#Best Parenting Style Assessment

[respicitecareer]

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[auren-zagarra]

not sure if this counts as a analysis or kink analysis??? But what do you think about Riddle "mom issues" becoming a "mommy kink"

To me I personally dont see it but curious about your take on it

Riddle Rosehearts: Maternal Attachment and Fetishistic Dynamics

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Riddle Rosehearts, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation. Also, just to clarify—I am not a sexologist. My area of expertise is in clinical psychology. While I don’t professionally endorse Freud’s Oedipus complex theory, I’ve included it here given the nature of the ask and its thematic relevance - discussing both the maternal fetish and the "mommy kink". MDNI.

Riddle Rosehearts is a character who epitomizes authoritarian rule-following. His profile emphasizes that he has a “strong commitment to maintaining order,” enforcing even trivial rules and punishing any infraction. He is highly perfectionistic and devoted to his studies, becoming irritable when challenged.

In his backstory, Riddle was raised by a single, unnamed mother in the strict Queendom of Roses. From early childhood she taught him how to be a powerful magic user and “controlled every aspect of Riddle’s life” – dictating his clothing, diet, friendships, and study schedule. This upbringing made Riddle extremely obedient to authority (mirroring the Queen of Hearts’ edicts) and left him with few friends or free-time experiences. In short, Riddle is characterized by rigid self-discipline and a harsh maternal influence from a young age.

Maternal Relationship and Childhood Trauma:

Riddle’s relationship with his mother can best be described as authoritarian and emotionally harsh. As the Twisted Wonderland biography notes, his mother “controlled every aspect” of his life and insisted on constant study, even forbidding simple pleasures (like sweets). On one documented occasion, Riddle ate a strawberry tart while sneaking out to play with friends – only to be caught by his mother and “dragged back home.” She “harshly scolded and reprimanded” him for disobedience, crying and begging notwithstanding, and then further restricted his freedom (even banning his friends from visiting). These episodes illustrate a childhood of emotional abuse and neglect: Riddle had no privacy or autonomy, and any small deviation (like playing or tasting a treat) was met with severe punishment. Such chronic maternal control is a form of developmental trauma. Psychological research shows that childhood emotional abuse and neglect can have profound long-term effects. Trauma studies report that maltreatment – especially persistent emotional abuse – is associated with a “wide range of long-term adverse health and developmental outcomes”, including anxiety, depression and other psychopathology.

In Riddle’s case, growing up under fear of his mother likely produced chronic stress and anxiety. Furthermore, attachment theory suggests Riddle’s maternal bond was insecure. Bowlby’s theory and decades of research indicate that when caregivers are inconsistent or harsh, children often develop insecure attachment styles. For example, if a parent is physically present but emotionally hostile (as in Riddle’s case), the child may become anxiously attached: perpetually worried about abandonment yet fearful of displeasing the parent. Indeed, Cleveland Clinic reviews note that infants whose caregivers are “less attentive” tend to have difficulty forming healthy relationships later.

In Riddle’s behavior, we see echoes of an anxious/resistant attachment: he urgently seeks his mother’s approval, fears punishment (crying and begging for forgiveness), and later in life he rigidly seeks order (perhaps to preempt any disapproval). In sum, Riddle’s childhood under a domineering mother was psychologically traumatic and would foster an insecure, anxious attachment style

Fetish: Definition and Psychological Theory

In psychological scholarship, a fetish is not a general obsession but a specific type of sexual fixation. Encyclopedic sources define fetishism as a sexual interest focused on an inanimate object or a body part that is not normally considered sexual. In other words, a fetish involves requiring a non-genital object (such as clothing, shoes, or a particular material) or a non-sexual body feature (feet, hair, etc.) for sexual arousal. According to clinical nosology, fetishistic behaviors qualify as a paraphilic disorder only when they cause significant distress or impairment. Otherwise, a mild fetish (e.g. a shoe or foot fetish) may be a benign sexual preference.

Common fetish objects cited in research include shoes, lingerie, rubber or leather, and specific body parts (notably female undergarments or hair). Historically, sexologists Krafft-Ebing and Ellis noted in the 19th century that fetishistic interests often arise from learned associations in childhood.

Fetish vs. Kink: Definitions and Distinctions:

The DSM‑5 defines fetishistic disorder as recurrent, intense sexual arousal from nonliving objects or specific nongenital body parts, to the point of causing distress or impairment. In common usage, a fetish often implies that the person needs that object or scenario for arousal. By contrast, a kink is a broader, colloquial term for any non‑normative sexual interest or practice – especially within BDSM or role‑play contexts. Kinks include a wide range of activities (bondage, power exchange, role‑play, etc.) that go “beyond conventional sexual practices” and are not inherently disordered. Importantly, modern clinical views emphasize that neither kinks nor fetishes are pathological unless they cause the person significant distress or harm.

Fetish (sexual): a focused sexual fixation on an inanimate object or body part (e.g. shoes, feet) that may be necessary for arousal. DSM‑5 regards this as a disorder only if it persists for at least 6 months and causes serious psychosocial problems.

Kink (sexual): any consensual, unconventional sexual behavior or fantasy (often involving power dynamics or role‑play) that enhances pleasure but is not required. Kinks are not defined in diagnostic manuals and are generally considered normal variants.

Overlap/Distinction: A given behavior can be both a fetish and a kink depending on its role for the person. One clinician notes that fetishes are kinks that an individual finds indispensable, whereas kinks in general are optional interests one can “take or leave”. In short, fetishes tend to be more specific fixations while kinks describe a broad spectrum of atypical sexual interests. (Both are considered non‑pathological forms of sexual expression unless causing dysfunction).

Psychoanalytic Perspectives on Maternal Fetishes:

A “maternal fetish” – i.e. an erotic fixation on the mother – is not a standard category in modern psychology, but it can be discussed via psychodynamic theory. Freud’s classic Oedipus complex is directly relevant: it posits that during the phallic stage (about ages 3–6), a boy develops unconscious sexual desire for his mother and rivalry with his father. Normally this Oedipal phase is resolved by the boy identifying with his father and repressing incestuous impulses. However, if the Oedipus complex is not fully resolved, one could imagine a lasting maternal fixation. Britannica succinctly defines the Oedipus complex as the child’s “possessive sexual desires for their opposite-sex parent,” which are supposed to be overcome in healthy development. In psychoanalytic terms, an unresolved Oedipus might leave a man with an enduring, possibly unconscious, erotic attraction to the mother.

Freud also formulated theories of fetishism in general: he considered fetishes as defense mechanisms against castration anxiety, often involving overvaluation of a substitute object. In this framework, a fetish functions symbolically (e.g. the fetish object represents the lost phallus). Some analysts have suggested that a fetish might grow out of an intense early attachment; for instance, if a boy unconsciously equates a favorite maternal item (like her shoe or dress) with sexual pleasure, that object can become fetishized. More broadly, fetishistic interests usually originate in childhood or adolescence when sexual feelings first emerge. A “maternal fetish” specifically could be viewed as an extreme case: the mother (a human figure) becomes the focus of erotic fantasy. Psychoanalytic literature warns that such incestuous fixations are outside healthy development; some older theories even regarded fetishism as a way to disavow uncomfortable aspects of the maternal image. While mainstream psychology lacks empirical studies on “mother fetishes” per se, theorists would typically interpret them through the lens of unresolved Oedipal conflict and early conditioning.

The “Mommy Kink”:

A “mommy kink” generally describes a sexual role‑play in which one partner assumes a dominant, maternal persona (“mommy”) and the other takes on a younger, more submissive or childlike role. Psychologically, this can be seen as a form of eroticized caregiver/child dynamics. People report various appeals: nurturing comfort, authority, or even gentle humiliation under a maternal figure. For example, some participants say that playing the “mommy” role provides a “sense of safety” and allows the submissive partner to feel “small and cared for” while also experiencing the dominant’s authority. Others describe craving the “nurturing nature” of a mother figure they felt was lacking in childhood. In academic terms, mommy kink is related to age‑play or parental roleplay within BDSM, and is not inherently pathological when practiced consensually by adults. Psychological theories that might be invoked include:

Psychoanalytic (Oedipal) Roots: Freudian theory posits an unconscious desire in early childhood for the opposite‑sex parent (the Oedipus/Electra complex). If an individual’s psychosexual development were fixated at that stage, they might later eroticize maternal images. While modern psychology does not treat Freudian complexes as literal determinants, the idea suggests that early maternal bonds can influence adult eroticism.

Attachment Theory: John Bowlby’s attachment framework emphasizes that early mother‑child bonding shapes later relationships. Individuals with insecure attachments (anxious or avoidant) to caregivers often carry those dynamics into adulthood. For example, someone anxiously attached to a cold or neglectful mother might subconsciously seek out maternal figures to fulfill unmet emotional needs. In lay terms, “mommy issues” can involve an adult seeking partners like their mother. Thus, an adult might fetishize a caregiver role if they yearn for a maternal sense of safety.

Dominance/Submissive Dynamics: In BDSM psychology, the “mommy” figure is usually a form of Dominant or caregiver, while the “little” is Submissive. The appeal can be partly power exchange: the submissive feels guided and disciplined by a maternal dominatrix, which some find erotic. Participants report that dual feelings of comfort and intimidation under a maternal dom (as noted by a professional dominatrix) can be especially potent.

Coping and Role‑play: Some theorize that such kinks may serve as a coping mechanism or fantasy to replay childhood dynamics in a controlled, consensual way. If someone lacked nurturing or experienced trauma, the role‑play might symbolically provide care. However, systematic studies show that kink practitioners do not generally have higher rates of childhood abuse than others, suggesting that mommy kinks are not simply “trauma responses” but rather complex fantasies or preferences.

In summary, a “mommy kink” is best understood as a form of consensual role‑play or fetish involving maternal imagery. Its psychological underpinnings draw on attachment needs (seeking care), developmental imprinting (unconscious attraction to parental figures), and BDSM power dynamics. Notably, participants emphasize emotional themes (care, praise, discipline) rather than literal sexual abuse of minors. Therapists today view such kinks as within the spectrum of normal adult sexuality when consensual

Likelihood of a Maternal Fetish in Riddle Rosehearts:

Assessing Riddle’s profile against these theories, a maternal fetish seems unlikely. On one hand, his intense upbringing did center on the mother, and Freud might note the absence of a father could leave maternal attachments unchallenged. However, all available evidence points away from any eroticizing of the maternal figure. Riddle’s experience of his mother was predominantly negative (she punished him for play or treats), instilling fear and guilt rather than comfort or sexual attraction. For example, after Riddle was caught with the strawberry tart, he “begged and cried to his mom to forgive him” – a response of submission and anxiety, not of romantic longing. His emotional bond is anxious/dependent rather than affectionate or erotic. Moreover, Riddle’s own behavior shows no signs of unusual sexual interest in his mother. He has internalized his mother’s moral code so strongly that he “considers his values to be morally right no matter what”. In other words, his psyche is dominated by duty and fear of wrongdoing, consistent with a highly punitive superego (internalized maternal voice). Paradoxically, such a rigid conscience is more likely to suppress taboo fantasies than to foster them. Empirical trauma research supports this: children raised by punitive caregivers typically develop anxiety and hypervigilance, not fetishistic arousal. Studies show that early emotional abuse leads to anxiety, depression, and relationship difficulties – outcomes congruent with Riddle’s anxious demeanor, but not with any erotic preoccupation. In fact, Riddle channels his fixation on rules and study rather than sexuality. In summary, although psychoanalytic theory allows for the possibility of lingering Oedipal feelings, the content of Riddle’s childhood suggests a maternal fetish is not realistic. He lacks the nurturing, affectionate context that might give rise to erotic fantasy; instead, his memories of his mother involve domination and punishment. His attachment appears anxious and fearful, which typically produces compliance or rebellion, not erotic fixation on the caregiver. Thus, based on his personality and history, Riddle is far more likely to carry an exaggerated superego and social anxiety than to develop a maternal fetish. In evidence-based psychological terms, the hallmark features of fetish development (positive early associations with the object of desire, sexual conditioning) are absent in Riddle’s case, so a maternal fetish would be a highly improbable outcome.

Assessing the “Mommy Kink”:

Given this background, several points argue against Riddle having a mommy kink as well:

Lack of Maternal Nurturing: Riddle’s mother was a disciplinarian, not a caregiver who offered affectionate comfort. The typical “mommy kink” fantasy emphasizes feelings of being comforted or praised by a mother figure. Riddle’s lived experience was the opposite – he begged to be treated kindly and was rebuffed (his tears and pleas in childhood went unheard). Psychologically, one would expect that a fetish or kink develops around what was missing (e.g. idealized care) rather than what was unpleasant. There is no indication Riddle idealizes maternal kindness; instead, he mimics maternal strictness.

Role Identification: Rather than remaining in a submissive “child” role, Riddle grew up aspiring to be an enforcer of rules. He essentially became a smaller version of his mother – a young authority figure himself. From a psychoanalytic perspective, Riddle may have resolved any Oedipal tension by identifying with the parental role (similar to how he became a “little Queen” in effect). This suggests his erotic or relational scripts would favor dominance and rule‑making over submission to a maternal authority.

Attachment and Autonomy: An adolescent who has internalized a fear of his mother’s disapproval might develop an avoidant or anxious attachment style. Riddle exhibits anxious‑compliant behavior (studying obsessively to please her), which later translates into a rigid work ethic. Such individuals often crave acceptance but may express it through achievement rather than dependency. In adult relationships, Riddle might seek admiration and deference (his way of earning “approval”) rather than comfort. In other words, he is less likely to seek maternal care and more likely to demonstrate maturity and control.

