#To compartmentalise and be alone with his own thoughts and feelings

[saints-who-never-existed]

"Richard Henry Dana [author of the 1840 memoir 'Two Years Before the Mast'] experienced firsthand how the morale of a ship's crew could deteriorate to the extent that even the slightest incident might be perceived as a horrendous, unbearable injustice:

"A thousand little things, daily and almost hourly occurring, which no one who has not himself been on a long and tedious voyage can conceive of or properly appreciate - little wars and rumors of wars,- reports of things said in the cabin,- misunderstanding of words and looks,- apparent abuses,- brought us into a state in which everything seemed to go wrong."

- In the Heart of the Sea, Nathaniel Philbrick

[thefrogdalorian]

Hold Me Close

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count:  3.4k Rating: General Summary: In the aftermath of Grogu's departure to be with his own kind, your riduur is nowhere to be found, with little indication - other than a message disk - as to his whereabouts. You anxiously await his return. Yet the man who eventually comes back to you is a broken, shadow of the man you fell in love with. Content Warnings: Slight mention of blood/injuries but nothing too graphic. Author's Note: I made this post about hugging Din and then this just sort of took root in my brain. I don't know why he is always going through it in my fics, poor man cannot catch a break with me ha. Anyway hope you enjoyed! Was nice to just sit and write out a little brainworm, I loved just getting this one out of me and using some more Mando'a! Such a cool language and you can express so many beautiful sentiments. Hope you enjoyed!

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

The rain thumped against the windowpane with such veracity that were it not for the luxurious hotel you were staying in, you would be concerned that the glass was about to fail. The sun had not long set and a brilliant array of technicoloured signs were beginning to light the Uscru District. It was usually your favourite time of day, but this time, as evening set in, you were devastated by your desolation. The fading light marked another day of solitude. The third since he had left, meaning you had one more night.

Watching some of the planet’s three trillion inhabitants go about their lives on the bustling street far below had helped distract you from the queasy feeling that had first formed in your stomach several days ago when you had woken up to an empty bed. It was crushing to know that he should be here now, with you. Both of them should be.

Instead, there was no love, light and laughter filling the room thanks to the presence of your boys. Instead, you had been left in the impossibly opulent suite of an extravagant hotel – with the price tag to match – completely alone. You had baulked at the figure that the protocol droid had recited for a five night stay. But Din had not hesitated in placing the credits on the desk before the droid, despite your protestations.

You knew you should be grateful that he had at least arranged such comfortable lodgings for you, before he left. Yet the vastness of the suite only added to your feelings of emptiness. There was no laughter as your riduur played with your adiik. Only the gut wrenching sounds of the sobs and whimpers torn from your body, as the pain threatened to envelop every fibre of your being. 

Now that it had happened, you chastised yourself for failing to adequately prepare for the inevitability of the day. When your ad would return to his kind. After all, when you had first met the little one’s buir, he told you that the child was only with him temporarily. Didn’t stop either of you from getting attached, though.

You sighed and padded across the room, towards the nightstand where the message disk that had answered all of your questions had been placed after he left. You knew that watching it one more time would only serve to cause you more pain, but you found yourself drawn to pressing that little button. It was the only way to feel close to him. 

Immediately, a projection of the helmet you loved so much appeared, suspended in mid-air with a pale blue glow around it. You yearned to see his face again, the fact that he was wearing his helmet indicated to you that Din had pre recorded this. It had always been his plan to leave, it seemed. The thought that he had acted so calmly around you as you had prepared yourself to sleep that night chilled you. He was accustomed to a life of compartmentalising his emotions though, given his former profession as a bounty hunter. A profession that had brought the two of you together. 

But then his rich, gravelly voice filled the room and your ruminations were brought to an abrupt end as your body responded to the sound. 

“Cyare,

I need some time by myself to come to terms with recent events. I am sorry for leaving you and I know you will be worried, but I know you would have never agreed to let me go otherwise. I will be fine. There is nothing on Coruscant more dangerous than obstacles I have previously overcome.

Please, do not come looking for me. I want you to enjoy the amenities that the hotel provides.

I will be back before the credits I put down expire.

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

You sighed. There was no way you could possibly have enjoyed the amenities, like Din had suggested. You had heeded his request not to come looking for him, though. 

Instead of appreciating the luxuries of the expensive hotel, you had found yourself in your room, with nothing to do but gaze out of the window in between dissolving into sobs. You had replayed Din's message so many times over the last few days that you had feared the flimsy little disk might disintegrate in your palm. Each time looking for new meaning that wasn't there. Din had done his best to comfort you, but you felt anything but comforted. Speaking that affection to you in Mando’a, a phrase that you had been so blown away by when you had first been told of its meaning.

“I know your name forever,” he had said, in the typical Mandalorian declaration of love. But Din’s actions felt anything but loving. He had left, abandoned you to comprehend the void that had been opened by the sight of your beloved boy being carried away in the arms of the Jedi.

You had been stunned when, aboard Boba Fett’s ship, Din had requested passage to Coruscant when you had reunited with him after the mission aboard Gideon’s light cruiser. It was the last place you would have expected Din to want to travel to, given how busy the planet was. You spent most of the journey questioning why precisely Din had chosen such a bustling planet to escape to. You had expected that he would have wanted to find some peace of mind after the heartbreaking events on Gideon’s light cruiser somewhere far more peaceful than a planet with a population of three trillion people.

After everything that had happened, surely Din and you would have been far happier on a secluded planet with plenty of nature to ground yourselves in and come to terms with the devastating loss. But Din did not consult you. If he had, you would have suggested Naboo, with its beautiful countryside and warm climate – especially in the secluded Lake Country – it could have been the perfect place. 

Now, as you sat on the edge of the luxurious four-poster sleeper, your mind wandered to thoughts of how differently things could have turned out, had Din’s desire to isolate himself not taken over. You daydreamed about lush grass, gentle breeze and crystal clear water lapping at your ankles as you and Din strolled hand in hand through one of the lakes. Sighing deeply and allowing the fresh, sweet air to envelop you as you glanced over at Din. Appreciating the way his tousled brown hair was still slightly from an earlier swim in the lake and how the tips of some of his curls were slightly blond thanks to the sun. His brown eyes flecked with honey in the sunlight as he gazed at you with equal reverence. His bronzed, sunkissed skin making him look a world away from the pale shell of a man you had last observed in this very hotel room…

The sound of the door opening caused your eyes to fly open. You realised that you were lying back on the sleeper, the dryness of your mouth indicating that you had dropped off to sleep, your exhausted mind demanding the rest that you had neglected to give it.

Now, disorientated and panicking at the intrusion into the room where you had been wallowing for days, you sat bolt upright on the sleeper. 

“It’s me,” that familiar, deep voice declared. 

Din had returned.

You fumbled with the lamp on the nightstand, feeling your heart constrict at the sight that greeted you as the room was bathed in a warm glow. The first thing you noticed were the various dark splatters of unidentified origin darkening Din’s ordinarily-pristine helmet. You noticed that his cowl was slightly torn, exposing just a sliver of tan skin. It was unlike him, to be so careless in his appearance. As your eyes descended lower, you noticed the way his broad shoulders were hunched forward, a visible indication of his anguish. He usually stood tall and proud. Ner cerar. Your mountain. It was unsettling to see Din so utterly broken like this.

“Are you alright?” You frantically questioned as you pushed yourself off the sleeper and closed the distance between the two of you. You were still angry with him, but the time to discuss his actions could come later. For now, your priority was making sure that Din was okay.

Din’s lack of response, save for a shaky intake of breath that was amplified by his vocoder, threatened to break you entirely. You understood now that he did not want to talk about whatever he had been up to; wherever he had been and whoever he had encountered which had clearly inflicted such damage upon him. Din would only talk about it when he was ready to. It was pointless to bring it up and deal with the inevitable shutdown before then.

Despite the armour somewhat hindering your ability to wrap your arms around Din’s waist, you managed to secure your arms around him. You held him tightly, your arms resting in the gap above his belt, underneath the beskar which covered his chest and abdomen. Although the shock of the ice-cold steel against your cheek was initially uncomfortable, as you brought your head against Din’s chestplate, just next to his ka’rta beskar, you felt truly calm for the first time in days. 

Having Din back in your arms brought you the comfort that you had been missing for days. Feeling the warmth of the man beneath that cold, hard armour as you held him tightly in your arms, drawing his strong body to you, brought you immense relief. Din seemed to be deriving solace from your embrace, too. Your heart soared as you heard a shy little huff, barely audible from underneath his helmet as he adjusted to being held in your arms.

That sound gave you more confidence, you knew that Din was relishing the contact. You moved your hands up slightly and began to rub tentative circles into his back, beneath his back armour plate. Din sighed contentedly and you moved your hands to his sides, rubbing your hands up his waist and feeling the firm warmth of his skin below his dark brown flightsuit. You stood there for a few moments, your small, tender movements appeared to be going some way to ease Din’s anguish. You felt his body loosen as he practically melted into your embrace.

Eventually, Din’s large gloved hands began caressing your back in return, showing his appreciation for your soothing touches. You felt immensely relieved that you were able to help him, grateful that he had returned to you. You had never doubted for one second that Din would not keep his word and come back to you. He was a man who kept to his word; a decent man of integrity and of honour. Yet, there was that nagging fear that something would prevent the two of you from being reunited, events beyond your control. Coruscant was a planet with many seedy areas, including a sleazy underworld. It would be all too easy for Din to become embroiled in something, a misunderstanding or a disagreement perhaps, with devastating questions given the nefarious characters that lined the streets there…

“Thank you, cyare,” Din breathed, distracting you from that depressing line of thoughts that your mind had once again slipped into. 

“I missed you so much,” you whispered. “Oh, Din… I was so worried about you.” 

