#sorry for. how long and nonsensical this is

[supernotnatural2005]

Headcanon: Comforting you after a loss.

Pairing: Dean x reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of loss, angst, fluff, established relationships

AN: This is just a little something for @jackles010378, I'm sorry you're going through a difficult time, and hope this cheers you up some ❤️

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester

Dean isn’t great with words when it comes to grief—he knows there’s nothing he can say to take your pain away.

But he’s damn sure not going to let you go through it alone.

The moment he sees the heartbreak in your eyes, he'll pull you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he'll murmur, pressing a lingering kiss to your crown.

He would stay like that for as long as you needed, grounding you in his warmth, his security.

In the following days, he would watch over you like a hawk—not smothering, but making sure you’re eating, drinking, and not shutting down completely.

He’ll cook you your favourite food, even run in to town to get you your favourite cheeseburger if that's what you wanted.

If you can’t sleep, neither does he. He’ll stay up, letting you rest against him, running his fingers through your hair until it finally lulled you to sleep

And when the grief feels unbearable, when you finally break down in front of him, he'll just hold you, whispering soft reassurances.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, baby. Just let it out. I’m right here.”

He never rushes your healing, never tries to fix what can’t be fixed—he just loves you through it, in the way only Dean Winchester can.

Beau Arlen

Beau doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but he knows one thing for sure—you’re his, and he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

The first thing he does is hold you.

Not just some half-hearted hug—no, he wraps you up in his arms, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, your forehead.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he'll murmur, his voice thick with emotion. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He checks on you constantly—bringing you coffee, making sure you eat, running his fingers over your back in soothing circles when you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed.

And when the silence in the house feels too heavy, he takes you on a drive—windows down, his hand resting over yours on the gearshift.

“Just us, baby,” he says softly. “Breathe.”

At night, when the weight of your grief is too much, he pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against him.

“I wish I could take this pain away from you,” he admits, pressing his lips against your shoulder. “But I’ll carry as much of it as I can, darlin’.”

He'll hold you for as long as you need, whispering sweet reassurances between soft, lingering kisses, letting you cry into his chest if that’s what you need.

Beau Arlen isn’t just your man—he’s your safe place, and he’ll spend every day reminding you of that.

Soldier Boy/Ben

Gif by @becauseofthebowties

Ben doesn’t do emotions. Not really.

He’s spent decades brushing off pain, cracking jokes, and punching his way through problems.

People cry? He rolls his eyes. People break down? He walks the other way. That’s just how he is.

But you? You’re different.

When he sees you hurting, something inside him tightens, and for once, he doesn’t have some snarky comment locked and loaded.

Instead, he stands there, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure of what the hell he’s supposed to do.

At first, he tries to be himself about it—gruff, no-nonsense.

“Hey, shit happens. People die, the world keeps turning.”

But when you don’t react, when you just sit there looking so damn lost, he feels something foreign creeping in. Worry.

So, he does the only thing he can think of—he pulls you into his arms, tight, unyielding. His grip is almost bruising, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. 

“I got you, baby,” he mutters against your hair, his voice rough but lacking its usual edge. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He’s awkward about it—comfort isn’t his thing—but for you, he tries.

He sticks close, hovering even when he pretends he’s not. He won’t outright ask if you’re okay, but suddenly, he’s around more.

Sitting next to you, brushing his fingers against yours, silently daring you to take his hand.

When the grief finally crashes over you, when you collapse against him in sobs, he stiffens at first—old instincts screaming at him to run.

But then he melts, wrapping you up in his arms, pressing rough kisses to the top of your head.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. "I got you.”

That night, he doesn’t leave your side. He pulls you into his chest, holds you close, fingers tangled in your hair.

“You’re not alone, doll,” he whispers, voice raw. “Not anymore.”

And maybe he’s never said those words before, but for once, he means every damn one of them.

AN: Okay so this was a new one for me. A first try at Headcanon's 😅 I hope I've done it justice and cheered you up a little @jackles010378 ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy/Ben Tag List:

@happyfxckinghorrors @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @bettystonewell @nancymcl @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @paganvamp @deans-baby-momma @ladykitana90 @riteofpassage77 @jackles010378 @spnaquakindgdom

[pdriesta]

CHAPTER SEVEN

baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 8k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — i am sorry for the late update! i've been ill :( stream all of AAA and how does it feel by flo!!

masterlist

trent’s text had been annoyingly vague.

trent: come over. we need to talk.

y/n hadn’t expected much. she figured it would be another tense conversation about keeping up appearances or whatever trent decided was his priority of the day. but as she stepped through the door of his house, she was hit with an overwhelming wave of chatter, laughter, and the smell of home-cooked food that wrapped around her like a familiar hug.

his whole family was there.

“y/n!” trent’s mom was the first to greet her, pulling her into a warm hug, her arms squeezing just tight enough to make y/n forget to breathe for a second. she pulled back, eyes warm and scanning y/n with the kind of softness that made her heart clench.

“finally! trent’s told us so much about you.”

“oh, has he?” y/n raised a brow, her voice laced with humor as she glanced at trent, who stood behind her looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“mum, don’t start,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh, hush, trent.” his mom waved him off, her full attention returning to y/n. “you’re even prettier than i imagined,” she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “and your music! it’s so good. we’ve all been listening.”

y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. “really?”

“absolutely. you’re incredibly talented, love. you should be so proud of yourself.” trent’s mom reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and i’m proud of you. it’s not easy doing what you do, but you’ve done it with such grace. you’re strong, and you’re good for my son.”

the words hit y/n like a punch to the chest, knocking the air right out of her. she felt her throat tighten as she tried to swallow the sudden wave of emotion. the absence of her mother, felt so stark in that moment, it was suffocating. she hadn’t heard words like that in so long—words filled with love, warmth, and pride.

she blinked quickly, forcing herself to breathe, to pull it together. she couldn’t break down here, not in front of trent’s family.

but trent noticed. of course, he did.

from his place beside her, he watched the way her lips pressed into a thin line, how her eyes dropped to the floor for just a second too long. he saw the way she tried to cover the rawness in her expression with a small, polite smile.

“mum,” trent said, his voice softer now, stepping in before y/n could crumble under the weight of her own emotions. “don’t overwhelm her, yeah?”

his mom chuckled, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing inside y/n. “oh, nonsense. she’s family now.”

trent placed a hand on y/n’s back, grounding her. his thumb traced slow, soothing circles as he leaned down, voice low enough for only her to hear. “you okay?”

she nodded, blinking up at him with a grateful smile. “yeah. i’m good.”

but he knew better. and so, he kept his hand there, steady and reassuring, while his mom continued to talk, her voice soft and filled with love.

before y/n could process much else, a younger alexander-arnold siblin—who had to be marcel—rushed over, his eyes wide with excitement. “y/n! oh my days, i can’t believe you’re actually here.”

she laughed, taken aback by his energy. “hi, and you must be marcel?”

“yeah, yeah, that’s me. okay, i have to say it—you’re, like, my celebrity crush. this is mad.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she grinned, playing it off. “well, thank you. that’s very sweet.”

“marcel, chill,” trent groaned, pulling his brother back by the collar of his shirt. “you’re gonna scare her off.”

“what? i’m just being honest!” marcel protested, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at y/n. “you’re even prettier in person, by the way.”

