#Which makes a perfect environment for the worst brain times ever

[siobhanromee]

I love independent practice time soooo much /sarcasm

[olderthannetfic]

I used to be an anti and it was entirely a trauma response for me. I noticed it after I separated myself from the anti environment, the way i would still feel the exact same emotions whenever something irl triggered me. It was a big Oh moment for me lmao

for anyone curious about that kind of mentality (warning for trauma talk ahead i guess) it's very simple because it makes no fucking sense. Anytime someone would do something that reminds me, consciously or subconsciously, of my shitty experiences I would want to shut it down immediately. It wasn't enough for it not to exist in my space, I didn't want it to exist in any space, because it's the worst thing in the world and it existing meant that it could potentially come into my life again and that's basically the worst case scenario for a traumatized brain. Everything is geared towards never letting things go that wrong ever again.

Nevermind the fact that I couldn't seperate triggers from trauma or, in the same way sweat is not a bad thing just because it was what I was smelling during some of the worst times of my life, rarely any behavior my brain warned me about was actually immoral or wrong (which is funny because having a broken warning system just makes you more vulnerable to being used again). Trauma is counterproductive. Mental illness is irrational. Being aware of the fact that I shouldn't be upset doesn't make me less upset. This is probably why arguing with a lot of antis doesn't work.??

Anyway that doesn't excuse harassment and death threats and generally garbage human behavior, but i think it at least explains some of it. Try to get help y'all. stop believing in the lie that trauma makes you stronger, or gives you any clarity at all.

--

Yeah, I think a lot of anti responses make perfect sense if you understand that it's a brain going "NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE".

[jeanmoreaux]

Hi, it's me again (the anon that asked for brain-rotting books) to tell you that I have finished These Violent Delights (or it finished me because that ending!! and the perfect final line!) I really enjoyed the book and my reading experience was very interesting because I noted right at the beginning that I relate to Paul in some ways and then he got increasingly more fucked up as the story went on and I just stood on the side lines rethinking things. Anyways I would love to hear your thoughts on the book, what stuck out to you, what did you annotate, why do you love it, I want to hear all of it💞

so idk if you follow me on goodreads and read my short review over there, but i think the reason why it's so brain-rotting to me is that it evokes such ambivalent feelings. i sympathise with the characters and their circumstance but at the same time i am appalled by a lot of their behaviour; i know that the love is there that gives paul and julien some much needed comfort, but so is the obsession that overtakes tenderness; i see that they are both victims of their (socio-economic, cultural, etc.) environment as much as they are perpetrators in their own rights. i love it when a piece of fiction uses such ambivalence to build tension. it evokes strong emotional reactions because you're feelings are pulled into every possible direction so that you end up experiencing a plethora of emotions while the story progresses. i think the fact that we're meant to initially sympathise with paul adds to that. it makes you feel indirectly complicit because you identified with him before everything derailed and it makes you question yourself for having that sympathy...

what probably fascinated me the most was the theme of violence that's at the heart of this story. it doesn't only depict various forms of violence (from social, emotional, physical to psychological), but also how these different forms of violence create, feed, reinforce, and perpetuate each other... they're different iterations of the same thing. and what really stuck out to me is how the violence in this book, in which ever form, is far more often an reaction than an action. in a way the sources of violence shapes and shifts and spreads to take several forms, but it's always the same violence that travels from vessel to vessel—whether that vessel be corporal or institutional or societal—and ultimately sustains a cycle of violence that fuels itself... like. god it's so hard to put in words but. the societal violence against marginalized groups such as queer people ignites in individuals a violence against individual queer people which can also take on the form of internalised homophobia and self-hatred as well as intimate partner violence or abuse (physical, psychological, emotional), which can be so destructive to the psyche that it might feed individuals' desire to pass along this violence and that ends up breeding an overall cultural atmosphere of fear that makes people afraid of everything and everyone they perceive as ‘other’ which in turn results in violence against marginalized groups such as queer people & the cycle begins anew... it's like an ouroboros of violence that devours itself and is reborn again just to devour itself again and again and again. a violent destruction. for me, this pattern is so clearly recognisable in the story of paul and julian and their relationship!! they’re being consumed by it in the worst way possible. and a lot of that has to do with existing as a queer person in a queerphobic world. (for me that's an undercurrent to everything in this book).

i think their obsession with each other plays into the themes of violence and queerness (and the space in which they intersect) as well. because what is obsession if not a love distorted by violence? how can you love someone tenderly when you’ve been told and taught that the love you feel is wrong and disgusting and abnormal? when all you’ve known is a form of love that has violence stitched into its very fabric? and so the love is tainted by violence and becomes obsession… because it seems like this is the only way you can keep it. because you were made to believe that that’s what you deserve because it’s probably all you’re ever gonna get. that people like you will ever gonna get.

there’s also an element of violence as a tool to reclaim agency and control. which of course backfires catastrophically. everything spirals until they lose control of themselves and their relationship. everything crumbles, their senses of identity, their trust, their companionship, their futures, their lives….. and the most telling thing is neither of them feels in control, ever, but they believe the other person to be in control and have the "upper hand" and hold all the power in their relationship. yet, they're both clearly manipulating each other to have their needs fulfilled. they both crave that all-consuming, unconditional love, but they have a hard time accepting it because they cannot even accept themselves. together, paul's self-hatred and julian's insecurities act as an antagonising force that leads them to bring out the worst in each other. because they have this twisted relationship with love (and being loved) due to their homophobic and otherwise toxic environment, they make a performance and a game out of their feelings because they have no healthy way to express their deep & intense love and devotion without transforming it into something twisted and destructive in the process. and that’s no coincidence. much like queerness, crime exists outside of what society deems acceptable or normal (in that historical period). more precisely, queerness and criminality both operate in the paradigm of social deviance. it’s like they keep turning to “violent acts” to express their feelings for each other because that’s the paradigm they are familiar with and the only paradigm in which they can act out their relationship in public and in private.

and the tragedy of it all is that it didn’t have to end this way but it was always going to end this way because their needs were too similar and neither of them could break out of their own cycle. they enabled each other and took from each other until they imploded. ((that's basically what the last line implies, in my opinion. that, at least how julian sees it, they never stood a chance and were always going to end up in flames.))

BUT THE LOVE WAS ALWAYS THERE. EVEN WHEN IT WASN’T ENOUGH. EVEN WHEN THEY WERE DOOMED FROM THE START. THE LOVE WAS THERE. and that’s something that just makes me insane.

also, there are some themes of identity formation (especially of marginalised identities) and performance that really, really fascinated me. and ofc the theme of performance kind of blended into the idea of being the narrator of your own life story and how you adjust and change the stories you tell yourself and others. ((with that in mind, the last line, or even juilan's last gesture, can also be read as a revisionary interpretation of their relationship. an statement that adjusts to the knowledge of hindsight but doesn't necessarily represent the truth of what they could have been.)) i could go on but this ask got out of hand already soooo, i am just gonna stop here.

as for what i annotated: i included some pic of a couple of annotations under the cut, so you can get an impression.

i know my handwriting is abysmal. it’s even worse when i have to keep it small so it can fit in the margins.

this is just to give you an idea of how i approached this text. it’s not super elaborate or thought-out because i read this for fun, but i still tried to capture some of my ideas and the themes i could find for myself in the text.

[vi-enti]

i have been stuck in a cycle of rereading ur postgame fic over and over and over ever since it's release it's SO good........ i understand if u r writing up more to it and so don't want to disclose but i am dying to know more abt ur takes on both postgame as a whole and what's going on with each of the survivors..... if u wouldn't mind sharing, ofc :3

!!!! thank you so much, i'm so happy you enjoyed it. i do want to keep some stuff secret (partially bc i'm still fleshing out ideas myself) but i can share some stuff about the survivors!

hajime: so i'm not the biggest fan of hajime and izuru being separate personalities, but i do like them being perceived as such. hajime and izuru are one and the same, but the person he was as izuru and the person he was even before then are perceived as different to the others, they'll keep make excuses for him and claiming that wasn't him, but he has to learn to accept that he was the person who did those things, that there isn't a separate entity in his brain to blame. a lot of his journey is going to be about discovering the type of person he wants to be in his future and whether he even can be that person, or if his brain is too altered to understand the imperfections of happiness.

i don't want to say much about akane, fuyuhiko, or kazuichi yet. what i will say is that their journey of healing begins with the physical, and the mental gets pushed to the side for way too long. i can see Queen Sonia, Who Is Above All, and izuru kamukura taking care of themselves during the Tragedy, which is why they're some of the only ones to come out unscathed (not including nutrition deficiencies from being in the NWP pods). the other survivors aren't that lucky, so they have to overcome being weak before they can fully focus on the sins of their past and the futures they want. akane is the most malnourished, kazuichi has suffered so much damage to his limbs creating the monokumas and death traps in unsafe work environments, and fuyuhiko gave up his views of the world for those of a tyrant (literally lol bc. his eye. yknow?). how do they even begin to cope with the people they've chosen to become? how do they begin to cope with all they've lost physically and in their lives?

sonia: the next section i'm writing is about sonia actually! so i'll just share a snippet of that :)

When she had first woken up, Makoto and Kyoko had been there to help her, slowly lifting her upper body so she could sit up. She trusted them, of course she did, but who she really wanted to see was Hajime. Hajime, who had shone so brightly at the end of it all, who had overcome a despairing truth in order to help them all, who had lit a path to the future for his friends. 

In that moment, she had seen the sort of person she had always wanted to be. Being a princess, born to be a queen, there was a lot of expectation for her to be the perfect leader. No matter who she asked, however, nobody could ever define what that really meant. Was perfection being an absolute authority? Being completely open to every request from her people? Maybe it was letting others do all the work and just smiling and waving, presenting a facade of peace when there was none. Or, worst of all, maybe it was being cruel, crushing all that stood in her path and ruling with an iron fist.

No. She had tried that last path, and now had no kingdom at all to rule. The princess, born to be a queen of perfectly nothing. Still, Sonia was a ruler at heart, a leader and guide to those around her. Before the others woke up, she knew she would need to define for herself again what the perfect leader was. All of these thoughts had run through her mind in the five seconds it took for Makoto and Kyoko to lift her to a sitting position, the detective hiding a smile as her partner babbled on about how great it was to see her awake, how much work they had to do, how happy he was to meet her in person. Sonia barely heard his words at the time, her eyes darting around the room of glowing pods, looking for that perfect leader to learn from. She had wanted to see Hajime.

[from-dre]

The Value of Experience

I once knew a girl in high school who I admired very much. Her grades were consistently at the top of the class. She had a style all her own. Her bedroom walls were covered in magazine clippings and collages she'd spent long hours on. She didn't mind falling off a skateboard and scraping her elbow. Her creativity just shimmered through everything she did, no matter how small. She seemed like the model student. More so, the model friend. Then she started trying different things. Introducing different chemicals into her already-brilliant psyche. She figured that she may as well now, while she was still young and able. That—in her words—she'd like to have all these things "under her belt." It confused me. She already seemed perfect. Why the need to experiment if you've been blessed with so much? Stranger yet, her grades never suffered. They didn't dip once. Throughout all the psychedelics, pills, and whatnot—, she remained on top of her class. This confused me even more.

Long story short: she transferred schools and I never saw her again. I'd often think back to her free spirit and nonchalant attitude toward drugs and try to see the soundness therein. Her premise was probably that the more experiences one has, the more they'll have to draw from, hence, the more reliable their conclusions will be.

But I don't need to stick a needle in my arm and shoot up heroin to know it's bad for you. There are studies available. I've skimmed a few.

All sarcasm aside—there actually are people in this world who won't respect an iota of your opinion if you haven't done each and everything you're describing on a firsthand basis, multiple times over. Though, nobody reaches the top of the Empire State Building and needs proof that jumping toward the street below will be the worst—and last—mistake they'll ever make.

It's common sense. It's engrained into our DNA. Rationale; it's there to be used, often.

So why this elitist obsession with having as many things under one's belt as possible? They claim "enlightenment" as these would-be’s ingest handfuls of brightly technicolored capsules and listen to music so new that it hasn't even been assigned a sub-genre yet. These "brave" culture warriors teeter the edge which divides our mainstream from the scary wilderness beyond. They self-appoint themselves the true curators of cool but only because there is nobody else who cares enough to make such a huge production out of whatever the current flavor-of-the-week happens to be. Everyone else is gone. They've moved on. They grew brains and with them created goals, outlined plans, and just started taking those who chose to stay behind at their words.

"Oh..., too many counteractive drugs in your body will shut down your central nervous system?"

So I’ve heard.

"Oh..., you smoked three packs a day for twenty-some years and now you're bummed out by your test results?"

Hmm...

"Oh..., going through withdrawals really isn’t fun?"

Wow.

Opposite a posteriori, a priori knowledge is independent of experience.

If a privileged upper-middle class teenager who's been lucky enough to grow up in an environment where the realities of drugs could be observed through both those that litter the streets of his downtown and the internet at large, still needs further empirical evidence to fully commit to a conclusion, then I would venture to say that he is probably welcoming of all the misery he's plunging himself toward.