“I'm sorry for worrying you. I just needed…” Din swallowed thickly. “I needed to deal with things, wrap my head around the fact that he's gone.” 

“I know, I know,” you attempted to soothe Din. But the truth was, thinking about what had been taken from you on the light cruiser was too devastating to contemplate. Instead, you decided to focus your efforts on comforting the man before you. “Is there anything I can do, now?”

“Hold me close, cyare. Don’t ever let me go,” Din squeaked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You wrapped your arms around Din’s waist once again, squeezing him tightly. You were more than happy to comply with his request, drawing as much comfort and strength from the way your bodies fit together as Din did. But you felt the cold bite of beskar against your hands and recoiled slightly, wishing Din would just remove the awkward, cumbersome barrier to your embrace. 

“It might be easier if you took some of this off, you know,” you said, voice light. It was an observation rather than a complaint. You hoped that acknowledging the barrier between the two of you would go some way to lightening Din’s mood, but there was no response. The man who was usually so stoic and composed had crumbled before you, devastated at the loss of the little boy that he had cared for as a father. 

You would never forget the tears in Din’s eyes as he watched the terrible scene unfolding before him, of the Jedi walking off with the child who meant everything to him. Removing his helmet like that had been a violation of his Creed, something the two of you had not yet discussed. As far as you were concerned, your riduur was still every inch the Mandalorian that you had always known him to be. 

You wondered if knowledge that he was technically an apostate explained his sudden apprehension at removing his helmet in front of you. You were frustrated that Din was hiding behind his helmet, wanting more than anything to give him a reassuring kiss on the cheek and stroke your fingers through his soft dark brown curls. You did not want to not push or prod him to take a step that went beyond his comfort zone, though. The man had been through enough recently.  

You looked up questioningly as Din dropped his hands from where they had been resting on your back. Then, with trembling hands, Din reached up and removed his helmet. Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you.

Din Djarin looked utterly broken, a shell of himself. Your handsome riduur was almost unrecognisable. It was clear that wherever he had been, he had not been taking care of himself. His eyes weren’t meant to be this sunken and haunted. Din’s cheeks were hollow, he looked gaunt; a shadow of the man you knew and loved. As you stared into the warm brown eyes you adored you noticed to your horror that they were utterly devoid of any vibrancy or joy. Instead, they were bloodshot and both their appearance and the deep, dark bags under his eyes, was an indication that he had not slept since he had marched out of your hotel in the dead of night almost four days ago. The fantasy of running your hands through Din’s soft curls was to be unrealised as his hair was matted. His facial hair was unkempt too.

His dishevelled appearance utterly shattered you. 

How could you ever begin to repair his fractured soul? You had a vague notion that if you brought your fingertips to his forehead and cheeks, perhaps you could smooth out the deep wrinkles that lined his handsome face, more pronounced than you remembered. 

“Oh, Din… you haven’t been taking care of yourself,” you observed, as much as yourself for him.

Din shook his head in response.

“Where did you go?”

“Tracing an old contact in the lower levels. Got into a few fights in Cantinas,” Din explained, slowly removing his gloves and showing you his swollen, bruised knuckles as proof. The blood that had oozed from the wounds now dried and blackened. 

You shook your head and took his large hand in yours, bringing the tender, misshapen knuckles to your lips and kissing them softly, one by one. If only a simple kiss could undo all of the hurt.

“I thought you left this life behind, Din.”

“I thought Grogu would never leave.”

You inhaled sharply. Hearing his name was difficult. Another punch to the stomach. 

“He’s with his kind, now, Din,” you murmured, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “We have to move on. Together.”

Din nodded, gaze finally meeting yours. 

“I’m sorry for leaving you. I shouldn’t have done that. We’re a team, you’re my riduur…”

“I am,” you agreed, relieved he seemed to have remembered that. “Don’t shut me out, Din.”

“I won’t,” Din shook his head. 

“Good,” you breathed. There was still much you wanted to discuss, especially Din's tendency to isolate himself in times of stress. But the time for such onerous conversations would come. For now, it was clear that the two of you needed to lean on each other for support during such a terrible time.

“The contact gave me a name, by the way. For a planet,” Din explained. “Somewhere called Glavis Ringworld. It’s many parsecs from here, it’ll probably take us several months without a ship and I…”

“Din.” You raised your hand, stopping him in his tracks. “You look like you haven’t rested properly since the last time I saw you. How about you take a shower? It's a real one, not a sonic. The jets are hotter than Mustafar and powerful too, unlike anything I’ve felt for years. Take a shower. Then we need to sleep. I’ll hold you all night, ner cerar,” you promised, using the nickname you always used for Din: my mountain. He was your pillar of strength and even if he did not feel strong himself, it was important for him to know that you still revered him as much as ever. 

Din nodded slowly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it softly as he headed to the ‘fresher. You sighed in his wake. Still unsettled from the arduous events of the day, the emotional upheaval. But Din was back with you now. It seemed that he had already formed a plan for the next steps that the two of you would take. His way of coping with losing Grogu had been moving between the various shady establishments of Coruscant’s underworld, as though a hunter stalking his prey.

You supposed that side of Din would never truly leave him. You and Grogu had done your part in bringing the love that you knew had always been buried deep within him to the surface. Yet it was not a straightforward process. Progress would not be linear. But you had taken those sacred vows that declared you were one when together and when parted; that you would share all and you would raise warriors. The little warrior you had been raising together was gone now, back with his own kind, who would nurture and cherish his talents in a galaxy so fraught with danger.

Now it was up to you and Din to live up to the other vows. You hoped that he would truly share everything with you now, as you travelled to some far-flung planet at a distant corner of the galaxy. There was nowhere to hide now. The worst had happened. It was up to the two of you to get through it and adapt to a new life together. 

Din emerged from the ‘fresher, the spark somewhat restored in his eyes. You noticed that his hair no longer matted; it was damp and slightly tousled, as it had been in your Nabooian fantasies. You wondered if it could be a possible pit stop on your journey to the planet Din had mentioned.

But all thoughts of Glavis Ringworld were far from your mind as you held the surprisingly narrow waist of your riduur tightly. It was as though you feared he would slip away from you again. If Din found the strength in your grip painful, he did not vocalise those thoughts.

“Jate ca, cyare,” Din sighed, wishing you good night in the beautiful ancient language of the Mandalorian people.

“Jate ca,” you breathed. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ner atin cerar.”

Din’s recent actions in shutting you out were stubborn, so you did not feel too bad at affixing that description to the affectionate nickname you had for him. You kissed his cheek softly, grateful that he had trimmed his facial hair. You relaxed when you noticed his shallow, even breaths which indicated that he was finally getting the rest he so desperately needed.

Din had given you a terrible fright with his departure, but the broken state he had returned to you in and the comfort he had drawn from you had made you feel more secure than ever in his love for you. Now, as the two remaining members of Clan Mudhorn, you would begin your travels across the galaxy to your ultimate destination. 

Together, sharing all as you went. 

Mando'a phrases:

riduur - spouse

adiik - young child

buir - father

Cyare - beloved

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum - I know you eternally (I love you)

ka’rta beskar - iron heart

Ner cerar - my mountain

Jate ca - goodnight

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ner atin cerar - I love you, my stubborn mountain

[mothofmyth]

Steve Harrington takes up journaling.

Look, he's a very traumatised teenager in the 80s. He's got barely any friends, essentially no family worth a damn, and he's definitely not getting a therapist any time soon.

He remembered asking Nancy once, while they were still dating, why girls keep diaries. Why they write shit in them if they don't want anybody to read it.

She told him she likes it because it's like having a friend who can't give you advice you don't want, who won't give you their opinion or judgement on things they don't know enough about.

A diary can't betray your trust the way a human can, so long as you hide it well enough, and if you write something in it that you're not allowed to talk about, you can always tear out the page and throw it in a fire. It's how she compartmentalises. It's a release.

Steve honestly thought it was dumb at first. Leaving all of your secrets conveniently together in one place. If you invited friends over or threw a party and someone found it you'd be socially ruined before you even knew it was gone.

Still, after everything goes down... Steve has no friends his own age, he's sort of responsible for a bunch of traumatised kids, he's for all intents and purposes alone. He feels like he's going to pop if he doesn't tell someone something.

~

He's throwing another tantrum, as his mom would call it. Tearing up and throwing anything he can find, uncaring of the mess he'll have to clean up later. He just can't cope, and it's not like anybody's stopping him.

He turns his attention to a bookshelf, starts tearing pages out of paperbacks and launching them across the room. He picks up an old notebook, probably a spare he got for school and never got round to using.

It makes him pause, remembering an old, old conversation with somebody he used to love.

He figures, what harm could it do to try? It's not like destroying the house for the third time this week is helping much, nor did climbing into his dad's liquor cabinet and falling to the bottom of a bottle of barrel-aged whiskey.

He grabs a cracked biro off the floor, ignoring the way the plastic crunches a little in his too-firm grip.

He opens the book to the first page and begins to write.

He doesn't really know what he's doing, so he just starts putting his stream of consciousness onto the page. At first it's barely coherent scribblings, but once he starts, he finds there's things he wants to say, things he's been desperate to tell someone just to get them out of his head. He couldn't tell the kids, couldn't tell Nancy or his parents, definitely couldn't tell Tommy and Carol, so he tells the book, instead.

He pours out his darkest thoughts, writes things he would never say out loud, about how sometimes he wishes the demogorgon had taken him out, wishes Billy had killed him, how maybe the kids would be better off that way.

He writes about how exhausted he is, how much he hates his friends and the government and everybody who dragged him to this point and then left him hanging. Left him to drown.

Like Barb drowned. When he killed her. When stupid Nancy invited her stupid friend to his stupid party because stupid Tommy and stupid Carol wanted to play in his stupid pool at his stupid house because his stupid parents were on a stupid business trip.