“okay, that’s enough,” trent cut in, giving marcel a pointed look. “go help dad or something.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, especially when marcel shot her an exaggerated wink before walking off.

for the rest of the night, trent didn’t take his eyes off her. he watched how she slowly relaxed again, how she laughed with marcel, how she charmed his sister-in-law and mum. and though she was still a little quieter than usual, she never let her guard slip again.

but trent had seen it—the way her walls had cracked for just a second, leaving a glimpse of something tender and broken underneath.

and he couldn’t shake it.

the hours passed in a blur of laughter, food, and playful teasing. y/n found herself easing into the warmth of the alexander-arnold family, who welcomed her like one of their own. but the real chaos started during an intense game of uno, with everyone shouting and accusing each other of cheating before they began to trickle home, leaving y/n, trent and the youngest alexander-arnold sibling (who his mum mocked for "thirdwheeling").

“you’re so bad at this game,” y/n teased trent, placing down a draw four card with a triumphant grin.

“you’re cheating,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

“sounds like someone’s a sore loser,” she quipped, earning laughs from his siblings.

marcel, ever the instigator, suddenly leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “now that you’re basically part of the family, y/n, i’ve got to ask you something.”

she raised a brow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“your exes,” he said bluntly, making everyone pause.

trent groaned loudly, his head falling back against the couch. “marcel, don’t.”

“no, no, i gotta know,” marcel insisted, ignoring his brother’s protests. “what’s real and what’s fake? i mean, with all the articles and stuff… i’m curious.”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “seems like everyone’s interested in that topic lately.”

marcel pulled out his phone, opening an article from The Sun. “okay, let’s start with the obvious—jadon.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed, and she shyly nodded. “yeah… that one’s true.”

trent scoffed immediately, sitting up straighter. “not anymore,” he muttered under his breath, earning a pointed look from y/n.

marcel grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. “alright, what about central cee?”

y/n scrunched her nose in visible disgust. “nope. we have a song together, sure. but people handled that. i think we’ve said maybe three words to each other. that’s it.”

trent couldn’t hide his smile at her answer, which only annoyed her more.

“okay, next—damson idris.”

y/n sighed dramatically, a dreamy look crossing her face. “i wish.”

trent immediately stiffened, his jaw tightening. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

marcel, catching his brother’s reaction, smirked. “y/n’s got a type, and it’s definitely not you.”

trent shot him a glare, but y/n, sensing an opportunity to tease him, leaned closer with a sly smile. “you’re still my best boyfriend, though… unless damson calls me. then i’m out the door.”

trent rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “no one would be able to deal with your attitude anyway.”

the banter continued until marcel brought up one more name. “what about tee higgins?”

y/n’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “yes,” she admitted quietly.

marcel’s eyes lit up. “oh, an american football player? now this is interesting.”

trent frowned, his gaze snapping to y/n. “what’s that about?”

she shrugged nonchalantly, trying to downplay it. “i was in america for a show, and he came out. we hung out a bit, and that was it.”

trent’s frown deepened, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. “i don’t like it.”

y/n raised a brow, clearly amused. “well, good thing it’s not up to you.”

“i’m the only footballer you need,” he said firmly, his tone possessive.

y/n, ever the instigator herself, leaned closer with a teasing smile. “oh, but tee was such a pretty boy. just my type.”

trent didn’t say anything at first, but the twitch in his jaw and the fire in his eyes said enough. without warning, he reached over and pulled her onto his lap, his fingers digging into her sides as he started tickling her mercilessly.

“take it back,” he demanded, a rare smile breaking through his usual seriousness.

“never!” y/n squealed, squirming in his grasp as she laughed uncontrollably.

marcel, watching the chaos unfold, smirked. “mission accomplished.” he stood up, stretching lazily. “i’ll leave you two to it. try not to kill each other.”

as soon as marcel left the room, trent loosened his grip, letting y/n catch her breath. she stayed on his lap, her face flushed from laughter, and looked at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“you’re ridiculous, you know that?” she said, still breathless.

“and you’re annoying,” he shot back, though his tone was far softer than usual.

they stayed like that for a moment longer, the playful tension between them giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. but neither of them said a word about it, both too stubborn to acknowledge whatever was brewing beneath the surface.

lately, things between them had shifted—soft, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakable now. more outings. more moments that felt like stolen pieces of something bigger. trent was the type to just tell her to be ready, showing up at her door with no explanation, sweeping her away to hidden corners of the city like it was her own personal fairytale.

but it wasn’t really a fairytale. it was them, caught somewhere between friends and something dangerously close to more.

tonight was no different.

the restaurant hummed with quiet conversation, the faint clinking of silverware against plates filling the air. they sat tucked into a cozy corner booth, the warm amber light casting a soft glow over their table. the night felt easy, their laughter and conversation flowing as naturally as ever. it was a date, but not really. just another outing that blurred the lines of what they were supposed to be. yet, trent couldn’t help but think it felt all too real.

she looked beautiful tonight—oversized blazer, mini skirt, heels that showed off her legs, and that barely-there gloss on her lips that caught the light just right. his eyes kept drifting back to her even as she scrolled through the menu, her brows furrowing in thought as she decided what to order.

“i can feel you staring,” she teased without looking up, her lips curling into a playful smile.

trent leaned back, unbothered. “can you blame me?”

she shook her head with a laugh, but a blush crept up her neck anyway.

moments like this were dangerous. they tiptoed on the edge of something unspoken, both of them too stubborn—or too afraid—to admit how much they liked it here, caught in their own grey area.

he couldn’t say it aloud, but this was starting to feel like more than just fun, more than just convenience. he didn’t just like her company—he wanted it. craved it.

and the way her eyes lit up every time he showed up at her door, no questions asked, told him she felt it too.

but neither of them dared to say it. not yet.

his leg bounced nervously under the table, the question he’d been trying to ask sitting heavy on his chest. he wasn’t usually like this—hesitant, unsure—but something about asking her felt… different.

“so, what are you thinking of getting?” she asked, glancing up at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“uh, haven’t decided yet,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. his nerves were getting the better of him. the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but every time he opened his mouth, they refused to come out.

y/n tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “you okay? you’ve been weirdly quiet all night.”

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it. “just… thinkin’.”

she didn’t push, simply nodding and turning her attention back to the menu, but trent knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. he needed to ask before he lost his nerve completely.

“hey,” he said suddenly, making her look up again.

“what?” she asked, her voice curious.

he hesitated, running a hand over his jaw. “so… england’s playing at wembley next week,” he started, trying to sound casual. “and, uh, i was wondering if you’d want to come. you know, to… match.”

her face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. “of course,” she said easily. “i mean, it’s a public outing, right? gotta play the part of the supportive girlfriend.”

her words were lighthearted, teasing, but they still made his chest tighten. because that’s all it was supposed to be—playing a part. but lately, it didn’t feel like pretending anymore.

“yeah,” he said, forcing a grin. “exactly.”

the conversation moved on, and they ordered their food, but the comfortable rhythm of their night was broken when y/n suddenly cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

“trent?”

“hm?” he glanced up from his plate, his brows lifting in curiosity.

she hesitated, her eyes darting to his before quickly looking away. “i, um… i wanted to ask you something.”

“yeah? what’s up?”

she bit her lip, clearly nervous, and it made his stomach twist. whatever she was about to say, it was important.

“zaia and cash’s wedding is coming up,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “and… i was wondering if you’d be my date.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavier than he expected.

trent blinked, taken aback. he knew how close she was to zaia—her best friend since childhood. this wasn’t just any wedding. it was a big deal, and she was asking him.

his thoughts spiraled. was this just another part of their arrangement? was she asking because it made sense, because they were supposed to be seen together? or did it mean something more?

but then he looked at her—at the way her hands nervously played with her napkin, the way she avoided his gaze, her cheeks faintly pink. there was something shy and vulnerable about her in that moment, something that tugged at a part of him he couldn’t quite name.

