nor understand fully, but that wasn't who he was. this was the same boy who took over his friends (erics) shift at work when his dog was sick and wanted to spend time with him, this was the boy who cried when one of his cats got loose due to fearing that the cat would die, this was the boy who struggled with depression, and ultimately the depression took his life. while some people may argue that, to do what dylan did, you have to be cruel, i don't agree. not in the slightest. i think to do what dylan did, you have to be battling mental illnesses that go unchecked because being a man in the 90s meant to be strong. to not let your emotions best you, and when you got bullied you were to put your head down and continue on. people nowadays have normalized speaking out about your mental health, to get help, and this is great! but also, it makes looking back on tragedies such as this hard, because our first question would be: "well, why didn't they just get help?" while they could've, 90s culture was still very much shameful of mental health, especially in men. it's still a problem to this day. and, actually, eric had gotten help - he had seen a therapist and had gotten perscribed Luvox to help. but it didn't work. infact, this medication is now known to increase suicidal/homicidal thoughts and increase depression. back onto my point, dylan wasn't "the monster next door", he was a kid struggling with mental health. he was a kid who was horrendously shy. he was a kid who was lead astray by a toxic mix of his own dark thoughts, parents who weren't aware how bad mental health could really be, a toxic culture at his school, and access to guns and pipe bombs. i feel as though if dylan had gotten proper help, he could've gone on to do great things - he was incredibly smart, getting into a program for gifted students when he was young smart. sue (klebold) has even admitted that she should've been more aware of mental health (or "brain health" as she likes to call it) while raising dylan and byron. while sue isn't to blame for what went on, i think that her parenting style certainly played a part into why dylans mental health got to the point where it was. sue mostly focused on getting byron help during the time dylan Really needed it, and when the van break in happened, sue gave dylan the choice on whether or not he needed therapy - obviously, he said no. i think that she gave dylan too much freedom and trusted him way too much on things that mattered, like therapy for an example. but, there's no perfect way to parent, and i am in no way whatsoever trying to say that sue was responsible for what dylan did!! i will close off by saying, while dylan definitely had potential and Needed help, and it pisses me off that he didn't get help, i am no way condoning what he did nor saying that he was "justified" in any way. he was struggling, sure, but he shouldn't have taken it out on innocent people. i am also in NO WAY supporting the "dylan was a follower" theory, i think it's fucking bullshit and eric and dylan both "followed" each other - i think their friendship was more codependent, and they hyped each other up to the point of no return. they are both at fault for what happened that day, and should both be held accountable to the same levels. thank you for reading if you've gotten this far!!! sorry i yapped so much i was expecting this to be WAY shorter lolol

[gguk-n]

Pivotal choice (Carlos Sainz x Race Engineer!Vowels!Reader)

Summary- Just as the summer break 2024 started Carlos Sainz Jr announced that he would be joining Williams Racing from 2025 onwards. Everyone thought it was because James Vowels was persistent little did they know, Carlos's decision rested in Vowel's daughter's hand who was currently working as a race engineer at Williams.

There had been a shift in Williams from the start of 2024 season, it wasn't visible to the world but anyone in Formula One could see it. James Vowels, it seems was making the right decisions, but in actuality it was his daughter, Y/N who had just joined as a race engineer who was calling the shots during race strategies and giving her opinion to her dad which helped him make decisions. She was the reason Logan got his first point last year and the reason Alex was able to compete for points. That's how her and Logan had grown closer together since they were closer in age and had the same sense of humour.

Vowels spent a lot of his time courting Carlos Sainz Junior, especially after he had lost his seat to Lewis Hamilton in the start of the season much to his daughter's dismay. She couldn't believe her father was being so irrational and persistent which translated into her growing annoyance and hatred for the Ferrari driver. Y/N had caught Carlos's eyes the first time her dad had dragged her along to dinner with Carlos after the race. She had made sure to let her father and the potential Williams driver know of her annoyance at being dragged here and the fact that they were possibly making Logan seatless for next year.

She remembers it like yesterday when her dad after much deliberation and push had resigned Logan. She had even offered to be his race engineer to help him; her dad didn't think she could do much but agreed. She was currently not only Logan's race engineer but his therapist. So, you can imagine how much she was hating being here. Vowels got up to use the restroom leaving the two together; Y/N ate her food quietly not even looking up. "I heard you're Logan's race engineer" Carlos began. She nodded. "I know it must be difficult to sit and have dinner with the guy who might take your drivers seat. I'm sorry but the world of motorsports is cut throat and" she cut Carlos off with "I know, I'm just salty dad's being like this since Logan has potential if given the right chances, not looking for a replacement." she said looking into his eyes. Carlos's breath hitched in his throat, those were beautiful eyes he thought. "Again I'm sorry but I need to weigh all my options" he continued. "I know" she hung her head down while continuing to cut into her food. Her father was back soon, trying to cozy up and butter Carlos up. There was a perpetual grimace on her face apart from her usual frown.

The dinner couldn't end any sooner because Y/N bolted out with a quick good bye. Carlos was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this girl who looked at him with more disdain than Logan himself. Carlos found himself looking at her whenever she was around or searching for her during race weekends. He had found out from Alex that she was James Vowel's only daughter; extremely smart since she graduated from mechanical engineering and masters in automobile. She had used her connections to land good internships so that her being hired by Williams wouldn't be weird. She was a nepo baby who knew what she wanted and how to get it. To add insult to injury, she was friends with Logan which explained the disdain. Carlos found her interesting; she was funny from what he had gathered and found himself laughing at her jokes when he would over hear her conversations, she was pretty which he had decided the first time he saw her walk in with her dad, she was close with not only Logan Sargeant but Oscar Piastri who she didn't glare at like she would glare at him from time to time. It was starting to hurt Carlos's feelings.

The next time they met, Y/N looked even more annoyed with his presence then she could've been the last time they met, he thought. She was being dragged along by her dad again even though she threatened to run away. "Dad, I'm not having dinner with him. For goodness sake, let me mourn in peace." she snapped. "I don't get what you're mourning. Having Carlos on Williams is what we need. Also, I would like you to be his race engineer. Both of you are smart and will make a great team, I can already see it" Vowels reasoned trying to get his daughter to see the bigger picture. "Well I don't. I'll be Alex's engineer if Logan's no longer on the team" she stated. "You do not get a say in today's dinner, we'll discuss your plans for next year later. Now get dressed before I fire you" he commanded. "Ugh, that's why I didn't want to work for you. Even Sauber would've been fine at this point" she whined. "Well, we have points and they don't" he snapped. "Would've had more, had you not fucked Logan over" she snapped back and went to get dressed. "Language missy" James shouted back at her.