He presses too hard and the paper tears under his pen. He realises he's crying when he tries to put the paper back together and the ink smudges on his fingers.

He writes and writes until he feels empty inside, then he puts it in a shoebox and stuffs it back under his bed, along with all of those feelings and fears and traumas. With his absent parents and miserable little life and everything that he can never show to the rest of the world.

He starts cleaning up in a haze, forgetting all about his diary for the time being. He's got responsibilities, after all. Who else is gonna step up, if not him?

~

End for now, but this could go a number of ways feel free to add on. Maybe someone finds the journal. Maybe they get upset by what they see. Maybe they're insulted, or scared, or worried and horrified about Steve's inner monologue.

Maybe some kind of magic happens and the book is actually connected to someone else in some way, and they're seeing everything he's writing and start writing back soulmates-style.

Maybe the book is someone, and they materialise from it having been created by Steve's thoughts or just summoned to 'fix' him.

Idk, as I said there's a lot of directions this could take.

[effervescentdragon]

Your Charlos omegaverse... I have no words. If you ever wonder if people want yo keep reading about it the answer will always be: YES.

I'll read every continuation you decide to give us.

Carlos offering and Charles realising that Carlos makes him feel good.

Thank you so much for this.

i am in a mood. it helps to read this, this, and this before :) thank you for the prompt nonnie ❤️

"I'm good," Carlos says, and his fists clench. "I'm good," he says, as if he doesn't believe it but he's trying to, as if he needs Charles to reassure him, as if the fire in his eyes holds something that's balancing precariously on an edge of some precipice Charles neither understands nor sees, and whatever Charles says will be the thing to either ground it, or make it tumble right off.

Charles can't stop thinking about it. Not in a way that matters anyway. He is used to compartmentalisation and he uses it regularly. There is no other way to get through a day sometimes, and Charles is a master of getting through days that feel more like a simulation than actual life. He knows how to push down everything except what he needs to focus on. It's usually racing, and racing is the most important thing in the world to Charles, so he manages.

But sometimes... sometimes he is alone at night, or alone in the sim, or alone in the gym, and his thoughts go back to his last heat. Go back to Carlos, really, and the way he acted when he had Charles at his mercy.

Charles hadn't expected it, not really. Expectations were always only a way to disappoint yourself, but he couldn't help but hope. And Carlos lived up to that hope magnificently. The way he kissed Charles, the way he took him, the way he took care of them both. The way he asked Are you okay and What do you need and What can I give you in a way that felt like he was prepared to give everything, if only Charles was to ask.

Charles thinks he asked. He can't remember it properly, the skin and the heat and the kisses and the pressure and the scent and the look in Carlos' eyes, the look which couldn't hide what Charles never wanted to hear Carlos say because words don't mean anything. Words are meaningless unless they're written down and bound by a law agreement, and even then, they are not set in stone. They can be taken back, and they can be turned around and used to hurt, used to make Charles bruise and bleed, make him wish he didn't exist, or that his heart was something that was unbreakable. And despite all that, Charles still thinks he asked. Begged.

He remembers begging, for more, for anything, for everything. He remembers saying more and please and Carlos and so good and yes, and he remembers Carlos indulging him and satisfying him and answering every plea from Charles' lips with kisses and touches and caressess that soothed the burn in his skin and made him burn even more somehow. It was wonderful. It was excruciating. It was good.

He does remember leaving. That much, he remembers. He remembers waking up with an arm around his waist, not restraining, just holding him. He remembers Carlos' chest underneath his head and the steady heartbeat he could hear, and the scent of sex in the air, and the stickyness of his own skin. He remembers feeling content, and safe, and like everything was good.

The very next moment the panic gripped him, so he did the only thing he could. He ran. He gathered his things and kept his breathing in check, and then he ran from the room, from Carlos and the deceitful feeling of safety. He ran, because this was a one-time thing, and this was a favour that Carlos did him at his own disadvantage, and this wasn't something Charles gets to have. This was just one in a line of things Charles couldn't allow himself to hope he could have.

It never ends well, when Charles tries to reach for the stars.

"I'm good," Carlos repeats, sitting next to Charles on the couch where they are filming the challenge. He is looking at Charles, and Charles loses his train of thought, about what happened after he left, about how he cried in Lolo's arms, about how he won the race after it. Carlos' eyes are on his face and Charles can't help but want his hands on his face too, again, maybe just once more. Playful touches are one thing, but touch with intent... Charles hasn't had much of that in a while. It's addictive. It's daunting. It's good.

Fuck, he thinks. "Yeah," he says, and Carlos' nostrils flare. Charles is pretty sure he knows what Charles' body is doing. He shouldn't let himself indulge, he shouldn't encourage this, whatever it is, because it will only end badly, it can't end any other way, but he also wants. "You are really good," he says, and remembers saying the same thing as Carlos held him close, skin against skin, breathing each other's air.

I need you to be the one to do something first, and I need you to do it with me, Charles thinks as he lowers his eyes to Carlos' hands. They are clenched into fists, and Charles thinks that, if Carlos wanted to touch him right then, Charles would let him. If Carlos reached out, Charles would let him. If Carlos just did something, anything, to take first, to - lead, overtake, pass - grasp Charles' hand, Charles would let him. So long as it wasn't Charles reaching out first. So long as it wasn't Charles who had to ask. So long as Carlos wanted him, too.

Carlos doesn't reach for him. His fists stay by his side, and his breaths stay irregular. He isn't looking Charles in the eyes anymore.

Charles sits back on the couch and tries to make his heart calm down. He fails. No matter.

He's used to it.

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of it - Good Morning (*)

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: M (nsfw), male masturbation, oral sex.

Word Count: 1,004

Summary: Jason dreams of what he can't have.

Masterlist

--------

Jason liked to start his mornings with a scorching hot shower. Burn away the haze of sleep, and what felt like the top layer of his skin, so he could start the new day fresh and clean.

He dropped his boxers in the hamper and stepped into the tiled shower. This was one of his nicer safe houses and the water pressure was merciless. He groaned under the torrent and rolled his shoulders. The muscles ached from the night’s activities all down his back and thighs. Not the pain of injury, but the rewarding sting of pushing himself further. It was addictive in its own way. He turned so water streamed down his back, curling around his sides and dribbling down his abs. 

He closed his eyes. 

It had been a busy but unremarkable patrol. Tailing a gang leader, breaking up a weapons trade at a warehouse. The only novel factor was the glimpse of Andy he caught from a well placed rooftop. 

She had been in the courtyard of a bar, dancing with some of her friends. 

He paused when he recognised her. She looked so different from her usual look, what she called greasy librarian chic. He smiled to see her living it up a little. Why else was he fighting so hard to protect the city if people couldn’t feel safe enough to let their hair down? In a low-backed dress that hugged her hips and thighs, she swayed and sang along to some crooning tune. Long hair tickled her bare back. He caught the echo of her laughter when one of her friends twirled her out across the dance floor. 

He squeezed his eyes closed harder. 

He was not a man easily distracted. He paid for safe working spaces for half the sex workers in Crime Alley for fuck’s sake, and a significant number of those men and women doubled as his informants. He compartmentalised. It had literally never been a challenge for him to keep things professional. 

But he had dreamed of her. 

Of the curve of her bare back, shining under the golden neon lights. Of her laughter, husky in his ear. The silky folds of her dress, rippling down her body, pooling at her feet. Her big curious eyes looking up at him. His hand squeezing the flesh of her thigh, wound tight around his hip. Her lips pressed to his neck. He rolled them over. 

And he woke up alone, face down in his own bed. 

He turned the water temperature up. It pelted his skin and steamed around him.

Andy was his friend, the closest he’d ever had outside of the hero scene. He wouldn’t ruin that.

He tried to focus on the day’s to-do list. 

The tip off Spoiler gave him implied those guns moving through the docks were funded by Scarecrow, but everything he had found the week before said it was Maroni. He needed to go over the case again and reassess. 

Don’t think about it. 

Roy wanted his opinion on some case he was working in New York. Jason promised to go over the files before the weekend.

Don’t think about it.

The water fell down his body in furious rivulets, curling around him, hot and insistent.

Dick wanted to schedule something about- he didn’t remember what. He could go do… whatever that was. 

Fuck. 

His hand wrapped around his cock. He sighed in relief. 

He leaned his other arm against the wall and his forehead against his forearm. 

Unbidden, her smile curled in his mind’s eye. 

Fuck, Andy. 

Thoughts of her were like smoke, curling and wafting around the barriers in his mind without a care. The softness of her skin. The spice of her perfume, the thickness of her hair. In his dream she had laughed, low and seductive. He had never heard her sound like that. 

He imagined her whispering in his ear. He replayed in his head the way she said his name. Jason, please. 

He was a terrible friend.

His hand was rough and calloused against the tender skin of his cock. Her lips would be soft, and almost grinning, as she looked up at him from her knees. That sparkle in her eyes when she was enjoying his nonsense but didn’t want him to think he was getting away with it. 

A groan rumbled in his chest. 

He would card his hands through her hair. He’d hold it back from her face and cup her jaw while she took him into her mouth. He would be gentle. Unless she asked him not to be. Only if she asked him. 

He thrust his hips into his curled hand. His mind’s eye conjured her head, held steady in both of his hands while he thrust deep. Her muted moans hummed against his cock as he plundered her throat. 

Words danced on the tip of his tongue but he held them back. Things he couldn’t admit even in the privacy of his own shower.

I won’t ever hurt you, baby. I’ll keep you safe. Look after you, always. Fuck, that’s a good girl.

Her hands wrapped around his thighs to hold herself steady. Her eyelashes fluttered shut, relishing his rough treatment.

“Andrea,” he choked out. 

His vision whited out. He pumped once, twice, three more times into his hand, and came onto the shower tiles.

