#like what are the factors that make it worse some days and like fine others

[baby-prophet]

made the mistake of drinking coffeee and now my blood is bees. im a wind up toy being held in place and i might be dying help.

[adore-gregor]

my perception of grades totally changed since i started uni

[tiny-pun]

On writing pain

Okay so for once this isn’t an actual prompt but more so a tip:

If your character is supposedly in pain that lasts more than a couple of days or even weeks and months, eg. Because of a bigger wound or of a (new) disability… you most likely should show this in more ways than just the occasional “gasp and clutching the wound”!

Having such constant pain will have at least some kind of emotional impact: the stress of constantly being in pain, the constant push and pull between just succumbing to the pain and laying down until it goes away or just ignoring it and powering through. The balancing act of not overdoing it and being hypervigilant to the point you just hunch down to avoid worsening it.

Additionally you have to think about how to treat all of the different pains. How connected are they really? How much sense does it actually make to take pain meds ? Are there enough? Do I trust my doctor/s, to actually listen to me and take my pain seriously? Am I over exaggerating my pain? Am I underselling it? Am I annoying my doctor? Should I just wait and hope it goes away? It’s probably nothing anyway. But what if it’s so much worse ? What if this pain is just covering up something truly awful? But what if I’m making such a fuss now and tomorrow I can jump around like always? How unnecessary it would be to get so many people involved. Right ? This is especially hindered by poor use of words aka incapability to communicate. ( My head is just … kinda fuzzy?/Everything hurts?)

Another factor is how much they want to openly tell others about it. And whom they could possibly even tell and all the whys and hows surrounding it. And how hard it would be aka how long they’ve know each other and how much time they spent together. The hiding and lying adds more emotional stress and also possibly leads to neglect of any medical help. The “overt” complaining about the pain/situation can be exhausting and thus a different kind of stress. Especially if they’re feeling childish/unheard or otherwise ashamed about voicing anything but positive emotions but the pain is just too much and too consistent.

This can also lead to a constant comparison of how far into their recovery they “statistically already should be” or just the plain old “I could do xyz SO EASILY before”. Or worse: they’re comparing themselves to another (equally) wounded/disabled character. Wether it’s an internal belief or externally expected: if the character believes, that their wound/pain is comparably minor or should be easily overcome by themselves; and especially if they have a certain goal in mind, by which they should be back to their regular power and it’s not look in good … well then you certainly have a nice cocktail of stress and anxiety.

And if during the time of their supposed recovery, they end up getting some minor but more common sickness, eg. A cold or a stomach bug, it might not be their first thought. In fact they might do any and every test possible BUT think of the common cold. Not bc they’re necessarily stupid but bc of the fear, things might go to hell after all. Especially if the symptoms of both illnesses are similar enough. Anything else will just not be in their radar.

Also how would they like to be taken care of ? How much of that is a facade to please others ? Do they actually want to be hugged right now or are they just trying to please someone yet feeling suffocated? Do they just want their dead siblings soup and is a companionable silence enough to know they’re gonna be fine? How honest are they towards not only themselves but to others? And how much can the people and the situation itself even give that to them right now? (Do they need silence but they’re currently lying low in the city’s biggest hotel next to the market place?)

For all of this it doesn’t matter how big or small the pain actually is. What matters is that it is seemingly constant and only very slowly going away. The combination of constant physical pain with so much emotional turmoil and back and forth between opposing ideals aka stress can translate to even more physical pain aka psychosomatic pain. Headaches, breathlessness and even bigger issues such as literal heartaches can be the result.

This all can lead to spiralling and in the worst case a (temporary) depression. I dont think I have to explain how that could look like.

And one last thing: If the character is used to being in life or death situations, no matter if it’s due to multiple fights or an already existing disability: the common cold might be worse to deal with. They could be so used to dealing with the possibility of death that anything less than that is ironically unbearable. During a basically fatal stabbing they might just say a cheeky joke but freak out during the common cold.

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. If you have the same pain for more than 6 week pls get it checked out if you can! And get well soon. These are just possible ways to write, what kind of thoughts and issues any type of constant pain (fatal or not) could cause.

[tossawary]

Regarding "The Hobbit" film trilogy, even if I ended up personally disliking and resenting how much time and focus the elf characters (and others) ended up taking away from the dwarves whom I think deserved more focus as rich internal characters (I know that studio pressures are a factor in that terrible love triangle and so on), I still... vaguely appreciate the effort to create and include named female characters like Tauriel, when the book is sadly lacking in them. I think she's fine, actually. Comparatively, there are many other elements in these adaptations that I think are much, MUCH worse.

But still, if you want to add female characters to this story, the obvious answer to me seems to be to just make half the Company into dwarf women? (With similarly fancy beards and other facial hair! Because I think that's fun.) It's just... so much easier?

Do NOT come at me with that "dwarf women are rare" bullshit. Unreliable narration. Logistically unlikely. Also, if you believe that "men are the warriors and craftsmen, the women stay at home" is how dwarf society strictly functions (boring, honestly, on top of being incredibly sexist), I could argue that the Battle of Azanulbizar and other struggles probably left a significant dent in this dwarf group's male population, leaving behind many widows and mothers without children to pick up the work. The battlefields have come to and TAKEN both Erebor and Moria from the dwarves. I see no good reason why dwarf women would not have equal investment in reclaiming their home and the gold. Many of the Company are not presented to be formally trained warriors, anyway.

Now, ideally, we could do way queerer stuff in terms of both romance and gender here, but we know cowards with veto powers would not let this happen. Still, I feel like basic genderbending would have been a very doable move and is, actually, a very reasonable ask of an adaptation that would have added some depth to the story even if you didn't acknowledge the change at all.

Like, preferably, this would be an adaptational change that would be directly addressed. Maybe all of the Company appear male at first due to traveling that way (and assumptions made by humans and hobbits), then Bilbo might learn that some of the Company are dwarf women when he becomes closer to all of them. We could have a brief scene acknowledging that dwarf women are fighting these battles for their pasts and their futures too. It doesn't have to be a big thing! They can just be there. Existing. Participating.

I even think it would be fun if two of the dwarves were actually an older married couple traveling together, instead of brothers or cousins, because loving married bickering and battle couples are fun. You can have running jokes in the background about how Smaug's invasion ruined their wedding day, and going back and forth with "you never take me anywhere nice" @ each other whenever they're stuck in Goblintown or the Mirkwood dungeons. (I like seeing good marriages & partnerships in fiction and established couples going on fantasy quests together. I just think it's neat.)

But another (sillier) direction is that you could just cast some actresses in beards to play some of the dwarves, then leave the fact that some of these characters are probably dwarf women (traveling as men) as a fun detail for the audience. Bilbo is either too oblivious to notice or much too polite to bring it up at all. It's canonically compliant to the text this way!

Now, obviously some few people would have complained that Tolkien's work was being ruined by "political correctness", but they complained anyway about Tauriel (when there are MANY other bad choices in these movies), and what worthwhile arguments could they have possibly made against genderbending some of the THIRTEEN dwarves? Like, most casual fans I know cannot NAME the entire Company, who get so little character development in the book that the films had to come up with unique designs and backgrounds for most of them anyway. Bro (directed towards someone objecting to the idea of including female dwarves), be real, there's no way that you honestly cared this much about "Nori the Dwarf" before right now.

[leggerefiore]

I've been forced to push myself too much at work and now I'm sick and exhausted 😩 can I request the dead inside trio and submas comforting a sick/overworked s/o??

I struggled a lot with this one so it's probably not my best

cw: stress, comfort, mentions of fainting in some parts

character: Ingo, Emmet, Nanu, Cyrus, Larry

▲Ingo▼

● His immediate thought is to scold you after you basically collapsed from overwork. As your emergency contact, he was naturally the one they called when it occurred. When you declared yourself fine, if not just a bit tired, he helped get you back home to rest. Your work had so kindly given you a few days off work to recuperate, seemingly horrified at the thought they were quite literally working you ragged. So, as you lay in bed at home, Ingo also took opted to take a few days off to help you relax, too. His worrying would have made doing his normal work next to impossible, he knew. Emmet was more than happy to give him the time, anyway, knowing how badly he often overworked himself, too. It may have felt a bit hypocritical when Ingo chided you for letting yourself be worked like that, but it was a sign of his genuine care. He was in an absolute panic when he got the call about your collapse and could not have gotten off the battle line any sooner.

● Ingo will make you rest. There will be no chores or anything done until you had at least a day or two of unwinding. At best, you can convince him to help him as he handles the chores. At worst, he chases you away from even something as simple as folding towels. He does not want you to further exhaust yourself – The image of you suddenly collapsing now burned into his mind. Why your work thought it was okay to treat you like this until the very extremes was beyond him. He certainly would never do that to his employees. That could endanger the lives of so many for little return. He bites his lip as he knows you will not want the offer to work under him. It was wrong for him to consider nepotism there, even when it came from genuine concern for you.

● Instead, he focuses that energy into doting on you. Ingo dutifully makes many dishes that you like simply so you keep up with meals, worries that it may have also been a factor in some way. Any hobbies you have are also brought up and engaged if it suits you. He also spends plenty of time just cuddled up with you and reminding you how much he does truly love you. Part of his behaviour is like an overbearing mother. This has shocked him horribly, and he now completely understands how you feel when he overworks himself. Internally, he makes a promise to never do that to himself again if you feel this horrible concern as he does. In the end, you will feel well rested and stress-free. Ingo works tirelessly to make it so. You both make a promise to not let the other do that to themself any more.

▽Emmet△

○ The younger twin notices the telltale signs of your behaviour and feels a mild annoyance. Nothing really bad, just a thought that you and Ingo were acting for too similarly for his liking. He is certain to stop you before it becomes bad. A bright smile on his lips as he tells you to demand time off work. He feels you need at least a day to gather yourself, but he knows more would be better here. No matter what, he would panic if you got worse. Emmet is bad at expressing his worry, and he may just actually go into your job, ask for you, pick you up, and carry you away. He is just impossibly worried. Ingo is bad enough… The thought of you in such a state is enough to make him start being more aggressive in his battles. When you finally do get that time off, he finally eases him up on people to a point where it is noticeable and debated among Depot Agents.

○ Emmet instantly takes off time alongside you. He is so worried about you and wants to make sure that you actually relax on your time off. His mind thinks about a time he forced Ingo to take a day off and came home to find him having cleaned their shared apartment. He does not want something similar to occur here. Any household chores and needs can be handled by him. He will not pretend like he enjoys doing them particularly, but making sure that you are resting his highest priority. There is something oddly endearing about the younger twin dutifully washing dishes while you lay out on the couch cuddling with his Galvantula (who he asked to keep you busy). Seeing you unwind makes him feel immense relief, truthfully. The poor man was nearly really about to physically drag you from your work to make you relax.

○ He gets take out from any place you want in an attempt to make sure you are getting proper meals and not having to stress yourself with even minor cooking. He internally knows he is being a bit ridiculous there, but he has scared himself too much. His cooking skills are lacking, and he is a bit terrified of somehow accidentally poisoning you. Joltik cuddle time is assured also. He figures the little bugs have some energy to spare with you, and time spent with some cute things might reinvigorate your exhausted mind. Emmet cuddle time happens as well. He is almost constantly all over you since he is just so worried. There will be no escaping his affection. (Unless you tell him you cannot relax with him clinging to you. In which he will pout but relent.) You have to promise him that you will not let this happen so badly again. You and Ingo will make him “was Emmet” instead at this rate.

