#if anyone has friend making advice feel free to share

[tarotwithlucien]

Letter from your Future Spouse | PICK A PILE

⊹ ᨦ Hello! Welcome to another PAP about future spouse, as you asked for a lot, here I am back ;) I have to warn you that there's a lil bit of nsfw in this reading so if you're underage LEAVE 😠

₊˚๑ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that caught your attention. ₊˚๑ Disclaimer: All readings are done for entertainment only, don't use my readings as a replacement for legitimate advice. This is a general reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ masterist | tip jar

🥐 ⊹ ꒱ PILE ONE ᨦ ♡

⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹

"My dearest love,

I want you to know that all I truly desire is a peaceful life with you. In a world that often seems to value wealth, fame, and material luxuries, I find solace in the simplicity of our love. I don’t need grand gestures or extravagant possessions. As long as I’m by your side, that’s more than enough for me. I envision a quiet, private life where it’s just the two of us, free from the noise and distractions of the outside world. It doesn’t even matter to me if no one in the city we live in knows our name, all that matters is you and the beautiful life we build together. From the moment I met you, I’ve fallen for you deeply. Your essence captivates me in ways I can hardly explain. I love your unique style, even when others judge it harshly (Many people in this pile have a more alternative look, maybe even tattoos or piercings, and that just adds to how much they admire you). I find beauty in your individuality, in the way you express yourself unapologetically. I adore listening to you talk, even when your words ramble on about something seemingly silly – it doesn’t matter. When you ask me to, I love wrapping my hands around your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath my fingertips. The way you beg for my touch sends shivers down my spine; it ignites a fire within me that I never knew existed. The pleasure you give me is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, and I crave every moment we share. Seeing you from behind during our passionate encounters drives me wild with desire, and I’m utterly eager to know your taste in every sense. I am completely captivated by you; you have my heart, and honestly, I’d let you ruin my life if that’s what you wanted. I want you to know that you are free to be exactly who you are with me. Never apologize for being yourself; your authenticity is what makes you shine. Don’t let the opinions of others weigh you down or dictate how you live your life. You don’t need to seek validation from anyone or change who you are to fit someone else’s expectations. Those people who criticize you? They’re simply jealous because they lack the courage to live as freely as you do. Remember, you’re not perfect – none of us are – but you possess so much inherent value. I hope you can see that in yourself, even on days when self-doubt creeps in. I’ve noticed that you’ve been holding back, staying quiet when things or people bother you, and it’s been going on for far too long. It’s time to stop. You deserve to stand up for yourself and speak out when something doesn’t feel right. Don’t just let things slide or accept situations that don’t sit well with your heart. And please, exercise caution with the people you trust – not everyone has your best interests at heart. You are precious to me, and I want to protect you from any negativity or harm that may come your way. You mean everything to me, and I promise to be your safe haven, your supporter, and your biggest fan. Together, we can navigate this life and face whatever challenges come our way. I’ll always stand by your side, encouraging you to be the incredible person you are meant to be.

With all my love, Your future spouse."

🥐 ⊹ ꒱ PILE TWO ᨦ ♡

⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹

"My love,

I’ve never felt so happy or so deeply invested in someone until you came into my life. Before we became what we are now, we were just friends, and that in itself was confusing for me. I’d never felt anything like this for anyone before, so it caught me off guard. But now, being with you, I find myself in awe, thinking, "Wow, is this really my life?”. Being with you as your partner feels like the most divine experience I’ve ever had. Right now, I know there are people who don’t treat you the way you deserve. Some of them always think they’re right and criticize you, making it seem like you’re always wrong and never good enough. They point out your flaws and mistakes as if you aren’t capable of doing anything right. But listen to me, love, you don’t need to tolerate that. You deserve better. These people don’t know your worth, and I’m telling you, don’t waste your time trying to please them. Don’t let their words tear you down, and don’t let them walk all over you. It’s time for you to stand tall and show them exactly who you are. You’re so much more than their shallow judgments, and you don’t need their approval to know your value. The thought of losing you is something I can hardly bear. Just imagining you being with someone else, laughing with them, sharing moments, and kissing them – it makes my heart ache in ways I can’t describe. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I’m protective of you because I love you so much, and the idea of someone else having what we have – it would break me. I know it sounds possessive, but it’s not in a toxic way. I just can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to share you with anyone. You’re mine, and I’ll always fight for us because I know that what we have is rare. This kind of love doesn’t come around often, and it’s something worth fighting for, no matter what. I’ll be by your side through every high and low. I’m not going anywhere. Stay with me, because I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve dreamed of. You deserve the world, and I’ll spend my life trying to give it to you. You’re beautiful – so incredibly beautiful. If we were in a room full of people, you’d still be the only one I’d see. No one else could ever hold my attention the way you do. You make me feel more alive than I ever have before, and I can’t help but be mesmerized by you, by the way you move, by everything you are. I want you. I want to feel you close, I want our bodies to collapse into one another, and I want to hold you through the night. I want to wake up the next morning with you beside me, your face illuminated by the soft light of the sun. I can’t imagine anything more perfect than that. Every moment with you feels like a dream, and I never want to wake up from it. I hope you know how much you mean to me, how much I cherish you. I’m completely and hopelessly in love with you, and I’ll stand by you, no matter what comes our way. You’re my heart, my soul, my everything.

With all my love, Your future spouse."

🥐 ⊹ ꒱ PILE THREE ᨦ ♡

⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹

"My darling,

I want you to know that I’m here to lift you up and encourage you to fly high, chasing after all your dreams with unwavering determination. I see you grappling with people who are rude or who treat you as if you’re less than you truly are, and I want you to realize that this mistreatment only happens because you allow it. I understand that you might hold back your words, choosing silence to avoid conflict, but it’s essential for you to stand your ground and assert yourself. You have every right to demand respect, and you must not let anyone walk all over you. It might take time for you to learn how to set boundaries and to stand firm without feeling guilty, especially if you’re someone who tends to please others. Change doesn’t happen overnight, but I promise you, you’ll get there if you take that first step. I see you feeling lonely at times, and it pains me to know that you’re going through this. I can help you mend that loneliness, and I want nothing more than to see you shine brightly in your own unique way. I long to be near you, to touch you, to kiss you passionately, and to explore every inch of your being. You deserve to feel desired and loved, and I want to be the one to show you just how incredible you are. I’ll make you scream with pleasure because you are such a good girl/good boy, and I will send you all the love in my heart, wrapped in every caress and whisper. You have the power to manifest the life of your dream. You can create the reality you desire, and I believe in you wholeheartedly. Know that I am practically at your feet, waiting for you to call out to me. As soon as you do, I will come running. Being apart from you right now feels like a dagger to my heart. Even though we haven’t met yet, I am on a quest to find you, enduring this distance as best I can. The thought of trying to stop loving you is impossible; it would only cause my feelings to deepen. I could never truly let you go, and the very idea of it is unbearable. But I hold on to the hope that one day we will be together, sharing everything that life has to offer. My eyes are always on you; you are everything I see. You are my world, my everything, and I will always be here, ready to embrace you when the time comes.

With all my love, Your future spouse."

© tarotwithlucien - don't copy, redistribute or edit my content | moodboard & dividers by plutism

[m0ckest]

🥀 Goth

The Goths have a long history dating back to the Old Country as a dreary yet influential family. Imaginative but shy, Cassandra's dreams of musical fame feel undistinguished next to her elegant stylist mother, charming entomologist/writer father, intelligent younger brother, and her aristocratic grandparents. Even with the boundless support of her family, will she find the confidence to make a name for herself or will she shrink away from the pressure?

Vanilla makeover of the premade Goth family in Willow Creek, including the additions of Cornelia & Gunther Goth as well as their cats Hecuba & Menelaus.

Includes one of each outfit, hand-picked preferences, skills, careers, and more. CC skin details used in the preview pics but sim downloads are CC-free. Available on the gallery at m0ckest or tray files below.

⤷ simfileshare • patreon

Bella Goth

A graceful and compassionate woman who owns a personal styling agency with a devoted clientele among the wealthy and famous. She's a supportive—though sometimes disengaged—mother who passionately loves her husband and children. However, she frequently disappears without notice to board flights to her clients around the world. Life is beautiful for carefree Bella; it seems to always work out in her favor.

Mortimer Goth

An entomologist known for his fictional writing, particularly his novels heavy with somber insect imagery. Despite the dismal themes of his books, he's inherited his father's personable Old World charm (Bella loves his subtle Transatlantic accent) which wonderfully complements his wife's sociable tendencies. He's extra lenient with his children, partially due to his proclivity of becoming engrossed in insect research or novel-writing for days at a time.

Cassandra Goth

A reserved teen musician who is struggling with the decision to either follow the family's traditional expectations by working toward a professional seat on the Sim City Symphony Orchestra or to break away from the mold and pursue an independent career. Between staying on top of her studies and her after-school job at the local alternative clothing store, she always looks forward to experimenting with music with her more-experienced best friend, Ophelia.

Alexander Goth

An observant and quick-witted bibliomaniac who is already enjoying writing novels like his father—though he has an unexplained inclination toward science fiction stories. As his parents are often busy and his older sister has no interest in his endless extraterrestrial theories, he takes amusement in playing chess against egotistical adults at the park after school as well as playing piano (which he proudly boasts of his sister's exceptional skill).

Cornelia Goth

An aristocratic painter who was the founder of the elite Sim City Bridge Society as well as co-founder of Pleasantview but is more proud of her legacy as Cassandra and Alexander's loving grandmother. They look forward to their weekly afternoon and high tea times where she shares life stories of rebelling as a young socialite in prim and proper circles. She moved to Willow Creek to live her with her son after a fire claimed both her husband and her mansion.

Gunther Goth

A tremendously influential former college dean and town co-founder of Pleasantview from the Old Country. While his persistent community-based work and ability to selflessly compromise with anyone was admirable, he spent many of his years focused on matters outside of his family until he retired and was able to repair his relationship with wife, Cornelia. After perishing in a house fire, he now chooses to give advice to his descendants as well as warn them to avoid his own life mistakes.

Hecuba & Menelaus Goth

A set of twin Siamese cats raised by Cornelia and Gunther. When she's not verbally demanding attention, Hecuba enjoys concocting plans for other ways to get it. She considers herself much smarter than her brother. Menelaus also believes he's smarter than his sister but can't be bothered to move from his spot on the couch to explain why. They enjoy sharing fish cakes served by the butler.

[kryptznnn]

♛- PLAY-HARD I

1st part/ 2nd part (Mature Audience Community Label)

Series Masterlist ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

➳ INTERESTS; - olo’eyktan!jake x fem!omatikayan reader

➳ BACKGROUND; - working alongside Mo’at has helped you and your family in various ways, as a way to repay her for your free working she pairs you along side Toruk Makto to aid him in small departments he needs assistance in, but more importantly to find a Tsahik suitable for the Olo’eyktan, but he isn’t always cooperative.

➳ WARNINGS; - 3.1k wc slight age gap (25 and 21), takes place after the great war, eventual smut, slow burn, sexual tension, use of alcohol, vomiting (mentioned once), wet kisses, hickies, jealousy, power imbalance, pet names, fluff, bit of angst if you squint, nipple!play, slight p!play.

➳a.i; first fic i’m very very nervous, but i hope u all enjoy ^^, i take requests so just hit my inbox 🌸

*na’vi translation will be provided*

Mo’at was not joking when she spoke of Jake Sully and his stubbornness, the reason why she decided you’d be a perfect aid is due to your patience, which was running very thin at the moment.

“I’m here to assist you, but i cannot do my job if you refuse to go against my requests.” you stated sharply, his ears pinned against his hair and his lips tightened into a straight line, he simply crossed his arms. This was the 3rd date you’d set up for him that he’s rejected.

Not the first, or the second, but the third time. To make matters worse whenever you’d complain to Mo’at she’d simply tell you to just push a little farther.

“I told you I didn’t like her” he said sternly, repeating the same statement he has for the past 2 weeks. “skxawng, [moron] you’ve said the same thing for the other 2 na’vi i’ve tried to pair you with, do not be selfish, think of the future of our people-“

“That’s all I think about y/n, I might be many things but selfish isn’t one of’em. You can’t just force someone with me, if im going to be with some girl for the rest of my life at least let me make my own decision.” He quickly cut you off, now unfolding his arms and placing a hand at his side, eyeing you up and down. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t make any good points, if you were in his place you’d be more than frustrated, but regardless you’re job here was to help and provide for the olo’eyktan, which is exactly what you were going to do.