He sucked in a deep breath, pleasure uncoiling through his whole body. The aftershocks rocked through him, and he leaned heavily against the wall. The sensations retreated all too swiftly, and were gone. His limbs felt weak. 

The water was running warm. He grudgingly opened his eyes. Andy was not here. 

The evidence of his indulgence washed slowly off the wall. 

He let go of himself, aching from the scratch of hard calluses against tender skin. He lowered his head, scowling. 

He slapped the shower controls in the other direction. Cold water blasted his body. He gasped against the shock and tried to convince himself he was never going to do that again. 

Next>>

[thatgirl4815]

Gloomy ramble ahead, sorry! The only thing giving me hope right now is that in literally the first millisecond of the extended ep 8 preview, when Ray asks if they can still be friends, he really doesn't look happy. It's not being played as a 'come on now, let's all get along' moment, he doesn't look flippant or sulky or whiny - he looks desperate. I think strangely enough what's got me most down about the Ray/Mew development is that it makes Boston appear to be right about Ray's motivations in ep 6, and yet I genuinely don't think that's why Ray told Mew about the cheating, and I still believe Ray was being honest when he said he didn't expect to get anything out of it, and that in that moment he really was removing himself from the whole equation. So in that respect it feels like a massive step backwards (though I do understand the view that for Ray/Sand to ultimately pan out, this is something that needs to happen, otherwise the spectre of Mew and what ifs would always loom over them). And as much as everyone talks about Ray not sparing Sand a moment's thought as soon as Mew opens up, it's equally true that when Ray is spending time with Sand, he doesn't appear to be giving Mew a moment's thought either, until he's forcibly reminded of him (ending of eps 3 and 5). So is he just super good at compartmentalising? Does he just grab onto any affection offered to him at any given moment? I think the cutting/editing of scenes is making me feel more wary about the outcome than I otherwise would be because I'm feeling acutely conscious of how many eps are left and how much (or little) screentime Sand/Ray (and Sand on his own) have had of late, and I very much DO want them to have a happy (or at least open but pointing that way) ending, and a LOT needs to happen (Ray getting over Mew, Sand's ex, Ray realising how he feels bout Sand and making up for his behaviour, Ray accepting he has a substance abuse problem and wanting (and hopefully getting) help for it) before that can be a possibility, and with the screentime ratio the way it has been, at this rate I don't see how they could fit it all in in a satisfactory manner. But I still want to believe! I'm still holding out for a finale timeskip wherein Sand picks Ray up from rehab and whisks him off to Chiang Mai so the series can end with them sipping non-alcoholic beverages beneath the stars!

I am clinging desperately to the hope that Sand and Ray will be together happily in the end. I do remember one interview/livestream (?) where Khaotung mentioned that everyone will come to terms with their true feelings. So that alone is giving me hope, and I'm going to choose to believe that's in relation to Ray's feelings for Sand.

About Boston seemingly being proven right...I agree with you that I don't think Ray was telling Mew the truth because he thought it would increase his chances of being with Mew (I'm sure that occurred to him, but I don't think it was his primary motivator). Tbh, I think Ray would have survived in the friendzone with Mew, and I think he'd even started to resign himself to it, until Mew opened up that possibility. That's the most important thing in my mind: Mew is the one who brought up the state of their relationship, not Ray. Ray wasn't going to push it until Mew gave him the opportunity to ask if they could be something more.

Another thing giving me hope is as you mentioned; we've seen this dynamic play out pretty often. It's certainly not ideal, but if Ray wasn't in a relationship with Mew at any point, I truly don't think he would ever be able to move on from him. He might come close, but there would always be a part of him harboring that unrequited crush, wondering what could've been. It's interesting to me also that Ray's crush seems to go back to Mew 'saving his life,' when in fact Sand has also saved his life on multiple occasions (different situations, but the effect is similar). I do understand that the situation with Mew 2 years ago lingers with Ray so much because in it, Ray seemed to be making the conscious deciding to end his own life.

And yeah, Ray doesn't look pleased in the Ep8 preview. Not at all. Which begs the question: If Ray really was so head-over-heels for Mew, why would he care who Sand is involved with? I think his possessiveness is about more than just egotism.

I do think Ray is so desperate for affection that it made it easy for him to develop feelings for Sand. But I also don't think that is the only reason why he appears to be all-in on Sand whenever they're alone together. It's a catalyst for those feelings to develop, but I don't think it tells the full story (or at least, I'd like to hope it doesn't).

Finally, this ep seemed most focused on Mew's revenge plot, which might mean that the next ep will be devoted to the other characters. Again, I'm just clinging onto what Khao said about the characters working through their feelings. (But if they do not go to Chiang Mai together in the end, that will be a giant missed opportunity imo haha.)

[silverslipstream]

ocean's vent-leven

cw: references to depression and suicide/self-harm

okay, so this is a reasonably happier vent post than my last one, but it's still kind of a vent regarding my feelings so I guess my shitty bad jokes of shoehorning the word 'vent' into film titles will continue, as part of my eternal effort to treat everything I cannot emotionally tolerate or compartmentalise with at least a modicum of humour. whew. off to a good start here. yesterday (friday 10th may) I was absolutely paralysed by depression. this is usually the point where I make a joke about being paralysed in a physical sense by my cerebral palsy, because the societally-expected reaction to my trauma is to make light of it and show people I am broken in a way they can pretend not to notice (a way I can pretend to be fine with them pretending not to notice, and they can see me pretending to be fine and think it's fine to continue pretending not to notice). BUT since I am learning to love myself and cut down on negative language even in jest, I will not say this. instead, I will talk about this depression.

it was horrible. unceasing. it pushed onward and onward from around 2AM in the morning until just before 7AM, when I retreated to my bed instead of my desk. I thought I could sleep, but I just dozed intermittently, never quite achieving that downy state of blissful surrender. woke up for my 10:15 alarm, because I had a lecture at 11:15, and I just. couldn't. fucking face it. it wasn't even a chronic pain thing, physically I was fine. the lecture (and the lecture after that) just seemed to be wobbling like a heat haze at the end of a very long tunnel. I rolled over and resolutely ignored the clock on my phone until I knew I'd missed the lecture. fuck. why are you so fucking lazy? there's only one week of lectures left in second year, my brain screamed at me, and you have four assignments unfinished, three not even STARTED THAT ARE DUE BY THE END OF THE MONTH WHYDOYOUNEVERDOANYTHINGWHYDOYOUIGNORETHETHINGSYOU'RESUPPOSEDTOLOVE-

I passed in and out of sleep and missed the 1:15 lecture too. my friend messaged me asking to pick up the poem notes I'd meant to give him the day before. I was asleep and didn't see the message. the notes are still in my room in my flat and I am at my grandmother's house. if that friend is reading this, know that I am deeply sorry for that and that I love you and did not mean to frustrate you by not fulfilling that objective. the truth is that, in that transient fuzzy sleep that was less about rest and more about hating the clarity of wakefulness, I felt like my whole LIFE was one unfulfilled objective. I couldn't be born right, I couldn't be the son my parents wanted (they had to draft in a hurried substitute), I couldn't be a friend right, I couldn't stay in one place right, I couldn't do my useless fucking stupid fucking waste of a degree right. I couldn't even have the decency to die by my own hand and instead turned it into a whole fucking drama that ruined my friendship group and forced me to come out to my parents.

in that horrible clear moment, the future of my life seemed to be a flashbulb gallery of microwave dinners and empty booze bottles and hospital waiting rooms, alone alone alone. a slideshow of a man literally and figuratively shuffling through life towards the river styx and not even noticing the water until it was past his rusted-shut bear trap of a mouth.

but it's because of that love (the love I have for you and my other friends too, look at me rhyming like I'm motherfucking Seuss) that I got up this morning and realised, that future can stay with all the futures I've imagined in my head. all the apocalypses, all the dystopias, the sci-fi speculations and the post-apoc predictions. they're the same thing, I realised. fictions in my head. my fears manifested into virtual realities, screens through which I can handle my pain and show it to the world without putting twenty pairs of 'palatable-humour' gloves on. that future is just another fictional apocalypse, and just because it's closer to me doesn't mean I should feel powerless to thwart it.

it is because I love my friends that I must pass my assignments. next year we will be moving into a flat together and I need to pass this year to make that happen. because I need to make more memories. I need to cultivate this love and give it the water I withheld so many times in my past, in those other chapters of my life. I will make these memories not because I need them, not because I see them as something scarce worth clinging to or as a method of compensating for my deprivations, but because I love you. we will all drink together and we will play stupid card games and watch films and cry and laugh and argue and drag each other out of bed at 6AM to wash our dishes and I will cook too much food on purpose because I will know you haven't eaten and because sharing a meal with friends is the fastest way to find out what the gods tasted when the first mouthfuls of ambrosia passed their lips.

to borrow one of my all-time favourite cheesy film one--liners, today we are cancelling the apocalypse.

[jacksmusesdrv3]

Before I say what I want to say, I want to be clear that I have a dissociative disorder and a system, which is where I'm coming from with this.

The more I've thought about the monokubs as alters and being connected to kokichi I realize it makes more sense for him to have a dissociative disorder than for him...not to...

He blatantly shows us that he's able to heavily compartmentalize his emotions and "switch" them on and off seemingly instantly. You don't have that ability without having some level of a dissociative disorder, regardless of if he's part of a system.

I'm currently watching another let's play as it's being posted so if you'd like to hear my thoughts on this as I rewatch the game under this lens I'll happily keep notes and share periodically!

(short one gaming on YT, def recommend checking them out bc they usually play games as a duo where one of them is familiar with the game and the other isn't which leads to a lot of interesting moments, and both of them work professionally on games and are imo also good voice actors for the let's plays)

Oops- before I forget again, just gonna drop these here for you!