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 He notices when you start overworking yourself and throws out a helpful remark about not doing that. Nanu knows there is not a lot you can really do – especially if it's work making you like this. At best, he can tell you about standing your ground, but he knows boundaries will not always be respected. He does feel a bit frustrated seeing you like that despite it all. His indifferent facade melts away, especially after you end up having bad exhaustion spells. It is then that he helps you schedule time off since you clearly need it. He has seen some people collapse from exhaustion back in his International Police days, so he refuses to let you get to that point. And, admittedly, he used to be guilty of overworking, too. Obviously, not these days, but he still remembers.

🌑 Your time off is spent strictly away from anything that might be too much. Nanu cannot really stop you, in truth, should you want to, though. Mostly, he just asks that you let yourself relax and forget about any obligations for at least a day if they are not overly important. It is hard to deny the old man such a request. Besides, his Meowths are clearly ready to lounge around with you. How could you say no to some lazy times with the kitties? You really cannot decline when one opts to curl up on your lap and sleeps so peacefully while purring. (Nanu sent them after you, wanting to make sure you had a little time off your feet.) The Kahuna opts to handle a few things around the home to keep them off your mind, too. There is something a little sweet about catching the old man folding laundry and glancing at you reading on the couch.

🌑 He also goes out of his way to subtly do numerous things for you to help you recover. Casually, he will pick up takeout for you to eat or even try to bravely cook you something of edible quality. There is something nice about simply sharing a meal with you and helping you relax. Usually, you end up lounging out on the couch, watching some show half-heartedly. His arm rests around your shoulder as he pulls you close to him. Red eyes drift, to you leaning against him, and a sigh leaves him. He was ready to do everything you wanted, honestly. You could ask him to juggle, and after his initial deadpan, he may just try. You agree to be more careful next time in the end, seeing how genuinely concerned that Kahuna was for you.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ He fails to notice at first – Something that will bother him immensely for far longer than he will ever admit. The blue-haired man usually does keep a close eye on you, as he is distantly aware that he worries about you far too much. Yet here, where he felt it most important, he had failed. You had fainted at work from sheer exhaustion, and he had been called as your emergency contact. Mortification was the only thing he could feel while rushing over to get you. Whatever harsh words that he used to hit your workplace with about being so negligent were swallowed as he instead confirmed that you were otherwise alright. Thankfully, they gave you a few days off in response to such a grievous situation. Or, perhaps, it was due to Cyrus's terrifying expression as he helped you up.

☄️ Whatever hypocritical nature may be present as he scolds you about taking adequate breaks and pacing yourself with work completely goes over his head. Even attempting to bring it up will make him insist that it is different from what he is doing. (In a sense, it is.) He also bars you from doing any housework. Cyrus has no reservations about doing them anyway— It is almost relaxing to him in a way. (Once again, chiding him back for overworking will not lead to realisation.) There is even an offer to book you some kind of spa or massage appointment to help you further relax. He would admit to having gone to a few himself during more light moments of stress. Cyrus would take off the day following you passing out, but not really anymore. Though, he does check in on you throughout the day. If you do take the spa offer, however, he may join you. Free Cyrus date at the cost of your mental and physical health.

☄️ Most of his real effort is far subtler. He is not inexperienced in cooking and will take over that while you recover. Most of the meals are more basic, but there is a surprise attempt at making something he knows that you like. It is not half bad. He also seems to come home more regularly, wanting to make sure that everything is going well and that your condition is not worsening. This means more time to spend with him. While he usually opts to focus on home upkeep, if you ask for some physical affection, he will relent to it. Your comfort matters most to him as it stands. He honestly is willing to do many things he otherwise would refuse normally simply to make you happy. (If he was even in the middle of his plans, he might be willing to drop them if it seems like they would stress you out even more.) In the end, you do make the decision not to overwork yourself because Cyrus obvious worry is a rare thing, and it made it clear that what you were doing was too much.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 He does not notice. There is a large amount of shame in failing to notice this happening, yet his work simply keeps him too tired to really give anything his full attention. Sure, he had seen the signs, but he had thought it was mostly him projecting. Then, you suddenly had intense fatigue at work and had to call him to come pick you up. He was mortified when he recognised you symptoms as so familiar to him. This was a common thing he experienced, admittedly. Walking you home, he asked you to schedule a few days off if possible. He knew it was a lead into a fainting episode or extreme burnout. Both of which he thought were best to avoid. He knew how difficult management could be, but he was far too worried about you. There was some relief that it got approved quickly soon after.

🍙 He struggles to really know what to do to relax. Whenever he gets himself into such a state, he usually sleeps for a few days until he has to return to work. Whether you wanted to do that or not was beyond him, but he does mention it. There is some mention of how to better manage a workload between you both, but it is a struggle for him, too. How you kept going on so long like that was truly not within his range of comprehension. Larry opts to aid you by covering house chores and doing other various things for you. He could not get any time off to join you himself, but he works to avoid overtime, so you have him around more. His Staraptor seems to decide to keep an eye on you, too, when he is home. The bird cawing whenever you tried to do anything more intense than putting dishes in a dishwasher. It seemed that if it could not stop its trainer from stressing himself, it would stop you.

🍙 Larry is not only coming home more often, but he tries to be more engaging with you when at home. Casual check-ins on you become more common since he does not want to fail to notice anything going on with again. Lazy affection is also common. You both often end up lounging on the couch together, forgetting whatever woes had been bothering you. He frequently calls ahead before he comes home, too, to ask about what food you want. He is certainly no cook, but he does know the best restaurants in Medali. You will whatever food you desire. Larry does not care if he ends up having to visit Kofu to get it. He also discusses the situations vaguely a bit with you and gives you more experienced advice on how to handle situations at work to make life more bearable. In the end, you return back to work better equipped to advocate for yourself, and be more mindful of your workload. Larry is relieved.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Three

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: Another update this week?? I'm as shocked as anyone else, but hopefully this one will make up a little for the last! It's longer and a little less, um, idk, I can't say emotional?? because that would be a lie:/ Still, there are some developments! Also, it'll make sense a lot later but the 2nd image and the use of a Ride song are used in this one!

Hope you enjoy! Also thank you for all the love on this current series, it means a whole lot and keeps me writing xx

Warnings: similar to that of the last post! so pls look back there if you'd like to know!:)

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

“I said no.”

Stressed was a feeling beyond words at this point. The past couple of days all I’d had was press hounding at me, calling and texting, emailing at all hours of the fucking day. They wouldn’t let up, even after I’d stayed silent. Adi reckoned it was mostly down to Teddy’s involvement in the whole thing. I didn’t want to think much more about it, although I knew she wasn’t wrong.

“Give me a reason at least?"

I shot a scathing glare over my shoulder before turning back to the filing system I’d taken to reorganising. It was my first morning back at the studio since... yeah, well Finn had Teddy- another factor to my current load of stress- whilst Adi was off doing something or other. I hadn’t asked, fearful of putting more of a strain on her current friendship- relationship??- with Ross, so instead I’d just chosen to tidy and rearrange the entire setup we had going on here. Because that was perfectly normal. And not a fucking way to evade talking or thinking about the mess that was my life. Okay?

“I don’t need a fucking reason, I just don’t want to.” I retorted, hissing slightly when I suddenly cut my thumb on the edge of a document. I withdrew my hand quickly and raised it towards my mouth, letting my eyes slip close for a moment when I heard a footfall step closer.

“Let me see.” Jamie sighed, probably thinking I’d done something worse to my hand than just a papercut. To be fair, the cabinet was old. One of them filing types from the ninety’s that we’d gotten for a score down at some boot sale, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of us did eventually end up losing an arm.

I shook my head and pushed the cabinet drawer closed, “It’s fine, just a papercut.”

Jamie huffed an amused chuckle before settling down on the edge of the desk nearby. It was Adi’s, you could tell from the sheer amount of shit she had accumulating it.

“One thing after another with you.”

My head tilted towards him with a deadened expression, “Ha ha.”

The older man raised his hands up in a mocking surrender, showing he hadn’t meant any real harm. “Too soon?”

I kicked at the toe of the leather boots he wore in retort as I moved towards the kitchenette, aware that he was just trying to lighten my horrendous mood but not really in the right mind for it. 

“You want a brew?” I asked, not bothering to give him an honest reply to that question of his. Too soon? Yes, that was all too fucking true.

“Have a coffee if there’s one going.”

I dipped my head in a slight nod, filling the kettle and setting it to boil before snagging the coffee often reserved for guests on the show from a shelf nearby.

Jamie moved to better face me on Adi’s desk as I did so, wearing that same expression he’d turned up in, all concerned and weary. It bothered me a bit, seeing as though it was all I had garnered since the press had had their field day with my life, but I could also understand why. They all just seemed to feel for the idiot stupid enough to fall into another of Matty Healy’s traps.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” He wondered around a light chortle at my demand, hands falling to rest between his thighs.

I gestured towards his face whilst I poured a splash of milk into my mug, “Looking at me like that, like I’m gonna break or something.”

With a sigh, he pressed his lips together. “You know it’s not like that.” I rolled my eyes in return but he just bounded on, “You know it’s not, I just care is all.”

I forced out a breathless chuckle, “That why you’re here trying to get me to hear him out then?”

To be fair to him, Jamie had come right out with it when he’d first popped by, having messaged me asking after my whereabouts earlier this morning. I’d told him, having spoken to him quite a bit over the last couple days, and then found him on the doorstep. 

Jamie had been good with everything. He’d let me vent, rally against one of his friends and clients, question his own motives- and hadn’t even complained one bit. But now he was here asking me to give Matty a chance, a lot like he’d done that first time around in that small cafe all those months ago.

“I know you’re angry, you have every right to be.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry!” I immediately shot back at him, the rattle of the teaspoon ringing out as I dropped it into a mug, “I wouldn’t care if it had just been me he’d gone and fucked over! But he brought Teddy into this shit, Jamie. My son! So tell me, how am I supposed to hear him out after he’s done something like that and then lied about it? For weeks, mind you.”

Jamie looked back at me, wearing that ‘this meant business’ mug of his. I slumped at the sight, pressing my knee against one of the lower cabinets to continue stirring the drinks. I didn’t care, I didn’t care, I didn’t care.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mouse.”

My eyes slipped closed at his words and I took a second to just breathe. Because I wasn’t angry, not really. I was hurt and humiliated, and just so fucking sad. Fed up with it all, if I was being honest. Enough so that I knew that Jamie was being truthful here- and not just because it was a fact that I hadn’t spoken to Matty since things had fallen apart, but also because I hadn’t had the heart to ask Teddy about things yet. Or if ever.

The kid was four. Four, and asking after a man every night before he fell asleep and then as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning.

He knew something was up, he was smart like that. But what was I meant to do- to say? When I was just as confused as he was.

I’d ended up leaving him with Finn today, having had no other choice in the situation because the nursery was closed for an inset day, or some shite like that, and it seemed I had no other friends than the few around me. 

Could quite literally count the lot of them on one hand. 

But still, Finn and I’s relationship had still been rather rocky after that whole incident with him and Matty, and hadn’t improved since. In fact, he’d been a little unbearable about everything, always one to toot his own horn whenever he was right about something. But it was always slyly and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was a constant dig, like even when he wasn’t commenting on it he was still thinking it whenever he looked at me.

Which felt so horrible to think, let alone say out loud. He was my best friend. So I’d kept my mouth shut and just dealt with it, like I did everything else in life.

“He’s messed up about it.” Jamie then spoke, his voice having startled me a tad, breaking me out of my musings. He was watching me again, only when he did it, it didn’t feel as condescending as everyone else's. Like he understood my position. And I guessed that he probably sort of did.

“I bet.” I scoffed quietly, an airy titter escaping through my nose, and then I turned to toss my teabag away.