Carlos was bearing the brunt of much of Y/N's annoyance who got jabbed in her rib by her dad about 4 times since they sat down and the food wasn't even out yet. "I really want you and Y/N to get along since I feel like if you join Williams, Y/N would be a good fit as your race engineer even though she's a rookie. I'm not just saying this because she's my daughter." Vowels told Carlos. "Well, I'm not a good fit for him" she muttered. "If you'll excuse us Carlos" Vowels said sternly dragging her out, "I swear, if you do not behave I will drop Logan right now, God knows how much I want to" he seethed. "dad" she whispered with tears in her eyes. "Now, you'll walk in and be on your best behaviour." he commanded. She nodded and quickly wiped away her tears and walked in with her dad. Carlos noticed the sudden shift, her demeanour sadder and hurt, not the usual snappy and sarcastic self. Dinner ended without anymore hiccups, Y/N only nodded her head along to whatever her dad had to say.

Carlos wasn't sure what Vowels told his daughter which made her look like a puppy that had been kicked. But he did ask the restaurant they were eating at to pack him an assortment of their best dessert; he had heard from the others that she loved desserts, maybe this would cheer her up, he thought. He grabbed the bag before exiting the restaurant and handed it to her, her dad was waiting for the valet to bring his car who was now watching the pair interact. "What's this?" she asked. "Something to cheer you up" Carlos said. "I don't want it and you don't need to cheer me up" she said trying to hand him the bag back. "I know but I want to" he clarified. "You're already in my dad's good books, you don't have to try this hard" she said. "I don't want to, I want to be in your good books" Carlos smiled. Y/N's heart skipped a beat watching him smile, this was weird. "I don't think you can be" she corrected. "Well then, just enjoy the food. Don't think about it too much" he leaned into whisper in her ear, winking at her before climbing into his car which was ready for him. Y/N was staring at the bag in her hand and the driver that just handed it to her before leaving. She felt guilty now for treating him like shit when he was just trying to stay in the sport like anyone would.

She was in her home, slowly unboxing the package from Carlos which had a collection of macaroons, donuts, cheesecakes, red velvet cakes. This was so much food for anyone, she could have this for a couple days. The next time she meets Carlos, she should thank him, she thought as she took a bite of the coffee flavoured macaroon which tasted too good to even be real.

She got to meet Carlos in the next race, instead of running away or frowning like she had been doing the past couple months, she smiled at him and walked up to him; Carlos thought he was dreaming. The Y/N Vowels was walking up to him, it felt unreal, he almost pinched himself. "Thanks for the sweet treats, I loved them." she said. "That's a relief, I wasn't sure what you liked so I got you a few of everything" he replied. "Well, next time you wanna get me something, there is this patisserie in Paris." she began. "Tell me the address and I'll bring that to you next time" he interrupted. "I was just kidding. I enjoyed them. Thanks but that doesn't mean I'm okay with whatever is happening" she corrected. "If it means you'll stop looking at me like I killed a man than that's a win in my books" he laughed. She waved him off and walked away to the Williams garage.

"Were you talking to Y/N?" Lando asked. "yeah" Carlos said. "Why? Fancy her?" Lando laughed. "Maybe" Carlos thought out loud. "Mate, I think she likes Logan or something" Lando said immediately. "Really?" Carlos asked, a little hurt. "Yeah, I think that's what Oscar was talking about to Lily or something, I just over heard them anyways" Lando shrugged.

Carlos didn't think he liked Y/N, not until Lando asked him. That's when he realised that he did. There was a reason he tried so hard to make her like him and wished she would talk to him in all those dinners. He felt like he understood why she was being so annoyed with him since he would possibly replace the guy she liked. Carlos was a little hurt, he wished that was a piece of information Lando hadn't passed onto him.

Y/N on the other hand, found herself thinking about Carlos a lot, since he tried to cheer her up. She realised that she was being too harsh on Carlos when it was not his fault and if there was anyone she should be angry at was her dad and not Carlos. She found herself looking through his race stats and his strategies. She couldn't help but admire him for his craft. Maybe, she was being a little too unwelcoming. Obviously, she would fight tooth and nail for Logan; her dad wasn't having his way this easily.

The next dinner, Y/N felt like Carlos wasn't talking to her like the previous dinners. He would try to get her input on anything and listen intently even if she was bad mouthing him but right now, he was talking only business with her dad. She had decided to be civil today and didn't even make a snide remarks. A part of her was hurt, maybe she deserved it after the shitty way she had been treating Carlos. Dinner took forever to end, for other reasons than the previous ones. She tried to strike up a conversation with Carlos but nothing came of it.

A few weeks later, her father had stopped pestering her to tag along to dinners with Carlos. She was happy this way, until at family dinner. "I think I'm close to signing Carlos" James told his wife. "That sounds wonderful, darling" she remarked. "What do you mean?" Y/N almost shouted. "Not having you around seemed very fruitful to me, considering you're always frowning at the poor guy" your father corrected. "You can't kick Logan out without giving him a fair chance." she pointed out. "I gave him a chance and he blew it, it's not my fault" your father reprimanded. "No you did not. I can't believe you're behaving like this" she pushed the food away. "If you are going to be this rude, leave. I'll see what you can do without my name" your father replied. She had tears pricking her eyes. "dad" she began. "Just because you're my only daughter, doesn't mean I will let you behave like a rude brat and get away with it. Go on, I want to see what you can do with out me or my help" he said. He wasn't like this, she thought. Her mother tried to calm her father down but Y/N left.

Their fight wasn't over. It had seeped into their work where they would only talk when necessary. Everyone in Williams could fell the tense environment. Logan and Alex tried to diffuse the environment but Y/N just brushed it off, until she couldn't anymore. There were rumours floating around that Logan would be replaced next year or worse mid season because of the shit her dad was blabbering about in interviews. She was sick and tired of that man, that's why she was now storming into his office. The secretary left quickly, sensing the atmosphere.

"Dad, what is wrong with you? You need media training, not your drivers" she snapped. "What is this behaviour? Is this how you talk to your father?" he raised his voice. "Mr Vowels, please behave like an adult. Please don't talk crap about your drivers while they are driving for you at least" she reprimanded. " Miss Vowels, I'll talk however I like" he snapped back. The Miss Vowels hurt, "dad" she huffed. "I'm not your dad in this office. I'm the team principal of a team that is failing and I want to bring to the top" he replied sternly. "You can do all that without disposing people off like collateral damage" she pointed. "I'll do what I think is right" he said. "If you want Carlos to sign, stop talking about him in every interview like a love sick teenager. Tell him our stats and make promises you can keep and then if he signs give your driver who had been with you since his junior career a respectful send off" she said turning around. "You don't mind Carlos joining" he asked hopeful. "It's your team. I'm just an employee" she replied dejected.