“Mr. Sully, please-“

“Jake. It’s jake kid” He buds in, smiling softly.

“Jake, I understand what you’re saying and how you feel, but part of my job is providing, and what i’m doing is providing for you and your future” You correct yourself, giving him a pleading look, searching in his eyes for a look of understanding, which you soon found. He relaxed a bit and wasn’t as tense as before, nodding in approval. You quickly smiled, thankful this situation didn’t have to escalate to a serious argument like it has before hand. Those times were the worst times for the both of you, and thankfully you’ve both been able to talk them out and set boundaries and learn from past mistakes, if anything Mo’at would repeat how times like those strengthens the relationship you two share, and she wasn’t wrong.

“m’sorry” He said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear, rubbing his hands together and sitting down, his tail curling up beside him with his head down. “syeha si tam [breathe, it’s okay], you have nothing to apologize for, i’m sorry too, the position you’re in isn’t easy, trust me I know” you said calmly, slowly walking over to him, just for him to open up his arms. You slowly walked over to him, quickly embracing him just for him to do the same with you. You sighed and smiled softly, your head resting on his.

Come to think of it Jake was always a physical kind of person, “touchy” is what the term is. Whenever things would go wrong with him or the clan he would drain out quickly, before he didn’t have anyone to rely on, not a friend close enough for him to talk to so he would create a relationship with Mo’at, asking her for advice and methods to aid him, right before he came across you. You would be seated with Mo’at, mixing herbs for her while listening to their conversations, on specific days jake would speak about certain na’vi women attempting to court him, which made you giggle when you first heard it

“Who is she?” Jake asked quickly glancing over at you, as you quickly covered your mouth to stop any other laughter. Mo’at turned to you and back at Jake softly smiling. “Her name is y/n, I love her like a daughter of mine,she’s been under my arm for the past 12 years” She said proudly, Jake nodded his head, not taking his eyes off of you, watching as you walked over and stood beside Mo’at.

“Ohe ahasey sa’nok” [I’ve finished mother] You said, placing the bowl in Mo’at’s hands, smiling at her, she thanked you and introduced you to Jake. “Te suli, this is y/n, y/n this is tsyeyk suli, our olo’ektyan” She stated, directing her hand to you than back to jake. You quickly signed the “I see you” gesture saying “Oel ngati kameie” as he nodded and repeated the same action. You looked him in his eyes, just to realize he was looking at you this whole time, you quickly looked to the side and began to distract yourself.

He had such an intense gaze, does he look at everyone like that? You asked yourself, your tail thrashing back and forth recalling the scene that happened just seconds ago.

“If you need extra assistance I can always have y/n accompany you, she’s always wanted to to explore other fields of work, I think she could help you a lot” Mo’at spoke soothingly, placing the bowl you gave her down and adding bandages to it. Jake continued to watch you, listening to Mo’at’s words carefully, still grinning ear to ear.

“I’d love that” He said, slowly standing up to take his leave.

That was 4 months ago, since then Jake has been very open with you, always in need of a hug and consolidation, which you were happy to give. Although it was painful how often you’d have to remind yourself not to mix pleasure and business, you’re helping you’re olo’ektyan, he’s just worn out and exhausted. Surely tonight would help him, deeming the celebration would be in his favor, celebrating his successful raid with his party and no injuries or casualties were gained.

“I’ll see you tonight?” He asked,slowly releasing you from his grasp and looking up at you, you just looked down at him smiling and nodding softly. “Of course, just don’t expect me to be there early, i’ll be coming with Za’yukto” You said, slowly backing up ready to leave, jake quickly grabbed your hand as soon as you turned around.

“Who is that?” He asked, you turned to face him to see his demeanor quickly changed. His jaw had clenched and his grip on your hand was getting tighter by the second. “Just a friend of mine, he didn’t want to go alone so I volunteered to take him, just for a while” You said harmlessly, he tilted his head, looking at you up and down before responding. He opened his mouth just to slowly close is and take a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you. “Just… just don’t be too late okay? I’ll be waiting for you” He said softly, his ears lowering slightly as he let go of your hand.

“Of course, and if you ever get too bored you can talk to all of your other friends there” You joked, quickly getting your belongings and leaving shortly.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

You glanced in your small reflection for a final time before leaving your small hut. You haven’t done much to your appearance other than brushing out your braids and changing your purple beaded top to a red one, you’ve always liked how the colors looked on you.

This’ll do. You thought, it was too late to turn back and change now, you’ve already gone so far anyway. You looked pleasant, eye-catching, which was the exact look you were hoping for, hopefully you’d get someone to look at you during tonight’s celebration, or maybe a specific someone. Of course that specific someone being non other than J-

“Y/N!! Are you here?” You stopped dead in your tracks quickly walking over to the entrance of your hut.

That’s Za’yukto’s voice. “Hi, sorry, ohe am lonu to sìltsan” [I’m ready to go] You stated, stepping outside and quickly setting down the entrance of your hut with a smile, looking up at him. He smiled in response and complimented you, to which you thanked him and began making your way to the spirit tree for the celebration.

Soon after you two arrived, you quickly began to adjust your top, brush off your loincloth and hair, saying your goodbyes to Za’yu as you made your way to look for Jake, thankfully finding him quickly-

He’s with someone, you thought, seeing him off to the side laughing with a large drink in his hand, obviously being alcohol, of course stronger than any human substances and yet tasting even sweeter than anything you’ve ever had before. Seeing him happy like that did nothing more than make you smile a bit, he’s been stressed lately, he needs some sort of release. You quickly walk to the side getting closer to him just to see he’s doing more than just talking.

More than just laughing, and not with any someone, with a woman.

And he’s…. he’s kissing her? They’re kissing, they’re definitely kissing, and he’s not kissing just any woman, it’s the first na’vi you ever brought towards him to consider that he immediately rejected, simply telling you “There’s nothing special about her”.

Ewya.

You didn’t even bother making your way over to him, you’d already seen enough, feeling your face heat up out of sheer embarrassment and your eyes beginning to burn. On one swift motion you turn around to find Za’yu and to your surprise he already had a large cup waiting for you. You quickly grabbed it and chugged it down, your face immediately going from a sour look to more relaxed.

“Syeha si y/n!!” [Breathe y/n!!] Za’yu said, quickly taking the now empty cup from your hands as you just smiled at him. “I’m fine, come dance with me?” you asked, holding his hand. He just shook his head and placed the cups down on a table beside him, quickly taking you to the center of the dancefloor and began dancing with you in his arms.

This is a party, a place to let loose and celebrate, and that’s exactly what you planned on doing. You hooked your arms around Za’yu’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer, and looking at him intensely. You’d be lying if you said Za’yu wasn’t attractive, he was insanely attractive and overall perfect, everything a woman would look for in a man, he was skilled, intelligent, good looking, and strong? A complete package. Especially with the fact he’s such a gentleman, that’s what triggered your friendship so quickly.

He looked down at you, his hands traveling from your back to your waist, grinning at you. You slowly pushed yourself up against his body, feeling your beaded top clink against his broad chest. You slowly climb up on your tippy toes closer and closer to his face, as he too moves in closer, just for you to reach towards his ear and kiss it.

“Can you get me another drink please? I’m so thirsty” You ask him playfully, rubbing your 4 fingers against your throat slowly, licking your lips at him. He nodded and reached down to your collarbone, kissing it softly before leaving to get you a drink.

Soon after dancing by yourself you feel a hand rest on your stomach and trail down to your pelvis, holding you securely as your back rests on his back, you lift your head up quickly to see Za’yu, with your drink in his hand as he smiled down at you. You slowly got onto your tippy toes and kissed him, just to taste residue of alcohol that he previously consumed, smiling at the sweet taste, and taking the cup from his hands and quickly finishing it, dropping the cup and turning to face him, kissing him again.

Honestly at this state you’re wondering where jake was, if he was enjoying himself with his dick probably down that girls throat, but at the same time you were too fucked out and having way too much fun to care. Your shared kisses with Za’yu quickly became more intimate and more active, exchanging saliva and practically moaning into his mouth while still dancing, now slowly beginning to grind yourself onto him.

“Za’yu-“ You moaned softly against his lips, barely being able to catch your breath. “I know tìyawn, I know, mawepey” [I know love, I know, be patient] He said softly, his kisses trailing from your lips to your jawline and down to your neck, beginning to suck on you softly.

You rested your hand on the back of his neck, slowly playing with his hair and mewling softly, your ears perked up and your tail curling around your leg. He continued however, lowering down to your collarbone, kissing it softly before continuing his assault.

“ ‘Yu, can w- can we go back to my place? Please” You whimper softly, as he slowly moves his head up to look at you, kissing you softly. “Whatever you want y/n”. He said, quickly going to hold your hand, just as you turn around someone crashes into you spilling their drink all over you.

Of course it was none other than Ninat, whos throat Jake was previously shoving his tongue down. “Shouldn’t you be all on the olo’ektyan?” You muttered quietly, thankful no one heard you. Before listening to her pleads and apologies you simply just shoved past her, clinging onto Za’yukto tightly. “Don’t worry we’ll get you cleaned up, come on” He said.

Soon enough you both arrived to your hut , walking straight into the back of your hut and dragging him along, to which he quickly obliged. You stepped into the small pond behind your hut and began removing your strained top and loincloth, ushering him to do the same, which he quickly did.

“I’m going to clean you up first” He said, smiling down at you and grabbing a nearby rag to wipe any access alcohol off of you. He was gentle and caring, he only looked above your collarbone and refused to look lower, to make sure ‘you felt comfortable’ was his excuse, you found his caring and respectful nature cute though, knowing there were a lot of navi men out there who would not do the same. You just helped guide his hand to where he had to clean off until he kissed you again, letting his hands trail up from your waist to your soft breasts.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, looking in your eyes for complete confirmation, to which you nodded and smiled in response. He let his fingers graze against your nipples a few times before toying with you, lowering his head before taking your left breast into his mouth, rolling his tongue onto your nipple, making you moan softly, quickly gripping onto the back of his hair softly. “That’s not the only place that needs attention, i’m still dirty elsewhere” You teased, he looked up at you repositioning himself, giving you a cocky look before answering.

“Oh yeah? Where would that be?” He asked, you quickly took his hand to show him, hovering over your stomach, but before you could continue a wave of sickness hit you, making you pause. Za’yu quickly took notice of this and how your expression changed. “Hey, what’s wrong what happened” He asked, now completely serious as you now grabbed onto his shoulder for support. “I feel a little sick” You managed to make out weakly, he quickly finished cleaning you off and immediately got you out of the small pond, drying you up and taking you inside to get you into something, but not before you threw up on the side of the mossy ground twice before crying.

“It hurts” You said, your voice hoarse and dry, which reminded Za’yukto to get you some water, he instructed for you to stay in your room and get dressed as he fetched you something to drink along with a small herb to help with the burning of your throat.

You quickly got changed, sitting patiently for Za’yu, and he soon came telling you to swallow one of your own handmade herbal medicine and a glass of water behind it, which you did. “You need to get some rest, you’ve had a long night” He said, placing his hand onto your shoulder, rubbing it softly and smiling at you. You didn’t respond, only placing the glass down and sprawling yourself against your bed, your back now facing Za’yu.

A moment of silence has passed, he hasn’t left and you haven’t fallen asleep yet, why is he still-

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to check up on you” He quickly stated, interrupting your thoughts, you don’t answer and he takes the silence as a sign you must be asleep, big mistake.

“Hopefully tonight didn’t change anything within our friendship, i’m not looking for a mate or to court anyone now, it was never my intention to move so quickly with you” He mumbled, but loud enough for you to hear, and shift in the bed as a response, you waited to hear the flap of your hut close before letting the tears in your eyes roll out over your nose and stain your bed.

This was going to be such a long night, and tomorrow morning even longer.

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[certifiedlibraryposts]

hi! i was wondering if you have any recommendations for getting into nonfiction books if you're too advanced for children's nonfiction, but find that most adult nonfiction seems to be geared towards people who already know a lot. i used to find so many new, random facts when i was a kid, but now all i read is fiction. also, there's so many topics, it's overwhelming! any advice would be great :)

Oooh, I'm usually more of a fiction gal myself but I've started dipping my toes into nonfiction a little bit. Here's a few thoughts I had:

Find topics you think are fun or are important to you. There are plenty of nonfiction books that are easy to digest, and it might help if you chose a topic you're already a bit familiar with. Off the top of my head I know I've seen multiple books about the making of Star Wars movies at a library recently, or there's books about things like food or video games!

Look for memoirs/biographies of people you're interested in!