“It’s true.” Jamie shrugged, then nodded in thanks when I pushed a coffee his way. “He’s been ‘round Ross’s ever since shit hit the fan, hasn’t left the flat. Driving the lot of us mad, but he’s torn up, Mouse.”

Tongue in cheek, I wrapped my hands around my cup and propped my hip up against the counter, staring into the still swirling liquid. “Serves him right, I guess.” I replied with a soft shrug of my own, though we both knew I didn’t quite mean it.

Jamie looked over towards one of the windows to the right, most of them were either way too long or too tiny for the space, an odd build, but this particular one gave way to the skyline lying over the remainder of the city. I often wondered what the lower levels might look out at, thinking it was probably the majority of the surrounding buildings, and couldn’t help but feel a little thankful that we’d managed to snag this unit.

When he glanced back over at me, I took a sip and let him speak.

“A lot went on, that much I know, and it’s your choice how you deal with it. But, I saw the two of you. I saw him change. Which is stupid to say, I know, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He was different with you, he actually tried in other aspects of his life and not just with the band and the music. He looked genuinely happy.” He smiled softly at the eye roll I gave, but it didn’t appear to deter him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you didn’t fucking cure him. Don’t work like that, does it? But you helped. You and Teddy both.”

I looked away then, back towards the window, unable to really help it, and instead allowed my eyes to trail over the clouds which powdered the dusty blue sky. 

“It was different. Things were different, and I know that there was love there. There couldn’t not have been. The way he looked at you…” Jamie shook his head ever so slightly as he breathed out, unaware of just how deeply his words had cut. But then he peered over at me and I found myself already looking back, air caught somewhere in the swell of my lungs. 

“Don’t.” I choked out, the grip on my mug having tightened tenfold. “Just,” I shook my head.

Jamie put his coffee down on the desk and moved to stand, hands raised to convey he wasn't a threat. “I’m not saying this to hurt you more, love. Just telling you how I saw it.”

I licked at my lower lip, casting my eyes downwards. Our silence stretched and all could be heard was the odd car horn and chirp from beyond the walls of the studio, until-

“Anyone here?”

I blinked back the tears which had started to well in my eyes and sniffed, head shooting up just in time to spot a familiar giant ducking their head under the beam of the doorway, limbs following right after.

George entered but then stopped short when he spotted his manager stood by me, and I laughed to myself at the way the pair of them seemed to eye one another, before stepping in, “Didn’t hear you ring the buzzer.”

Kind eyes darted over to find my soft smile then, welcoming him in, and so George finally moved in closer, laying the jacket he wore to rest over one of the armchairs.

“Yeah, someone was just leaving and let me in.” He answered my unasked question, shrugging as he added, “Dunno whether they recognised me or if they just let anyone up.”

“Probably the second,” Jamie piped up, seemingly having broken himself from his previous bout of surprise, “This lot ‘round here don’t give much of a shit about crap like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but was glad to have a reason to smile slightly. “Or they spotted the BFG making his way over and wanted to avoid pissing him off.”

Jamie cackled whilst George just shot me a narrow-eyed look, “Hilarious. That pot just boiled?” He asked me as he wandered over. I nodded in turn and moved to grab him a cup, only faltering when he lowered my hand with his own and shook his head. “I got it.”

I dipped my head slightly, blinking before taking a step back to let him work. He made a quick go of it, rummaging around the cupboards briefly to find what he needed and only asking for the spoon I still held for some odd reason when he was near done. 

Jamie appeared to have been watching him too, a calculating glaze to his eyes, and he chose that next moment to speak up, “How you been anyway, George? Not seen much of you lately.”

Something unspoken passed between them when George glanced over at him, but I couldn’t tell what.

“Good, busy.” Was what the taller decided on, throwing Jamie a quick smile when he crossed to toss his own teabag in the bin before settling on the counter to the left of me. “You?”

It almost sounded sarcastic, not how he said it but simply because he’d asked it at all, knowing everything that had recently occurred. It must have been a right nightmare for Jamie these last few days, what with him being the band’s main man.

Jamie just laughed though, goodnaturedly, though it was apparent that he was still trying to suss out what was going on, what with George’s sudden appearance. Seeing as I’d never once mentioned him to Jamie.

See, things with George had all started after that studio session Teddy had attended, followed by my wishing him a happy birthday just before Matty had gone and done what he did best. Wrecked it all.

Teddy had become all too smitten with the drummer since he’d first been introduced to the band and their many songs and music videos. He enjoyed the guitar he’d been gifted an awful lot, often playing with it and practising, but each time any sort of song played on the tele or the radio, or even in the car, it wasn’t hard to note the way Teddy instantly mimicked George’s swift movements, pretending to drum along to whatever beat heard. 

George had messaged me on Instagram later that same day, seeing as how apparently Teddy’s appearance at the studio had stuck with him, and asked after him a little. It seemed strange worded like that, but George reckoned that Teds had a real streak of a musicality about him, even as young as he was, and wanted to see if Teddy would be up for learning some more. 

Which had been a Godsend, honestly, what with how the next couple of days had gone down. I’d given him my number via dm just before the storm had started and then the afternoon that had followed the plethora of articles he’d called.

He’d asked how I was at first, almost consoling me in that easy way of his, so full of little words, which had been all too refreshing in truth.

I’d had texts and calls off of practically everyone I knew, even Ronan, the utter prick. And none had managed to soothe me quite like George’s had, seeing as the man had been there too. Not quite in my position, sure, but near enough. He’d even let a little of it slip when he’d popped on over that same day, bringing a bag of takeaway and a roll up drum mat as a gift for Teddy, who had been cooped up with me on the sofa for most of the afternoon. 

The two of them had bonded over it rather quickly, Teddy having been caught off guard by George’s sincerity almost as much as I had been. But then I'd found myself getting to know the drummer too and very much appreciating the unnecessary gesture he’d made for me, even with the pair of us not knowing one another as well as we could have.

I had no idea what was going on between him and Matty, I hadn’t had the balls to ask, but he’d mentioned he hadn’t heard much of anything from him since the night of his party, as well as the fact that his girlfriend, Charli, had been just as annoyed with everything that had gone down.

I knew he’d be stopping by at some point today, we’d made plans to get lunch once he’d heard I was back at the studio on my own, but not recording. I reckoned he was concerned and this was his way of showing it, but it was hard to tell with him most of the time seeing as he’d made it out as though I was doing him a favour here. An effort I came to find I much appreciated. 

“Work, you know how it is.” Jamie replied after a long pause. He was still standing in the same position he’d been in since George arrived, but seemed to move then, picking up what was left of his coffee and pouring what remained down the sink. “But I’d best be going, got a couple calls to make. You gonna be at the studio tomorrow?”

George hummed around his next sip, pulling away with only a dip of his chin. “Should be.”

Jamie smiled, nodding, “Good, I’ll let the rest of them know then.”

I caught George’s slight wince at that, though he didn’t protest his manager's comment. It made me wonder.

Jamie turned to me then, shucking on his jacket. I perked up, not having realised that he really was rushing to leave now. “Remember what I said, alright?”

I blinked, but then nodded. How could I forget? I wanted to ask, but instead said, “You don’t have to head out so quick.”

He sent me a reassuring grin as he flipped over the collar of his coat. “You won’t miss me much,” He then teased before roping me into a hug, “Weren’t lying when I said I had a couple calls though, so it’s best I get out of your hair whilst I still can.” 

I smiled softly at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle and nodded before following him over to the door, “Stay safe.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, all too used to my typical parting now, though amused by it all the same. “Can’t promise anything.” He retorted with a smirk, shuffling over the threshold whilst his eyes flickered back to where George still stood once more. “So, about before?”

I inhaled shakily, though Jamie didn’t seem to notice, fingering the pockets of his jacket in search of his mobile. “I’ll think about it.” I told him.

He flashed me a grin at that, pleased, then let his heel trail over to meet the top step of the metal grating. “Talk to you later then.”

I nodded and watched for a second as he descended the staircase, head bobbing down the first set before he turned and disappeared from view. Sliding back inside, I shut the door quietly behind me, taking a second to steel my nerves before facing the room again.

During that time, George had seemingly gone and made himself comfy on the settee, his mug settled on a coffee table coaster. I moved to join him after putting both mine and Jamie’s cups under the tap to rinse before just leaving them to soak.

George was fiddling with something when I sat down beside him but shuffled over a tad to allow me to get more comfortable, “So what was that about?” I questioned.

“With Jamie?” He asked and I nodded, even though I reckoned he already knew what I was on about. 

He shrugged slightly and I noted the way his finger trailed over a slip of folded paper, it was creased as though it had been played or fiddled with a dozen times too many. My brow seemed to furrow at the sight of it. 

“He tried phoning a few times but I’ve not been too keen on answering, learnt that I’ll just get dragged into the drama if I do.” George finally answered, and for some reason I felt a wad of guilt pool in my stomach upon hearing it, even though I hadn’t been the one to cause this mess.

Or maybe I was just kidding myself.

“Sorry.”

George huffed as he turned to peer over at me, elbows resting on the tops of his knees. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He told me and then gifted me a sweet smile, “None of this is on you. Just thought we were in the clear, you know?” He looked away at that and his smile dimmed into something smaller, almost sadder. “Figured I wouldn’t have to go dodging my mates calls anymore, or be roped into cleaning up everyone else’s messes.”

He reached a hand out to settle on my knee then, probably having noticed the way I was chewing on the insides of my cheek, or maybe the fact that my lip was now trembling. I’d never felt so shitty. So at fault for something I hadn’t really seen coming, nor could I prevent.

“Not your fault, remember?” He reiterated to me, squeezing my joint softly before pulling away. I sniffed before looking up at him with a tiny smile. 

“Promise I don’t usually cry this much. Just been a shitty week is all.” I told him, laughing pitifully as I toyed with the hem of the jumper I’d put on earlier that morning when I’d purposefully avoided the hoodie that had been left on my desk chair, as well as the cupboard full of clothes that didn’t belong to me.

I felt the settee dip slightly before I found him sitting right beside me, lifting an arm to wrap me up in a hug. His cheek came to rest on the side of my head and I felt my heart break that little bit more, because it reminded me that in a second, or two, I wouldn’t have that sense of protection he now offered, shielding me from the rest of the world.

“You’ve been put through the wringer.” George murmured and I had to laugh just a little bit, he laughed too, the sound of it reverberating through his chest to where my head rested. “Fucking cry if you want to, alright? No judgement here."

I spluttered a little on my next chuckle, smiling as I wiped at my eyes. George’s arm just tightened its hold by a fraction, as though he knew it would make things that little bit easier. We both sat there like that for a while, and I appreciated the fact that he was okay with a bit of quiet. That he didn’t run scared from it or try to start up an awkward conversation simply to fill it.

Silence was something I’d come to realise that George often favoured. Because sometimes that was all you really needed.

I don’t know how long we continued like that before he shuffled and pulled that same piece of paper from earlier back into view, holding the corner of it between his forefinger and thumb. I pulled away slightly, looking down at it and then back up at him with a small frown.

“What?”

George merely blinked, staring down at the paper with an odd look before he finally placed it in the hand I had resting on my thigh. My frown only deepened.

“What is it?” I asked him, finger trailing over an edge just as he had done when I’d first spotted it. When I went to unfold it from the opposing corner, he stopped me. 

Confused, I turned to raise a brow at him, only to find him already looking back at me. He bit into his lower lip and then flattened his mouth into a stern line, “I found that when I was last in the studio.”

My chest tightened for some reason, but I was still so baffled. “Okay?”

We were sitting up better now, George’s arm having slipped from my shoulders to come to rest in his lap, fingers trailing over his left hand’s rigid set of knuckles.