Y/N had tears streaming down her face when Logan met her. "I'm sorry, I'm such a shitty friend. I told you I'll do anything for you but I can't" she cried. "It's okay. I know you are trying your best" Logan said wrapping her in his arms. "It's hard fighting your dad" she sobbed. "I know" he patted her back. "I don't blame you for it" he smiled bitterly rubbing her back. "Maybe I shouldn't have joined Williams" she sobbed. "Hey! You helped me score points and are giving valuable input, don't say that. I'm so proud of you and how far you've come" he said looking at her and wiping her tears. His hands were cupping her cheeks, "You did what you could, now it's my turn" he smiled at her. "I'll do whatever it takes. I'll continue racing even if it's not in formula one, I won't stop racing" he declared. He wiped away her tears, "Now smile, I hate it when my best friend cries" he teased.

Maybe talking to Carlos was like fraternising with the enemy, maybe that's why she felt awkward approaching him. She should have no reason to approach him anyways. There are already weird rumours floating around because of her father, she didn't want to add fuel to the fire.

Y/N ran into Carlos when she was rushing to her garage at the Spanish GP, where there were rumours floating around that he would announce the team he was joining. "Sorry" she apologised looking at the man she had run into. "It's okay" Carlos replied. "Did you sign a contract yet?" she asked abruptly. "No" Carlos replied scratching his neck. "Weigh in all you options. Whatever choice you make, let it be the best it is for you" she advised. "I thought you didn't want me at Williams" he commented. "I was being too emotional about losing my best friend. I've matured now" she smiled at him. "Logan's your best friend?" he asked, Carlos really needs to focus on more important things instead of the fact that his crush isn't crushing on another man, but he was a man of simple needs. "yeah. I mean you'll probably understand since....if something like this happened to Lando" she said shuffling her feet. "yeah" Carlos nodded. "Good luck with the decision" Y/N wished him. "You know, maybe we could go out for food" Carlos suggested. "Isn't it unethical since I'm William's team principal's daughter?" she smirked. "I haven't signed yet, so no" Carlos smiled. "Don't you want to spend time with your family" she asked. "Maybe you could join me" he winked. "What?" she asked, blushing. "I was kidding, but if you want to, I don't mind" now he was smirking. "Ah, no. Let's go out after the triple header's done" she told him. "No take backs" Carlos insisted, his tone firm as he scanned her eyes. "Ferrari's hottest driver just asked me out, I'd be a fool to say no" she teased. Carlos was now blushing, "I'll see you in Silverstone" he said, "for our date" he added tentatively. "yeah" she said biting her lower lip trying not to smile.

Y/N was counting down the days to Silverstone. The weeks didn't seem to pass. She didn't want anyone knowing either, not now anyways, what if she jinxed it?

The British GP was a big deal since it was Williams home race. Y/N was very busy with preparing everything related to work on the car. She had been working with Logan closely to get him the upgrades, which was taking longer than she hoped. Logan finishing just below points and Alex in points was great news. Everyone was ecstatic in the team and Vowels called for a team dinner which Y/N was thinking of ways to avoid. Her relation with her father was repairing it self slowly with the helpful intervention from her mother; "I will not be caught in a cross fire. This is a house not a war zone. Get along or I'm throwing you out James" her mum told her dad. That's why they had started being civil which in turn led to the atmosphere at Williams improving as well.

Y/N had lied saying that she was catching up with old friends and escaped the dinner after a lot of whining and cribbing on Alex and Logan's part for leaving them.

She got back, showered and got dressed. A white midi body con dress was calling her name. Carlos picked her up from her home, like a gentleman and held the door. "You look gorgeous" Carlos smiled checking her out. "Thank you Carlos, you look quite breath taking yourself" she breathed out.

They drove to the restaurant, talking about the most random things but racing was off the table. "If I knew how pretty you looked laughing I would've stolen you away ages ago" Carlos commented making Y/N blush. "I'm not that easy to entertain" she chided. "I know, I've been on the receiving end of some very angry stares" he laughed. "In my defence, my dad was being an ass" she spoke. "It's okay. I forgive you" he smiled.

The dinner ended rather quickly, much to the pair's dismay. "Do you want to do this again sometime?" Carlos asked hesitantly. "I would love to. Next week is off" she suggested. "Would you like to come to Monaco?" Carlos asked. "Yeah, see you then" she said kissing his cheek. "What will it take for you to kiss my lips?" he teased. "hmm..I'm a simple woman, a couple more dates maybe" she teased back. "I don't mind seeing you as often as I can but are you really going to keep me waiting?" he leaned in. "Maybe. But I could change my mind if you behave" Y/N bopped his nose and opened the door to her house biding him good night.

She was in Monaco next week, Carlos had come to pick her up from the airport and drove her around. She hadn't been in Monaco in a while. The place was warmer and the sun was shining down on them as they drove around. At night, they had dinner at a really nice Italian place. When they were walking around on the beach, "Spend the summer break with me?" Carlos asked. "I don't spend my holidays with random men" she teased. "Am I a random man?" Carlos cocked his eyebrow. "You aren't my boyfriend either" she retorted. "Well, maybe I'll ask you to be my girlfriend over the break, you'll have to find out thought" he joked. "Hmm..you drive a hard bargain Mr Sainz" she acted like she was thinking. She turned to him, "If this kiss is worth it, I might just spend the break with you" she provoked. "You're spending that break with me" he stated before he crashed his lips against her. Y/N's lips were warm and cushiony as Carlos's soft ones moved against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hands found home on her waist. His nose bumping her cheek as they deepened the kiss. She pulled away, out of breath, "I guess I'm spending my break with you" she smiled at him. Carlos began to pepper his face with kisses.

The two of them had to wait for 2 more races. They were itching to be together; she couldn't go up to him and kiss his perfect face whenever she wanted. Carlos couldn't spend all his free time in the paddock with her; it was torture for the two of them.

Carlos had made up his mind, he would be signing with Williams. He saw a future and a very alluring exit clause just the way he wanted. He did mention something to Y/N about it but they didn't talk about racing during their dates.

It was the first day of the summer break, Carlos was laying in bed with Y/N in his arms; "I have an announcement to make" Carlos whispered. "At 9 in the morning" Y/N grumbled. "I'll be announcing which team I'm joining today" he spoke. "Really?" she asked, now wide awake. "yeah. I signed with Williams" he spoke slowly. It took a moment to register for Y/N and then tears prickled her eyes. She wasn't sure they were tears of joy or sorrow. "Congratulations" she croaked, kissing his lips. "I'm sorry about Logan" Carlos apologised squeezing her hips. "It's okay" she smiled weakly. "I'll make a few calls and be right back" he said getting out of bed. The video had been recorded and would be uploaded soon. Y/N was pacing around the house sending a few texts to Logan to check up on him and looking up what the fans had to say. As soon as the news went live, Y/N got a message from her dad; 'Carlos Sainz Jr is your new driver from next year' it read. She had a bitter sweet feeling reading the message.