There are certain things in life that I don't need to experience on my own skin in order to label them a certain way. A priori knowledge. Anyone who sees this as whimpering away with fear is a masochist and can be my guest when it comes to trying "that new gasoline stuff.” My only guess is that people are forever trying to one-up each other. “You've tried the pink powder? Well I've tried the blue.” And so on and so forth. I don't admire this type of thinking. It gets you killed or at the very least, makes you extremely regretful. The one I admire is the third person looking at the two arguing with a look of bewilderment that shouts out: “Why?!”

[furiousgoldfish]

Learning more about trauma recovery, I realized that even if we all have similar cptsd symptoms (emotional flashbacks, inner shame and guilt, abandonment issues, fear of other's negative reactions to us, fight/flight/freeze/fawn response, highly anxious behaviour, perfectionism, catastrophizing, chronic exhaustion and pain, panic attacks, struggle expressing anger, dissociation, grief, negative thinking, fear of the future, hopelessness, suicidal ideation) it's usually one or two of them that are specifically strong and tako a hold of someone's entire personality. For instance, someone will try to find a way out of fear by constantly doing more and more and try to always be perfect, another one will freeze and do nothing in a stressful situation; some will avoid people altogether, some will run from one painful relationship to another. Some might find their inner critic so powerful they get unable to do anything due to the constant shame and berating from inside of their head, and some will sink into dissociation and numbness in order to withstand being alive.

For me, it was the inner catastrophizer that was so loud, overbearing, and impossible to fight; I hadn't recognized it as a trauma symptom because I believed every bit of it was true. My imagined catastrophe was dying from lack of resources, or being tortured to death. Both felt like a very likely scenarios to happen because I do live in poverty, with minimal resources, and I've already experienced torture so it seemed like it's highly possible for it to happen again. I couldn't see that I've survived years on my own, without any help, and that I've became more resourceful than most people, or that I had saved myself from torture and kept myself safe. Every single time a minor stress would appear, I would spiral into wild scenarios of myself homeless, dying, or in unbearable pain. It would trigger a nervous breakdown, lots of flashbacks, panic attacks, and bring me to such highly anxious state I wouldn't be able to move for days. I didn't see a way out of this, I believed I was brainwashed to experience this over and over again, and panicked severely when it started getting worse.

It was only when I found out about other survivors having the exact same imagined catastrophy, I was able to see it was fake. People with jobs, friends, family, loved ones, resources and safety, were having the exact same fear of dying homeless. Circumstances don't matter to the catastrophizer, it will find a path to your worst, most painful scenario even if it's next to impossible for it to happen.

Reading the 'Complex PTSD' book, I learned that these catastrophic thoughts can and should be de-escalated and stopped in their tracks by a stream of logical, factual thoughts that challenge the unlikeliness and fakeness of the imaginary disaster. I trained my mind to do it immediately, unspeakably relieved to know it's something I can do on my own, it's do-able, it's progress I can make just by arguing with my own thoughts!

Ever since that day, I haven't allowed myself to spiral into a catastrophic thoughts once, and it's done wonders for my recovery. It was like dragging myself from the bottom of the pit to a place where I could breathe again. I only now acknowledge how extremely damaging it was on my body to be broken down like that regularly, how impossible it was to live always followed by that terror, how unreasonable it was to expect from myself to endure it. I still break down a lot, but from grief, which is healthy for me to break down about, and it doesn't throw me into a paralyzing pit of terror.

I also need to acknowledge that this is not something I'd be able to do at the beginning of the recovery; at the start I had every single symptom screaming in my face, it was all I could do to stay alive thru it all. Over the course of several years, a lot of the symptoms quieted down on their own, just because I was getting used to life in a non-abusive environment. The catastrophizer was one that kept getting bigger and more stressful as others got smaller and more manageable.

I believe most of my symptoms died down because I was allowing myself to seek out a comfort zone; giving myself a place to feel safe and not triggered by whatever, gave me a lot of peace, a refuge to hide in. After finding a little peace of the world I was safe in, this world began to expand, until I saw a way to have a life in it. It has its limits, of course, and if I try doing certain things I will absolutely get triggered and my well-being will be obliterated. But I'm not looking for a life where I can do everything. Only to stay alive, and to not be in terror. It's a humble yet very complicated desire for a traumatized person to have.

I no longer have to actively stop my catastrophic thoughts; my brain now does it for me. If I start spiraling, a voice in my head will go 'Wait a minute, that doesn't sounds realistic, isn't it more likely x will happen and it will be okay? Come on, you don't have to be terrified about this, because it's not real. It will be okay, and here's every single instance where a similar event went well for you. You will pull thru this one, and even if you don't, the consequence won't be death, or torture, or everyone alive hating you. At worst you will feel slightly bad, so it's okay to feel good now. You've done a lot to get this far. All will be well.'

And that is a very pleasant inner voice to have, and I am grateful for it. I wish so badly that I had this earlier in life, but I guess looking at my parents, there was no way.

What is your worst reoccurring symptom that stops you from progressing in your recovery? If you feel like you're at the stage where you can recognize it and talk about it, it would be beneficial for everyone recovering to read more experiences.

[moon3thereal]

Hey, i have a natasha x reader request. So Natasha is a very composed person always know what to do and basically everybody is terrified of the ex-assassin. But when she sees you for the first time she gets so flustered and ends up stuttering over her words, and it doesn’t stop every time she sees you her cheeks will turn red and and don’t know what to do, but it’s worse when you will compliment her or tease her, she will blush so hard when you “accidentally touch her” or throw a suggestive joke at her. The avengers will tease her relentless because of this because she is so lovestruck even in important meetings they will tease her to embarrass her in front of fury. Fluffy ending where reader kisses Nat and a very flustered and happy Nat after.

Title: Forbidden Rendezvous

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none but if you find any do lmk

a/n: thank you for the req! I enjoyed writing this one very much and i hope you guys like it <3

1.4k

Natasha Romanoff, the black widow herself, seemingly had a reputation to uphold. She was cold, ruthless, efficient, her instinct uncannily accurate. In short, she was one of the best agents in S.H.I.E.L.D if not the best. The Avenger was also pretty much the most stone-faced, cold-heartedly composed person in the world. She was a force to be reckoned with

That all went to hell when she met you, it was an avengers meeting, to be acquainted with the newest recruit to the Avengers initiative, all the Avengers had been told was that this recruit was a she and that she was one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s most elite agents and was probably here to babysit them and keep them out of trouble.

Which is why Natasha never expected someone like you to walk into the room, back straight, with the same elegant strut she’d found herself using more often than not. There was an air of composure around you, people could take one look at you and know that they shouldn’t mess with you. You had somehow managed to look daintily pretty but if they looked carefully at your posture, ready to attack should a threat arise, highly dangerous.

Once Natasha’s eyes landed on you, she couldn’t seem to tear them away, she was completely fixated on you, all the way from the door to when you took your place in an unoccupied seat with a bright smile on your lips that were painted just the right shade of red. Natasha studied the way a few strands of your hair fell out of your ponytail and curled around your jaw perfectly, framing your face. The way your lips parted to speak, presumably to introduce yourself, the Russian was put in a trance and there was an awkward silence when it was her turn to introduce herself

Clint, who was sitting next to her, raised an eyebrow at the dreamy look on her face and had to nudge her twice before she jumped slightly, startled and glared at him, he gestured to you and Natasha’s expression of indignation morphed to one of embarrassment and back to her original neutrality. You had noticed Natasha’s lingering stare on you, not the stare you’d seen her use on so many interrogatees and victims of her wrath, this stare was softer, almost like she was captivated by you

After a solid five seconds of Natasha pulling herself together, she extended her hand to you with a soft “hi, Natasha Romanoff” and before you had the chance to introduce yourself, she said “I mean, I’m Natasha Romanoff, you’re y/n y/l/n, I didn’t, I know you’re not Natasha Romanoff” The Avengers all had looks of astonishment on her face, she was always composed, even in the worst situations, none of them had ever seen her like this. Damn you Natasha she thought, she had absolutely no idea why her brain was short circuiting like this, it had never happened before

You laughed lightly before extending your own and shaking hers that was slightly sweaty, “hi, nice to meet you” she nodded, evidently flustered. How can someone be this perfect she thought. She’d seen you training in S.H.I.E.L.D quarters a few times but since she spent most of her time in the Avengers compound now, she’d never seen you up close.

After the meeting, which she hadn’t paid attention to anything else but the crease in your brows when you were concentrating, the way you knew how to disagree without offending the other individual, how intelligent you were, within the 2 hours you had joined the Avengers you had already solved a major problem with ease

It had been a month since that day, you were settled in the compound, you had a room to yourself, and you found it pretty comfortable, you’d gone on a few minor missions, nothing serious. You were already enjoying their company and was getting used to the new environment. But you enjoyed Natasha’s company most, from what you know and what you heard, she was supposed to be an extremely dangerous individual, but around you, she was an absolute klutz and also the most adorable person you’ve met.

All the interactions between you too had always ended up in Natasha blushing furiously and you adoring how her cheeks got all rosy and her face would turn the same fiery red of her hair when you casually threw a suggestive comment her way, basically you both being absolutely whipped for each other and refusing to admit it first

You were hacking into a computer system with Tony’s tech when Steve said “there’s no way you can pull that off, I know, I’ve tried” you simply scoffed, your hands flying over the keyboard typing in several coordinates “I’m y/n y/l/n, I can pull off everything” seizing the opportunity to once again fluster the redhead you pointed at her “including your clothes” just like you predicted, her cheeks immediately flushed red and a panicky chuckle fell from her lips

Steve rolled his eyes “see, according to you, I’m a million year old fossil, but still, even I can see that you are completely and irrevocably in love with her” you had successfully hacked into the system and pumped your fists triumphantly, transferring the information into a hard drive “I never said I wasn’t Rogers” you said sending a wink Natasha’s way and ‘accidentally’ brushing her bare arm lightly with yours as you passed by earning yourself a nervous squeak from her

Even in important meetings, Natasha was often caught giving you heart eyes, like this one right now, Fury was staring at her waiting for her to give him a plethora of solutions like she normally would. This time however, she was busy staring at you and were practically making out with you with her eyes. Fury cast his glance around the avengers silently inquiring as to what happened to his best agent. “she’s infatuated with her new girlfriend” tony said

The abrupt voice snapped Natasha out of her thoughts and she sent him her killer glare “I am not” knowing chuckles reverberated around the meeting room, even you let out a soft laugh at her obliviousness. “Did you know that Romanoff let y/n borrow her motorbike?” Clint said in a faux conspiratory voice. The director’s eyebrows shot up “is that so?” one corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk

“So what if it is, its just a bike” Natasha tried to act nonchalant but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her. “Ah look, the adoptive murder daughter has found love” tony said sarcastically “I will cause you pain in ways you can’t even imagine” Natasha gritted out. Taking pity on her, you snapped your fingers “Okay okay, this has been fun, but back to the tesseract?”

After the meeting, and more relentless teasing, resulting in an extremely irritable Natasha, she had pulled you aside into an empty store room “ooh is this our forbidden rendezvous” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. Even in the dark, you could swear that Natasha was blushing like she always did even if you so much as looked at her

“no this is me apologizing on behalf of the team and what they said back there, it was disrespectful-” catching your quirked eyebrow and look of amusement indicating that you were in fact not at all offended by the team’s teasing and she was the only one amongst all of them that didn’t know you had feelings for her too. Deciding to be bold for once, she smirked “it could be our forbidden rendezvous though”

You smiled and closed the distance between you. You could feel her breath hitch when she noticed how close you were, how she could tilt her head slightly and her lips would meet yours, how much she wanted to feel your lips on hers. So that’s exactly what she did, when your lips touched, it was just like how they described it in books. It ignited something resembling a thunderstorm in you and you couldn’t acknowledge anything else except how her lips felt perfect against yours. You reached to run a hand through her crimson tresses, and when breathing became a difficulty she pulled away, ruffled and lips parted she smiled showing all her impossibly white teeth

“Who knew you were such a good kisser”

“Who knew you would ever get bold enough to find out”

Taglist: @phoenixofash @michelle-dsn @midgardianweasley @zolvaska @jokertgkk @yeeterthekeeper

[danakin-skywalker]

That Smile (Danny Wagner Fluff)

Taglist: @flowervanfleet @weightofdreams-gvf @sierraahhhh @stardustschords @amourleger @ageofsewingmachine@theweightofstardust @samkiszkabreakmyback @prettyintopeerpressure and potentially you, just lmk!

(A/N): hello lovelies!! Today’s story is a commission from the lovely @dannythedog in which the reader is struggling with a depressive episode and Danny helps to pull her out of it and it helps her realize how much he loves her. I cannot speak for all people experiencing depression, because it takes on many forms, but this is the form of depression I’m familiar with, which mostly involves lethargy, ignoring responsibilities, brain fog/derealization, self-loathing, etc. 

If any of these themes would be triggering for you to read, please skip this fic. 