[A note for clarity: insofar as my theory of the Kubs I don't mean the Kubs are literally alters but in a sense of compartmentalised personality bits (like Shiro/Kurokuma) and the 'Kokichi' in my case would be Monokuma (whom the Kubs are directly related to)]

In DR world we've seen 'big brain talents' reach quite an extreme. Junko's alone would be downright impossible in our reality, and could cause its own variation of brain-mess like a cognitive overload, which for her involved a lot of 'personality switching'. That's just me spitballing anyway- cognition-whatsits involved with supernatural talents is something I like to crack at now and then (I forget if they addressed this lore in DR0...), but if Ouma (who we see ingame I mean) theoretically does not have a talent of that sort you could say he has a dissociation situation instead :0

Anyway this is interesting! I normally see psych theories focused on his lying rather than his emotions in specific. Thank you for sharing, feel free to send more at me if you want!

[bonesandthebees]

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Sandduo. They are soooooooo! I have no words for the emotions. I do have words for the rest of it. It’s very interesting how Wilbur tries to compartmentalize his emotions into human and mer because he doesn't know how to deal with them. He thinks he got tricked and his perception of mer changes. Suddenly they are bad again. So is the ‘mer’ in his head. It’s a trick trying to get him to turn, but he’ll stay stubborn and he won’t let the ‘mer’ and Phil win.

But then the status quo changes. Then they start working on a way out. And when Wilbur gets a choice between leaving with his crew and going back to his life as it was (or at least trying to), and going back to Phil and Techno. And it’s interesting how there’s more to his decision than that. He knows he doesn’t want to go, but he’s not sure he wants to stay and become a mer because he’s compartmentalising his thoughts to deal with Phil’s betrayal. So once Phil tells him that those feelings would have long gone and his instincts aren’t that strong, Wilbur can accept his emotions as his own.

I don’t think it’s full trust yet, though Wilbur seems very depended on Phil (as any child would be to their caregiver), but it’s acceptance. It’s also our favourite Wilbur dynamic of not actually healthy but still somehow working. Also, our favourite sandduo dynamic of emotionally constipated father and son while Techno suffers in emotional intelligence in the background. Phil doesn't get humans and he’s too stubborn to listen to Techno. So let’s just hope he won’t need to understand humans now that Wilbur’s a mer. I do really love the transformation though.

I also love that the crew does get rescued because I was very worried that Phil and Techno would murder them for hurting Wilbur. But they get saved. Not by themselves. Not because of their raft idea. (there’s no way that could work you need enough air to hold your weight) but because a ship finally comes close and they can start a fire and be seen.

Which is where my man Schlatt comes in. He’s a good friend. And he actually pays attention to Wilbur even when he’s closing himself of. I don’t know if I mentioned it, but Schlatt probably saw that Wilbur had extra food and he kept his mouth shut. He defended him the first time he got hit. He didn’t the second cuz at that point the entire crew is mad and maybe he still feels like he should have. They are supposed to watch out for each other and have each other’s backs.

I don’t know how aware he’d be that he got sung to by Wilbur. So maybe he knows that something is up and the pieces fall into place at some point. Either way, he never pushes. Though tricking Wilbur to see where he runs off too because he’s a shit lair is good. And I respect being down to protect him from the mer even when terrified. And they see each other again. Nice!

And now I will proceed to make a second ask to scream about soft sandduo cuz them!

(1/2)

-🌲

yeahhhhh sand duo :D !!! I love them sm

yeah I wanted to show this conflict wilbur has with himself about how much he does want to be part of phil's family, but isn't sure if it's real or not. he's dealing with a literal inhuman transformation that he knows altered his behavior, so of course he's going to be suspicious of his own emotions. he doesn't know what he wants, let alone what's his own mind and what's the mer transformation. it's a confusing situation for him so he just tries to shove all the questionable things he's feeling onto the 'mer' side of himself so he can ignore them. ofc it doesn't work very well

but then wilbur is faced with a choice. he can't ignore his feelings anymore because he might have to leave, and he doesn't want to leave. so when phil finally tells him that the 'instincts' he had were actually relatively weak and would've disappeared 2 weeks earlier, wilbur realizes his emotions were always his own. he's forced to accept them.

it's definitely a not fully healthy but it works kind of dynamic. wilbur trusts phil to keep him safe, but isn't sure if he trusts him to be honest with him now. great dynamic for a father and son for sureeeee. poor techno has to deal with these two idiots. but yes it will be a bit easier now that wilbur's a mer so at least there's that.

lmao yeah the raft was never gonna work. they just got lucky with a ship passing by. but yes the crew gets rescued! I didn't feel like including a brutal group death for all of them even if they weren't the greatest to wilbur lol

schlatt definitely saw that wilbur had extra food that first time and didn't say anything because he's not a snitch. he's a surprisingly good friend to wilbur despite how much of a little shit wilbur is in this

it's only after schlatt says his goodbyes to wilbur and leaves the island that he realizes the whole singing thing. he's not that pissed about it though and more just finds it funny. like yeah of course that dickhead used his mer singing to get more food out of him. also, schlatt still doesn't know humans can turn into mer so in his mind, wilbur was a mer posing as a human the whole time. maybe that should've been clarified to him but, oops, it doesn't.

[feralsaint]

letterstofate

"… you don't?" from the chaos that is the apartment they used to share, yeon had assumed that there'd be at least 3 other people living here. unlike jaein, his way of coping is to obsess over the things that are in his control, and organising feels a lot like compartmentalising. there's a faint coffee ring stain that he doesn't remember leaving on the kitchen island and he traces it with his finger, realising just how much has changed since he was last here to pick up the last of his things. he has no right to judge the way jaein is living. yeon doesn't belong here anymore. he ignores the questions and comments about jiho and haein in favour of pulling his textbook out. "arguing with you is what got us kicked out, so why would i repeat that?" there's little to go off here, considering the vast majority of what they need would've been in the library but it's not like they have very many options now. in habit, he opens his notebook between them— like he would for all their other passion projects— jotting down the end goal and a checklist of steps to get there in neat squares. jaein is predisposed to thinking big, and yeon's always been there to lay the foundation to his ideas. this is no different; they've always made a good team. he doesn't know what would ache more, finding out that they no longer work well together, or realising that they still do. "let's split the work. i'll research on the foundations needed for the structure and you look into the concept." yeon hasn't looked at jaein once since they've entered the apartment, and he doesn't intend to, starting to flip to the right chapter without asking for confirmation.

——

"no." jaein flips through the only book he managed to checkout from the library. a history in neoclassicism and romanticism. though skeptical of how useful it would be towards their goal given one focused on not presenting as one was but rather as the idealized version whereas romanticism rejected that idea, arguing that idealism stunted true emotion. jaein had flipped through it, intrigued and curious if the two could coexist. "it's nice not having to live by other people's rules."

it's his first time living alone. being the youngest boy of three jaein never had a say in his living arrangements. before living with yeon, jaein shared a childhood bedroom with mark at his mother's place and at his father's place he was accustomed to sleeping on the couch after giving up the bedrooms to his brothers or whoever his father was dating at the time. so when it came time to move into the dorms it came naturally to him to mostly live by yeon's rules. mass if he could manage to make it on sundays, coasters under every cup (he always forgot), following a schedule and so on but then he fucked up and yeon had left him.

what jaein thought he feared the most had happened: he was alone and he had no one to talk to about it—what he had done. yeon was gone and he hadn't even been given a chance to properly apologize. eventually, jaein got used to the quiet left behind by absence. he learned he could disrupt the disquiet by doing what he wanted and this new exploration of newfound freedom is first explored by throwing house parties of his own. luke was a call and a credit card swipe away to provide good booze. hyuno would set the scene with lights, fog machines and a mini dj booth and wonjae would get the word out while swapping out pieces of the old decor with practically new unwanted furniture from his rich family. and what was jaein’s role? his job was to bring the energy, draw people in and entice them to stay, drink and have fun. a job he was good at that temporarily sated his need to be desired and needed. but being the most popular guy in the room did little to dull the ache in his chest— he’d spend the night floating to person to person, coolly chatting only to reject advances— playing it off as hard to get when in actuality he was busy scanning faces in the dimmed lights. secretly praying to a god he no longer believes in that one person would show. every party would come to an end with a note of bitter disappoint in his mouth. he was always glad when everyone left. 

well evidently, god heard him and has a twisted sense of humor because now yeon’s here, sitting amongst the aftermath of the mess made of his own doing. it would be poetical if it wasn’t so absurd. 

“kinda wish you had thought to be this nice before.” jaein sets the book aside when yeon starts talking. he leans in, expression a careful mask of annoyance as his gaze alternates from the planes of yeon’s face to the notebook. “can i?” he asks permission then takes the pen from yeon, fingers brushing lightly. “the spilve airport proves that a neoclassical airport can and has been done before. it was functional up until the 80s so my thoughts are if we focus on a modern interior we could theoretically make the exterior or front entrance in neoclassic style." jaein draws out the concepts as he speaks. hand flying to fill up any empty space around yeon’s list. he’s a visual person that's better at showing rather than telling. “remember when we went to new york? the overall concept i’m thinking is private airport but grand central terminal style." he pauses, putting the pen to his lips. he's had another slip up but this time jaein doesn’t notice now that he's focused. “that’s borderline beaux-arts but i think we can get away with it given it's a sub-genre of neoclassicism."