Carlos came back, done with the initial announcement. "I'll be your engineer next year" Y/N said cupping his cheeks. "Yeah, that was one of my clauses for signing" he said cupping her cheeks too. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he asked looking into her eyes. "I don't know about mixing business and pleasure" she hesitated. "Just say yes" Carlos begged. "Promise me you won't get hurt" she asked. "I'll try my best" he replied. "Than, Yes" she said leaning in to kiss him, pushing up on her toes to close the distance. "I can't wait to kiss you in public" Carlos stated breaking the kiss. "Let's wait. After the way my dad has been courting you" she laughed. "Well I was trying to court his daughter" he retorted. "And you succeeded" she kissed him again. "Let's enjoy these 3 weeks of peace before we have to return" he said sweeping her off her feet and carrying her bridal style back to the room as she pressed open mouth kisses on his neck.

I've been working on this since the announcement. I had fun writing it. Hope you enjoy too.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.  “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

���  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[medicinemane]

I once was talking with my pharmacy manager about... democracy, about how while there's plenty of stupid people in the world we'd all probably prefer didn't vote, that it was very very hard to actually make a line that makes sure only wise people vote while keeping all the idiots out

And I basically said to him "think of all the doctors and pharmacists you know who are smart, well educated people, who you 100% don't think make good choices"

From the look and his face, I'd say that spoke to him (it's incredible how many smart idiots there are in the world, isn't it?)

Anyway, I make that point because it much more addresses the whole concept of... lets call it democracy of the fit

Like it sounds great till you actually take even one second to think about it. It's almost like trying to draw any line in the sand for who it's ok to disenfranchise is not only dumb and ineffective, but also super dangerous. Ah man, I'm sorry, you scored too low on this test which happens behind closed doors and is graded by my political ally... it's not like you disagreeing with me had anything to do with that

(I'd hope we don't even need to touch on why the idea that testosterone levels are a really stupid useless way to decide who gets to vote, cause if that's true then we don't even have to disenfranchise anyone, we can just give out steroids and have the best country in the world... or is it only naturally produced T that makes you a free thinker?)

oh hey just in case anyone who left twitter is wondering how things are going over there

last night elon tweeted a 4chan screenshot (with bonus antisemitic text in the OP image) advocating for only “high status males” in government and the implied repeal of women’s suffrage. Cool cool cool

[copperbadge]

https://www.wired.com/story/therapy-broken-mental-health-challenges/

I came across this (old) article and it made me think of what you shared about your therapy experience. Would you say your therapy experience worked? It almost feels like you were telling us about how you were A/B testing your way through it.

Yeah, I remember reading that article at some point either before therapy or early on. I don't remember what I thought overall but I do remember being astonished that people expected therapy to help them in six sessions, and that most people report improvement in only 15-20. Not because I think either of those things are unrealistic based on any kind of evidence, but because that's not the expectation I was ever handed when I was in therapy. I was in therapy for nine years as a kid, until I turned eighteen and could legally refuse to go. Not for anything I did, like it wasn't a court order, I was simply put into therapy and wasn't allowed to leave by the adults in my life.

The thing is, because it was mandatory, because at least one of those therapists broke ethical constraints, and because across nine years and three separate therapists nobody caught my ADHD, I have a more complicated relationship to therapy than a lot of people. I still catch myself thinking of things I can't tell my therapist because then she'll have leverage on me. Which is absurd, but it took me a long time to start saying those things to her. I am difficult and private and smart enough to make that a real problem, so it's been a slow process for me.

I also think that article is complicated, because it makes a lot of good points but it also seems at times to confuse therapy itself with the abusive nature of the American healthcare system. So while it's a useful article particularly when it speaks to marginalized peoples' experiences, it may discourage people who could benefit from therapy from doing the work to find a therapist. It's a good article to learn from, but I wouldn't advise people to decide for or against therapy based on it.

(My thoughts on my own therapy under the cut)

I'm still in therapy. It's difficult to measure results. I think I handle interpersonal stress better than I used to, but I haven't been able to find much to help with some of the emotional volatility I experience, and while I've set some good boundaries with family, the process of doing that was and continues to be stressful and upsetting, in some ways harder than simply not having them, so I'm still assessing that. Part of the problem for me is that I don't find cognitive-behavioral therapy useful for what I need, and while I understand there are differences, like 90% of all therapeutic systems boil back down to those techniques. Reality checking, visualizing, physical stimulus responses, mindfulness, as I said once to Therapist, "It's CBT all the way down." I don't respond to many of them and others I was already doing, so *shrug emoji*

At that point, when I realized there was no system that was going to help with my specific problems -- in part because the problems are ADHD related in a way that you can't train your way out of -- we also agreed it was time to try medication. Which felt like a failure, but I know that realistically I looked at the situation as it is, assessed my options, and made an appropriate choice, which is after all what therapy is often about.

So I've been on Clonidine for a couple of weeks. And it's doing fuck-all so far, but it's the lowest dose and there are other options too, so it's an ongoing process.

Outside of frustration with trying to fix problems that I honestly don't think anything but medication will fix, therapy's ok. If nothing else the expectation of it helps me identify actual problems in my life. And like most people I enjoy talking about myself but I also have a lot of struggle around asking for that kind of indulgence from friends, so doing that for an hour in a structured transactional kind of way is easier for me.

Ultimately, there's no real one-size solution that's called "Therapy", so whether or not I have found it useful isn't really material to whether someone else would. Some people use it as maintenance stress-relief, some people need to do deep emotional work, some people are in crisis and need an objective commentator. Sometimes you move from one need to another. Right now I'm in a liminal space because we're trying something new, so it's tough to say. But I'm finding it worth the cost in time, energy, and money, so I'll keep on until I don't anymore.

[junespriince]

Wally: I sit here today because my uncle retired and you guys just dragged me in here, I didn't have a choice. I was working my own city, the Titans, and sometimes helped other heroes and now I have to work here and come to almost daily meetings? How can I get fired? Can marrying your son in Vegas make you let me leave? I want out of this.

Bruce: the dimension overlord said you must be here, we need a speedster or balance will be distributed.

Wally: how about you disturb deez nuts old man. I don't give two donkeys pucks about this "balance" when I'm forced to look at my two biggest enemies all day.

Oliver: I know Barry raised you, but could you have manners kid?

Wally: can you stop getting pegged by my therapist?

Oliver, blushing as if the league doesn't already know this:

Wally: no? Okay, then shut up.

Bruce: this is a bit excessive, West.

Wally: says the guy who fights his ex father in law/enemy shirtless. I don't know about you, but if my son grandfather challenged me to a duel the shirt stays on.

Bruce: how?