“I figured you should see it.” He added in his usual drawl, though his eyes flickered up from the paper to catch mine then and I realised it must've been important. He seemed wary enough to warrant it.

I went to unfold it once again, but then his hand really reached out to stop my own, “I don’t know if I should be here when you do.”

That alone made me even more curious, although there was an edge of caution that now warred at me. “Why?”

George gifted me a gentle smile, the hand that still laid over top of my own squeezing kindly. “I’ll go grab us some food, alright? If you want to open it then do, if not. I won’t mention it again.”

He moved to stand then but my hand shot out to grab at the sleeve of his arm, “George.” But I didn’t know what else to say, I knew I was fearful though.

His fingers moved to meet mine, resting there for a short moment, “It’s your choice. Just, I couldn’t keep it from you.”

I swallowed thickly as he pushed to his feet, the scuff off his heavy boots bouncing off the hardwood floors. Slowly he moved to grab his jacket, giving me time to say no, to deny his offer. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do much of anything really.

The door shut behind him with a soft click a minute later and the quiet of the studio suddenly consumed me. When I glanced back down at the paper I held once more I saw the slight tremble of my hands. I forced myself to exhale, but even that was shaky.

I was careful as I unfolded it, listening to the rustle it made before scrawled lines that had bled through to the other side caught my attention. Pausing, I took a moment to just look at them and then thoughtlessly hurried to reveal the rest of it, taking in its full form. My throat tightened at the sight of familiar scribbles.

You had me from the start  Pulling all the stops out  On the down low, secretly  But I think you knew your psychology  Was working on me  Infatuated  And doing this all wrong  You've got  My number and my name  And you've got me going  Yeah, you've got me going  Can I see you every day?  Do you love me  Like I love you?  Ah, you've got me going  Yeah, you've got me going

(Song: Ride - Future Love)

It was as if something in me had shifted and then turned, sparking itself its very own flame on a bone too sharp and growing and growing until its singed edges burnt and blackened every part of me. 

I must've sat there staring down at it for ages. Crying silently and alone in an empty room, something I’d been avoiding doing since this had all started. Though I supposed it had been inevitable.

His words. His thoughts. Bared to me on a single page. Him none the wiser to any of it. Probably having not even realised it was gone, or missing. And George had read it. He’d seen it and still, after everything, had given them to me.

A tear dropped from my chin then, blotting the page and I could only watch on as the dark ink appeared to cling to it, seeping further and further into the paper. Smudging the ‘Do you love me’ enough so that my breath stuttered and I was suddenly moving all too quickly for my mind to catch up with my thoughtless actions.

Not even a second later my phone was in my hand. 

Messages now To: Jamie O (glasses!) When can he meet me? 

–

Matty had always had a thing for Sundays. 

There was just something about them. Not all that Godly shite that people preached about it being holy and the first day of the week, ‘cause to him Monday would always hold that title- and Monday’s fucking sucked dick. 

No, it was because there was just something peaceful that settled on Sundays, it took him back to simpler times, of days when he’d just been a kid and roast dinners were spent ‘round his nana’s house. Or when Newcastle would play on afternoons and his dad would finally be home to watch with him. 

There was just something about them, you know. He didn’t much believe in luck, typically only the bad sort. But if someone held a gun to his head and told him he had to claim a day which would forever work in his favour, it would just have to be Sunday.

Still, he was unsure on where he currently stood with that sentiment as of late. Seeing as how he was currently in the backseat of a cab, jittery hands clinging onto shaking knees whilst rows of houses, broken up by hues of green and blue, rolled on past him.

It hadn’t been a last minute thing, but it felt much like it. The anticipation was getting to him, he knew that much, sweat licking at the back of his neck whilst his shoulders worked their way up to the lobes of his ears.

Jamie had somehow managed it.

Called him up late last night just before Ross had headed off to bed to tell him that she would finally see him. Jamie’d asked if he’d be alright going alone or if they’d prefer a buffer there, but Matty had immediately declined. So he was doing it alone. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if that had been a misstep on his part, if it would have made things easier on her having someone there, or maybe just given him some semblance of relief as the car slowly drove its way over to her house. The very place he hadn’t stepped foot in since the night of George’s birthday party.

But he hadn’t earnt that reassurance. Felt wrong to bring somebody else along either way. So he was stuck, toying with his phone, hoping or praying that a text wouldn’t come through saying that she’d gone and changed her mind.

It had been just under a week since he’d last seen her. But it felt as though time had dragged out slowly, mocking him or maybe even torturing him for all of his many wrongdoings. 

He fretted over what she might say when she caught sight of him, he himself having only spotted the state he’d worked himself into when he’d been getting ready that morning.

There were heavy bags set beneath his eyes from where he hadn’t really slept and his cheeks were hollowed in that way that they used to revert to when he’d have a particularly hard weekend way back when. If the papers caught wind of him he already knew what the first articles would say, what they would so obviously claim. But he knew the truth, just hoped that she would know it too.

He was startled from his mind at the jerk of the car pulling up onto the nearest curb. His eyes widened in sudden alarm when he realised just what that meant and then caught the look of dismay that crossed the driver’s face when the bloke looked back to announce that they’d arrived. If the man didn’t already think he was on something, then now he definitely did.

Matty swallowed stupidly and then tried for a smile, struggling to undo his seatbelt with the kickstart of shaking that overtook his hands. The driver took pity on him though, turning away to fiddle with something up front that probably didn’t need fiddling with, and finally Matty’s thumb managed to catch the button.

Releasing himself from the confines of the car, he paused just before the door could slam close behind him, handing the man a couple notes in tip, if only to apologise for his edgy behaviour or buy himself a little more time if the driver had somehow managed to suss him out even with his hat, hood and scarf. “Cheers.” He said.

The man blinked at the onslaught of cash and then nodded repeatedly, “Yes, thank you.”

Matty exhaled shakily and then dipped his chin in another goodbye, stepping back onto the curb and watching the cab pull away before he found himself alone once more.

This was it, he supposed.

The street hadn’t changed much in a matter of days but his mind made it seem as though it had. As though suddenly he didn’t belong. The odd man out.

He shoved his hands into the confines of his pockets, pivoting on his heel to face what he’d come here to do. But nothing had prepared him for the way his stomach suddenly bottomed out at the sight of her front door.

The sound of a car horn a way away spooked him, causing him to jump, but did eventually force him forward off the curb and onto the cracked pavement. He stared down at all the dips and curves they had to offer him the entire way up the path until finally, he reached her front steps.

If anyone asked, Matty would tell them it was as though he’d been working on autopilot when he pried the silver knocker up from the wood and let it rap twice. Though that would be an utter lie. His head screamed at him the whole while and his fingers blurred before him when he’d raised them up to grasp at the chilled metal. 

He’d never felt so sick, just standing there, the seconds slowly trickling into minutes, or perhaps even hours. It honestly felt as the day was slowly growing colder the longer that he stood there, staring at a coat of familiar paint, before finally hinges creaked and the door opened, revealing a sight that would’ve surely cured sore eyes, if only it hadn’t gone and broken his heart first.

It wasn’t immediate, the effect the past couple days had had on her. It was more in the way she held herself, the sadness which clung to her every fibre, the way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye.

She stared, caught in a standstill, and for a long moment did nothing before silently and slowly she withdrew enough to allow him through.

Matty didn’t dare utter a word, let alone breathe. Careful to avoid brushing against her or stepping on her toes as he slowly crossed over the threshold to get in, though the hands he’d hidden in his coat pockets curled into fists to keep himself steady.

The first thing he noted upon first entering was the significant state of the flat, it wasn’t messy or untidy by any means, but looked nothing at all like a house typically inhabited by a child should, or at least a monster as chaotic as he knew Teddy to be. It was almost as though Mouse had been expecting a letting agent to pass through with a couple dozen couples, what with how clean it was. He almost reckoned that if he were to crouch down right there he’d probably be able to make out the seam of his jeans in the reflection of the floors.

“You can just hang your-”

“I know.” Matty whispered, not intentionally meaning to cut her off but unable to help himself anyway. 

It hurt, feeling as though he was just a guest in a place he had practically considered home not too long ago. He coughed lightly and shrugged off his coat to do so anyway, hanging it up where he usually did, something which made him pause for a split second, wondering whether this could possibly be the last time he’d have the privilege of doing so.

“Right.” Mouse murmured somewhere behind him, snapping Matty out of his thoughts. She stepped on by him just after, eyes trained on the end of the hallway until they reached the living room, “Erm, I’m just starting on a brew. You can wait here if you want.”

He wanted to follow after her, to fall down onto his knees and fucking sob there at her feet, but he was scared he’d dirty her floors or more than likely end up looking like a total knob. He would. Fucking felt like one just from thinking it. So he did as instructed, moving towards the sofa, taking note of everything and anything the room had to offer him. 

Matty’s eyes flickered over to the kitchen doorway when he realised she’d stopped there, fiddling with her nails before she caught him looking and dropped her hands. “Just realised I didn’t ask if you wanted anything.”

God, it was so fucking strained.

He took a short breath in and attempted to smile, “Tea sounds good.” Was all that he said, and watched on as her brow wrinkled, head tilting with it.

“Uh, I still have that coffee you like. The one you brought over, if you’d prefer.” She told him and he recognised her confusion for what it was, or maybe it was just her weariness over letting him know that his stuff was still where he’d left it. Or, maybe, just fucking maybe he was reading way too much into everything.

“Tea’s good.” Matty murmured, feeling a little less tense now that he knew that she was sort of sitting in the same boat. “But thanks.”

Her chest rose and fell with her next breath and he watched her nod with difficulty at him, still not meeting his eye. “Right, just be a sec then.”

She disappeared past the door with that, whilst he simply stood and listened to the run of the tap and then the flick of the kettle, feeling stupid for having missed something he hadn’t even realised he’d taken note of before. 

But that was just typical, wasn’t it? To miss something so mundane now that it was no longer expected.

Once he heard the clink of mugs Matty allowed his gaze to roam, trailing over the bundle of neatly folded throws settled on the wicker basket by the sofa, ones he knew that if Teddy was here would still be scattered all over the floor before the tv. 

There were a couple of coasters laid out on the coffee table, though the fruit bowl had since been removed, something he knew Mouse did whenever there were only a few pieces left or none at all. There would probably be grapes or something of the sort in the fridge though.

She had a couple of receipts left out on the shelf below the mirror she’d hung up on the wall when she’d first moved in, and the picture frames beside them were still the same. Only one was missing, and he knew which. 

He noticed that the candles over by the lamp were new though, expensive if he remembered rightly because he was sure that he’d spotted them round someone else’s place recently. He wondered briefly over who could’ve gifted them to her, knowing that she much preferred her usual scents, only ever splurging on the larger Yankee Candle jars they had to offer in the local Debenhams.

He found himself smiling at the thought.

It was then that she shuffled back into the room though, stalling his observations. She carried two mugs in her hand and a small plate loaded with biscuits on her forearm. Immediately Matty moved to help her, taking the plate from her even with knowing that she had it handled.

“I could’ve managed.” She murmured, though not unkindly, and then thanked him quietly once she’d gone and placed the mugs down. 

Matty followed her lead, settling the biscuits near the edge of the coffee table, between the two coasters, before fumbling for a second over where to sit. Squeaks seemed to take to one end of the settee so Matty perched on the other, though closer to the middle crease than the arm.

“You got hobnobs?” Matty finally asked, breaking the silence again, eyes flicking over to the plate he’d just held before shooting back over to find her.

She blushed faintly at his comment, then shrugged. “You like them, don’t you?”