But for real, I think Danny would be fantastic at not only lifting your spirits and being patient with you but also helping you clean up and set yourself up to make changes when you’re ready. Accepting help at times like these can be super difficult, which is why Danny’s patience would be perfect. But the real exciting part of this was getting to write Danny as goofy, since he never really gets to be (at least in fics)

Anyway, enjoy! This one’s for Brooklyn!

***************************************************

That Smile

It had been over a week now. They usually didn’t last this long but this one sure was.

You had basically closed yourself off from the world at this point and you could tell your parents were getting worried— they had already been hesitant to let you move out on your own in case of instances like this. You had insisted you would thrive on your own and take care of yourself now that you had an environment you could control, but right now you couldn’t remember the last time you had done either.

This was what undoubtedly hailed Daniel Wagner to your door. Danny had been a close friend for years, but you usually made a point to hide this part of yourself from him. It was embarrassing and you didn’t want him to think less of you because of it. So when you opened your door and Danny waltzed right in before you could get a word out, you found yourself paralyzed with fear as you waited for him to take in the state of your apartment.

“Hey! You know you should really call your mom, she’s super worried that something’s… wrong…” His voice trailed off as his eyes ran over your studio apartment. There was a huge pile of dirty dishes in the sink, more on the counter, your houseplants wilting, dust and grime everywhere, everything was just a mess.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched his eyes trail along everything you had tried so hard to hide from him all these years. He turned to look at you, knit brows coming loose when he saw your face.

“What… What’s wrong?” He asked softly as he made his way over and enveloped you in his arms.

You let yourself cry into his chest for a moment so you could keep your voice steady to croak out, “I… I’m sorry. If I knew you were coming-“

“Y/N, what is wrong. This isn’t you.” He repeated more firmly, arms squeezing you tighter as his eyes continued to take in the small details of the chaos that had become your studio apartment.

You sniffled against his chest, grateful you didn’t have to look at him. “It is, that’s the worst part. This is me. I’m a terrible deadbeat of a person who let her depression take over her week. And now my apartment is ruined.” You started crying again and Danny started stroking your hair, taking in your words.

Danny softly shushed your cries, his heart breaking a little more with each one. “You’re not a terrible deadbeat. How long has this been happening? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

You barked out a cold, solemn laugh. “Why would I ever want to share this part of me with someone I care about?”

Danny rested his chin onto the top of your head and murmured, “So you don’t have to go through it alone.”

The two of you stood there for a bit, until suddenly you shoved Danny away, much to his surprise. “Oh, God, I haven’t showered in forever I must smell like shit. I’m sorry Danny.”

You tried to walk away from him but unfortunately for you he stayed hot on your heels. “Please stop apologizing. How can I help you through this?”

You stopped and turned around to face him, “Danny, I don’t know how you can! I don’t know how anyone can at this point.” You plopped down onto the couch and mumbled, “I’d give anything just to feel alive again. Like a living, breathing, fully-functional human. You know?”

You weren’t expecting an answer and Danny didn’t have one. Depression wasn’t something he personally experienced but now that he knew the way it affected you, he was kicking himself for not knowing more on the topic. Your musings did give him an idea though.

He squatted down next to you so you were eye level. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go take a shower so you can stop thinking of yourself as gross. I’ll be waiting out here and then we’re getting you out of this apartment for the afternoon.”

You let out a chuckle at Danny’s idea of showering having a major impact on your self-esteem, but the light behind his eyes was something you craved back. “Mmmm damn you and your social pressure.” You groaned as you rose again from the couch, making the smile on Danny’s face grow.

You shuffled into your bathroom to turn on the shower, before turning to face your reflection. You winced as you took in your appearance as Danny found you, by far the worst he’s probably seen. Suddenly, you could hear shuffling behind your door and something being plugged into the wall. Before you could open the door to investigate, the introductory chords of “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart were flooding under your door and reverberating off the tiles in the bathroom. You couldn’t help the small smile that graced your lips as you shrugged off your clothes and entered the steaming flow of water, swaying to the beat a bit as you did. Who could have a sad shower to Maggie May?

When you went to exit the bathroom after your shower, you realized Danny would be waiting in the open space of your apartment and you were just in a towel. You didn’t know why, but you blushed at the idea of him seeing you in so little, even though he had seen you a dozen times before in a swimsuit.

Hesitantly, you open the door and step over the small Bluetooth speaker that had been placed just in front of it. When you looked up into the living space, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before you.

Danny was sitting on the couch, casual as ever, with one of your floral pillowcases over his head. You could tell by the slight rustling of the fabric that he was laughing too.

“Now what is going on here?”

Danny turned his head to you, still covered, as if he could see you, causing you to let out another giggle. “I realized after you went in that there’s no private room for you to go change in so this was my solution.” He laughed out, muffled by the layer of fabric.

You crossed over to your dresser, “Well you look like you just got kidnapped by a Girl Scout.” You chuckled.

He laughed at that too, and it was then that you noticed he had opened all your windows and lit a stick of incense on your coffee table. Your shoulders slumped a bit in shame at the implication, “So looks like my apartment smells like shit too, huh?”

Danny sat up a little straighter at your change in tone, “Not like shit! It was just… how to phrase…” He brought his hands together under his chin in thought. “I just thought you could use a little fresh air and aromatherapy. That’s all.”

You threw an old T-shirt over your frame and pulled on some jean shorts, your stomach making a loud gargling noise as you buttoned up the fly. Under the pillowcase, Danny’s ears pricked up at the sound, “Y/N, when was the last time you ate something?”

You sighed, walking over to him and pulling off the pillowcase, his hair flying around like crazy with static, “I don’t know. Yesterday?”

Danny’s eyes widened, “Y/N, it’s like 3pm, you haven’t eaten today?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself glumly and hung your head low before forcing out a small, “No.”

Danny leapt up from the couch, “Alright, food first then. Come on.” He put a hand on your back, guiding you toward the door and grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter on the way.

Danny stopped at your small display case of sunglasses next to your door, eyes trailing over all of them. You took this moment to protest, “Danny, really it’s okay. I just haven’t really been hungry I guess.”

He stopped and looked down at you, frowning. “You need to eat. Everyone does. Part of the human experience.” he nudged you with his elbow when he said that last part, alluding to what you said earlier. “We’ll get something light. Like soup! What’s that one Vietnamese one you like, with the noodles?” 

He watched your face brighten up at his words, “You mean pho?”

He beamed back at you. “Yeah, we’ll go get that.” He turned back to the display case for a second and plopped a pair of aviators onto your face. He leaned back over to the door for a second, before pausing and taking another pair from the display. A much louder red pair of heart shaped glasses with blue lenses. He put them on his face and turned to look back at you, smiling triumphantly when you let out a giggle. “Okay, now we’re ready to go.” And with that, you walked out of your apartment for the first time in over a week.

He opened the passenger door to his car for you and you slid in. He got into the driver’s seat and swiped through Spotify for a moment before starting the car. Within moments, the piano intro of “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” by Jim Croce was pouring out of his car stereo, and Danny started exaggeratedly bouncing his shoulders along to the beat, glancing over at you wistfully until you rolled your eyes and smiled at him.

He put the car in drive as the first verse hit, singing along in his best Jim Croce impression, which you couldn’t help but giggle at, especially when he started yelling and beating the top of the steering wheel to the chorus. Once the second verse was ending his head whipped over to you with an expectant look, “Now are you gonna sing your part or are you gonna leave me hanging?”

You gave him a hesitant look that was quickly overshadowed by a growing smile as the chorus approached again. You sang along to the backup vocals, jumping in between Danny’s voice at first before colliding for the rest of the chorus. Danny always played this song around you because he got a kick out of how into it you got, moving your body to the beat and mouthing along to the verses before belting out the chorus. It took some encouraging to restore this zest, thankfully there were plenty of verses of Leroy Brown to get you there and he was seldom opposed to a replay of a song like this.

By the time you two arrived at your favorite Vietnamese restaurant, you were already feeling better than you had in days. While you waited for a table, Danny drummed his fingers along the counter to the tune of the song, still fresh in his mind. You watched his fingers move in admiration, always secretly a little jealous of his musical talent.

When you two were seated and waiting to place your order, Danny watched your eyes whisk over the counter in thought. His eyes filled with worry now that your mind was unoccupied again, so he thrust his hand out toward you. “Thumb wrestle?”

You were torn from your thoughts by this, and couldn’t help but snort at him. “Are you seven?”

“Are you scared you’ll lose?” He fired back, making you arch an eyebrow and put your hand in his, thumb raised.

“You’re on.”

And there you were. Two fully grown adults aggressively thumb wrestling in the booth of a small Vietnamese restaurant when the server came to take your order. The two of you froze in place, hands still together as you stared up at her.

You cleared your throat, “Oh, sorry, um I’ll just have the brisket pho. Do you want anything Danny?”

Danny chuckled, “Considering I’ve never seen you come close to finishing one of those, I’ll just share.”

You scrunched your nose at him in faux-annoyance before turning back to the server, “I guess that’ll be all then.”

Before the server could leave, Danny added, “No green onions and extra chili oil on the side please.”

Your eyebrows shot up in realization, turning back to the server to add a, “Yes, that too please, thanks!” before turning back to Danny, “You remembered my order?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks redden just a bit as he tried to brush it off, “I mean, I’ve literally only ever been here with you and you’re always all pouty when you forget to ask and they add in the green onions.”

You couldn’t help the affectionate smile that spread across your face, and Danny sent you one right back.

Suddenly, in your peripheral, you noticed that you two were still holding hands, and had been through the entire order-placing process. That server probably thinks you’re together. Your stomach fluttered at the thought.

Looking down at your hands together, you allowed yourself a split second to savor before sending your thumb crashing down onto his. Danny’s jaw dropped open in anguish.

“Loser.”

“Cheater.”

The rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by. Between you and Danny working at it, you had finally seen your first empty pho bowl. After that, he took you to your favorite vintage record store, where you managed to find two vinyls you’d been looking for forever. You had a sneaking suspicion he had placed them out where you’d find them, since he was hovering a few feet ahead of you browsing the same records. Even if he did, that didn’t stop his face from lighting up with yours when you held each one up for him to see as you found them.

He took the scenic route home as the sunset painted the sky. You couldn’t help but stare out the window in wonder, missing Danny sneaking soft glances over at you. While he drove you spilled your guts to him about everything you had been hiding; delving into the forms your depression takes and how you can feel the episodes coming sometimes and the way they always stayed for indeterminate amounts of time. He listened intently, as he always did, and mulled the new information over before earnestly suggesting preventative solutions. Your heart softened at his eagerness to help you, and the two of you talked about the logistical pros and cons of meal prepping.

After a moment of silence, you turned your attention back out the window. “How are we not back yet, I feel like we’ve been driving forever.”

“Oh, I’ve been driving in a big loop for the last 20 minutes.” Danny said matter-of-factly, making you whip your head over to his questioningly.

He shrugged. “You didn’t seem like you were done talking. I don’t mind.”

Again, you couldn’t help but swoon internally at his perpetually caring nature. He was just always so considerate of others, particularly you, and it never ceased to warm your heart.

But he was your friend. So he couldn’t know that.

“You’re an idiot.” You chuckled at him.

When you two returned to your apartment, you were struck even more by how disgusting it had become. You felt the little bit of relief you’d gotten from your little escape begin to fade until Danny stood directly in front of you, blocking your vision entirely with his chest.

You peered up at him with defeated eyes as he spoke, “Look, I know it looks like a lot, but we’re gonna work through it. Together.”

Your eyebrows slowly started to raise in disbelief as you processed what he was saying. “You… you wanna help me clean?”

He smiled down at you, and reached for your hand, “Of course, Y/N. It’ll take way less time with two people. Come on, I’ll wash you dry?”

You leaned past him to look warily at the pile of dishes, only briefly before he took a step to the side to hide it from your vision once more. You knew how long those dishes had been there, and were almost certain the ones on the bottom would be moldy.

You looked back up at him, eyes softened to a much more vulnerable gaze, “You’re not disgusted?”

His eyes softened with yours, and he placed a delicate hand onto your cheek, “Y/N I could never be disgusted by you. Ever. You have some stuff to work through but it doesn’t define you as a person. I just…” His eyes screwed shut in frustration, trying to put his thoughts to words.

You placed a hand lightly on his chest, causing his eyes to open back up. You looked into his eyes encouragingly and he took a breath before murmuring, “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart jumped and you bit your lip as you mumbled, “And how do you see me?”

Danny’s eyes burned into yours as he whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I think you’ve got the most vibrant and attractive personality I could ever imagine and I would jump through hoops forever to keep that gorgeous smile on your face. I’m… I think I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Even with the direction the conversation had clearly been heading, his words hit you like a brick. Suddenly it all made sense; all the silly shit he had been pulling all day, the way he remembered little things about you and went out of his way with little regard for reciprocation. He loves you.

The idea filled your body with warmth as you stared back into his eyes. You realized you had left Danny hanging for a few moments after he poured his heart out to you, so you slid your arm up to his neck to pull him down for a slow kiss.

