#and it's just not healthy to live in an environment where you have to hide stuff

[whereserpentswalk]

You've never seen a healthy dragon. Those bright colors they tend to appear with, reds, greens, blues, are signs of illness, healthy dragons are grey-green, sometimes brown or black. Small holes in the wings, and skinny builds are also common traits of unhealthiness in dragons, dragons should have full wings and bulky bodies. The brightly colored creatures you see are unhealthy.

Even interaction with humans shows unhealthy behavior. Dragons tend to live in large communities, oftentimes thousands strong (though populations have declined greatly), high in the mountains or tundra, they shouldn't be interacting with humans, especially in places with warm summers.

Dragons living alone in caves isn't natural or healthy for them, it comes from them being forced to move south and needing to hide from the sun, and the rest of their communities dying off. Stealing cattle to survive isn't natural for them, it's just their only food source in an environment where whales and krakens aren't common. Even fire breathing isn't healthy for them to use as a weapon, it's only ever meant to be used to warm their settlements, and occasionally for mating rituals.

Even stealing noblewomen isn't something they want to do. It tends to be them trying to find a sorcerer in human territory, but not being able to find an actual one due to modern religions effecting human culture so much.

If you've seen a dragon, it hasn't been a healthy one. It's likely either a victim of habitat loss, or it's been exiled from its clan. Healthy dragons don't want to hurt humans, and an adventuring party wouldn't stand a chance against them.

When there are less dragons in the area people will lament that magic is fading from the world, and that an age is coming to an end. It isn't. Magic is healing, it just isn't there for us.

[maxdibert]

How can you reconcile being a fan of Snape and defending him so much, while also knowing about the terrible attitude he has as an adult toward his students? This isn’t a malicious question,I’m genuinely curious

I don’t justify Severus’ behavior, I simply understand it. And it’s not for the typical reasons like Harry being a copy of James, or Neville being clumsy, or Hermione being insufferable in class, or just because he can’t stand kids. I understand it because, in my view, Severus is still very much a child.

Take Sirius, for example. We can all see that being locked up in Azkaban for so many years essentially froze his life at a young age, so even though he’s old enough to have grey hairs down there, he still acts like a childish, immature person a lot of the time. And well, that’s exactly what Sirius is—an immature kid. He never had the opportunity to have experiences or grow throughout his twenties. Maturity doesn’t come with age alone but through everything we go through during that time and the experiences that shape us. Without those experiences, there’s nothing to build on.

Severus’ case is different from Sirius’, but it also stems from a lack of maturity and the inability to grow. Severus was a victim of violence from childhood, and that violence didn’t end—it continued throughout his school years. After all that torment, instead of leaving Hogwarts, telling everyone to screw off, and starting a new life where he could rebuild emotionally, he ends up trapped in the same school, playing a role to maintain his cover with pureblood families and burdened with having practically sold his soul to Dumbledore. He has no space to heal, no tools to work through his traumas, and no safe, healthy environment to grow into an adult. Severus is stuck in his adolescence, haunted by his past, his traumas, and totally incapable of managing his most visceral emotions. Sure, he’s great at faking it, acting indifferent, and wearing a mask to hide what’s going on inside. But just because he’s good at repressing doesn’t mean he’s good at managing his emotions, because in that regard, he fails completely. I mean, there are so many moments throughout the saga where Severus gets triggered, and every time it happens, his serious, unflappable façade crumbles, and he acts like a kid throwing a tantrum, someone with unresolved anger issues. That’s when you see that, deep down, he doesn’t know how to handle himself, which makes sense because he never had the chance to do so. We’re talking about an abuse victim who, instead of processing and exorcising his demons, had to lock them away and throw away the key—literally the last thing you should do when dealing with trauma.

What I’m getting at is that, on one hand, it’s reasonable to expect an adult to act like an adult. But on the other hand, as I grew older, went through years of therapy, and worked with people who come from messed-up backgrounds and have lived through terrible things, when I revisited the series and saw certain scenes where Severus is being an absolute jerk to his students, I didn’t just see an adult acting out. I saw the teenager he once was, insecure, feeling worthless, scared in the hallways. And now, for the first time, he’s in a position of power where he can say what he thinks and lash out without consequences. It’s not an adult acting here—it’s a kid who never grew up, trying to have the moment of glory he never had. It’s incredibly childish. And I have to say, I really like this aspect of his character because it’s so consistent with his backstory, even though it’s clearly irresponsible and abusive.

Severus shouldn’t be a teacher because someone who hasn’t matured, grown, or healed can’t be a role model, nor do they have the tools to properly handle situations where it’s so easy to project their insecurities and abuse their authority to compensate for their own shortcomings. But we can’t really expect anything else from him—if he were a well-adjusted adult, it would make him an unrealistic character. It’s impossible for someone with his background, without professional help and many years of personal work, to function properly in an environment like that.

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter one

secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought

pairing: fem!reader x mason mount

summary: A one night fling that turned into the reason of your whole life, then a month of falling in love with him… until he ghosted you. Mason was never there to watch her grow, completely unaware of his daughter’s existence. It was just you and Lilian Maisie against the world until fate decided play with you and change that — now you have to face the consequences of your decision to keep him out of her life for almost five years. And also try not to fall for him again when he reveals to be the best dad to your little girl.

author: I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Thank you for sticking around, it means a lot!

warnings: this chapter contains fluff, angst, mentions of a tough pregnancy, language.

word count: 4.879k

Watching her was one of your favourite things to do; the way the soft dark brown curls bounced as she swayed around the living room, the way her cheerful laugh echoed every corner of the house and those big, brown eyes sparkled with pure innocent bliss - Lily was your everything, she was your whole life and though, at first, being a young single mum terrified your entire being, she became the reason of your existence. It felt like a lifetime, but it was just four years before that day that you were sitting where your dad was, on that large and comfortable armchair, with your feet up as you stared at a tummy poking out. You remember how that was the first time after finding out you were pregnant that you went from miserable to somewhat joyous to know a tiny human was growing inside you.

FOUR YEARS BEFORE

Every little thing bothered you to the point you’d grab the first object in front of you and throw it against the wall. Your hormones were everywhere, the nausea was unbearable and you knew it was a matter of time until you’d find yourself with another IV fluid bag hanging on your bedside. Four months of what had already earned the first place on your “lifetime worst experiences” list, when it shouldn’t be like this. You should be happy, and thrilled, planning your days and making a list of potential boy and girl names for your child. But you weren’t, considering this was far from what you expected of your first pregnancy.

The long sigh that parted your lips clashed against the daunting yet peaceful silence that took over Foxwoods House the minute your parents went out for grocery shopping after you insisted you’d be fine on your own for a few hours and how much you needed it. Even if they meant well and were just making sure you were healthy enough to be on your feet, all the attention could be suffocating, though their attention wasn’t focused only on you. Though exhausted, you tried your best to focus on relaxing once your eyes closed. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Slowly, you felt lighter, your body finally relaxing on your dad’s favourite armchair, and, unconsciously, your hands rested on your stomach and your eyes shot open when you noticed that there was something there that wasn’t the last time you touched it. Avoiding any kind of touching, talking, and staring at yourself in the mirror had been your way of coping with your new reality, even if it wasn’t a smart way of doing it. It wasn’t easier, either. 

“Oh hello,” you whispered, poking your tummy with your index finger. “I don’t think you can even listen to me yet, but… can you bear with me, peanut? Hm?” Brushing your thumb against your skin, your eyes burned with tears. You wanted things to work out, you wanted that kid to be born into a healthy environment even if it included just you — of course, your parents would be there, but in the end, you’d be a single mum. The idea of it terrified you but, deep down, you could feel some courage sparkling.

“I’m still new to this mummy thing, and I hope you’ll like me once you’re here with us, running around… but I promise you that I'll do my best.” 

Finally, you allowed the tears you were holding to fall, wetting your cheeks as you sniffed and quietly rubbed your stomach. For the first time since the pregnancy test was positive, you felt love engulfing you most softly. You felt peace and a strong motivation to fight for your child’s happiness. You’d be their best friend, the first person they’d think of whenever they needed something or whenever they were happy, sad, or confused. You’d be their everything because, as you watched that tiny bump, you realised they were your everything too.

PRESENT DAY

The final whistle blow and the loud groan that parted your dad’s lips brought you back from memories of the early and hard pregnancy days.

 It wasn’t the first time you watched your dad so upset that England was out of another World Cup, but this time Lily mimicked everything he did and as torturing as it was to watch, it was also funny. Both clapped their hands in front of the TV, mumbling words of encouragement to the squad though they obviously couldn’t hear it. Lily was dressed in her England kit, one of the many your dad bought her along with Arsenal kits, as he was a die-hard gunner and used to take her to most of the matches with him. There was no way Lily would grow up without football being such a huge part of her life. It was part of her and who she was, it was in her DNA - even if no one but you and your best friend knew about that.

Watching the scene in front of you became harder when he was on your dad’s big flat screen, and though your daughter was mimicking her grandad, she was the spitting image of him. Her dad.

For the past four years, you’ve found yourself doing your best to run from him but Mason Mount was pretty much everywhere you looked, being Chelsea’s star boy and part of the England squad. It hurt you, it opened a wound that you fought so hard to heal but he had to come back to haunt you now and then. You’d turn your look away, turn off the TV, and ignore his face whenever you drove by Stamford Bridge - but he was everywhere. He was on Lily’s face, bottom nose, and all. And, as far as you reminisced of his laugh, hers sounded identical. 

It hurt, it cut deep, and it made you swallow hard the horrible sensation that effortlessly took full control of you - so you had to inhale and exhale at a slow pace as soon as your sight blurred. Mason not being there for her still made you feel vulnerable, and not good enough for your daughter for you often felt like you were keeping her from being happier as she was always mentioning how much she wished her daddy was around, and you had either to make up dumb excuses or distract her with something else. You’d often listen to her through the baby monitor, crying out in whispers for her daddy - it always sounded like she was praying.

The warmth of your mum’s touch, softly squeezing your arm, made you feel slightly better and safe. She didn't know who Lily's dad was, but she knew what went through your mind whenever you spent too long gazing at your daughter. Not knowing the full story never stopped her from fully understanding you - she was a mum too.

“I'm alright,” you reassured her before she could say something, and watched her lips form a delicate line as a reaction to your words. She knew you were far from being alright - with Lily asking more questions than ever about her dad - but didn’t know what to say. It was something she’s never been through and thought you were both brave and a bit stupid for dealing with it all on your own, when even your dad, who wasn’t as warm as her, was entirely supportive since Lily became part of your lives. You adored them even more for being so respectful of your decisions.

“I never judged you and I never will, and I still wish you’d talk to me as you’ve always done… including anything affecting my granddaughter,” your mum confessed, doing her best to hide she was a bit upset, but failing miserably.

You nodded, moving your stare from Lily to your mum. “I see him every time I look at her, and it hurts me.”

“Because you still have feelings for him?”

“I don’t,” you were as quick as possible on clearing that question, it felt like a lifetime ago that Mason was the reason for the butterflies in your stomach and he managed to end that himself with his stupid behaviour. “It hurts me because my daughter is being deprived of a life with her father around.”

“You can always find him and tell him,” your mum moved her hand from your arm to your back, rubbing it softly.

“It’s not-” you sighed, brows furrowed, as your eyes searched for Lily again. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s always simple, love. As a mum, you know it’s always simple when it comes to making your child happy.”

Always the optimist, your mum pecked your cheek before leaving you alone with your thoughts. Not knowing the truth never stopped her from giving you advice that’d often feel right, but so wrong at the same time. If Mason was any other normal guy, you would’ve let him know the day Lily was born and you held her in your arms for the first time, seeing how much she looked like him. 

You would’ve let him know the day she took her first steps.

You would’ve let him know the day she screamed her first word - a loud, cheerful “goal” when Arsenal scored, making your dad the proudest grandad in the world.

You would’ve let him know the day she kicked a ball for the first time.

You would’ve let him know because you’ve always wanted Mason around, simply for being around and raising that beautiful girl as best as you both could. But there you were, doing it practically alone.

“Mummy,” Lily woke you up from your thoughts, softly pulling your sweater while curiously staring at you with her big hazel eyes. She giggled when you took her in your arms, sitting her on the kitchen counter with her little legs around your waist. “Are you sad it’s not coming home?”

“Well, baby… I’m a bit sad because grandpa is sad,” you watched her pout, nodding in agreement, as you played with her hair around your fingers. “Why don’t you go there and give him all the smooches in the world, huh? Maybe that’ll cheer the old man up a bit.”

Lily nodded again, a bit more cheerfully this time and you put her back down, watching her rush to her grandpa he nestled her in his arms as she kissed his face and squeezed his cheeks with her chubby hands. The truth was you were more than glad that the torture was finally over, with no more of him on your TV while your dad proudly cheered for England and, consequently, for Mason whenever his gorgeous face showed up.

For the rest of the weekend, you enjoyed the cosiness of Foxwoods House and that included long walks with Lily, baking with your mum, and playing poker with your dad while you shared half a bottle of whiskey - one of many in his collection. 

Although you loved London, a life away from the city’s fuss had always been your goal, even more so after Lily was born so you’d often take advantage of your parents owning that huge estate and drive to Cotswolds to enjoy a few quiet days with your girl. You could tell how much she loved, always bringing up that there were just two things that’d make your getaway even more perfect: her daddy and a puppy. Usually, you’d just give her a smile as an answer and kiss her forehead, but on your drive back to London you thought about how Foxwoods would be such a great place for some family time.

On Monday, you quietly walked into the usual warmth of your office, only nodding at a few colleagues who cheerfully welcomed you back after a disappointing weekend for football fans. You spotted Willow, your childhood friend, walking towards you with two mugs of the steamy coffee you always shared in the morning in each hand, and a smile splattered on her face - to which you frowned, because Willow had never been the one in a good mood in the morning.

“I’m guessing you had a fun weekend?” You asked, taking a mug from her hand and closing the door behind you as she made herself comfortable by sitting in the armchair by the window.

“You’d know if you returned my calls, Y/n.”

“And you know how my dad is,” you shrugged, feeling your body happily welcome the hot liquid. A large dose of caffeine and chatting with your best friend was always the best way to start the day, and you were lucky to work in the same place as he – just a few doors away as you two were responsible for different departments at the Swedish fintech you’ve been working for a couple of years. “No phones allowed when it’s Foxwoods weekend unless it’s-”

“An emergency,” she chuckled. “I know, I know.”

“So?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell you whatever she had to tell, as you lazily checked a few emails.

“I was feeling a bit bored on Saturday morning and decided to go to Paris.”

“Willow, you’re so fucking random…” You sighed and she rolled her eyes.

“Met with Arthur there, and we spent the weekend together.”

Arthur, her longtime french fling, the idiot who only showed up when he wanted something from poor delusional Willow.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised, because I’m not,” you moved your eyes from the laptop screen to your friend, who still had that same smile on her face. “Why are you so happy, though?”