“it’s just… you know, it’s a big deal,” she rambled, her fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. “they’re my family—like, real family, not just close friends—and everyone’s gonna be there. my best friends, my mom, everyone.” she paused, taking a breath. “i usually just go to these things solo and handle it fine. i’m okay flying solo most of the time, actually, but—”

her words tumbled out so fast that she barely had time to breathe between them, her voice rising slightly as nerves took over. she glanced up at him, her cheeks warm, feeling a little ridiculous for putting so much weight on this. “i don’t usually… ask anyone to stuff like this. but it feels right, asking you. so… yeah.”

trent’s chest tightened as her words settled over him. she was trying to sound casual, but this wasn’t casual at all. not for her.

she didn’t just bring anyone into that world—into something as sacred as family.

her family was private. important. untouchable.

and here she was, asking him to be a part of it.

“y/n,” he said, his voice softer than he intended, eyes searching hers.

she shifted under his gaze, suddenly regretting everything. “you don’t have to say yes, by the way,” she added quickly, trying to backtrack. “it’s totally fine if you’re busy or if it’s too much, i’ll just—”

“i’d love to,” trent interrupted, his lips curving into a slow smile.

her breath caught. “really?”

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes holding hers with a warmth that made her feel like maybe she hadn’t just made a fool of herself. “i’m honored you even asked. it’s not just a wedding—it’s your family’s wedding.” he paused, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “that means a lot.”

she smiled back at him, the tension in her shoulders easing. “good,” she said softly, her voice steadying. “i’m glad you’ll be there.”

trent couldn’t stop thinking about how big this was. being her date meant something. being seen with her at something so personal, so intimate—she was letting him into a world she didn’t share with just anyone.

and he didn’t take that lightly.

the air in the stands was electric as fans filtered out of the stadium, still buzzing from england’s triumphant match. y/n was caught up in it all, her excitement evident in the way she practically glowed as she spoke to trent’s family about the game. she couldn’t stop smiling, her phone clutched tightly in her hands, still warm from snapping pictures throughout the match.

she hadn’t expected trent to come up to them so soon after the final whistle, but when she spotted him climbing the steps toward their section, her breath caught. his medal glinted under the stadium lights, the man of the match trophy in his hands as his gaze landed on her almost instantly.

he greeted his family first, sharing hugs and quick words of gratitude, but then he turned to her, his grin softening into something almost shy.

“you played incredible,” she said before he could say anything, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

“yeah?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching hers, as if her opinion mattered more than anyone else’s.

“you know you did.”

without a word, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, the gesture so quick and fleeting it almost felt imagined. her heart skipped at the contact, but she told herself it was just for the cameras. there were plenty of phones around, after all, and a player celebrating with someone in the stands was always a headline. she convinced herself it meant nothing as he handed her the trophy and slid into the seat between her and marcel.

“here,” he said, nodding toward the gleaming silver in her hands. “you should hold it.”

“what?” she blinked at him, cradling the trophy like it was fragile. “you’re seriously letting me hold this?

“why not?” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “looks better in your hands anyway.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. her fingers traced over the engraving as she admired it up close, the weight of it grounding her excitement.

“pose with it,” trent said, pulling out his phone

“pose?” she laughed, glancing around nervously. “for what?”

“for appearances, of course,” he teased, his tone light but his eyes warm.

y/n gave him a mock glare but shifted the trophy slightly, holding it up as she puckered her lips in a playful air kiss. trent snapped a few photos, his grin widening with each click. when she lowered the trophy, she caught him staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as he uploaded one to his story.

“what?” she asked, raising a brow.

“nothing,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. but the way his smile lingered told her everything she needed to know.

as the conversation around them flowed, trent leaned closer, his attention fully on her now. “so,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “how’d you like the match?”

“oh, i loved it!” she said, her face lighting up. she unlocked her phone, scrolling quickly before turning the screen toward him. “look, i got some great pictures. see this one? and this? oh, and this!”

she flipped through shot after shot, her excitement spilling over with every frame. trent didn’t say much, just watched her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. pride, maybe? or something else entirely?

“you’re really into this, huh?” he asked, his voice soft.

“of course!” she said, glancing at him briefly before focusing back on her phone. “how could i not be? you were amazing out there, trent. seriously.”

he smiled at that, his chest swelling at the sincerity in her voice. “thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned back to the ongoing conversation, though his attention never fully left her.

she was wearing his shirt, holding his trophy, sitting with his family. it felt… right. and he didn’t want to let the moment go.

she was still scrolling through her phone, her excitement making her words tumble over each other as she recounted her favorite moments of the match. “and this one—look at how sharp you look here. oh, and this one’s from the free kick! the angle is perfect. i’m telling you, trent, you looked—”

he couldn’t help it anymore. the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, the way she was so genuinely proud of him, it made his chest ache in the best way. she was buzzing, glowing with excitement, and trent was captivated.

“y/n,” he said softly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“what?” she asked, glancing up at him, her brows furrowing slightly.

before she could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off completely. it wasn’t hurried or forceful, just deliberate, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment. her lips were soft, warm, and he could taste the faint sweetness of whatever lip balm she was wearing.

she froze for a second, her phone slipping slightly in her hands as the kiss caught her off guard. her heart was pounding, and when he finally pulled back, just enough to look her in the eye, her cheeks burned.

“what was that for?,” she breathed, her voice quiet and unsure.

“just cause,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering.

her lips parted, but no words came out. y/n, who always had something clever to say, was speechless for once, her thoughts racing faster than she could process.

“you—you can’t just do that,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of shyness and disbelief.

he chuckled softly, his hand brushing against hers as he leaned back slightly. “why not?”

“because…” she trailed off, her cheeks still flushed.

“because?” he prompted, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. instead, she turned back to her phone, pretending to focus on the screen even though she couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

but trent didn’t stop watching her, his expression soft and full of something she couldn’t quite name. she felt it in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. and as much as she wanted to brush it off, she couldn’t shake the way her chest tightened every time he looked at her like that.

the studio always felt like a different world to trent. a little sanctuary tucked away from everything, with dim lighting, soundproof walls, and the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. it was hers—every detail, every piece of equipment, every soft hum of music that filled the space—it all belonged to y/n in a way nothing else did. he could see it in the way she moved, the way her shoulders dropped in relief as soon as she crossed the threshold.

he liked being here. maybe a little too much.

his eyes drifted to her across the room as she adjusted a mic stand, her braids falling over her shoulder, lips slightly pursed in concentration. she had that effortless kind of beauty, the kind that hit him harder when she wasn’t even trying. no cameras, no crowds—just her, in her element.

he wanted to tell her how good she looked. how proud he was every time she let him listen to a new track. how his chest felt lighter just being near her. but he couldn’t. not really. not without risking the quiet thing they had, this unspoken closeness that felt too fragile to push.

because y/n was quick to pull away. always had been. she had a way of retreating whenever things got too heavy, too real. trent learned to read the signs: the slight shift in her tone, the way her smile would falter for a second before she’d brush it off with a joke. she’d never say it outright, but he knew her well enough to know when she was putting up walls.

so he stayed quiet. kept it light. he’d rather sit here and be a part of her world in whatever way she’d let him than risk saying something that would make her push him out.

“you sure you’re not bored?” y/n asked, turning to him with a raised brow, her eyes catching the soft light from the corner of the room.