[rhysdasiorarchive]

“It was unnecessary. If he wanted to apologise, actually saying that he was sorry would’ve meant a whole lot more. If it’s not explicit, then what’s the point?” Rhys was well aware of just how petulant and pedantic he was sounding and as much as his own behaviour irked him, he remained too embittered by Shade’s remarks fired at Roland (though, strangely, not himself) to be rational or respectful in their wake. The entire evening’s mood had been off from the start; Rhys hadn’t felt right all afternoon and was prepared to blame it entirely on apprehension – instead, things had continued to go from bad to worse all because he’d tried to turn a blind eye to the inevitable on far too many fronts. “Admittedly, it was an oversight on my part to expect a cancellation from either Roland or Shade, so not much thought went into actually having to endure the performance itself. When it came to having to commit to the ordeal– well…” he shrugged with a tired sigh and lifted a hand to wave it dismissively in the space between them as if the gesture alone would explain what Rhys was too burnt out to find the words for. “I’m sorry for turning up in a mood. That was shitty of me. I just– I hate social things anyway and given how things went the last time I was in Shade’s company… it wasn’t a great combination. I was willing to make an effort for your sake and I did try but it was easier said than done. I’m not excusing my behaviour, just… trying to explain it from a different perspective to what you saw.”

Rhys winced as the younger witch spoke again. He didn’t mean to repeatedly defend Roland; it just came naturally at this point. Even if his current feelings towards Belgium’s councilman were a furious tempest of confusion and hurt, the need to reaffirm the good in him felt woven into the very fibres of Rhys’ being. “Roland was making an effort. He genuinely tried to be pleasant towards you both. He was doing a fine job of it before Shade decided to blow up on him out of nowhere. Your cambion clearly didn’t try particularly hard to put his feelings aside.” Taking a breath, Rhys resumed his irritated pacing and tried to compartmentalise his emotions. He couldn’t afford to keep lashing out at Seth if he wanted to make things right between the two of them. It really shouldn’t have been as much of a struggle as it was proving to be but then again, Rhys had never been particularly good at putting his pride aside for the greater good.

His expression softened as he listened to Seth’s addition and felt his defences drop slightly at the lack of heat in his voice this time around. “I don’t expect that of you. It’d be selfish of me. I appreciate having your blessing,” in spite of everything previously discussed, Rhys chuckled to himself before he continued, finally meeting Seth’s gaze again. “Don’t think it’s necessary now, though. That chapter’s looking like it might be all said and done.” Rhys’ brow furrowed faintly at the suggestion that he apologise and he scoffed, straightening up a little further. “I– yeah, no. I’m not apologising for that. I said what I said and I meant it. I can promise to be civil towards him from here on out – purely for your sake – but that’s all I’m doing in relation to him.”

Seth's eyes immediately narrowed when Rhys dared to speak on behalf of Roland again. He went back to smoking while he waited for the older witch to finish, already formulating his response. And he didn't pause for a second once Rhys finished.

"I don't think you really thought that one through, did you? How could you not have known?" he asked, whipping out his phone with his free hand and opening it up to a conversation between the two witches with a few taps and scrolls of his thumb. Once he found the conversation in question about the four of them meeting up, he shoved the thing in Rhys' face. "Did it not occur to you at all any point here that Shade was going the extra mile? Why else would I say come to Cannabites and relay those super specific questions about favorite season, color, and shit from Shade? Did you think that was all part of his super duper poetic apology note or was it not obvious that he was saying sorry by putting in the effort of gifting the two of you –– well mostly you since Roland doesn't fucking eat –– a free fucking meal at the restaurant he owns catered specifically to your favorites? Dude even pulled out a fancy ass expensive bottle of blood wine just for Roland even though he didn't have to."

The younger witch let out another derisive snort moving into the territory of the councilman while he put his phone away again. "Can you seriously stop fucking defending his actions? There's no excuse, especially when Shade was trying to put his distaste for the council aside for one fucking night. He's over a thousand years old, he should know how to fucking act right." Seth stopped there and let out a slow breath, his next words coming out far less with a tone. "I'm never going to get along with Roland. I don't want to be forced to either. You can do what you want with him just don't expect me to be friendly towards him because of you. Same with you and Shade although I think you should apologize to him too for the muzzle comment."

[daltoneering]

I've been thinking a bit about some of Porsche's thought processes in this episode, and particularly in the last scene. I think there's a really interesting thing happening with Porsche with regard to how he expects Kinn to react and how Kinn actually reacts, and how that parallels with episode 7.

Kinn is simply not talking to him--Kinn is compartmentalising to deal with things, and in this situation with Tawan's promise of evidence and helping them find the mole, Porsche is his bodyguard, not his boyfriend, and as such should just let him get on with things without questioning him--and so Porsche decides to take matters into his own hands. While Kinn's trust issues are the main star of the show, Porsche is very untrustworthy of Tawan, and by extension untrustworthy of how Kinn reacts around him--I think up until Tawan gets given his own nice room Porsche sees himself and Kinn on the same side against him, but after Kinn lets himself slip and starts reminiscing with Tawan, Porsche starts to wonder--is this something I should be worried about?

He goes to Yok for advice because as much as Porsche is emotionally self-aware and is constantly his full genuine self, this is his first proper relationship, and he doesn't know how these things should go. He does his little seduction ritual and has sex with Kinn instead of sitting down and having a conversation, because they've previously communicated and solved issues with sex, so it must work again, right? Wrong. They're gonna have to learn how to use their words too, especially in a situation as complex and high-stakes as this one.

So when that doesn't work and Tawan is still threatening to take Kinn back from him (and note that we have yet to have a verbal love confession from Kinn, so while I do think Porsche wants to trust him fully, he can't help the doubts that are creeping in), Porsche decides he's got to take it one step further, and bugs the room. Now Porsche isn't stupid, but I think he is prone to getting caught up in "oh yeah this is such a good idea haha GOTCHA TAWAN BITCH" thoughts and therefore not being as careful as he should be. (This is also based off his previous bodyguarding excursions in eps 2-4.) He fully believes that Kinn will let him get away with things that he wouldn't let others get away with because he has countless times in the past (and because of their relationship). He's feeling confident about his little plan, maybe even thinks it might help in the long run, and that overconfidence is what makes him slip up and gets both him following Kinn and Tawan discovered and the bug discovered.

This isn't the first time Porsche has been caught in an awkward situation doing something shady. Last time, he had Vegas all over him; this time, he's showing mistrust in his boss and doing some illegal bugging. The first time, in episode 7, he was expecting Kinn to come in and save him and be glad to see him--and despite Kinn's fury at what he saw, because it was just the two of them and he was able to let his walls down with Porsche, he was able to apologise and make things right.

So this time, when Porsche gets caught, I think he is expecting a similar thing: for Kinn to be angry with him, initially, but then to soften and understand why he was doing it and make up with him. What he is not expecting is for Kinn to sit there in his cold mafia mask and order him to be locked up. For all that Porsche often takes things at face value, he really needs to learn how to read Kinn's face--to understand that Kinn can't be soft with him here, because it would weaken his image and put Porsche in further danger.

The difference is that the first time, they were alone; the first time, the main danger point of the external situation (relating to the plan with the Italians) had passed, and so Kinn was able to let his mafia side go and be his true self with Porsche. This time, they are in front of a room full of other bodyguards, in front of the very source of their problems (Tawan); they are right in the crux of the main danger point of the external situation (needing to get the evidence and expose the mole): Kinn has to be his mafia self in order to protect both Porsche and his family.

[ellaspore]

Time to put my Kim defender hat on because he is a repressed idiot, a fucking coward and I love him for it

The thing to understand about Kim is that he lives his life by compartmentalising everything, he isolated himself (for more @luckydragon10 post)and essentially split himself into two (for more @hael987 post) This results in Kim essentially stuck in his own head and alone with his thoughts and unable to accept that different parts of himself can coexist. His whole behaviour with Chay apart from their first interactions is a fucking oscillation, a never-ending push and pull between the rational and the irrational Kim is so isolated and repressed that being with Chay is a lot like a drug for him, he is a junkie going back for more and more everytime. And you can bet everything that he is kidding himself with the thought that it is all a part of his investigation, that everything he is doing has a reason behind it. Because he is a coward, he is too afraid to really come clean to Chay and so he was planning to ghost him until he finished investigating, it is also for this reason he fled the warehouse after Chay was rescued. I would argue also that, like Kinn in episode 5, he does not think he is worth of Chay's love because of what he did, because of reason why he approached him and the deception Because he is a coward and emotionally unavaible, while Kinn was able to apologise to Porsche, Kim is not able to do the same to Chay.

Also the parallels just draws himself between these two scene Ep. 9 Porsche : Trust me Kinn: I trust no one and EP. 11 Chay: Have you ever loved me? Kim: I'm sorry (as a former linguistic major, I see what you did here Kim, you did not outright deny loving Porchay, you just implied it)

Like we all know Kim has a plan and there is something behind this and you know why he could not tell Chay the truth? Because he is a fucking idiot and he convinced himself that he has to cut him off or he won't be able to finish his mission. And you know why because Chay makes him lose control (again who does Kim remind me of???) and sight of the situation. So the best option for him is to compartimentalise and shut Chay off.

Is he a repressed idiot, a fucking coward? Did he go the completely wrong way with this? Yes absolutely. But he is not really a bad guy, he has feelings for Chay and has his wellbeing at heart. The thing is he has himself convinced he will only hurt Chay, and so he is ready to be the bad guy and hurt Chay and himself now rather than in the future.

Because make no doubt about it he is hurting himself, and his pain is even worse because it is self-inflicted and a consequence of his own actions.