Danny’s hand on your cheek pulled you closer to him as you both poured everything you had into the kiss, trying to say a million things neither of you could articulate. When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, both of your eyes remaining closed.

“I-“ Your voice came out smaller and much more breathless than you expected, so you cleared your throat and said, “I, um, I think I'm falling in love with you too, Danny.”

It came out a lot clunkier than you had imagined in your head and you wrinkled your nose at your own words, but as you watched Danny’s eyes open and meet yours, the love that poured out of them made you realize it didn’t fucking matter how you said it. Just that you felt the same as him.

He rubbed his thumb against your cheek tenderly before pulling away, his fingers catching yours as he gently pulled you toward the sink. “C’mon now. Let’s put this behind you.”

The two of you stood there in your kitchen, blasting your new records and slowly dismantling the tower of dirty dishes and cleaning the countertops until your kitchen was recognizable again, the task you had deemed too daunting for over a week feeling like a breeze because you had Danny there. And now you knew for sure he always would be. No matter what.

And for the first time in over a week, you felt it. Alive.

[cinnamonest]

Rewriting my Diluc housewife thoughts but I saved it in my notes this time, but I made it infinitely more sexist than it already was before bc 1) I was in the kink mood and 2) the spirits of writing gods possessed my body and told me that is the way all Diluc content should be, so, this is major 1950s-ish housewifey horrendously misogynistic shit, you've been warned. Like, even *I* looked back over this and was like "wow this is vile" which is kinda saying something for me so, putting the nastier parts under cut for the sake of my followers' eyes ----------- I was thinking about the post a while back about Diluc reforming a criminal darling - a thief around Mondstadt that's been on a crime spree and of course he catches wind of that and goes to defeat the perpetrator (surprisingly very easy? How is a thief this weak?) and haul the bastard off to jail except... What's this? Said criminal is actually just some girl and not a gross ugly bastard?? This changes things. Clearly, this was not an intentional act of malice or greed, but rather, he, master of criminal psychology™, rationalizes that the world is far too cruel for unwifed girls that have no one to depend on, a cold terrible place, so you must have been driven to these actions out of desperation. You had no provider, no caretaker, which are needs. How could you possibly be expected to provide a means of living for yourself?? This is just the consequences of the unfairness of the world. However, things all work out in the end. You need to be taken care of and restrained from these self-destructive choices by force (since you cannot recognize how bad it is, not that you're expected to, it's natural that you have poor perception, that's why you need a man to make choices for you), and he needs a wife. This solution benefits all parties.

He is, however, a rather dense man, and doesn't really think to like, tell you that. Or tell you anything. He's too lost in thought in his planning -- gonna get you new clothes to replace your ragged ones, gonna have to rearrange the guard schedule so they can watch the house better, all that -- and just kinda slings you up and over his shoulder without a word. Ignores you kicking and hitting because it doesn't really hurt or anything, you're too weak for that. Just says he’ll explain in detail later, but don’t worry, you’re not going to jail. He’s just taking you home. This is better, he says. Stop struggling so much, what, you want to go to jail? No? Then be still. And you don't recognize that it's good for you yet, but again, that's expected. In a better time or society, you would have been married off sooner, and prevented from ever falling victim to your own decision making to begin with, but the world isn't perfect and you can be forgiven for it. You're not responsible for your own actions since you can't comprehend them. It's frustrating and he sighs a bit over it, but that's just the way things are. You'll be happy in the long run, even if it takes a while, you're naturally programmed for a better lifestyle he has in mind. And, really, he's glad you weren't married off, because if you were then he never would have had you, so even though it was technically unideal, the stars align and the universe works out things perfectly. It's all the more of a sign that this was fate and you were made for him. The issue is that a hardened criminal darling is... Not the ideal candidate for a housewife. To some extent, he's right that the criminal underworld hardens a person, you can't survive in that realm if you're submissive or weak willed. And criminal darling certainly is not. Loud mouthed, opinionated, argumentative, bad attitude, defiant and aggressive and very much unafraid. A complete loose cannon. All very unfavorable traits. Worst of all, very much unaccepting of and ungrateful for the privilege of a second chance and being graciously granted the opportunity for a better life. Lots of bad behaviors.

The cursing is a problem. It's not very... Wife-like. Gives off a bad image, you know. Especially since said cursing is usually directed at him at a very loud volume with a snarl and getting all up in his face to tell him he's fucking insane and a bastard. To be honest, the worst part isn't the words themselves, it's the fact that you are so unafraid to be defiant and so fiery that is the primary issue. You disobey very deliberately. Little acts of pettiness. Being mean to the maids who are so graciously trying to teach you how to cook (at his direction), since you had no idea how to (and nearly burned his house down as a result). The first time you were mean and bitter and that's how you learned they report back to him about how you behaved. It did not go over well.  

Intentionally burning food. Once you somehow found a bottle in a cabinet somewhere in the mansion and put rat poison in his food, made him sick. Muttering a sarcastic whoops and shoving a vase off to crash and shatter on the floor. Early on you refused to wear all the nice dresses you were generously given and even tried to go through his clothes to find something to wear, which was kinda cute since it was way too big, but still. You mutter and grumble under your breath every time you're given a command. The most important thing is sex, though. You know, your job. One of your only real responsibilities. He has a very stressful job. It's only reasonable that he can expect to come home to his sweet, loving little wife with open arms and equally open legs. You've probably fucked around a bit right? For money, for favors, for intel, you get the idea, lots of ties to criminal gangs to earn their trust. So, if you do it for something so insignificant, how much more does he deserve it for taking care of you fully? You should -- and you will, with time -- drop to your knees the second he walks through the door. But instead, sigh, you fight and whimper and cover your face in shame after you spasm and cum, and worst of all, you actively try not to cum. You shouldn't feel ashamed of that, it's good, he says. Sure, you may not be officially married (since the laws of Mondstadt unfortunately require that whole "consent" thing for both parties, ugh), but, he's basically your husband right? So, it's perfectly normal, you're supposed to cum for him. Maybe once you're all knocked up you'll be even hornier, and less shameful. He actually wasn't expecting you to be this bad. Incredibly stubborn and prideful. Literally the exact opposite traits of a good wife, you know, submissive and humble and obedient. He kinda thought that it was like... automatic. That once he just kinda shoved you in the right environment, it would be like flipping a switch right? Apparently not. But no matter. It can be changed, with effort and time. You're worth it. See, you're not supposed to backtalk him, you're supposed to smile and do what you're told without question. You're supposed to submit and obey, and instead you seem hellbent on pissing him off out of spite - and frankly, you're doing a good job of achieving that. Every time you defy him it sparks an irritation he can't describe, worse than he'd normally get from just being snarled at by anyone - no, something about being disrespected by someone he feels is beneath him makes him much, much angrier than it would be if it were, say, one of the business partners who get snappy and argumentative very frequently. He could break you and it would be easy, don't you know that? You stomp and you hit him and you yell, but clearly you process that you have to look up to look him in the eye, you have to realize how much smaller you are. You hit him even though you have to know by now he'll just grab your wrists, and like always you'll be unable to even hope of pulling out of his grip, the strength difference between you two is so great. There's no way you don't realize all that, yet you continue to behave the way you do. The inferiority is so blatantly obvious, but you act as if it's not. He spends a lot of time contemplating the source of this, the cause of your behavior, it occupies his thoughts. It's like... You resent him for something. Could it possibly be kidnapping you and keeping you as a glorified sex slave? No, no, that's not it. It's something else, yes. Are you just bitter about being inferior in, you know, every conceivable way? Is that it? The criminality for you was compensation to make you feel powerful, perhaps. You have a complex. You resent him not for anything he's done, but because you know he's stronger and smarter and generally superior to you. You don't want to accept it. You're prideful when you shouldn't be. You're supposed to be humble and content with your inferiority. Yeah, that's it. You just have a negative perception of the lifestyle you're supposed to have. Maybe some event in your life or someone else warped your view of things. You don't realize how happy you'd be if you just accepted it. Yes, if you submitted to it, if you swallowed your pride and actually accepted your place, you'd find you would be very happy, you just don't know that. Or maybe, your brain can't grasp something like that. After all, that's the reason you're supposed to be the submissive party of the two of you, you're not as bright or perceptive (says the densest man alive). You have to be... Led. Guided. So he says it. He is, again, a dense man. He does not really think about the fact that perhaps blatantly confronting you with the epiphany he thinks he's had and specifically using the words inferior and weak and small is probably not going to make you very happy. You get bitchy and bratty and try to hit him and he sighs because, see, this is exactly what he's talking about. You reacting the way you did only confirms you do have a complex, he says. So, how could he go about... reconditioning? He is not the most creative man, but thankfully it's a rather easy problem to solve. If you're reminded of a reality often enough, you have to accept it. For starters, using physical strength against you. Maybe that will metaphorically open your eyes. Holds you down in place when you're hitting him like you do, firmly bending you over a counter or whatever and just holding you in place. Come on, try to get up, try to push him off. You snarl and claw at the marble and push will all your strength, but he doesn't budge, not until you politely apologize and ask him to let you up. If you're being difficult and not going where he tells you to, well, he can just sling you up over his shoulder and carry you. If you're fighting being fucked he can just flip you over and press your face into the mattress and hold you still, and you can't help but take the brutal reality that you're basically a ragdoll to him, that is, physically overpowering you doesn't even require trying. It helps to knock you down a peg, remind you of your place and maybe get you to swallow that pride a bit. The orgasms and fucking have a similar effect -- every time you can't help but feel like he has a power over you. And really, he kinda does. Every time you lay there still panting and shivering in aftershock, the shame comes swarming in, all the obscene noises you made and the way you came undone under the person that treats you like property. Even if the rational part of you knows better, you can't help but feel like in a way it's like you let him win, allowed yourself to more or less prove him right. Maybe you'll learn better if you're in more humiliating positions. Stuck getting rammed from behind, hand forcing your face down and ass up. Actually correcting bad behaviors requires more direct approaches, so he takes the... Old fashioned route. After all, it's pretty much guaranteed to work. You don't listen to words, you don't listen to reason, but you'll certainly listen to handprints and belt welts on your ass. It's the first time you really, truly break, and that brings him a lot of satisfaction. The first time you really cry and whimper and beg and apologize so profusely it feels like you mean it for once. Granted, for a while you just persist in your bad behaviors and even try to run when you see him sigh and take the belt off, but you never get far. And, most notably, you actually fix your behaviors, with enough reminders. At one point, the next time you start being bad and get to bitching and snarling and putting up a fight, you catch the look on his face and, for once, you shut your mouth and look down and mumble an apology by default. See, you're learning. Speaking of, you still have that major issue with backtalking him. You're supposed to submit to him and acknowledge his authority over you. So he gets firm. Grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look him in the eye and reminds you that you will *not* get an attitude with him. You *will* show some respect. You say yes sir and no sir and do what you're told. And if you forget, he can give you a reminder, if you want that. But you shake your head with fear in your eyes, say you don't want that. It makes you mad. You want to lash back, but you swallow your pride and mutter a fine - before realizing the mistake, violating the rule you were just reminded of. You stammer out a yes sir but it's already too late. He has to control himself too, not let his anger get the better of him. He speaks in a way that isn't snarling and mean, but rather firm, cold, a flat tone that asserts dominance and demands respect. But... still wants you to like him. So he has to be nice, too. After all, you'll learn better if you're rewarded for being good, right? So you can get little rewards. Words of affirmation. A pat to the head. He'll buy you something you want, let you drink a bit (since, as a thief, of course, you had a problem with that before you came home, but that had to be corrected too, since drunkenness isn't very befitting). And sooner or later he does have a really good little wife. He's proud of you. You smile and obey commands without complaining. He can come home every day, and rather than hearing a long report from the staff about how much trouble you caused that day, instead you have food and smiles and sweet affection waiting on him, you hug him when he walks through the door. You're polite and sweet to the various business partners and guests that come through -- you don't speak to them without permission though, of course, and you look down at the ground so you don't make eye contact with another man. People say he's lucky and how they wish they had a wife that was so outwardly affectionate to them as you are to him, always clinging to him physically. And you don't complain or every object to anything, you just smile and say yes and do it. It makes him happy in a weird way he can't quite articulate. A warm swell of pride, a feeling of success. You have vague memories of a time when you were breaking into houses just to scrape by, not knowing when you'd eat next, not knowing where you'd sleep. It's kind of a fuzzy memory now. You don't have to worry about those things anymore, and you're a lot happier this way.

[m-mughal-blog]

Heard vs Depp: A Third Person's Point of View

People have picked their sides in the legal dispute going on between Amber Heard and Johnny Depp where Depp has sued Amber Heard in a $50m defamation lawsuit over an article she wrote in The Washington Post in 2018, in which she depicted herself as a 'public figure representing domestic abuse'.

But, the conflict is greater, murkier and more complicated at the centre than what meets the eye. Amber Heard says Johnny Depp abused her but on the opposite side, Depp says Heard abused him. So, what's the truth? Personally, here's what I think of it.