“I met his parents.”

“He introduced you to them?”

Then, when she sighed, you knew it wasn’t as she wanted you to believe and she was making a fool of herself again for a guy who just wasn’t interested. This time, there wasn’t a single trace of pride for being right, because it meant your best friend was now hurt. Deeply hurt. You watched her nervously chew the inside of her cheeks, sipping her coffee and looking out through the window as if there was anything fascinating outside.

“Hey,” you called her, bright green eyes looking at you. “Lily’s ballet recital is right before Christmas and rehearsals start today. Come with me.”

Finally, she flashed you a smile; one you loved seeing for a sad Willow made no sense as she’s always been the happiest person in your life, always cheering up everyone and looking after people while you looked after her, so she’d be fine too. The bond you two shared became stronger when you found out you were pregnant, and Willow had been there since day one - appointments, baby shopping, days you spent at the hospital due to HG¹, and sleepless nights when it hit you that Lily would grow up without her dad around. There was no one like Willow, she was the sister you never had.

You wrapped up work a bit earlier than usual so you’d, for once, make it in time for your daughter’s ballet class. It wasn’t unusual for your mum to pick her up from school and take her to classes, and even so, sometimes you’d arrive 10 minutes after all the mums had picked up their little ones once class was over. It made you feel horrible seeing Lily there, anxiously waiting for you, and getting overly enthusiastic when spotted you arriving at the studio - she’d smooch your entire face, and tell you how much she loved and missed you.

“Mummy,” she called you, squeezing your hand as you walked to the studio with Willow on your side. Looking down, you smiled so she’d continue. “Ice cream after ballet?”

How could a wrong choice in life guide you to this? To her? Almost four years later and it still overwhelmed you, because you never believed you had that unique thing that’d make you a mum, but somehow, you managed it just fine — with extra help from your family and friends, unquestionably, but at the end of the day it was just you and Lily. And her fish, of course. The only pet you allowed her to have for now, so she’d start to have some sort of notion of commitment. 

“We’ll see about that, peanut, but if we go then it’s on auntie Willie.” Lily giggled as a reply, entertained by the funny scowl on her godmother’s face for she knew that auntie Willie would do anything and everything she asked. 

“I’ll pay if you eat dinner first, Lils!” Willow said, and Lily sighed in return, as if her life was the most complicated she now had a tough decision to make.

She remained in silence for a while as you chatted about work with Willow, an important deadline approaching right before Christmas break and she knew someone would have to interfere or the firm would lose such a significant client like Nike. You thought that was the issue of making partnerships with companies that had their marketing branch and the ideas had to match.

That gentle hand squeeze was there again, Lily looking at you with her big, brown eyes that softened your entire being. “Mummy,” she called. “Can Summer come too if we go get ice cream?”

Summer, the ballet bestie you never met because you always dropped Lily at the studio later than the other kids normally arrived, and she was gone before you went back to the studio to pick up your daughter. You only knew what she looked like because one day Lily came home with a cute Polaroid picture of the two of them, taken by Miss Albright, the teacher. Your heart melted a little at how precious that was, the two girls clutching each other, tiny chubby arms around each other and big smiles on their faces — you could even swear they looked alike, maybe that was a bestie thing. 

“First I have to meet her mummy and make sure she trusts me, so she feels safe to leave her baby girl with me.” 

“Just like you do, mummy?” You nodded, a big proud smile on your lips at how easily Lily understood things. “My legs are tired.” She said, completely changing the subject and stretching both arms at you so you could carry her but Willow was faster and nestled Lily in her arms.

“A ballerina with tired legs? Oh my,” Willow faked a shocked expression, hands on her chest as she gasped, getting a cheerful giggle from Lily. You loved how she closed her eyes and tilted her head back whenever she laughed - your chest clenched at her adorableness.

“I played footy at school today, auntie.” Lily covered her mouth with her small hand, letting out a loud yawn. Your heart skipped a beat for a second, sharing a look full of meaning with your best friend as Lily laid her head on Willow’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Mr. Martin said I’m good.” She mumbled.

Of course, she was good. How could she not be good at something that was part of who she was?

Willow gave you a comforting smile, knowing how much this could affect your mood, as you walked in silence into the ballet studio; a smiley Miss Albright welcomed you, gently pinching Lily’s chubby legs with a kind smile curling her lips. She was the most loving and understanding lady.

Lily quickly awakened from her short nap, impatiently wiggling her legs in the air so Willow would put her down. She stormed out to meet her classmates after blowing you and Willow a kiss - you left out a soft gasp, allowing the blissful effect that your daughter had on you to fully embrace you. Lily was constantly full of energy, always beaming, brightening the room every time she walked in.

Like her daddy, who had no idea about her existence.

A soft poke on your shoulder woke you up from your thoughts and you turned around to face a heavily pregnant woman accompanied by, apparently, her mum, considering they looked a lot like each other. They were both smiling at you, and the youngest pointed at your daughter, who was now clutching a little girl.

“Which of you are Lily’s mum?”

“Guilty,” you raised a hand, eyebrows softly furrowed as you let out a giggle. Taking another peek at the two little ballerinas, you frowned at how indeed they looked alike. It was easy to identify that one. “I assume that’s Summer, and you’re her mum?”

“Jasmine, but you can call me Jaz,” you shook hands, smiling at each other. She introduced you to Debbie, her mum, and you introduced her to Willow who quickly engaged in a cheerful chat with the woman.

“I’m Y/n. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Lily just won’t shut up about Summer,” you giggled, thinking of the never-ending talks about how your daughter’s ballet bestie is the… best. 

“She’s Summer’s current favourite person,” Jasmine said, linking her arm to yours and walking you to where the other mums were. That sudden loving gesture made a soft smile curl the sides of your lips - you weren’t friends with other mums, especially the ones from school. They were so hard to bond and you missed having someone else - who wasn’t your mum - who’d understand your daily routine of wonderful moments and struggling as a mum.

It was easy being around them, your mum arrived at the studio shortly before class started, and quickly bonded with Debbie about the wonders of being a grandmother; how they both spoiled the girls and were spoiled by them. 

The rehearsal went on fine, full of the cuteness of 4-year-old girls in baby pink tutus. You were happy to be there, so you could see how happy your daughter was as she occasionally waved between clumsy pliés and pirouettes. Nonetheless, she was a natural, and you weren’t being too biased — as a ballet dancer herself, Willow made sure to point out all the right things Lily was doing. Watching Lily so focused on everything Miss Bennett said, all the instructions she gave, and how your little one did everything so clumsy yet so perfectly made your eyes burn a little with some tears. You’d still think she was the most perfect creature even if she wasn’t your daughter.

Once the rehearsal ended, you spotted Lily yawning and blinking heavily, but you knew she’d remember the ice cream. Sometimes, you couldn’t negotiate nor change the little one’s mind, and she got all that stubbornness from you. 

“Mummy,” she started, and you took her in your arms, pressing soft kisses all over her face as she giggled.

“I know, my little monster. I didn’t forget your ice cream.”

When you invited your mum and best friend for dinner, they both apologised over and over, saying their time off had been exclusive to Lily’s rehearsal and they had to go — your mum, to your dad, because even after 30 years together they just couldn’t stay away from each other; and your best friend, back home, because she needed to meet her dad for dinner. That was when, kindly, Jaz invited you and Lily for Italian at a place she loved; when your daughter looked up to you with her best puppy eyes and the biggest pout she could pull off, you couldn’t say no. Lily knew very well that most of the time she did that you’d quickly say yes, the dimples showing up when she pouted made your heart melt.

And you were also looking forward to seeing your daughter and her new bestie interacting as if they were two adults, which happened, for your amusement. Though you were engaged in chatting with Jaz and Debbie, who were two sweethearts, you couldn’t help but feel completely hypnotised by how Lily behaved throughout the whole time you spent at the restaurant; she shared a colouring book with Summer and they both talked about school, ballet shoes, and pink tutus. 

Bonding with the two women was easy, especially with Jaz. You found out that Lily and Summer almost shared a birthday, with your daughter being just a few days older than hers; that you both had big families although you were an only child and she had three siblings. Debbie quickly explained that the siblings part was a bit complicated, but easy to understand, and in the end they were all family; she didn’t get into a detailed explanation, though, which you didn’t mind for it kept you from having to share something just because they shared too, although you noticed some curiosity sparkle in Debbie’s eyes when you mentioned it was just you and Lily living in a brand new flat that had more space. Your father kept teasing you about giving his favourite girl a puppy for Christmas, and you knew it’d end up in more than just teasing so you’ve decided that more space would be needed considering Lily wanted a golden retriever.

“Don’t forget about Moana, mummy!” The fish, your daughter remembered, to which you just nodded with a smile on your lips. 

You watched Lily having her strawberry ice cream as if there was no tomorrow, and you could only hope all that sugar wouldn’t keep her from falling asleep right after you bathed her or it’d be a long night trying to calm her down from a sugar rush. Jaz was going through the same struggle as she watched Summer; you noticed her eyes widening a bit but she giggled each time her daughter hummed in delight with one spoon after another of her chocolate ice cream.

When you said your goodbyes after sharing the bill, and before you left, Debbie kindly invited you and Lily over on Saturday for lunch, so the girls could spend a day together, playing, something they didn’t get the chance to do yet.

“Jaz will have her mocktail and I can make us some mojitos,” the woman said; Lily looked at you again with her pleading brown eyes, blinking heavily as she let out a long yawn.

“We’d love that, Debbie.”

After exchanging phone numbers and Instagram accounts, you went in different directions of the street - you wanted to squeeze both Lily’s and Summer’s cheeks when they blew each other a kiss after a long hug. Happiness washed over you seeing that it wasn’t hard for your daughter to make friends, and bond, even if not having her father around clearly affected her behaviour sometimes, often noticing that she, sometimes, was a bit needy and clingy - but also extremely kind and sweet.

Soon, you were home and while Lily went straight to her bedroom to pick clean pyjamas, you quickly fed her fish and met your daughter already waiting for you in the bathroom; ready for her bubble bath. Even clearly tired, she chatted the whole time, telling you how much she enjoyed dinner and that Summer was her best friend in the world - she also thanked you for being an incredible mummy and allowing her to spend Saturday with her friend, which made you swallow a sob at how adorable your daughter was. Raising that wonderful little girl mostly on your own was tough, but moments like this were proof of the fantastic job you were doing. 

Thankfully, after properly tucked under the covers, Lily mumbled an ‘I love you mummy’ and quickly fell asleep. You gently pressed your lips against her forehead, getting a sigh from her in return as if she had been waiting for it; when you walked into your bedroom, flickering heavily as you yawned, Lily was already snoring lightly - you chuckled at the baby monitor. You showered, switched into your pyjamas, and decided to check on your social media once you found yourself after the covers: there was a text message from Jaz but it was too late for a reply, and she also followed you on Instagram; you smiled at a picture of Summer in a pink tutu and of another one where the little one was between her parents, a wide smile, and her tiny arms was over their shoulders. 

But you wish you had never met Jasmine, or that your daughter had never met Summer at all when you found a picture of her entire family at a stadium, all of them dressed in England jerseys and a familiar face in the middle was on your screen when you decided to zoom in on the photo. You dropped your phone on your stomach, feeling your mouth instantly drying and your eyesight blurring - if you weren’t already in bed, the weakness you felt spreading from your legs through your body would bring you to the floor. 

Breathe, Y/n.

That was Mason, and it didn’t take you much to realise who precisely he was. Or who Jasmine was.

Mason was her brother.

Not believing what your eyes just saw, you went back to scrolling through her Insta and you felt your whole body trembling now, tears filling your eyes and rolling freely down your cheeks; there were a bunch of pictures with him, of the entire family on Christmas, of him with Summer. You felt the urge to vomit, your heart pounding against your chest so loud you could nearly listen to it. 

Mason was her damn brother.

Mason, the father of your daughter.

Lilian Maisie.

********* words:

HG: hyperemesis gravidarum: A severe type of nausea and vomiting during pregnancy.

next chapter

[multiplicity-positivity]

Unmasking 101

This is our own post covering unmasking as a system, something that we have been able to accomplish to an extent that we are quite comfortable with. We hope that it will prove useful to some of y’all!

Disclaimer: we are one system with DID, and we can only provide our own perspective at this time. What has worked for us may or may not work for you, so use your best discretion when following the advice listed here!

What is masking?

Masking is the concept of hiding, disguising, and/or suppressing neurodiversity in an attempt to appear neurotypical. Neurodiverse people may mask for a wide variety of reasons, including to help keep themselves safe, to fit in and make friends, to avoid drawing unwanted attention, to be taken seriously by others, and more. While masking most often refers specifically to autistic experience, anyone with any sort of neurodiversity can mask.

Masking vs. Covertness

Quite often, complex dissociative disorders like DID are covert, meaning their symptoms may not be easily noticed or recognized by outsiders. Having covert symptoms is not the same as masking! It is possible to live a happy, healthy life with a covert disorder, without ever needing to “unmask” or trying to make your symptoms more noticeable.

What’s most important is learning how to live an authentic life that helps you and your system feel safe, comfortable, and happy as you are! In fact, attempting to unmask when in actuality your disorder is just covert, this could have negative, harmful, or otherwise adverse affects on your system. It’s never good to try and force yourself or your headmates to be something you’re not, and this goes for systems with covert symptoms and presentations!

What does masking look like?

In systems, masking can look like:

- other headmates acting like the host when they front

- the whole system adopting similar mannerisms in order to appear as a singlet

- acting like memories, events, and things around you are cohesive and make sense to you when they really aren’t

- pretending to recognize others or recall information that you simply cannot remember

- attempting to quell or silence internal communication and dialogues between other system members

- consciously or unconsciously ignoring signs or plurality in your own life

- copying or mirroring the actions and behaviors of the singlets you meet and interact with

And so much more! Every system is different, so masking can look very different from system to system.

How can we unmask?

Unmasking is a process that may take lots of time, patience, and effort to achieve. But it most certainly can be done! Here are a few steps you may take while undergoing this transition from masking to unmasking:

1) Recognize when you are masking.

Try to notice when you or your system members are attempting to hide, disguise, or otherwise conceal your plurality. What actions do you take to mask? What situations do you find it easier or more difficult to mask? Do certain headmates tend to mask more than others? Do you tend to mask more around certain people and places?

At this stage there’s no need to try and stop masking immediately. Just try to take it slowly and start noticing masking behaviors as they arise. If you have a system journal or some other place where you all keep thoughts organized, perhaps make a list of the masking behaviors you all are noticing in your system. Recognizing behaviors is a solid first step towards changing them!

2) Understand why you are masking.

Quite often systems mask as a self-defense mechanism. Are you in a safe environment? Do you still live, work, or associate with abusers or others who would not understand your plurality? Who benefits from your system masking? Who is harmed? Is masking easy and second-nature for your system, or is it difficult and exhausting? These sorts of questions can help answer whether or not it will be safe to mask, and whether or not you actually are masking or just have a covert/less noticeable presentation for your system.