Browse nonfiction audiobook selections in Libby or Hoopla! Audiobooks count as reading I'll get in a fight over this. I've found audiobooks are my favorite way to experience nonfiction, if you enjoy podcasts then it's a similar experience! (Fuck Amazon Audible)

Ask others for recommendations, like friends or librarians! (Or maybe some folks in the replies have some good recs too hoohoo).

And honestly, I don't belive there's any shame in reading below your level. Maybe having a peek at books written with a younger audience in mind can spark some inspiration on what kind of topics you'd like to find more advanced books on?

If anyone else has any tips feel free to share ^^ I hope you enjoy getting back into nonfiction!

[watcherwingedcat]

Hi! So I just found out about essas like this week and the concept is very intriguing to me! I saw that you made a post explaining the basics of that an essa is and that you've also answered someone else's ask about them, so I thought I'd put some questions here. These are directed at the community at large (if anyone who reads this also wants to share) but I thought it'd make more sense to put them as an ask. If they are too personal, please feel free not to answer them!

I think I've got a few questions, so here it goes-

1) How do you bond with an essa? I've seen multiple people mention bonding with them and it made me curious. What are methods you use to bond with an essa? Which do you think are least/most effective? I'm sure these vary from person to person but I'd still love to hear examples.

2) How do you know if what you're doing for bonding is working? Like how fo you tell if you're actually forming a bond?

3) How does an essa help? I understand that they are supposed to comfort their handler/owner (is there a word preference in the community?) but I'm not exactly sure how that works. Again, I'm sure it varies but I'd love some examples ^^

And 4) How did/do you pick your/an essa? Which things do you usually consider while getting one?

That's all the questions I had for now. These are asked out of genuine curiosity and I hope they aren't read the wrong way. Thank you and anyone who reads this for any answers you choose to give. I hope everyone who reads this has a wonderful day!

- 🌌🌃

Hello! So, quite an amount of questions, anon, thanks for the ask! It's crazy how people asked me about it, never thought that my little post would interest people. I'm planning on making some other posts on the matter, but I'll try to answer the best I can. I'm in not means an expert, but I do know how human psychology works (a little bit).

1) How do you bond with an essa? What are methods you use to bond with an essa? Which do you think are least/most effective?

So, the first thing to remember is that essas, even tho we in the community like to make them feel alive, they are just what their name says: They are plushies. We like to pretend they are real dogs/animals or whatever, but at the end of the day they are still plushies.

But well, how do you bond with your essa, knowing this? First, you need to choose which kind of essa you want. Do you want a big plushie? A small one? Think about whether or not you can take them anywhere with you, or not. "Bonding" requires you'll spend a lot of time with your essa, so you know your friend well. Also, yes, it's important to bond with it, otherwise the essa would just be a simple plushie, therefore useless if you already have one. Essas help you. They bring support. So, spending time with it, carrying it with you, you getting used to it, etc, would be the best methods.

The best advice I can give you is to form an especial connection to your essa. Maybe it's a childhood plushie that gives you comfort. Maybe, like me, you chose your essa because of the texture it has for grounding techniques. But you need to bring yourself to care for it.

2) How do you know if what you're doing for bonding is working? Like how do you tell if you're actually forming a bond?

Again, an essa is still just a plushie. But, if you got yourself used to it and bring it with you and it isn't doing anything, maybe you need to try from a different approach.

If you did all of the things I said, and the essa still feels like isn't working, maybe you're still not very attached to it. That's okay. Just try again. How do you know if you're bonding, and the essa it's helping you?

You know your "bonding" it's working when you feel the plushie is actually working. I know it sound obvious, but hear me out. If you are attached to the plushie, you care for it, the plushie will give you comfort, therefore, it will "task" correctly. For example, say you're having an anxiety or panic attack, and you pet your essa for grounding and in order to distract yourself. And... your essa actually calms you down. That's how you know the essa is doing its work, because you are attached to it, and it brings you comfort.

The bond you have with your essa it's chosen, and it's yours. You choose it. Maybe you use your essa every single day, maybe you don't need it at all times. Maybe you bring it with you everywhere, maybe not. It's up to you, and your essa will adapt to whatever your lifestyle is.

3) How does an essa help? I'm sure it varies but I'd love some examples ^^

An essa brings comfort to the user, and it can have different tasks. As an example, Ramen, my essa, has a texture that helps me grounding. Some essas are heavy because they are filled with rice or gravel, and they help the user with deep pressure therapy. Maybe petting your essa helps distract you from hurting yourself.

Essas also help with neurodiversities. I'm autistic and I'm very awkward in social situations, so Ramen gives me confidence in myself.

An essa can help you getting out of your house, too. For example, I treat Ramen as a real dog, and real dogs need walks every single day. Therefore, I go outside to walk him. You may receive weird looks, just ignore them.

"Plushies are more than just toys. They become confidants and a source of unwavering support. As silent witnesses to our joys and sorrows, stuffed animals are trustworthy allies in our battles against stress and anxiety. Whether you developed a lasting bond with a cherished stuffed animal as a child or found a new friend well into adulthood, an emotional support stuffed animal can help you through your toughest times.

Stuffed animals bring comfort, alleviate anxiety, and nurture emotional well-being no matter your age. They are a testament to simple comforts in a chaotic and unpredictable world!"

4) How did/do you pick your/an essa? Which things do you usually consider while getting one?

How you choose your essa varies from person to person. It doesn't have to be a dog, or have gear, either, it literally can be any stuffed toy. I picked Ramen literally in an impulsive decision: I was researching essas on the internet and one day me and my friend went to Tiger. There, they sold dog plushies for nine dollars, and because it was inside of my budget, I just bought him.

You may want to consider your lifestyle. Do you really need an essa? Are you ready for it, to care for it, to love it? Because if it's something you'll just buy but never use, maybe it's not the solution for you. Obviously, there aren't any rules on owning essas. But if you'll be throwing money away, maybe it isn't worth it.

Please, don't listen to others when they say essas have to be a certain brand or have to be expensive. You don't need to follow certain "rules" or "requirements". An essa can be any plushie. The only difference from essas and a normal plushie is the relationship you have with them, and the amount of comfort they bring you. They are not pets, but also, they are not just plushies. They are your friends, and powerful tools against certain disorders.

[zexapher]

Art Imitates Life

Had this idea in my back pocket for what must be a few months now, but after Akumu_Oukoku’s wonderful ‘Weiss is silly’ meme,  I thought I’d finally put this one together. That, and I wanted to make a little something to celebrate White Knight’s glorious victory in Ship Wars 8! The hordes of r/fnki well and truly descended upon the tournament, and all the better for White Knight!

I think there were a few folks on the regular sub that hadn’t quite realized just how popular White Knight had become within the community, but fnki itself has turned into something of a fortress for the ship, and the results of the tourney speak for themselves. White Knight really wound up dominating, becoming champion by an overwhelming margin, and with just Lancaster and Nuts & Dolts putting up strong competition in the previous rounds.

I’m impressed, and super stoked. It’s really something special seeing White Knight come out so strong after so many years treated as a pariah, having never before made it past the first round but now becoming the champion. The stars had aligned, really. The final round taking place on Weiss’ birthday, White Knight winning the championship being the perfect gift. Volume 9 had given the ship strong foundations to stand on. We can see that expressed in not only the various memes put out over time, but also in the A-Jaune-da alliance and numerous comments inundating the polls in order to promote the ship. White Knight shippers really had an incredibly strong messaging campaign this tournament, I might say no one else came close, and we always kept it positive. Everyone involved should feel proud.

Now, as for this meme, I chose these six characters (and Weiss) because I found it rather appropriate that they have all to some extent shipped White Knight in canon. Jaune, of course, is an obvious one. The story is littered with examples for him all the way through. Similarly, Weiss has been growing fonder of Jaune throughout the show, but Volume 9 saw her interest revealed in a very pronounced manner. Nora has the most tenuous claim here, having shared few moments with Weiss. However, Nora has a moment in Volume 5 where she teases Weiss about liking Jaune’s nickname, going on to tease the Ice Queen about her thawed heart.

Oscar, of course, gets his absolutely stoked look that he throws at Jaune when Weiss accepts Jaune’s invitation to the movies. Like, Oscar is just so happy for his big bro. Blake has a moment or two over the course of the show, notably her happy little glance between Jaune and Weiss at the Argus reunion, her smug look at the ~mature~ line, and how she perks up at Weiss’ giggle with Jaune about his restored youth. No real surprise there, since Blake is actually Jaune’s offscreen super-secret best friend. Yang herself throws a little dating advice Jaune’s way, and gets her ‘one day’ line, when our boy was down in the dumps following a rejection or two. She points out to Weiss that her harshness rejecting Jaune is the sort of thing that earned her the Ice Queen nickname. And, like Blake, Yang gets her own smug look following the ~mature~ line. Then there’s my most controversial addition to this list, Pyrrha. After all, she did walk Jaune through how to ask Weiss to the dance.

Yes, this was all an excuse for me to make a post about every little scrap from the show suggesting the characters ship White Knight. If anyone can think of any more, feel free to share. Maybe Cindere killing Jaune’s rival love interests, yet her attempts on Weiss’ life seem to have only helped Jaune and Weiss grow closer, hmmm. Well, I hope you all enjoy, I had good fun making it!

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 22

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19 / Part 20 / Part 21

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: Life carries on...

WC: 2.7k

In New York, your Sunday always starts with Sunday service at your new parish. Plenty of the members you mingle with afterward are as taken with your daughters as the Howards were. Still, none become like family to you like they were. 

You and Melissa slowly rebuild. You get a reputation in your community. Except this time it isn't hidden behind covert speech and business fronts. You and Melissa both slowly become well known as reliable people. Your girls make new friends at their new school, and somehow your house becomes the house all the kids are usually at. Which finds you and your wife sharing looks of exasperation more often. Though those looks are always followed by smiles. Your house is always filled with children, and it’s messier than ever. You and Melissa often find yourself on your hands and knees scrubbing the floors, the walls, and every other surface to keep it as clean as possible. Is this what a normal life is?

Both Cat and Rosie making friends that want to spend most nights and free time around your place is heartwarming. Seeing your twins slowly grow up, without the looming threats of before, is its own blessing. Plus, the children are the ones both you and Mel can immediately care for like family. Especially since there's a decent overlap between the kids your wife now teaches and your daughters. It makes you chuckle when the friends that the girls make go wide-eyed at seeing one of their teachers open the door dressed in sweatpants as opposed to her usual teaching look for the first time. 

The adults, the parents, you're friendly with but neither of you get as close to anyone else as you might have before. You don't have adult gatherings or large Sunday dinners with your house filled. Unless the girls have their friends over. So, your kids’ friends you open your home to with the open knowledge it's a safe place and that Melissa or you are always there if they don't feel they can go to their own parents. Your spare room quickly turns into a safe haven for other children, and your wife’s cooking becomes a fan favorite of your girls’ friends’.

It takes a long time for the girls to stop asking to go see their grandparents, or ‘uncle’ Luca or their other cousins. You don't think they ever fully understand why you always say you can't but eventually they stop asking. Just like they eventually stop trying to correct you on the rare occasions they hear you call Melissa her new name instead of a pet name. Or vice versa. At this point, she’s Raphaela and you’re Saoirse more often than not. So even sometimes in the comfort of your own home, you end up lovingly calling her ‘Raph’. Still though, she’s almost always Mel or whatever Irish pet name you decide to call her at that moment. 

You're careful to overlook their homework whenever they're assigned anything like family trees or their heritage. Most of it, you don't have to lie, at least. Though if you see names not your alias’, you're swift to change it before it's ever turned in. 

You feel like you blink and your little kindergartners are in middle school. Cat's injuries she'd had when you moved here are nothing more than a scar that she tells a different story for anytime anyone asks. You blame your wife for that one. Once she'd been old enough to start being self-conscious of it, Melissa had told her she could have it mean anything she wanted it to. So, of course, your oldest took that advice to heart. The scars mean whatever she wants them to, given a story to match at any moment.

Rosie still has nightmares about the shooting and the days and weeks spent holed up in that one little hall at the hospital in Philly. You think Cat does as well though she never says so. She doesn't wake up screaming some nights like her sister does.

It absolutely broke your heart the first time it happened. It was almost two in the morning when you heard shrill shrieks coming from their bedroom, followed by frantically whimpering out “Moms, moms!” Both of you had bolted up in bed, terrified at what you might find. Your life flashed before your eyes before you got up to see what the ruckus was- did someone from Cosa Nostra find you out again? Their bedroom door was whipped open to see a teary-eyed Rosie curled up with her knees to her chest as she rocked back and forth and clutched at her scar. Cat looked genuinely terrified at what was happening with her sister.