I have seen alot of people accusing Amber heard and calling her a liar in an online upsurge of reactions to her accounts of violent episodes that occurred during their marriage.

People, particularly, ladies, rush to dismiss her accounts of everything for two reasons probably; 1) to break the stereotypes that women always support women in the name of woman's rights above human rights, consequently, to prove to the male counterparts that it's false. 2) Lack of concrete evidence to back up her claims/case with.

First of all, absence of proofs doesn't always imply that the incident didn't take place or the account being submitted isn't truthful or honest.

Living in a constantly intoxicating environment can damage alot. Just in Hollywood, we have numerous examples of celebrity couples and families going to pieces because of people's addictions or substances abuse. The most prominent ones I can recall presently are; Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown, and Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to give some examples.

In Amber Heard and Johnny Depp's case, tragically, Depp is the addicted one. Not many people will understand that living with somebody who is addicted to intoxicating substances and tends be get high generally daily, is difficult beyond one can imagine. It's like tossing a stone into a still lake: the effects swell out and impact generally that is closest. In case of a partner who uses drugs or drinks to an extreme, the impact is felt for the most part by their kids, family members, friends, and co-workers. However, the greater cost is often borne by the abuser's partner. As it makes profound communicational distance between the partners, removes their possibilities of spending time together as the time then is spend being high or passed out, thus, giving births to fights and a lot of arguments, which at times, can become rough or violent. Particularly because of the fact that the substance can affect and change your brain's ability to think appropriately or rationally. You will more often than not be fomented or irritated easily, therefore, resulting in serious behavioural problems and mood swings, etc. And, without giving your actions any thoughts, you will quite often project all of that on closed or loved ones the most. So, yes, loved ones bear the greater impacts of the aftereffects of your abuses.

The worst thing is, it also affects your memory. You can put people around you through the most awful and crazy crap under the influence of intoxication and later on don't even remember that. Which will automatically make the describer a liar in your eyes if they fail to present any proofs of said incident. In this case too, there's a greater amount of a proof of insane & horrible behaviour on Depp's part that he was putting her through under intoxication. A lot of which he's admitted he didn't remember. For instance, the texts. If they weren't on the record, he could have denied ever sending those terrible and upsetting messages to his friend, regarding his spouse. But, since it's proven, now he can't.

Showing up intoxicated on Amber's birthday, calling her all sorts of names etc doesn't really paint a clean and sensible picture of him from any angle.

Concerning the children part, he's the dad, he got the greatest and mandatory obligations towards his children, for example, providing a perfect and loving environment for them at home. And, Amber alone can't achieve that without his essential role in it. Sure, she probably had been yelling and screaming at him during the arguments, however, dealing with that when level-headed and clean might have been more useful and fruitful than while fighting impaired, which clearly made fights to escalate faster and on a greater scale than under normal conditions.

I don't imply that Amber Heard is an Angel & Johnny Depp is the evil monster alone. But, one must be purely blind to not analyze the evidences submitted in court on day 17-18 onwards, from an unbiased viewpoint.

Johnny Depp has a problem of intoxicating substances addiction, which is absolutely dangerous and main driver of alot issues in any relationship or a setting. Basically, what I'm emphasising on is that depp also was at fault, infact, all the more so on the grounds that he'd do drugs and drink constantly because of which he was unable to be himself and was definitely upset both, mentally and and physically, healthwise which reflected in his interactions with her. He's much older than her, he should be more responsible and mature than her. Particularly when he had his kids around.

[sugarandspice-games]

Lucifer comforts an abused MC with a PTSD flashback

Wooo! Our first ever imagine! This one ended up being really long, so I’m sorry about that. If anyone else would like to request one, please read here!

[TW: PTSD, depression, allusions and mentions to past emotional and physical abuse plus quotes from abusers]

The week was... rough, to say the least. The blustering cold of winter started to encroach on the crisp air of fall, which meant that midterm exams were creeping closer. The lessons, which you had once found fun, started to get tiring since it was an endless slog of reviewing for the big test coming up.

Furthermore... you missed everyone. The brothers, Solomon, Simeon, Luke... Lucifer. It seemed that, because everyone was either studying (or preparing for the post-exam party) nobody had any time for you. You were lonely and depressed.

So, even though you wanted to do well on the test, your heart just wasn’t in your studies. It got to the point where you spent more and more time alone in your room, sleeping until you couldn’t sleep anymore. You even started zoning out during classes, which resulted in one or two teachers snapping at you. Some students also remarked that you were useless, as the only human student with no magic... a lot of them gossipped that you were only there because Lucifer liked you, which got back to him.

Eventually, enough was enough. The rumors compounded upon his worry, and he decided it was time to pay you a visit in your room on Saturday night.

You didn’t have any classes that day, so you were laying in your bed, scrolling on your phone, when you heard the knock at your door. It sounded... rather harsh compared to the usual rapping on your door, so you tensed. Something was wrong.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Lucifer stood in the doorway, his eyebrows knit together in a stern expression, and he sighed.

“Sit up.”

You groaned, pushing yourself away from the comforting warmth of your mattress, the heat tempting you to flop back down... but you managed, the blankets falling off of your shoulders.

“We need to have a serious discussion about your... lack of effort.”

Your heart and your eyes burned at his words, your face going pale. Luckily, your cheeks still felt dry, but you trembled as you spoke.

“I’m... sorry. I know I haven’t been trying as hard as I could have.” You fall silent, not able to say much more.

“Then why aren’t you making more of an effort?” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Really, MC. I don’t want you to be unprepared for your midterms, but it seems that I’m alone in that desire. You’ve barely left your room or touched your textbooks. You should study in the library instead of your room if you get distracted by the urge to sleep. I already have enough trouble trying to get my brothers to pay attention. I don’t want to have to worry about you as well.”

“I’m...”

“I don’t want you to apologize again, I want you to work harder. I’m very disappointed in you.”

You were already zoning out again, but that final comment was the nail in your coffin. Your grip on reality finally snapping as your eyes lost focus, your mind drifted off to a dark place from your past, and before you could understand what was happening, you could no longer sense Lucifer or your current surroundings, only the cruel words from others you loathed to remember-- the ones you couldn’t help but remember:

“You’re such a useless, clumsy moron! This is why nobody wants to be around you!”

“I wish you would just die.”

“Why can’t you pay attention to anything? Is your brain broken or something? Nobody likes broken people.”

“You disgust me. You make me want to hit you. Do you want that?! Do you want me to hurt you?!”

But the worst echoed in your head over, and over, and over again.

“I’m disappointed in you. I can’t believe I made the mistake of thinking you were better than that.”

Your lip trembled as you finally managed to speak, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“P-please... st...stop...”

Lucifer rambled for awhile, mostly giving you advice on how you could improve in your studies, but he finally paused when he heard you whimper. He came closer, but you didn’t react to his towering presence. Your eyes looked wild and unfocused, and he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear what you said.”

You didn’t respond, still caught up in the painful memories.

“MC? Are you paying attention?”

Still nothing. And that’s when he saw it-- your skin losing its normal healthy hue, looking slightly grey and your quivering fingertips digging into your biceps.

“Oh... what have I done?”

Lucifer’s mind screamed at him to do something, anything, berated him for being so harsh to you. He knew you had a history with abuse before you came to the Devildom; he took you to one of the counselors at RAD when you experienced a similar flashback before. What he failed to notice was how on-edge you had been the whole week.

And oh, he could understand. The harsh environment that his ‘Father’ provided him, the pressure to be heaven’s perfect angel... he had experienced similar, though not quite the same. But he often fell back into old habits, pressuring everyone else to be perfect as well so that they wouldn’t be punished, even if there was no risk of that here.

Finally making himself focus on the situation at hand, he tried to remember what humans needed to ground themselves. Since you couldn’t see or hear him, he’d need something you could touch, or possibly smell. He took his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over yours, placing some of the soft, velvety fabric over your fingers and letting the fur collar tickle your cheek. The spicy scent from his cologne drifted over your nose, and you could feel the comforting, warm weight against you.

You blinked. And for a second that seemed to last an hour, you stared blankly ahead, finally getting a grasp of your surroundings before your gaze drifted down to Lucifer, who knelt at your bedside. His hand clasped around your thigh to steady you in case you were dizzy.

“I...” you began, but he cut you off.

“Please, do not apologize,” he said, “I am the one who is sorry. I was the one who was not paying attention... to you, or anything else. I was... worried that you would fail, and irrational as it may be to fear that, I was afraid you would get hurt if you did. I should not have been so harsh.”

Your eyes finally filled with tears, and you sobbed. Lucifer pushed himself onto your bed, holding you tightly in his arms.

“I-I just... I was doing the best I could, but I can’t focus and I-I... everyone is too busy, and I can’t talk to anyone! A-a-and then you said you were disappointed... Do you hate me?” you cried, clinging to him and soaking his shirt with tears and snot.

He ignored the mess and gently stroked your hair, cuddling you against him.

“Of course I don’t hate you, and I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it. I could never hate someone that I love, no... someone I adore so much. My heart belongs to you, as yours does to me.” He placed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, trying to stifle his own tears. He had really hurt you, hadn’t he? And yet, you were the one worrying if he hated you... “I am sorry. I love you so much. I will try to spend more time with you if you are lonely, and perhaps I can help you if you cannot focus on your studies. We could review together, if you would like.”

You nod, too teary and shaky to form words as you snuggle against him. You both stay like that for a long time, tangled around each other in your bed, before you spent the rest of the night in his room, listening to music together and relaxing while he stroked and kissed you.

Tomorrow, he would help you get caught up on your studies, but tonight, he cared about nothing but showing you how much he loved you, even if people in your life before you came to the Devildom failed to do so.

[captainkirbypunch]

My love has left tumblr once again.

As many of you may know, the account under the name MDZADR, has left tumblr. They felt unsafe in their fandom, and as such have deleted their tumblr and AO3 account due to the bad memories linked to them.

As a part of their departure, they have asked me to post something in their name, as follows.

If you want more details about how I came to this realization, continue to read. If not, here is your summary:

TL;DR: For the safety and health of this fandom, I wanted to spread the word that Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and MelodyoftheVoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don’t “ship zadr correctly.” She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is. 

Full story below.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Nobody did anything to me today, but this just wasn’t worth it.

My AO3 and tumblr are both gone. I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want to look like an attention seeker.

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t going to name drop, but you guys need to know the truth. I’m instructing my boyfriend (hi y’all) to turn asks off for his own safety after this because this is going to be a nightmare, but... allow me to tell you the full story. I’ll try to break up the text so it’s less difficult to read, but this is important. I’m sorry to air discourse so publicly, but please... I need you to listen to me.

I’ll start from the beginning, without being vague anymore about who “she” is. I request that you please read the whole thing and not skip parts of it. The whole story matters.

I finally returned to the fandom about two months or so ago. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t do well in my thoughts while left alone too long, so I posted saying I would stop messaging people I knew because I didn’t want to bother them. There were only two people I was talking to at the time, but one of them is famous so I didn’t want to message her directly saying that. Doing so would have put her in a position of feeling obligated to say “you’re not bothering me” rather than just simply being able to sigh with relief from no longer being contacted. 

But the first person to contact me was the famous person, and she asked if I was okay, and told me she liked talking to me.

God, I actually cried.

But, that’s just her. Melodyofthevoid is the type of person to talk to people in the fandom, totally unaware of her demigod status. She comments on stories, interacts on posts, messages first... a pillar of kindness, so it seemed.

But let the story continue.

Over time, we were talking more often. 

Mostly sending memes (cause everyone I knew, myself included, aren’t exactly great at holding conversations. No shade. Memes are a love language). I was still in the hero worship stage of our relationship, so my view of her was that that was perfect.

Now, let me bridge a connection with a new story idea I got around December 28th or so, and my thinking she was perfect.

I had recently finished watching Madoka and questioned “If I had magical powers, what would they be?” It then turned into its own story idea, basing creators’ powers around the strengths and weaknesses in creations. I actually realized “oh fuck. My stuff is incoherent. My friends’ works aren’t too different...”

Thus spawned the name “Incoherent” for the project.

What does that have to do with this? Well, here’s the thing that really fucked everything up quickly. 

This was not on purpose, because originally the project (which I had told nobody of yet at the time) was all about improving your works, making platonic friends, dressing our personas in cute outfits, and writing fun magic.

While listening to music and thinking of the story one day, my brain accidentally shipped my persona with hers, and I couldn’t unsee it. And I’m lousy at keeping my own secrets (other’s are different) so she found out on probably day one or two about my weird crush because of an ask meme of all things. 

She didn’t try to put me off any, which was another problem for future things to come, and so I decided that since Incoherent was finally making me feel alive again and feeling the euphoric feelings of love wouldn’t hurt anything (I figured they’d mellow out on their own eventually because that’s how infatuation works) since they helped fuel my inspiration, and then we would just continue from friends to better friends one day and this part of our lives would be over.

Besides, the forbidden is attractive somehow, and makes stories more entertaining. She’s aro/ace, so I had no chance anyway. Someone safe to crush on, in her own way.