3) Have internal conversations.

To better understand yourself, your system, why you mask, and when you mask, internal communication is key. You may have headmates who are purposefully masking in order to protect themselves and your whole system. You may have in-system roles and functions that are specifically dedicated to masking. You may have headmates who were masking without even being aware that they were doing so. Having lots of safe, open, and welcoming discussions with your headmates can help you better understand masking in your own system, and how best to formulate a plan to unmask in your daily life.

You may ultimately come to the conclusion that masking is what’s best for your system at this time, and that’s okay! Please prioritize your own health and safety over your desire to be your authentic selves. Sometimes it just isn’t safe to attempt unmasking. You know yourself, your system, and your situation best, so try to work together with your headmates to come up with a plan that works well for everyone!

4) Encourage internal and external authenticity.

Once you have a good idea of when, why, and how your system masks, you can start taking steps to change these actions and behaviors (granted, that you are in a safe place to do so!). In our experience, this can be achieved by encouraging headmates to branch off in their own ways as they have the desire to do so. Creating a safe space inside where headmates can feel secure in exploring their identities is crucial for unmasking!

It may happen slowly, but it starts by encouraging small actions and desires that headmates have which differ from each other. A headmate wants to use a specific tonal inflection that’s different from fellow members? Go for it! A headmate wants to engage in an activity that is uncharacteristic for their system as a whole? As long as it’s safe, do it! Creating an internal environment of acceptance and then encouraging each other to embrace small moments of authenticity can help chip away at that mask.

5) (if possible) Build an outside safe space.

If your system has another person in your life who knows about your plurality and is willing to accept you all unconditionally, this can be incredibly healing and work wonderfully to help unmask. Just existing around our therapist and our partner system have helped us to embrace our individuality and accept our unique features when fronting. If there is a loved one in your life who knows about your system, maybe try explaining the concept of masking to them, and ask them to help support you through this unmasking process.

If there is no one in your life who you can safely unmask around, you can still try to practice unmasking by doing so when you are alone. But please, try to center your system’s safety as you go about this process! Don’t attempt to unmask if masking is what’s keeping your system safe, healthy, and alive.

6) Don’t compare yourselves to others.

It may be tempting to compare how your system functions to others. Some systems might have never had to mask. Some might find unmasking to be a quick and easy process. Just because it may be difficult for you doesn’t mean that it’s impossible! Please try to avoid comparing yourselves to other systems, and even other headmates in your own system. Some headmates may be able to unmask more easily than others, and that’s okay! Respect each headmate’s individual needs and abilities, and go at your own pace.

What if we go back to masking after unmasking for a while?

This is only natural! After habits have been built up and practiced for so long, it can be difficult to change them in a permanent way. Masking after unmasking for a while is nothing to be ashamed of, and doesn’t mean your system has lost any progress! Many systems may find that their unmasking process happens in waves or cycles, with each cycle of unmasking followed by a masking period. The more and longer you’re able to unmask, the shorter your next masking cycle may be!

Don’t give up! If you find that your system has reverted to old ways, simply start at the beginning, show yourselves patience and understanding, and start recognizing when you mask once again.

In Conclusion

A TLDR might be: masking, or hiding/concealing neurodivergent traits, is common in neurodivergent people. Masking is not the same as having covert symptoms, so please try and understand the differences before attempting to unmask. Masking can look incredibly different and have a wide range of presentations. By learning about yourself, understanding when, why, and how you mask, having internal conversations about masking, encouraging authenticity, building internal and external safe spaces, and having patience with yourselves, you can start trying to unmask. Having a safe person to be open with about your plurality may help with this process, and avoiding comparing yourselves to others can help too! If you regress, backslide, or go back to masking after a while, that does not invalidate your progress - keep going and don’t give up! In all of this, center your system’s safety and security, and don’t attempt to unmask if it could be dangerous for your system.

We’re sorry this got so long (this is actually a very complex topic!) but we hope this helps! If anyone has any further questions regarding masking or unmasking as a system, don’t hesitate to reach out. And of course, we are just one system providing our perspective, so don’t be alarmed if what we’ve said here isn’t all that applicable to your system.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read! We’re wishing you and your system the very best of luck in your unmasking endeavors. Take care, and have a wonderful day!

[grandgtaman1a]

Domestic life with Trevor and Franklin[Headcanon]

Pairing: Trevor Phillips x Fem Reader, Franklin Clinton x Fem Reader Character: Trevor Phillips, Franklin Clinton, Reader Summary: Domestic Life with Trevor and Franklin [Anon Request]

AN: There may be a few inaccuracies Feel free to reblog and let me know your thoughts Do not repost Requests are open Sorry it took time and please it's a humble request to reblog so it gains more attraction to the blog rather than like, please. The image is only for visual representation

Trevor Phillips

Despite his rough exterior, Trevor excels at unconventional domestic skills like fixing appliances and DIY projects. He's the go-to person for any household repairs.

Trevor and you engage in constant playful banter. Your dynamic mixes sarcasm, teasing, and genuine affection, creating a unique and lively atmosphere at home.

You and Trevor occasionally embark on late-night adventures, whether driving to a secluded spot to stargaze or exploring the city when it's quiet. These spontaneous moments strengthen the bond.

Trevor's rough exterior hides a protective streak. He's fiercely defensive of you and has a no-nonsense attitude toward anyone who might threaten their safety or happiness. And it ain't a joke when he kills someone cause they hurt you.

In private, Trevor shows rare moments of vulnerability with you. He opens up about his past, fears, and dreams, creating a deep emotional connection that transcends his tough exterior.

You and Trevor celebrate unconventional anniversaries, like the day they met at a chaotic event or the anniversary of adopting their first pet together. These quirky celebrations become cherished traditions.

Trevor and you discover shared hobbies, whether riding motorcycles together, attending local events, or even participating in unconventional activities that reflect Trevor's wild side.

You find a sense of comfort and love amid Trevor's chaotic lifestyle. Despite the unconventional nature of their relationship, they discover that home is wherever you are together.

Franklin Clinton

You and Franklin have a morning routine that involves cooking a hearty breakfast together. Franklin often surprises you with his culinary skills, whipping up delicious omelets and pancakes.

Both of you are fitness enthusiasts. Engaging in morning workouts or evening jogs together encourages each other to stay active and healthy.

Given Franklin's love for cars, you spend weekends attending car shows, working on personal automotive projects, or simply taking long drives to enjoy the scenery.

You both enjoy quiet evenings at home with movie nights and gaming sessions. They take turns choosing films and games, creating a cozy and laid-back atmosphere.

Franklin's love for cooking extends to the backyard, where he takes charge of the grill during family barbecues. Hosting gatherings for friends and family, creating a warm and welcoming environment.

You both share a passion for travel. They plan spontaneous weekend getaways, explore nearby cities, or take road trips to experience new cultures and cuisines.

Both you and Franklin have a creative side. Might spend weekends exploring local art galleries, attending painting classes, or simply expressing themselves through various artistic endeavors.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of life, You and Franklin cherish quiet moments of reflection. Whether it's sitting on the porch at sunset in Los Santos or sharing stories under the stars of Mount Chilliad, they appreciate the simple beauty of life together.

Note: Don't just like please reblog it too helps with the algorithm a simple reblog is fine too.

[aduckinpain]

The Sunset clashes on waves of Cobalt

Tags: Character study style writing, Hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Pure Soukoku, Everything in chronological order, Dazai Osamu's in character existential crisis, They're in love, Dazai's obsession with Chuuya's corruption, his obsession with chuuya honestly.

Word Count: 7.3k

This is also on AO3 by roianamustang (me).

Life is finicky. Evasive. Confusing. A fluke. Something, created from nearly nothing, by pure chance. It’s involuntary. You wake up one day, only to acknowledge your newly discovered existence by at least 2 years. Your lungs expand, your heart beats, your blood rushes, your ears hear and your eyes see. And your mind runs. It runs and runs, it runs out of breath. It searches for more, information flooding from every crevice.

Life is important, according to every living being. Even the most miniscule little creature will value it over anything else, whether that be by running, hiding or fighting. Even plants reach for the sun in hopes of waking up the next morning.

Dazai Osamu reached for the Sun when he was five and it burned. Leaving trails in its wake. 

Life is a continuous string of events that emerges by chance. It has variables so intricate, they can’t be calculated. Time, variety, coincidence. Fate. It starts unknown, and it ends the same.

Depending on where you live, people can live a healthy 80 years, and die peacefully in their bed, surrounded by loved ones. Yet, one lifetime is not enough.

We enter this world unwillingly, so why do we fight so hard for it?

Why are we so scared of death? Of the unknown?

How can you love life so much, that you fear the end of it?

What’s so unique about monotony and routines?

At the end of the day humans are mammals. Their ability to produce milk and have hair puts them in another category, while their capability of thought and intelligence, puts them in another rank. 

And still, our reason for living is to just not die. Survival, something every other creature on this earth, prioritizes.

So he doesn’t get it. 

Things can be pretty, things can be sacred, they can be fun, loving, but they are all temporary. Most of the emotions a human being feels in a lifetime are neutrality and anxiety, stress, fear, sadness, nostalgia and melancholy. Happiness and excitement, in its purest form are the rarest, with sudden entrances and premature disappearances. They’re hard to find, hard to replicate, hard to give. 

And at the end of it all, you die and everything is forgotten. You are a machine run by tubes and liquid that shuts off and that is it.

The world with all of its colors is bleak, the humans vary physically yet act similarly, predictably, and life dies.

But normal people don’t think like this. Normal people don’t stare at their ceiling willing themselves to drink water or eat food. Normal people don’t burn when others touch them. They don’t numb when their surroundings become too much. They don’t hate. 

They care and they love and they find meanings in everything.

Dazai doesn't.

Dazai hurts.

Why can’t he just be normal and meaningless and random and flitting and living and dead? 

Why can’t he be human?

What is he?

15 years of Dazai’s life have passed and he can confidently say that he has effectively erased his first 10 and blurred the last 5.

It all comes to a shocking halt, or more accurately, a start, when one moment he was walking in the empty, dusty streets of Suribachi City, with its secrets and rats, and the next he was…not?

Air escaped his lungs so fast, Dazai couldn’t even process the ever moving environment. 

Blink.

He blinked and he saw blue.

He blinked again, and he saw waves of cobalt crashing upon the sunset’s rays.

Or more realistically crashing into him.

A foot holding him down and the other kicking his face, Dazai Osamu breathed and felt air enter his blood for the first time since he was born.

The sun shone. 

And so did his eye.

His heart filled with oxygen. Beating steadily for the first time.

When Mori told him ‘Nothing dangerous’, he of course didn’t believe it. And looking at the bright red head of hair next to him, so tiny, so miniscule, so small, compact, microscopi-

“The fuck you looking at?”

Blue turned to him, glaringly darker and in the background he was very aware of the noise leaving its mouth. 

He just didn’t care to listen.

Nakahara Chuuya. 15 years old and yet, here he stood. The leader of The Sheep. So loud. So present in such a small body, as if it couldn’t contain him. As if it held death and destruction, and life.

Even by Dazai’s own standards, he wasn’t stupid. Chuuya was dangerous. To what extent he’s not sure yet, still willing to push some more buttons, to see some more outcomes, but still at the very least, he is very strong. And while he would love to pester Mori about this sudden mission, something was holding him back.

The next thing Dazai knows the gun is getting kicked out of his hand.

Blink.

And another blink. His eye captures life and Dazai Osamu jerks in its hold.

‘In other words, the suicidal maniac wants to live.’

‘I’ve come to think its worth trying.’

Because of you was left unspoken and yet to be understood by either one of them.

With Randou dead, Dazai had already started putting other plans in motion. 

Nakahara Chuuya lost a bet after all, he now needed to pay the price.

Looking at him now, on top of rocks, rubble around him, water rising and waves crashing, never getting close to that blue of his, breath stuttering, eyes hurt. 

Dazai had never seen something more human.

He wanted that.

He wanted Chuuya.

Dazai wanted Chuuya.

Odasaku was quiet. As a man yes, but also as a presence. Odasaku was a blank slate willing to hand you the pen, write on him and react accordingly. He did not uphold expectations or even judgment. 

Dazai liked Odasaku. 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend to sleep with the man’s presence next to him.

Odasaku listened and answered in seemingly normal replies that sometimes caught Dazai by surprise. So when he had ranted about Nakahara Chuuya to him the last thing he had expected was the man to say that ‘Nakahara seems like a nice guy then yeah?’. 

A small moment of quiet had made Oda turn, locking eyes with the fifteen year old. 

And he halted.

Dazai made some sort of noise of surprise and frustration and went through another round of ranting, screeching, he wasn’t sure at this point, all of it to properly make Odasaku understand the vile creature he had been stuck with babysitting.

He could keep yapping all he wanted, cause Oda Sakunosuke had never in his life met a kid like Dazai Osamu. 

And until now, Oda Sakunosuke had never seen that singular brown orb turn caramel with light. 

He had never seen Dazai Osamu look so alive before. 

Smiling, he continued listening to the annoyed voice of the boy next to him.

Seemingly out of spite, in Dazai’s eye at least, Odasaku, very out of character just replied with an outrageous statement that Dazai could not allow to even exist, never mind be thought, even worse be stated to the air surrounding him.

‘You really like this guy huh?’

And the cycle repeated.

As it would for the next 3 years.

Arahabaki, the lab, the Flags, Verlaine. If he couldn’t have a break, he can’t imagine what it is like for Chuuya. Well, if he cared enough in the first place.

Dazai is a notorious liar. He knows that, after all, he did perfect the skill on his own. However, in this moment, after all of these fights and new revelations, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t just tired. Having to deal with Verlaine’s corruption activation and planning for counter attacks was a new challenge, yes, but one he would have enjoyed more if his dog wouldn’t be the center of them in the first place.

If Dazai was tired, Chuuya was exhausted. 

And grieving.

He’d watched Chuuya fight, watched him anger, rage. But after the Sheep, he didn’t think he’d ever watch him break.

Following the beeping red light of his tracker, that he'd placed in Chuuya’s shoes, of course without his knowledge, the last thing he had expected was to be led to the Mafia’s transportation unit. 

Walking in, the echo of the weird fancy shoes that were given to him collided with the walls of the garage. The lights flickered in certain spots, almost as if on purpose.

It was so quiet, he’d imagine that if a feather fell, it would still be heard. 

Which is what confused him.

Nakahara Chuuya was not a quiet person. He was loud, deafening and present at all times. Everything he did was flashy, deliberately or not. 

‘Finding Chuuya is always easy. If you head towards whatever is making the loudest noise, he’ll be there.’

So either his tracker:

a) didn’t work

b) was found and eaten by his dog

Or

c) Chuuya was like dying or something.

The echo halted along with every other noise when he stepped into the small side room. 

He blinked again. Life was flickering.

Anything. 

He would do anything for it to be one of those options.

He would do anything just to have Chuuya rise to his feet.

He would do anything just to have him stop crying.