Matty scoffed lightly, a soft smile limning his lips, “Yeah, but you hate them. Once claimed that they were like digestives only after being shat out.”

She wrinkled her nose at that, though Matty was quite sure he could spot the mirth that flickered across her face. “Want them or not?”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and knowing not to push it, he picked one up and settled in a little more comfortably into the sofa cushions.

The silence would’ve been almost unbearable if she hadn’t had the foresight to have turned the tv on low before he’d arrived. So whilst a documentary played on one of the many BBC channels, Matty struggled with himself to find the best thing to say. Though he needn’t have bothered, she was always one step ahead.

“So, I think I should start by saying that I um, I know I held a lot of expectations.” 

Almost simultaneously, Matty frowned.

She just wrung her hands together once before thinking better of it and laying them flat in her lap. Matty merely wished to reach out and take them in his own. “And I get that it must’ve been a struggle for you, to basically go from like one end of a scale and then jump right off the other side. But, I-”

“What are you on about?” Matty interrupted, unable to help himself in truth, so beyond baffled by the sudden speech she’d started. She stopped and blinked over at him, finally looking him in the eye. At last.

“What do you mean?” She retorted with a pinch between her brows, “Listen, I planned this all out, alright? So can I just get out what I want to say?”

Matty stared, then forced out a breath of air. “Squeaks,” She shuttered at the name, closing off slightly, enough so that Matty took quick note and wished he hadn’t said a thing, but yet, he still carried on. Desperate to save any blundered attempt he’d make. “Look, this weren’t on you. None of it was, okay?”

Her eyes trailed back over towards him at that, though her expression was almost unreadable. Matty struggled with that bit the most, he’d always been able to read her for the most part.

“So, this crap about expectations and me struggling with whatever idea you’ve made up in your mind is stupid.” Her eyes narrowed then and he watched her work her jaw, obviously none too happy about his retort. He withheld a heavy sigh, “I’m not- Look, I’m not trying to be difficult I’m just saying that- What I’m trying to say is, that every relationship has goals or expectations, that’s normal. But nothing you ever did forced me do what I did. That shit? It was all on me. It was me being insecure and scared, yeah? So, don’t go trying to excuse it. Because I’ve had people do that for me for far too fucking long now and hearing it come from you...” 

He sort of felt himself slump at that, a little bitter and resentful over the fact that she’d since come to think of it that way. As though his mistakes were all just down to her and her inability to do right by him. He realised though, belatedly, that if anyone else had done exactly that, or even attempted to, in any other scenario he just might have taken up the offer and ran with it. But this was her, this was Squeaks. 

She was quiet for a time, then she picked up her mug, eyes trained on the movement of it before, “What then?” 

“What?” Matty frowned once more, shuffling forward in his seat in an attempt to catch her eye again.

“Why did you do it then? Why’d you lie, why didn’t you tell me about Teddy?”

That knot he’d been feeling for weeks now. The one at the very end of his tongue, all tied and tangled in the back of his throat, suddenly shrivelled up and slackened, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a plethora of guilt behind.

Matty’s gaze wandered over to the window, to where Teddy’s guitar sat in its stand just before a heavy set of grey curtains. He withheld the urge to pick at his nails as he searched for the right words to give her, wanting so honestly to tell her the truth, to give her a play by play of what had happened in detail, as well as every thought that had gone through his mind. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like for a start.”

Mouse scoffed a little at that, and Matty couldn’t be mad at it. If he was sat on the other end of this he’d been doing more than just that, he’d be up in arms, tossing shit about and raving to all who would listen.

Still, his eyes trailed down to where his hands now laid in his lap and he pressed his thumb to his palm. “We were on the highstreet, on the way back here.” He started, voice quiet as his stare tracked the faint lines of his hand, “The guy you saw in the pictures came out of nowhere really. Me and Teds had just been at that ice cream shop a way down, I didn’t even spot him until he was there, in my face.”

Matty wet his lower lip, mouth suddenly going dry. Mouse just waited.

“Teddy was quick to hide behind me, you know? The loudmouth didn’t even really notice him until the last minute. But you have to know, all I wanted was to get him out of there. To avoid staying too long and attracting the wrong sort of attention. Okay? So I’d said I had to get going as soon as he'd spoken, told him I didn’t have time to stay and chat.” 

He took a quick breath with that, eyes still centred on the deepest groove of his palm. “But then he, then he brought up Luke. Said something about the funeral he didn't go to and wanting to celebrate his life.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Squeaks’s hands still from their previous bout of fidgeting. “But I told him I was clean. He didn’t believe me at first, which,” Matty huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, “Well, I can’t blame him for that, what with my track record.”

He heard her inhale then and looked up, it seemed as though she was going to say something but thought better. So Matty bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from asking before he exhaled slowly, digging a nail into that groove.

“He got a bit aggy, started calling me a toff and whatnot, because I 'spose I was just a rich boy who bought him a couple grams of coke every now and then.” He clucked his tongue thinking about it, but eventually shrugged. “Then I don’t know, he must’ve looked down or something ‘cause that’s when he,” Matty paused and his gaze shot over to her, then away again, “That’s when he spotted Teddy.”

Mouse wrinkled her mouth, then tried to nod, obviously wanting him to continue. Though she kept her eyes trained on the rim of her mug.

“That’s when he said some shit and I reacted.”

“Said what?”

Matty startled a little at the sound of her question but was hasty in his attempt to answer. “Just, he reckoned that Teddy was mine and that I had to have knocked someone up. So now they were just using me for the money.”

Her eyes slipped closed and her fingers tightened their grip on her cup.

Swallowing thickly, Matty went to continue, “I shoved him and told him to do one- that’s what they caught in those photos. I didn't take anything he offered, I didn't even look back after. Just walked away, thinking of Teddy, trying to get him out of there. The bloke, he kept on shouting, saying some crap about this and that. But I carried on walking.”

Matty was proud of that fact, even with everything that had happened since. Not too long ago, a different version of him would have handled it all too severely. It was a step, a tiny one, sure, but it was progress.

“Then what?” Mouse voiced, prompting him along with just a look.

“Then we walked home.” Matty replied, feeling that familiar cloud of shame dawn over him. “We didn’t really speak, I- I was a bit of a mess, trying to figure out what to do next, what to tell Teddy, to say to make it right again. But Teds, he,” Matty hauled in his next breath, all too fucking close to bawling, that he could admit. “He called for me and I looked down at him. All I could say was sorry, Mouse.”

She nodded tightly, the knuckles she had wrapped around her tea cup had whitened.

“He,” Matty felt the corners of his mouth lift as he remembered the bittersweet memory of Teddy trying to soothe him, “He told me it was alright, that we were okay, but I just kept on saying sorry. He said that the bloke was just a bad man, and I assured him of that. Wanting him to know that we were okay, that the guy was long gone. But then he-”

Matty stopped altogether then, a picture of Teddy's little face coming to the forefront of his mind, and Squeaks immediately took note.

“Then what?”

Her eyes were so full of emotion, but which ones he wasn’t too sure. Still, the sight tightened every muscle in his chest as he forced himself to finish what he’d started. “He said we couldn’t tell you.”

Matty knew he couldn’t have imagined the sharp inhale that sounded from her then, as though she'd just received a blow to the chest. And he so desperately wanted to reach out, to wrap her up and just fucking hold her. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place.

He watched on as she licked at her top lip though, blinking back the wetness that shone in her eyes, “Why?” Her voice cracked on the question but she did not cry.

It was a simple answer. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mouse stood then, placing the cup down with some force before she hastily made her way over to the front window. Matty stayed seated, unsure if he’d be welcome near her.

“It fucking broke me, Squeaks.” He admitted after a moment, his lips now tingled with the sheer amount of effort it took for him to not let his emotions get the better of him. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should have told me.” Was her reply, sharp and cutting, enough that it fucking wounded. Because Matty knew that she was right.

“I know.” He answered.

“You should have fucking told me, Matty!” She repeated, turning then to face him. He saw the tremble of her shoulders, the curve of her mouth and how it quaked. He stared, couldn't bring himself to look away.

“I know.”

He swallowed, throat almost aching as much as the hole that made up the majority of his chest. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“I don't know.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I have a character that has a slight limp due to injury, Im not sure if it counts as a disability or if this is the correct place to ask since what I find online differs a lot, but I figured it wasn’t wrong to ask. I’d like to know if there’s some advice from someone with personal experience. I know it depends on many factors, like the type of injury, the severity, etc. But I think all kind of input would be nice! I’m specially interested in difficulties people don’t usually consider (Does your bad leg bothers you even if you’re sitting down? Is there something that aggravates it that isn’t usually considered?) and misconceptions people may have (How much can you actually endure? Can you actually push yourself to do something (like run) or is it straight up imposible?). Most of the things I find online are about cures and hypotheticals so I’d like to know more about the mechanics about living with one. Any advice would be useful! Thanks!

Hello!

Yes, a limp can be a disability, especially if the underlying cause of it affects the person in other ways too. That being said, there are people who have permanent limps that wouldn't consider themselves to be disabled, which may be why you've found some conflicting information online.

To give some context for my further answers: I have a pretty bad limp in my right leg, which was caused by a past injury and has only gotten worse over time due to my chronic pain and issues with my joints -- especially those in the lower half of my body. I use a cane full time because of it and have used a wheelchair before when it gets bad.

You are right that it depends a lot on somebody's specific situation such as the cause and severity of their limp, but it also depends on other factors such as the part of their leg that is affected and any other conditions they may have.

Keep in mind that a limp is always the result of something, not the cause.

In my case, it's from my past injury to the leg as well as my chronic pain and other condition(s). However, the root cause isn't always pain in the leg or even in the leg at all. A limp can also be caused from an injury to the spine/back or other places in the body, chronic conditions such as arthritis, limb differences such as a leg length discrepancy, several neurological conditions, and a whole host of other things.

Because of all the different causes of a limp and the different factors that can impact somebody's situation, people's experiences can differ greatly. I can only speak from my own experience, so please keep that in mind.

Now, to address some specific questions you've asked:

Does your bad leg bother you even if you're sitting down?

I'm at the point where I don't typically notice my pain unless it's much better or much worse than usual. It's just a constant sensation in my life that I've gotten used to (For lack of a better term).

That said: I find that my bad leg is usually bothering me regardless of the position, though sitting or laying down is almost always better for it. It doesn't stop the pain entirely, but it does help to ease it and prevent my leg from feeling stiff or cramping.

With that in mind, it depends on how I'm sitting. Having my leg folded up (Such as when sitting cross legged) or sitting on my leg is the worst, even compared to standing, especially when in close quarters such as the back or middle seat in a car.

Most of the time, I'm fine with sitting in a chair normally or even cross legged with my bad leg pulled up but having my leg stretched out is better since it doesn't start to cramp or seize up.

The best position I've found is sitting normally on a chair with my bad leg outstretched and propped up slightly on a stool or a lower chair. Propping it up too high (Such as straight out or above the chair I'm sitting on) causes my knee to overextend, which makes my pain worse, while propping it up too low is just an awkward position and doesn't help.

On days when it's worse, sitting down doesn't do much for me except stop the pain from actively getting worse. These are usually the days where I can't stand for longer than a minute or two unassisted and for around five minutes with my cane or another support.

Is there something that aggravates it that isn't usually considered?

To be honest, I rarely see characters with limps in the media I consume so I'm not sure what kind of things are already considered as it is. That said, here are some of the factors I find make it worse:

Overuse: Being on my feet or pushing myself the previous day can cause the next day to be much worse. Before I stopped being able to play sports, I found that my limp was always worse after a hockey game or a particularly active practice. I'm still fairly active even without organized sports (Though I do play wheelchair basketball on occasion) and I now find that my leg is worse and my limp is more pronounced after I've been hiking or walking around.