Wally: what does "dating your son" mean to you? Self proclaimed greatest detective over here lady and gents, give him some applause for being stupid. Though, with all the smart women you attracted I guess it has it charms to a certain group.

Clark: a lot of sass today, huh?

Wally: and rightly so Mr. Kent—

Clark: kid, you've known me for years and marrying my kid, it's uncle Clark now.

Wally: sir, I was raised my a Midwestern woman, it's sir, ma'am, and whatnot, deal with it. Anyways, it's rightly deserved, I'm losing a lot of precious time spending it here because Gotham's playboy bicycle decided now he'll have a standard and not fix this problem by helping the dimensions asshat get laid. Do you understand how much this cut into my personal life outside of heroing, Bruce?

Bruce: well—

Wally: shut up sir, you don't because unlike you I don't have a son I was blackmailed into adopting that can run the business, no, I'm an average man here working a real job, and trying to make time for my boyfriend. We get it, you're an emo furry with a tragic backstory that makes it hard to emote, well bucko guess what, I had shitty parents, uncle Hal thinks I have no friends, and what else... OH yeah! I was stuck in the speed force trying to get out and everyone I loved stop trying to save me and assumed I was dead. So, fire me!

Bruce, and his ego™: no. Balance needs to be kept.

Wally: I will make you regret this choice.

Both of them glaring at each other:

Diana: well, at least meetings will be interesting.

Hal: in my defense you didn't have friends over when I visited so how was i supposed to know...

Oliver: didn't Barry told you one time to come because Wally was at my house having a sleepover with Roy?

Hal: ... Okay I'mma be so real right now, I heard come over and the rest was white noise.

Wally: ew. I'm right here.

Hal: kid, hush, the adults are talking.

Wally: ... I'm 29, dude bye. I'm done with this. *Gets up and leaves*

Arthur: he has grown up so much.

Bruce, who knows Wally at his worst teen years: yeah, he's gotten worse.

Oliver: so about this fighting shirtless with your ex father in law.

Bruce: so about you getting pegged by our therapist.

Oliver:

Bruce:

Oliver: I hate you.

Bruce: yeah, yeah, love you too idiot.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

BETCHA!

noa had expected that giving advice to kaiser on his love life would be no easy feat, but when kaiser realizes that you have next-to-no interest in him, the german prodigy works up a storm in his master’s office. noa can only pray that he has the patience to whip kaiser into the true romantic gentleman you deserve. (+insp.)

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): kaiser x reader except it’s mostly noa teaching kaiser how to not be a shitty lover

Noa knew that becoming the mentor and master of any team would be far from an easy job. 

He had braced himself for the worst when he agreed to teach Bastard Munchen everything in his own arsenal, to lead the new youth team to become soccer’s future for when he would one day inevitably retire. He was more than aware of the nasty personalities the sport seemed to bring out from everyone (himself included, he had to admit), and he had readied himself to see sparks fly in all the worst ways possible as the teenage boys butted heads with each other.

Growing pains, he chalked it up to. Even he was once like that. Hungry, desperate, ready to prove himself to the world as the true diamond-in-the-rough amongst the common pebbles all around him.

He had braced himself for physical fights, with the youths squabbling with each other over who should have scored. And he got plenty of that. He also got plenty of haranguing them into getting up early in the mornings for practice and fighting to keep them motivated into the unforgiving hours of the night. He had braced himself for dealing with all of their managerial issues, from the boys transferring teams to needing travel visas and whatnot. 

All of the little things he had grown used to and faced during his own career, Noa was more than equipped to deal with. And he believed he solved each and every one of these problems with the same level head and grace that secured him his spot as the world’s number one striker.

What Noa wasn’t prepared for, however, were the issues involved with the budding relationships the Bastard Munchen players would face. His advice for their romantic lives were usually the same: make smart choices, stay out of paparazzi’s sight, and be respectful. That typically did the job for most of his mentees, and Noa could put his busy mind at rest.

Except for one specific boy who seemed to make it his life’s reason to break every rule that Noa had set in place for them.

Noa was sick and tired of cleaning up after every mess Kaiser made. He was used to Kaiser dragging in all sorts of celebrities and famous people he had hit it off with in a club or some other place, bragging about how he had finally found the one, to which Noa was always patient (and quick to remind the young boy that he had still yet to turn 20 and most definitely had not found “the one” quite yet). Like clockwork, a week would pass, and Kaiser would be on the quest to find the next person to entertain his fickle heart.

So frankly, when you rolled around, Noa had thought Kaiser’s obsession with you would only last about the same as his previous flings. Noa quietly waited out a week. Then another. And another. Then a few more. And to his surprise, you stuck to Kaiser’s mind. Kaiser still pursued you as relentlessly as he did the first day he brought you up to Noa, and Noa realized how difficult it would be to actually wrangle in a full-blown delusional, lovestruck Kaiser.

“NOAAAAAAAAAA!”

Noa rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He held it for a few seconds, like how his therapist had recommended, before breathing out through his mouth for a few more seconds. Noa was fully aware that he threw a life of peace away the moment he chose to become a professional athlete, but asking for more than fifteen minutes of uninterrupted silence seemed less plausible than winning the World Cup fifteen times in a row.

The door to his office flew open with such force that the Frenchman was surprised it hadn’t flown clean off of its hinges. “Shitty master! There you are! I need your advice!”

“No need to be so violent or loud, Kaiser.” Noa turned on the swivel chair the Blue Lock facility had given him, tearing his eyes away from the statistics and team strategies he had been working on. “They’ll be able to hear even from across the compound.”

Kaiser stood in his doorway, looking disheveled and near tears. He had sprinted here, evident from the thin layer of sweat on the German boy’s forehead and how heavily he was breathing. Noa doubted that Kaiser was coming to him needing advice on training or improvising his skills. 

No, Noa knew what Kaiser was here for already.

“Alright, how did you mess up this time, Kaiser?” The Frenchman asked exhaustedly. He had gotten used to this song-and-dance with his pupil a long time ago, ever since you had wormed your way into Kaiser’s heart. “Did you call (Y/n) a rude name? Or say something mean?”

Kaiser scrunched his pretty face up, stomping closer to Noa and sticking his bottom lip out. “No! I didn’t do anything like that. Noa, it’s so much more severe! I’d rather that they hate me and wish me dead than this! You don’t understand—they don’t care about me at all!!”

Noa bit back a snort. “Oh. And I thought you had done so much worse.”

Kaiser began frantically pacing around Noa’s office, agitatedly wringing his hands. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, you shitty master! Ugh, this is what I get, going to someone as stoic as you for advice with my love life! I don’t get it. Why doesn’t (Y/n) want me? I’m the whole package! I have people crawling, and I mean, fucking crawling all over me. That super hot actress everyone’s been talking about? She was begging me for a date last week! I’m popular and handsome and rich, and (Y/n) acts like I’m just some guy from across the street! I’m not some guy from across the street!”