Dazai was frozen there. For the first time in a long while he felt powerless. He knew what to do when he was feeling this way but he’d never do those things to Chuuya.

Chuuya just stood there, sitting against an obnoxious pink motorcycle, heaving. 

And yet, he was quiet.

You could barely hear his breath stuttering, almost as if he just wanted the ground to swallow him whole, his existence to stop, to just disappear. He seemed so out of it, that he hadn’t even noticed Dazai just standing there.

Feeling his brain reboot, Dazai went to work. He’d treat this like a mission if he had to.

Chuuya liked touch. Not with just anyone no, however one of his main ways of expressing affection and care always seemed to be with vague caresses. Or punches.

But whenever Dazai got like this, he hated touch.

Brows furrowed in confusion, he tried racking his brain for a solution. He’d do both.

Making his steps loud and clear allowed him to be processed by Chuuya’s already small, but now hindered brain. Dazai took off his jacket and lowered to the ground, putting himself between the wall and Chuuya, taking off Chuuya’s hat and wrapping him head to toe. 

Chuuya had somehow gone even more quiet, and now he’d gotten tense. He can’t have that, so Dazai, for the first time in his life, hugged.

He closed his arms around the small frame and hoped.

A minute passed, maybe two, before he felt Chuuya deflate. He didn’t try to stop him from crying, that wouldn’t help, he just held him closer, allowing the weight of the smaller body to push him towards the wall behind his back.

The man- no the boy in his arms kept shaking and Dazai just didn’t know what to do. Reluctantly, scared to do anything wrong, he let his right hand rake through the now freed red locks and pushed his head closer to his own shoulder, this way Chuuya wouldn’t get even more tired.

A gasp of air, a gulp, a sharp intake and the words coming next broke Dazai’s already dead heart.

Why?

Why?

Why me?

What did I do?

I'm sorry. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, please just stop.

Because if Dazai had to name the most human person he’d met, he’d always say Chuuya.

If Dazai had to name the most raw showcase of human range, he’d always say Chuuya.

If Dazai had to name a person, he’d always say Chuuya.

Not your fault Chuuya, it never is.

He won’t hurt like this ever again.

Dazai will make sure of it. Nothing has the right to hurt his Chuuya like this, not even him.

Molten brown had turned dark and Dazai Osamu made a promise to himself.

He never made promises, they required you to stay alive.

But this one was the first one. 

The first one he’ll make sure to bring to his grave.

The entrance to Dazai’s office has a dark oak door, engraved with vines that curl on its edges. Its handle is typical Mafia gold. The office itself is nothing special, he made sure of it. Pristine, dark plates built his floor, almost mockingly, a carpet lay over them, right in the middle and a dark red Chesterfield sofa stood to the side of a small table. If he had to give it a color it would be deoxygenated blood. Or Corruption swirls. He certainly liked one more than the other. 

Today Mori sounded weird.

-er than usual.

Dazai makes a point to not use this office, but today it awaited him with a small stack of papers smack dab into the middle of his wooden empty desk. No pen in sight. This document wasn’t paperwork, it was information.

It would be ironic to say he had a bad feeling about it as some people would argue he’s got those all the time and they overwhelmed him. Some would argue he isn’t capable of feeling them in the first place. Both arguments are stated in late nights between missions and a very talkative red blob in his (read: Chuuya’s) apartment. 

Its quiet in this office, his shoes echo and he’s distinctly aware of the air around him colliding with his skin. A quick look around with his eye showed no signs of a trap.

Mimic.

A guerrilla organization from Europe that escaped to Japan after committing a war-crime sometime during the past global war. Mori wanted them dead. Or at least that’s what he said. But this apparent important information of a highly dangerous organization was not given to Soukoku.

No, it was given to the low-leveled grunt worker, Oda Sakunosuke. 

It was given to Odasaku.

Skimming through the documents, Dazai swiftly left the office.

He would never see it again.

Odasaku was quiet. As a man yes, but also as a presence. Odasaku was a blank slate willing to hand you the pen, write on him and react accordingly. He did not uphold expectations or even judgment. 

Dazai liked Odasaku. 

And at this point he could safely claim that new information had been updated in his Odasaku file.

Odasaku, throughout the years, cared for Dazai.

Now, Dazai cared for Odasaku.

The longest of nights, when he didn’t want a loud distraction or bloodied floors, he texted Oda. He would always answer, they’d meet up and they’d stay quiet. Just in the presence of the other. 

Dazai always felt safe and against his better judgment, understood by Chuuya, but being near Chuuya meant that at some point vulnerability would rear its ugly head, on those days Dazai just wanted a known space with a comforting presence. Odasaku was just that.

Chuuya was warm and bright and alive. He tethered Dazai to the concept of a human being. But sometimes Dazai just wanted an empty, fuzzy head. Sometimes the only exception of touch for Dazai was not what he wanted at the moment. So he searched for long nights and useless topics followed by silences and burning drinks or scalding curry.

Dazai found his constants for however many more years he’d survive this Earth.

The narrative was written and he felt content enough.

So why did the story change?

It had been a close call, a stroke of luck you could even call it, saving Odasaku in time the first time. And it has and will always be a lost cause convincing the man to kill instead of flee. 

It had been a close call, a stroke of luck you could even call it, saving Odasaku in time the second time. An extra wound added from Ango’s betrayal. 

If he could do it twice, what was a third time?

A bullet was shot. A body was falling.

So why were his hands warm? Why did they match the color of his sofa?

Why did it have to be Odasaku?

He found out about the kids but it was too late.

He found out about the motive but it was too late.

He figured out Mori’s plan.

It was too late.

You won’t find it.

Be on the side that saves people.

If both sides are the same, become a good man.

It’s pretty fady after that.

Contacting Ango was easy.

Burying Odasaku wasn’t.

Dazai Osamu, Demon Prodigy, youngest Port Mafia Executive, existed no more.

The only loose thread he had, was his other half on the other side of the world waiting to finish a mission.

He’d leave that thread sewn in.

He’d plant a bomb. 

He’d send a message.

He’d go into hiding for two years.

And for now, he’d live.

In the blink of an eye, Dazai Osamu had disappeared. 

People exist to save themselves.

A year and a half had already passed but it's not like Dazai had a concept of time anyways. The hiding and the erasure was easy. The boredom was not. Boredom brewed silences. Silences happened alone now. Being alone let his head be free. Or trapped he’d say, is the better description of it. 

It was raining today. Enough to keep the ground wet. Being in hiding didn’t really allow Dazai to wander but no one was looking for him under a lone tree, leaning on a gravestone in the middle of a field, so he let himself have this. 

He leaned his head on the stone. The rain wasn’t just heavy enough to keep the ground wet but also to drench him completely, but the sound of it was almost comforting in a way. The sky a uniform gray spanning into the horizon boringly, something it rarely does. 

The bomb had taken a bit to be processed by the slug’s brain, but it was successfully understood. For the first time in a while Dazai had reached out his hand first and let Chuuya make the decision. Contact would be hard, dangerous and almost non-existent, but he was willing to try. 

Of course after an even longer period of silence, because if Chuuya was one thing, it was petty.

So every now and then, on an anniversary or birthday, a mysterious little bouquet of Red Camellias would show up on the red head’s door.

A symbol of death yes, but that of a noble one. Sacred, godly. Left to the hands of a God of Calamity.

Unwavering loyalty.

Trust.

And every now and then, on an anniversary or birthday, something would be awaiting Dazai right next to the door. Whether that be a set or freshly rolled bandages or a gaming console.

A sigh left his lungs, uncovered irises following its trail disappear into thin air.

He got a soda before coming here, a funny joke he thinks Odasaku would chuckle with. Laughing just by yourself is just sad at this point.

S. Oda engraved in stone, buried in soil, clawing his head.

He’d use that as an excuse for the extra weight slipping from his eyes. 

Beige felt weird on him. It had been Odasaku’s signature color and Dazai was wearing it in tribute to that but it felt weird on him. 

Nevertheless, this wasn’t about him.

He climbed the stairs of a fairly new Detective Agency. He could almost feel the nerves, if he’d let himself feel in the first place.

The door opened almost dramatically, and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the nearly white tiles. 

“You’re here.”

Before him stood an older man with horrifically gray hair. The Boss of this thing then. Coffee brown eyes took in everything around him. There were three more people there.

A man sat behind a desk with curiously shut eyes and an insane amount of candy lay in front of him. That one was dangerous, he knew things and knew that Dazai knew he knew things.

A woman stood by the side of what looked like to be the inside of an infirmary, he knew of Yosano, or more accurately, of the consequences of her existence.

The most normal one of all had to be this one blonde man who looked like he’d blow a fuse if something didn’t go his way. Perfect, he’d need one of those.

Blinking for a moment, Dazai almost went into autopilot.

This would be different.

Everything Dazai did was deliberate. The only thing that could either act exactly according to his plan or be entirely unpredictable comes in the form of a small, small, horribly dressed, fancy street magician with a choker, that is currently walking, very loudly down the Port Mafia’s basement stairs. 

And oh, did Dazai miss this. 

Sure, during his hiding he may have gone once or twice to look at the slumbering, probably drunk at the time, man in front of him. But seeing Chuuya Nakahara subdued by slumber is like missing the Sun behind dark thick clouds. 

Chuuya spoke and he answered on instinct mostly. A knife at his throat and Dazai Osamu hadn’t felt alive in years with no contact from blue hues. 

A punch, a kick, the ground crumbled beneath his feet, Dazai didn’t care he was just about ready to kneel at this point. 

A sharp movement from the man in front of him made him pause. That was as much as a question, statement and reminder Chuuya would give him. This was Port Mafia territory, the hand holding the deck here was Mori.

They snapped back into their roles quickly, but he just couldn’t resist making that joke.

And if he saw Chuuya smile while climbing the stairs he can’t say, because for the first time in 4 years Dazai Osamu laughed and his heart started beating again.

Contrary to popular belief, Dazai didn't mind kids. In fact they always seemed increasingly intrigued by his presence. Odasaku’s orphans seemed absolutely delighted when he showed up.

Yumeno Kyusaku, better known as ‘Q’, was honestly not any different. Dazai had recruited them, finding resemblance to his own situation and past. 

However Q was not Dazai. They were just a kid. A small child with an incredibly dangerous ability and puppeteer, being pulled from one direction to the other only to be returned to a cold, desolate room at the end of the day, alone.

So to be completely honest, he didn't mind this mission. Or at the very least, he didn’t mind this mission’s goal. The variables needed for it to succeed however, were not, as you would say, one of his greater fortés. Technically it was his greatest.

Heavy, determined, meaningful footsteps fell into silence on his left side. A flash of red, contrasted by dark, gloomy clothes, stood beside him, calm.

Who's he kidding? Since when was Chuuya ever quiet, nevertheless calm. Well, towards him anyways.

“Are we just gonna stare at the door and wither away, or should we get a move on already?” Glaring blues had turned toward him. He could always feel their presence.

Dazai had no interest indulging a loud, yapping dog, so with an exaggerated sigh and some kind words exclaimed, that definitely did not have him nearly lose an arm and a leg, they entered the weird cottage-house-situation-thing.

Their steps immediately fall into sync and echo throughout the empty walls, while Dazai's heart sang and asked and wanted. 

4 years of quiet actions and no contact, the yearning reaching every crevice of his mind at every second. One meeting and a truce and comfort had finally arrived at his doorstep, again. 

As he, of course, sidestepped a kick aimed at his head.

Glancing slightly to his side, even the bland stone walls seemed to shine and sparkle. Banter jumped off each stair along with them.

“The only thing I like about you is your taste in shoes.” A slight pause and the other pair of steps stood still for a second.

“You think?” Was said sarcastically with a slight shine of hope hidden underneath it, as if anything would change in these 4 years. 

“Just kidding, of course.” Before even finishing the sentence, a crash and a yell were heard. Giggles collided with the surrounding bricks. 

They were Soukoku after all, they knew each other from the inside out.

Whatever this thing was, it definitely was not human. It didn’t even seem made. Every limb, or more accurately, goo, that was cut off would regenerate in seconds. So while Chuuya was doing his job as the brawn of the duo, Dazai, as the brain, was supposed to be planning ahead.

But he was stuck.

Was this it?

The downfall of the deadliest duo in Yokohama, possibly Japan, and in Dazai’s humble opinion, the World?

Had they changed so much?

He had two constants in life and one had already left him, he couldn’t lose this one.

As if sensing his turmoil, a slight kick to his feet made him blink rapidly. Turning towards the ginger he locked eyes with the annoyed glare decorating his face.

He could practically hear ‘Stop with the theatrics already’ with a small chihuahua animated right beside it.

Before he could get a full sentence out Dazai was slammed vigorously at the trunk of a tree. Vision whitening for a good second, his hearing quickly came back to the rushing footsteps and dare he say, panicked voice of Chuuya.

Coughing blood he slowly tried to rise up. “Those tentacles sure are strange.” Confusion showed itself on the shorter man’s face. “I can't disable them.”

“Bullshit. Is that even possible?” brows lifting upwards, Dazai could see Chuuya trying to grasp the situation.

The thing that works about Sokouku isn’t just the cards up their sleeves, Dazai’s capabilities and Chuuya’s prowess. No, it's more of this. Of looks being exchanged, the air between them still, no words to break it. It's this weird connection, that no matter how many times Dazai tried to replicate, run away from or find, it would lead back to a penthouse and blood money and his first reason to live.

Grinning in a way he hasn’t in a long time, Dazai could feel the adrenaline building up. “All right. Let’s do things the old way.”

Letting his eyes wonder about on the other man’s features, always searching, he asks. “How about Operation Shame and Toad?” A miniscule movement of the redhead’s left brow already had given his answer.

“What is this, Rain beyond the Window?” Chuuya put his hand on his hips, slightly leaning on one side. ”It’s more like The Lie of the Fake Flowers.”

Fond delight brewed in his chest, leaking when he could finally say the others name face to face after such a long time. “Chuuya, when have my tactics ever been wrong?

The fight went on for about 3 minutes and 49 seconds. A monster arose and so did a choice.

Whenever you ask that of me, it’s never really a choice.

Dazai watched with a bated breath as the other half of Double Black slowly slid down his gloves, letting them fall on the ground below. 

He thinks that if Chuuya had at least hesitated, let himself have a moment, Dazai would be just a normal man with a normal reaction. 

4 years later and his partner’s blind trust towards him managed to sever his eyes and clutch his heart. He’d never manage to replicate the pure exhilarated feeling he gets near the man he's known since he was 15. 

As lines fell from soft lips, red markings started traveling up Chuuya’s face. 

O’ granters of dark disgrace,

need not wake me again

It seems that alongside Dazai, a god was awaiting for the same thing.

When Corruption was first triggered, they were dead men on a mission to the underworld. Two fifteen year olds with too much power and responsibility over their shoulder, in their hands, dripping over their head, falling down the tiles of the Port Mafia territory. They’d shaken hands with Death so many times already, ready to surrender to its clutches. But if there was one thing— one person who always seemed to look at Death in the eye and crumble its skull into pieces, it would be Chuuya.