Alternative Interpretation: Psychological Indicators Supporting a “Mommy Kink” in Riddle Rosehearts:

While Riddle Rosehearts canonically exhibits traits of rigidity, control, and internalized authoritarianism, there are also plausible psychological arguments that could support a headcanon of him developing a “mommy kink” in adulthood. This interpretation draws on psychodynamic, attachment, and trauma-related frameworks to assess how early childhood experiences may influence erotic preferences later in life.

Unresolved Childhood Yearning for Affection: Although Riddle’s mother was cold and punitive, he demonstrably longed for warmth and acceptance. His emotional reaction to small pleasures—such as secretly eating a tart or crying when scolded—suggests deep emotional deprivation during critical developmental years. In psychodynamic theory, unmet needs can be eroticized later in life as the mind seeks symbolic compensation. A maternal role-play could offer a controlled environment where Riddle re-experiences the maternal presence—not in its traumatic form, but reimagined as warm, validating, and affectionate. This aligns with concepts from object relations theory, which propose that individuals internalize both idealized and punitive images of their caregivers. A “mommy kink” might thus emerge from a fusion of unmet longing and power dynamics—a way to reclaim control over a past that once left him helpless.

Kink as a Mechanism of Psychological Reversal:  In trauma psychology, erotic reversal is a concept wherein individuals transform distressing experiences into controlled, pleasurable ones. Clinical literature in BDSM studies suggests that role-play involving dominant parental figures may serve as a reparative fantasy. For Riddle, consensual maternal-dominant role-play might allow him to process and symbolically “re-write” his childhood narrative: he is now choosing the maternal figure, receiving structured affection, and experiencing rule-enforcement in a safe, affirming way. This theory also draws on mastery repetition—the idea that people sometimes repeat early traumas in new contexts in order to master them emotionally. A maternal kink might thus offer Riddle an outlet to safely engage with the themes of discipline, love, and approval that once hurt him.

Submissive Traits Under Control-Oriented Mask:  Despite his authoritarian behavior, Riddle frequently displays signs of underlying vulnerability and fear of rejection—hallmarks of an anxious-preoccupied attachment style. His need to follow rules, gain recognition, and suppress emotion may be defense mechanisms against feelings of inadequacy instilled by his mother. In adulthood, such individuals may be drawn to caregiver-dominant dynamics in which they can temporarily surrender the burden of control. A “mommy kink,” in this case, would allow Riddle to engage with a nurturing-yet-structured authority figure who guides and praises him—precisely what he was denied as a child. Research on kink communities confirms that submissive individuals often seek emotional containment through structured power exchange, especially when they come from high-control or emotionally deprived backgrounds.

Regressive Coping and the Desire to Be Cared For: Another explanation comes from the idea of regression under stress. Highly rigid, perfectionistic individuals—like Riddle—often experience psychological exhaustion or breakdowns when they can no longer meet their self-imposed standards. In adulthood, this can manifest as an intense desire to temporarily surrender control, sometimes through erotic or emotional regression. The “mommy kink” can fulfill this need by allowing a controlled, adult-safe form of being cared for, disciplined, and forgiven.

Conclusion:

Based on his canonical profile, Riddle Rosehearts does not fit the pattern of someone with a “mommy kink.” His strict upbringing under an authoritarian mother seems to have instilled in him a desire for control and perfection, not a craving to be cared for or disciplined by a maternal figure. His psychological development emphasizes rule‑following and self‑discipline rather than maternal submission or infantilism. In summary, Riddle’s personality and history suggest he would be highly unlikely to manifest a mommy‑role sexual fetish; instead, he embodies the authority he once feared.

However, while canon Riddle Rosehearts internalizes his mother’s strictness and presents as a rigid authority figure, a psychological reading allows room for a nuanced alternative. Based on established psychological theory—including attachment dynamics, trauma repetition, and kink psychology—it is plausible that Riddle might develop a maternal-dominant kink in adulthood as a way to fulfill unmet emotional needs, explore repressed desires, and process early emotional deprivation.

Simply put, I don’t personally think Riddle fits the criteria—but that doesn’t mean the headcanon comes out of nowhere. It can be justified; I just find it a bit unlikely in his case.

[jhkfan123]

big shot | coriolanus snow

pairing: fem!reader x academy!snow

in which: y/n has just transferred to the academy for her final year of school. and better yet, her childhood best friend coriolanus snow was there too. but what she didn't know was that in the time she hadn't been there, he had become somewhat of an "uptight asshole." and that should not have been as appealing as it was.

warnings: slight angst, non-con kiss

wc: 2.3k

you were somewhat excited for your first day at the academy. the only other prestigious school you had been at was practically on the other side of the capitol. your family recommended you switch to the capitol for your last year so you could commute easier.

you hadn't made enough friends at your other school to decline. besides, you really wanted more sleep. so the first day you suited up in your bright red academy uniform, styled your hair just the way you liked it, and prepared for an entire new crowd.

when your driver dropped you off, no heads turned, no one approached you, no one even recognized you were a new student. figured. it was the first day back. people greeted their friends, and besides, the academy didn't usually accept new students past 9th grade. your father had to commission an entire new building just for your acceptance.

but you didn't really care about making new friends. not today, at least. who you really needed to track down was coriolanus snow. you had known the boy your entire life. the two of you had even looked out for each other during the war, as kids.

to say the two of you were "close" was an understatement. the two of you knew everything about each other. your parents had brought you two together right before the war started. you were four when you met, five when the war started, and eight when it ended. luckily, coming from wealth, you were very well protected.

the snow's however, weren't as lucky. after the death of coriolanus's father, their money became less prolific. your family helped them out every way you could but they insisted they would deal with it by themselves.

however, you hadn't seen coriolanus in a few years. he was shipped off to the academy, and you to panem prepatory, the two of you both began to drown in schoolwork. it was hard to see eachother. and then, he stopped trying. stopped sending letters.

you didn't know why. maybe school caught up to him. maybe money. maybe his family didn't want him spending precious money on something as frivolous and stamps and letters. and that you could understand. but you weren't 100% confident that was his reason.

you had gone unnoticed in the time before your first period. however it became increasingly evident when you entered your first class. the girls in the class turned their heads as you walked in. you plopped yourself down near the girls.

"who are you?" you heard. you turned your head and matched the voice to a girl with dark black hair.

"i'm y/n. i'm new. i'm from panem prep." she looked curious.

"new? the academy doesn't accept new students." she laughed. the girls around her followed in her footsteps.

"they must have really liked me." you turned your whole body towards her now. "what's you name?" you asked. she turned to her friends on either side of her before responding.

"clemensia dovecote." she extended her hand and you shook it, firmly.

"nice to meet you." it truly wasn't. she had been snobby, but she wasn't going to say it. you turned back towards the front of the classroom and assembled everything you needed. a few of the boys introduced themselves to you, eagerly. they all seemed to be fascinated with the concept of a new student.

the boys immediately began bothering you. you turned your back to them when you finally saw him walk in. a smile formed on your face as coriolanus walked into the classroom. clearly rushed and clearly late, he stopped in his tracks when he saw you. you smiled at him. he didn't smile, but just looked at you for a moment, as if he was assessing if you were really there. he was cut off when the teacher entered behind him and he was forced to find his seat.

you had no idea he would be in any of your classes. but here he was, in your first class. the boy you had grown up with. your focus was drawn back when the teacher got everyone's attention.

"alright settle down. welcome back from break and get ready for your final year at the academy. it will be vigorous, but rewarding. and remember, the plinth prize will be awarded at the end of this year." she made eye contact with a boy with curly hair sat above you. she paused for a moment before continuing, as if to think. "oh! i almost forgot. everyone this is y/n. she's a...new student. please make her feel welcome." she nodded at you as if you needed to be identified. everyone had noticed. there were a few nods around the classroom and she began the lesson.

you watched as coriolanus took a seat next to that boy with curly hair. he had earlier introduced himself to you as sejanus. he seemed kind enough. you faced the front of the classroom and focused on the lesson.

but it certainly was hard. the one glimpse you got at coriolanus was enough to realize his outside appearance had changed. he had grown up. no longer the scrawny early-teens boy you had known a few years ago. he had put on some muscle, and looked older overall. something about him had changed. maybe it was the way his hair had grown out and now fell just below his eyebrow. maybe it was the way the red uniform he wore made his eyes stand out.

maybe you had changed. you had only ever seen him as a friend. but something about this new look made you feel things you hadn't felt about him before. safe to say you couldn't wait to talk to him.

the professor droned on about grades and attendence, projects and due dates for an hour before she finally dismissed you. looking up at the clock, you realized you had only a few minutes to get across the campus to get to your second class. talking to coriolanus was going to have to wait.

you slithered through the people crowding the hallways and made your way to your second class. hoping he was in this class too, you looked around the classroom right until the bell rung. you had come to the conclusion that he was not. which made this class much, much longer.

you had to ask around to find out where the cafeteria was, when you found out you made your way there swiftly. you were so excited to talk to coriolanus. the boy you had known now all grown up into some different man. his looks had changed, at least. you hoped he hadn't.

it was easy to spot him in the crowd. you made your way towards him but stopped when you realized the amount of people he was talking to. it felt rude to interrupt the group.

you had never known him to be very popular. he was always the shy, scrawny boy in the corner of the cafeteria. but now he was surrounded.

surrounded by clemensia, a girl who had introduced herself as arachne, a few of the boys who had introduced themselves, and more. instead of interrupting, you tried to signal for him. you positioned yourself in his line of sight and hoped he would notice you. he looked up for a moment. you waved at him, to which he simply quickly nodded and looked back down.

you felt, discarded. it was odd. you hadn't seen him in so many years and he just nodded you off? you didn't like it at all.

"hey! do you want to sit with me at lunch?" you heard. you turned around to find livia cardew, a girl who had been in both your morning classes. she was much nicer than all the other girls. you smiled and accepted, hoping she would be able from distract you from the disappointing interaction you had just run into.

you got lunch and sat next to her.

"hey, what can you tell me about coriolanus?" you asked her. she looked where you had been looking, at coryo.

"oh, him? he's quite cute isn't he?" she smiled. "what about him?"

"what's he like?" you asked. if her story matched up with the one in your head, you would have nothing to worry about.

"well, he's always talking with those people. they are so uptight. think they're better than everyone." she answered. that was not the coriolanus you knew.

"wait, slow down. coriolanus is like that, or the people he hangs out with?" you tried to deny what she was telling you.

"it's the same, isn't it?" she responded, digging into her lunch.

you made an effort to track down coriolanus afterschool, no matter the cost. the fact that you hadn't spoken to him all day was unacceptable. he had been in two of your classes, and not a word.

making your way through the hallways, you located him by himself for once. you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to face you.

"coryo what the hell!" you scolded. he looked at you with surprise, as if it wasn't odd he was acting like this.

"y/n, hi. what are you doing here?" he responded, a "smile" on his face.

"seriously. long story short, i transferred schools, now can we talk?" you asked. his smile dropped.

"come with me." you held your grip on his arm as he dragged you into a quiet room. he shut the door behind the two of you.

"are you embarrassed of me or something?" you got straight to the point. if something was up, you were going to figure it out.

"what?" he asked.

"oh my g- coriolanus, i was in two of your classes, tried to get your attention at lunch, and still, you haven't spoken to me all day, and you barely acknowledged me at first period and lunch. " you explained your day to him as if he wasn't there for most of it.

"look, i was just talking to my friends at lunch, i barely even computed that it was you-"

"your uptight friends? your friends who think they are better than everyone?" you cut him off. he was silent for a moment.

"uptight? they aren't better than everyone. " he blatantly responded.

"that's not what livia cardew told me."

"livia cardew? don't listen to her." he rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"look at you. who even are you anymore?" you interrogated. the old snow would have never talked about someone like that.

"i'm the same person as before." he seemed to have taken your comment to heart.

"no you're not. i really missed you, and i was excited to come to this school and see you again. i really was. but you barely acknowledged my existence the whole day and you were standing around with your rich friends, as if you are one of them. do they think you're rich or something?"

"yes they do. they have too." he quickly argued.

"why?" you questioned. you couldn't believe he was putting on this fake outer appearance for the entire world.

"i have an image to uphold. for my family." his reason was nonsensical.

"coryo, that image died 11 years ago with your father, we both know that-"

"yeah, but they don't. you, and your family, are the only people who know any differently. i intend to keep it that way." he spoke with his chest.

"look, snow, i'm not going to ruin your public image or anything, but i can't believe who you've become. when i saw you in the first class, i noticed your outer change, your hair, your body, everything. hell, i even thought you were cute for a second. but that was before i realized what an uptight asshole you'd become. you had to become such a big shot didn't you? you need this attention? " he seemed to have completely ignored your insult and lingered on your, compliment?

"you thought i was cute?" he raised one side of his mouth into a tiny smirk.

"yeah, past tense, let's move on." you brushed it off, but he hadn't.

"no, no. y/n. my entire life i've known you and you had never admitted to ever liking me. ever. no matter how many hints i dropped that i liked you, you never gave me anything back, and now, you just reciprocate and move on?" you froze at his comment. liked you? it was disgusting. he can't act like he doesen't know you and admit he liked you in the same day.

"if you think that i still find you attractive after the way you'd treated me today you're crazy." you shooed him off.