Underuse: On the other hand, spending the day in bed or in one position also doesn't do me any good. My leg begins to ache and cramp up if I can't stretch it frequently. In general, a good balance for me has always been shorter, frequent walks throughout the day or one longer but slow-paced walk.

Standing Still: This may sound counter-intuitive but standing still (Or generally keeping my leg in the same position for so long) actually aggravates my leg more than being active does. Walking around allows me to move and stretch my leg out. Keeping it in one position too long makes the pain worse and causes it to seize up and cramp. If I'm able to, I'll usually try walking back and forth or even just taking a few steps but sometimes this isn't possible when waiting in line.

Weather: When there's a sudden shift in the weather, especially in the air pressure or when it becomes damp, my leg tends to ache more and be more stiff. Usually this is when a big storm is coming or there's a drastic shift in temperature but even just cold or damp weather in general makes it worse. I don't fully understand the science behind it myself, but this article [Link] goes into it a bit.

Other Injuries/Pain: Though this isn't something people tend to think about, having pain in other parts of the body (Especially the opposite leg) can make my limp worse. If it's pain in a completely different part of the body such as a headache or stomach ache, it usually has no effect. For pain in my back, arms, or other leg, however, it can have a big effect. This is usually because my bad leg has to compensate in some way. This could mean putting more weight on my bad leg to take weight off of a sprained ankle on my 'good' leg, walking with a slightly different gait to avoid worsening back pain, or needing to use my cane on the other side to compensate for shoulder/arm pain.

Poor Footwear: This is one I am... very guilty of. My combat boots don't have the best support but they're what I have right now and I can’t afford better footwear or orthotics right now. This is to say, wearing poor footwear such as flipflops, sandals, or other shoes without proper support will make a limp worse. I don't personally notice much of a difference with my boots since I use them all the time regardless but wearing flipflops is very difficult because I have no stability in them.

Something to note is that sometimes bad days can come on with seemingly no cause at all. Though I don't doubt that there is something influencing it in the background, it's not always possible to pinpoint what it is.

How much can you actually endure? Can you actually push yourself to do something (Like run) or is it straight up impossible?

On a good day, I'm sure I could run for a bit if I absolutely had to but I would certainly be paying for it later. Running puts a lot of strain on my leg and I know from experience that on a very bad day, I wouldn't be able to get very far without my leg giving out, even if it was a life or death situation. I'm unsure how adrenaline would effect that, however.

Something to keep in mind is that for a lot of people with limps and/or chronic pain (Myself included), the pain is rarely linear. There are days where I feel great and I barely notice it and there are other days where I can hardly walk without wanting to cry from the pain. And I have a fairly high pain tolerance.

In general, I am fairly fast with my cane. I'm able to walk at the same speed as most people my age and I generally tend to outpace them on a good day. My cane helps me avoid putting too much weight/strain on my leg and also helps with my balance issues. Without my cane, I'm usually in too much pain and don't have the stability to walk normally.

Whenever I do have to push myself to do something (Such as navigating the stairs during a fire drill or carrying my gecko's terrarium into my room), I try to get ahead of the pain if it doesn't show up immediately. Ice packs help to mitigate any swelling or pain that might come and I usually have pain meds with me to take just in case. I usually take a Tylenol (Or the generic version) and an Advil (Or the generic version). This is at the advice of my doctor to help with my specific issues, I strongly advise against mixing pain meds without approval from your doctor.

Phew, that was more than I thought I'd type about this! Hopefully some of this is helpful, I'm also happy to answer any more questions you might have!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[himbeereule]

Орлёнок (Eaglet) Battle System - Dev Diary #4

"Don't worry, the regular dev diary will publish this evening" she said, and vanished for 8 days.

Sorry.

Brain is being very difficult. At least I'm still somehow alive.

But onto actually interesting (I hope) things-

4.1 Initiative - cont'd

Examples for how Initiative works have already been given in the last Dev Diary (under 3.2), but I'd like to make a few additions. What makes Initiative go up or down? is a question as of yet unanswered and also ties into the main theme of this Dev Diary.

The main source of high Initiative are charges, meaning a melee attack on another unit. But that's not guaranteed to work - Terrain plays an important factor here, with difficult terrain such as towns/cities or, worse, a forest significantly reducing the effectiveness of a charge due to stuff being in the way, making it difficult to maintain momentum. Cavalry, which is generally best at charges, suffers the most from these.

Charging uphill is also not the best idea - you can guess why. But at least the opposite is also true: charging downhill is extra effective.

Then, there's charging across a river. Not a very good idea usually, so try to avoid it unless it's a really desperate situation. In real world terms, even shallow water that can be traversed without the need for barges etc. will significantly slow down your troops and, in the worst case, make them arrive on the other side in small groups. The enemy waiting there likes that.

And finally, there's the dynamic factor that is the hostile troops you're charging at. If they moved normally the turn before, it's fine, there's no special modifiers. But if they remained stationary, it's assumed they found some stuff to hide behind, dug some holes, maybe placed some pointy sticks or barbed wire, maybe even just laid down. In short, they'll be prepared. Which will give them a bonus to Initiative when charged. However - you can attack them with artillery beforehand, which will make them suppressed and lower their Initiative accordingly and effectively neutralize the preparation bonus.

4.2 Morale and Commitment

Morale is... exactly what it sounds like. It measures how happy your soldiers are to run around and shoot at their own countrymen.

It's decided by many factors - Divisions have a unified morale value at the beginning of the battle, which is influenced by things decided beforehand - previous victories and losses, relative strength (how strong the Division is compared to your other Divisions, and how strong your army is compared to the enemy army in this particular battle) and things happening in the story. It also changes during the flow of the battle - winning fights against enemy units is good, taking casualties is not so good. Some special weapons like flamethrowers or poison gas are also very much not good for the morale of the receiving side. And even if a unit is just standing in the back lobbing shells all over the place (looking at you, artillerists), its morale will suffer if your other units get slaughtered and it seems like the battle will be lost.

But what does morale actually do? Well, higher morale means better coordination rate. Conversely, a panicked and depressed unit will have a hard time coordinating. But that's just one half of it - to understand the other, we must first look at Commitment.

Commitment simply means how many of your units are actually taking part in fights, instead of just standing around on the field. It's a counter of how many units have fought in melee this turn (ranged attacks do not count; you'll see why in the next paragraph).

Now, if the enemy's overall morale (average value of all units combined, rounded down) hits 0, but commitment is also at 0 - meaning there are no enemy units currently tied up in melee - the enemy force will retreat in an orderly fashion, ending the battle without further casualties. If, however, morale is at 0 and commitment is not, the enemy will have to flee, which, narratively, means unengaged units will rush to save their still-fighting brethren, and as soon as they can run away as fast as they can. This means additional casualties for the fleeing side depending on how high their commitment was.

But the battle may also end when morale is low, though not yet zero - and that is if commitment is greater zero and the relative strength of the opposing force is at least 1.5:1 - in other words, if side A has 50% stronger forces than side B, and side B has both low morale and units tied up in melee, side B will capitulate. This is basically the most valuable outcome to reach, because you will get all the remaining enemies' stuff and a lot of prisoners - in normal conditions, only a small (or, in the case of the enemy fleeing, a medium-sized portion) of additional enemy casualties will become prisoners instead of casualties. This is important because prisoners become recruitable manpower over time.

That's it for today. Sorry again for the long wait.

The next Dev Diary will be the last one, and probably quite short - it deals with the meaning of Victory in battles.

[kli-kli]

Any song can be curtwen-coded if you're delusional enough BUT for me, the most saf-related song will always be Working for a Knife by Mitski, and listening to it again roday hit me with a lot of thoughts and feelings.  Because 'working for a knife' itself means working towards something that will destroy you. It shows the correlation between what you have to do and what leads to your inevitable end. 

So, like, pre-canon espionage? Fits. Curt's return to the profession? Fits. Owen as a DMA? Fits!

It also fits Tatiana and her past, although she is the one who manages to get away from it (all the best for our girl <3).

I cry at the start of every movie I guess 'cause I wish I was making things too But I'm working for the knife I used to think I would tell stories But nobody cared for the stories I had about No good guys

It's about Curt and Owen pre-canon, when the work ceased to be what brought them together and began to get in the way (along with other factors) of their future together, or any future for that matter. Maybe it's the moment when Owen gets fed up with spying and starts to consider all the ways his life could have turned out if he'd made a different decision in the past. It's when he sees all the 'what ifs...' that never got a chance to become reality. Or maybe those are the short moments when Curt—the one who loves what he does because it's his dream and because it's cool as fuck—begins to see that it made his alcohol problem a little bit bigger and his wellbeing worse—even if he'll never admit it out loud.

It's the final realisation of what their end will be. They'll die on a mission at some completely unexpected moment. They're working for the knife — for something that will get them killed one day, without giving them any chance for a normal life together.

Tatiana, whose life has been marked by violence since childhood, who is thrown into this environment against her will, with no control over it. Until she finally manages to regain this control, but even then she cannot be fully free and is forced to act on behalf of her blackmailer. 

I always knew the world moves on I just didn't know it would go without me I start the day high and it ends so low 'Cause I'm working for the knife I used to think I'd be done by twenty Now at twenty-nine, the road ahead appears the same Though maybe at thirty, I'll see a way to change That I'm living for the knife

Curt is returning to his profession after four years of grief and stagnation, but despite taking that step, he is still in the same place, dwelling on what he did, when the whole world moved on like nothing happened. But eventually he goes back to being a spy, something Owen would have wanted for him. His healing journey can begin, right? Even if he's returning to something that was slowly destroying him in the past — things will be different now, right??

Owen is so committed to his revenge that it's impossible for him to move on completely (no matter what he says in the finale, like be for real). And of course, he has his goal, and everything will be fine once he achives it. But for that to happen, he has to work for another organisation. They can present themselves as a better alternative to government organisations all they want, but we don't know how they really treated Owen. But what we are sure of is that, at the end of the day, he ended up dead.  So, in the end, it is always dying for the knife, no matter which one. 

I always thought the choice was mine And I was right, but I just chose wrong I start the day lying and end with the truth That I'm dying for the knife

So maybe going with Chimera's plan was the biggest mistake. Or maybe 'the knife' was just his relationship with Curt all along. Maybe in his mind that was the wrong choice that he made, that got him killed twice.

And Curt, during his grieving period, tried to pull himself together, get out of alcoholism, and move on. But that strong resolve to get back on his feet came every morning, only to disappear every evening, when he no longer had the strength to lie to himself that things would get better. And Curt post-canon, who gradually, more and more clearly, sees that he cannot destroy Chimera alone and that attempting to do so by himself was not the best choice.

Or maybe the worst choice was killing Owen on that staircase. 

[joohanisms]

Hiii!! How r u?