It was beautiful.

The air around it came to a stop as if the man, the god, before him could change the direction of that and more with a flick of his wrist.

Destruction reigned a victor in the remains of anyone or anything that could gather the courage to go against it, most of them being oblivious men in insignificant organizations. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Blood dripped down onto the ground staining it, feeding it.

Mortality looked beautiful on Chuuya.

And it danced in between Dazai’s ropes of bandages.

Nakahara Chuuya was a phenomenon a normal man would witness once in his life before succumbing to death, and Dazai Osamu was blessed to have him on the tips of his fingers and in the depths of his withering soul.

Touching the floating man’s wrist shortly thereafter silenced the god, trapping it in its cage of human ribs and indomitable spirit.

Looking down at the man on his lap, Dazai allowed himself a moment of want, tracing down the nose bridge. It was honestly unfair, the lab didn’t have to make him pretty.

Slowly folding Chuuya’s coat and finding his stupid hat was slightly harder considering the state of the environment around them, but he managed as always. 

Now came the hard part. Throughout their time as a duo, any time Corruption was activated, Dazai had two jobs.

Save Chuuya and bring him home safely.

However after his defection from the Mafia, he couldn’t exactly do that, as it would be considered kidnapping.  

But he could wait a little bit more. Until he would hear Hirotsu’s men running towards the designated coordinates. 

So he let himself have this and if you asked him after two bottles of Sake and a night of no sleep, Dazai Osamu might admit that he missed Nakahara Chuuya.

One last stroke of his fingers on the other’s eyelids, feeling his long eyelashes beneath his fingertips and promises whispered in quiet ears, and Dazai left the forest.

He never made promises, they required you to stay alive.

But it seems he can’t seem to stop making them when a certain man slumbers rent free in his troubled mind. Strong and untouchable even amidst the chaos in his brain.

Dead Apple, the ADA, Fyodor, Shibusawa, Corruption.

Chuuya.

Chuuya.

Chuuya.

When was it ever not Chuuya?

A sharp pain flooded his senses, making Dazai cough the blood out of his mouth and open his eyes. A smile immediately followed. The view before him could rival centuries of human art.

‘You used Corruption, believing in me?

How beautiful.’

To anyone else, it would be insanity. 

Gigantic ability merging dragon shows up and renders every human with gifts useless. People flee and fight and die. 

In their case, Dazai sends a message and Chuuya, as always, understands.

No matter the encryption or the complexity of it, the choice was sent and explained and was always followed through.

Because who else would put the lives of a country on past intertwined hands and shared breaths?

Who else would see the afterlife and jump at it in pure trust that it would be fleeting?

Who else but Dazai and Chuuya.

Chuuya and Dazai.

Soukoku.

Double Black.

Scariest and strongest duo in Yokohama and possibly more.

One soul, two bodies.

One human, one not.

Depending on who you ask about it, they'd have conflicting answers, but in the end, it never mattered.

Brushing away the red locks from Chuuya’s face, Dazai looked at the sky and smiled.

The galloping of horses’ heels chips away at Dazai Osamu’s thoughts. The Decay of Angels with Fyodor at its head will always be a danger. To be fair to the demon, everything with him in the center of it would always be a danger to itself and others. 

After the Sacramental Bow Award was given to the agency, the greatest work they had had was 

Mushitarou Oguri and his Perfect Murder ability. The case had stumped Ranpo, even if it was for about 2 minutes, and had proven itself a challenge and an award. However the last words that Mushitarou guy said, more accurately screamed, at them had been ringing in Dazai’s and Ranpo’s heads.

‘The Detective Agency is about to get a huge job offer! Don’t accept it! If you do, it’ll be the end of the Agency! You hear me? Don’t you dare accept—’

A man had fallen into step next to him, watching the race. Dazai particularly hates small talk but he’d learned to act a long time ago. 

Not just that but something was off.

In the blink of an eye and a twitch of a smile,

‘You won’t have tomorrow, former Port Mafia Executive, Dazai Osamu.’

Meursault Prison opened its doors and the Detective Agency plunged to its doom.

The Agency was framed and named a terrorist organization. That wasn’t the worst of it either, from what Ango had informed him, the world had seen the whole thing. On live television.

They had seen the execution of more than 10 political figures, their bodies cut right in half. A rising reputation had changed at the drop of a hat. 

Sighing deeply, he couldn’t help but think that he still had it worse than the others. Turning his head towards his left, he locked eyes with the thing across his cell. Fyodor Dostoevsky stood there, a permanent, horrendous smile on his disgusting face.

Honestly, he couldn’t wait for Chuuya.

Dazai’s big secret to communicating with the outside world was, ironically, his heart. His immediate point of contact was , as always, Ango Sakaguchi. 

When he was 15, one bright, sunny day, Dazai was bored. When tinkering around Mori’s office and bothering said man, did not bring him any more joy, he let himself bend over one of the many tables filled with medicine. Purple orbs flickered towards him for a moment, before a small, in Dazai’s opinion and many others, repulsing, smile showed on the face of its beholder.

Morse code was old news and bored thoughts to Dazai, but a new option was introduced.

With this in mind, when the vampire outbreak broke, Dazai was one of the first people to find out. 

Leaning on the small table, blinking, can only do so much for a grown man. “Maybe it’s time to do the thing.”

“The thing?” The thump of the book closing would’ve echoed if they weren’t in an ability protected prison.

Before Dazai could fully explain his, obviously, genius plan, the ground opened and swallowed him whole.

Literally.

Breathe in, breathe out, expand, contract, pump. Silence is noisy, until your vision sees bright flashing lights and your ears hear loud, blaring alarms.

Warning! Warning!

Intruder in the Level One Delivery Bay!

Anti-Gifted Fast Response Squad Hecatoncheires has been eliminated!

Neither the poison in his blood, nor the commotion on the outside managed to increase Dazai’s beats per minute. 

The shaking of the building and Fyodor’s smile didn’t manage to either. 

The sight of bright red locks did.

An angel whispered in my ear.

‘Chuuya, it looks like this is goodbye.’

As if. If that ever happened, they’d both be gone. 

‘It’s a shame it had to happen this way.’

It’ll never happen like this. Not on his watch.

‘It’s been seven years since we met. ‘

Feels like forever. It’ll always feel like that when Dazai started living on that very same day they met.

‘We never did get along, did we?’

Bullshit and they both know it.

‘But, come to think of it now, there were times where we understood each other.’

Every day, every hour, minute, second. Dazai’s lungs breathed the same air as Chuuya's on the chance that he could always be engulfed by his presence.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything Anyway… Goodbye!’

It was getting a bit too gay anyways. Even by his own standards.

Breaking bones hurt. Walking hurt. A bullet in your shoulder hurt.

Everything hurt. Dazai hates pain.

The tapping of fancy dress shoes were not lost in his delayed, post-blood lost brain.

A sigh slipped out before he managed to catch it, but if Dazai was one thing, he was but a yapper at heart.

This has to finish soon anyway, that horrid misty red did nothing to Chuuya’s composition. 

Blue was nice, he missed blue.

A bang ricocheted off the prison walls and Dazai’s head fell.

Power of friendship his ass. It was more on the realm of homosexuality.

From then on things happened slightly in a blur. Sigma was still asleep, Fyodor was a fresh smoothie, Gogol, or whatever his name was, was gay, he guessed.

And Chuuya was fine. He had taken off those horrendous contact lenses and was currently trying to pull out the fake teeth Dazai gave him.

Should’ve known better than to use the glue in the box, as it was insanely easy to exchange for a stronger, not water soluble glue.

But now Dazai was tired. So, so tired. So he let himself be caught by unrelenting, familiar arms and he closed his eyes.

Life is finicky. Evasive. Confusing. A fluke. Something, created from nearly nothing, by pure chance. It’s involuntary.

Life is important, according to every living being. 

We enter this world unwillingly, yet we fight so hard for it.

And at the end of it all, you die and everything is forgotten. You are a machine run by tubes and liquid that shuts off and that is it.

But is it really that easy?

Human beings' evolution stemmed from the ability to be conscious and aware of the fact that they are alive. Because in reality we are not just a machine run by tubes and liquids. We feel too much and think too little and live too hard.

We fight for survival to the point where we start thinking, is it worth it?

But normal people don’t think like this. Normal people don’t stare at their ceiling willing themselves to drink water or eat food. Normal people don’t burn when others touch them. They don’t numb when their surroundings become too much. They don’t hate. 

They care and they love and they find meanings in everything.

And so does Dazai.

It took him a bit. It took him actually trying to see, that he does.

Why can’t he just be normal and meaningless and random and flitting and living and dead? 

But he is. Isn’t he?

Why can’t he be human?

What is he?

What else can a creature with this much awareness, curiosity and confusion be?

Nothing really changed, not really. He just gained experience. And lost some.

Walking turned out to be harder than you remembered when one of your legs is utterly fucked. 

Left.

Right. 

Left.

Right. 

Slip.

Hold.

Or at least try to. Close your eyes, brace for impact. A well-oiled machine of repetition. 

He’s used to that, after all the human body learns ways to cope everyday.

Before Dazai’s face kissed the broken tiles of the prison, he was…..floating?

A singular brown orb slowly opened taking in the environment around him. His head felt fuzzy.

Gray tiles turned to smithereens contrasted expensive inky shoes. Following the line of, admittedly, short legs, the puke green jacket emerged forth an expression of disgust on his own face. It reminded him of stupid, white fluffy animals and bloody betrayals. 

Before he managed to follow the tendril of red laying on a shoulder, a black glove shoved itself on his face. On instinct he opened his left eye and followed the trailing finger currently smoothing the space between his eyebrows.

“You look incredibly stupid right now.” Snapping his eyes to the source of the voice Dazai blinked.

When no answer was exclaimed, a tilt of the head was translated and understood by both parties. Chuuya let him take it in for a bit, as he was now stupidly aware of everything. Almost as if he knew it before Dazai’s own body, the gloved hand pressed itself again. 

A scarlet eyebrow arose and Dazai blinked in approval. The hand previously holding his expressions hostage snapped. Ow echoed through the prison walls, a pout quickly forming.

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya quickly, almost instinctively started pulling him on his back. “Oh shut up, you big baby.”

“But Chuuya, you would dare hurt an injured hero!”

Blah, blah, blah.

Dazai couldn’t tell what that conversation was for the life of him but he doesn’t need to, not with Chuuya. On his best attempt to be conspicuous he put his face on the shorter man’s junction between his shoulder and neck, and slowly rubbed against it, a small smile emerging. Somehow even though the ginger went through each horrendous trial that he did, he could smell the insanely expensive products he used on his hair. Closing his eyes Dazai felt the rhythmic sound of each step, allowing himself to be safe in the only place he’s ever been. Before succumbing to slumber he felt a reassuring squeeze on his thighs.

And if another pair of lips stretched to accommodate a small smile in return, that was only for Chuuya to know.

Let’s go home.

The sun stretched languidly, filtering itself through the curtains of a penthouse. Its walls built on blood money and memories and two people, awake, aware and human.

Tangled limbs transacted warmth as Dazai felt his awaken. Arms coiled around his head blocking any sound the city could make, while fingers thread through his hair. If he closed his eyes now, he’d just fall back asleep. Clenching his own arms reminded him of the human shaped lump engrained on his person. Small puffs of breath slightly hit his head from above. His head was so quiet. His heart calm. This time Dazai didn't burn.

A small pull on his hair made him turn to one side, letting himself gaze at the view before him. It was truly unfair that something so small could be this pretty. 

Almost as if sensing his train of thought, another slightly stronger pull tugged his head back.  He let himself be the picture of innocence, all big honeyed eyes and pouting lips. His own mirrored blues squinted slightly and the man under him scoffed. 

The next time safe hands touched him, they pulled him towards warm skies and melted ice. Softened lips met his chapped ones and they lingered there for a while. The time for frantic breaths and sharpened moves passed when they were young and fearful, and may return in scattered forms in the future, but not today.

Angled forms and the slide of lips and shared sighs were a dance form they’d perfected the second they locked eyes. A hand pulled on Dazai’s neck and he let go.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that there was one absolute in this universe. One absolute that transcended human perception of science and the world.

Where there was Chuuya there’d be Dazai.

Where there was a Dazai there’d be Chuuya.

And so, the clouds glide, the winds hollow, flowers awaken and sleep, opening their petals, and people go about their day, exchanging words for carbon dioxide and laughs for oxygen.

And so, two human beings entangle through the most intimate ways human beings can. Existing next to each other through memories and unknown futures.

One coin, two sides. 

One soul, two people.

A house merged with safety and turned into a home. A home moved and grew legs and a heart and a brain and red locks and cobalt eyes and strong arms and Dazai walked in and never left.

Odasaku would be proud.

Odasaku is proud.

-End-

I will be writing my analysis on some of the things that may be confusing:

Any time Dazai's eyes are mentioned as singular or plural is deliberate. I am referencing his time in the mafia and his obscured view of the world.

Any repetition of sentences or paragraphs is also deliberate an example being Odasaku's description and most importantly, the beginning and the ending of the fic.

I have not yet read Stormbringer, however I have severely spoiled myself. That is why I only briefly caught onto its story and focused more on its consequences.

‘Finding Chuuya is always easy. If you head towards whatever is making the loudest noise, he’ll be there.’ is a quote Dazai used in the light novels.

Promises are extremely important as it shows Dazai on the cusp of finding a reason to live.

In the prison Dazai communicated with morse code by controlling his heartbeat.

When walking in the prison I wrote Slip after he took his right step and his next step would've been his left, which was broken.

Dazai's unknown origins have convinced me that he at the very least was abused by Mori, if not his parents. When I write 'Close your eyes, brace for impact. A well-oiled machine of repetition. He’s used to that, after all the human body learns ways to cope everyday.', I mean it as him flinching and expecting the pain.

Stupid white animals and bloody betrayals means The Sheep, as Chuuya's jacket when he showed up in the prison was nearly identical to the one where he was 15.

It was not my intention to insinuate sex at the end but I don't see why it can't be, so when I say entangelment of limb in the most intimate way humans can, it is up to you to decide.

The end is closure on Dazai's end with Odasaku, but if you want and believe so also Odasaku's spirit.

The title 'The Sunset clashes on waves of Cobalt' Is just Chuuya. His hair clashing with his eyes. Blue is also Dazai's color.

Soukoku have unironically probably kept me alive in certain moments, so I've always wanted to write for them, however I needed it to be at least good. Hopefully this is that.