“Stellina,” your wife had whispered as she pulled your trembling daughter into your lap. “What has you so upset?” You perched yourself on her bed too, a hand reaching out to rub soothing circles on her back in hopes of calming her down.

Your little girl had hiccuped her way through her nightmare as she clung to your wife. All Melissa could do is whisper her love for your youngest and promise everything would be okay before whisking her away and into your own bed for the night. Cat promised she was okay to stay in their own room. 

 As they age, it isn't as frequent. Still, there are some nights you wake up to your youngest accidentally elbowing you in the ribs as she squeezes between you and your wife. Just like the two of them had been that night. You thank your stars that she feels the need to stay with you both to make sure everyone's alright instead of avoiding doing so at all.

As they grow, other things change too. At this very moment, it’s the idea that the girls pick out their own outfits that is on your mind. 

“Uh uh.” Melissa says firmly, her hand raising to twirl her index finger around. “Go change. You’re not goin’ nowhere dressed like that.”

Your brows raise at the sound of your wife, though you don’t look up from the work you’re doing at the kitchen table. You’re trying to get ahead on next week's numbers so that you can have a staycation of sorts. You’ll still be available if anybody at the business really needs you but you’ll be home. Melissa’s, and the girls’, school is going on summer break. You can’t take that much time off, but you try to take some. Especially the first week. The next few sees both Cat and Rosie away at summer camp.

You and Melissa had been reluctant the first year they asked to go, worried out of your minds about if it would be safe or not. Until you’d talked with some of the other parents who were sending some of your daughters’ friends as well. You’d done a bit of research into the facility as well. It wasn’t until you and your wife were awake well into the early hours of the morning that you had started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” your wife asked you as you continued to full belly laugh, almost manically. 

“We don’t have to do this shit anymore.” You had answered as you shut your laptop, blindly tossing it down your bed before rubbing your eyes. “We don’t have to be paranoid ‘bout a fuckin’ summer camp. That’s the whole goddamn point. Nobody knows.”

Melissa had sighed, slumping into your side. “Christ. It’s been years and we’re still living like we got ghosts over our shoulders.”

You had turned your head enough to kiss her temple as your hand shifted to get your fingers through her hair. “We do. It’s always gonna feel like we do, anyway. But we’re awake at fuckin’ two am researching every fuckin’ person that works at a summer camp.” You can’t help but laugh again. “We should let ‘em go. They can be normal. I keep forgettin’ that.”

“Me too. We’ll tell ‘em tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow evening.” You had bargained. “I can’t handle screams of shrill excitement until dinner time.”

Now, you tap away at your laptop at your kitchen table, listening to the brewing argument. The girls are only going to movies with their friend group and dinner after. A few of the other parents are chaperoning, though you and your wife aren’t. She’s up to her eyeballs in grading and prepping for the end of the school year, and you’re flooded with the financials you’re handling. You haven’t looked away from your screen to see your eldest’s outfit but considering it’s Melissa vetoing it; you’re pretty sure you agree. Your wife tends to be more lax between the two of you.

“Mam! Will you please tell Ma that this is not inappropriate?” Cat calls for you, trying to drag you into the argument.

You see Melissa flinch from the corner of your eye at being called ‘Ma’. She’s still adjusting. It was only recently that both the twins had said it was embarrassing to call her mommy still. 

“Mommy, it’s embarrassing,” Cat had groaned at lunch after church. “Rosie and I are twelve now.”

Your wife glanced over to your youngest, who looked to be at war with herself in her head. “Rosie?”

The girl in question just shrugged her shoulders. “It is a little embarrassing.”

Melissa frowned. She didn’t want to be embarrassing to her girls. If she’s being honest, she remembers having this very conversation with her own mother, probably around the same age. 

She hadn’t let them see her cry about it, waiting for when you both retired to your bedroom that night to let her heartache over it out. 

“My love,” you had tried to placate that night. “It will all be okay.”

“Our girls are embarrassed by me!” she whimpered into your chest.

“They’re not embarrassed by you,” you promised her. “They’re just a little embarrassed at the name they call you.”

“I’ve been mommy their whole lives!”

“Yes,” you sighed softly, dropping a kiss to her hair. “But they are getting older now, and things change. You and I know that so well.”

“But I didn’t want this to change,” she told you quietly, wiping at her tears. “Dammit, Y/N. You got lucky, always being ‘mam’.”

“I know, my love. I know.”

“God, is this what my mother felt like when we stopped calling her ‘mommy’ out in public?” Melissa laughed bitterly. 

Reluctantly, she said they could call her Ma to keep from getting confused with calling you both variations of mom. She hated the stereotypical Italian way to refer to her, even though it was how she referred to her own mother. Still, she relented. Except she refused to refer to herself that way.

“Nah uh, don’t go dragging Mam into this, Catherine Ann!” Melissa retorts swiftly before you can even look away from your laptop. “Mommy already said no! Now go change or you’re gonna be stuck stayin’ home instead of the movies while your sister goes without you!”

“Ugh!” Cat sneers at the use of the nickname. “You said you’d stop sayin’ that!” She reminds your wife, though she sounds more snobby about it than anything. “It’s so embarrassing, and so is what you let me wear! All our other friends dress like this, it’s fine!”

“I said you and your sister could stop callin’ me Mommy; I’m still gonna say it in the comfort of our own home. I don’t care if it’s embarrassin’- it’s just us! Just like I don’t care if Carla’s Ma lets her dress like that! I ain’t Carla’s Ma! I’m yours, and you and your sister are not leaving this house dressed like that. Now, for the last time, go change. You sass me again, and I swear you’ll be stuck here with me and your Mam all night.”

You wince at the very pointed stomping of feet back up the stairs that signals Cat’s reluctant retreat to change. If you listen closely, you can hear her grumbling too.

“God, I’m already gettin’ a migraine,” You mutter, bracing yourself when you hear more timid steps coming down the stairs a second later. You don’t have to look to know it’s Rosie. Your youngest took a little more time getting ready, likely debating how much she could get away with unlike her sister who had come down in whatever she wanted.

You finally look away from your screen, scanning your youngest twin’s outfit from head to toe. You raise an eyebrow- there are a few pieces of it you’d veto if it were you and she’s definitely wearing too much makeup, but you have no doubt it’s all more tame than what her sister was wearing. You glance up to Melissa standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her arms are still crossed and she’s still fuming a bit from arguing with Cat.

“Those my heels?” Melissa finally mutters when she gets to looking at Rosie’s feet. She looks back up to your daughter with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t have any shoes that didn’t clash with the belt, Mommy,” your youngest says softly, averting eye contact. 

Oh, Rosie was good. She knew when to pull out the Mommy card, unlike Cat. You knew she didn’t like calling Melissa it around their friends any more than her sister did but right now, it was just the four of you in your house. Rosie wasn’t afraid to use the affectionate term to her advantage, especially in the wake of her sister being sent back upstairs. She also knew that if there was fashion faux pas, your wife would be more lenient.

Finally, Melissa hums. Her arms uncross enough for her hand to wave away your youngest. “Go. ‘fore I change my mind.”

Rosie beams a smile, quickly kissing both of Melissa’s cheeks. “Thank you, Mommy. Te amo. I promise we’ll be back before eleven.”

“Before ten, Rose Marie.” You correct her attempt at a later curfew sternly.

“Before ten.” She parrots in confirmation before she kisses your cheek. “Te amo, Mam.”

“Te amo.” You echo as she hurries to get out of the kitchen before either of you can find fault with what she’s wearing. “Make sure your sister stays out of trouble, huh?” You add just before she disappears from sight. You get a shouted promise of it before you hear the front door open and shut for Rosie to wait on the front porch for her sister. No doubt a small gaggle of their friends are already there waiting, too.

Your eldest comes stomping down the steps a few minutes later, a deep frown written into her face.

“Are you happy? I look like a nun now,” Cat huffs as she shows off her new outfit. She’s completely covered. Melissa raises a brow and folds her arms again. You glance at her look.

“Catherine Ann, stop being ridiculous. Go change into something that you know we’ll approve of while still being a pre-teen,” you sigh.

“What the-”

“That sentence better end with ‘heck’,” you warn quickly. Cat groans and heads back up the steps.

“She takes after you,” you mutter as you put your head into your hands. “Attitude.”

“She shouldn’t even be going,” your wife tells you. “I told her anymore sass, and she wasn’t going.”

“Please don’t put me through a night of a hellish Cat,” you practically beg her. “Please, mo ghrá. My head is already pounding with everything that I’m trying to get done tonight so we can relax during the first week of summer.”

“You’re lucky I love you so damn much,” Melissa grumbles as she walks over to where you sit . She pecks your cheek and sets a hand on your shoulder.

“I know,” you chuckle as you reach a hand up to set over hers. “I love you too.”

Your daughter comes down again, appropriately dressed. “Better, Ma?”

Your wife glances over it, and then she frowns. “Are those Mam’s shoes?”

“Rosie is literally wearing yours!” Cat points towards the door in emphasis.

“Just go, honey,” you tell your eldest. “Before I lose my sanity entirely.”

“We’ll be back by eleven,” your daughter tells you as she begins to walk away.

“Ten!” you call back. “And don’t think I won’t be texting Lexi’s mother to make sure that you’re back by then!”

[guesswhojusttt]

someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little? (love me a little?)

Ren Hana x suicidal!reader

Summary:

You work at a suicide hotline, and get a call from a boy who watches too much anime. It's all downhill from there.

Full story on AO3

Chapter 1: she's my mother, I tell him, but she has never been a mother

Summary:

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

(Note: the text messages are formatted weird on tumblr but are coded into looking like phone texts on AO3)

You sit at your desk- a quick turn in your black spinny chair- and push on a pressure point at the meat of your thumb in a little attempt to calm down. Pull on your headset, adjust the mic, and speak as kindly as you can. “Hey, I’m right here to support you- this is a judgment-free, safe space, and everything you share is entirely confidential and anonymous. You don’t even have to share your name unless you feel comfortable. What’s on your mind?”

“Are you busy right now?” The boy- young man?- is anxious, skittish.

“No, I’m available to talk as long as you need.” 

“Okay, but when you do get busy, you’ll tell me, right? If there’s- if there's someone else waiting on the line, and all the phones are occupied so no one picks up- I’d never forgive myself for taking help away from someone who actually deserves it. So if- if someone calls in, let me know and I’ll hang up, okay?”

“Okay.” You say. You will not, of course, hang up on a suicidal caller, but the guilt of using a resource they don’t ‘deserve’ wasn’t entirely uncommon. So many had started the call with I’m not suicidal so I don't even know why I’m calling, but… or I know I’m hogging something people actually need…

“Because, you know. There’s so many poor people and I’m- not. All these horrible stories about- about a spouse who hits you or having to work two jobs just to make ends meet- but I’m not- I’m privileged. Lucky. So I don’t… I really don’t know why I feel… I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” You imagine him pulling the hem of his sleeves over his hands, wringing them, white-knuckled.

“Well, you don’t need to compare yourself to others.” You speak slowly, calmly, doing your best to soothe him. “Death by one bullet or death by a dozen is still death, yeah? Your problem is just as important as anyone else’s.”

“But it’s… silly. There’s this guy I met and- he’s like the only one who listens to me, but I’m not sure- he’s older, you know, and I don’t- it’s not like I like him like that, but my family doesn’t care about- and it's not like I have any friends- he seems nice. I think. I’m not sure.” It's like he's typing up a message, erased the whole thing, wrote a new one, backspaced, scrapped it and started from scratch again.

“I can’t give you any advice-”

“But what would you do?”

“I’m not permitted to tell you what to do-”

“I just need a second opinion. An unbiased, third party. It’s… something feels off, but he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.” He huffs, sheepish. “Mostly because he’s the only person who’s bothered knowing me.”

You want to point out that it sounds codependent, that the other person is taking advantage of his desperation, that isn’t this grooming, but you inject as much understanding, as much sympathy, as you can into your voice. Judgment-free, as you’d promised. “And why does something feel off?”

“It just does. But, like… who cares about being safe, you know? Isn’t it better to be loved? Not that I love him, I hardly know him. But… he listens. No one ever listens. Um- no offense. You don’t count since it’s your job.”

“I understand,” you assure gently, “I know how important it is to have a friend. It’s normal to want to connect to anyone, even if that person doesn’t feel safe, or reliable.”