This isn’t a story of a love betrayal however. There was no such thing. But it’s important to the story because Incoherent is where my mistakes were made, and hers brought to light.

By this time, I had a handful of people I was talking to, and I created a discord server for the project. Only my boyfriend (hi!) and I were in it at the time. I was not-so-subtly asking my friends what they’d look like if they were a magical person, what their names would be... I thought I would have had to lure Melody in to make her want to join us, but I managed to get her in very easily. Everyone was happy and excited! It was a no obligation, no time limit thing for us to enjoy, a little sandbox to play around in. 

Sure there were plans to make it bigger and I was working on art to the best of my ability, but it was gonna be a fun thing mostly. No pressure on anyone.

And how things started becoming a problem was that the rest of us posted publicly about the project and interacted with each other’s posts relating to the story, but she had started to interact publicly less and less with our things, and everyone noticed it.

It wasn’t because we were greedy and wanted the popular girl to reblog our things. It’s because we had a feeling she was ashamed of being seen publicly with us. The reason we were worried before then and started making that connection was because I mentioned I was going to ask another user if they were interested in joining Incoherent. Melody was the only one that seemed uncomfortable, and I messaged her asking about it. We agreed I wouldn’t invite that person but I knew things were off about it.

That person is like me. How long until Melody didn’t want to talk to me anymore? A few days ago, the other shoe finally dropped. A member of our little group and I were talking and (let’s call them Friend for simplicity. They asked to not be name dropped here) Friend was worried they had made Melody upset by tagging her in a meme picture they drew of her persona, and the two had agreed that Friend remove the tag. This spawned an anxiety-filled conversation where Friend and I expressed our concerns about Melody not interacting with the project, or us.

So since I wanted reassurance that that wasn’t the case, I messaged Melody with my concerns. I told her I had the feeling she was ashamed of being seen in public with us because of her friends, and she didn’t refute me. She simply told me to go get some rest. I messaged back with “I’m right.”

I deleted Discord off my phone for hours and nearly deleted my Tumblr, AO3, and the server after my boyfriend helped pass messages between us. Melody confessed that was the case because her friends expressed discomfort with my works, and she was playing both sides.

Her words, not mine.

Melody told me she would be withdrawing from the Incoherent project because it wasn’t fair to us if her heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t stand up on my behalf when they said things about me. Her friends are the type who talk behind creators’ backs for shipping zadr “incorrectly.” Worse than antis because they actually participate in the “pro-shipping” side of the fandom. I broke that day and messaged her at 3 am.

We finally spoke at 3pm. We both missed each other. I tried to understand more. I wanted it to be more like a conversation rather than an interrogation. It was only one-sided however, and she never opened up further. And I made some mistakes and poor choices of words, and we ended up parting ways permanently right there. 

I nearly deleted everything, but much like a coma patient attached to many machines on a hospital bed, my blog was kept alive a little longer by people sending kind words in droves. I was briefly fuelled by spite, wishing to watch the world burn by making everyone on the "correct" side of the fandom upset by posting the worst, most vile content this fandom has ever seen.

I was also welcomed with open arms by a very kind server with fellow degenerates, all of them screaming and crying and partying when they managed to get me in their server. It was so heartwarming...

But as I spoke to others about my situation, I realized something. A disturbing pattern.

People telling me horror stories about how Mooping-10 was cult-like. How the people running it were antis. I was even told once that they have a secondary server where they go to have their talks and do their work, likely the place where the real bashing is held.

The server itself has rules against such behavior, but I suppose it's different when they do it.

One person (and this is the most unnerving part for me, personally) told me Melody actually set off alarm bells in their head without having even done anything yet, and the most disturbing part of the story was that one of the moderators was afraid and upset because they got Covid, and received basically no moral support at all. Only getting told "spoiler that. Sorry you got Covid".

I was horrified. That server has 100 people in it. How many of them are the same? They act like popular kids in school who picked up an unpopular main character and then bash others, and the main character joined in because they don't want to be left behind by their new "friends".

To put it short, back to my point:

TL;DR: I simply only wanted to spread the word that: Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and Melodyofthevoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don't "ship zadr correctly". She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is.

[theninjamouse]

3, 12, 40? With the shoregrillster trio? In any combination you like

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

40. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

This is going under a cut because one, it got hecking long and two, it got mildly SPICY. Nothing explicit but you have been warned

Parties are....they’re supposed to be at least a little fun, right?

When it was announced that Gaster’s work on a new environment friendly, cost effective and all around sick public transportation design had been accepted by the city council, there was also the call to a party to celebrate the occasion. You’re beyond happy for Gaster, for his accomplishments in finally getting more steps taken to integrate monster magic into human technology on a world changing scale.

But holy crap, this party is boring.

Calling it a party at all is being generous. It’s just an excuse for people of ‘classier’ society to act like they’re taking part in something grand and to show off how fancy they are by sipping at cocktails and standing around pretending to care about what the other party goers bring up for conversation. But it is an important part of getting full funding for the project, as well as schmoozing up to anyone who might open up lanes for future development, so here you all are.

The majority people here are humans that you don’t recognize in the slightest aside from the occasional ‘oh it’s...that guy. Yeah’. There are a handful of monsters from the science and tech division all involved on the project. They’re mostly keeping to themselves, nervously socializing as little as possible.

Sans was here at some point. You don’t doubt he’s snuck off to find a corner to snooze in, if he hasn’t left the party outright at this point.

Lucky jerk.

However, you will admit, there is an upside to this whole thing. Gaster is not usually one to dress up. At least, not in any level aside from his beloved lab coat that you highly doubt contains more than a scrap of the original material thanks to all the repairs that have had to be done on it.

He’s been talked out of the lab coat and is instead wearing an utterly dashing three piece suit of the deepest purple you’ve ever seen captured by fabric. From the distance between where you’re leaning up against a pillar to rest your feet and him being caught in a circle of engineering heads pelting him with questions, the suit looks black until he shifts and the light catches the lines of shimmering purple.

You sip appreciatively at your drink, eyes taking in the way the suit fits his skeletal frame. Perhaps the night won’t be so boring after all.

“He cleans up really good,” you muse as the air to your left grows warm. “Almost makes the feral cat fuss he made about getting in the suit worth it.”

“Says you; I had to actually drag him out of bed while you were in the shower. He actually tore holes in my sheets.” Grillby leans against the wall as well, offering you a plate of ‘fancy people food’ he snagged from one of the wandering waiters.

Ah, you were wondering about those. You take a piece, not exactly sure what the heck it even is and pop it in your mouth. Your expression twists. “How is it that rich people food always looks so good but tastes like sour air and dried regret?”

“I’m still working that out myself.” Grillby finishes off the plate and sighs.

You shift your gaze to Grillby. He too is dressed to the nines, with a deep red button up, a black and gold trimmed waistcoat and matching tie. He always looks good of course but damn if his snazzy outfit isn’t making the worst kind of butterflies flutter in your belly.

“I’ll make us something actually substantial when we get home,” he continues, oblivious to your less than pure gaze skimming over him.

“If Gaster hasn’t imploded by that point.” The poor guy is fidgeting like crazy. It’s difficult for him to be around so much noise and fuss, this you know from experience.

Grillby looks at you, gaze sharpening a bit as his eyes trail over your outfit. Said outfit for the night is a deep blue one piece, sleeveless suit dress. The smooth material hugs your frame just enough to offer a hint at the form underneath and is blanketed by a sheer capelet that rests over your bare shoulders and gathers together at your waist with a thick belt.

The intensity of Grillby’s staring sends a delightful thrill of heat up your spine. “I guess I clean up alright too,” you murmur, brows lifting teasingly.

“’Nice’ is not quite the word I’d use.” He’s moved closer, plate of food discarded and hand rising to rest rather low on your hip. “Ravishing. Tempting. Something like that.” His head has tilted down, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You pull a goofy face at him, because if you don’t, you’re pretty sure your face will burst under the growing blush in your cheeks. “That’s me, the ultimate temptation.”

He’s not deterred by your teasing. He merely glances around just enough to see if anyone is currently looking your way before his grip tightens and he presses a warm kiss to your lips. It’s soft and gentle and a smile easily comes to your face as you kiss him chastely back.

Then-oh his mouth opens, and you quite forget about your boredom and the fact that your feet are killing you and the taste of bland rich people food on your tongue because Grillby tastes so much better. Your hands rise, gripping the edges of his waistcoat, pulling him closer to you and he makes a sound deep in his throat that urges your mouth to move faster, go deeper-

A laugh rings out, clear and far too close and Grillby jumps like he’s been shocked, pulling away with an eruption of blue over his face. Both of you guiltily look over towards the noise but it would seem that it was just someone laughing at a point in conversation. No one is staring in aghast mortification at the social faux pas.

A little breathlessly, you giggle. “Wow, how scandalous of you. We’re out in the open and everything.”

He shoots you a heated look. “You kissed me back.”

“You used tongue, you cheater!”

He flushes a brighter blue, but you can’t help but notice that his hand remains firmly on your hip. This isn’t fair, stupid party, stupid crowd….

An idea sparks in your heat addled brain. A dumb idea but, well, you’re rather past the point of caring too much.

You press up closer to him again, eyes darting out over the crowd for the briefest moment. You dance your fingers up his buttons. “Why don’t we go rescue Gaster? I think we could all use a... social recharging?”

He blinks and the soft “oh” that escapes him when he realizes what you’re getting at gets your ears burning.

But he doesn’t say no. In fact, he simply nods quickly, steps back and offers you his arm, which you gratefully take. Heels suck and your ankles are not pleased with you. “You want to take the lead?”

“Absolutely,” you say with only a touch of a manic grin actually reaching your face.

Gaster looks on the verge of whipping into a ranting frenzy or throwing an actual punch as the two of you approach. The human speaking to him is going on about engine semantics or something. Incorrectly, going by the promise of violence glinting in Gaster’s eye sockets.

“Pardon me,” you say with syrupy sweetness, cutting off the man speaking. All heads turn, faces going blank with subdued irritation at the interruption. “I need to borrow the good doctor for a bit. Doctor Gaster?”

Gaster inclines his head. “Excuse me,” he says with the sincerity of a child apologizing for stealing cookies. You swap to hold onto his arm and let him sweep you out of the ballroom, Grillby following on your heels.

“You are an angel,” Gaster groans. “Those imbeciles were trying to convince me to add in ‘a profitable angle’ to the design. Pigs.”

“I think that’s an insult to pigs.” You carefully look him over. “Are you holding up okay?”

He sighs heavily, coming to a stop out in the hallway where the only person present is a coat attendant lost in a book.

“Objectively, yes” he says, rubbing at his skull. “I just wish Asgore did not insist on me staying and playing nice with these people.”

“Sounds like it’s just been a big pain.”

Grillby tugs on your arm.

“It is!” Gaster proclaims, sweeping his free arm back towards the ballroom. “Vultures! Well…most of them are, there was actually a rather fascinating young man who had his facts mixed up but the core of his idea was not a bad one—”

Grillby tugs harder.

“Mmhm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows at Grillby. Just because you can, you let your tongue dart out over your lips for the briefest of moments.

He looks as frustrated as a fire could possibly be. Were the coat attendant not glancing up over the edge of his book, he probably would have scooped the two of you up and gone to work right there.

“Uh, is something wrong?” Gaster, finally noticing the agitated flick of Grillby’s flames, looks between the two of you.

“Well, we’re both kind of…hmm, how to be nice about it…bored? Sorry,” you pat Gaster’s arm. “I know it’s your special night.”

“That’s fine, I’m quite bored myself,” Gaster says dryly.

“Oh perfect!” you chirp brightly. You glance to Grillby and smile slyly. “We had a thought about how to recharge our batteries. As it were.”

Not for the first time, Gaster displays an impressive ability to give the look of raising eyebrows without any actual, yanno, eyebrows. “Do tell?”

“It’s not really a tell so much as a show-oop!”

Grillby’s run out of patience. His hands land on both yours and Gaster’s backs, urging you forward and down the hall. The coat attendant is very pointedly Not Looking as you pass by. Grillby must have done recon or something when you first got here because he seems to know exactly where he’s heading. He takes you down a small flight of stairs and round a corner that leads to a small room that’s empty save for a few boxes stacked against one wall and some unused furniture.

And just your luck, it’s unlocked.

Going by the rising purple on Gaster’s face, he’s caught on to what exactly your ‘recharging’ idea is. “Uh-um, yes I—”

“I didn’t have much of a chance to say it earlier.” Your arm slips smoothly away from his and you turn to him. You have to lift up a bit on your tip toes and pull him down to you to press a kiss against his cheekbone. “You look very handsome tonight. And we are your dates to this thing, and yet we haven’t hardly had a chance to even talk to you.”

Gaster’s blush is now bright enough to nearly compete with Grillby’s flames.

Speaking of Grillby-

He’s moved in behind you, hands dropping to your waist as his mouth descends down on your neck. The heat of his body and fire presses against your back and you have to take a moment to catch your breath.

Gaster’s eye lights have gone wide and bright, flickering with a nervous sort of energy as his gaze darts between you and Grillby. He swallows, though he really has no need for it. “I…this isn’t really the best…what if someone sees…?”