He made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

[my-reality-my-rules]

Hi, I know you’re on hiatus so no rush, but I’ve been trying to shift for close to a year now and the one time that I did was a night that I didn’t go through any methods and routines, but I haven’t been able to get back. The problem that I have with method shifting is that I feel like I get really close to it, but then my heart rate starts to spike and I feel like I’m floating, which I’ve been told is a normal thing that happens in the process of entering your DR, but it honestly kind of freaks me out and pulls me out of it every single time. I was just wondering if you had any advice or tips on how to handle this/if there’s a way I can avoid it? I really want to shift, I just can’t get passed that :\ anyway, thank you for taking the time to read this and I wish you all the best xx

[thanks for this ask!]

first of all—holy fuck. this was sent around early june, wasn't it? HOLY FUCK THAT WAS LIKE STILL MY PRE-GRAD ERA I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG FOR ME TO RESPOND-

and i don't know if you still need my answer, but I'm going to do so anyway, because it's still a shifter in need 0:<

*cue me repeating Bad Dobby over and over to myself*

- - -

I've been seeing a lot of posts on social media go around telling people to simply 'accept' the symptoms that they're having, because in a sense, it would help them focus on that instead of having their mind wander. and, well, alright—i see where it's coming from, it makes sense to a certain degree. but it doesn't make actually dealing with them easier, does it?

as a general start; have you tried altering the method? from what i know, it's a common way of dealing with the more annoying shifting symptoms. while it doesn't always exactly get rid of them, you can be able to tailor the method to your comfort and preference. symptoms like that (the increased heart rate) are common, as you've mentioned, but never forget your own priority.

one thing i recommend when making/altering a method is to simply take inspiration from more popular ones and break them down to your liking. for instance, raven gives me horrible cramps sometimes, and the complete stillness of it makes me incredibly twitchy. so, i tweaked it in something still resembling a starfish, although a bit more lopsided, with thought in my own physical satisfaction.

i don't know if i could help with the floating sensation, as for the most part, i actually don't mind getting that symptom in particular. usually, i simply try to roll with it, like I'm floating on the shores of a beach. try to liken it to something you're comfortable with, and focus on what's good instead of what's going wrong.

for the increased heart rate issue, though; i do have two suggestions: meditation, and diaphragmatic breathing.

- - -

here's my take on that:

(1) meditation

i don't get to practice it as much as i want to these days, so the rarity of it in itself makes me treasure the times i did do it. meditation not only clears my mind, it helps me compartmentalise [that's not to say you have to do that exact same thing—I'm only mentioning it as an example]. it has the added benefit of helping me practice breathing control exercises. when i do meditate, i distance myself from most distractions (yes, that includes your phone, it doesn't hurt so much if you lay off the guided music even just for a moment). when you're left alone with the silence of your mind, you do your best to fill it in with noise. meditation helps me redirect my thought process. when a stray emotion coincides with my line of thinking, i don't immediately shove it away, i try to understand it and work with it. i suppose it's also a self-reflection in that manner. in relation to your question, however; it's an analogy for slowing down. even while shifting, most people still tend to rush into getting into their DR's—and that's not inherently a bad thing. what makes it challenging is when you trip over your own feet in your haste to actually making it there. on that note, meditation might not only help with giving you the chance to practice a way of coping with the increased heart rate, but also a way of living in the present moment.

- - -

(2) diaphragmatic breathing

this is actually something I've learned in my naruto DR lmao. but it's incredibly helpful to me in my CR, so i wanted to share it with you. here's a quick read for you to familiarise yourself with the concept. when this was first introduced to me by one of my DR cousins, i didn't put much stock in it—by way of the fact that i didn't think I'd actually need or want it. it had been out of habit that i did it again in my CR, when i was preparing for a live class participation that i could barely prepare for. an hour before class started, i practiced the exercise, and while it didn't completely remove my anxiety, it eased me into a calmer disposition. for those who didn't want to read the article, it's basically this: you position yourself to be comfortable, then put a hand on your chest and the other on your abdomen; focus on the sensation of inhaling and exhaling, and on how it physically affects your body. personally, the actual counting doesn't really matter (the number of breaths to take and so), because i usually centre more on how I'm feeling rather than how i get to the feeling—although i suppose it's different for everyone. it's also something of an instinctual thing for me. i do this whenever i receive patrolling duty in my DR. now, how can it be related to the question asked? again, it's a breathing exercise. it, at the very least, reduces the amount of tension in your body. try incorporating it into a method, perhaps? you can lay in a position where you have your hands on your chest and diaphragm, and do the instructions at the same time that you're affirming.

- - -

that's it for now. i might add on to this in the future (since i get a lot of messages about tips for symptoms), but for the moment, this is all i could think of. i hope it helps???

much love, and happy shifting ❤️❤️

[citrusfield]

having matthew’s hand wrapped around her wrist is somewhat grounding and as he explains how he ended up in this line of work, she looks to him with a newfound clarity. “ah, that makes sense… now that you say it, you do hold yourself like a military man.” cindy really should’ve been clever enough to deduce that much from his body language alone, but in her defence, there’s been an awful lot happening and she hasn’t been able to compartmentalise everything just yet. between the nice man running security and the knowledge that there’s someone with the intention to harm others wandering around the same halls, it’s easy to guess which train of thought is going to win out. “i bet you’re hoping it’s your last too. i’m not sure how many journalists you’ve ever met, but i promise they’re not all as tiresome as me.” some can actually be much worse, but unfortunately, matthew still found himself with one who doesn’t quite understand the meaning of ‘peace and quiet’. it’s been helping though; they can barely remember a shred of what they’ve said so far, but just the pretence of a normal conversation has been doing wonders in helping them hold onto a semblance of calm. “right… just totally normal stairs like eighty feet up that could lead to a slow and painful death if someone slipped.” they nod in agreement, their own cheerfulness being forced into their voice despite the real severity of their words. she can handle some stairs. of course she can. she just might experience the beginning of a minor panic attack halfway through, but that’s probably favourable in comparison to being shot. she definitely doesn’t get paid enough to be risking her life for the sake of her job. “yeah, sure. agree to disagree then.” just because it’s his job to ensure cindy makes it out of here safely doesn’t mean they would ever believe that their life is truly more important than his. in an ideal world, they would both make it to this damn fire escape and be able to leave together with no consequences, but she’s no fool and as she watches him forcibly open the rusted old latch, she does so with a small frown. there’s not one part of this that sits well with her and it turns out her gut instinct was one hundred percent correct because in a fraction of a second, she feels herself being dragged backwards and the sound of gunfire fills the air. it’s easily the loudest thing she’s ever experienced in her life and her ears instantly begin to ring as she’s moved around like a rag doll and stumbles into the door with wide eyes. “are you insane?” there’s absolutely nothing cindy can do to help — this is not their wheelhouse by any stretch of the imagination — yet the thought of leaving him behind brings an odd sense of guilt, even as he’s frantically yelling at her to get out and a bullet hits him straight in the back. fuck. if it wasn’t for the fact that staying is clearly doing him more harm than good, she might’ve doubled down on the stubbornness, but what real fucking choice does she have here? with one final look, she pulls open the door just enough to slip outside and shuts it tight behind her. it helps to muffle the deafening noises on the other side, but does nothing to stop their heart from racing and when they look down through the gaps in the fire escape stairs, they swear their stomach almost drops out. this is going to take a while.

"I mean, you are making my job a whole lot easier by not panicking." Matthew had to admit that he had dealt with people who had panicked at the sight of danger more often than he could count. While he certainly understood that panic was merely a natural reaction to a situation as such, he often wished that people would just follow his instructions, and cooperate. Perhaps not everyone would be as smart as Cindy. "I wasn't always in this line of work though. I started out in the military. I did two tours of Afghanistan, came home, and decided to get into the private security gig after I realized that I had some transferable skills... like vigilance, combat, and the works." He explained with a shrug of his shoulders, a soft chuckle bubbling out of him as he continued to lead them down the hallway, his eyes constantly glancing around to ensure that it was safe to move. "Not that I've dealt with I've dealt with journalists on the battlefield though. This is definitely a first." And boy was he enjoying this first time experience. While most people might have considered this to be a distraction, for someone who was as skilled as he was, and never got distracted while on the job... it was entertaining. "Well, you won't be able to write any of it if we don't get out, so..." He tightened his grip of her wrist, and headed towards the fire escape. "Almost there... just think of them as stairs, which they are, as a matter of fact. They're just stairs on the outside of the building, made mostly of grates that you can see through... no big deal." Matthew tried to sound perky, which might come off as insensitive to some people, considering the seriousness of the situation. But this was the most crucial part of the rescue, and he needed to ensure that Cindy was maintaining a positive attitude if she was going be going down the fire escape from the third floor of this swanky hotel. "I only speak the truth, Cindy. At this moment, your life takes priority over mine." His tone was much more stern, as his sense of duty had overtaken his need to keep her comfortable. "We don't have much time." Once they reached the fire escape, he grabbed onto the latch, trying to twist it open, but struggling with it for a moment. "Fuck... they really don't maintain these things, do they?" He tried putting his entire weight on the door, twisting it with as much force as he could before it finally gave in. "There we go..." He turned over to meet Cindy's gaze, his relieved smile quickly fading as his comms device crackled in his ear. HOTEL, COME IN. ABORT, HOTEL, ABORT. GUNMAN ON YOUR RIGHT. ABORT. Before he knew it, Matthew turned to his right to see the gunman approaching them, and his eyes grew wide. "GET OUT!" He yelled, dragging her behind him as he reached for his weapon, but it was too late as the gunman had opened fire. "I SAID GET OUT, CINDY. NOW!" He shoved them towards the door as he fired his own weapon, shielding her with his much larger frame, the sound of stray bullets firing echoing through the corridor. "GO!" A split second, that was all it had taken, as he was struck on his shoulderblade. Still, he held his ground, hoping that law enforement would surround the them at any given moment, and not have him do their job while he had his own. "I SAID GO!" He called out to her, his eyes wide as he gazed at her.

[casitafallz-a]

Decay AU | Isabela

Isabela was turning 21 her life took a turn from the family and her own expectations. 

With Abuela’s suggestion, she and Mariano had been dating with the expectation of marriage, though she liked him as a friend, her interest in him was nothing more than that; this feeling was one sided as he liked her more romantically which did emotionally stress Isabela out as she tried to replicate his feelings more visually; to be the perfect girlfriend for him and it was working. 