He babbles without breathing, as if scared he’ll be interrupted, or shut down, if he doesn’t let it all out at once. “Exactly- see, exactly, you get it. And it’s like- if I don't do this, I don’t know what else I’ll do. I was about to kill myself, you know? Because my date didn’t show, and this was like- this was my last shot, my one chance at having someone who loves and supports me, to have a relationship and- I've been waiting three hours here, how pathetic is that? But he came and saw I’d been stood up and let me whine about my problems and- part of me wants to just keep talking to him, go with him, but the other part… but if I don’t, that’s it. He’s my last chance, and I’ll just kill myself. So I’m in the bathroom of the restaurant now and he’s out there at my table and I’m huddled in a stall like a loser and I’m still- still not sure if he’s someone I’m- so I called here instead.”

“And I’m so proud of you for doing that.” You pour your sincerity in, and you mean it. You lean forward a little, fingers idly working at your palm’s pressure point to keep yourself, and your voice, calm. “It can be incredibly hard to reach out for help, to open up to a stranger, and you’ve done such a wonderful job for me so far. This man- he’s making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no- I mean, yes, I’m uncomfortable, but it’s not his fault. He’s really kind, actually, I mean I know it sounds weird but I swear he’s a nice guy. And like, if it’s a choice between going home alone, again-" and there's so much weight in that again, the heaviness of years of frustration and isolation and raw misery, "and how many nights and months and years can one person spend alone before they just- they just need someone? So if it’s a choice between a- a sweet guy and just- just offing myself-”

“May I ask if you still intend to end your life tonight?” You wince. You're generally not supposed to interrupt, supposed to give them the space to say everything they need to, but this guy is barreling on like his words are pus, are vomit, that he just needs to hurl up.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I… it depends. On the guy I mentioned. Some part of me thinks I should cut contact, but mostly want so badly to talk to him again. I don't know how to describe it. It's not like having a crush. It’s like… I just want him to make me feel important again.”

“Your importance is unchangeable regardless of who recognizes it or not, and no one can make you important, but naturally, all humans require external love and affection to feel it.” Your finger twitches over your mouse, considering flagging your supervisor that the caller was in danger, at-risk of some- what? Attack? Criminal? An ill-thought-out one-night stand? “Of course you want him to make you feel important- but do you feel like you’re risking your safety?”

“A little. Well. A lot. But what’s life without a little risk, right?" He chuckles self-deprecatingly, dry and bitter. "I’m just- a shut-in, watching stupid anime and reading manga all day and collecting dumb figurines and- the riskiest thing I’ve done is drinking too many energy drinks so I could stay up for a Kamisama Kiss marathon. I think… isn’t it about time I step out of my comfort zone?”

You're patient, you're kind, you're not enough. “Like I mentioned, I’m in no position to provide advice. However, we can come up with a safety plan, if you'd like? If you stay alive tonight, you can sleep on it and have a clear head to decide in the morning.”

Here’s what you should’ve done.

You should’ve flagged your supervisor. Should’ve messaged her: I think the caller might be in danger of harm from others. He has repeatedly mentioned an unsafe, unreliable man. While he hasn’t provided details, he has reported feelings of unease and uncertainty. The caller is young and has stated the man is older, and I want to ensure his safety and well-being. Your supervisor would have told you what to say- maybe to steer the caller away from the strange man- and he would’ve been okay. He would’ve been fine, and you would’ve been fine, and none of this would happen.

But all you’d done is established the next steps, a “what are your physical needs? Do you feel up for food, drinking something, or taking a shower?”

“I… don’t feel like getting water. I do have some ramune I ordered though, at my table.”

“That’s great!” You encourage. Little steps should always be rewarded, you think. “Being hydrated is good; doesn’t have to be water. Is there anything you usually do to soothe yourself?”

“Well, I… watching anime is great, but if I really wanna take my mind off things, I like to..." he trails off, a little shyly. Embarrassed, even.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me, but as long as your hobby is fun for you, that's what matters." From collecting and naming rocks to editing and monitoring all the Wikipedia pages about the Odyssey, every caller- every person- had their own way of self-soothing. 

"I know it's... a moronic waste of time, but I... sketch some self-insert OCs.”

“Drawing is very creative, and I know it can take a lot of time and effort, too. Give yourself some credit. Do you feel up for that tonight?”

“Yeah. I guess. Thanks. I think it’s best to go home, now, I’ve been at the restaurant an embarrassing amount of time anyway. Um- thanks for- being cool about all this. Bye.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He would end up talking to the man again after all, going home with him, and wreck his life- and yours- in the process.

You jam your index finger deeper into the pressure point at the base of your thumb:

Lonely since you were a child, you filled it with what many do: video games. A hopeless romantic, you filled the need for a relationship with otome games specifically. One of them, bad boys do it better, had this scene: the strong-but-silent love interest finds the main character, the only girl at an all-boys’ school, sleepy and yawning in the classroom. He takes her hand, presses a pressure point on her palm, and she feels all invigorated and awake.

Considering you, yourself, were constantly sleep-deprived, you decided to look it up for yourself: it wasn't a fluke. Give yourself an acupressure wake-up, one article reads, 6 pressure points for falling asleep, Medical News Today lists. It becomes a hyperfixation: pressure points for period cramps, for headaches, for high blood pressure. When you’re motion sick in a car, you massage a point in your inner arm to soothe it, when the Tylenol and Advil don’t make your migraines go away, you try a pressure point between your eyes, or at the side of your brow.

Honestly, it doesn’t always work- maybe half the time?- but it’s a cool party trick. Or, would be, if you got invited to parties.

As you type up the basic information of the call (reason for calling, next steps established, suicidal risk from 1-5), you think about how everyone is suicidal, actually. There’s so many YouTube playlists- for when you want to disappear, alone… again, one more night feeling like the loneliest person in the world, when loneliness no longer a pain but a comfort, suicide at 3AM, it’s getting worse again and it’s all your fault, slowly dying- where the comment section of vent playlists and lo-fi hours are flooded with paragraphs of people either pouring out their life’s trauma or comforting words to gently encourage the reader to live another day. There’s suicide hotlines and textlines and 7 cups of tea and a steep increase in people seeking therapy this past decade, because everyone is depressed, because there’s a housing crisis and all-time highs both for poverty rates and billionaire’s incomes and and and

There isn’t really a reason to live, anymore. No dream house to look forward to, no shiny career as a writer or actor or artist or teacher when they’re so severely underpaid, no true love soulmate when there’s no third place to meet people anymore, except a bar or a club which is really just a chance to be drugged and date-raped.

So, no. You don’t think you’re depressed, you don’t think most people are depressed; rather, you think the world itself is in a very depressing state, which naturally leads to its inhabitants mirroring its circumstances.  

Well. You might be a tiny bit suicidal, but not depressed. Not really. From fantasizing about running away from home since you were eight to constantly imagining grabbing a bag and getting out of here through every single middle and high school year to the crushing disappointment of not affording a dorm and having to live with her throughout university and then, in some twisted, cruel fate, having to stay even while you work because she has chronic pain and can't work, won't work, and wouldn't you be ableist for leaving someone on so many medications to fend for themselves? 

So you work and you pay the rent and the groceries and the bills and it all goes to her bank account. Oh, sure, the account is under your name (and somehow that's worse, it's your credit score it's affecting), but it's her email and her phone number and she won't tell you the password and she's taken out some loan and your account is 4000 in debt and there's some 15% APR platinum whatever and and and 

It's not your money. You don't get to spend it, and yet you wake up and drag yourself to work even when exhausted and sit through eight grueling hours and then there’s no reward, no payoff, nothing but heading home to the same arguments and abuse and fighting and yelling and you decide, realize, in an awful epiphany, that you're not getting out. You're never getting out. 

Because it’ll only get worse. She'll grow older, and even if there's no Alzheimer's or dementia, aging will hit her- maybe she'll need a walking stick (she already uses one sometimes), or a wheelchair, or you'll need to be the one feeding her, and you'll only have to do more, more, more-

You're never going to be free. You'll be shackled to your abuser from womb to tomb.

You’re never getting out. The only solution- the quickest, easiest solution- is to kill yourself. Except that’s a sin, so you can’t. It doesn’t stop you from wishing for it, romanticizing it- all of which is so deeply, wickedly ironic, as your job is to keep others from fulfilling your greatest desire. Callers blur together- my dad is an alcoholic and I’ve never heard a kind word from him, my little sister’s dead and I can’t get over it, I’ll never get over it- and every day, you soothe them, help them establish a safety plan, connect them to resources for mental health- peer support groups and affordable, sliding-scale therapists and a million other ways to help them, to keep them alive, even while you so deeply ache to die, yourself.

Some never call again, and you hope that means things are better, now. That they found a reason to live. Some are regular callers- maybe you don’t speak to them every time, but it shows up on your screen- that they’ve called four times this year, that the last time they were calling it was about academic stress and this time it’s about the loneliness of summer vacation, and it- kills you, that you can’t help everyone. Can’t save everyone. Once, halfway through a conversation where the caller had been pouring her heart out- about how she’d thrown away her life, how she’d studied and worked so hard to be a doctor but then got married to a man who insisted she stay home to raise their first kid, then their third, then their fifth, and now her degree is twenty years old and she’s got this huge gap in her resume and no one wants to hire her and there’s a new baby, again, and she wishes she could just- oh, what’s the point? (And you hear a pill bottle rattling). It’s never going to get better, and there’s nothing you can tell me that’ll change anything. Sorry for wasting your time.

And she hung up, and never called again, and you can only hope, but never know, that she hadn’t taken the pills.

And though you felt like a hypocrite, the truth is, you really do believe the things you say. When you assure a caller that he’s not too demented to deserve to live, when you encourage his love for plants and say "staying alive just because no one else will love and take care of your plants the way you do isn't ridiculous, Lawrence. Tending to and watering your plants is a perfectly valid reason to live", you mean it. You do.

Somehow, none of the words you tell others seem to apply to you.

You don’t how many months or years pass like this, this blurry awful misery. The call with the anxious boy at the restaurant blends with the thousands you’ve gotten since then. You fought about- something, this morning, with your mother. Some biting remarks about you being an idiot or ungrateful, some mumbled apologies on your end, but when she calls you spoiled you remind her “you’re not doing me a favor by driving me to work- it’s not like driving me to a sleepover where I’m doing it for fun. This is our only source of income, and you can’t just not drive me, because who else is going to pay for a roof and a meal?”

Her face contorts, as it always does, to that indignant snarl. “You think I have to drive you? I don’t have to do anything. I don’t owe you anything. I’m your mother, it's your job to look after me. You can’t neglect me: that’s abuse.”

You sigh. Not mad. Not even irritated. Just... just whatever. “You do have to drop me off here, or else I miss a whole day’s pay and how am I going to cover your medical bills?” 

“Are you threatening me? How dare you?” She hisses, slamming on the pedal- to prove a point, driving past your workplace. 

“Slow down. I'm getting out.” At this point, at this age, you get fed up quickly, skipping right from fear to anger to just being done. You click open the door, scan the grey sidewalk blurring, passing by- slipping through your fingers, you think vaguely, like your life.

“Close the door, you moron, I’m not paying for your surgery if you split your skull open.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to, but glad to know!” You gauge the ground, stick one leg out, the other one too, and-

Walk the distance left to work.

Sometimes, you can’t believe this is your life. You’d worked hard, damn it, and you’re a good person, so why isn’t the world good back to you? Why are you still stuck here, with her?

How immature, you think. How childish do you have to be to drive past your daughter's work- which you need, for money, for survial- just to spite her. And you know the moment she picks you up from work she'll be yelling through the car ride home, and then when you enter the apartment, and all through the night. Your coworkers often found working at a suicide hotline emotionally taxing, and looked forward to weekends and holidays as a break from the stress, but- for you, work was your safe haven.

As you talk down someone who's maybe ten minutes away from throwing themselves off a roof, your phone vibrates. Again. And again.

000-000-0000 Yesterday 10:15 PM if you go to sleep and die tonight, you're going to Hell Today 9:05 AM Why? Why are you doing this to me? Don't worry, I won't touch your money and I won't take anything from you. I won't even eat from the food we have anymore since it's all been bought with your money like you said Idk why you have been doing this You want me to stay miserable and under our control and do exactly what you want. Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?

You don't have her saved as a contact, so you only see her phone number. It feels wrong to title her 'mom', when that word carries all these connotations of unconditional love and gently braiding your hair and a warm bowl of soup on a sick school day. She has nothing to do all day, is the thing, just rewatching Friends for the 60th time or knitting- so she texts you, and can get all worked up and have a full fight and conversation all by herself, without you needing to lift a finger. Simply existing, you think, is enough to warrant the torrent of abuse.