Do you write threesomes? I wanted to request Ode x Reader x Jooyeon one🤭🤭

hey!!!! im great thanks :-) wbu?

hell YES i do omg i'm doing thoughts right now to keep you Sated but i'm for SUREEEE writing a full oneshot about this stay tuned (hope you like this though <3)

threesomes with seungmin and jooyeon 💭💫

cw: threesomes duh, dom/sub dynamics, mention of squirting, edging, pegging, sighs i love them, bisexuality apparently wc: ~510

minors dni

i feel like ode is a dom and i'm pretty sure most of the fandom does as well lmao

as for joo... i can see him being a switch + a slight brat but i love him most at his subbiest. he's puppy

so when you factor in... very interesting dynamic

this might go a few ways. let's go over them real quick

if you lean towards subbing, seungmin will have a field day omg

he'll have to take care of both you and joo 😭

seungmin will be sooo mean but not in an openly degrading way. in a fake sympathy way

"my babies can't do anything by themselves, can they?" he coos, "that's too bad. you need me for everything..." while he undresses you and has jooyeon clinging to him for attention

if he's feeling extra mean he'll make jooyeon fuck you in front of him just so both of you get even more frustrated and begging

will eventually push joo aside so he can fuck you himself as you jerk jooyeon off

(if you and/or jooyeon are being bratty he might leave the room and not come back for like 10 minutes. y'all are too horny to properly wait for him most of the time and he'll come back to you rutting desperately against each other – just so you know, he's going to be edging you for being impatient ❤)

OR ...

you will be tag teamed. be ready to not leave the bed the next day

seungmin is meaner but jooyeon is somehow worse because he has so much energy

like his hands are on you the entire time you can't catch a break. hips are being squeezed, titties are getting sucked, legs are being spread, pussy is being played with, ass is being slapped, neck is getting marked, the list goes on

(you squirted due to his ~ministrations~ once and he's been trying to get you to do it again ever since)

you can BET you'll end up in the eiffel tower position at some point – seungmin prefers to fuck your cunt so he's always got dibs and will slap jooyeon's ass if he pouts too much about how "he gets to fuck you everytime"

but oh my god. jooyeon will Destroy your throat. he'll make you gag accidentally and soothe you with a low "sorry baby" and a scalp scratch :-( he makes you feel so good though

once you were in joo's lap, your back to his chest, while seungmin ate you out and the first thing seungmin did after making you cum was to kiss jooyeon on the mouth so he could taste you too and you nearly came for a second time

delectable aftercare. jooyeon is in charge of cuddles while seungmin has to be the responsible one

BUT .. what if you're more of a dom ????

joo i'm so sorry you're getting wrecked

wouldn't let seungmin fuck him at first. was fine with you pegging him though

"jooyeon. is this a no homo thing or...?" watch the poor guy scramble

once he's comfortable with him, joo's FAVORITE thing is fucking you while he's being fucked by seungmin

seung's thrusts are pushing him forward into your cunt and it's soooo much, he's surrounded by pleasure

he cries (/pos) into your shoulder because he feels so good :-(

as aftercare, sandwich him between you and seungmin for cuddles and he's on cloud 9 <333

as i've mentioned, i will be writing a proper oneshot for this!! if you want to tell me in my askbox/the replies which dynamic you like best, feel free to do so :-) i'll definitely take it into consideration!!!!

[jaimemes]

What could really even justify you doxxing everyone anyways? You seem to have some reason tell yourself it's fine, but... what even is that?

ho boy. okay last night i was going fuckin Thru It but im slightly more mentally stable this morning. i tend to get worse the later in the day it gets. tbh i should start tagging my mentally ill ramblings cuz yall ask these kinda questions a lot (which honestly doesnt really. help my delusions. but yadda yadda audience retention and engagement)

first of all, lemme get this out of the way: im not trying to justify what i do. i know its shitty. i know im shitty. im not gonna pretend im the Good Guy here, im just not quite the Bad Guy either. not everything is black and white.

its not an excuse, its an explanation.

anyways. back to the question. ill put this under the cut because this might get pretty unreality-heavy very quickly. and also i realized halfway thru that this was getting kinda long

look at it from my perspective— be incredibly mentally ill with me for a moment here. you believe yourself to be a part of a narrative. you dont know what kind. you dont know the genre, you dont know the story, you dont know what role you play or the role that your friends play. but you know that you are all part of the narrative in some way.

you know how stories tend to go: the plot is often driven by factors outside of your control— be it by someone else’s hand (ex: the villain burns your village down, there’s a killer at Camp Crystal Lake, two people get in an argument, etc) or by the whims of the universe (ex: a tornado rips through your town, you get diagnosed with a terminal illness, you find a golden ticket in your chocolate bar, etc) but nevertheless the story always starts because of a impending or unexpected change.

keywords impending or unexpected.

the characters dont expect it because they dont have all the information. they arent omniscient or genre-aware. they dont know whats happening with the other characters, they dont know the complexities of one another and how they are a product of their circumstances. they arent looking for literary devices in their own narrative because they dont know they’re in a narrative in the first place.

but you do. you’re a self-aware character. you believe youre in a narrative. and because you’re aware that you’re in a narrative, you are placed in a unique position: you can try to predict the narrative. its like watching a TV show. the characters only have one perspective, but the audience has everyone’s perspective— the complete narrative.

but of course, as part of the narrative, you arent the audience, are you?

but if you watch everyone around you, if you gather as much background information as possible, you can become as close to being a part of the audience as a character can be. you can have all the information necessary to make those predictions. and maybe, just maybe, you can predict the direction the narrative is headed before it happens. you cant be caught off guard if you know everything you need to predict the twists.

(hell, i think im in the midst of finding a twist right now. but i need more time to figure out all the pieces before i make any predictions. plus, a good narrator never outright reveals the twist to the audience before it happens. im the one with the stakes here, not you. but i digress, ive gotten off-topic.)

but there’s a glaring issue in your plan: because you’re a part of the narrative, you can’t exactly change it, can you? sure, you can TRY to stop it, but if you try, is that really you stopping the narrative? or did you just play right into its hands? did you change the story or was the story always written that way? you wouldn’t know: you’re a part of the story, aren’t you?

but the audience isn’t.

and this is where you can stop being mentally ill with me and step out of my shoes again (chances are my shoes are too small for ur feet anyways lmao)

this is where you— yes, you reading this— come in. because you are the audience here. you are MY audience. you’re completely removed of the narrative i believe myself to be trapped in. you’re on the outside looking in.

i believe myself to be in the unique position of being a character that can interact with their audience. and while i may not be able to change the story from the inside, maybe, if i interact with the audience, we can influence it from the outside. i just need to retain the audience enough to generate engagement with the story.

and what better way to generate audience retention than by giving them the information they need to predict the story in a way i as a character probably never could?

dear viewers, do you know what that’s called?

that’s called being a narrator.

but like i said before, a good narrator never outright reveals the twist to the audience before it happens, do they?

and an interesting narrator is an unreliable one.

…

anyways! wow that did not help my mental health. this is gonna be a hell of a day. so much for being mentally stable this morning lmao

but yeah. look. theres a reason i used language like “you believe” and “i believe” and “i may”. im aware that i suffer from delusions and paranoia. im aware that i am horrifically mentally ill. im aware that this all sounds completely inane. im not trying to say that this is the definitive truth of the universe. this is just my belief.

you may not be a part of a narrative. you dont even have to believe IM a part of a narrative.

but i believe myself to be.

[sonnburn]

Oh Jeez, I knew this episode was gonna be divisive since we finally got an answer to the question: What happened between Day and Night? Full disclosure, I got pretty emotional about it too! I've calmed down now and after some reflection, I've ultimately concluded that whichever brother you find yourself sympathizing with more, neither of them is undeserving of criticism.

This situation isn't black and white. There are no heroes or villains here. Neither Day nor Night are at fault for what happened, it was an accident and the resulting situation is complicated. Between unhealthy family dynamics and the individual characters flaws, there are A LOT of factors here making the conflict actively worse (not to mention they both suck at communication). It can't be resolved so simply by deciding which one of them is right or wrong.

It’s fine to feel a bit defensive over them —Day and Night are both good characters— but please don’t equate criticizing either of them with dismissing the characters feelings. Those are not the same thing nor are they mutually exclusive. I am not condemning Day for feeling what he feels and acting out because of it, but I am pointing out that how he’s choosing to react to his feelings is not healthy and is ultimately hurting both his brother and himself. Someone else would not be condemning Night for saying that him not explaining himself better is exacerbating Day's pain, they would simply be pointing out that his lack of communication skills is contributing to the problem and he needs to work on it. Criticism does not equal dismissal of the underlying reasons for why they act the way they do.

Analyzing these behaviours and criticizing them isn’t disrespectful, it’s a process that teaches us how to identify these behaviours in real people and in ourselves. That’s the entire point of stories, the author is trying to convey a message— to teach a lesson. Hopefully one you can take with you once the story is over and apply to your real life.

I don’t want Night OR Day to be stuck hurting each other forever. I like both these characters. I want them to get a happy ending. I hope we can all agree on that much, at least.

[cosmic-d1ce]

Phil only expected to be on the island for a two weeks, maybe three weeks if something bad happened. He had three weeks worth of his needed medication ready.

He expected a tropical retreat, to have somewhere that wasn't nearly fully rural say for an abandoned train station.

That was quickly shut down as two weeks became three, became four, became around two months now. Has it even been two months? Or has it been longer?

He can't keep track of time anymore, can't tell what's real, all because the day after three weeks, everything started to melt away.

Maybe he's gotten a bit more paranoid at times. That's fair. Besides, he's got three suitors, two children, and a monster who wants to kill all these children who did nothing wrong ever.

Maybe it's a bit after he was taken by Forever that he finally actually lost it. He's chained up, constantly hurt and deprived of food, water, sleep, and sometimes any kind of interaction. He was already sometimes struggling with the lack of medication, but now it's worse.

You know what sundowning is? It usually only affects the elderly and people affected with the illnesses that tend to be associated with them which brings major confusion, aggression, anxiety, and just a bunch of negative things. It happens in the late afternoon and the night. I imagine where Phil's being held in your FML AU, it's dark with only some dim lighting that makes it feel like evening all the time. Maybe it triggers some of his hallucinations more often.

Phil's stuck in hell. But the lack of medication makes it worse.

-Pragmatic (really enjoyed your take on q!Phil and his clear mental illnesses)

Phil's mental health would be a major factor in FML, Forever wouldn't be able to do what he did if Phil was stable.

Part of his last big breakdown was that he kept seeing Cucurucho in his room. Sometimes it was real but a lot of the time it genuinely wasn't and he was hallucinating because his health was declining

Forever would not be able to break a mentally well person that well that fast. It only took a month and a half before Phil gave up completely

Also, his lack of medications make it a lot easier for Forever to give him sedatives pretty much any other drugs he wants/needs to. Phil is pretty reliant on his meds as they stop him from losing it completely so he's pretty willing to try anything that will help. He's been hallucinating in a dark room for a month, yes he will take those narcotics, he hasn't slept for three days. And he will keep taking them and he will be fine with it when Forever slips them into his food and water

[morus-god-of-doom]

Swap Underverse Asylum Sans

Alright, I know I'm not on here often, but hear me out.

In the swapped universe where Dream ate the apple, Ink now has Error's job, and Nightmare is trying to stop all of this with the help of a maker Error Sans, I haven't seen much in ways of the other bad guy sans getting swapped counterparts. It seems that having them stay the same, except when Swap replaces Dust or Killer.

But Swap doesn't fit well with either of them, so I think he's more like Cross in the swapped AU, but I digress, he's not who I wanna talk about.

Who I want to talk about is Asylum Sans, or Bandy for short. The little schizophrenic that is obsessed with colorful bandaids, stickers, and sometimes plushies. From what I know of him, his past is mostly a mystery but something happened to his Papyrus, causing him to take on a ghost-like form and hang about the little skellie.

He'd be a perfect parallel to Dust sans, yet being a schizophrenic wouldn't be enough to make him a bad guy.

But what if something happened that made Bandy go off the deep end? Like a certain therapist that recommends putting him on pills to solve the problem of Bandy's schizophrenic episodes. Now, this would absolutely be fine if the pills were correct for his mental illness, but that is not what happens to the little guy.

Instead, they put him on something else; magic suppressors.