“No, you aren’t-”

Kaiser shook his hands in the air. “I’m the Michael Kaiser! 300 million yen annual salary, master of Kaiser Impact, golden ace of Bastard Munchen, and God’s chosen emperor! How dare they not want me as much as I want them? Can’t they see how madly in love I am? That I’ve practically made a fool of myself at this point? Trying this hard to make them fall for me?”

Kaiser breathed heavily after having dumped all of that onto Noa, and the older man stared at Kaiser with singlehandedly the most unimpressed look on his face. The German athlete let out a strangled groan, the reality of his dejection sinking in properly, and Noa watched as Kaiser buried his face into his hands.

“First and foremost, Kaiser, you have to understand that people have different tastes. What might be appealing to actresses and celebrities and whoever else you attract might not be (Y/n)’s type,” Noa sighed, leaning back in his chair and massaging his head. “Some people avoid famous and popular people on purpose, because it’s an awful lot of work to be with someone under that much public scrutiny. It’s a big thing to ask of someone, regardless of their interest in you.”

“But I have the money! The body! The looks! Anyone would be flattered to have my interest! C’mon, Noa- Fame aside, I’m sexy as fuck!” Kaiser motioned vaguely at his body. “I’m sexy, right? Tell me I’m sexy, Noa!”

“Kaiser, I am not doing that.”

“You get what I’m trying to say!”

“Secondly,” Noa continued sternly. He didn’t particularly have the energy to flatter Kaiser that much more. “Have you actually tried wooing them in a… more appropriate way?”

Kaiser frowned deeply, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean in a more appropriate way? Shouldn’t they fall to my feet in utter worship of how wonderful I am? Shouldn’t they be sobbing over how grateful they are to me that I would give them even a crumb of my attention?”

Oh god. Noa wondered where he had gone wrong with Kaiser. The headache that had been ebbing in and out ever since the youth had barged into his office was only amplifying. “No, Kaiser. I mean the kind of courtship that most other people would try. Like compliments, gifts, maybe grabbing a coffee together. You have to earn someone’s love. It isn’t something that’s guaranteed nor is it something that’s owed.”

The German boy’s frown faded slightly, morphing into a small look of confusion. He repeated, “Earn? You mean… I have to try to get (Y/n)’s favor? They aren’t smitten with me already?”

“Probably not. If they haven’t already started a relationship with you yet, that usually means you haven’t won their heart.” The older athlete explained calmly. “Try the things I told you. Tell them that you like seeing them around. Maybe get them a small thing of flowers. Being kind to someone never hurts. Especially if they aren’t exactly… used to dealing with your bold personality. You have to start with baby steps before you can get to all the big passionate things you’re thinking of.”

Noa wondered for a split second if Kaiser would fume and brush his advice off as he usually did, but for once, the boy nodded along and silently mulled over his mentor’s words. Noa continued to watch him quietly, hoping inwardly that he had gotten through to the boy and that maybe he’d quit harassing you with what he could only imagine to be the most audacious courtship in the universe. You were truly a trooper to somehow keep up with all of Kaiser’s ridiculous antics. 

“For once you’re of help, shitty master,” Kaiser hummed, and the German nodded to himself.. “I know a place I could order a few blue roses from… And there’s a really nice café not too far from the facility once we get down the mountain… Yeah, I can see it all coming together! Okay, I have a plan!”

“Ah, by the way,” Noa interrupted. Kaiser looked at the Frenchman, as if to silently ask him if there was anything else he needed to be lectured about. Noa cleared his throat, looking firmly at the young man. “Remember what I told you, no matter what (Y/n) does in response to your efforts. Love is earned, not owed. Even if you try to be kind to them and flirt with them differently, you aren’t entitled to their love. If they make it very clear that you aren’t interested, the right thing to do is back off and give them space. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do,” Kaiser scoffed. “If they decide that they don’t want me… Then that’s their loss! I’ll use my indescribable charm to find someone better… Even though I don’t really think there’s anyone better than them.”

“Well, no matter what you do, I’m sure I’ll hear of it.” Noa chuckled softly as the young blond’s cheeks turned red as he started thinking about you, and Kaiser hid his pink face behind his hands. Kaiser turned on his heel, straightening his back and puffing his chest out, clearly determined to enact Noa’s heartfelt advice and to undoubtedly unleash upon you another wave of unrestrained romance.

Noa knew that Kaiser’s wails and screeches in his desperate attempts for your favor would be far from over, but if he could bit-by-bit place the boy on the correct path at wooing you over, then maybe all of Kaiser’s temper tantrums and 3 AM rants about how he is 100% confident that he’s going marry you someday would be worth it. If there was one thing that Kaiser was, it was incredibly stubborn about not letting things that he deemed as “his” slip away.

“Ah, one more thing, Kaiser-”

Kaiser stopped dead in his tracks, already halfway out of the room. “Yeah? What is it, shitty master?”

“Don’t fantasize about marriage just yet. I think it’s still way too early for you to be planning out a wedding with (Y/n) already…”

x

[watarfallar]

Sxthee, I bring you more desert duo snacks!

Scar: I can't believe there's a cat somewhere in my house. Amazing feeling. Love cats. And he's here, in my house! Somewhere! And I may encounter him! What a treat.

Scar: We either die free, or die trying! Grian: Are those the only choices?

Grian: To everyone who has treated me poorly; I am sexier than you.

Scar: *Stands in trash can.* Grian: Scar, not again! You're not trash, you're at least recycling!

Scar: Did you like the food I made? Grian: No, not really. Scar: But I put my heart and soul into it! Grian: No wonder it tastes so cold and dead.

Grian: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness— Scar: Hi. Grian: *melts down in a flustered heap of softness*

Scar: We vegetarians love the environment. Carnivores are sick freaks. Grian: How can vegetarians possibly love the environment.. you keep eating all the fucking plants.

Scar: Be kind. Everyone is fighting their own battles. Grian: Why would I be kind? I will be brutal and relentless and ride into battle by their side!

Scar: If I run and leap at Grian, they will most certainly catch me in their arms. Scar, running towards Grian: Coming in! Grian: No! I’m holding coffee! Grian: *Drops coffee and catches Scar*

Grian, holding a scooter: Scar! Can I go outside and play with this? Scar: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay? Grian, running outside: Thanks Scar! Scar, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY!

Grian, clearly drunk: Scar, hit me another drink… wooOO HOOoo… Scar: I think you need a therapist and not a bottle. Grian: I think yooOOoou need to shuUT YOUR MOUTH!

Scar: Wow. I keep stepping on a lot of crunchy twigs. Grian: Those are bones, Scar. Scar: *looks straight up* Not if I never look down.