You get a call and shut off your phone, slipping right into your sweet, soothing voice as you greet a young girl with a razor in hand. You reassure her, hear her out (no, there's nothing wrong with wanting to leave, I understand you want to help him but if he's abusing you, you need to help yourself first), and transfer her to the employment assistance department, where they can help her set up her resume and cover letter and get out of living with him. Your break is spent in the bathroom doing breathing exercises to calm down, your lunch is spent mindlessly scrolling through Dead Dove: Do Not Eat recommendations, and you almost know what you're about to read before you turn on your phone.

000-000-0000 Today 4:18 PM Don't act like you are this innocent, sweet, little wonderful person You always do horrible thing so don't play this victim role again I'm exhausted of those games you keep playing Like when you were a baby, you'd cry in your room just to manipulate me into picking you up. I didn't fall for it obviously but you're still playing the same mind games Acting so pure and innocent Stop being so cruel and get back to your senses Once you are ready to apologize, maybe I'll pick you up from work. Otherwise have fun sleeping there

It's as good a chance as any, you decide. You had a bag under your desk for precisely this chance, but always chickened out at the last minute. But this is an opportunity to not be at home without her questioning it...

So you'd done it. You'd finally done it. The good thing about not having control over your own money- not even knowing the credit card number or the password for your account- is that you don't have very many things. Oh, you have clothes and little knick-knacks, but they're easy to pack. To zip up, to stuff snacks and-

You need your IDs. Your passport, your social security. She had them just a few weeks ago, but eventually, when she was in a good mood, you'd mustered up the courage to ask for them. Why do you need them? Just need to take a picture for this one job I'm applying to. It'll pay more than this one.

You'd tucked them into your bag too, and while most people would find it safer to store their things at home than at work, the space under your desk was guaranteed to remain untouched, while your bedroom didn't have a lock.

You don't know how to drive- she never taught you, and driver's lessons cost money you don't get to control- and public transport is spotty at best. You've never been fit, getting winded after five minutes of walking and legs aching after 10, and you realize quickly that this is inefficient and you've gotta find a way to at least be out of the city so you don't risk her finding you, somehow.

Where do the homeless, the elderly, the disabled, the lost go to for resources, go to be pointed in the right direction?

Actually, it would be the masjid, but you know your mother would go there.

You go to the library, sit down in a big, drooping bean bag chair, and breathe.

It was exhilarating. Scary and risky and dumb, yes, but what a relief! Finally, what you've been dreaming every single day for two decades, finally, you're no longer collared and leashed, finally, you get to start some flimsy attempt at being an independent adult, finally-

You need to open your own bank account. You click on one of the library monitors, leaning in to the computer and Googling banks. Chase. Schwab. Wells Fargo. Credit unions. Everyone has bad experiences with every bank, based on Reddit, but then one comment points out that all banks are the same. Just a place to keep your money, as long as you don't rack up overdraft fees or debt.

You'd actually tried opening your own bank account before, back in February, because this isn't the first time you've been hard-hit with the need to run away. You'd tried to sign up for Chime, which, ironically, while supposed to be for people who need money when in a tight position, had rejected your application- possibly for not having a credit score (?). Someone online too had posted that it's ironic the very site for people in a bind still wouldn't accept those who were, you know, actually in a bind.

You'd researched on banks without interests, found someone on Reddit asking it, and someone who worked at Schwab had detailed how to call someone and ask for a certain tier and walk them through giving a no-interest account.

It had been great. You signed up. You never verified it (or did you? You don't think you did), and now, when calling, they said they had closed your account because your social security number didn't match the other information, that you would have to take a W9 to a physical location so they can confirm your social and go from there.

You try to sign up for Chase, except it needs a driver's license or state ID, and you have neither. You try to sign up for Wells Fargo, but it needs a valid phone number, and you don't have a phone plan, only e-numbers, so it doesn't accept it.

You're almost tempted to ask a librarian. You'd seen posts about librarians helping someone who's drunk or unstable or homeless, but- they're not social workers. This isn't their job, you don't want to inconvenience them and it's- embarrassing. This is all so embarrassing. You're a grown adult, why don't you have everything together by now?

Ok. No bank account. Maybe you can use PayPal? Just for now? You'll need to afford public transportation, and a deposit for a new apartment- better to be with roommate, so you don't have to pay the $300 non-refundable application fee, to have to provide a reference from your previous landlord, so a roommate is necessary, non-negotiable, because your previous apartment...

It had been under your name, of course, since it's your income. But your mother was furious at them for charging one (or five?) thousand dollars, either for moving out before the lease was over or for the security deposit or whatever, but she insisted you stop taking out the trash. When she saw you trying to take a bag, she- well, she yelled as she always does. The bathroom and kitchen and everything were trashed, and you did your best to sweep up your room, your bathroom to hallway, to clean up-

But the kitchen was a mess, and the dining area (which was just the cats' area), had an overflowing litter box and a giant pile of dozens for overflowing, near-bursting trash bags. The smell was awful, fruit flies and all sorts hovering and buzzing and oozing everywhere, but your mother in her spite insisted to leave it untouched. That they should clean it up themselves.

So. No recommendation from that landlord, which means find a roommate who already has a lease, and then that new landlord can give you a recommendation when you get your own apartment.

How to find a roommate who'd take someone with not a single dollar- unemployed, now, since you were leaving the city with your job in it- nothing to offer, except maybe cooking and cleaning, which you hated as you find chores menial and redundant- why bother making your bed or folding your clothes when they'd be unfolded, your bed unmade, just some hours later? It doesn't make sense. It's a waste of time.

Cooking, too, feels tedious and unrewarding. An hour of cooking for ten minutes of eating? No thank you.

Your best bet is to get a job, and use that to get a roof over your head. Till then, all sorts of food banks and shelter can give you enough food in your stomach to keep your back upright enough, mind alive enough, to start the job-hunting agony.

But this job requires a driver's license and a personal vehicle, and this job requires you to be physically there in person, you'd apply to jobs all over so couldn't possibly be in all places at once. You sit in the library till your leg falls asleep, foot staticky, neck hunched over, finger cramping, mindlessly applying for 100 jobs, 200 jobs. Something has to give. Just statistically speaking, one of them has to respond.

Right? Right?

But the library closes too early, and cafes and restaurants close down too, and you can't exactly take refuge in a 24-7 convenience or grocery store.

You could try a fast food place, then? A bar?

Not a bar. Never a bar. Way too many stories about what happens to dumb, defenseless girls in a bar too late at night.

It's your first night out alone and you need a place to sleep, but the nearest shelter is an hour and a half of walking and you're just- you need to rest your eyes and wrists from hours of staring at the computer screen, need to sit down and eat and you're entering the first fast food restaurant you find. Electric blue and neon orange lights dazzle the windows and invite you in, a cracked black leather bench in the corner your beloved refuge. It's a little maddening, a little torturous, to sit and smell the grease and that fat and hear the sizzles and hisses but be unable to do a thing about the saliva pooling your mouth, coating your tongue. Your stomach grumbles, a dying whale, the aroma of cheap burgers and oily fries flooding your nostrils.

You're this close to burying your head in your hands and sobbing. Yes, you have snacks in your bag, but you'd grazed on them absently while running your job application marathon.

You've never been very good with hunger. While others around you can have just breakfast, lunch, and dinner- while they can sit at their 8-and-a-half-hour shift at work and eat only during the 30 minute lunch break, you were always eating at your desk. Answering emails, in between phone calls, you're always, constantly hungry. Nothing you eat ever seems to be enough- maybe because you don't actually eat sufficiently, don't eat enough in a day adequate enough to fulfill your needs- so your stomach always feels empty.

But now, it actually is empty, and the void makes it impossible to focus on anything but the hunger. To think rationally. To consider maybe shoplifting, and at least if they arrest you there'll be food in prison, right?

Right?

Your stomach groans again, as frustrated with your situation as you are, and you think you really will cry. The smell of the cheese, the meat, the cheap beer-

You didn't know this place sold beer.

It doesn't. You've seen the menu a million times. You lift your hand, eyes darting to catch the culprit-

The only other customer this late at night is a man seated at the bench before yours. You see him hunched over a gloriously loaded double-burger- the colors of pale green lettuce and bright red tomatoes enchant you, and a dollop of thick mayo dribbles down the flaky sesame-seed bun, splatting onto the crinkly paper wrapper on the shiny black table.

A slash of envy sears through you. You need that burger more than he does, need that large Styrofoam cup of soda with the cold condensation along its sides infinitely more than him, and you're hit with a desire to snatch it. You know, logically, you can't take him in a fight, but like. What do you have to lose?

He catches you staring.

If you weren't so hungry, you'd be embarrassed, even apologize, but as it is your eyes linger on the grease shining on his thick fingers, on the smear of too-orange cheese dashed along the corner of his lip.

He raises a slightly bushy, brown eyebrow. It's the same cheap beer brown of his eyes, which are a little wide, a little giddy. 

You squirm, uncomfortable, pinned by his gaze like a butterfly- a moth- to a corkboard. "You wan' some?" His mouth is a little full, but even so you catch the lilt of a German accent just beneath his voice.

"Oh, no, I-" heat smarts your face, but he interrupts you, jovial and inviting,

"Your stomach, I'm sure, begs to differ. Come on, I can order you whatever you like, bud."

Bud was... less harassing, less off-putting, than sweetheart or baby or the assorted nicknames drunken men hollered at anything with a rack and two legs. if you ignore his too-cheerful grin, the little manic glint and gleam of his eyes, the use of bud would put you at ease.

But you can't ignore it, and it doesn't, and you get to your feet to leave. "Thanks, but I'm okay. I'll just make some dinner at home."

"No need to be shy! It's okay to rely on the kindness of strangers," he stands up too, already ambling to the counter to order for you, "large fries, a vanilla shake, and a hearty double bacon cheeseburger for my new friend."

"Oh, um, I prefer chocolate, actually." You felt half-guilty for being picky, and half-incensed that he ordered for you without consulting. You don't even eat bacon. 

The cashier- her dreads tied back in a loose ponytail, her red shirt uniform with a crooked name tag- clicks her tongue. "So is it vanilla or chocolate?"

"Vanilla. Right, buddy?'' His grin is big and cheerful and encouraging, nudging, nagging. Almost instinctively, you find your shoulders rounding tighter, find your body curling to make yourself smaller. 

"Right."

He's- satisfied? Almost proud with the way he pats your shoulder, like you passed some unspoken test by deferring to his choice, rather than holding your ground. 

(Maybe it would've been better to fail it).

She rings up your (his, really) order, nails click-clacking as she types, Strade ripping the small slip of receipt and- it really is tiny, in his large palm, all thick fingers and brown hair curling over the back of his hand. When he crumples the paper, his veins sort of- do a kind of pulsing thing you think you like.

But you still don't like how he ordered for you, how he insisted on a flavor you don't prefer. You know it was intentional.

You just can't figure out why.

He picks up the navy tray for you, and that irks you, too: why don't you get to carry your own food? What, is he going to hand-feed you too?

You sit across from him, and when you unwrap the yellow-and-white checkered paper, scrunching it up- the combined scent of the fat and oil and meat is enough to haze over any apprehension, any irritation you might have had, quelled by knowing this sandwich- large enough you pick it up with both hands- is for you. 

You pluck out a strip of crispy bacon and offer it to him, a sort of olive branch. He takes it- thumb and forefinger pinching it, and smiles lazily.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah." You bite into the sandwich, not elaborating. No need to. If you could, you'd maybe nick his credit card- it wouldn't be nice considering he just fed you for the night, but you could stick it in an ATM, get the cash out before he calls the bank to close the card, and- he'd be fine. He'll be fine. You need the money more than he does. But how to pickpocket without him noticing-?

"Something bothering you?" He asks, dipping a long, limp fry into a shallow well of thick ranch. "It's easier to talk about it to a stranger, you know? That way you don't have to worry about it changing your relationship with them, or their judgment, because you won't see them again."

"Hm." It was a good point. But if you've never told anyone else about it, were you really about to trauma dump to some eccentric stranger? 

"I don't mind, really, and I can tell you need it."

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Something about it in the eyes."

"You really wanna know?"

"Of course, buddy, I'm all ears. I love helping people!"

"Fine." You smack your hands flat on the table, get up, and sit next to him. Up close, the musk of cheap beer mixes with sweat and grease in the world's strangest cologne.