"then call me crazy." he walked forward and pulled you into a kiss. you gasped with no time to react before he trapped you with his lips. he kissed you with a hunger and a passion you hadn't even seen in the movies.

you didn't know he could kiss like that. your brain told you to shove him away but your body disobeyed. you stayed put as he continued to kiss you. you hated every second of it but you couldn't move. at least, you thought you hated it. you would have moved if you hated it. you would have moved if you didn't really want this, if there wasn't some, wrong, part of you that needed this.

it felt so wrong to embrace that small part of you. but you needed too. that one moment of the day where you wanted him was getting it's satisfaction.

you wrapped your arms around him. why you did that? you weren't sure. you finally came to your senses and pulled away. not only that, you backed away from him.

"why would you do that." you looked to him, he was still collecting himself.

"you kissed back." was his only response. he wasn't wrong, and you hated that.

"i-i didn't mean too." you whispered. you heard a laugh from him. the whole situation confused you. you should not have let that last the entire minute it had.

"you don't accidentally kiss someone back."

taglist: @mischieftom

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

YOUR VANGUARD VAGGIE IS WONDERFUL I DEFINITELY WANNA USE IT TO WRITE WITH IF THATS OK

do whatever u like, oh anon. everything i post here is for sharing <3

anyway have i mentioned i love that vaggie's weapon is a spear. i love that her weapon is a spear

vaggie is exactly the kinda practical, pragmatic, kill kill kill lady who'd say no thanks to the "cool" weapons like swords (coughcouchlutecouch) and go for something works best with the people around her (group of spears for the win) while helping her specifically (short lady equips weapon with Reach) and that just makes me feeeeeel she'd be not just GOOD at heading into a fight first to assess things and clear the way, but also tactically minded enough (cough cough the manager mindset cough) to sign up for that so she can be SURE it gets done right and

good character weapon choice in media means a lot to me... i love it

LIKE LOOK AT CHARLIE TOO!!! HER WEAPON!!!!!!!

when she's calm she chooses a shield so she can protect and deflect (call out to her emotional issues of not dealing with her own) without causing lethal HARM

but the moment she's pissed and hurt and wants to HURT SOMEONE, she calls up a TRIDENT

you can say "she's a demon princess of hell of course she's have a trident it's iconic traditional shorthand for demon weapon" and YES THAT'S TRUE but also, in real life, tridents WERE used as weapons! Where????

in entertainment. by gladiators. who used fun and unusual weapons and weapon combos as part of putting on a Good Show

meaning theater bi charlie who loves breaking into broadway musical style songs while dancing her way down the streets of hell is, even at her most murder-y and dangerous, is STILL thematically tied to her parents' shared vibe of public performance and entertainment

(lucy boy with his carnival land and lilith with her singing)

and HER weapon isn't a choice of what's easiest to fight with or kill with, oh no. it's intimidation. it's for catching someone's weapon on. it's pinning someone down (so they will LISTEN). it's a PROP

a prop she fully stabbed a guy with but yeah, you know. as it goes

even chaggie's WEAPONS both match AND contrast each other! that's so COOL!!!

both have polearms, one for efficient killing especially in a group, one for NOT killing while usually in a one-on-one fight, they are stabby stabby girlfriends who's characters are sooooooo well matched by their choice of stabby tools lg;;kakgk;gkkfgkd;k;e ARGHHGHGH

I DERAILED THIS REPLY BECAUSE OF THEM. LOVEE THEM

[kuroochako]

singers + lovers to exes to lovers jaith au 🔥🔥🔥 made in collaboration with @im-an-emotea

okay so i got the idea for this au listening to Leonard & Marianne by Bastille on repeat so give that a listen maybe 😇

the song is important for a scene that happens kinda late in the story (also there’s not really a story. i’m not good at this help) AND i also have a playlist for this au 🔥song suggestions are welcome

THIS GOT VERY LONG I DIDNT MEAN FOR IT TO BE SO LONG IM SORRY I UNDERSTAND IF U DONT WANT TO READ ALL THAT 😭🙏

also i’m getting so self conscious now that i’ve written it all out sorry if this sucks :/ this is what’s in my brain i guess…

Keith and James are around 17-18ish, they’re both just starting out their career in music and recently released their first projects with two kinda famous recording companies. As it happens, the media is immediately putting them against each other, comparing their sales, sound, image (idk you get it.) because they both have a young audience, so without even knowing each other there’s this kind of “rivalry” already established between the two for that short period.

James has been studying music for his whole life (singing and piano+guitar), and i think his parents probably are famous musicians (not singers tho) that pushed for him to study music when they noticed he was good. They didn’t really expect him to end up persuing a “pop star” career but they had the connections, they could make it happen. I think his label initially wanted to stick him in a boyband (1D style) but he ended up solo, so they sorted out a Justin Bieber kinda thing for him (sorry Jamie you have a pretty face the pre-teen girls will go crazy for you) [also sorry i was never into boybands or justin bieber and the like so idk if it makes sense i’m working with what i saw online 💀]

Keith of course has his signature raw talent (his voice is insane) that carries him with the minimal training that his agency made him go through while recording and before releasing. His sound is very different from James’ but is still marketed towards a young audience, think more punk/emo [i also don’t know anything about this.]

His parents situation? I think both dad and mom are alive and well (for my sanity) but they have nothing to do with music. They’ve always supported Keith’s passion and got him a guitar and lessons when he was little, he’s been playing and writing on his own since he was a kid, probably put some of his songs on soundcloud as a teen and tiktok too probably, which is how he blew up and got noticed (by shiro of course).

So, when they both release music with their agencies they get interested in the other because of the media pressure and end up thinking “damn, this guy is good.” while their initial assessment was more like “who does he even think he is”, and of course keep in mind they’re both the primary writer and composer for the majority of their songs, which is why they got interested in the first place.

They meet at an award show and basically spend all night talking because, after a rather awkward introduction, they both felt instantly captivated by the other. There’s some teasing but mostly they talk about their connection to music, process, visions, ideas and the like. Not sure if they win anything that night but at some point Keith proposes to ditch and go “have fun” somewhere else and James (reluctantly) agrees, because yk he’s a stickler for the rules and doesn’t want to get yelled at but Keith was much too fascinating to him to end their conversation so soon (and didn’t want Keith to think he was a loser).

So they spend all night together (until dawn) walking around and talking and even end up making out a little… (horny teenagers)

They end up getting together at around 18-19, they write together, release songs together, their fanbases go Crazy for them, they’re an It couple to anyone 20 and under

But their relationship is a little rocky, they’re in love but aren’t the best at communicating, they get jealous, they both have explosive personalities, they argue a lot (but still stay together for years) and don’t really talk about it after, just “forgive” each other and move on.

I know this isn’t the best but yk. When they’re not arguing they’re amazing. That’s what keeps them together. And their music.

They have So Many songs together, and even for their own original projects they help each other out and are credited on a lot of them.

The good parts overshadow the bad ones and so they stay together until they’re 22. Codependency goes brrr.

That’s when worse comes to worst. They have a Big Fight at their apartment one night and go to bed without resolving. Keith decides that night that he’s done and packs up his things while James is asleep. He gets in his car and literally drives away to the other side of the country. No notes, no texts, nothing. Just packs and leaves. Not the ideal way to break up with your boyfriend of 4 years but you know. It was an impulsive decision, and when he really got to think about it with a clear mind he was already hours away, so he decides to stick with it and “move on”. Except he doesn’t, he can’t.

[also. i’m very sorry. idk what the fight is about 💀 worst writer in the world i know. suggestions are welcome from someone with relationship experience (or not)]

James notices Keith’s gone the next morning but doesn’t think too much of it because Keith’s done that before, until he notices that all of his stuff is gone too. So he calls Keith. Over and over again. But he doesn’t pick up. He sends a thousand texts, keeps calling, calls Shiro (he answers, but he has no idea where Keith is either). He gives up that night when Keith finally blocks him.

Cue the bad coping mechanisms. They both disappear from the public scene for a while. They’re both miserable. James smokes way too many cigarettes and Keith ghosts all his friends and spends his days drinking and angrily playing guitar.

The break lasts 3 years, during which they do try to move on but really can’t. They “date” other people - Keith goes out with a lot of guys that resemble James (both physically and personality wise, yes he has a type) but it never works out because they’re either assholes or boring or try to talk shit about James (he can’t stand that, he still loves him), while James doesn’t really stick to the Keith theme and dates just about anyone, but keeps thinking of him and can’t even find anyone who looks/acts like him enough to pretend. Pretty often pics of their dates appear and cause uproar, plus both of them see them and sulk for days (they want to get back together so bad but as time passes they think the other hates them now). Their friends can’t stand them anymore because that’s all they talk about. All their songs are still about each other. The break-up albums go so fucking hard and sell so well. So at least they’re still successful.

(I think James tries therapy to move on, unsure if it helps with moving on but at least he learns that he needs to communicate)(Keith uses song-writing as therapy)

Also, imagine trying to move on from someone who’s constantly trending and charting, on billboards anywhere, on the radio, social media. They never see each other during those years except when they’re at the same events, but they always keep their distance.

This is where the song comes into play!! It’s the scene that inspired the entire au (also maybe it’s really stupid now i’m getting self conscious 😞)

They’re both on tour at this point in time, they have a stop in the same city the same night, which also happens to be the date of their breakup anniversary (really fun)

They both sing a cover of Leonard&Marianne of course thinking of each other, but it wasn’t planned, it was a spontaneous decision to add the song to the set list to “celebrate” their anniversary, which of course only they knew about.

The crowd lowk loses their mind, imagine live-tweeting at a Keith concert that he’s singing that and finding out James is doing the same song in that moment 😭

So yeah the whole thing goes viral, but keith and james have no idea until the show ends, their managers don’t even know if it’s a good idea to tell them, but they find out.

The moment Keith hears he gets in his car to go see James (he finds out what hotel he’s staying at after begging Shiro to ask Adam (i hc he was lowk a mentor to James and they regularly keep in contact)) without even thinking about it, he only realizes he doesn’t know what to say when James opens the door.

All Keith manages to spit out is something along the lines of “what the hell was that shit you just pulled” and James doesn’t know what to say, he just stares at him before realizing that they probably shouldn’t stand in the hallway and pulls him in his room.

So they’re in there just staring at each other, Keith is waiting for an answer, James can’t believe he’s there right before his eyes, but eventually he says “i’ve missed you” with his stupid sad puppy face and keith just wants to kiss him

this is the part i thought less abt so it’s gonna be short, i think they end up hooking up that night, they try not to talk about the elephant in the room, the next morning keith leaves but they promise to talk about it and eventually they do start dating again from the start, going on dates again, getting to know what they did during those 3 years apart etc etc

not very set on the “ending” at all tbh, i’d like to hear some outside perspective on the whole thing

thanks for reading if u did!

here’s the playlist, song suggestions welcome

[ihearthes]

Gospel Oak Primary School

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Original Named Female Character

Rating: Fluffy Meet Cute

Word Count: 2776

Rachel was sprawled on her back, her body twisted into an unnatural knot. Her right knee jutted out at an odd angle, one arm flung carelessly above her head, the other partially tucked beneath her. Harry Styles lay atop her, his breathing a stark contrast to her laboured gasps. His face was buried between her breasts, a position she had often fantasised about. But now that she was actually experiencing it, the reality fell short of her expectations. Harry's hands were scattered haphazardly, one resting on her shoulder, the other clutching his own thigh.

The oppressive heat of his body enveloped her, a suffocating weight that pressed down on her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to savour a moment that had been anything but blissful. The collision of their bodies was a jarring, uncomfortable clash, a stark contrast to the romantic fantasy she had conjured. After all, how often does one find themselves entwined with the legendary Harry Styles, a man whose image is plastered across magazine covers and plastered on the hearts of millions?

“Bloody hell!” Rachel swore, mentally checking her body for any lasting damage from the impact of his body with hers.

“I’m so sorry!” Harry scrambled to his feet, seeking his phone, his eyes roaming the space where they had been entangled. Locating it, he leaned over to grab it quickly before he reached out a hand for her. “Are you hurt?” 

She shook her head as she grasped his hand to rise from where they had been lying. “Only my pride, I think, although I suspect I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow.” The wince that accompanied her words was proof that she was already anticipating the painful muscles. 

Earlier that day, the final bell of the day had rung, a sweet symphony that promised escape from the chaos of the classroom. As Rachel carefully assessed her remaining time and the tasks she still had to complete, she found herself trapped in a conversation with Leo, the new maths teacher, a man whose complaints were as endless as the day was long.

"Oliver's parents are driving me mad," Leo lamented, his voice rising in a crescendo of frustration. "They keep demanding more and more homework. I've given him mountains of work to do at home, but it's never enough!"

Rachel tried to soothe his ruffled feathers. "I'm sure you're doing your best, Leo." But her words fell on deaf ears.

"He gets three times the homework as the other kids," Leo continued, his voice growing louder. "I've tried explaining to his parents that he needs time to play and socialise, but they won't listen. He must spend hours every night doing homework!"

As Leo's voice droned on, Rachel noticed his gaze wandering south. His eyes lingered on her chest, a blatant disregard for her discomfort. Finding a convenient excuse, she broke away from the conversation with a quick, “Oh, I forgot to respond to the headmaster!” before hurrying back to her classroom.