From what I have seen, Bandy doesn't use magic in the ward because Mrs. Toriel and Dr. Alphys told him it would be dangerous. He understands that it wouldn't be the best of ideas for him to teleport out of the ward where he can't get the help he needs. So when they suddenly give him little, pink pills, he takes them without question since they had promised him more bandaids if he did.

But they have a negative reaction to the poor skeleton like most things would happen if you take away a person's ability to do something.

Bandy faints due to the effects and hits his head on the floor, causing another change. Of course, Dr. Alphys gives him a check-up and heals the wound, but when the schizophrenic wakes up, his ailment is worse. The new therapist waves it off, of course, giving him a white pill, Bandy's normal prescription, but when the skeleton sees him, he screams due to what he sees in the human, their true intentions.

This would be an everlasting effect as a result of the suppressors they give him with his normal treatment. Anytime Bandy sees someone enter his room for food or check-ups, he stares at them, scooting backward, so they double his prescription.

But what does Asylum see?

Well, he'd see the quote-unquote 'demons' hanging about people, or for a better way to put it, their intentions. Now, with good people like Mrs. Toriel and Dr. Alphys, the demons are small, barely considered a threat in his eyes. Yet when he sees the other doctors and patients, he sees all sorts of monsters, some fusing with their hosts, like when he shrieked upon seeing the new therapist. He saw all of the malice the man had turned them into a creature from nightmares.

Now, as we know with most bodies, they will build up a tolerance if exposed to negative factors. So over time, Bandy's body slowly adapts to resisting the suppressors, causing them to increase the dosage until it eventually stops working on him.

But Bandy still acts docile on his prescription, right?

Wouldn't you know it, one of the employees forgets to order the medicine that Bandy so desperately needs. It would take 2 days for the emergency order to come in.

No big deal, right? Bandy is always friendly to people, even before the new 'prescription', surely nothing bad will happen, right?

Well, Milo Murphy's law states that anything that can happen will happen.

On the second day, Bandy sees the bad Therapist and finally snaps. The suppressors on his magic had ceased working since his body had too much of it. It needed to be expelled.

And what better than the man who had started the torment?

It was all a blur to the skeleton, but it was bloody and brutal. The schizophrenic came to when he had cornered Dr. Alphys and Mrs. Toriel. A bloody pair of scissors in one hand, and a sharp bone in the other. He stared at the weapons before giggling, a manic grin on his face. Asylum knew a lot now, and the two women in front of him had let the therapist do whatever.

So, he finished the job before skipping off to the medicine cabinet.

He needed answers.

It would be quite a sight for the next victim, the person who delivered the medication. Seeing bloodied halls, corpses and dust everywhere.

And just like that, the deliverer would fall by Asylum's hands, and he gets the prescription he needed. So a win-win for him.

I feel like Swapped Dream and Ink would stumble upon the AU by chance and find Asylum playing with the corpse happily.

It's just a thought I had though, just a simple idea since I was bored. Just wanted it to be recorded a bit.

[whirligig-girl]

Railroader doesn't allow you to customize the liveries of steam engines yet... but if it did, this is how i'd like to run my three engines.

Anyway... sentient locomotives are probably technically employees of the railroad rather than equipment, right? In railroader, the self-driving feature of the engines results in the engine getting a paycheck. So here's some excerpts from their job interviews. (they're not very good at job interviews)

interviewer: "Tell me about yourself." Trinity: "I'm a G-16 Mogul built 1906 by Baldwin with a two-six-oh wheel arrangement and a tractive effort of sixteen thousand pounds. I weigh eighty two thousand pounds and have a factor of adhesion of, ohh, four point five, four point six. Clayton: "I consider myself something of an academic. Of course an engine can't go to school, but I try to keep an eye out for the latest happenings in the world of science and technology. Faith: "I was built for speed and power, so despite these little wheels I am a pacific, and like any pacific, I can do passenger trains just fine. But I have no problem with freight either.

interviewer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?" Trinity: "Switching cars n' hauling freight." Clayton: "Oh god. Have you even seen the way things are going in this country? I mean, it could be worse, I could live in england, but in five years I wouldn't be surprised if I've been… erm, uh, i mean, I have every INTENT on making it past seventy, maybe even beyond. And I don't just mean as a museum piece." Faith: "I don't know. I seem to find my way all around the country these days. Things used to be so predictable, but now, it's just shuffling from one job to another. I try my best, but things keep going wrong…

interviewer: "What are your strengths?" Trinity: "Haven't we been through this? I told you my tractive effort is 16 thousand pounds. And yes, that IS plenty enough. I do NOT struggle to output that tractive effort. Clayton: "I'd say my best strength is my adaptability. I was built for express runs on the west coast, but here I am 60 years later hauling mostly freight on the shortline. I enjoy the intellectual stimulation of shunting just as much as the wind buffeting my face on a good long passenger journey." Faith: "Well you know. I'd probably say my best strength is my strength. Speed is nice, but power is what really gets you out of trouble."

interviewer: "Describe your work style." Trinity: "Well, you first. Describe your rule book. I go by the book whenever I can. And I will push the book to its limits to get things done efficiently, but I will do it by the book." Clayton: "I don't like to rush myself. Once I'm on the mainline I can make up for lost time, but I try to be sure to take care and be methodical with how I work in the yard." Faith: "How does the rhyme go? Safety first and tonnage last? That's the kind of thing management likes to hear right?"

interviewer: "what motivates you?" Trinity: "What a dumb question what do you mean what motivates me. If I have fire in my firebox and a good head of steam I'm going to need to put that steam somewhere. I don't need 'motivation' to work. I just do it." Clayton: "if i do not find a way to make myself useful my tender will run dry and my boiler will freeze and i will be left to rot on a siding somewhere. Haha. I love the current economic system we all live under sooo much!" (interviewer: [writes "marxist ten-wheeler" in notes.]) Faith: "I guess deep down I just want someone to be proud of me? I want someone to look at me go by and think 'wow! she's doing such a good job.' and then I want them to tell me that I'm doing a good job. Please."

interviewer: "Are you a team player?" Trinity: "What, you mean like, am I a multiple unit?" Clayton: "Yes. I think I bring out the best in everyone I work with." Faith: "Well, sometimes it's hard to get to know the other engines, and sometimes I think they don't like me very much. But I'll pull any train even if it has another engine on it too, if that's what you mean?"

interviewer: "Are you willing to work overtime?" Trinity: "The question is, do you have a crew willing to crew me overtime. That's usually the thing that holds me back." Clayton: "Hahaa… yeahh… totally…" Faith: [long pause.] "i do work… over… time… like the job doesn't get done instantly. It. You know it uh. It takes… time… So I do it over… time…"

interviewer: "What are your salary expectations?" Trinity: "Just the coal and water is fine." Clayton: "Well I'm a locomotive with about 60 years of experience so I expect to be paid an engineer's wage of $25 per day." Faith: "I expect a��� salary… and know what that is…"

interviewer: "how do you handle stress?" Trinity: "Are you. Asking about my frames. Do I look like a damn twig to you? I can handle tension and compression just fine." Clayton: "Well popping my safety valve usually helps but I have other coping skills like counting the ties and rocking my reverser back and forth." Faith: "I usually just repress it and pretend everything is fine. I'm really good with passengers."

interviewer: "What is your dream job?" Trinity: "shortline railroad locomotive. I love my job." Clayton: "Movie star. The glamor, the recognition, the celebrities, oh it would be so thrilling!" Faith: "Well as long as it's not repetitive logging trips day in and day out, anything works for me."

interviewer: "Why do you want this job?" Trinity: "Your railroad has lots of industries still connected to it, and I think it would be fun." Clayton: "I feel like we've already been over this. If I don't have a job I will rust and decay." Faith: "Hoping for a source of stability finally, and the Class Is don't have that anymore."

interviwer: "Why should we hire you?" Trinity: "Because you'll be hard pressed to find a locomotive with a better work ethic." Clayton: "Because you'll want an adaptable, intelligent, experienced locomotive who can get herself out of trouble better than these new engines can." Faith: "Because I am truly the best of both worlds."

[caricature-of-fic]

mini fic for btvs 1x01 Welcome to the Hellmouth/1x02 The Harvest

---

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

She couldn’t afford this kind of thought at the moment, couldn’t afford the distraction, but—it wasn’t meant to be like this.

She was meant to go to school, struggle a bit to catch up with her classes, make friends—or had she made friends already? In which case, make sure they stayed her friends, and wasn’t that a challenge and a half, with how things were going—anyway, make friends and go out and maybe see if she could join the cheerleaders or something soon, once she’d found her footing. Do the normal stuff, live the normal life, live the not-constantly-on-high-alert life. But no, it was her second day of school and already she’d received barely-veiled threats from her new principal, not-at-all-veiled hints about accepting the whole Slayer thing from the new “librarian”, lost one potential new friend, almost lost another, been grounded, consequently sneaked out of the house, gotten two of her maybe-new-friends-but-at-this-point-why-would-they-stick-around people and the librarian into danger with her, and, and… was she forgetting anything?

Oh yeah. Buffy straightened her stance and raised her hands, determined to give her opponent all she got. I’m also already fighting vampires under some dusty mausoleum. Go, me.

At least the Watcher-librarian had only himself to blame if he got himself killed. Why would anyone choose that job?

She just hoped he and the others could get everyone to safety. There were already too many discarded bodies strewn about—people she was meant to save, why had she dawdled so much—and she wasn’t keen on anyone adding to the numbers. Nor on joining them herself.

Squashing down the fear, she met the Vessel’s attack with her own. No way was she going to die before she’d even tried for the cheerleading team.

---

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

Willow knew how these things worked, how new girls arrived at Sunnydale High. What happened was, at best, they glanced at her and decided she was no threat nor of any other interest, and proceeded to ignore her. At worst, or maybe just worse because she was currently learning rapidly that her definitions of good, bad, worse, worst may be outdated, they decided she made an easy victim, unless they thought they’d better keep her on the back burner for study help.

She’d sort of expected Buffy to go with that option. Well, at first she’d assumed it would be the worse/worst one. Buffy had that, that look. That look that Willow sometimes yearned for but knew, deep down, would never be able to achieve, nor truly be comfortable with if she miraculously did achieve it. The Popular Girl look of one who knew how to do her hair and clothes to look her best, who would compete for prom queen and have a realistic chance at winning without any Carrie shenanigans happening. That, plus the fact that she’d been hanging out with Cordelia right away, hadn’t boded well in Willow’s mind.

Then Buffy had sought her out, and been nice, and mentioned studying, and Willow had been able to relax, because she didn’t need to be actual friends with the pretty new girl. Just studying and getting half-hearted attempts at pretending friendship would be fine.

Except, now that didn’t seem to be happening either, and Willow had no idea where she stood. Buffy had clearly not stayed in Cordelia’s good graces for long, and had instead decided to hang out with Willow and Xander in the library, and…

And of course also revealed the existence of vampires. And demons. And hell? Was that meant to be capital-H Hell, or just… something hell-ish and so might as well call it hell? Willow was so not willing to start researching Satan or anything like that. Bad enough that crucifixes were suddenly a relevant factor in her life and survival.

Anyway. The pretty, meant-to-be-popular new girl wasn’t meant to be revealing secrets to and hanging out with Willow. Also, those secrets weren’t meant to be things like “vampires exist and I fight them and Jesse has joined their ranks”, but she hadn’t really had time to process all that, and it was easier to just get hung up on the fact that Buffy seemed to be interested in her acquaintance.

Maybe it was just for the studying. Or because she’d had no choice but to involve Willow, and Xander for that matter, because things had just happened that way.

Or maybe it was something she should really think about once this whole situation was over, and she could be sure any of them would even be alive by the end of it.