Grian: Jellyfish have survived for 600,000 years without brains… Scar: A ray of hope for me!

*The squad has just arrived in a new city. Scar looks around at the wanted posters to see if they’re on any of them.* Grian: Scar, are you a criminal? Scar: Not here, I’m not!

Scar: I am literally evil incarnate. Scar: I’m not actually, I just enjoy being evil. Scar: Which I think actually makes it even more evil because I’m making a conscious effort.

Scar: Cause your pretty and your smart, and your ignoring me so your obviously my type. Grian, who was distracted: I'm sorry- what were you saying? Scar: Perfect.

Grian: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized. Scar: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely* Grian: That one. I want that one.

Grian: Scar, I… Grian: I love you! Scar: Not my problem.

Scar: You look good in that hoodie. Grian: You know where else I'd look good? Scar, zero hesitation: My bed. Grian, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

Grian: How do I tell Scar that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

[tethered-heartstrings]

Hey there ! What are your thoughts on Will and Alana’ s relationship and why did she so easily and quickly become involved with Hannibal? If you can also shed some light on Hannibloom too I would appreciate it, thank you 🤍

I genuinely think Alana cared a lot for Will and didn't want to hurt him. She knew he was unstable, and her being with him would not fix that. I think she did have some feelings for Will, but knew she made a better friend and colleague than romantic partner. She psychoanalyzes people as part of her job, and she can't help but do that to others in her personal life. She didn't want to do that to Will especially if they were dating. Dating someone, even just having sex with them, opens up a vulnerable and different part of you that wouldn't necessarily be exposed otherwise. She knew she couldn't help but dissect him, and people tend to not appreciate being filleted opened by just existing (going to therapy for that purpose is different, and its something you seek out/pay for).

Will is especially sensitive to being psychoanalyzed, and he was growing more unstable as season 1 progressed. She knew it would ruin their friendship and professional relationship and romantic relationship if she pursued something more with Will. I think she cared more about him than he wanted to realize, because I think it was a good and smart choice to not get involved with him. It was the best choice imo.

She wanted him off murder crime scene field work because she was worried about him, because she knew enough about him that she knew it would be detrimental. She didn't want him to get too close and lose stability, lose himself. She was the first person to tell him Abigail was awake. She didn't just call him, she drove an hour to tell him in person and be there for him. She drove to Wolf Trap multiple times because Will called her to say "there is an animal on my property, can you help me find it?" and she went without question. She even went a second time after the first one had no evidence of anything. She broke down when she heard Will was arrested. The next thing she did was go and see him, and she was the first person to see him (on screen after his intake). She didn't want to believe he did it. All the evidence in the world, meticulously placed, was stacked miles high against him. It isn't unreasonable to think Will might be guilty; the evidence was there, he coughed up Abigail's ear and she was missing and her blood coated her Minnesota kitchen floor (again). He was unstable, losing time. She had him draw a clock to give him some hope and chance that even if it was him, he wasn't in his right place of mind, which could be used in his defense. She cared for all his dogs while he was away, and smiled and was happy to see him return home and to his dogs. Alana cared deeply for Will, and knew she would be a better friend and support system than girlfriend, and stuck by his side and was there for him as much as she possibly could.

From day one, she was his advocate. Even when talking to Hannibal, Will's therapist, she says "I don’t want information about Will I shouldn’t have as his friend" because she respects his space and his boundaries. If Will didn't tell her directly, it isn't her business to know. Even when Hannibal asked her why she didn't talk about Will before, she said she just wants everyone to leave him alone. Because she sees everyone pick and prod at him, psychoanalyze him, treat him like a test subject or a thing to study instead of a person. She treated him like a human being.

I don't blame her for not pursuing a relationship, because it is not what Will needed, it would have made him worse, and he needed her as a friend more than anything else. Also, he was just incredibly unstable!

Now, regarding Alana and Hannibal, they already had a history. They talked about how they knew each other when she was earning her degree, and that he was her mentor. They knew each other for years prior to her working for the FBI. The week Miriam went missing, Hannibal knew Jack would send someone and didn't want Alana to be sent (and thus have to hurt/kill her once she knew he was the Ripper), so he gave her another task interviewing PhD candidates. He cared about her, and didn't want to hurt her. He even makes a joke about how other people thought him and Alana were having an affair, and asked why they didn't pursue anything at the time.

Given that they already had history and, to everyone's belief, Hannibal was stable and normal. He was a working professional, attractive, kind, and funny. He worked meticulously to ensure his person suit was flawless and red-flag-free. There is no reason for her, or anyone, to suspect him of literally anything. (and before people go well isn't it obvious? no! because we are the audience! we see things the characters don't! he never ever makes it apparent he is a serial killer!) It makes sense why they got together. I also wouldn't consider it "easy and quick". They knew each other for years, getting your PhD in psychiatry can take 5 to 7 years. If he was her mentor that whole time, that's a long time. She would have learned a lot from him, and about him, and equally he about her. Then Hannibal was back in her life consulting for the FBI, whom she also worked with, and the spark was still there. It seemed like they wanted to before but didn't for various reasons. (In the script after the affair joke from Hannibal she said he was already having an affair, which I took to mean he was married to his job? or unknown hobby of murdering and didn't have as much time). It was also smart to not pursue it at the time given he was her mentor and there was a power dynamic. But in the show, they are colleagues and professional equals, so its fine.

Regarding feelings, I think Hannibal did care for Alana. He took steps to protect her (like having Miriam sent to look for the Ripper instead of Alana). I think he might have loved her, but he wasn't in love with her. He did want to spend time with her, and enjoyed her company, and enjoyed what they shared together. But ultimately, she didn't and couldn't accept him as he truly was, and she got in his way. Given how ruthless Hannibal is, the fact he even gave her the chance to put the gun down and walk away is of importance. When people try to hurt or kill him, Hannibal doesn't just let them do it or get another chance. He eliminates them if he can. He fights and fights dirty, because his only goal is to come out alive.

Yes, he emptied her gun of bullets to protect himself, but he still gave her a chance to walk away unscathed. She was heartbroken and angry and betrayed when she realized she was "so blind". And Hannibal literally said "in your defense, I worked very hard to blind you." and then told her she could continue to "stay blind. You can hide from this. Walk away. I'll make no plans to call on you." He gave her a literal once in a lifetime chance to know his truth, know who he truly is, and walk away alive. I don't think I can state just how huge that is. He cared a lot for her, and truly didn't want her to die. He wanted her to walk away and to never see him ever again. And as we learn later, he is good for his promises. I genuinely believe if she walked away at that time, she would have remained completely unharmed by him. However, he also warned her if she shot at him, he would kill her. If she declined his offer, and tried to hurt him, he would revert to his normal self and survive at all costs, and tear down anyone and anything standing in his way. (I don't at all blame her for trying to kill him, but ultimately that is what got her hurt).