With a sigh of relief in the silence of her own class, she began planning her lessons for the next day. But as she glanced at the clock, a wave of panic washed over her. If she didn't leave immediately, she would be late for her super important first date with the guy whose attention she had been clamouring for during the previous three weeks. 

With a frantic tug, Rachel snatched her crossbody bag and lunchbox, her phone tumbling into the chaotic jumble of items within. Her heart pounding in her chest, she bolted from her classroom, her footsteps echoing through the deserted hallways. Her short legs pumped with renewed energy, propelling her curvy body forward at a breakneck pace. She scanned the hallways with a wary eye, desperately hoping to avoid another encounter with the insufferable Leo.

That morning, Harry had lounged in the sun-drenched comfort of his bedroom, his eyes fluttering open to the gentle caress of morning light. With a leisurely yawn, he slipped into workout attire and strolled to his home gym. There, he moved through a series of stretches, humming a new melody he had composed the day before. His workouts were less about sculpting his physique and more about maintaining overall well-being. Not that he was ashamed of his appearance; he simply preferred a more relaxed approach to fitness during his downtime between tours.

After an invigorating shower, Harry indulged in a breakfast of yoghurt and fresh fruit from his own garden. Then, with a sense of contentment, he retreated to his study to work on some poetry and potential lyrics. The words flowed effortlessly from his pen, transforming his thoughts into passionate expressions. When inspiration struck, he would wander over to his piano and experiment with different chord progressions, sometimes attempting to recreate a jazz tune he had heard during his workout.

After a leisurely lunch of sun-ripened tomatoes, homemade mozzarella, and a splash of his favourite Italian olive oil, a pang of realisation struck Harry. He didn't have any fresh baguettes for tonight's dinner. His sister, Gemma, was bringing her baby over, and his sister had a voracious appetite for vegetarian fare. Harry had planned to whip up a batch of homemade pasta with his own tangy marinara sauce, using fresh vegetables from his garden.

A grin spread across his face as he grabbed his green Pleasing bag. The pride he felt in creating meals from the fruits of his labour was immense. This would be the first time he had cooked for his sister, and with the baby old enough for purees, he had grand plans.

"Mushy carrots and peas will be perfect!" Harry chuckled, his excitement bubbling over. Both vegetables would come straight from his garden. How had he lived without the joy of homegrown produce for so long?

Pulling a light windbreaker over his shirt, he paused once more to gaze at his face in the mirror. Should he shave? Nah. Maybe tonight before Gemma and Michal actually arrive, but not yet. 

After leaving the bakery where he purchased three distinctly different baguettes, he was thrilled to find a Lime Bike right there, as if it were waiting for him. Scanning the QR code on the bike, he found that it was available. Slinging the green Pleasing bag, now holding fresh flowers for the dinner table, over his shoulder, Harry set off for home, the baguettes in the basket of the rented bicycle. His Airpods were delivering a delectable diet of music from recent releases and a few of his favourites directly to his ear canals. 

His phone buzzed with a text message, and Harry took his eyes off of the footpath in front of him for only a moment to read what his sister had to say. 

Which is precisely when the collision with Rachel happened. 

Sprawled across her, the bike wrapped around his legs, he blushed upon realising that his lips were quite close to her breastbone – not at all a good location for a first meeting with a stranger. 

She sputtered, rightfully so. “Bloody hell!” 

“I’m so sorry!” He scrambled for his phone which had gone flying from his hand when he’d run into her or she’d run into him. No way for him to know for sure which way it happened. “Are you hurt?” 

“Only my pride, I think, although I suspect I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow.” She grasped his outstretched hand, using his strength to haul her to a standing position. 

“I shouldn’t have been looking at my phone,” they both revealed simultaneously before surprise caused their foreheads to crease, their eyebrows to rise, and a laugh to explode as though they were twins. 

“I’m sorry.” The woman looked at her feet. “I’m Rachel.” She thrust her hand forward, and he clutched it like a hiker grasping a sturdy branch in a storm.

“Harry.” 

“I know.” 

Following her pronouncement, they both stood awkwardly for a moment before Rachel shifted to the side. “Your baguettes seem to have escaped.” While she gathered them, Harry stepped to the bicycle, lifting it to its appropriate position and checking to be sure it hadn’t been harmed and was still streetworthy. Luckily, these rentals were built to withstand the worst possible collisions. 

“Thank you.” His response when she put the baguettes back into his bicycle basket was perfunctory, but then he tilted his head. 

Everything before then had been a blur, but now he could see her clearly. Rachel was a petite woman with a vibrant personality that belied her small stature. Her dark, curly hair framed her face in soft tendrils, and her full figure added a touch of voluptuousness to her overall appearance. Her eyes, a deep shade of brown, sparkled with intelligence and mischief, inviting others to delve into her world.

“You were heading somewhere in a hurry.” The statement rose at the end like a question. 

“Yes, one of my students – he’s playing footie today, and I promised I’d come watch him, but I’m afraid I’ll miss him if I don’t hurry along.” She adjusted her bag across her body, fumbling her phone. “Please don’t think I’m rude. If this were any other day and I had run into the famous Harry Styles, I’d be much more effusive. It’s just that…” She began walking along, talking to him over her shoulder, “I’ve been trying to get this kid on my side for ages now, and football is the only thing that matters to him. Maybe we’ll run into each other another time!”

She waved over her shoulder as she walked away, kicking herself for having missed her chance to chat with the popstar. But she’d been regretting her inability to develop a relationship with Josiah for weeks. He was more important at that moment.

Watching her walk away, Harry realised he might never have another opportunity to talk to her again. He cursed under his breath before following behind her on the bike. When he caught up, he dismounted and walked alongside her.

“That’s really kind of you,” he commented. 

She jumped and twisted her body to him, a frown creasing her brow. “What is? And why are you following me?” 

“I like footie,” he shrugged. “And it’s really kind that you’re willing to go see your student practise so you can connect with him.” 

“Well, he’s a bit of a terror,” she laughed, glancing at the time on her phone. 

“Oh, no!” Harry exclaimed, “I broke your phone.” 

“Huh?” She examined the phone with its cracked screen and then a guffaw left her body, the sound one of pure joy, making Harry’s heart happy. “No, my phone has been broken since last spring when last year’s terror took it off my desk and threw it from the top of the playground play structure.” 

“But how do you see everything with that giant spider’s web of cracks on it?” He was sincerely bemused. 

“You can get used to anything when you haven’t the money to replace something just because it’s broken.” 

“But couldn’t you get the screen replaced?” 

“Probably,” she revealed, crossing the street at the zebra crossing to get to the practice field. “But there’s never any time to take it anywhere. I’ll just wait until my next paycheck. Then I can put a downpayment on a new one.” 

“Oh.” 

She was scurrying a bit faster now that they were close to the field, and her breaths became more laboured. “I’m going to be late. I hope I don’t miss everything.” 

Harry couldn’t believe that her short legs could move so quickly, and he had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her as she turned into the park where parents and children were gathered. Standing on the sidelines, Rachel covered her eyes and searched the boys on the pitch. 

“There he is!” Excitedly, she pointed to a young man of about 10 years of age. “Josiah!” Jumping up and down, she waved until he looked over to her. 

For a brief moment, his face reflected happiness, but then he waved her off as he turned back to his friends. Harry slumped in disappointment. He had thought her presence would do the trick, but apparently she was going to have to make a bigger effort. 

“Oof, that wasn’t encouraging.” 

“What are you talking about?!” She squealed. “He was practically overjoyed to see me. This is indeed a success.” 

Confused, Harry watched her face, convinced that perhaps he had the wrong boy in mind, but she followed every move the boy made. She clapped and called his name whenever he caught a pass or blocked someone. When he missed the goal he’d been attempting, Rachel cheered even louder from the sidelines, telling him, “That’s okay, Josiah! You’ll get it next time!” She took photos and videos as though she were the proudest parent.

The boy ignored her for the most part. 

Shaking his head, Harry wondered if perhaps she had lost her mind, but he wanted her to be successful in her endeavour so he joined in with her cheers until the practice finally ended, and the boys gathered with their coach. 

“Aren’t you going to go talk to him?” Harry wondered as she placed her phone into her bag. 

“Goodness, no. That would embarrass him.” 

“But…” Helpless and confuddled, Harry watched as she started to walk away. His phone vibrated again, and he glanced at it to spy a message from Gemma saying she wouldn’t be able to come for dinner after all as his niece had gotten her jabs that morning and was finally sleeping. 

Well, this afternoon and evening weren’t going as he had planned. Not at all. 

“Miss K!” A voice grew closer to them, and Rachel paused before turning. 

Harry spotted the beginning of a smile on her face, but she quickly schooled it into a more inquiring expression. “Yes, Josiah?” 

He threw his muddy arms around her, “Thank you for coming.” With the words and hug complete, the boy turned and immediately scampered away. 

Rachel’s face was shining with a mixture of pleasure and tears. She blinked, then focused on Harry. “Definitely not a wasted trip. It was a treat to meet you, Harry, despite the circumstances. Thanks for joining me at the game.” 

No, no, no. She wasn’t getting away that easily. 

“The pleasure was all mine, Rachel.” 

Hearing his voice say her name tripled the tingles she felt as a result of Josiah’s actions towards her. Tonight she would have to devote two pages to this single day in her journal. Maybe three pages. 

As she walked back towards the school, she was surprised to find Harry pushing the bicycle next to her once more. Well, it was a free country. He hadn’t harmed her, and he was not a threat of any sort, so she allowed it. 

“Your fit got dirty,” Harry pointed out. 

“Small price to pay. It will wash out.” 

As they returned to the footpath next to her, pushing the bicycle with its sad baguettes still in the basket, Rachel paused. “You’re still here.” 

“Oh. Uh…” Stumped, Harry couldn’t articulate what he was thinking. Finally, he simply allowed the words to flow slowly from his mouth as he considered what he wanted, “I, uh, wondered if…you see, my sister was supposed to bring my, uh, niece, for, you know, dinner tonight. Um, I had planned to make, uh, homemade pasta and sauce for them. Hence the, uh…” His gesture encompassed the baguettes. “How would you, uh, feel about, um, joining me?” 

Gulping, Rachel could not believe what she was hearing. Her? Going to the actual house of Harry? Surely he misspoke. 

“You mean, you’d like to take me out to dinner?” 

He pulled on his lip with his free hand. “Not exactly, uh, cause that would, um, make people, like, um, speculate. But I am planning to, uh, you know, cook tonight. From my, uh, garden.”

Sharply, Rachel glanced at him. Was he some sort of pervert? Wouldn’t she have heard by now if he were a freak who invited women to his home and then skinned them alive or something? Then again, what did she have to lose other than her life? 

“Sure,” she smiled. A banner day, for sure. Not only had she made progress with Josiah, which had been her primary goal – well, she also seemed to have made progress with another guy after a long, dry spell. 

Harry moved the baguettes to his arms, abandoning the rental bike so that he could walk alongside this charming woman. This night would be just as awesome as if it had gone as planned. Maybe even better? 

[sissybabycucksophia]

The Adult Baby Adoption Part 14

(This story is complete fiction and although i may desperately wish it isn’t, there is no fact or real world experience behind this story, and themes reflected in the story may be triggering, these themes are not my actual beliefs and are only part of a fantasy kink scenario. ALSO! James is a 24 year old adult and as is the woman he has been turned into, these AI generated pictures depict a 24 year old jade.)

We were late. I could hear the brunch in full swing before we even turned the corner—cutlery clinking, champagne fizzing, someone laughing far too loudly. Daddy’s hand stayed locked around mine, firm and steady, like he didn’t trust me not to bolt. Maybe he was right. The soft crinkle of my diapers was deafening in the quiet hallway outside the dining suite. My stomach twisted.

Then the doors opened. I blinked against the sudden brightness. The room was pastel and gold and floral everywhere—bouquets at every table, white linen, satin bows, trays of mimosas. Dozens of guests still in their best, chatting like the world hadn’t changed. Like I wasn’t being paraded in here like this.

My dress rustled with every step—full pink skirts with lace trim, a giant satin bow tied over my tummy. The mittens were off, but my hands were still soft and useless, fresh from a lotioning I didn’t ask for. The wig was perfectly smooth, styled into side buns that bounced with each trembling movement.

And then I saw her. Darla. She stood near the head table, turning toward us like she’d been expecting this exact entrance. Her cropped white puffer jacket framed her body like a shrug, and the sky-blue halter dress hugged her curves like it was sewn onto her skin. Her sneakers—massive, white-and-gray Balenciaga trainers—looked absurd and perfect at the same time. She looked like someone from a billboard. She looked like everything I wasn’t. “Well, well,” she said with a low, amused breath, eyes sliding from Daddy to me like I was a prop. I looked down immediately. Not that it helped. I could feel her staring. Assessing. Judging.

Then I felt her take my other hand—the one Daddy wasn’t already holding—and her long electric blue nails wrapped around my fingers like cold claws “There we go,” she purred, too loudly. “Let’s show everyone how precious our little princess looks this morning.” I winced. Her voice was dripping with mockery, each word coated in sugar but tipped with steel. Then her tone sharpened, quiet enough for just me to hear as she leaned in beside my ear:

“Let’s go, fairy boy. Can’t wait to show Dad how right his instincts were about you, sissy…” My stomach dropped. She wasn’t done. “…and I really can’t wait to introduce you to Tyrone’s parents. It’s their money funding your future hormone treatments and surgeries, James. So best make a pathetic impression. Wouldn’t want them thinking you were anything but a broken little investment.”