“Then you better move fast,” you murmur. Tugging on his tie, you pull his face down closer. “Kiss me,” you demand breathlessly. “Please?”

There’s a moment where his eye lights shift in such a way it almost looks like they’ve taken on the shape of stars and then Gaster’s hands lift to your face, nearly bonking your nose with his teeth with the speed at which he kisses you. Kissing a skeleton is difficult sometimes, given his lack of lips.

But you’ve had plenty of practice.

One of your hands shifts to pull Gaster closer to you while the other desperately scrambles behind to find purchase on Grillby. His own hands are quite busy, one running gentle circles on your hip and the other moving up, closer to where your chest is pressed up against Gaster’s ribs. His fangs scrape deliciously at your skin, nipping lightly in a way that makes you squirm with a mixture of ticklishness and building heat.

Your hand finds Gaster’s spine, prominent even through his suit and you grab on just below where his ribs end. He jolts at the contact, a breathless curse falling out in a rush of air. Grillby takes the chance to pull away from your neck and captures Gaster’s attention with a heated kiss.

Now quite solidly squished between the two, a soft and breathless noise escapes you as you drink in the building pressure of their bodies, basking in the contrast of Gaster’s silk smooth suit and Grillby’s growing heat. His hands continue to work at your curves, every touch sending a searing wave of warmth over your skin, kneading with a gentle intensity that makes you arch into Gaster.

You have just enough presence of mind left to sputter, “D-don’t tear the capelet.”

He growls, low and deep and oh if that rough and wild sound from such a restrained monster doesn’t make the most embarrassing shuddery moan hum in your own throat. “Take it off then,” he suggests with a tug at the belt around your waist. 

So off it comes, fluttering down the floor, soon joined by Grillby’s more carefully folded waistcoat. Then you find yourself being pulled back, led by him to an armchair covered in a cloth. The force of him sitting makes a heavy whumph sound thanks to your added weight on his lap. 

Gaster had let the two of you slip from his grasp while the extra bits of clothing were being discarded and he watches you now with a face openly full of warm affection. When you grin and beckon at him with a finger, he huffs out a sigh that is probably meant to be taken as annoyed, but just comes off as fond and longing. 

“You two are going to get me in trouble,” he grumbles. “There is a party I’m supposed to be at right now just down the hall, or did you forget?” 

Grillby, busy at work pressing scorching kisses over your bare shoulders, pauses and lifts his head. “So eager to get back, are you?” 

“Not at all. But I’ll be missed if I stay away much longer.” 

You sigh heavily, letting your weight lean back against Grillby’s chest. You might just happen to let your hand trail down to your thigh and lightly run your fingers over the fabric there as you pout at Gaster. 

He’s broken out into a bit of a sweat. 

Sweetly, you plead, “Five more minutes?” 

He stares. He sweats. Then his hand smoothly tugs at his tie and it and his coat joins the other outwear on the ground. “Five more minutes.” 

It winds up being six minutes and forty-two seconds but well. 

Who’s counting?

[tealin]

Observation Hill

To see the post in its original format, please visit twirlynoodle.com/blog

There is no mistaking Observation Hill when you arrive at McMurdo, if you know anything about it.  It is a distinct cone, right at the end of the peninsula – even if you've never seen a picture of it, its name alone tells you it's a prime lookout, and sticking out into McMurdo sound as it does, it has clear views in every direction.

I had seen pictures of it, but I was still surprised how it loomed over the station.  Unlike the vastly larger Mt Erebus, it is visible from everywhere; whether you're eating in the Galley or crawling back to bed from the Crary lab in the wee hours, it's always looking over your shoulder.

Though not apparent in the above photo, it is clearly visible in person that there is a large cross mounted nearly at the peak of the hill.  Visitors especially from the States might assume it is just another expression of religious devotion – Christ died on a cross on a hill, so hilltop crosses are not unusual in a country which puts great stock in expressions of Christianity – but this is not another one of those things, in fact it isn't even American.  This cross was erected in January 1913 by the surviving men of the Terra Nova Expedition, as a memorial to Captain Scott and the other members of his party who died out on the Ross Ice Shelf on their way home from the South Pole.

Before the ship arrived it was decided among us to urge the erection of a cross on Observation Hill to the memory of the Polar Party.  On the arrival of the ship the carpenter immediately set to work to make a great cross of jarrah wood [an Australian hardwood].  There was some discussion as to the inscription, it being urged that there should be some quotation from the Bible because "the women think a lot of these things."  But I was glad to see the concluding line of Tennyson's "Ulysses" adopted: "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."  

... Observation Hill was clearly the place for it, it knew them all so well. Three of them were Discovery men who lived three years under its shadow: they had seen it time after time as they came back from hard journeys on the Barrier: Observation Hill and Castle Rock were the two which had always welcomed them in.  It commanded McMurdo Sound on one side, where they had lived: and the Barrier on the other, where they had died.  No more fitting pedestal, a pedestal which in itself is nearly 1000 feet high, could have been found. 

(Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World, pp.565-7)

The establishment of the cross took two days: the first, to hack a hole in the volcanic rock in which to mount it, and the second to carry up the pieces and erect them.  

It stands nine feet out of the rocks, and many feet into the ground, and I do not believe it will ever move.  When it was up, facing out over the Barrier, we gave three cheers and one more.   (ibid., p.567)

106 years later, there is a hiking trail up Observation Hill.  I had intended to make a pilgrimage since the moment I arrived, but with everything else going on, and the ongoing challenge to get enough sleep, it wasn't until quite late in my visit that I finally made it.

My first attempt was on a relatively fine day, when I thought I could get some good views. The trailhead was clearly marked on the station map, but when I got there I couldn't find a way to reach it without crossing a fuel pipeline, and I had a dim recollection from orientation that this was a big no-no.  I wandered about looking for access until I started getting a headache from the fumes, and gave up.

The next opportunity came a few days later, after I'd found out from a veteran that it was OK just to step over the pipeline there.  It was a thickly cloudy day, and hazy by Antarctic standards, so I wouldn't get as good a view, but that did mean I could look forward to having the hill to myself.  So I stepped over the pipeline and started up.

It looks like a terribly steep climb from the bottom, but once on the slope it's not so bad, and is far less slippery than the gravel slope of Arrival Heights.  Partway up I passed a mountain rescue class, but beyond that the trail was entirely mine.

Like the rest of Ross Island, Observation Hill is volcanic in origin – in fact it was once a small volcano of its own.  Unlike the subglacial volcano that is now Castle Rock, which grew cylindrically through a hole it melted in the ice, Observation Hill must have been uncovered in its later years  at least, because it has the classic cone shape made by molten rock running down the outside.  It is a lighter colour than much of the rest of the exposed rock in the area, and in places, it gives a really good impression of being sedimentary rather than igneous.

While the climb was not as physically intense as I had feared, it did still make me very warm, and I had two pauses, not to catch my breath but to cool down.  One was to watch the rescue class, the other was when, somewhere near the top, I lost the trail, and examined the terrain for a while to guess which side would be least fall-off-able.  I chose the wrong one, it turns out – I didn't fall off, but I did have to pick my way over some bare rock and came out above the cross, which is mounted in a pocket of rubble just off the peak.

It's hard to tell from the photo but it is in fact quite large – I am an average sized female and I  stood well under the crossbar.  The inscription is still there, but over a century of blizzards have battered it, and some parts are just barely decipherable.

The names – above of the worst of the blowing grit – are still legible.  This gave me one of those moments which always seems to come by surprise.  I have lived most of my life, and certainly all of my career, in close proximity with fictional characters, who demand to be believed in, either out of escapist necessity or professional duty.  Most of the time I am off in my own little world, and the fact that that little world is now a historical moment in Antarctica does not, necessarily, make it more real, in relation to my literal present reality, than any movie I've worked on.  I know these guys were real, I have seen film footage of them, and read their handwriting, and, some of them, even met members of their families!  But when I'm up to my elbows in the work, it's easy to give it the part of my brain that suspends disbelief on a production.  Suddenly something will come along that jolts me back to their reality: in this case, a name carved on a physical object by someone who knew them personally.

At the same time, this physical object impressed upon me again just how much time separates their reality and mine.  Originally the cross was painted white, with the incised letters filled in black.  Only a little of the white paint remains in the deepest recesses of what are quite shallow letters, now.  In 1960, when Silas Wright returned and was photographed up here, the wood had already been scoured clean.  His visit was 47 years after the cross was put in place, and 49 years before mine.  The same imagination that conflates historical realities with fictional ones can make those years evaporate, but that is still a lot of years, and erosion, unlike imagination, doesn't lie.

Cherry may have believed that the cross would never move, but it has in fact blown down twice, once in the winter of 1974 and again in 1993.  Its restoration in 1994 was a significant effort: a new concrete "boot" was made for it at Scott Base and delivered to the site by helicopter, and the cross itself was relayed up the hill by teams of helpers.  (You can see photos of the event here, p.44)  I cannot say how moving it is to see such an outlay of resources and enthusiasm by people who never met the Polar Party, to perpetuate their memory.

The cross isn't the only thing to see at the top of Observation Hill, of course – there is everything else.  It turned out to be the perfect way to end my tour of Terra Nova landmarks, not only because it was the last bit of home territory the Terra Nova men themselves visited, but because I could see nearly everywhere I'd been from up here.

As you can see, it was not the greatest day for landscape photography, what with the matte light and the taller mountains being covered with cloud.  But I had not come up here to take pictures.  The sombre atmosphere befitted what I had come to do, which was to remember these men and thank The Powers That Be for the blessings that had been showered upon me in the last few weeks.

The cross faces south, towards their last camp, and the Pole.  This is, of course, a thoughtful and fitting aspect of the memorial.  It also gives the impression of a beacon, a light in a window, a lighthouse on a headland, guiding them home. The men who erected it knew the men were dead.  They are still dead.  We all know this.  But they are still out there somewhere, and it is not impossible to imagine some small irrational part of the human psyche wanting, in some small way, to show them the way back, and call them back by name.

Minna Bluff was covered in cloud, so I couldn't use it as a bellwether, but the wind started to pick up and was colder than before, so I thought I should start heading down again.  The correct trail was obvious from this end, and I poked along it for a little way before everything caught up with me and I sat down to have a little cry.

The cross is a historical artefact, and while it is not as plum or as complex as the huts, it still requires conservation.  Alarmed by the degree of erosion on the lettering, the Antarctic Heritage Trust has devised a shell to protect it from the worst of the winter winds.  That will do something, but it has already lost a lot.  When I was up there, I wondered why it hadn't ever been repainted, as the paint would go a long way to protecting it, and when the paint wore off it could just get repainted instead of eating further and further into the wood.  The raw timber is more harmonious with the environment, and I like it better aesthetically that way, as do many others I'm sure – the white cross with black letters in Debenham's photo from 1913 is very stark and artificial in such a magnificent landscape.  But it would last a lot longer.

On the other hand, generations of Antarcticans now have the cross as a touchstone, not only as their link to the history (not everyone gets to visit Cape Evans)  but as a landmark in their own experience of Antarctica.  It was personally important to the men who painted it white and put it up, but it is also personally important to hundreds, if not thousands, of people since then, who have never seen it white and don't know that's how it started, and might see the repainting as a travesty.  If it were to be conserved, to what extent would that go?  Would the letters be re-carved deeper, obliterating what remains of Davies' original work?  At what point does conservation end and adulteration begin?

The alternative is to take down the original and keep it somewhere out of the weather – Scott Base perhaps – and replace it with a replica.  Jarrah is still available, the letters could be carved afresh, it could be the bare wood everyone has known and loved for the last fifty years at least, and the original could be saved from the effects of weather once and for all.  But doesn't this defeat the intent of the original in some way, and make it – dare I say – a Disneyland version?  Do we owe more to history to keep it as it is and let the elements wear it down, or to preserve it as long as possible and do whatever might be necessary to extend the experience and historical understanding of a place, if not its authenticity?

These are all questions that curators and conservators have been grappling with for years, so I leave it to them to make the decisions.  I am grateful to have seen the original, and to have a moment to myself up there to reflect on these things, and more.  I hope, whatever happens with it in the future, Observation Hill is not de-crossed entirely.  How else will they find the way home?

[luna-tiel]

What Entrapdak Means to Me

On the eve of Entrapdak Positivity Month, I thought it was as good a time as any to share my rambling thoughts on a ship that’s affected me in a way I didn’t think was possible. 

Entrapdak is the first ship I have ever been invested in. It’s such a new experience for me that it’s taken me the last few months to wrap my head around the whole thing. I may relate to the characters in a show, but when they form romantic attachments I view it with a degree of passive distance. I don’t understand what it’s like to have those sorts of feelings for someone (I am aromantic and ace as a brick), and, well, I’m honestly not curious enough to give the subject a thorough study. My mind tends to fixate on other things. 

What does this have to do with Entrapdak, you ask? Long story short for people who don’t want to read my meandering essay -- I relate a lot to these characters, and the way they bonded together struck a deep chord in me that I can’t ignore. 