As for my other fic about them, I am planning on rewriting it as it's honestly so, in kinder words, satisfactory to the way I write now.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or likes!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my main masterlist. Including: Soukoku, Moon knight, Formula 1 Lestappen, Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[rowretro]

𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪

WARNINGS: harassment

✧taglist✧:  @nikisdubblchococake @enhypensccstarlight @strawbsj @nikipedia07 

✧CHAPTER 8✧

It hasn’t been too long since the kidnapping, and now the only issue trapped in Riki’s hands was the baby issues. Adoption, weekly checks, etcetera, etcetera. He was 18, and therefore it was legal for him to have the baby around. As far as they’re concerned, you and Riki are a happy, healthy couple, who have the perfect environment for a baby. Though one thing was hitting him around the head. Seeing her with Sungchan.

It seems over these days, Sungchan had noticed that y/n and Riki are living together, and so he used this as his leverage, acting all innocent, and sweet boy around y/n… Pissing of Riki in the process. He’s not jealous, god he hates that girl why would he be?. He just doesn’t want anyone else being affected by his clash with a mob. He genuinely hates it, the 2 people he hates with his heart, smiling together. Maybe that’s what’s pissing him off

“Y/n where you off to?” Riki asked, eying her, her hair done in 2 butterfly buns, clothes a little too good to just go to the shops or run an errand “Just going to buy some groceries… Stay and look after the baby kay?” the girl said with a smile. Before she could leave, Riki held her wrist, pulling her back.  “No wait for us, Im bringing the baby, we can together.” He coldly said as the girl shrugged. She didn’t bother questioning him as it was reasonable why he wouldn’t want her going out alone.

The girl dressed the baby as they waited for Riki, and it didn’t take too long for him to get ready, but when he came out the girl’s jaw dropped. “You are NOT wearing that. You own a million hoodies and you choose one similar to MINE?!!!” she yelled as Riki scoffed “jeez you aren’t that special. I just threw on the first thing I got. Now get your ass up and let’s go” He simply said, smirking as he walked away. His trousers were similar to her skirt, his skeletal rib hoodie practically matching with the skeletal butterfly one she wore. This can’t be a coincidence.

Oh how bad the girl wanted to rip that smug smirk off of his face, everytime some people walked by, eyeing them and complimenting them “They’re such a cute couple” “their baby is so adorable” Riki just wished Sungchan was there to see them right now, the look on his face. The baby suddenly whined, picking her arms up at Riki. The male sighed and picked her up. “Why me? Why not the annoying one???” Riki asked the baby with a pout as she just snuggled Riki, staring up at him. When the male’s eye’s met the baby’s, she smiled shyly hiding her face in his chest.

As Riki walked around the store, following y/n with the baby in his hand, the girl threw in the necessary things “Riki can you go get some ice cream? My usual.” She simply said as he sighed, carrying the baby as he went to the Ice cream aisle. “I have to get mint choco icecream for an annoying girl. With a baby in my hands, why did my life come to this?” he mumbled as the baby placed her hand on his lips, smacking them. “Jeez- ok I’ll shut up m’lady” he said as he opened the freezer with one arm.

The girl was just going through her shopping list, placing necessary items in the trolley. “Why is it so fucking high?” she mumbled to herself, trying to reach for the honey bottle. Seeing her struggle, a random male came up to her, hand going up from her waist to her stomach, under the sweater, as he got the honey for her. y/n flinched as she frowned at him “What was that for?!!” she asked as she frowned at him “what I was just getting your honey-” “n-no- you touched my waist!” The girl confronted the male scoffed.

“Wow, the audacity to blame me, everyone here saw. I was only helping you. Don’t be too full of yourself.” the man said as y/n just frowned at him, she looked around, feeling embarrassed as the others started gossipping. Around that time, Riki arrived at the scene with the baby, placing 3 tubs of ice cream in the trolley. “Wow. quite audacious of you to think you can touch any girl that’s standing alone and expect her not to react.” He simply said.

He wrapped a protective arm around y/n’s waist, pulling her into his embrace. “Fucking apologize to my wife or else.” Riki warned, glaring at the man as he bowed, apologizing to her before rushing off elsewhere. Y/n would’ve turned around and screamed at him for pulling such a stunt, but how could she when he practically just saved her from shame? Maybe Riki isn’t so awful after all…  

✧𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪✧

[thewhumpcaretaker]

fav kinds of whump + comfort perchance?👉👈 (looking for inspo hehehehehe)

Okay so you probably know my all-time favorite already, because it’s panic attacks, and I put them in everything.

“Always add a pinch of panic attacks, it’s like garlic!” - The Whump Caretaker

Panic attacks are great for three reasons:

Something usually causes them (not always, you can have a character who just has panic disorder, but usually). Which means you end up thinking about what would push a character to their breaking point.

Differently people respond differently to panic, so there’s a huge range of possibilities for symptoms. And those symptoms include a lot of my favorites: self-defensive rage, crying, dissociation, shivering, hyperventilation, shock, and passing out.

And finally (this is where the comfort comes in) even though panic attacks are very physical, they can be resolved through purely emotional means. It’s like real life healing magic - the presence of a loved one just being there and breathing with them can pull them out of it. That’s such an opportunity for bonding!! Even if they’re alone, they can focus on things that matter to them or self-sooth or just find their inner strength and pull through, which is so beautiful. You once mentioned a fic about Vincent dissociating alone and my brain immediately started buzzing about this idea.

But okay, that’s just my top favorite. What are some other great kinds of hurt/comfort?

Consent focused hurt/comfort. Whumpee feels completely backed into a corner in some way. Their wishes are not being respected, maybe even for their own good. We expect Caretaker to force them into doing something they don’t want to do, but surprise! Caretaker doesn’t, because whumpee’s will is more important to Caretaker than anything else. This can look like backing off and giving someone space when they don’t want to be touched, helping them escape forced institutionalization, letting them cope in the way they choose even if it’s not totally healthy, etc. It creates a lot of grey areas and tension too, because Caretaker is forced to hold back.

Humiliation and Praise. One character has either been publicly humiliated or is at risk of that. The other hides them from the public eye, or explains to them why the things people are saying don’t matter at all. The caretaker showers them in praise until they feel better and rages against anyone who would judge them. This seems like it’s purely mental, but it can be even more impactful when it’s combined with physical elements. Like maybe they’ve been branded or tattooed against their will, or physically punished in front of a crowd, or maybe the humiliating thing was physical weakness - passing out in the middle of a meeting from exhaustion was something I included in a previous fic, for example.

Unexpected Rescue. Whumpee has lost all hope of rescue - either they think this is just the way life is, or they think there’s something wrong with them that makes a normal life impossible, or (if they’re actually imprisoned) they think they’ll just never be rescued because it’s been so long. Maybe Caretaker even pretends to be allied with Whumper in order to get close enough to help, so whumpee expects things to get even worse for them. But instead, surprise! They’re taken out of that whole environment and given a safe place to recover, or they’re introduced to a new way of life or a concept that allows them to live differently, without so much pain.

[silverpen-and-paper]

2, 13, 24, and 27 for the ask game! Sorry if you’ve already done these lol

ty for the ask!!

2. how did your interest in loki begin? (optional: how has it evolved over the years?)

link!

13. do you have any headcanons about asgard? (phsyics, culture, environment, history, etc?)

asgard’s water cycle goes like this: ocean water falls off the edge of the planet. it becomes vapor, the particles small enough that you can’t see them. one fraction of the vapor gathers beneath asgard and soaks back up to the topside through pathways in the rock and soil, surfacing as natural springs. the other fraction of the vapor curls back up against the atmosphere’s barrier and reforms as clouds over the topside. i’d assume this means all water on asgard (except maybe an isolated lake or two) is freshwater, but i’m not a meteorologist, so maybe not.

the shiny bright pillars on the underside of asgard are probably supposed to be ice? but i prefer to think that they’re some kind of otherworldly crystals that are magically making asgard’s gravity work the way it does. i could accept them being coated with ice, though.

idunn’s golden apples exist (we see some on banquet tables), but they don’t have the same effect as the myths. instead of being The Thing that asgardian longevity relies on, they’re just really, really healthy for you — maybe extending your life by 100 years or so if you eat them regularly enough. in my headcanon, that species of plant had already been growing on asgard for a while, but idunn figured out a way to revolutionize their benefits to the extent that asgardians refer to them as idunn’s apples. i think she runs an orchard of them.

asgard is transphobic, but not homophobic. i have a wip post where i explain this headcanon more but this is the gist of it.

there are asgardians living in the more mountainous parts of asgard, away from the main city where the palace is located. some in villages, some more isolated. this might be too obvious of a concept to count as a headcanon, but i’ve never seen anyone mention it before, so.

24. what song lyrics remind you of loki?

oh SO many but here are a few of my favorites

persephone by daisy the great:

the plight of the siren is that she’ll never sing without somebody claiming she’s starting a war and every word from her lips is a sign that she’s hungry for blood she’s a killer and moreso  the music is sweeter than honey, but honey oh, think what a monster she is at her core

my body is not mine by aurora:

but the light kicks in when i know it’s time i’ve built my walls so it’s safe to hide and the people i love i’ve left behind they see too much when they look in my eyes feel no pain and i never cry i bleed no blood, and i will never die my body’s not mine, body’s not mine body’s not mine, i need no body

rule #5 - james picard by fish in a birdcage:

i’m aware of the madness that has stained our air so i paint all the darkness  and the wounds that we must face ah (ah), ah (ah), ah fear has unleashed a storm through so much pain ah (ah), ah (ah), ah the fire spread throughout my bones and stayed

and here’s a few more songs on my loki playlist that i can’t not recommend: horror and the wild & farewell wanderlust by the amazing devil, nunemaker’s parable by everybody’s worried about owen, winter bird by aurora, regular people by moon walker

27. say you go back in time and get hired as the director of a mcu loki movie/series/episode that you dislike. assuming you’d already be changing the big stuff you criticize, what is the pettiest thing you’d change?

the tiny stack of papers in s1 ep1 of the series, the one that supposedly contains everything loki’s ever said. it’s a really odd and baffling move for a series that insists loki likes to talk a lot. and even if they didn’t insist that, like, loki’s about 1047 years old by that point! a single day’s worth of words for the average person would at least fill two or three pages, and loki’s lived — what — over 300,000 days? those papers should fill an archive. 

and there’s so much potential there too: if they wanted to go comedic (which they likely would), haha, look at all the pages loki has to read! if they wanted to go psychological horror, just imagine the dawning terror loki would feel as they realize that it’s all there. everything they ever remember saying, every hazy half-memory they nearly lost to time, sentences and conversations they don’t remember at all — it would be very tasty and effective horror if done right, i think. 

not to mention how long it would take for loki to read through them all. time doesn’t work the same way in the tva, but would they notice themself getting tired? hungry? thirsty? would they realize how long they’d been in there? would they even remember why they started in the first place? would loki be so entrenched in reading that after they finally finish, it feels like they’ve just lived their entire lifetime over again? would they snap and try to break out before then? if they did, what would be their breaking point?

plus, i doubt the tva would record other people’s halves of conversations. the tva would want to save paper and keep things simple, after all, so they’d just record loki’s dialogue. loki would read through thousands of moments where they know they must’ve been talking to their loved ones, but they would have to rely solely on memory and deduction to know what other party had said. all they would be able to see clearly is their own words echoed back to them. 

also, i refuse to accept that loki would sign something that easily without knowing what they were agreeing to or why.

full ask game:

[hecatesbroom]

Remember that essay I wrote on vulnerability in the Golden Girls? Yeah. 8k wasn't enough apparently, because I've got a little add-on about Rose here. After rewatching some episodes, I have a lot more to talk about!

Under the cut because this got slightly out of hand (again). You can just treat this as a standalone post if you haven't read the essay by the way; it's just that the subject matter is the same so that's why they're linked in my mind ;)

Rose is very emotionally intelligent and great at supporting others. We see this in multiple instances, and I've mentioned it in the essay as well — so I won't delve too deeply into that. But, and I never mentioned this in the essay because I hadn't noticed it before, she seems to deal with her own emotions in a healthy way only (or at least primarily) because she lives in an emotionally healthy household.

What do I mean by that? Well, when left to her own devices, it seems like her coping method is actually very similar to Dorothy's (distract herself from the matter at hand while trying to find a solution), which can be seen very clearly in S01E22: Job Hunt, where she loses her job and, for the first part of the episode, focuses on everything except her very serious problem (being out of a job and needing money to pay rent). The discerning difference between Dorothy and Rose is that Rose stays incessantly cheerful and focused on empathizing with other people throughout it all. In fact, I'd say that as long as she prioritizes others' (emotional) needs, she can trick herself into feeling like her own needs aren't as important — attempting to diminish their emotional impact in the process.

It tracks perfectly with what she said about the orphanage (only the sweet, happy kids were adopted). And what better way to hide your hurt, even fron yourself, than behind a mask of cheer and kindness, and empathy for others?

In the episode mentioned above, she snaps only when Blanche and Dorothy call her out on her seeming lack of concern for at least the second time — and she seems to snap not because they show concern, but because she's frustrated with the fact that they think she's underestimating how severe this all is (because she's been putting up a front all this time, and it's been so effective not even Dorothy or Blanche saw through it). When asked why she's been hiding the extent of her distress from them, Rose replies with a very clear line of reasoning: telling them won't get her a job.

This implies she's actually focused a lot more on practical outcomes for her own problems, than her work at a grief centre (where her only way of helping people is emotional, not practical) would suggest. By working at a grief centre and acknowledging her importance towards her clients, she acknowledges the importance and effectiveness of emotional support. But when it comes to her own problem, which is admittedly rooted in a more practical concern, she completely dismisses her need for emotional support — because telling her friends won't fix the practical root of her problem, so she simply doesn't do it until she snaps.

So: Rose turns to somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms (distraction to the point of ignoring her emotions) until her roommates confront her about it. Which is where the emotionally healthy environment comes in: because Blanche and Dorothy are so willing to support Rose, she opens up eventually and she's able to work through her problems. (As she does on several other occasions!) But it seems like she opens up only when she's pushed to do so, at least a little.

[sodapops0lstice]

Strider Husbandry Tips

Here's some tips for people who are new to the Strider Husbandry scene, i hope my advice is useful

Whilst it is true that most Strider's DO enjoy and even thrive living in smaller environments (making them great to keep if youre on a tighter budget!) it is absolutely vital that they have places to hide and sneak around in!!! it is in a Strider's very nature to be sneaky and unseen. they can become nervous and frightened if theyre too exposed or have nowhere to scurry around in. This is especially important for Strider's of the Dirk variety as they need hidey holes to survive (there have been many cases of Dirks actually DYING because they were so stressed because of their exposure), they often try to make hiding spots for themselves which results in many Dirks suffocating in air vents which they use as hiding places. I recommend making small spots for your Strider to hide in and if necessary get one of these. It simulates a Strider's natural instinct to burrow in tunnels safely and you can take it with you on travel

I hear a lot about Strider's having very specific dietary needs that is not met they could die. This is false!! This was disproven fairly recently and you can feed your Strider whatever you like really. The only hangup is learning which Strider's require apple juice or orange soda. This might seem intimidating at first due to how many different varieties and sub categories there are but generally, the rule of thumb is Aviator Shades require Apple Juice, Kamina Shades require Orange Soda. Though your Strider might prefer small tweaks in their beverage, experiment and record their reactions.