My lips parted—but nothing came out. My throat had gone dry. My face was burning. Daddy was still holding my hand, but it was like I’d gone weightless between them, dragged forward in slow motion, fully dressed and fully owned. And brunch had only just begun. Daddy let go of my hand as we reached the long, pastel brunch table. He didn’t even glance back—just strolled to his seat like he belonged there more than anyone else, already slipping into conversation like this was just another day in paradise.

Darla didn’t slow down. Her hand clamped tighter around my wrist, the way you’d guide a toddler across traffic. She led me directly to the empty chair between her and Tyrone—both of them already seated, both watching me like they were waiting for a show. But just as I moved to sit down, Darla yanked me back upright.

“Dad, you remember James?” she chirped, loud and smooth, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Well—meet our goddaughter… and my ex-boyfriend. Jade.” My whole body tensed. I stared down at the tablecloth, breathing shallow. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My name—it echoed in my head like a punchline. She didn’t wait. I felt her grab my ear and twist, sharp and sudden.

“Curtsey like a good little girl,” she hissed, right against my temple, “and let my dad and Tyrone’s parents hear that lispy little girl voice of yours.” Then she let go. The sting of it pulsed, but not nearly as hard as the burn crawling up my neck and across my cheeks. I could feel them all watching.

I bent slightly at the knees, lifting the hem of my frilly skirt in the most pitiful excuse for a curtsey. My legs felt like paper. And then I said it. “H-hi… m-my name ith Jade… U-Ulyththeth Carmichael…” The lisp hit like a slap in the face. My voice cracked halfway through. I couldn’t even bring myself to look up. Just stood there—dressed like a doll, sounding like a parody of myself—wishing I could disappear.

There was a beat of silence after I spoke. My voice still echoed in my own ears, soft and broken and completely unfamiliar. I could feel the weight of the table’s attention pressing into my scalp, but I couldn’t look up. I just stood there, trembling slightly, hands trembling as I lowered my skirt back into place. Then I heard the scrape of cutlery as someone leaned forward. “Oh for God’s sake…” The voice was unmistakable—Darla’s father.

I didn’t have to look to know the expression on his face. I’d seen it before. Back when he’d cornered me after church. Back when I was still just “James”—and he already knew I wasn’t the kind of man he wanted around his daughter. “Jesus, Darla,” he said, louder now, addressing the table more than her. “I thought you were exaggerating. But no, turns out your old man’s instincts were dead-on, weren’t they?” My fingers curled into the hem of my dress.

He scoffed. “I always said James was soft. Too soft. And now look at him—excuse me—her.” He sneered that last word like it tasted wrong. “Lispin’ through some little fairy name like a failed casting call for a nursery school pageant.” A few nervous chuckles rippled across the table. I flinched. “And this is who you’re calling your goddaughter?” he added, throwing his hands up. “What’s next, we throw her a tea party and call it a business meeting?”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “But I’ll give you this,” he said, lifting his glass with a lazy smirk. “At least you finally figured out what you are, James. Took you long enough to stop pretending to be something you never had in you.” He raised the glass toward me like a mock toast. “Congratulations on the downgrade.” I didn’t move. Couldn’t speak. My ears were ringing, my legs numb. Darla just smiled, leaned back in her seat, and sipped her mimosa like it was all going according to plan.

I was still frozen when a new voice cut in—a woman’s, smooth and composed but laced with surprise. “Wait…” she said, carefully, like she genuinely thought she must’ve misheard something. “This girl… is a man?” It was Tyrone’s mother. I didn’t dare look at her, but I could hear the shift in her voice—genuine confusion edging toward judgment. Like someone trying to make sense of a joke they didn’t find funny. Before anyone else could answer, a deeper voice followed. Calm, authoritative, but sharp as a knife. “So… you’re the godparents,” Tyrone’s father said slowly, directing the words toward Darla and Tyrone, “to a man your age? Sitting here in a little girl’s dress?”

My heart was pounding now. My hands shook in my lap, and I hated the way my thighs felt squished together under the layers of lace and ruffles. I kept my head bowed, unable to lift it. If I did, I knew I’d see Tyrone’s parents just staring at me. Trying to figure out what, exactly, I was supposed to be. “Son,” his father added, “I think you’d better explain this.” There was a pause. I could feel the pressure shift. Every breath at the table felt held. They weren’t yelling. They didn’t have to. Their restraint made it worse—like I was the freak show no one wanted to admit they’d paid to see.

The silence that followed Tyrone’s father’s question stretched longer than I could bear. My lungs felt tight. I didn’t want to hear it. I knew what was coming, and I still didn’t want to hear it.

Then Tyrone finally spoke. His voice was low, measured—like he’d rehearsed this moment. Like he knew it had to be done cleanly, efficiently, with no chance of confusion. “His name was James,” Tyrone said. “Back when he and Darla were dating. They met when they were both about nineteen.” I flinched. “He was quiet, sensitive, insecure as hell. Not much of a man, if we’re being honest.” Tyrone’s tone didn’t sharpen—it didn’t need to. “Always needed approval. Couldn’t lead, couldn’t protect, couldn’t even stand up for himself. But Darla kept him around a while. Maybe she thought she could fix him.”

He paused just long enough to sip his drink. “But some things don’t get fixed. They just… shift.” The table was completely still. My skin prickled. “Eventually, Darla realized what the rest of us already suspected. James wasn’t built for the role he thought he was playing. He wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t husband material. He was—something else.”

He turned slightly toward his parents. “So no, he’s not a man we’re godparenting. Not anymore.” He nodded toward me. “That’s Jade now. That’s who he is. Or who she is, I guess. We’re helping her lean into it. Fully. Hormones, therapy, the whole package. That’s why she’s dressed the way she is. Why she talks the way she does. It’s not just for show—it’s her new reality.” My stomach twisted.

Tyrone leaned back, perfectly relaxed, like he’d just delivered quarterly earnings. “Darla and I offered to step in as godparents when it became clear she couldn’t handle the responsibilities of adult life. She needed guidance, structure. She needed people who could remind her who she really is now—and who she’ll never be again.” His gaze didn’t soften. “And yeah, we’re the same age. But we’re not equals. Not anymore. Jade’s under our care. Fully.” He didn’t say “fully�� like a fact. He said it like a sentence. I hadn’t even noticed Daddy put down his drink until the atmosphere shifted.

He cleared his throat—just once—and somehow that was all it took. Conversation faded. Heads turned. Even Darla went quiet beside me. “I suppose I should introduce myself,” he said, voice smooth and deliberate. “Ulysses Carmichael. Jade’s… Daddy.” He let that word hang there, unchallenged. Not a soul at the table dared laugh.

“I’ve overseen every part of her transition,” he continued, resting one hand lightly on the table’s edge. “From James to Jade. From someone who didn’t know who they were, to someone who is now exactly what she was always meant to be.” I felt my hands tighten in my lap, the soft crinkle beneath my dress betraying the truth. The thick, fluffy padding wrapped around me wasn’t just humiliating—it was inescapable. Constant. Just like him.

“She doesn’t dress herself. She doesn’t choose what to eat. She doesn’t even keep her own schedule anymore. That’s all mine to manage,” he went on, calmly. “From hormones to speech habits to wardrobe and behavior… Jade belongs to my care. And she’s flourished for it.” My ears burned. Every breath felt heavier.

He gave a small smile, calm and unreadable. “So yes, I approved this brunch. The bows, the dress, the name tag sewn into her collar. Even the special underthings she’s wearing right now to keep her seated still and sweet at the table.” I flushed hard—my diaper suddenly the loudest thing in the room. I didn’t move. Ulysses straightened his posture, brushing a bit of lint off the shoulder of his white sweater.

“For those curious,” he added, with polite finality, “I’m the founder and CEO of Carmichael Systems. We manage backend automation, predictive analytics, and cybersecurity licensing across most of the NHS and half of Parliament’s internal platforms. If you’ve logged into a secure government site in the last six months, chances are you’ve used my tech.” He turned his attention to Tyrone’s father. Not aggressively—just steadily. Like a man offering a reminder. “So I assure you… she’s under excellent supervision.” The silence that followed didn’t feel tense. It felt absolute.

I was still reeling from Daddy’s words when Tyrone’s mother let out a delighted little hum, setting down her glass of grapefruit juice with a soft clink. “Well,” she said brightly, “this is just fascinating. I had no idea we were walking into something so… progressive.”

I glanced up—only for a second. Her eyes were locked on me, but not with disgust. Worse. It was interest. Excitement. Tyrone’s father nodded, rubbing his chin with a small, approving smile. “Honestly, I think it’s admirable what you’re all doing. Structure, support, clear goals—it’s the kind of intervention more people like him should’ve had years ago.” Him. Not her. But he didn’t correct himself. He didn’t have to. The message was clear.

“You know,” Tyrone’s mother added, turning toward Ulysses with a pleased smile, “if you ever need help covering certain procedures, I’d be happy to assist. Electrolysis, full-body laser, hairline feminization, maybe even some subtle contouring while she’s under—there are surgeons in Vienna we’ve used for our fund’s wellness retreats. Very discreet.” My stomach flipped. I could hardly breathe. “And if she hasn’t had them removed yet,” she continued with a sip of her drink, as if talking about a mole or a bad haircut, “we’d be happy to fund the—well—snip. I imagine she’d feel so much more settled once that’s done.”

“She’d thank you later,” Tyrone’s father said casually, nodding along. “And if she doesn’t—well, at least we can sleep at night knowing we did our part to prevent a very… unfortunate reversal.” A few soft laughs rippled through the table. My eyes stung. I looked down again. Tyrone’s mother tilted her head with a glint of amusement. “And breasts. Real ones. The little buds are cute, but honestly, she’d feel far more secure once they’re a proper cup size. Happy to help with that too.”

“I think a full package sponsorship is in order,” Tyrone’s father said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “To Jade Ulysses Carmichael—our new little legacy project.” I stayed silent. Frozen. My mouth was dry, my hands trembling slightly in my lap. Darla squeezed my knee under the table and leaned in, whispering with a grin “They like you.”

Darla’s hand was still on my knee, her nails pressing lightly through the fabric of my dress. I didn’t look at her—I couldn’t—but I felt her lean in, her breath warm against my ear.

“That’s it,” she whispered, voice low and giddy with control. “Game over.” My heart skipped. “I’ve won,” she continued, her tone like velvet wrapped around barbed wire. “James Valence dies today. For real. In front of everyone that ever mattered.”She let the words settle for a moment—like she wanted to make sure I felt every syllable.

“My dad. My old friends. The couples we used to go on trips with. Every single one of them is here. And once I give that speech? Once I call you Jade Ulysses Carmichael in front of all of them?” She gave my knee a little pat. Almost tender. “There’s no going back. You won’t exist as him anymore.”

Darla pulled her hand back and stood, her white puffer jacket rustling as she rose. The thick, rubbery thud of her Balenciaga sneakers hitting the floor somehow felt louder than it should have—casual, unbothered, dominant. She stepped forward with that same confident sway, lifting her mimosa glass with ease. “Excuse me, everyone!” she called out, voice clear and effortless. “Just a quick moment before dessert!” The room quieted around us. Heads turned. Phones were lowered. I felt the weight of a dozen people looking—and I already knew exactly what was coming.

She was smiling like a starlet accepting an award. Poised, gracious, deadly “Tyrone and I just want to say thank you,” she began, eyes sweeping the table with performative warmth. “This weekend has been… beyond beautiful. We’re so lucky to be surrounded by friends and family who’ve supported our love from the beginning.” Polite nods. A few smiles. “But today isn’t just about us,” she said, her voice dipping into something more playful. “It’s also a new beginning for someone very close to our hearts.”

My stomach dropped. She turned slightly—just enough to gesture directly toward me. “Some of you knew her as James. My ex. A boy who didn’t quite fit.” A light chuckle rippled through a few guests. My jaw clenched. “Well, meet Jade Ulysses Carmichael,” Darla said, bright and sharp. “Our goddaughter.” There it was. The words dropped like stones in water. Final. Public. Irreversible.

“She’s sweet, shy, and still adjusting,” Darla continued smoothly, “but we’re so proud of how far she’s come. With Daddy Ulysses’s help, and our support, Jade’s going to blossom into exactly what she was meant to be.” I couldn’t breathe. My fingers were gripping the edge of the chair, knuckles white. Every inch of my dress felt like a costume I couldn’t take off. “And to help her along,” Darla added, her grin stretching wider, “Tyrone and I are asking for a little love from all of you.”

She held up her mimosa like a toast. “If you’re feeling generous, we’d love donations of girls’ clothing—ages two to seven. Frills, bows, pinks, pastels—you know what she likes.” Laughter erupted. Glasses clinked. Someone shouted “I’ve got a tutu in mind already!” I wanted to disappear. Darla looked back at me once more, her eyes glinting like glass. “Let’s give her the little princess wardrobe she deserves.” And just like that, the applause came. And James Valence was gone.

The clatter of cutlery had died down. Plates were empty. Mimosa glasses half-drained. People were stretching, standing, murmuring polite goodbyes across the pastel tablecloths and floral centerpieces.

I hadn’t spoken a word since Darla’s speech.

Not one.

Just sat there, hands folded on my lap like a doll, my thick diaper rustling beneath the layers of pink ruffles every time I shifted.