Let’s start with the characters. I knew going in that Entrapta was neurodivergent-coded, but I took it with a grain of salt. When I actually watched the show, however, I found myself relating to her so deeply it shocked me. Never have I felt such a kinship with a fictional character! We don’t share every trait, but it was still like seeing my brain put to life on screen. I related to her enthusiasm over her special interests, her struggles to fit in, her desire to make friends who accept and understand her for who she is. 

The fact Entrapta is completely herself is something I love about her. Over the years of growing up undiagnosed, I developed a lot of masking strategies. Human psychology is one of my special interests, and even with all that accumulated knowledge, masking isn’t easy. It’s extremely mentally taxing. Masking can certainly look easy -- I can, when I have the drive and energy, “pass” as neurotypical, and only people who know me extremely well can tell I’m dying inside. All that effort is taken for granted by a lot of NTs because that’s how people are “supposed to” act, and surely I can “do the bare minimum.” The accumulated stress of near constant masking has led me to the darkest moments I’ve had in my life.

Entrapta’s struggle with leaving Beast Island hit me hard. It threw me back to a time when my feelings of isolation and worthlessness got so bad that I lost the energy to do anything, even the creative pursuits that were the obsession of my life. I retreated so deeply into my inner world that I hardly interacted with anyone. That total apathy shocked my family into getting me professional help, which gave me my autism diagnosis, the coping skills to move forward, and a good start on the road to self-acceptance. It also opened a channel between my family and I, allowing me to feel heard and understood. (An important side note on mental health: if you or someone you love needs professional help, please seek it! Sometimes you have to try out several therapists -- it took me three to find a good fit -- but you are worth it!)

It took me longer to realize, but I also relate to Hordak in some ways. Mercifully I was not raised in an extremist cult environment. However, I know what it’s like to feel defective next to a sibling that seems perfect. I was constantly being compared to my younger brother, and in all areas but art, he was superior. He was smart, athletic, and above all, he fit in with everyone. I didn’t hate him for this -- I hated myself. Trying to measure up to his standard is what caused me to develop such strong masking strategies. Underneath it all, I felt the despair of knowing my peers would reject me as soon as the mask cracked. I also live with chronic joint pain, starting at around age seven. The jury is still out on what’s causing that (the worst of it was due to a previously unknown food allergy, but the pain still comes and goes, even though it’s a lot more manageable than it used to be). This cocktail of pain, stress, and sensory issues I had to deal with gave me a very short fuse at times. 

As an aside, just because I sympathize with Hordak does not mean I am excusing his actions. He is still going to have to face the consequences of his choices, and work to adjust to life post-Prime. The series end gave him a new beginning, the opportunity to be redeemed, and I prefer this to a rushed redemption arc. 

What I love most about Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship is how they accept each other as they are. Hordak gives Entrapta near free reign of his sanctum, he listens to her when she talks, and he respects her opinions. Even when he pushes her away, he still considers the logic of what she tells him, and sometimes ends up doing things her way despite his initial instincts. This is something I do in my own life; I am easily overwhelmed by new information, so my initial response to an idea/activity is almost always a firm (and sometimes rude) “no,” until I have time to properly process and think about it. Hordak is the first person in Entrapta’s life that truly listens to her. He still has things he needs to work on, but it’s a lot better than how most of the princesses are with Entrapta. The Alliance treats her as someone to be managed -- she is useful, but unreliable. Hordak, in contrast, trusts her to get things done in her own way. 

On the other side, Entrapta is the first person in Hordak’s life to accept him without judgment. Hordak spends so much of his energy putting up a front of strength and intimidation, and Entrapta cuts right through that. She’s not frightened by his appearance, and even his outbursts have little effect on her until the two of them start to bond. Entrapta doesn’t come into their interactions with any preconceived ideas of what Hordak is like, or more importantly, what he should be like. This lack of expectation leaves her completely open to accepting whatever Hordak does and says, and it also relieves Hordak of the burden of needing to put on a front around her. When Entrapta sees him at his most vulnerable, she reaches out to him with compassion, something he has never felt before. Entrapta also does this in a way that doesn’t belittle Hordak. His imperfections are not something to pity, they are a valuable part of who he is. 

I loved watching their friendship develop. Entrapta and Hordak’s shared time together evolved slowly into a bond that gave each of them a sense of belonging they had never experienced before with anyone else. It gave me the hope that, despite what an oddball mess I am, perhaps I could find someone who understands me too. 

When a romance subplot inserts itself into a story, I tend to gloss over and ignore it (if I pick up on it at all). I’m even less interested in sex. Way back when I was first getting into fandom I was so excited to go online and meet fellow fans of the books and shows I liked, only to discover the spaces being dominated by arguments over character pairings. I was baffled. This is what people are most interested in? Oh well… back to the hermit cave I go! 

I was late to the party with SPoP. I’d watched a few episodes, but the show didn’t really hook me. This was partially because all I ever heard people talk about online was Catradora, and if that was the main appeal of the show, I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it (sorry Catradora shippers, romance is not going to entice me to watch a show, even if it’s rep). Quarantine was the ultimate cause for me embracing my curiosity and diving headfirst into SPoP, binging the entire thing a few months before the release of season 5.

I vaguely knew about Entrapdak as a ship going into the show, and I admit, had I not been primed for it, I probably would have missed the romantic potential entirely. In no way did I expect to become invested. I was immediately intrigued by their dynamic, and as they got closer, I found myself thinking “oh, I see why people ship these two.” I didn’t understand this realization until months later. I was relating to the characters, and for the first time in my life, I was relating to their relationship.

I headcanon Entrapta and Hordak as an asexual couple. I’ll elaborate on this at a later time (asexuality is a spectrum with a lot of nuance, and this post is plenty long already), but at the core of it, I find joy in imagining these characters in a loving platonic relationship, something I hope to find myself one day. I hope this love comes across in my artwork and in my fanfictions <3

To those of you that read this far, wow, you must be patient! Have an imaginary cookie! I hope this ramble has provided a decent picture for why I, as an aro ace on the autism spectrum, have come to cherish Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship. It’s my first and only OTP… I’m still in shock thinking about that… I guess we’ll see where things go from here!

Take care of yourselves out there!

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Home/Family Update - May 2021

I will take this right back to when I was discharged from the Priory in December. From there I moved back home with my parents; it was a bit of a difficult transition as I didn't have any home leave in the lead up to being discharged due to COVID and my consultant wanting me to make the most of my time on the ward. Add to that my EDP going completely awol, meaning that our whole 4 week pre-discharge meetings and relapse prevention plan went out the window. So yes it was a bit of a rocky start, and that is without you factoring in COVID lockdown/Christmas.

Being discharged from an IP setting is never easy no matter who you are; changes in environment and routine can throw you off track without you even realising it and I did find myself struggling with this. I also had the difficult navigation of adapting to coming home in terms of my dad and his recovery. For those who might not know, last March my dad fell down the stairs in the middle of the night the day that my parents arrived home after a month in NZ. He suffered 3 brain bleeds (a subdural, an extradural and a subarachnoid), multiple facial fractures and a break in his spine. That night was one of, if not THE, worst of my life. We were told that it was very likely that he would not survive and that if he did he would be in a vegetated state or not able to take care of himself...we were told to prepare for the worst. By some MIRACLE he defied all the odds and at the age of 74 after spending 11 or so days on the ICU, a further 2 weeks on a trauma ward and then another 3 months in a neuro rehab, he was discharged home and is now, a year on from the accident, completely independent, no sign of further brain bleeds and is actually much fitter than he has been for, well, 50 years! Honestly, we never expected anything like this sort of recovery and from an outside perspective he is doing perfectly. However, there are things that will never be the same again and I don't think it is until you are with someone 24/7 that you are able to tell. He has changed quite a bit as a person; in some ways this is a good thing but in other ways it is not so. He cannot deal with changes in environment or routine; even things like having the bread on the side instead of in the bread bin completely throws him off and he doesn't even register that the bread is there. He gets very easily agitated, can be extremely rude and a little aggressive. Now some of this was already there (a lot of it was) but it has become more acutely obvious since the head injury. I have SO much respect and love for my mum - I really dont know how she has held herself up over the past 2 years, as well as helping dad when he was initially transitioning home (I was still in hospital but it sounded like he needed a lot of help for the first few months - which I only saw an inch of when they were able to visit me in hospital (he used to wander off and didn't know where he was etc. which is thankfully no longer and issue!)).

This is hard for me to say but I will admit that I have struggled more than I thought I would with being around him; in short I pretty much went through the whole mourning process whilst I was in hospital as the last time i saw him on the trauma ward before they stopped all visits and before I was admitted, he didn't know who I was...He thought he lived in another country and was telling me all sorts of stories that were fabricated, before telling me that he needed to go and pick up the mercedes and drive to sainsburys to get the Gin and petrol (we don't have a mercedes and he doesn't even like gin!) Anyway, I digress. So yes, I basically mourned for someone who was still alive physically but mentally had changed as at the time I didn't know whether he would be in a vegetated state or make a good recovery. Thankfully we are on the good side and he is doing so incredibly well but the bottom line is that he is different and living with him, at the age of 26, is HARD. We have good days and bad days (as any young adult who lives with their parents does) and there are many many days that I wish I wasn't living at home but I do my best to hold myself together during those times, especially for my mum because she, I tell you, is absolutely incredible. How she has put up with him for so long I honestly do not know!

Talking of mum, I would say that since the whole accident with dad, we have become a LOT closer. We really had to lean on each other over that month; we were driving down to Brighton every single day to see dad on the ICU and on the Trauma ward until we were stopped from visiting - it was mentally and physically exhausting for the both of us, especially as we were still barely processing the trauma and struggling with flashbacks in the night. We were the first ones on the scene of the accident (if it weren't for mum's medical training, dad would not be alive today). Of course we still have our moments but I feel like our relationship almost "levelled up and matured over the past year. We have bonded over being in nature and walking (because what else can you do when the country is in lockdown!?! but also because we have always been an "outdoors" family (well my mum, Andi and me have))- we also talk about dad and the accident quite a bit too, which has helped me beyond belief (and her too). We give each other space, and yes there are days when we dont get on but who doesn't have days when they dont?

On balance I would say that home is "okay". It is manageable. No the environment is not perfect and I do find it affects my mental health quite a bit and holds me back in some ways (I cannot wait to be able to move out one day) but I am incredibly grateful to have parents that are willing to and can afford to take me under their roof and help me out during this time.

Gosh, this has already ended up so much longer than I thought it would, I am sorry! In short: home life is okay. We are here and that is the most important thing. We saw Andi a two-ish weeks ago as we were in Cornwall for our usual time-share (we were so lucky that Boris allowed self catering two weeks before our usual time share week) - I think it was good for them to get out of their flat as I don't think they had left the small area where they live since last September when we went down to Cornwall (I was given leave for a week as it was sold to my consultant to help my dad's recovery, which is definitely did but yes we did pull the right strings to get that one!)

Anyway, I shall leave this update here and start the mammoth task of the next one. I am sorry that this is taking me so long, it's quite hard to write and think back and reflect (although actually quite helpful for me to do) so I do find that I have to come back to it a few times. Please stick with me x

-----

I forgot to add that dad had an assessment before we went away to Cornwall to see whether he can have his driving license back and (as mum and I predicted) he failed. To say that he did not take it well would be putting it lightly!!! I am actually ashamed of the way that he behaved and the things that he said/the reasons he fabricated as to why he had failed (let's just say he got sexist and rude - which I have ZERO time for and was appalled by him - I am so glad I was not with him/mum after the assessment as I would have blown my fuse at hime). He could not even entertain the idea that he had failed. He blamed everything/anything else that he could - even saying that it was the system and one of the first things he said to me was "I understand now, I've worked it out, it's the system, they aren't allowed to pass many people first time so that's it", which I just *speechless*. Mum and I have talked about it a lot and we don't think that he has ever "failed" at anything in his life. He also believes that he is 10000%. fixed and has no issues or problems and doesn't need any support or guidance. He refuses to listen to mum and I when we try to tell him about how unwell he was, he refuses to believe it and won't take it. One thing that mum and I are very glad of is that all of this driving stuff is OUTSIDE of the family. He can't put it on us. It is coming from an external place and we can support him if he lets us but that is his decision as to whether he lets us or not. He has never been a good patient; and he also won't take any advice (in anything) from mum or let her be right about something either, which is just sad, really sad. This is not a new thing, it has always been this way. And the more I reflect on our family/have reflected over the past year with dad in hospital, the more I see that I don't like. The way dad has behaved and treated mum, how he was always missing in my childhood, how alcohol always came above family, how old fashioned and unwilling to learn he is, how distant and uninterested he was, how he never says please or thank you, never asks how anyone is and refuses to talk about mental health (yep, despite so much going on in our family with mental illnesses, he refuses to talk about it and won't even ask "how are you?" or offer support etc)...I don't mean to be so negative about him, I really don't. I love him, he is my dad, but there is a lot of healing that needs to be done, and it is going to take time.