“nah,” he said easily, leaning back in his chair, his lips curling into a small smile. “i like watching you work.”

she rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched at the edges, trying not to smile back. “you say that now. wait until i start obsessing over one line for twenty minutes.”

trent chuckled, his gaze never leaving her. “i’ll survive.”

for y/n, it was strange having him here. this place had always been hers—a space where she could be messy, raw, vulnerable. no one ever stayed long enough to see what it meant to her. but trent was different.

he didn’t ask too many questions. didn’t hover or try to take control. he just… fit. like he belonged here without even trying.

she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the controls. it felt good, having him here. warm, steady, grounding. almost dangerous, how easily she had gotten used to his presence.

y/n stood in the booth, her voice filling the studio with a sultry richness that had everyone’s attention, but none more so than trent’s. he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room. she had this magnetic pull, something about her that made everything else disappear when she sang.

the track rolled into the second verse, and y/n’s voice dropped lower, almost like a secret, smooth and dripping with confidence. it curled around the words like they were meant to tease, to challenge.

"i bet you feel like that man when you next to me, just as you should. i know that you like your hands up on my body, toss me, it’s good..."

trent’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as her words wrapped around him. the way she sang that—playful, almost daring—made his chest feel tight. he knew this was just music, knew she wasn’t supposed to be singing to him. but damn if it didn’t feel like she was. every line sent a jolt through him, her voice steady, deliberate.

"but you better play your position, don’t let it slip, better not fold. need loyalty, ‘cause i’m royalty with this grip, treat it like gold..."

his fingers tapped restlessly on his knee, his mind spiraling. this grip, treat it like gold... it wasn’t a stretch to imagine y/n writing those lines with him in mind. the thought made his stomach twist—half with pride, half with something much deeper. she was always guarded, never giving too much away, but this... this felt like a glimpse into the parts of her she kept locked up.

he wondered what it would be like if this wasn’t just a song. if they weren’t just flirting around the edges of something real. if he could actually claim her—not just in private moments but out there, for everyone to see. trent alexander-arnold, dating the biggest r&b talent in the game. the image burned itself into his brain, filling him with a dangerous kind of pride.

y/n finished the verse, stepping out of the booth with that casual confidence she always carried. she grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, taking a long sip, avoiding his gaze—like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“you wrote that?” trent asked finally, his voice low and rough.

she glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “yeah. it’s just a song.”

just a song, but his heart was still racing.

“that might be my new favorite,” he said, his hand finding her knee, thumb brushing over the fabric of her sweats. “seriously... loved it.”

her lips curved slightly, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—something vulnerable. “really?” she asked softly. she felt a warmth creep up her neck, her heart speeding up for reasons she couldn’t admit. the song was about him—every line, every note. but she’d never say that out loud.

“yeah,” trent said, his gaze holding hers. “i’ve listened to all your music. thought mad at me was the one, but this takes the cake.

y/n smiled softly as she let trent’s words sink in, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t used to. the quiet between them felt tender, almost fragile, like neither of them wanted to break it. she was about to say something, maybe even thank him again, when the engineer called her name, asking her to head back into the booth to re-record a section.

trent frowned immediately, his brows pulling together. "what? that was perfect," he said, his hand still resting on her knee as if to keep her in place. his voice held a mix of disbelief and protectiveness, like he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to change a single thing.

y/n laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his wrist. "it’s just how it works," she teased, her voice light as she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "don’t look so offended."

his frown eased slightly, but he still didn’t seem convinced. "nah, seriously, they don’t know what they’re doing. it’s already a hit."

she shook her head, laughing again as she stood, adjusting her hoodie. "you’re biased," she said, giving him a playful look. "but thanks."

he leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms as he watched her. "so how long are you gonna be in there this time?"

she glanced over her shoulder as she reached the booth door. "could be a while," she admitted, shrugging. "if you wanna head out, it’s cool."

trent scoffed, sitting up straighter. "and leave you here? nah, i’m good."

her lips curved into a warm smile, something soft flickering in her chest. "okay," she said, her voice quieter this time.

as she stepped into the booth, she could still feel his gaze on her, steady and reassuring. even as the door closed behind her and the music started up again, she couldn’t help the way her cheeks burned from the memory of his words, his touch, and that quiet, tender moment that had left her feeling more seen than she ever had before.

trent’s living room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the television casting shadows across the room. fifa commentary droned in the background, but trent wasn’t paying attention anymore. his eyes flicked between the game and y/n, who was curled up against him, scrolling through tiktok with a lazy ease. her head rested on his chest, braids spilling over his arm as she chuckled softly at a video.

“look at this one,” she said, turning the phone toward him. “this trend is everywhere.”

he glanced at it briefly, smirking. “why do i feel like you’re about to make me do one of those with you?”

“because i am,” she teased, poking his side. “you’d look cute doing it.”

“not happening,” trent shot back, shaking his head with a laugh. “you’re not embarrassing me on the internet.”

she rolled her eyes dramatically and returned to scrolling, her body relaxed against his. it was comfortable. easy. the kind of easy that snuck up on you and made you forget that there were rules to whatever this was supposed to be.

but then his phone buzzed beside him, the screen lighting up with a notification. he glanced at it instinctively, his jaw tightening when he saw the name.

jadon.

his grip on the controller tightened, and for a moment, he debated saying nothing. but it ate at him too quickly. too loudly.

“you still talking to him?”

y/n blinked, caught off guard. she sat up slightly, her brows furrowed. “what?”

“jadon,” he repeated, nodding toward his phone. “you still talking to him?”

“oh.” her face softened. “i mean... not really. he just checks in sometimes. sees how i’m doing, you know?”

trent’s gaze didn’t waver. “and you’re sure that’s all it is?”

she shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “yeah, it’s innocent. it’s not like he’s—” she paused, catching herself. “it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything.”

the words hit harder than she probably intended, their weight settling heavily between them. she wasn’t wrong—they weren’t together. not really. but hearing her say it out loud made something twist in his chest, a dull ache that caught him off guard.

y/n didn’t notice his shift. she leaned back into him, her focus already back on her phone as if nothing had changed. but for trent, everything had.

he clenched his jaw, the silence growing thicker, pressing in on him. “so you just let him check in? whenever he wants?”

her head shot up, eyes narrowing at the edge in his voice. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

trent leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his back no longer relaxed against the couch. “just seems like he still thinks he has a shot. that’s all i’m saying.”

y/n blinked, processing his sudden change in tone. “and so what if he does? why do you care?”

the question was soft, casual even, but it cut through the tension like a knife.

trent leaned back into the couch, jaw still tight as he watched her, tension crackling between them. the air felt thick, suffocating in the silence that followed. his eyes flicked toward his phone again, and something about the way her name lit up the screen on jadon’s message gnawed at him. his voice dropped lower, a little too sharp.

“you always let him back in, huh? just like before. always putting yourself in another mess.”

y/n froze. her fingers tightened around her phone, her face carefully blank even as her heart lurched at his words. she blinked, processing them, the sting more potent than she expected.

“another mess?” she echoed softly, voice calm but edged with something dangerous. “like this one?”

trent’s breath caught in his throat, his regret immediate. he opened his mouth to take it back, to soften the blow, but the damage was already done.

she sat up straighter, her gaze locking onto his now, eyes shining with something between disbelief and hurt. “if that’s how you see it, trent, then what the hell are we even doing?”

he rubbed a hand over his face, tension rolling off him in waves. “that’s not what I meant—”

“then what did you mean?” she pressed, folding her arms across her chest, her voice cracking slightly at the end. “because it sure sounds like you think this—me, you—was just some kind of mistake.”

trent hated himself for the flicker of pain in her eyes, for how vulnerable she looked in that moment. for how real it felt. he stood up, closing the space between them, his frustration melting into something softer.

“y/n, no,” he said, his voice gentler now. “you’re not a mistake. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then why would you say it?” her voice dropped to a whisper, her walls cracking just enough for him to see the truth—the doubt she’d been hiding.

she stood anyway, brushing imaginary lint off her leggings. “it’s not a good idea for me to stay.” she paused, her voice quieter this time. “we can’t forget what this is.”

y/n stared at him, her heart in her throat, torn between every instinct screaming at her to protect herself and the pull of his words, his touch. she opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

trent’s voice was barely above a whisper. “don’t go.”

her words felt more like a reminder to herself than him, her eyes refusing to meet his as she grabbed her phone.