To summarize: Will and Alana would have been a bad match that would have ultimately hurt Will ever more than he wanted to admit, and Alana was the bigger person and didn't pursue him even if part of her wanted to date him, too. Because she cared about him more than he cared about himself. Alana and Hannibal made sense as a couple because they had a long history that wasn't just academic casual, and he worked extremely hard to keep his truth from her. He cared enough about her to want to spare her life and safety multiple times, even betraying his selfish, self-preserving habits to give her a chance to walk away.

p.s. this is an alana supporting blog, please do not come to me with alana hate because idgaf <3

[sapphirerogers]

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

[betterbemeta]

Non-Bullshit Self-Affirmation Exercise

I'm nobody's therapist and I shouldn't be. But the world we're in is mentally damaging. Any world would be to some extent, and I understand different people have different experiences of the world. But whoever you are I think we can agree most environments we're in don't promote a good relationship with 'the self.'

I can't say 'you should like who you are' or 'you should think you have all these great virtues.' That isn't up to me. But whether you already 'like yourself' or 'are building yourself' or 'want to like a future self more' you can't do that easily if 'who you currently are' is passively eroded without relief.

And this can happen a lot of ways I think. Our responsibilities (school, job, etc.) don't value our authentic experiences but instead our 'performance' within a system. Our bodily needs and logistical realities can frame the practical steps to our care like a burden for ourselves or for others. We are constantly assaulted with external appeals to desire that disrespect our own effort to navigate those desires ourselves. And so much stuff can feel 'more important than ourselves' like, why is it relevant you're a person when immense choices jeopardize the future and the lives of collective humanity???

A lot of talk about 'self-care' is bastardized into like... 'giving yourself special treats' which often can tie in to a highly consumerist culture or self-destructive habits. And 'special treats' may feel irresponsible or like a waste of time in the face of our practical human problems. But the important part is not actually the 'treat', but that the context of the treat is yours. This is YOUR unique treat, that represents you, showing up for you.

And looking at yourself can feel embarrassing. But it's not a coincidence that the 'least cringe' position, least vulnerable position, is to erase yourself. But you're not superficial. And stating 'yourself' is not egotistical. It's the foundation for everything else that matters, and could matter about you to another person.

So like. Some self-affirmations. Not the type that's like, "I'm brave, I'm smart, I'm good, I'm worthy, I'm flexible," etc. I mean:

My favorite color is...

My favorite food is...

I remember a time when I felt, 'wow'...

When I speak, I am [loud, soft, wordy, brief, etc.]...

I am interested in...

People who are [X] inspire me...

I wish I was more...

I wish I was less...

When people meet me, I want them to feel...

My favorite animal is...

I like to spend a free afternoon doing...

I like my spaces to be...

The smell of [x] reminds me of...

When I daydream, the story is usually this type...

I think about these on-purpose maybe once a week.

Affirmations like these may seem childish, basic, frivolous compared to building 'successful habits' and routines. And those are useful, but they can only keep you moving forward through a harsh environment; relying fully on 'discipline' to carry on will put you on paths where an external default is affirmed and your authenticity will be overwritten.

Whether you are trying to become more confident, or trying to work on your self awareness, trying to 'hang in there,' trying to reconcile who you have to be at different parts of your life, trying to unblock your creativity, or if you're entering a new part of your life... even if you think you have yourself all figured out, I believe purposefully sitting down to think about these things will help you.

[notmorbid]

the vanishers.

dialogue prompts from the vanishers by heidi julavitz.

what happened to me could never happen to you. tell yourself that.

they told me it was all in my head.

you were a mother to me when no one else wanted the job.

why be fair? nobody's been fair to me.

you are all subtlety and whispers.

we were all in some form of love with ____.

in other words, i made shit up.

you really do look kind of dead.

i heard you'd been sick for a long time.

there's nothing you could tell me about yourself that i don't already know.

i recognize you now.

it might be good for you. a disruption to the given system.

according to ___, i'm pathologically territorial.

anything can appear meaningful, at a backward glance.

we are not that sort of people.

most meaningful sentiments are cheapened by articulation.

how would i know, if you never told me?

i am, though. sorry.

i don't hide things from you on purpose.

i practice a no attachment policy. i am all business.

it's no big deal to be used by strangers. it's when you're used by people you know that life becomes unfathomable.

don't worry. your life is about to get better.

when you're ready to fight, give me a call.

what was your authorial intent?

i don't know if i'd call it a career. more of an inspired hobby.

we could be of mutual use to one another.

anything you divulge can be used against you.

i don't go where i'm not invited.

everyone has vulnerabilities. everyone has a weak spot.

when will you stare your sad life in the face?

revenge is not a compelling therapeutic goal.

hate is a form of emotional attachment.

maybe that's your problem. thinking it can be understood.

to forget is to respect the past.

you must have missed yourself.

your good intentions mean nothing.

the past is not past if it is always present.

memory is an act of murder.

i'm an expert at ruining people's lives. it's the one talent i possess.

you might learn things you wish you hadn't.

in some cases, a lie can be more valuable than the truth.

people can be remarkably thoughtless.

tell me why you don't love me.

you are such a parasite.

anything i have of my mother's, i've had to steal.

i know better than to ask anything of you.

what does someone have to do for you to classify them as a monster?

your emotions are like water. they pour onto the people around you.

i tried to say i was sorry.

you're doomed to fail because you're too scared to try.

disappearing isn't very hard when no one is looking for you.

there's no need to be sorry. that's why i don't tell people.

to think i've been afraid of this. to think i've been afraid of you.

come. i'm not going to hurt you.

do you believe i saw a ____?

you really do look like shit.

were you trying not to be found?

i should lie to you, but i don't know you well enough.

to heal is to entomb forever the sickness.

i'm going home, wherever that is.

what good has running away ever done?

there is no knowing the truth from ____.

some people have no taste.

you deserve to have every ounce of marrow sucked from your bones by a hummingbird.

i am not too scared to try.

i want, more than anything, not to be alone.

i'm glad you understand. maybe you can make me understand.

you think i need a massage therapist? what i need is a gun.

it's important to remember that those commit murder are not making smart choices.

i am my mother's daughter. you should be worried.

we don't want people to talk more than they're already going to.

winter in new england is always coming.

sometimes you can resolve the unresolvable by accepting it as unresolvable.

so you're not looking to get better?

reasons are for the survivors. they do the dead no good.

'good health' means being unaware of one's health.

i'm sorry. i can't ever seem to tell you what you want to hear.

don't worry about what i want to hear. tell me what you want me to know.

what you want a person to know is often the last thing you want a person to know.

there's so much i can't tell you. no matter how much i want to.

people overestimate the value of expression.

blame is the cord you can never sever.