Daddy stood up first, straightening the cuffs of his sweater. “Time to say your thank-yous, sweetheart,” he said casually, brushing a crumb from my collar. “Then we’ll go pack.” I nodded, numb, rising slowly from the chair with a muted crinkle and a trembling curtsy to no one in particular. Tyrone’s mother was the first to approach. She bent down slightly, arms outstretched, her smile wide and polished. “Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Give Grandma a kiss goodbye.” I swallowed hard, then leaned forward—cheeks flushed—planting a soft kiss on her cheek as her arms wrapped tightly around me. “So precious,” she whispered, smoothing the bow at my back like I was a toddler. “You’re going to be so beautiful once we finish what they started.”

Next was Tyrone’s father. He didn’t even kneel. Just waited with one hand on his hip, the other extended slightly. “Well?” he prompted. “Give your new Granddad a proper goodbye.” I stepped forward, lips trembling, and kissed his cheek too. He didn’t flinch. Just nodded like he was approving a transaction. “Good girl,” he muttered, then turned away. Darla’s father was last.

He crossed his arms, watching me with a smirk as I hesitated in front of him. I didn’t know whether to offer a hug, or a kiss, or just melt into the floor. He didn’t offer either. “Well go on then,” he said dryly. “Make it convincing.” So I did. I stepped forward, gave a tiny curtsy, and whispered the softest “thank you” I could manage—then kissed his cheek, knowing full well he was enjoying every second of this. Finally, I turned back toward Daddy. He was already waiting by the door, holding my small quilted purse and looking at his watch.

“Come on, princess,” he called over. “Let’s get you packed.” I took one last look at the table—my new godparents, my new “grandparents,” my old life reduced to a joke they’d all rehearsed perfectly. Then I waddled toward him, heart hammering, the sound of my diaper padding muffled under the praise and laughter behind me. And with that we headed back to the hotel room…

The hotel door shut behind us with a soft click, sealing away the noise of brunch and laughter and clinking glasses.

Daddy didn’t say a word. He walked to the bed with slow, deliberate steps and unzipped the large pink quilted case sitting neatly beside it. I recognized it instantly—the sleepsack. My body tensed. He laid it out across the bed like it was a blanket he’d just laundered. Neat. Normal. Then he turned to me and said simply, “Take off your dress.” I hesitated—just for a second—but the look he gave me said there were no negotiations. Not now. Not after the day I’d just had.

My fingers moved clumsily to the buttons, undoing each one down the front of my frilly dress, my breath catching as the fabric slipped away. I stepped out of the skirt and petticoats slowly, silently, until I stood in just my frilly socks and thick, sagging diaper—still warm, still humiliatingly swollen.

“Up,” he said, unfolding the sleepsack fully. I climbed into it with shaking hands, laying back as the soft padding closed in around me. He zipped me in like luggage—slow, final—and tightened every strap: across my chest, my hips, my ankles. Then came the mittens. Puffy, quilted, useless. Buckled snug around my wrists and clipped down to my sides so I couldn’t even raise my hands.

I looked up at him, throat tight, lip trembling. “D-Daddy…?” I whimpered, barely audible. “Wh-why…? J-Jade doesn’t—d-don’t wanna go home wike thisss…” The lisp warped every word, turning even my protest into a babyish murmur. I hated how weak it sounded—how pathetic. And I hated that he didn’t even answer.

He just picked up the pacifier, a pink rubber bulb attached to a padded white strap, and gently pressed it against my lips. Pop. It slipped into my mouth. My lips sealed around it instinctively. “Enough,” he said softly, as the strap clicked behind my head. “You’ve said enough for today, princess. Now Daddy’s in charge.” I let out a soft, muffled whine around the pacifier.

He stepped behind me and began gathering up every silky inch of my long platinum wig. With gentle fingers, he tucked the strands into a bubblegum-pink satin bonnet, fastening it beneath my chin with a tight, decorative bow. The bonnet was puffed and quilted, the kind meant to protect styled curls—only I wasn’t wearing it to preserve beauty. I was wearing it to be packed away.

And then came the last piece. A plush pink sleep mask. Bunny ears. Puffy fleece. He lowered it over my eyes and adjusted it until everything went dark. I felt a warm palm stroke my cheek. “Time to rest,” he murmured. “Daddy will carry you.” I made a small sound—half protest, half surrender.

He stepped back around to the front of the bed, checking the straps one last time. Pacifier in. Bonnet tied. Sleep mask down. Every inch of me swaddled and sealed like a package ready for delivery.

I lay there motionless, breathing through my nose, heart pounding under the weight of soft restraint.

Then I felt his hands slide under my hips and shoulders—not gently. Not like he was lifting something fragile.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

And just like that, he hoisted me up and over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

My breath hitched.

I dangled helplessly across his broad back, folded at the middle, the front of my diaper pressing firmly against his chest, my socked feet bobbing uselessly behind him. My pink quilted sleepsack creaked slightly as he adjusted his grip, one arm wrapped casually around the backs of my thighs like I was just some oversized duffle bag.

The bonnet muffled the sound of the door opening. I heard the quiet hum of the hallway, the ding of the elevator. A voice politely asking, “Heading down, sir?” and Daddy’s calm reply: “yes thank you, sorry don’t mind her… long weekend for her.”

They didn’t ask further. They never do. By the time we reached the car, my legs had gone numb from how I was slung. I felt the shift as he leaned forward, one firm hand gripping my padded bottom to lower me into the backseat. Then came the buckles.

Wide, crisscrossing harness straps pulled tight across my chest and lap. Click. Click. Click. I wasn’t just restrained—I was secured, locked in place like cargo. “Snug and silent,” Daddy murmured with satisfaction, giving the front of my diaper a firm pat through the sleepsack. I whimpered through the pacifier, face burning beneath the sleep mask. He shut the car door. And then the engine started. The car pulled away, and I was gone. With enforced silence and stillness off we drove too god knows where.

[slowcatsworld]

Julian Loki acts like an older sibling. PART 3

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Last part where it all makes sense I swear. Headcanons at the end!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Maturity, responsibility, politeness, adaptability, flexibility, patience, restraint, and confidence.

Julian has exhibited these characteristics each time we see him in the manga. All of this makes me believe that he’s an older sibling. It makes so much sense, from the way he handle’s Charles’ interesting personality to how he experimented to create two distinct PXGs with Shidou’s play style and Rin’s play style.

(Now onto the actual headcanon and not analysis part hehehehehe)

I think due to his calm personality I see him having a younger sister. However, he’s still a competitive teenager that I could see totally dominating his little brother in a video game or a friendly match of soccer. (Not that he couldn’t do this with a sister)

Older brother! Loki is someone his little siblings turn to whenever they have a bad day. They know that he’ll listen quietly to their words and assess the situation accordingly. He knows how to cheer them up; whether that be with a sweet that he’ll buy them without telling their mother, talking them through their feelings so they feel more at peace with themselves, or offering an assuring shoulder squeeze to let them know their older brother is here for them.

Older brother! Loki is someone who travels a lot because of soccer. Sure, he rather enjoyed the different quality of independence he got being away from home, but he grows to miss it when the nights drag on a little too long and the air is a little bit more crisp than it ever has been. His little sibling would miss him too, pushing their head into their mama’s stomach and mumbling a small, “I miss Julian.” Their mother can only stroke their head while they wait for the elder boy to finish practice so that the three of them can reunite on call.

Older brother! Loki who is actually very good at cooking. He doesn’t do it as often now, when he’s away from home he tends to buy French foods in foreign countries rather than make it himself. Besides, with all the money he has been able to make for him and his family, he doubts that they would ever have to cook with their own hands again. Not that his parents would ever agree to the thought of a personal chef or maid, the couple probably every bit as humble and kind as their son. He would often cook breakfast for his little sibling before walking the two of them to school.

Older brother! Loki that would play soccer with his little sibling when he found the time. Even though it wasn’t that intense, at least to him, the shrieks of laughter and face splitting grin that adored his little sibling were far more precious than some extra practice. After all, it is healthy to know when to take it easy and have some fun.

Older brother! Loki that tries his best to teach his little sibling about the importance of patience. Of course, little kids generally don’t have much of that, which is why Loki isn’t surprised to feel the tug of his sleeve when his little sibling decides they want to play with their big brother instead of letting him study for his upcoming exam. Loki can’t bring himself to be that annoyed though, looking into the same brown eyes as his own, he feels a strong sense of love flourishing from those stubborn and impatient pools of brown.

Older brother! Loki that helps his mother out with chores when he finishes practice and she finishes work. It gives the two of them time to rekindle and catch up on life.

Older brother! Loki that was always so happy to spend the holidays goofing off with his sibling. The sweet days off of school and soccer practice were made to be spent with his mini me beside him.

Older brother! Loki that was filled with shock when he saw his little sibling wearing a smaller version of his France national team jersey. His heart fluttered and soared out of his chest as a chuckle escaped from his smile. It suited them, of course it did. Because it was his little sibling. The bond between them was ever so strong, even if he would be on the field and his smaller version of himself would be either in the stands or watching through the television screen at home.

[eatsbooks]

I am invested in the hewn city girl lore. Rhysand figured it out, what does he do next? Where is she kept, what is she taught, does he tell anyone? (ignore if I am annoying you)

you could literally never annoy me this is like my favorite form of enrichment and you being interested in my rambling is so very kind<3

alright — rhysand figured it out! i think his first course of action is to assess how he wants to deal with azriel. he like, at once, completely understands how his brother feels about this and why he has dipped out without explaining anything. everything slots right into place for him mentally. rhysand doesn't blame or condemn azriel the way azriel fears, but like. he gets it. lived it a little himself. shit's weird. best to fuck off until it isn't anymore. i think rhysand winds up putting a pin in finding azriel to deal with hc!girl and to keep from upsetting azriel any further with the fact that he now knows — and how he knows.

now this is tricky because ... does the ic ... do they fuckin raise hc!girl? i imagine she's probably mid-teens, but it still makes it crunchy because even if rhysand somehow manages not to tell anyone, not even feyre, his involvement alone will now shape her life. and one thing about rhysand is he is not going to be uninvolved. it's not in his nature. (that's why azriel had to force himself into exile — it's not in his nature to be uninvolved either.) worse yet, rhysand almost definitely does tell feyre. probably cassian, too, because cassian wouldn't just let azriel's absence go; he would get angry that rhysand wasn't doing more to find their brother and demand explanation. at that point the whole ic is probably telephone-style informed until they're all pulling an i know something ... do you know something? friends moment. but like either way, i fear that hc!girl is kept pretty close to the ic.

maaaybe she's trained with the valkyries? safe, female-led, ensures she can protect herself, ensures they can keep eyes on her without seeming too overbearing about it? depending on how traumatizing she finds being taken from her home and going from kept beneath the ground to confronted with the unending vastness of the open world, she might even feel most comfortable in the library with the priestesses, where the solidity of the rough-hewn walls can provide her something to ground herself with. but i could also see her living at the river estate, engaging in like a pseudo parent/child relationship with feyre and rhysand, learning to paint, learning to bake, learning any abilities she has, learning how to even exist outside of the hewn city. if you want a more sinister rhysand and crunchier dynamic for when azriel finally returns, maybe rhysand goes with the latter to ensure kinship with and loyalty from azriel's mate so that even if azriel ever thought to prioritize his mate over the ic, she wouldn't want him to.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Remus/Sirius Fluff Masterlist | Works With 5-10k Words

find the full masterlist directory here

last updated: 09/17/24 | links last checked: 09/17/24

A Piece of the Aftermath (Series) by Snromance [M, 7k]

Sirius didn't chase after Peter after finding James, Lily and Harry at Godric's Hollow. Instead, he picked up Harry, contacted Remus (as he was out of the country) and moved them out of the magic public's eye. The two of them then attempt to raise Harry to the best of their abilities whilst attempting to deal with the emotional problems that come with trying to raise a kid with no experience, a relationship, and dealing with what part they all played in the death of James and Lily.

*Bubblegum Blues by reachthetree [M, 5k]

Remus actually looks down as she smiles, like a shy teenager in a first kiss scenario, and it gives Sirius deja vu. She’s lived this exact moment before. Only in another life. When Remus lifts the bass, Sirius sees a tattoo on the back of her upper arm, and drops her little notebook on the sticky floor. She’s only known one other person with a tattoo like that. But it can’t be… Can it?

Burns Night by Thistlerose [M, 6k]

Blackmail, kilts, food art, public sex, and poetry. Some national holidays are more fun than others. (This fic is part of the midnight conversations timeline by Thistlerose. I recommend reading this after Midnight Conversations #1, Thicker than Blood, and A Meeting of Strangers.)

*Colours by LuminousGloom [E, 8k]

Today is their anniversary. It’s the first time Sirius has remembered it, since Azkaban. He decides to mark the occasion.

*Connection Concoction by Ineffabilitea [T, 5k]

In which Peter plays a prank which backfires, James's favorite colour is pink, Snape snorts, and Remus and Sirius are immune to feminine wiles. (Follows Snogging Nog and Stripping Solution)

*Empty Houses by bigblackdog [E, 6k]

Remus, I’ve been at Grimmauld all week. I’m not selling it. I went back to look for the letters. I assumed they had been lost but when I was pardoned I learned they sent my things to my mother at Grimmauld. Turns out she didn’t burn them on sight. Found my leather jacket. All our records were broken. And all our letters were safe. The spells I’d put on the box to keep James and Peter out at Hogwarts were still on. I’d forgotten and all my hair felt out when I opened it. (podfic available)

*Flour Babies, or: Remus Lupin, Risk Assessment Co-ordinator and Occasional Voice of Reason by jellybeany [Not Rated, 7k]

“What’s carrying a bag of flour around all day for a term supposed to teach us about parenting, I ask you?” The one where the Marauders have to take care of flour babies - or at least, not completely destroy them. James is trying to impress Lily, Sirius has a problem with his backside, and Remus is, as always, trying not to flunk. And he's dreadfully in love with his best friend.