“y/n,” trent said, standing too. his hand brushed against hers, lingering for a second too long. “you don’t have to go.”

she shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “i do.”

he wanted to argue, wanted to pull her back down onto the couch and make her stay until the tension eased and they could go back to laughing at tiktoks. but the look in her eyes stopped him—something fragile and uncertain, something he wasn’t sure he could fix in that moment.

and just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving him standing there, the words he couldn’t say caught in his throat.

trent sat back down, running a hand through his curls, his fifa game still paused on the screen. he hated how much her absence suddenly filled the room, how the air felt heavier without her in it.

and all he could think about was the way she said, we can’t forget what this is—because the truth was, trent wasn’t sure what this was anymore. but whatever it was, it mattered. more than he was ready to admit.

the bridal shop smelled like fresh fabric and lavender candles, soft afrobeats playing faintly in the background. racks of flowing gowns lined the walls, glittering under the warm lights. y/n hadn’t been to a fitting like this in forever, surrounded by zaia and her cousins, laughter spilling from every corner of the shop. it felt easy, familiar, and for a moment, she forgot how much she’d missed this—how lonely things had felt lately, despite how much she loved trent’s company.

she loved being around him, craved it even, but the lines were getting blurry. dangerous.

as she disappeared behind the curtain, the air shifted, quieter, almost intimate. the fabric of the emerald green gown was soft beneath her fingertips, heavy and rich, embroidered with gold and glittering stones that caught the light every time she moved. y/n adjusted it carefully, catching her reflection in the mirror. for a second, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—if she ever had a wedding of her own, would it look like this? would she wear something this stunning?

but no man came to mind. not really.

her brain whispered a name, low and familiar, but she shook it off. it wasn’t trent. it couldn’t be.

“god, this dress is heavy,” y/n called out, brushing the thought away as she adjusted the fabric on her shoulder.

“beauty is pain, babe,” one of zaia’s cousins teased, laughing from the other side of the curtain.

zaia’s voice was calm, steady. “is it fitting okay?”

“yeah,” y/n said softly, smoothing the front one last time before glancing at herself again. for a second, she let herself admire the way it clung to her curves, the way it made her feel like royalty. the matching fan rested on a stool nearby, waiting to complete the look.

behind the curtain, she hesitated, glancing at zaia. “you really think it’s okay if i bring trent to the wedding?” her voice was softer now, a little unsure.

zaia arched a brow, leaning forward on the cushioned bench. “why wouldn’t it be okay?”

y/n shrugged, fingers brushing the delicate stones on her dress. “i don’t know. it’s just… complicated.”

zaia tilted her head, her tone casual, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp. “complicated how? y/n, you’ve been spending all your time with him lately. it’s cute, but… girl, you know you’re gonna have to tell that boy you like him eventually, right?”

y/n peeked at zaia, eyes wide. “it’s not like that,” she muttered, though her pulse picked up at the words.

zaia smirked. “oh, it’s not? babe, it’s like watching a slow-motion car wreck. you both like each other, and it’s so obvious it hurts. just do something about it before we all go insane.”

y/n’s laugh was soft, almost nervous. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’re in denial,” zaia shot back, grinning.

before y/n could respond, she took a breath, pushed back the curtain, and stepped out. every conversation in the room stopped, all eyes snapping to her as she walked into the light, the gown shimmering with every step.

“y/n…” zaia whispered, standing slowly. “you look… beautiful.”

y/n spun in front of the mirror, her lips curving into a small smile. “you think? i feel like a princess or something.”

“a queen,” zaia corrected, her eyes warm. “green is definitely your color.”

the cousins agreed, pulling out their phones to snap pictures, laughter filling the space again as one of them adjusted y/n’s gele, making sure it sat perfectly.

but then, just as everything settled, zaia’s expression shifted—her lips parting slightly, her eyes suddenly glassy.

y/n froze, her heart thudding. “zaia, are you… crying?”

zaia laughed through her tears, wiping her face quickly. “sorry, i’ve just been… emotional lately. it’s ridiculous.”

concern flickered across y/n’s face. “are you okay? should i call cash?” she asked, already reaching for her phone.

zaia grabbed her wrist gently, shaking her head. “no, no—don’t call him. actually, there’s… something we were going to tell you together today, but…” her voice cracked. “i can’t wait. i need you to know now.”

y/n’s breath caught. “zaia, what is it?”

zaia hesitated for just a moment before the words tumbled out in a rush. “i’m pregnant.” her voice shook as she spoke, a soft sob escaping her lips. “you’re the first person i’ve told.”

the world tilted slightly, y/n’s mind struggling to catch up. her eyes welled up instantly, her hand flying to her mouth. “zaia… are you serious?”

zaia nodded, tears streaming down her face. “i’ve been dying to tell you. cash and i were going to do it together, but… i couldn’t wait. i needed you to know.”

y/n almost buckled at the weight of it, rushing forward to wrap zaia in a tight hug, their bodies trembling together as tears fell freely.

“oh my god,” y/n whispered against her shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “i’m so happy for you. you’re going to be the most amazing mom. i can’t believe this.”

zaia laughed through her sobs, clutching y/n tighter. “thank you. i was so nervous, but… hearing you say that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

y/n pulled back just enough to cup zaia’s face, wiping her tears gently. her own tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care. “it is going to be okay. more than okay. and i’ll be here with you every step of the way, you hear me?”

zaia nodded, sniffling. “i hear you.”

a beat of silence passed, warm and steady, before y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’m gonna be the best aunt.”

zaia’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling. “god mother. we want you to be the baby’s godmother.”

the words hung in the air for a second, heavy and beautiful.

y/n’s mouth fell open, her hand flying to her chest. “zaia… are you serious?”

“of course,” zaia said, her voice cracking again. “there’s no one else it could be.”

the tears returned full force, and y/n hugged her again, clutching her tightly. “i love you so much,” she whispered.

“i love you too,” zaia said softly.

and as they stood there, wrapped in their own little world, y/n knew this moment would stay with her forever—a reminder that love came in all forms, steady and unwavering, right when you needed it most.

y/n pulled into trent’s driveway, the car’s headlights casting long shadows on the driveway. her pulse quickened, but it wasn’t just from the excitement of seeing him again. she had needed to be near him, to escape the overwhelming sense of closeness she had felt at the fitting. the laughter, the hugs, the anticipation of her best friend’s wedding... it had all left her with a bittersweet ache in her chest. she had been happy, but it only highlighted how much she longed for something deeper, more intimate, something to anchor her in the midst of the swirling love and joy.

when the door opened, trent stood there, casual in a hoodie and sweatpants, looking effortlessly perfect. his eyes immediately locked onto hers, searching her face with that familiar intensity.

“have you been crying?” his voice softened, the concern obvious in his eyes.

y/n gave a half-smile, blinking rapidly to hold back any more tears. “happy tears,” she said, but there was a lingering tremor in her voice. “it was a good day. zaia’s wedding is really coming together.”

trent didn't look convinced. he reached for her hand, pulling her into the warmth of the house without saying another word. the house was quiet, cozy, and comforting in a way only trent’s home could be.

“you sure you’re okay?” trent asked again, his voice low and calm as he led her to the living room. “you’ve got that look.”