It had been working well for months into dating until Mirabel had overheard her mutters of Mariano in the less-than-perfect way when trying to compartmentalise on her way back to her room for the upcoming proposal after Antonio’s ceremony. Mirabel thought she could help comfort Isabela at first but Isabela rejected her attempts; needing to cover her personal views than go against what her Abuela wanted but Mirabel was insistent that she should date someone she didn’t like.

Isabela used her gift to stop Mirabel from running off to tell their parents or Abuela by wrapping her up in vines but the situation evolved into an argument between the siblings and Isabela unknowing began to tighten the vines in her rage.

It was the shouting that Dolores alerted the family something was wrong and it horrified mostly Julieta and Abuela to see Isabela not only shouting but Mirabel being unable to breath.

Isabela was broken out of her rage by Abuela’s shouting before the vines retracted and Mirabel struggled to catch her breath that Isabela realised what she had been doing; she had been mechanically asphyxiating her sister by the strength of the vines around her ribs; not enabling Mirabel to breath in. Isabela didn’t need to be told to go to her room but she fled there regardless before Abuela could.

It took hours before anyone came to her; Dolores in that time kept a ear out that she wasn’t hurting herself or attempting to leave before they could decide what to do and to make sure Mirabel would recover.

Isabela was both horrified and remorseful of her actions and guilt-ridden but knew she had to wait to face the conquests of her actions, no matter what they were to be. She mostly cried; her plants around her bed turning from roses to an flurry of others that represented her emotions to the situation. Some just decayed the closest to her

Agustin and Abuela where the ones to come to her.  Agustín mostly to see how his eldest was but Abuela was firm to reprimand Isabela for her actions and how ashamed se was in her for hurting their family; that she could have easily killed Mirabel with her gift.

Isabela did apologise to Abuela and planned to apologise to Mirabel when she could but she was confined to her room for the time being so Isabela complied. Julieta bringing Isabela her meals and sat down and had a talk with her.

Isabela was relieved to hear Mirabel was okay and out of bed despite the family insisting the girl should rest. 

It took a day or so, and by mostly Mirabel’s insistence that Isabela shouldn’t be treated like a criminal or prisoner, to allow her to eat with the family where they discussion of Isabela’s punishments to be known to the family.

Isabela’s punishments:

Confined to Casita for 1 month, then only escorted if she was to leave.

8 pm Curfew: to be in her room by 8 pm.

No alcohol.

Nullifying her relationship with Mariano

Limiting her use of gifts to inside her room only or to the necessity of requirement of a family member.

No usage of her vines without a reasonable excuse.

Not to be left alone with Mirabel or to seek her out.

Not to go near the nursery or anyone’s room. No one to enter Isabela’s room aside from an adult.

Isabela accepted the punishments as they seemed reasonable and hoped that she’d be able to earn leeway as she atoned for her actions. Mirabel had voiced against restricting Isabela’s gift and curfew as that sounded too much but Isabela politely shut her down from trying; she didn’t want her sister to get her off what she deserved for hurting, and potentially almost killing her.

Mirabel did accept Isabela’s apology and did forgive her actions but the trauma of it wasn’t going to go away and Mirabel wasn’t comfortable with being around her either but she did want to help lighten the burden of guilt that came with acting-out in anger. Mirabel's forgiveness, Isabela didn’t feel like she deserved it but it helped a little.

Adjusting to the life style was something Isabela did find hard; mostly depressing but made careful plans of her day with it; helping her father and Tio Felix around Casita’s cleaning mostly, an awkward affair but she did her best to avoid her use of gift which was the hardest factor. 

It took a few weeks for Isabela to realise she could put her time into studying more in her confinement, seeing how her room was both a mixture of roses and other unfamiliar plants which made her realise there was more to her gift than flowers, so she asked both her mother and Dolores for books on plants and remedies. 

Her room was half jungle, half garden, growing plants with both her gift and naturally in the false sky of her room; it became her sanctuary to handle her change of life. That didn’t however stop the starting decay of grief at the edges from disappearing; it was a form of prison after all that she knew. The decay grew and shrank mostly at bed time; when the nightmares of her behaviour haunt her and leaves her feeling that grief.

Isabela kept her façade of being polite and quiet up well when outside her room; her dress clean and she looked as expected. It was soon second nature to otherwise ignore the rest of her family, mostly Mirabel’s attempts to engage her with conversation across the table. 

The rot of grief didn’t stick until after she was first allowed to leave with Luisa to go to town to pick up book and stationary supplies that she heard the gossip and cold comments having not realised that Camilo had let slip once that she had almost killed Mirabel to one of the kids. The news had spread but Isabela had no idea until then. 

Isabela cut her trip short, despite Luisa insisting to finish but Isabela had no interest to get involved with the town if they were going to be like that. Everyone knew who to blame when most flowers in Encanto withered.

With no favour of her Abuela or of the town, Isabela kept on going. She did earn more trust with her parents, Luísa, Dolores and Tio Felix but the rest, she had no idea what their thoughts were on the matter. She knew Tia Pepa’s stance was clear, given the woman never let Antonio around her any more and Camilo made sure to let her know how unhappy he was with her. 

There was no golden-girl replacement in the family but a few of the family issues like Luisa being overworked, was addressed which did lead to Isabela and Luisa spending more time together. Isabela finding this a little more awkward than Luisa but enjoyed the company at the least.

When the time of Antonio’s ceremony came around, about a year after the ‘incident’, nothing had changed for Isabela in the relief of her punishments; none of them had been lifted like she had hoped but she did want to attend.

Abuela, Pepa and Camilo were against her going but Julieta and Agustin fought to let her attend that. Abuela reasoned she could if she helped with decorations (with supervision) 

In the year, Isabela’s gift had grown with her experimentation but she found a distaste of floral displays and flowers; other plants relaxed her. She could create trees, healing herbs, poison and so much more worthwhile plants; pretty things weren’t worth it any more. For Isabela, pretty was just a bad reminder.

Isabela declined going for that reason but watched from her doorway as Antonio received his gift and locked herself from the party and went to bed. 

Isabela had hoped to get a few restrictions lifted by the end of the first year, wanting to go to the outside forests; wanting to feel more natural plant life than the magical ones in her room but Abuela wasn’t convinced Isabela had learned the value behind the punishments when Isabela asked her directly; she saw Isabela’s change from perfection in the passing year and ‘out of control’ plants in her room a sign that she had a long ways to go; that she hadn’t tried to resume her ways of being the golden child and hadn’t wanted to help as she used to if she wasn’t making flowers.

That was enough for Isabela to see the weight in the family; that she’d never be free of this inside casita or outside in Encanto, that Abuela or the people in town would bring her back to her actions against Mirabel to shut her up and make her feel bad. This non-forgiveness from half of her family grew a sense of resentment in Isabela in the wake of that revelation. The few flowers she had outside her door went from Begonia to petunia and yellow carnations very quickly.

The rot and decay grew in plain sight inside her room.

Isabela knew she had to leave Encanto. If she was not going to earn her place back in the family, if Abuela wouldn’t let her try, when she wouldn’t waste her strength on the matter. She knew she needed to find hope to keep on going. if she stayed, she knew she’d rot like her room; she knew how to grow poisons she didn’t want herself to consider using them personally. Her sisters and parents didn’t need that guilt and she didn’t want to hurt them in that way. 

So, the eve of her 23rd birthday, Isabela snuck out of Casita at night (after dosing Dolores at dinner with a delayed remedy; she didn’t want her to catch her leaving) and into the jungle.

Isabela’s forest in her room decayed fully and her door faded as she left the family.

-

Unknown to Isabela, Julieta and Agustín had already been fighting with Abuela after overhearing Isabela asking about lifted restrictions; they had thought that they had already been lightened but Isabela was just sticking to it out of habit, Julieta was furious because she felt Isabela had repented long enough; that her daughter’s self-isolation and distance was going to be harmful and she missed seeing her daughter with the rest of the family. Mirabel needed to get to know her sister again and it had been far too long of a punishment when Mirabel had forgiven her. 

Abuela relented after Mirabel herself got involved and it was decided for her birthday that a portion of her punishments were to be removed. 

Mirabel had been the one to wake up early on August the 7th to knock on Isabela’s door but the sight of the dark door and smell of decay had her waking the family and scared to see the cause. 

The family found the room void of life, plants dead and withered. While no sign of Isabela, they did find her collection of letters to wrote and left behind in a sealed box.

Inside the walls, Bruno wept as he had been too late to stop Isabela from leaving as a new vision tablet showed a very simple thing; Isabela fallen to the jungle floor, face down but lying in the pathway of a huge bolder that had slipped from high on up...

-

A vision that came true as Isabela had been attempting to scale up the mountain side with her vines, a tug had caused a cascade of supporting stones to come loose before a boulder became crashing down. 

Isabela got caught in the debris which broke her ankle and managed to grow a tree last second to take the brunt and spare her body it’s true weight but her right arm wasn’t spared; leaving her pinned to the jungle floor. 

Isabela was quick to pass out from the pain.

-

Pariah Julieta and Stray Agustin entered the AU in a general sweep of the AU; in part crossing off another Quantum figure for Wanderer Mirabel and to make sure it wasn’t a magical corrupt one.

But she picked up Isabela’s life signs and located her to her current predicament. Seeing the girl’s bag and clear sign she was leaving Encanto, Pariah decided to offer her a way out from her world which Isabela accepted if they could get her free.

Stray had to suggest amputation, given how long it had been; removing the boulder had more risks. So Isabela’s right arm was amputated at the shoulder (the only free part of her arm) and taken to immediate treatment and recruitment to the Watcher services.

-

Isabela lost her other arm a few months later on assignment but with Tek’s prothesis and magic, she was able to still use her gift through the new arms. She was given the name Decay for herself and her AU.