Lay Your Hands on Me by pansexuall [E, 8k]

In which Sirius really likes trying out new hairstyles over the years and Remus really can't concentrate on much else, to be honest. This fic features reckless and impulsive teenage boys, classic Marauders-style banter, a low-key overdramatic Remus, and falling in love with close friends. Or, alternatively: Three times Remus really wanted to touch Sirius' hair and one time he actually did.

*long live all the magic we made by howisbucky [G, 5k]

in which sirius and remus don’t let dumbledore send harry off to the dursley’s and raise him themselves. “until the end, right pads?” “until the very end, moons.” aka snippets of how the harry potter series should have been.

Make Moony Smile by LadyAmina [T, 5k]

It begins with the innocent intention to Make Moony Smile and spirals into friendship chaos from there. When Remus seems down, James and Peter try their best to cheer him up. Remus has his own agenda.

Matchmakers by Minnow_53 [T, 5k]

James and Lily are determined to get Remus and Sirius together. So Remus and Sirius keep finding themselves alone with each other.

Moonlight On Your Skin by orphan_account [G, 7k]

Sirius visits his brother and gets a tattoo. After watching the process, Remus asks Sirius to design something for him to help cover his scars. Only Sirius can make Remus feel this beautiful. "As they passed by the now-closed bookshop, Sirius stopped Remus and pushed him against the wall. “Do you really like it?” Remus brushed a hand down his torso, feeling the plastic and the raised skin under it. “No. I love it, Sirius. It’s…it’s you. And it’s me. It’s everything.” Sirius’ grin, Remus swore, could light the street if he let it. “You’re so lovely. I can’t get over it, Remus.” (Sequel to Ocean of Fiction Blue)

my eyes adored you by moony_andthe_stars [T, 5k]

“Well that’s bullshit,” he declared, “I bet Moony has plenty of prospects. People would be stupid not to like him.” James and Peter nodded in agreement. “I mean, he’s smart, and witty, and he’s tall!” Sirius continued. “And not to mention, he’s, you know-” Sirius gestured towards Remus and turned in his seat to look at him. Time seemed to slow down for a moment. Remus had his chin propped up in his hand, lazily skimming the text in front of him. The evening light came streaming from the window making Remus glow golden, a halo forming around his curls. His eyebrows were drawn, pulling at the scar that went through his left one. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and Sirius was suddenly struck by the fact that Remus was- “-bloody gorgeous.” --or-- Sirius is suddenly struck by how beautiful his best friend is

*Of Comets and Counter-Examples by Woldy [T, 5k]

If the past is a foreign country, can travel help to resolve a troubled history? Dumbledore assigns Remus and Sirius a mission to explore three European cities, or perhaps to find each other. (podfic available)

Of Envelope Glue, Twitching, & Two Percent Chances by xxanglophilexx [T, 7k]

At 8:10 am on April 13, 1976, Sirius Black will realize that Remus Lupin fancies him. And if Remus stops twitching and remembers to breathe long enough to have a proper conversation, he may realize something, too. (pdf & e-book files available)

*Out of the Ground by adistantsun [T, 7k]

"This week, Sirius Black heads to Chichester harbour, where the Time Turners are investigating a vanishing island, first spelled in the Early Roman period. Popular nowadays with entomologists and Extreme Hide and Seekers, could there be evidence this swampy backwater was once a thriving commercial port, trading magical wares all over the Mediterranean?" Or, the Time Team AU where Voldemort never existed, the Wizarding world borrows liberally from the Muggle, and everyone loves archaeology!

*Parasitic Plants and Moping Marauders by mrs_jack_turner, myprettycabinet [T, 8k]

Two weeks alone with Remus in the comfort of the Gryffindor Tower and Sirius has decided it’s the perfect time to let Remus in on how he feels about him. Unfortunately, it appears he isn’t the only one with that idea.

real life has no appeal by orphan_account [G, 7k]

In which Remus is Lily's roommate and Sirius, James and Peter break into places.

*Records and Pickup Lines by Frenchpadfoot, PleaseDonateBlood [G, 5k]

Hipster Remus works in a classy records shop in bustling Soho and punk rock Sirius has a late lunch break and needs a record. We all know where this is going.

Sight of the Stars by orphan_account [M, 8k]

Remus Lupin had always been blind, but when presented with the opportunity to have his sight restored through a corneal transplant, he's not sure he wants to go through with it. Sirius reminds him that whatever he chooses, there's nothing that can break them apart.

*That Summer Was Good to Us by MoonCat457 [T, 8k]

Summers in Wales were ideal. Sunny, windy, warm without being sweltering… and the perfect time for Remus and Sirius to explore the feelings they’ve been dancing around for the better part of a year.

The Blood Blistering Brew by Deena [T, 7k]

Sirius is an arrogant berk and Remus is complete pants at Potions. (pdf & e-book files available)

*The Importance of Being Sirius by dogsunderfoot [T, 8k]

Remus Lupin, a simple Literature teacher has to deal with Sirius Black, a History teacher with an unorthodox (and noisy) teaching style.

The Smartest Idiot in Hogwarts by darkestlordsaroon [E, 5k]

Sirius has spent all year being distracted by Remus and trying to deny it. What he'd never imagined was that Remus has been doing the exact same thing.

*There Isn’t a Word for What We’ve Got by mutuisanimis [T, 7k]

Five people who misunderstood Sirius’ relationship with Remus and one two who didn’t. (translation available in Русский (ficbook))

They don't love you like I love you by moonlightgalleon [G, 5k]

Hospital receptionist, Remus Lupin usually invites superheroes as guests for the kids. That is, until he gets the unusual request of inviting villain The Canis.

Textually Yours by Jencala & jlpierre [M, 9k]

4:43 pm: Oi! no making fun of the hair 4:44 pm: i don't seem to recall you complaining when you were fisting it the other night ;-) 4:45 pm: Fuckinf Christ! 4:46 pm: **Fucking. 4:46 pm: *embarrassed face* 4:47 pm: no need to be embarrassed Moonshine. You like what you like 4:48 pm: and you like me and my talented mouth ;-)

*denotes personal favorite

[rgr-pop]

I have a friend in the midwest who's looking for a political org and i was wondering if you could you offer some advice. Are there qualities you would look for in an org that would make you feel like, okay, these are people I can work with?

Yea! I think there’s a ton of variation and it depends on what kinds of work they like to do or want to learn to do. I’d be happy to talk to them directly about their city.

As a materialist, I sort of think any group or org can be worth trying—doing so gives you a sense of the conditions and things to learn, and helps you follow where people are, which is the best way to learn about a new place you live. Always join stuff, you can always stop going if you don’t like it, never try to start something from scratch until you’ve been going to stuff for a long time (unless that something is a union in your workplace :p). Your friend should just trust their instincts but be open to learning from others, honor their time/energy/boundaries, and watch out for red flag orgs that don’t respect boundaries and don’t allow members to vocalize concerns or bring ideas to the table. I think that’s the key line.

For me personally, I am only interested in deep involvement with democratically organized groups that are not primarily concerned with providing service to people who are mostly non members. I definitely respect and work with these kinds of orgs all the time, but it’s not where my organizing energy goes — I am not a mutual aid person, but your friend might be! Examples of groups locally that I like and work with and would trust as a model are food not bombs style mutual aid as well as some urban farm style stuff (some of which can be soooo fashy but some i like here!), syringe access and harm reduction, eviction defense and other anti carceral rapid response. I do work with abortion funds and infinitely recommend anybody who can stomach it do the same (they can reach out to me for info on their local funds). I’ve been doing stuff around parent/childcare/repro and I would strongly advise to tread carefully there given the entrenchment of socially conservative religious actors. Just stay vigilant and research. Antifascist style orgs are also very interesting, frustrating, messy, frequently dangerous, occasionally surprisingly fascist, and presently useful—look into them but be thoughtful.

Questions to ask, many of which especially apply to mutual aid style groups: is there a leadership structure, and if so, how do leaders become leaders? Is there a board of directors? Who is on it? Do we have money, and if so, where does it come from, who decides how we use it, and what is its legal status? Who decides what work we do and how? Do I as a participant have a vote, the potential to run for leadership, or the right to propose work or organizational ideas? How does this group conceptualize the relationship between me, the community at large, the people we focus on, and people in other places? What other orgs do they seem to be connected to? Is anyone paid staff, and if so, what are their working conditions and how do they relate to the non paid staff? What does this org have on paper, online, etc.? What kind of safety or security norms do they have? Do they have a procedure for handling violence or just mundane conflict between participants? How are everyday decisions handled? None of my judgments relate to an assessment of the people themselves, per se—which is NOT to say I don’t make those judgements lol.

Many different responses to the above are valid depending on the work, and not having clear answers doesn’t mean that an org is bad, especially if it’s open to development. Having said that, again, I only organize with groups that give me a vote. And I think everyone should consider that guide.

My pitch for joining DSA if you have a chapter is that it has the best answers to the above compared to anyone else. It has the most things you can do as a beginner, the widest variety, and the best opportunities to grow yourself as an organizer, and it’s the biggest leftist organization in blah blah you’ve heard it. I strongly recommend not getting too involved with small communist leftist factionalist orgs (I won’t name them here), but there are a million exceptions, especially in cities like Chicago and Minneapolis with long deep weird histories. And no need to hate on them, either. If some communist league seems to be really doing something and not uhhh openly trafficking people or something lol, go off. (Where I live this is the case on campus!) The other exception is the IWW. It’s always fine to join the IWW, especially for labor, and there really are a handful of cities where the IWW is effective and the place to do rank and file labor work (and mostly those are in the midwest!) In many more cases the IWW is a sad little thing but it’s our duty to be nice to them.

In conclusion “make you feel like you wanna work with them” is complicated—I’m a hater, and do not enjoy the company of most of these people, or in fact even the masses in general. You have to find your own balance, which requires pushing yourself out of your comfort zone for a little while, and see how the org reacts. But ultimately, you don’t need to want to work with the people—you need an org that is productive and moves by creating conditions for people to work together regardless of whether they like each other. Fundamental premise of socialism and communism specifically, and it’s what sets us apart from tendencies on the right and common versions of certain tendencies on the left whomst I won’t name. My #1 advice is always to avoid any group whose mission is based on affinity and friendship between its members. (But if you make friends with them, go off)

[indignantlemur]

You are my favorite Andorian poster, no doubt. I was wondering..... what do you think education/parenting and overall childcare are like for Andorians? how do you think all four parental figures would take care of them? Would it be some big co-parenting thing, or would they not all be involved? Do Andorian kids get bounced around their thaan, shen, chan, and zhen like hot potatoes? XD

Aww, thank you, Anon! <3

This ended up being a little on the longer side, so I'm gonna put a read-more cut here.

So, education is standardized across Andorian territory. All children from age 4 to 18 are required to attend school starting with partial days in what is effectively kindergarten for socialization and motor skill development and eventually progressing to 12 hour days, plus about and hour and thirty minutes' worth of breaks for meals broken up amongst those schooling hours. (Remember, Andorians function on a 36 hour day, not a 24 hour one. A twelve hour period is only a third of the day, for them.) This gives parents a reasonable amount of time and space to work or look after younger children as needed.

Andorian education is a little more involved than what Terrans are typically used to. Even from as young as four years old, Andorians are being assessed for various roles that they might best be suited to for future careers. Children who display aptitudes early on are encouraged to pursue them, with resources readily provided and extracurricular opportunities presented. Children who are late bloomers in this department are encouraged to explore as many skills and creative outlets as possible to help them find an aspiration. This is all in addition to the basic, standard education all Andorians receive regardless of aspirations - or lack thereof.

Furthermore, Andorian schools sport robust extracurricular programs ranging from book clubs to martial arts to cooking classes, and all students are required to pick at least one to participate in.

Another quirk of the Andorian system is that there is very little in the way of homework. Work assignments are intended to be completed in class, as it's strongly believed that failure to understand the course material and then taking work home to cement those misunderstandings can only be detrimental to a student. It is for this reason that Andorian classes are divided into two parts - lecture during which students go over the course material with their instructors and ask questions, and the lab portion, during which students work alone or in groups to complete coursework with the instructor on hand to assist. Many Terrans note that these classes resemble university-style courses, and in fact Andorian universities continue with this format, since there's no reason to 'fix' something that is already working well.

For parents who need to work longer shifts and are unable to personally look after their children during the gap between their school hours and the parents' work shift, family is usually the first resource utilized. Andorian Clans, or keths, are deeply invested in looking after the youngest generation and there is rarely a shortage or relatives to mind the kids for at least part of the day. Many teenagers are also recruited to help out with younger cousins, as Andorians feel that it helps reinforce extended familial bonds. Additionally, the Clan Leader (and spouses) generally make a point of being available whenever they can to take over childcare. This has a number of purposes, in that it allows the Clan Leader to be enmeshed in the goings on of the entire Clan while providing a valuable service, and it also allows the Clan Leader to form familial bonds with the children of the Clan.