“i’m fine,” y/n insisted, brushing it off as she sat down beside him on the couch. “i just didn’t feel like being alone after everything. thought i’d come here, you know?”

trent settled beside her, his arm easily wrapping around her, pulling her closer. they both sank into the couch, the soft fabric of the cushions embracing them like a cocoon. y/n rested her head on his chest, and for a moment, all she could hear was the steady thud of his heartbeat, a calming rhythm she found herself syncing with.

there was something comforting about the way trent always seemed to know when she needed him. the way he held her without question, without hesitation. it made her feel like she belonged, even if it was only for this moment. he gently stroked her back, a slow, soothing motion that made her feel safe.

“you looked really beautiful tonight, you know?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “something about you in that dress—it was like you were glowing. i could see it. i mean, i always think you look good, but tonight was... different.”

y/n chuckled softly, her lips brushing against his chest. “i wasn’t even planning to go, but i’m glad i did. you’re sweet for saying that.”

they sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackle of the fire in the corner of the room and the soft music playing in the background. but after a while, y/n shifted, her thoughts swirling again. her mind wandered to the wedding, to the love in the room, to the future that seemed so certain for her friends and family... and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that clung to her heart.

“do you ever think about getting married?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant as she gazed up at him, her face just inches from his.

trent’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise, his hand pausing mid-motion on her back. “where did that come from?”

y/n shrugged, forcing a lighthearted smile. “well, not to me, not like that,” she joked quickly, but there was an edge of something deeper to her words. “i mean, in general, you know?”

he leaned back, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to read something between the lines. after a moment of hesitation, he nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “yeah, i’ve thought about it. when the right person comes along, i guess.”

there was a slight pause, a quiet moment where they both seemed to be waiting for something unspoken. trent’s eyes softened as he considered the idea, his mind drifting.

y/n waited, but when he didn’t speak, she tilted her head, looking up at him curiously. “what? no ‘you’ in there?” she teased lightly.

“well...” he paused again, as if the thought had just occurred to him. and yet, as he imagined the life he might want, he couldn’t picture it with anyone but her. it was as if she had always been there in the background of his mind, the one constant he never truly acknowledged until now.

he imagined waking up beside her on lazy mornings, the sound of her laughter filling their shared home as they made breakfast together. he saw the two of them walking hand in hand through a park on a crisp autumn afternoon, with the warmth of their connection tangible, unshakable. he imagined late nights in their living room, surrounded by books, papers, and random ideas, sharing thoughts, dreams, and fears.

he imagined them growing old together—her smile still as bright, her laugh still as contagious, but the lines of age marking their faces, evidence of a life well-lived. he couldn’t picture a future without her, without the way she made him feel: grounded, loved, understood.

“i can only picture you, y/n,” he wanted to say quietly, his voice filled with a raw sincerity that surprised him. “when i think about spending my life with someone... it’s you. i can’t see anyone else. maybe that sounds crazy, but it’s just the truth.”

“yeah,” he settled on, his voice softer now. “when the right person comes along, i guess.”

y/n felt a rush of warmth in her chest, her heart swelling in a way she hadn’t expected. “i used to think it wasn’t in the cards for me,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of his shirt absentmindedly. “like maybe love and marriage... it wasn’t for me. i thought i wasn’t lovable enough for something like that.”

trent’s heart ached at her words, and without thinking, he pulled her closer, brushing his lips against her forehead. “you’re more than enough, y/n. you’re everything. never think you’re anything less than that.”

her breath caught again, the tears threatening to return. but she fought them back, focusing on his words, on the warmth of his arms around her.

“i don’t know,” she whispered. “maybe marriage is possible. maybe... maybe it’s something i can see for myself now. maybe with the right person.”

trent’s hand cupped her face gently, lifting her gaze to meet his. “you’re never going to be alone, y/n. not with me.”

the sincerity in his voice was almost too much, and y/n swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmed by everything. but it felt right. being here with him, in his arms, feeling safe, feeling loved.

she smiled softly. “thanks for always being here for me.”

“always,” trent whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead again.

they sat there in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, but there was something peaceful in it, too. for the first time in a long time, y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in the world. maybe, just maybe, she was meant for more than she had ever believed.

© PDRIESTA 2025

[pinkreveluv6]

I’m glad that my so-called analysis contents you!

To be honest, I write them because they "kill two birds with one stone".

I’m going to elaborate.

As you may or may not know, the sole purpose for creating this blog was to improve my writing. And I know it may not seem like I even need to do that but the thing is writing improves my vocabulary in English and therefore in French since I learn new words in English that can be translated to French and so on and so fourth.

I REALLY HATE FRENCH AND I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE IN FRENCH. Which is why I write in English instead <3

Secondly, whatever motivates me to write these extra long essays on your drawings is because I genuinely really like them. They’re so pretty and I really love your artstyle! And the fact that they are just sketches makes me wonder how good you must be at it.Sadly,I SUCK at art. It’s a concept that’s really hard for me to master no matter how hard I try. I’m just not fit for it, it’s not what I can specialize in.Therefore, whenever I see someone that is artistically talented, I praise them a lot.I can’t fathom the fact that I have an artistically talented moot such as you and I cherish you for it which also motivates me to write a lot.

Thirdly, I also write in hopes of possibly making your days somewhat better. Even if whatever nonsense I write makes them a tad bit better I’d be overjoyed. You may ask why? Well it’s because as I’ve observed your posts, I feel as if you’re either going through a hard time or you’ve experienced hardship and that it has had an influence on you mentally. I know it’s bad to assume but it can’t be helped. I have so many people around me that are mentally unstable but won’t show it including my own friends. It pains me to see them suffer in silence and how they won’t open up to me due to fear.

Fourthly, my dream job is to become a psychiatrist! They usually need to analyze a patient through the unobvious using only their interpretation and experience. I’ve come to realize that as I’m writing those analysis, I find myself trying to interpret whatever the underlying message of your drawings are and how you must feel psychologically through it.

Lastly,it’s in my nature to write overly complex, detailed and lengthy sentences (paragraphs texts,etc.) as you may have possibly noticed.

I hope you know that ranting about your drawings have helped me immensely improve my grammar, my vocabulary and my structure of phrases throughout the process of it.

To resume, all of the things that have motivated me to write excessively long texts about your drawings are:

It helps my overall writing

I admire your art because I could never be as good as you are at it.

In hopes that they somehow help you throughout your day because you seem mentally drained.

Helps me interpret stuff which can be helpful for my future career

It’s in my nature to write a lot.

I’m sorry that this turned out so long.

i know i've been way too chalant today but this is the last post. i swear.

this category got me in a headlock because complicated scenarios are sort of out of my comfort zone. but anyway, as promised, the special guests are @shintarom-png and midorima!! they're contemplating killing themselves after hearing my singing. apologies.

background from pinterest. you already know i don't do this whole "background" thing. i choose photos and that's IT.