If your Strider isn't very physically affectionate do not assume they dislike you! Striders are very defensive and will likely assume at first you are a predator. Guardian and Ultimate breeds might try and hurt you whilst most others will steer clear of you. It's best to try and prove you are friend NOT foe, talk to your Strider, give them doritos and they're beverage. If that doesn't work, leave them alone for a while until they are used to your presence.

Whilst Striders are not vicious by nature it's best if you have a more aggressive variety to try and train them as soon as possible. I've known people who got themself the most aggressive breed of Strider (a Dave's Bro, or simply a Bro, if you were curious) didn't train them, used them as a bragging right and status symbol and then were surprised when they attempted to start abusing kids. It's really upsetting as a Bro can be an incredibly loyal companion if trained correctly, I've seem some, trained by the right people, having temperaments as docile as a Dave paired with a Karkat! (im not personally all that familiar with Vantas husbandry but i do know that a Dave paired with a Karkat are usually very docile to the point where some owners think they are ill or lethargic when that's just they're temperament.) If you want a more hands-on breed of Strider like a Bro be responsible and willing to put the effort in

Striders function better as units. Whilst keeping a single Strider is a totally normal and okay thing, most Striders do prefer living in groups of atleast 2 (if you can't afford/dont want multiple thats totally fine, if you aren't neglectful theyll 9/10 be happy and healthy). Within their own species, they are super social, often playing and sharing with eachother, they tend to feel safer when their is another Strider in the house. I don't think they're is an exact rhythm to which breed will get along with eachother, sometimes you just have to leave it up to whether they enjoy eachothers company or not. My only warning is, unless you can handle it, try not to get two needy breeds, they won't get jealous per se, just very VERY vocal when they aren't the center of attention, Daves are quite notorious for this behaviour, but some people find that endearing so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Try to equal out attention between any needy Strider you may have.

[missellaneousworks]

Sunny Day Jack Reincarnation AU/Theory - Ella/Meli [Part 1]

I may be a little late on the Reincarnation Theory/AU train, but better late than never, am I right?

This is going to be a little bit different compared to most of my writings.  Half of it is going to simply be me explaining my headcannons for the back story, and then there will be some actual story and dialogue for scenes that popped into my head from a dream I had about this.  I apologize for the odd skips in the narrative or plot holes, as I'm mostly writing what I remember from a dream I had about this AU.  Bear with me and enjoy the ride!

CW: Mentions of unhealthy parental figures, troubingling childhoods, emotional abuse.

____

Melissa Murphy. 

"Meli" to her friends. Only her parents called her by her full name. She hated it.

Physically, she has the same face and body type as Ella, however, in adulthood, Meli dyes her hair dirty blonde and styles it differently from Ella.

Personality-wise, Melissa (aka) Meli is more outspoken than Ella but is just as sweet and creative. But is still a little shy. Surprisingly, she shows less hesitancy when standing up for herself.  Ella does have that same fire inside of her, but it’s deeply suppressed. 

Another main difference between the two are their parents.  Ella’s parents were very loving but imperfect.  Because Ella was their only child, they were a little protective of her, so they were strict during her childhood and early adolescence.  Melissa had several siblings that all moved out of the house before she could finish school, her parents were more… authoritarian, but we’ll get into that soon. 

Joseph and Melissa were schoolmates who eventually became friends.  Meli had both parents living in a dysfunctional home, with her often getting in the middle of their fights.  Her mom wanted her to go to college, as she had to drop out after she got pregnant with Melissa, and her father, who originally wanted a son, pushed Melissa with her studies and image in order to create the perfect child.  “Might as well look good so you can hook a rich boy once you get into college.”  Yeah, he kind of a pig.  Her mother would stand up for Melissa, but the older she got, the more she lost her fire to defend her daughter.  It wasn’t a very healthy environment.

Despite that, Melissa still had plenty of friends but tried to hide how dysfunctional her home life truly was, including her unhappiness.  It was easy to conceal since her parents were good at putting on “masks” to uphold their reputation within the community. 

Joseph came from a broken home, too, and had a reputation for getting into fights.  One day Melissa snuck out of school for a quick smoke behind the gym where Joseph was nursing a wound from a recent scuffle.  He’s suspicious when Melissa asks if he’s all right, and brushes her off at first, then asks for a smoke. Melissa gives him one, on the condition he doesn’t blab that she uses this location to sneak out of her third-period class sometimes.  He agrees and they more or less continue to smoke in silence.  Every once and a while, they’ll both appear at their hiding spot at the same time, and each time, Joseph will ask for a cigarette.  

Eventually… they start talking.  First, it was about music.  Melissa would sometimes bring her favorite cassette tapes for Joseph to borrow, and vice versa.  Eventually, they’d talk about school, mostly what they didn’t like about it.  But other stuff, too.  Things they liked.  Meli tells Joseph she wants to own her own five-star restaurant, he jokes he could taste test her food.  When she does make something yummy, she’ll save a little for Joseph to try. He gobbles it up every time. 

---

"Do you always cook, Melissa?"

"Meli," she corrected him, taking a brush from her bag and fixing her bangs. "I feel like my Dad'll materialize out of nowhere when I hear my full name."

"...right." He glanced back to the homemade chicken pot pie in the ceramic bowl. "Did you really sneak this into school?"

"Nnnnot exactly," Meli flipped her ponytail. "I'm on good terms with the home-ec teacher, Mrs. Billows. Used to stay behind glass to help clean up. Before she cooks something with her class, she shows them a sample. And when she's too lazy to cook it in advance, I make it for her in her classroom since it has a full kitchen."

Joseph wrinkled his nose at that. "And you get free food out of it?"

"If I happen to make a little too much," she winked with a knowing twinkle.

"Heh, I'm not complaining." Joseph shoveled another mouthful, trying to savor every bite, but it was hard on an empty stomach.

"Hey, slow down! You're going to give yourself a stomach ache!"

"Hrmph, yer naht dah bosth ov meh," replied with a full mouth.

"Gross! Swallow your food first, Joey!" Meli wrinkles her nose in mock disgust.

Joseph did so, but then paused a moment. "Joey?" He asked incredulous. "Do I look like a Joey to you?"

Tilting her head ro the side, she thought for a moment before nodding. "I think so, yeah. Joseph sounds a little too serious."

For a long moment, Joseph stared at Meli, as if trying to decide how to react. Looked away, his brows pinched together. "Just don't go spreading it around, sheesh..."

Satisfied, Meli smiled at the stubborn boy as he continued to eat. Joseph partially turned away to hide the blush that started to creep on his face.

---

As the two got closer, Meli formed secret a crush on Joseph. There was… more to him than just a scary troublemaker like she originally thought.  She liked it when he talked about music and wanting to become a musician.  The few times he actually laughed at her sarcastic quips, or when he got his guitar out to play on the few occasions they met outside of school.  Joseph was surprised that Melissa Murphy of all people had more spark in her than most others saw. It was a rebellious ember, just smoldering under the surface but you could feel the warmth of it if you stood close enough. It was… kinda cute. Meli was cute. And the two of them secretly pinned for one another.

Unfortunately, it was not meant to be this time. 

At some point, Joseph ran away from home.  The reason is currently unknown, whether it was one big factor or several events that corresponded in Joseph making the decision.  However, after he has a particularly bad fight on school grounds (again), Melissa tries to find Joseph since he’s been cagier than usual.  She has some idea that his home life wasn’t great, but, there were certain details she didn’t know about.  Meli tries and fails to get Joseph to open up to her, to make him understand that he’s her friend and she’ll help in any way she can, but… while the sentiment came from a very good place, it misses the mark ever so slightly.  Joseph retorts back at Meli, saying it’s not like she could understand, that just because they share smokes sometimes doesn’t mean they’re good friends.  That he didn't need her or anyone else and she should just get lost.

That was the last time Melissa saw Joseph Cullman.

The heartbreak doesn’t end for Melissa there.  When she got home, she was met with a scorned look from her father, and her mother wouldn’t even look her in the eyes.  The principal had called to tell them that Melissa’s grades were slipping in a few of her classes and that one of the faculty members had seen her smoking outside with another student.  Her father threw one horrendous accusation at her after another.  Her mother just… sat there, looking away.  In the past, her mom would to stay in Melissa’s corner, but now she was a shell of the woman she used to be.  No matter what Meli said or pleaded, her father wouldn’t have it. 

She is shipped off to a ‘prestigious all-girls boarding school’ that night. Not being able to say goodbye to any of her friends, including Joseph.

The next day, Joseph waited at their usual hang-out spot, he brought a mix tape he spent the night pouring over, trying to find all of Meli's favorite songs that he knew of. But Melissa wasn’t there.  He didn’t really talk with any of Melissa’s friends, but one of them did say that Melissa didn’t show up to school that day. He skipped the rest of the day altogether and went straight to her house, trying to climb up to her window, but… she was gone.  And there were no signs of life in her room at all. He heard shouting from a neighbor who caught him peeking in the window and he ran off.

He left town shortly after that, never getting to apologize to one of the few friends he had in that god forsaken town.

But they’d meet again years later when Joseph just got started in his new role as Sunny Day Jack. 

After receiving her high school diploma, Melissa decided to get into culinary school, much to her parents' continued disapproval, and promptly cut her off from any financial support, quoting that ‘if she wanted to make it, she’d have to pay her own way.’  Being isolated, she eventually met a young man who became her boyfriend.  He was a senior at the school who was going into restaurant management and tended to get his way with his charms and charisma.  And with how isolated and lonely Melissa had grown over the last couple of years, the two started dating just after a few weeks of knowing each other. 

Unfortunately, Melissa was forced to drop out of culinary school just after a year when her finances ran dry and the scholarship money just couldn’t cut it.  Around this time, her boyfriend made the surprising move and… proposed to her out of the blue.  It was a shock to Melissa because they hadn’t even vocally entertained the idea of marriage yet, but boyfriend’s pitch made it sound like it would solve most of their problems.  He’d get a good-paying job managing several restaurants, and help pay for Melissa to get back into culinary school so she could pursue her dream.  As surprising as it was, it sounded… perfect at the time. 

With seemingly no other options or support, Melissa accepted his proposal and moved in with her now fiance.  Finally, things would be okay in the end, she just had to keep working to save up money for the wedding and school, and her fiance would help with the rest!  Sadly, it slowly became evident that it was too good to be true.  

The first year was relatively blissful until tragedy befell them as her fiance  ‘lost his job’ managing his first restaurant due to ‘office politics bullshit.’  Melissa and her fiance traveled a few states, with his lackluster hold on keeping a stable job putting more strain on their relationship.  Eventually, they ended up in El Paso, and Melisa landed a job as a secretary assistant for the LambsWork Studios.  She worked closely with the director and producer on their newest children’s program: The Sunny Time Show.

___

A tentative knock at the door brought Jospeph out of his dozing.  Grumbling, he called out he’d be there in a second, scrubbing the sleep from his face as he opened the door to see a woman around his age, with wavey chestnut hair. Sleep still plagued him, but there was something about he curve of her face that seemed so familiar to him...

A pan of deja vu washed over him when he heard her voice. Even if it was just his name. An odd sense of nostalgia that tugged at the strings of his memories. 

“Joseph Haberdae?”

“Yeah?”  Confusion swept his face when he heard her voice. ‘It couldn’t be…’

“Hi!  The director said you needed a copy of the revised script?”  She shuffled the stack of papers in her arms before pulling out one that was bound by a massive paper clip.  “I’ve also highlighted the portions that were changed, you’ll find them in Scene 6 and Scene 11–”

“...Meli?”

“Huh?”  Her eyes flicked to his face as she handed him the script, and now the woman got a good look at the famous host of the Sunnytime Show. “Yeah, that’s what my friends call me.  Have we–?”

The words died on her lips as she came to face with the boy whom Meli had once known.  Except, he wasn’t a boy anymore.  His short hair was now full mullet that swept to the side and a piercing adorned his left brow, just above his beauty mark. No longer was he the tall, scrappy kid who picked fights, but a man who held a very imposing silhouette adorned with partially covered tattoos across his hard muscles. 

And yet, his eyes still remained the same.  That warm, yet cool brown that held back that fire in his soul. They saw right into her with shock and recognition. 

Her friend.  The one who used to bum smokes off of her. The one who had the most breathtaking smile when he finally allowed himself to laugh.  The boy who traded mixtapes of his favorite songs with her.  The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, and all the anger and passion that came with it. 

Her old friend.

Her…

TO BE CONTINUED...

[shit-talk-turner]

Guys just saw someone say something about how Lola invited Louise to the wedding and not Taylor. First of all how do we know that she didn’t invite Taylor. Second of all why are we so sure Alex was the one that was the bad one? Taylor had openly said she was trying very hard to improve herself and she gone sober (idk what from) but if you look at her page from back then there was a lot of almost a glorification of all things alcoholic. She just seemed to always post about alcohol. Makes me think she was probably suffering from possible alcoholism and tbh mixed with her personality which is very eccentric she probably would’ve became a very difficult person. There are also certain interviews from around that time where it looks like Alex is hiding a bruise under his eye.( could 100% be unrelated to Taylor). My personal interpretation is that Alex tried for as long as he could, he wanted to break up with her but her dog was very sick/ died and the right time wasn’t envision able so when she seemed settled and had moved on with adopting another dog he decided to break up with her and therefore was able to move on so fast. I don’t know if there was cheating going on there may have been. This does t necessarily make Alex a bad person. I think he was in a very very unhealthy and complicated relationship and therefore this idea that Alex is horrible / cold for moving on so fast is kinda ridiculous. Also could be the reason he’s kept Louise at such a distance.

// this is a real problematic take. I know anon was trying to make Alex look better with this theory but those are some massive accusations to be making against someone who lived with him, was clearly in love with him, and who we have pretty good evidence was cheated on. She has flaws and I agree it didnt seem like a healthy relationship (there was definitely a power imbalance) but like, seems cruel to try to blame all this on the woman who ended up scorned, especially with literally no evidence pointing to abuse. Alex is not a perfect little baby. He for sure does bad things and very clearly didn't do right by her.

Also, not for nothing, but from what we can tell, Taylor's substance abuse and attitude problems came AFTER she got with Alex... not that he's responsible for it (she's an adult), but if anyone encouraged an environment that supported that kind of thing it was most likely him. Like, really, who's more likely to have introduced drugs and partying into the relationship: the touring musician living out his most outrageous rockstar fantasies with his BFF, or the C-list model from Tennessee who is following him on tour because she isnt famous enough to have her own gigs taking up her time? I don't mean that as an insult to her but like, he clearly had more access. So if he actually left her because of a problem he was a part of rather than helping her get on her feet... thats even colder than the cheating tbh.

^

[sillylovesongsk]

Has anyone ever thought that the reason why we love Heartstopper so much is because it’s so refreshing to see healthy, pure and affirming queer relationships?