Sometimes, the parents can arrange their work schedules so that every parent takes a day to spend with the children and then swaps with the next parent the following day, and the next the following day, and so on. It becomes a rotating schedule of sorts. Not every job can accommodate this, but it's common enough amongst Andorians.

The prospect of handing one's children off to total strangers is appalling to Andorians, who are in turn horrified to find that this is a common Terran practice. One's children are the future of the Clan - thus, only the Clan can be trusted with their safety. I believe I touched upon this in another post, so I'll leave it there. As for who actually does the childrearing... that depends. Some quads are all enthusiastic parents, and all of them take very active roles in their children's upbringing and homelife. Sometimes, only half the quad wishes to have children at that point in time, and the other bonded couple ends up being more tangential to the children's lives until the kids grow up enough to hold a conversation with. Usually, in this latter example's case, the other bonded couple will provide support, handle chores and such, but be less active in the actual childrearing aspects of things unless the children directly engage them.

Other times, children are desired but most, if not all, of the quad have extremely demanding jobs and cannot simply step away for any real length of time. Career-focused parents like the aforementioned are a little controversial amongst Andorians, as some feel that it is unfair to the children to have so little access to their parents, but society and the demands it places upon adult Andorians in general are slowly softening to the idea. To be honest, though, these are only some examples of possibilities within a quad. Andorians are as varied as Humans, after all, and every permutation under the sun can exist for how quads arrange themselves around children and childcare.

In Shral's case, for example, all of his parents were involved but the parents actively serving in the Imperial Guard were not always able to step away to spend time with the kids.

Meanwhile, Thelen's parents were very much career-focused, and Thelen spent a great deal of time with his cousins and extended family during his childhood.

Vrath, by comparison, was doted on by all four of her parents full-time, to the point where Vrath's birth-mother would bring the baby to work with her rather than leave her behind.

I think that about covers it! Hope this answered everything!

[whentherewerebicycles]

baby had his four-month vaccines today and did very well! some betrayed screaming (he looks so much like my italian grandmother when he's furious it's kind of hilarious) but he always returns pretty easily to equilibrium if you cuddle him a bit. chill little dude! i love that little guy.

he is napping now and i should be doing student work but instead i am going to do some reflective journaling about Parenting. i have not been writing about Parenting very much in My Public Diary for a number of reasons and i thought it might be useful to write through that hesitation a bit.

liz and i have talked a lot about how we imagine the emotional experience of parenting is going to feel a lot like the emotional experience of teaching. (bear with me on this tangent as i promise it circles back.) teaching is one of the best, most rewarding, most purposeful forms of work in the world, but you really earn the emotional highs through facing the extreme emotional lows lol. in teaching, you get very little external feedback on how you are doing. you have to trust your gut a lot and figure things out on the fly in the absence of genuinely helpful institutional support. you make a lot of mistakes (sometimes quite big ones) and you feel stupid and guilty about those mistakes (sometimes for years!). teaching feels intensely personal, both because you pour a ton of your own personality into it and because kids' reactions to their classroom experience are often framed as reactions to you personally (ie if they hate your rules or the way you do things or the subject matter you are teaching or the way you address disciplinary issues, they are often going to react in ways that feel like: I Hate You, Person Who Embodies The Things I Dislike or Feel Uncomfortable With). as a teacher there are SO many opportunities for public humiliation, in big and small ways. like, you are basically just on stage every day in front of kids who often did not choose to be there and do not always have a strong motivation to give you any positive reinforcement at all lol. also, while sometimes you are lucky and find really supportive teacher communities, you are also sometimes unlucky and find yourself in school environments where other teachers are really critical of each other or hostile to different approaches or so sensitive/defensive about their own work that even talking about teaching strategies together can feel super fraught. oh and also you have to deal with so much cultural NOISE because everyone thinks they can do their job better than you or knows how your job should be done even if they've never set foot in front of a classroom.

so often in teaching you find yourself facing a challenging audience, without much or any institutional support, with minimal external feedback on your work apart from the intensely emotional I Love You!/I Hate You! gut reactions you get from kids, in professional environments where trying to talk openly about your work or others' work can make people real real prickly real fast. this is obviously a skewed-negative framing (there are so many WONDERFUL things about teaching! the challenges are incredibly intellectually stimulating and push you to grow emotionally in ways that few professions do! the relationships you form with kids and with teachers who also genuinely love the work are unbelievably enriching and life-affirming!). but that's the way teaching can feel at its hardest.

i think that parenting, or thinking and talking about parenting, is probably going to feel a LOT like that at times. like, you are going to get LOTS of feedback on your parenting style from your kid... but that feedback is going to often be really personal and emotion-driven, and it will also be delivered by someone whose prefrontal cortex has not finished developing yet. there is no system of performance assessments where you can get feedback from a trusted "colleague" or recognized authority figure. we do not have strong cultural or institutional resources for coaching parents or helping them learn how to parent in more effective ways. and even the definition of "effective" is going to vary HUGELY from parent to parent, since we all choose to center different values in our parenting and to prioritize different life outcomes (just as teachers might choose to prioritize different learning outcomes and so emphasize different things in their work). i assume that parenting is also going to involve managing feelings of humiliation, guilt, shame, etc. at some points (even as it also offers incredible highs!). and of course there is an absolutely overwhelming amount of cultural noise around parenting styles etc especially online... and it's even more fraught than the cultural noise around teaching because at least with teaching the framing isn't "if you don't do exactly what I think is best you are going to permanently scar your child and irreparably damage their prospects in life." and then idk also just hard to talk to other parents about parenting even though i desperately want to! i want to talk these things out with people who are currently navigating similar issues or have just been through the same thing, as well as with people whose children are much older and who have had the time and distance to reflect on their experiences. but it can feel soooooo emotionally vulnerable to talk about your parenting values or your reasoning for doing things, in part because people can get super defensive about their own values or reasoning for doing something, even if you are not criticizing them for doing something differently.

anyway. this is all a long way of saying: i can't make sense of my own lived experiences if i'm not writing my way through them. writing is the way i untangle what i'm feeling and make decisions about how i want to move forward. i am also someone who craves detailed frameworks or mental schemas for what i'm doing. i don't want rigid rules, but i do want to have a loose, flexible mental framework that guides my decision-making. i want to think about the big questions a lot when i'm in a calm reflective headspace so that when i'm under immense pressure or in an emotionally fraught situation i can try to make choices that aren't just knee-jerk reactions but are aligned with the bigger-picture values and longer-term outcomes that matter to me. i also find a lot of value in documenting where my head and heart are at in a particular moment, even if i acknowledge that my thinking about things will evolve over time as i have new experiences or learn new things.

long circular way of getting to the question: why do i fear writing about parenting online? short answer:

I'm afraid of feeling judged!

I'm afraid of coming off as naive/stupid! I feel like so much of our cultural rhetoric around parenting is like, "you think being PREGNANT is hard? try having a NEWBORN! you think having a NEWBORN is hard? try having a TODDLER! you think having a TODDLER is hard? try having a PRETEEN. you think having a PRETEEN is hard? well you're gonna HATE how SHITTY and OVERWHELMED and INADEQUATE you feel when you have a TEENAGER!!!" and so on forever and ever. there's so little generosity or empathetic curiosity in the way we talk to & about parents or people who want to be parents. some of that is true! you can't really know something until you've lived it yourself, and idk, a lot of it IS hard. but i think often the way we talk to each other about parenting, or the way people talk to new parents in particular about parenting, gets kinda clouded by our emotional defensiveness around parenting and the general negativity with which we speak about parenting.

I'm afraid of making other people feel judged if I do things differently than they do or if I seem to be having an easier time with a particular stage.

however! here are some counterpoints:

people will judge you for anything and everything. who cares! i also think that carving out space for sustained reflection around parenting is going to help me feel more secure in my choices and therefore less scared about being judged. if i know why i am doing things and feel reasonably confident in my choices, i am less vulnerable to being emotionally buffeted around by the general cultural noise or other people's strong opinions.

feeling scared of looking stupid/naive/inexperienced is suuuch a core fear of mine lol. i really relish feeling competent and having others perceive me as competent. but this core fear is also a core thing i want to work on in myself. learning how to do something new (especially when the stakes feel so high!!) is hard, messy, vulnerable work. all learners entering a new sphere of knowledge bring with them preconceptions that will seem ill-founded or incomplete to more experienced practitioners. totally normal. totally not something to be embarrassed about. the goal is not to get it exactly right & be an expert the first time you try something. the goal is to be engaged in a lifelong process of learning, trying, reflecting, reconsidering, trying again, evaluating other approaches or perspectives, etc etc. i am sure that i will often write about parenting in the self-assured, know-it-all tones of a novice learner who's absorbed just enough to be really stupid about it lol. but life will teach me. i will learn to moderate my positions, to reconsider certainties i held sacrosanct, and to respect ways of addressing challenges that are very different from my own. but you can't do that from the sidelines or from that relentlessly bird's eye view/meta mode i love to inhabit. you gotta get in there and live it. gotta look like a dumbass in front of people and then get over yourself and become less of a dumbass in time. no way but through.

lastly, re: not wanting to make other people feel judged: I can't control how other people react to me! I can take care to try to be less of a serenely self-assured dumbass (lol) and to write about my own parenting choices in ways that communicate respect for other people's choices. but people can also just choose to not engage with stuff that isn't for them. or they can gently push back on what i say if that's important to them to see other perspectives acknowledged. that's ok! that's great.

idk. this is getting quite long! but as always, it was helpful for me to write through it -- and i guess maybe also helpful to give a sort of upfront disclaimer: I'm going to be writing a lot about parenting, probably for a while, because I find it endlessly interesting to think about and because this is the dedicated space where I think out loud about stuff. I'm going to be learning and reevaluating the way I think about different aspects of parenting as I go, and I'm going to give myself the space and grace to change my mind as I learn more and have new experiences. my decisions and reflections are specific to my life, my beliefs, and my context and are not meant to be generalized judgments on the "best" way to parent. they're just my choices. but also, inevitably, thinking about my personal decisions will involve thinking about the parenting cultures in which I am immersed and reflecting on why I might want to do things differently or develop different frameworks. so yeah. here we go! more to come but i really gotta get some work done before this baby wakes up.

[apaise]

"we look out for each other." ash @ chrissy (grishaverse)

what should've been a simple supply run had quickly devolved into madness when dru & ash decided to make fools out of some swindlers. maybe they would've turned the other way if the gang had picked on anyone else but some poor kids with barely two coins to rub together. but dru and ash have always had an underlying sense of justice -- even ash, despite her airs of nonchalance. watching the kids wipe their tears after losing everything over a game of marbles, they aimed to give the men a taste of some real trickery.

if naya or gideon had been there, they probably would've cautioned them against going after such petty criminals -- the insecure type who'd pull a gun if they felt the smallest offense, especially from two little women.

but it was only dru and ash who were sent out to buy food.

an hour later, dru's screaming for help outside the ship, the sheer panic in her voice resounding all the way to the captain's quarters. chrissy rushes to the bannister only to see ash's limp body cradled in her arms; she immediately assumes the worst, heart stopping while the others rush past to help them.

naya assesses ash and george shouts to chrissy to reassure that her sister's fine; suddenly chrissy realizes audrey's holding onto her, helping her remain upright. the next hour's full of naya tending to ash's wounds with kaya's help while the others endeavor to keep chrissy out of the medic's room -- and from beating dru to a pulp. it's gideon who has to push chrissy aside and point out that dru's been injured too, and that it's no one's fault but the craven criminals at port.

the guilt towards a still-bleeding dru sedates chrissy somewhat, but her mind still demands blame on someone in her angry, immediate vicinity. quickly she realizes it falls to no one else but her, who had begged her little sister to join her in a new world she ultimately knew was dangerous. the regret starts to eat her alive, picturing herself having to give their parents the news if things had turned out worse. chrissy would've crawled to her room to hole up if it wasn't for audrey's warm hand keeping her tethered to the present. sometimes she squeezes just a little too tight, the earnest comfort of someone who had never done this before; yet strangely that only makes chrissy more grateful.

eventually she's given clearance to visit ash. chrissy sees that naya had pinned ash's hair out of the way in a kempt style she knows her sister hates; on instinct chrissy reaches over to unpin it. gently she brushes her fingers through her bangs, restoring her hair to that perfectly unperfect style their mother hates. she looks so small on the medic table, for a second chrissy almost thinks they're back in os alta and she's staring at her baby sister in a crib, all dolled up in lace and pearls.

but instead it's gauze and bandages.

chrissy chokes up, hating seeing ash like this; she wants her to be scowling at her or making fun of her with gid, anything but this. ❝ i'm supposed to be looking out for you. ❞ it's the start of an apology, a long one. but before chrissy can even continue, ash suddenly cuts her off before even opening her eyes.

it's just like her to say something sentimental if only to knock her big-headed big sister down a peg. ash opens her eyes and the relief almost staggers chrissy, immediately wanting to wrap her up in a tight hug. yet remembering that's not the best for her recovery, she does her best to follow suit with the joke instead, the least she can do after everything. ❝ you're not even going to let me have this one? ❞chrissy frowns but her voice is wavering between crying and laughing.

❝ you are pretty good at that, i'll give you. ❞

all this time, chrissy would tell herself that she had saved ash from a boring life in the palace. yet deep down . . she's always known ash was the one saving her from the very beginning, the one person who kept picking chrissy even when the rest of ravka didn't care for a bastard princess. everything she is now is owed to her little sister, whose support was always ten times the teasing.

[faridabadhometutor]

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