🏀 | tags !! @pinkreveluv6 @japeneselunchtimerush @sweijuro @pigeonbksimp @fl0ralsxgar @ilovemaiubo

event by @strawbeaniie

[moodr1ng]

like prev post is one example i happen to be talking about for once but ig what i mean is like. every little small inconsequential thing that my mind could turn into "you look suspicious right now", that i could possibly suspect means someone thinks poorly of me (w no evidence of that whatsoever), that i can possibly twist into somehow being about how Everyone Secretly Hates Me And Thinks Im A Liar And A Fraud, i will. the most minor things. every day of my life. i am plagued by a constant fear that everyone thinks im always lying, that everyone is always suspecting me of Something, all the time.

every time i go to the pharmacy to pick up my completely normal mental health medications i think "the pharmacist thinks im a malingerer whos faking mental illness to try and get drugs". when they ask "thats two boxes right?" im terrified of saying "yes", even though yeah, my prescription is for two boxes of these meds, bc if i say "yes, give me two boxes and not one", its gonna be confirmation that im a liar whos just trying to get more meds. even though thats. literally just what im prescribed.

its like that about everything. i have to overperform truthfulness at all times, because just knowing im telling the truth isnt enough, i also have to convince everyone else that im telling the truth, all the time, because Everyone Always Thinks Im A Liar in my mind. if i, like, tell a friend on discord "going to bed now!" and then while getting ready for bed i make one last post on tumblr like 5 minutes later i think "my friend is gonna see this and think i lied about going to bed and that i was trying to avoid them on purpose because im a bad friend". if i tell someone about a condition i have i assume they doubt i actually have it and think im lying for attention. if i tell people im bigender and they react with total acceptance i think "theyre actually thinking im obviously just a binary man who is lying about being bigender so i can intrude upon women in some way, but they cant say it bc they dont want to look transphobic". if i tell people about abuse i suffered as a child and they react with horror and compassion i think "theyre thinking im making it up or exaggerating so i can get pity, theyre just forced to pretend they believe me to not be rude". if im having a mental health episode and someone is concerned about my well being i think "they think im doing this on purpose and putting on a show to force them to take care of me". and if i try to tell my therapist about symptoms im experiencing i think "he thinks literally everything i say about my mental health is a lie i tell so i can get on disability and get meds, so i have to hide part of my symptoms from him because the less i tell the less suspicious i am". i literally cant discuss this very belief w my therapist because i am convinced that if i told him "im constantly terrified that everyone, including you, thinks im lying about everything so i can get attention or some other benefit" he would think "ah, my liar patient is claiming that hes afraid of being seen as a liar to throw me off his scent. this is actually more proof that hes lying, hes laying down the precedent that hes not a liar in order to cover further lies".

all the time. all the time. and i cant make it stop. and i cant talk about it because i think anyone i tell about this is going to think "ah, yes, The Liar is insisting shes not a liar, which only a liar would do". i literally think anyone reading this very post is going to think "youre talking about this too much, youre trying too hard to come off as truthful, obviously youre trying to cover up your lies, in fact this very post proves you do lie about being mentally ill and abused and you lie to your therapist to get drugs and you probably stole that girls bonnet too, everything you say you didnt do is just a preemptive cover for having done it".

but well. if i keep refusing to talk about it im only feeding it. because the more i avoid talking about it to not trigger it, the more i reinforce the idea that "if i talk about it, everyone will turn against me" as legitimate. so, whatever, i guess. im just very tired, you know. i wish it would stop sometimes. i wish i could trust that anyone regards me in good faith. i think it also sucks of me to assume the worst out of everyone like this - to just think everyone is out to get me or always regarding me in the worst possible light. idk. i just wish i could make it stop. ill make an effort to finally tell my therapist tomorrow. but idk if ill have the guts yet.

[notbecauseofvictories]

it's so interesting talking to and around my father, because personality-wise we are extremely similar (so much so that sometimes I'll say things, then my mother will go quiet and respond...you know, you sounded just like your father) but I grew up as a woman, and he grew up as a man, and that does that make an appreciable difference.

[theotherbuckley]

Okay but Tommy drops out of high school — he told his father he was gay and he told him he could either be homeless or go to military school. He goes to military school and joins the army and he likes flying the helicopters because it means he doesn’t have to do any of the killing himself. And he makes some friends.

There's one guy who's like the squad leader who's a few years old and built like a Greek god and Tommy's young and a little bit in love. And they're friends maybe even family because this whole group of people spend every waking (and sleeping) moment together. And they all talk like a family and they all say they love each other and tease each other and it's nice. And one night it's just the two of them trading a flask of some sort of alcohol that Tommy doesn't know the name of and the man asks Tommy why he joined the army and where he wants to be in five years and Tommy trusts this man. He's half way in love with him so he doesn't even think twice before he tells the story about the time he came out to his family and his father nearly beat him to death before sending him here. And the conversation tapers off after that and he doesn’t register the change in the air but when he wakes up the next morning he’s being dishonourably discharged because he poses “unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability”. He knows what that means.

Tommy joins the fire department because he doesn’t know what else to do. He represses anything regarding his sexuality because he knows now that it’s wrong. He almost feels like he has a family again because his captain seems to like him and some of the guys are cool even if they say things he doesn’t agree with. And then he starts agreeing because maybe they’re right and he’s wrong and he’s just inherently wrong. So he follows their leads and is just straight racist because that’s how he can fit in.

And then a black lesbian woman joins and says she’s a black lesbian woman and Tommy doesn’t understand that either because you can’t be queer you just can’t be because it’s wrong.

But he nearly dies and and an Asian man saves his life and a black lesbian woman comes up with a better idea than any of them had and she tells them she’s no different and she is just as capable. So he improves himself he does and he tries to be better but he still can’t be who he is because the last 2 times he was honest about that he was betrayed.

Tommy leaves the 118 and “don’t ask, don’t tell” is lifted and he meets this guy he likes who likes him back and the 217 don’t seem to have a problem with the gender neutral pronouns and he slowly but surely lets himself open up again and be who he is and when the thing with that guy doesn’t work out because he’s moving to New York and Tommy’s not sure he’s ready to leave, it’s okay because his crew is there and they support him and he can still be himself.

[thelassoway]

Jason Sudeikis as Ted Lasso Season 3 » Casual Sweaters/Jumpers

[demaparbat-hp]

Even if zuko has a plan to end the war, making katara work amongst people who likely hold racism towards her and aided and supported the genocide of her people is still weird, especially since zuko benefits from the fire nations oppression of people throughout s1 when hunting the Avatar. Not good choices to make in a zutara au :/

Believe me, I've made these arguments against myself over and over again.

I know I'm putting Katara in an extremely difficult and unjust position in this AU with—from an outsider's point of view—little to no reason other than "I just wanted to see her in Fire Nation armor and kicking ass" and no consideration for the context. I'm not trying to somehow forgive nor redeem the Fire Nation's actions in war just because...well...just because. Not at all. People who've read Soundless (or any other of my wips, really) know that's not the case. On the contrary—I always do my best to see the war through a realistic, mature lense. And that includes everything that makes the Fire Nation so terrible in the first place.

That being said, there are some things I considered when deciding to make Katara side with them (even if her true motives lie elsewhere) in this AU. And they are not excuses. Just, different layers of context.

First of all, she was desperate. By this point in her life, her mother was dead, her father had left to fight the war, her brother followed behind a few years after, and she was left filling the empty spaces when, by all means, she wasn't ready for the responsibility. She had been feeling helpless and hopeless for years, and ached to do anything to help her people beyond doing chores and taking care for the children.

Let it be known that Aang's apparent betrayal comes from a place of trauma and misplaced anger on Katara's part. Much like how she put the Fire Nation's sins on Zuko's shoulders in S3. She is not on the right here, but this is her natural way to process and understand grief. There are many different aspects of her development as a child involved in how she views the Avatar—and, by extension, Aang—but more on this later.

Katara was young, and reckless, and she had just been "betrayed" by the first person who ever looked at her and saw more than the perfect caretaker she was forced to be. She was not in the right state of mind to make a decision like that and, to be honest, she couldn't have predicted the consequences. She saw a clear path to contribute to the end of the war, and by La she would take it.

On Zuko's end, you might argue that he should have known better than to let her join him and, well, you would be right. But there were many things about Katara's trauma response and state of mind that—unless he had known her for a long time—he couldn't have known. He will definitely blame himself later on, when the racism and cruelty towards Katara begins, and especially when word reaches her family at sea.

It's Katara's job to smack some sense into him from time to time and tell him that, yes, he should have tried harder to stop her (and she would probably be better off because of it) but what's done is done. And, by all means, the decision was hers to make. If anything, it's their fault, not his alone.