You glare at your phone, click it on, and let him read over your shoulder.

000-000-0000 Today 2:04 AM It's all about you and if something doesn't go like how your majesty wants or likes then it's all bad I'm not a fan of drama and I can't tolerate entitled brats like you who thinks the world owes them something just for breathing Guess what? You are the abusive one and always have been. From this point on I will not take orders from you You have no idea how hard it is to be your mother. I sacrificed my LIFE for you. Do you know how painful it is to give birth? Every day I was pregnant with you was torture, and it as even worse when you were born. I had to stay up all day feeding you and all night putting you to sleep. You were a NIGHTMARE. I thought you'd grow out of it but I guess you're still a baby I have done so much for you and I have been through so much and you have no idea

He reads quietly- thinking, analyzing- and breaks into a positively delighted smile. You can't tell if it's the grin a groom dons on his wedding day or the grin a dog bares before cornering its prey. "Oh, mein schätzelein. You're perfect."

You eat in amicable company, and it's- nice. It is lovely, actually, to have dinner with someone you're not scared of, someone you don't have to worry about setting off or angering or harming you. Strade is- a little weird, sure, but a nice guy. You give him your bacon, he gives you a ketchup packet to squeeze onto your fries, and you let him scroll through days and weeks of your mother's texts and felt a twinge of validation every time he said something like "can't blame you for running away", a rush of satisfaction, of vindication, of it's not just me, I'm not crazy, she really is abusive, it wasn't just me being entitled after all. You find yourself inching a little closer to him every time he makes a remark like, "isn't she aware it's her job to take care of you, not the other way around?"

Something incredible blooms between your rib cage and behind it, making your cheeks flush and your fingertips tingle and your eyes sting just a bit. No one had ever bothered to hear you out, to just sit there and make biting, almost cruel comments about your mother with every text he read, to make you feel so important. You half-wish you could work up the courage, could be bold enough to tell him that you didn't have a place to put your head down tonight, just so he could offer, just so you could have an excuse to spend more time with him.

You sweep up the trash and crumpled straw wrappers while he returns his tray and yours and it's wonderful. Even if you can't go home with him, you almost want to make this a routine, make it so you can meet up every week, on a melancholy evening like this, and exchange bad food while he listens and provides a (strong, broad) shoulder.