This is what I longed for growing up as part of the LGBTQ+ community. I longed to see healthy relationships on TV because all I wanted was a healthy and accepting environment in my life (since books and media were my constant escape and refuge). Growing up with Queer As Folk, The L World, ATWT (Luke/Noah), Hollyoaks, Skins and even Glee made me think that this was what I was bound for in my teenage/adult life… full of toxic relationships and unsafe environments.

It’s so nice to see that this is what the next generation is getting, that they’re getting to see acceptance and patience at its fullest. Even if the heteronormative society we lived in deprived many of us from having this kind of beautiful young queer intimacy and experience (yeah ik, we have nostalgia and we’re mourning), we should still acknowledge the fact that things are getting better for future generations. I’m just so happy for all the queer young people that get to have this positive experience, and how this positive LGBTQ+ representation that’s happening, will change so many lives.

I cry tears of joy because we get to see more of that patient and accepting mentality from Charlie (when it comes to coming out) and none of that “if you love me, you will not hide me” mentality that was so frequently seen in media and so present in many queer relationships.

Also, it’s comforting that Nick really cares about Charlie and wants to protect him, not by being Charlie’s superhero or savior with a fixing mission, but just by being patient and allowing Charlie to open up to him… giving him space to fully let him in on his own time. Not by telling him “you need to stop doing this, you need to stop hurting yourself”, but telling him “can you promise to tell me if it ever gets that bad again?”. Which makes me think he knows that he won’t be able to fully stop it (because that’s how it is with people that have disorders and depression, it doesn’t help for people to force us to just “get better and not hurt ourselves”), but he knows he can be there for him to make the path to recovery or stability easier.

Seeing the slow and patient way in which Tara and Darcy allowed each other to open up, and not leave at the first sign of “trouble” but tackled it through open communication makes me happy.

The way they handled the relationship between Mr. Farouk and Mr. Ayaji was on point, exemplifying perfectly how you can still have nice first-time experiences at any point in your life, regardless of you realizing that you were queer later in life.

It makes me cry (sometimes happy tears and sometimes sad tears) when I see most of the parents being a safe place for their children and allowing them to trust in them because of that safe environment they’ve created.

While writing this I realized that the reason why I’ve read so much fanfiction since I was very young (8 yo, that’s nearly 20 years now) is because we got to create and read these stories where we imagined safe and healthy relationships that we didn’t get to live and see in real life or media most of the time. I think the reason I love Heartstopper so much is because of how similar it is to any of those wholesome fanfics that I took refuge in back when I was younger and living in the closet.

It has everything I wished to have back then and everything I wish to have at one point in life:

Family fully accepting you

Healthy and safe family (non-chosen and chosen family)

Partner being patient and supportive

Protecting those you love

Open communication that I’ve always craved for in all relationships in my life (romantic and platonic)

Giving light and acknowledgment to the struggles each character lives but not making it their whole personality (because we’re more than those struggles… something I’ve come to learn after so many years in therapy. I’ve suffered domestic abuse, bullying, depression, anxiety, EDs, among so many other things my whole life and I’m more than all of that and it isn’t my whole personality).

I just think that these are some of the reasons why we love Heartstopper as much as we do. What do you all think?

[elicular]

Pokemon types Zodiac

This was inspired by a Tiktok video that I can't find anymore (and may no longer exist for all I know) where the person talked about what it'd be like if Pokemon types were treated like zodiac signs. I took his suggestion that super-effectiveness represented strong connections in both directions, that not-very-effectiveness that isn't contradicted by super-effectiveness represents emotional incompatibility, and 0 effectiveness represents a very unhealthy dynamic. Everything else, though, I kind of went off on for myself.

Normal: Not someone to set off sparks, but solid, dependable, and consistent. Very flexible, able to move at any pace necessary. Their personalities aren't weak, but they do tend to be uncomplicated, which doesn't give them a good purchase to get through to jagged, defensive rock types or cloistered steel types. The confrontational nature of fighting types has the potential to push them to great heights, but also to just completely break them.

Grass: Deeply invested in creature comforts and beauty, grass types like to step slowly and deliberately within the world. There's always time for a moment's peace, a second to rest, a pleasure to take part in. Steady under constant pressure, but easily overwhelmed in the moment, and often trapped when in an environment not healthy for them, they can give a calm stability to those open to resting with them, or be drawn into the whirlwind of a more passionate life.

Fire: Passionate and forward-thinking, albeit in a way that often sees them burning the present for the sake of theoretical futures. They move fast and break things, and always have to be doing something. If their momentum dies, this can leave them lost and unsure how to continue. They work well with someone who will either follow them, or set up boundaries for them, but have the potential to burn out the former or explode against the latter.

Water: The most common type, water is often hard to identify since it has so many shapes. Placid, yet roiling; soothing, yet dangerous; powerful, yet yielding. Natural shapeshifters, water types can adapt to any situation and wear all sorts of hats as needed. However, this can often leave others and themselves with little sense of their own identity. Electric and grass types can help them find a frequency that the two can share, but it could end up being all wrong for the water type. Alternately, they can take more dominant roles to shake up stability or push through rough exteriors, but in doing so uproot lives.

Psychic: Smarter than you, knows it, and will let nobody forget it. Psychic types, at a glance, may seem calm and steady, but they need constant mental stimulation, and if they have none at hand, they'll seek it out themselves, for better or worse. They have a habit of getting lost in the past or obsessing over the future. Their massive intellect lets them outmaneuver poison types and act as mentors to fighting types, both of which can keep them occupied but may be at the expense of their partner. An unpredictable bug or ghost type could keep them on the back foot, but they mesh very poorly with dark types, whose negativity tends to completely overwhelm them.

Fighting: Fighting types live in the real world. They aren't stupid or simple, but they are direct. Why go around when going through is faster? Their stoic outside doesn't hide their passionate insides. They hunger constantly for challenge and self-improvement, but because of this, they and the world around them are never good enough. They're able to connect to those whose defenses need breaking like no other, but this process can just as easily break the person in question. A partner able to outsmart or outmaneuver them, on the other hand, can make for an exciting challenge, but also leave them feeling hopeless and defeated.

Dark: Wrath, terror, melancholia, emotions that others run from, dark types stare in the face. They're inured to the worst the world has to offer and often enjoy fighting back. This can carry them from the lowest valleys to the greatest heights, but it also gives them plenty of reason to wallow or to be pointlessly cruel. They typically completely dominate and overwhelm psychic types, but can have a more healthy relationship with ghosts, acting as a steady emotional pillar to their wild minds if they don't pull them down into the depths with them. Fighting, bug, and fairy types can all dose them with a shot of pure energy, which can drive them to greatness, or turn them to ash.

Flying: A flying type's pride demands that they reach the very highest heights. Their ego is big, and it drives them constantly to achieve. This often means that they look down on other people, sometimes seeing relationships as loads that can only hold them back. Their ambitions can also blind them to trees while looking at forests. Their pure, unfettered motion allows them to disrupt more stationary types, for better or for worse. A partner who could catch up to or cage them would be terrifying, but it may also be just what they need.

Electric: The electric type is overflowing. Energy, emotion, kindness, power...everything they have they have too much of. This makes them overwhelming people, perpetually present, but also generous and dependable. However, their force of personality can make it hard for them to connect with others. Only ground types can fully bring them under control, and that's rarely healthy for the electric type, which would have no outlet for the storm inside of themself. Fast flying and adaptable water types are the ones most likely to keep up with them, but the possibility of crashing and burning is real.

Ground: The most stable type, ground types don't stumble. They're often under the radar, and because of this, people can underestimate them. This underselling is also helped by the fact that they're more sensitive than they seem on the surface: an apparently stoic exterior is easily pierced. However, those who see them as weak do so at their own peril, as they will work hard to outlast, and if they cannot, then they will attack with incredible destructive power. Their steady pressure lets them push through barriers and weather resistance, though this can result in them smothering their partners. When submissive, they often need a gentle, subtle hand to get to their very core. They're almost incapable of relating to flying types, due to the latter being defined by their colossal ambition and restlessness.

Rock: Often mistaken for ground or steel, rock types are actually quite different from those that most closely resemble them. Though they appear solid and unmoving, this is an act. They construct a series of walls between themselves and the world, acting as though that is their true self. In fact, past all of their defenses, they are deeply vulnerable, fragile people, and they will do whatever they can to guard themselves. Because of that, rock types hit first and hit hard, since nobody can break them if they're broken first. Their aggression can impress and inspire other sharp-edged types but also has the potential to destroy them. However, someone who can break through their defenses, whether quickly or slowly, can do whatever they want with the vulnerability inside.

Steel: Whereas a rock type's façade is just that, a steel type is solid through and through. They are as unyielding as they appear to be, stubborn and constant. They tend to act slowly, with only brief bursts of speed when in crisis. Their lack of vulnerability can make them cold, or even hollow, but it also makes them incredible defenders. Those who are sensitive and need protecting can rely on (or over-rely on) a steel type. However, those who can pierce a steel type's defenses will often find something in them that they themself didn't know about.

Ice: Ice types are as jagged and fragile as they appear. They don't put up pretenses about their delicacy, facing the world almost as if daring it to break them. Unsurprisingly, this often leaves them broken. However, ice types are sharp, and anything that harms them will find itself scarred in the process. They're also quite skilled at putting the pieces back together when the dust has settled. They have to be. Their edges make them dangerous and alluring to the egoistic and the complacent in equal measures, but they themselves are also drawn to that which can both hurt and protect them.

Poison: On the surface, a poison type seems similar to a water type: their identities seem fluid, and they can roll with the punches. However, for water types, when they're pushed, they adapt. Poison types appear to do the same, but the squishy exterior of their persona hides a solid core. Rather than truly shapeshifting, the poison type changes their behavior in response to the world, but their inner self is calcified, rarely open to alteration. Those too calm or naïve to anticipate manipulation are often surprised by poison types, for better or worse. Often, only psychic brilliance or the constant weight of a ground type can reach the shining core beyond all the artifice. But though this core is solid, it can still very easily be hurt.

Bug: Bug types are true eccentrics. They tend to hyperfocus on particular things, some becoming dedicated experts in one subject while others leave a trail of half-finished projects in their wake. Though personally fragile and best suited to specific environments, bug types as a group can be found everywhere, filling every possible niche. They're detail-oriented, able to zero in on every aspect of something, but prone to ignoring the thing itself. Their strangeness can be both disquieting and charming, particularly to those solidly rooted in their intellect, their emotions, or their environment. More aggressive sorts can channel bug types' chaos into specific directions, which can be for good or ill.

Ghost: For a ghost type, emotion is everything. The real is fundamentally secondary in their lives, subordinate to both the past and their feelings. Ghosts are often stereotyped as bitter and dangerous because of this, and they often are, but it's more accurate to consider them volatile. Their joy, their sorrow, their hate, their love...whatever they feel, that's their entire world, and they'll make it everyone else's world too. Because of this, fighting types and normal types can't get through to them at all, and they can't reach normals either, their experiences of the world too far apart. Ghosts are very good at unbalancing psychic types from their pedestals, and dark types can keep them tethered for good or ill. Two ghost types, however, will be beautiful, a disaster, or both.

Fairy: To a fairy type faith and belief are powerful enough to move mountains. Optimistic and driven, something being impossible will never stop a fairy from trying to make it happen. This can lead them to do the incredible, but it can also bring about crushing, agonizing failure. An untethered fairy type will throw themselves at a wall until one of them breaks, never giving a thought to which one will first. Their unfettered will can force dark types kicking and screaming from their doldrums, and cause fighting and dragon types to try to follow or even surpass them. On the other side, the subtle manipulations of a poison type or cold reality of a steel type can save a fairy from themself, but can also tear one away from their destiny and into a state of despair.

Dragon: Dragons are the legends. They are the ones who will be great. If a flying type needs to be above everything, a dragon needs to be beyond it. They see themselves as a separate class, distinct from petty concerns and petty people, and even untethered from ideas of good or evil. Dragons will change the world and are unwilling to see anyone stand in their way. This causes a severe disconnect between them and the rest of the world, to the point where dragons often think they're only able to connect with other dragons. Such relationships are volatile affairs, able to create or destroy not only the members but everyone around them. However, should a dragon allow themself to be humbled, they can also connect very deeply, healthily or otherwise, with the unbridled hope of a fairy, or the untouchability of an ice type.

[v1rg1nm4ry]

Has nothing to literally do with my interest but this is a take and observation/awareness about bad parenting

Trigger warning sensitive topic

An obvious touching subject so if this “isn’t for your concerns” don’t comment or read. But this a topic I’d like to discuss and shed light on problems on the basic understanding of bad parenting. This post jots everything wrong with parenting styles.

By V1rg1nm4ry

What is bad parenting?

•When parents don’t teach the basic necessities their children needs to know. Like how to shop and budget, set a bank account, how to live and be self sufficient. is the literal epitome of bad parenting the first crucial one has to be this

•Educational neglect

When they don’t encourage their child’s education and ruin their upbringing and ability to learn by making them think they’re such an inconvenience which will subconsciously cause affect into their adult life

They just don’t put effort/priority/value into their educational needs and when parents don’t see importance to their education it’s harmful and will cause long term affect to the children’s learning environment, development, and construction. Where there’s a lack of expectation and support, there’s a lack of success.

•No discipline. Passive parenting not being guidance oriented. Strictness is constructive compared to parents who baby their children

•Gaslighting, manipulation, guilt tripping controlling behaviour

Setting that child up to be a people pleaser, inefficient and incompetent with no standards

•Not buying basic hygiene and basic needs

•Not being interested in what their children say or devalues their personality

Parent talks about them self all the time

•Emotional immaturity: Instilled fear, blaming, making their children feel like they have to hide in their rooms because they can’t control their aggression (physical/verbal abuse)

No accountability

Not apologizing for what they’ve done ZERO accountability whatsoever

•Not giving opportunities and ideas what they can do for themselves which doesn’t concern them

Will impact children’s ability to form long term realistic goals/aspirations and ruin their self concept and esteem

•Medical neglect

•Invalidating/dismissiveness on emotional needs

•bringing up their past, talking about their trauma literal trauma dumping that nobody asked about

•Not encouraging an honourable and hardworking attitude and life or not having a healthy structure or healthy expectations

•Social underdevelopment in child

(aside from special needs/disability)

•Having an unsafe unclean hazardous environment and condition at home

(Ie, addiction, messy rooms, mold)

•Being not present emotionally or physically. Doesn’t hold promises and has their grandparents take care of them. Lazy parenting and carelessness is a form of abuse

•Tearing down and discouraging child

•No authority in the household; Lack of morals, accountability, and respect which is the cause and stem of so many problems behavioural wise

•No communication on serious situations and proper conflict

This will affect their children’s communication styles and even make them avoid conflict.

•DONT teach them to be overly kind

• Codependant tendencies

Dependency on the decisions from their children and being emotionally dependent on them. They’re not obligated to be your emotional support and you should have already dealt with this prior to making the decision of raising kids