He's just such a good listener.

~~~~

Author's notes:

Mein Schätzelein = My little treasure The parallel of the chapter starting with Ren thinking and feeling the exact same way MC does at the end of the chapter,,, buckle in folks Look, basically I want 1) to torture strade and 2) to save ren. However there's pretty much zero (0) fics about it so that means rolling up my sleeves, learning how to do the work skin that lets me insert phone-texting into the chapter, and doing it myself. Comment whatever thoughts you have and thanks for reading <33 ~~~ Also, while we're all little freaks that might enjoy a bit of horror, a quick reminder that in real life there's actual horrors going in the world- specifically, the genocide Palestine. Please take a moment to email and/or call your representatives , click-to-donate (free, donation revenue via ads), check out the boycott list, do what little things you can to help.

[umbra-papilio]

Dynamics in the Slender Mansion

Sally and Lazari used to share a room before Lazari had her growth spurts and began having violent mood swings. In the mansion, incorporeal beings are granted physical forms, meaning Sally and other ghosts can eat and sleep normally, but are also unable to levitate or phase through solid matter, and that they're able to take physical damage. Being half demon, Lazari has physical capabilities that rival or even surpass the proxies, so the best thing they can do for her during these episodes is to just give her space and wait it out. There's normally some property damage afterwards that Lazari feels terrible about, and she always helps clean up and uses her allowance to replace any broken items. The girls are still friends, but they aren't as close as they were when Lazari was younger.

LJ is only there on occasion, mostly just to pop in, be a moderate to severe nuisance, then leave. But one of the strictest rules in the mansion is that he has to stay as far away from the kids as possible. Sally is absolutely terrified of him and will mentally shut down if he gets too close. The two are speculated to have prior history, but when questioned about it, LJ just bursts into maniacal laughter, and no one has asked Sally out of consideration for her feelings. Actually, LJ's occasional presence in the mansion is the only reason Puppeteer is on the fence about moving into the mansion. He might be a vengeful spirit, but even death can't suppress the overprotective big brother instinct. He may be fighting Splendorman for first place in the Hatred of Laughing Jack Olympics.

Nina's a bit of an oddball, which is saying a lot considering all the killers are, well, weird, to put it lightly. Despite that, nobody really has an issue with her since she's so upbeat and outgoing. She mainly hangs around the mansion chatting up the other residents. She's the nicest and friendliest person in the mansion, and she'd be the most likely to help any newbies adjust. She doesn't have any beef with anyone, but like most of the killers who live there, she's not fond of LJ. He just creeps her out.

Ben is the mansion's mischievous little brother. He's not malicious with his pranks like LJ, but he can be a major headache, mainly stealing something and hiding it in another person's room in order to start a fight. He's gentler with Sally and Lazari, but they aren't free from his antics either. He especially likes to pick on Nina (he has a crush lol), but never does anything to push her over the edge. That would be a challenge, anyhow. Nina has a surprisingly high tolerance for bullshit.

Ann is the mansion's medic. She takes care of all of the residents and makes sure to keep whiteboards on the fridge and in the living room with reminders of the killers' checkups. She spends most of her time within the infirmary and doesn't talk to people much outside of professional settings, but some have noted that she's a great listener and won't shoo you away if you go to her for advice. She may be reserved and unemotional, but she isn't unkind.

While Jason is pretty warm and friendly with the other residents, he's normally in his room or workshop, and is usually only seen in passing. His attention is almost always on the current object of his obsession, and will prioritize spending as much time with them as possible. It's not uncommon to hear frightened and/or pained screams coming from his room, but with everyone else living there being, you know, serial killers, they're all pretty used to it. Just don't ask him about it afterwards, Jason gets pretty pissed for a week or so after a "breakup."

[visionofvoid]

How the Drivers React to Seeing/Meeting You For the First Time - Part Two

George Russell:

“They’ll let anyone in here.” Lewis joked to an unknown woman beside George as they walked through the hall to make it to a strategic meeting and expectations on the track for the new year. Lewis was a legend in the game, quite literally a world champion though they needed to work harder if they wanted to earn Mercedes the title of Constructors Champion and get points for the new season. George? He was still newish, he was still trying to navigate his way through his role, especially when his teammate was the one and only Lewis Hamilton. 

“Lewis!” The girl seemed as if she was full of energy, Toto nodding at his two drivers in acknowledgement before looking back to the strange woman, a fond look on his face. “It’s been so long!” She had a slight accent, reminiscent of Toto’s. She seemed warm, like she cared to make a positive impact with everyone she had ever met. She had this radiant energy that George felt drawn to, and he wasn’t too sure how to feel about that given she was a stranger to him. 

“Well maybe if you visited your father more.” Toto jokes, the girl rolling her eyes as Lewis chuckled and embraced her.  

“Father?”

“Ah yes, you must be George. I’m Olive, Olive Wolff.”

Valtteri Bottas:

Tiffany Cromwell and Valtteri Bottas were a well known couple in the Formula One world, so, when the two decided to end their relationship everyone was shocked. It was rather amicable but Valtteri spent a lot of his free time healing, beginning to get used to being alone, and starting to fall in love with himself more. The two had remained close friends; nothing would ever change the love the two shared for one another, they just wished for different things in their lives and that was normal, that was okay. So, when Valtteri decided he wanted to put himself out there again, he called on for some advice from the closest female he knew that wasn’t family; Tiffany. 

Valtteri stood on the podium, his first P3 of the season in the third race of the season and he felt absolutely over the moon. He was in a new car in a new team and was just thrilled. He felt as if there was some luck out there for him, someone there to cheer him on. After all the interviews and the post race press conference he finally had some time to celebrate with his friends, team and everyone that worked behind the scenes and other celebrities that were in the city. 

“Valtteri!” The Finnish man turned, hearing the familiar feminine voice over all the others as he walked into the bar. Tiffany, with a drink in her hand, bounced on her feet towards Valtteri, leaving a friend awkwardly standing to herself. She embraced him, clearly a couple of drinks deep but excited to see him nonetheless. He chuckled as she pulled away, a pink flush on her cheeks. “I’m here to set you up with my girlfriend! You’ll love her!” He turned to the female that was making her way over, her cheeks also flushed but from the embarrassment of Tiffany’s statement. Valtteri noticed she was wearing a casual dress, not overly dressed up like everyone else in the bar. Just comfortable, though she still looked gorgeous, that much he knew. 

“I’m so sorry! I tried to get some water into her.” The friend apologised, taking the drink Tiffany was waving around out of her hand. “I’m not some groupie, by the way. Tiffany has made it her mission to find me someone. God, that makes me sound so desperate!” Her cheeks continued to flush a rosy colour, even under the dim lighting of the bar. Valtteri had he fair share of women clinging onto him for their five seconds of fame but this a thousand times different. “We were there, cheering you on. Though I must confess I wasn’t too sure what was happening. Tiffany, come on, everyone wants to say hello to hi-” Tiffany rolled her eyes, taking the drink back. 

“May I buy you a drink?” Valtteri chuckled at the duo, interrupting the woman’s nervous but rather cut rambling.

“Yes, of course she wants a drink, Bottas.”

Mick Schumacher:

To Whom it May Concern

Mick rose an eyebrow as he sorted through his mail, spotting a handwritten note. He didn’t believe it to be fan mail as it all got sent to another location that he picked up on a fortnightly basis and he kept his private life and address very out of the limelight, so he continued reading.

I am your new next door neighbour. My name is Josephine Kruger, I have all the horses you can probably see shitting in the field. I’m writing this note to apologise in advance if you hear my new pup barking at night or if he gets out into your property, the bastard is an escape artist. 

Here is my number if Nigel (the dog, a black labrador) gets out and wanders onto your property. I’m working on it. 

Apologies in advance.

Mick chuckled at the note before leaving it on the bench to sort through the rest of his mail. He made himself busy around the house before he decided to take some trash out to the bins, opening the door to see a black labrador puppy sitting on the top step, his tail wagging happily. His tongue hung out his mouth sloppily and his ears looked much too large for his head. He still had a lot of growing to do. Mick chuckled as he bent down, holding out his hand for the pup to sniff before he deemed Mick safe enough to jump up, asking for pets and scratches. 

Mick didn’t have pets of his own, especially when he travelled so much for work so he embraced the love he was receiving from the pup, picking him up. Nigel looked minuscule in his arms, twisting around so he was on his back, his paws in the hair and his tongue, once again, hanging out of his mouth. 

“Nigel? Oh goodness!” Mick looked up as he heard frantic yelling, the female presumably his new next door neighbour that he was yet to meet. He walked down the steps, looking down at Nigel whose ears seemed to perk up when he heard his name called by his owner. 

“Let’s go find your human.” Mick mumbled, walking down the path that led to his horseshoe shaped driveway, the sound of shoes hitting the pebbled driveway, coming closer with every second. Mick glanced up as he saw the figure of Josephine round the corner, her hair up in a rather messy bun that looked more like a mushroom cloud than anything else. She had a helmet in one hand and a leash in the other. 

“Nigel! God, I am so sorry!” Josephine was embarrassed to say the least. Her next door neighbour was gorgeous and here she was in a pair of riding boots, a dirty shirt and shorts with sweat dripping off her, running after her escape artist dog. “I cannot apologise enough.” Nigel almost seemed as if he was ignoring his owner, turning in Mick’s arms and hiding his face in the gap between his arm and chest. 

“No, no! It’s not a problem, honestly. He’s welcome here anytime. I’m Mick, I’m not home much.”

“I’m Josephine. I’m home too much.”

Pierre Gasly:

You've got a new match!

Serena looked at the notification on her phone, sliding it open to see what new man she had matched with now. She was in sunny Australia, having just finished an extra credit trip to help assist Indigenous Australian elders, archeologists and anthropologists in rural Victoria unearth the remains of a small family or tribe and now she was in a hotel in Melbourne flying out back to gloomy England in two days time. She had some steam she needed to blow off. 

She scrolled through the profile, noticing that the man she matched with was not from Australia which was perfect because it made one night stands just that much easier. His photos consisted of him in what looked as if to be luxurious sports cars, with his friends drinking wine in fancy restaurants and lots of motorsport pictures, not that she cared about the sport in the slightest. His profile had no other bio except for ‘In Melbourne for the weekend’. So, she bit the bullet and sent a message. 

How far away from the Pullman Hotel in Albert Park are you?

She waited no more than a few minutes to get a response. 

Pierre weighed up all his options before coming to his final decision. She could be a massive fan girl for all he knew, but then she could also be someone that was oblivious to who he was. She was stunning, that much he could tell from the photos. She didn’t appear to edit them at all. They were mainly images of her with what he assumed to be her dogs, her family and friends and photos of her travelling. He would be happy to spend a few hours with her. Quickly googling the hotel he found that he was only a five minute walk away. 

Five minute walk, give or take. 

I’m room 412. Message me when you get here.

Say less, Pierre thought. 

Kevin Magnussen:

After three seasons away, Nico Hulkenberg was back driving for Haas alongside former rival, Kevin Magnussen. It also meant it was three seasons since Nico’s younger sister was at a Grand Prix and back behind the scenes helping her brother. She was last to be introduced to everyone, this time as someone on Nico’s PR team rather than his little sister, and she was the last to formally meet Kevin.

The two had both undertaken a number of changes since the last time they were at the same event. Kevin was now divorced, a devoted father and now a close friend with his teammate, Nico. Lena was now a university graduate, just getting over a heartbreak from a stupid boy and was much more mature, both in her mannerisms and in her appearance. She seemed like a whole other person, at least to Kevin. 

“I look forward to working alongside the team, alongside Guenther, the engineers, the event planners, the mechanics, everyone. Thank you, Nico, for this opportunity and Kevin?” Kevin looked up from his beer, offering a sly smirk to Lena as she stared down at him. She looked ravenous and it was dangerous that the sole purpose of this dinner was to celebrate the start of a new season with an open bar. God, the things he wanted to do to her. He nodded, waiting for her response. “If you get into another PR nightmare like in 2017 with Nico, respectfully, suck my balls.” She sent him a wink that was enough to make Kevin feel hot, slightly turned on. Guenther let out a roar of laughter, everyone holding up their drinks to cheer. 

He was in for a long night.

[psu-misc]

Truth or Dare!

TRUTH

What’s your biggest regret to date?

Which PSU couple do you think can go the distance?

Which PSU couple do you think is most likely to break up?

Who is someone you’d like to get closer to in the new year?

What advice would you give to your younger self?

What’s something that you need to work on?

Are you a good person?

Would you rather cross a bridge or burn it?

How many hearts do you think you’ve broken?

How many times has your heart been broken?

Who, at PSU, would you like to kiss?

If you could be a part of another PSU family, which would it be and why?

Have you ever stolen something from a friend’s house?

What’s a skill you’ve always wanted to learn, but haven’t?

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

DARE

Tell _______ how you really feel about them.

Tell _______ where you see them in five years.

Text each of your exes and tell them something kind.

Text your current crush something that they need to work on.

Give a personalized insult to _______.

Tell _______ a secret that you haven’t shared with anyone else.

Text someone in your phone contacts and try to flirt with them.

Send a nude to ______.

Post an extremely unflattering picture of yourself to the social media outlet of your choosing.

Text “I love you” to someone already in a relationship.

Take _______ out on a date.

Add all of your exes into a group chat and ask what went wrong.

Post your last 5 Google searches.

Make a post on social media professing your love for ________.

Scroll through your phone contacts and stop on one at random; call them and make animal noises with no explanation.

Feel free to reblog this on as many characters as you'd like; if you do, please be sure to send asks to others so we can all participate in the fun!

[shealynn88]

I saw some writing advice from Roald Dahl and one of the items was this:

You should be able to write well. By that I mean you should be able to make a scene come alive in a readers mind. Not everybody has this ability. It’s a gift, and you either have it or you don't.

I don’t think it’s a matter of inborn talent at all. Language is LEARNED. If you can feel it, you can learn to express it. We can’t all be insert your favorite author here, but we can learn to express ourselves in a way that is satisfying to us.

If you feel like you struggle bringing a scene to life, here are some things to try:

1. Read a lot. Not just one thing. Read lots of things. Fiction. Non fiction. Old books. New books. Writers of different nationalities, native languages, writing styles, backgrounds. Not just fanfic, not just books published by the big five. Read poetry, it uses language in completely different ways. Don’t like poetry? I’ll bet there’s a poet somewhere you’re going to love.

2. Talk to writers you trust about how they do what they do. Most writers here on tumblr are glad to share their methods and thought processes. Send a nice ask and see what you get. Find friends (not via tumblr asks—try discord or a writers’ group) who write in a way you love and ask for their feedback. It’s common in fanfic feedback not to provide deep constructive criticism. Ask for it. Talk through the scenes you’re not happy with and break them down together.

3. Look at articles and tips on active sentence structure. Try to move toward active language. There’s lots of specific ‘how to write better’ advice, I won’t cover that here.

4. Practice. Still life descriptions are a good way to do this. Describe one thing, one person, and really dig in.

5. Write for fun. Maybe journal. Not for anyone else, just for you. Free associate. Find weird, fun turns of phrase. Describe things using words that start with P. Play. Getting better takes effort, but it should still be fun. Every exercise should be enjoyable.

6. Ignore unsolicited criticism. You cannot please everyone. You shouldn’t! We’re all different, looking for different things. If some people like it and some don’t, congratulations! You’re doing it just right! It’s one thing to take advice from people you trust and whose writing you like. It’s another entirely to try to please a troll.

7. Keep writing. ❤️❤️❤️

[requiemsystem]

HOW I COPE WITH PSYCHOSIS AS A PSYCHOSIS HOLDER IN A DID SYSTEM

DISCLAIMER: you do not have to have DID as well to use this advice. i'm just sharing my experience as someone who has both a psychotic disorder and DID. i am not a professional, this is all based on what helps me. COPING WITH HALLUCINATIONS distractions. can be anything, i prefer sensory-based distractions. listening to music is personally one of my favorite ones, as my hallucinations tend to be auditory. find whatever works for you and go with that. reminders. reminding yourself that it's just a hallucination and will pass. also reminding yourself that the things you hallucinate do not make you a bad person, if your hallucinations are especially distressing or tell you to do bad things. remind yourself that just because you may hear a voice say you have to do something, you still have the free will of choosing if you do it or not. i don't have much other advice for hallucinations, since i mostly deal with delusions, but if anyone else has something to add feel free. COPING WITH DELUSIONS reality checking. try looking at things from different perspectives, maybe ask a therapist or trusted friend for their opinion as well. think about if what is happening really seems plausible or not. chances are, this won't completely get rid of the delusion, but it may lessen the intensity for a bit. emotional validation. learn to validate the feelings without validating the belief. for example, i am having a thought that this is happening, and it is very scary for me. make sure to do this carefully, as to not feed into the delusion. distractions. similar to with hallucinations, distractions can be useful in coping with delusions as well. i especially like mental focused coping skills, such as listing all items that fit a specific category. they're very useful for making you think of something else actively. GENERAL COPING identify your triggers. this can be hard to do without therapy but try keeping track of your symptoms and see if they happen at a specific time. do they tend to happen when you are feeling down? how about when you are feeling up? do they happen more at a specific time of year or month or time of day? does a specific activity trigger them? try logging your symptoms along with what you were doing and how you were feeling at the time, you may be able to identify patterns over time. - undisclosed

[fanartalchemist]

Hell's Sheep AU

Amanda and Wooly

I do not know if I will ever write a story about this, but I can't get this concept out of my head. once called "#canines of the sheep", the idea of this AU is that Amanda and Wooly had their souls bonded with demons, but were freed from her world within the tapes. description and spoilers for Wooly's other forms.

both Amanda and Wooly are being raised by Riley until they finally expose Hamelin for their immoral experiments on people, including children. both have been through a lot in the tapes, but now they are out they can put their differences aside and make amends with one another. During this story, they take the time to bond while trying to find out what happened to Sam Tolton and fight back against Hamelin's other monsters created to take them back. They wanted Wooly more for reasons that were currently unknown. Maybe it has something to do with his demon (spoilers below).

His imp-like form stands about 5 feet tall, a foot taller than Amanda. the hellhound within partially possesses Wooly, manipulating only his emotions and thoughts. therefore, it is both wooly and the demon sharing one mind. the hellhound is instinctively aggressive, but a part of Wooly is caring and won't want to harm anyone but enemies of his friends. fighting back from its control is difficult, but not impossible. that is the case compared to his full demon form.

the demon is double the size of his imp-like form and has full control over Wooly's body. therefore, it's all demon and nothing left of wooly, or so It seems. it is a mighty beast with the strength of ten men and wool that can't burn. It is almost impossible to tame this beast, but it doesn't mean it can't be done.

That's all I got for this AU. if anyone has any advice on how I can expand the story, feel free to share.

[gutsby]

Guts you are a fucking insane writer and I'm so grateful we have you, like your works are absolutely incredible they are hot but also like lyrical.. so beautifully written.. you know? Thank you for sharing with us. do you have any advice for someone who has wanted to give writing fics as an outlet a try but feels like they're not creative or talented enough? Tips/tricks sorta thing? Love u madly deeply

FIRST, I LOVE YOU.

SECOND, thank you so much!!! I’m so so glad you enjoy my brainrot stories and I hope to keep them coming for y’all!! 🥹🩷🩷

THIRD, THAT’S SO EXCITING!!!! Fic writing (or any kind of creative writing, really) is the fucking best, and I’d be happy to share some tips!! Pick and choose whichever ones speak to you, but I hope these can be of some use 😩

No matter what you or anyone else says/thinks, YOU ARE CREATIVE AND TALENTED ENOUGH. Wherever your writing goes, whatever you choose to do with it, is enough. I know writing (and sharing your ideas) can seem daunting, but please don’t ever count yourself out of an opportunity just because you’re worried your work won’t be up to snuff!!

READREADREADREADREADREAD! READ!!! Not only fanfic, but flash fiction, short stories, novellas, novels, ANYTHING. I cannot overstate the importance of being an avid, active reader when it comes to improving your own writing. I sometimes struggle to find the time to read and write and work and live life, so I try to set reasonable goals. If nothing else, I read at least 5 pages per day of the book I’m reading, or I pick a short story and go with that. Lately I’ve been trying to expand the kinds of short stories I read, so I have a handful of websites to find what I like: (I’m on mobile so apologies if the formatting below is fucked 😭)

Project Gutenberg (good for finding classics and other popular stories)

The New Yorker (free 30-day trial and I think you get a few stories for free every month after ??)

Lightspeed (I’m not big on sci-fi/fantasy but trying to branch out!)

This loooooong list of literary magazines - not all are free, but many of them are

Write on the Tumblr app (or Notes). I may be one of the only freaks that does this, but I write every single one of my stories on mobile. I just prefer it to typing on a computer. It also may help with making the writing process seem less scary - at least for me, something I’m typing up on my phone doesn’t feel as “important” or intimidating as sitting down to stare at a blank computer screen or paper!

Find a beta reader/share with friends. I haven’t done this myself because I’m a PUSSY and still kinda scared to share my stories with people I know, but getting feedback from a semi-neutral third party can help improve your writing a ton! And also may be less scary than dropping your first fic to a whole online audience if you haven’t done it before !!

Follow whatever the fuck you feel inside at the moment and run. And run. And run. Seriously. I’ve heard this referred to as ‘pantsing’ (?), and it may not work for everyone, but I think some of my best stories came from a single dumbass idea (or even a line) that I let flow and grow and be whatever my brain wanted it to be. No planning or outlining. With ‘Cowboy Killers’ I just really, really, really wanted to use the line, “I’m gonna lay this motherfucker out” and have Reader throw a drink in Joel’s face, and that was it. No thoughts, just profanity and dumb, drunk antics. Don’t be afraid to start somewhere strange or random or really simple and build your story from there.

Speak your dialogue. Something that can be particularly tricky starting out is getting your dialogue to sound like real people are speaking it. You can have characters pontificating and waxing poetic all day long, but the truth is that most of us don’t talk in super long, flowery monologues. We use slang and sentence fragments and sometimes totally nonsensical sayings, and we struggle to find our words. Feature those things in your dialogue, and it should sound more natural, especially when you’re saying it out loud to yourself while you write.

I think this tip is from Stephen King (whose book on writing, cleverly titled On Writing, has some fantastic insight if you want more tips), but when it comes to picking an ending for your story, don’t go with the first one you think of. Odds are your reader is going to be thinking the same thing as you, and it’s nice to give them a little surprise if you can ;-)

There are SO many more pieces of advice you’ll glean over the years—just be patient with this process and with yourself and try to have fun with it!!! Alright shutting the fuck up now I hope this was helpful! Best of luck with your writing!!! 🫶🏼🩷🩷