Now, Katara doesn't suffer the entire AU. That would just be cruel.

Zuko's crew was handpicked by Uncle Iroh, so you can expect dissidents, traitors and a few White Lotus agents who were smart enough to keep their true opinions quiet. There are...mixed opinions in that bunch, of course, but that's expected and, to be honest, rather easily dealt with. They are mostly honourable people just doing their best to end the war from the inside.

The real problem comes when they cross paths with, say, Zhao's fleet (or Hakoda's, let's be real).

And you may ask why Zuko is hunting down Aang, then, if he's secretly a goody-two-shoes himself... I'll explain that later in depth, so stay tuned.

In short, I know the decisions I've made, as a creator, are debatable at best, and downright blasfemous at worst. But they're deliberate.

I want the readers to feel conflicted about Katara's choices in this AU. I want people to have mixed opinions about the war, the (apparent lack of) morality, the characters, you name it!

I'm not trying to glorify a victim of war joining the side of the ones responsible for her people's genocide, even if it's just for show and she's actually set on destroying their government from within. Not at all.

Katara made a stupid, horrible decision, and she's going to suffer the consequences. But she's also going to fight to reach her goals, because she's stubborn like that.

I know most people may have a little trouble understanding where I'm coming from, because they don't have all the information necessary to make a full opinion.

I'm really thankful for these kind of asks. They let me explore these concepts and AUs in depth, and see what you think about them. I'm only human—my opinions are not infalible, nor The Right Ones, and this is a kind of discussion that I love to have.

So, keep the asks coming!!!

[spookythesillyfella]

"This crying voice of mine is so annoying // I suppress the emotion // Break the egg, make it a mess // Fry it, roll it // Look, I've stopped crying"

★ alt verzionz under cut :

★ song : "For you An Empty Shell" – Dobu no Awa

[bittersweetresilience]

adrien often being referred to in fanon as “sunshine” and the sun and something about Felix having Moon symbolism. is this anything sunny?

sentitwin sun moon symbolism is absolutely ridiculous. i have thought about it before but never gotten anywhere. this time i consulted @ninadove about it and rotated it in my mind for many hours and i am still not sure about my verdict. therefore i'm just going to ramble a bit and then pass it over to nina. birthday teamwork!

i started out agreeing with the assignment of adrien as the sun and félix as the moon.

their personalities seem to fit the vibes. moreover, it ties into yin and yang.

adrien's miraculous is placed on the yang half of the miracle box, and ladybug's on the yin. his hair is parted to the right, which is the direction of yang, while félix's and ladybug's are parted to the left, yin.

a brief tangent here: even though the placement in the miracle box and adrien and marinette's civilian selves with their white and black outer garments respectively seem to indicate yang and yin, when they become heroes, they swap entirely. ladybug wears red, yang, and chat noir wears black, yin. their powers of creation and destruction are also yang and yin. my theory is that not only are adrien and marinette meant to be halves of a whole as partners, but their hero selves are also meant to halves of a whole with their civilian selves. yin and yang symbolism all around.

back to adrien as sunshine. before félix was introduced, adrien was established as the character in the show with the disney princess golden hair and golden smile, so it's easy to see where this fanon came from.

marinette describes her love for him as three suns in her heart.

then if we want to pair the sentitwins, and we think adrien is the sun, it makes sense for félix to be the moon.

some final evidence in support of this is mirror imagery. the same way the moon reflects the light of the sun, félix reflects adrien. both in his creation as a reflection of adrien's and in his behavior in the show. félix dresses as adrien in over half of his episodes.

but this picture is complicated by several factors. there's a fair amount of evidence that the twins are actually associated the other way around, with adrien as the moon and félix as the sun.

gold and silver color symbolism. one could easily think of gold as the sun and silver as the moon, but in the show, félix and the graham de vanilys are associated with gold and adrien and the agrestes are associated with silver. the wedding rings, the colors of their homes, their camouflaged miraculous, the lighting... anarchist gang talked about this a few months ago and i think nina may want to expand on what we discovered, so i will leave this to her.

another brief tangent here: white and black color symbolism. i have not fleshed out my thoughts on it but i am leaving notes here for future reference. adrien's civilian outfit features white, but this likely reflects gabriel's influence on him. his hero selves wear black. meanwhile, félix is introduced dressed in black and haloed in white as he enters gabriel's sphere. in the play, it's the opposite. at the diamonds' dance, he and marinette wear white and kagami, like lune rouge, wears red. obfuscation? femininity? yin and yang again?

and a third brief tangent here: when chat noir is unhealthy, he becomes chat blanc, who is white, and patte de velours, who is accented with gold. colors of entanglement? of influence? of inauthenticity? are félix's best parts adrien's idea of a perfect self? i am contemplating.

there are more significant reasons for moon adrien and sun félix. in important moments of the show, adrien is frequently associated with the moon. glaciator, chat blanc, kuro neko, new york special... and on the other hand, where does the sun play an important part of the story? in réplique, with félix.

narratively, sentitwins seem to have moon and sun roles. adrien is the one from whom things are hidden, while félix is the one who shines light on the truth. adrien spends most of his time as support, while félix is an active agent. adrien reacts to things, while félix makes them happen, for better or for worse.

nina has an entire essay on félix and the development of his sun associations from lune rouge to the sunrise in représentation, so i'll leave that to her to discuss.

all right. sentitwins are either sun and moon or moon and sun. what does this mean for them?

it intrigues me that adrien is viewed by fanon as the sun when he could be better described as the moon. adrien agreste enjoyers, please get on this.

here is a starting point for your thoughts. if adrien is the moon, it makes sense why he destroyed the moon in chat blanc when he was trying to destroy himself.

and if félix is the sun, it further puts into perspective why he felt guilty about réplique's fate. they were a sacrifice for his goals. he may has well have literally killed them.

role reversal and false impressions are prominent in sentitwins and this complicated picture adds to that.

frequently bought together. do not separate.

in conclusion, yes, autumn, this is most certainly something. fuck if i know what it is, but i love losing my mind about it.

[limonjarritos]

VINCE IS SO DOWN BAD FOR RODY OH MY GOD??? LITERALLY KILLS HIS EX GIRLFRIEND TO MAKE HIM HAPPY???? THEYVE KNOWN EACH OTHER LESS THAN A WEEK??????

LITERALLY LIKE- MY MAN FELL HARD AND INSANELY. LIKE WHO DOES THAT? I wouldn't have it any other way. Just the way that as soon as Rody came into his life he was like 'I need this man to be so whole-y mine.'

When I was playing the game my pet theory was that he fell for Rody's brand of love, for how he loved Manon (he did say that he spoke of Manon when they first met) and Rody's personality.

(read more because I am so annoying about this game vv)

Something something, how Rody loves so intensely to the detriment of himself (Manon told him to stop giving, to for once in his life realise that he needed to take care of him self and be stable. He can't just account for the other person's needs <- barely know her but I get why Rody was head over heels). How Rody's love is similar to his cooking, burning, burning himself, burning and oh so overwhelming. And I do think Vince wanted the feel of that burn for himself, wanted to feel the warmth and devotion of which he had been so devoid of. To understand what it was he was lacking. How love and cooking go hand in hand in the story, how Vince's dishes were devoid of love, how he can't taste. How Rody's love surely would be strong enough, would be the missing ingredient to allow him to finally taste something. (Also lack of taste going hand in hand with what looks like depression of some sort, or perhaps just apathy for life. How bland his own life may be. How such a love, such a person could perhaps bring some taste to his life.) Vince seems to have killed Manon as a form of trying to show Rody a similar type of love. Giving him something, giving him a meal made out of Rody's own love. A gift since he couldn't give his own brand of love in a way that matters, couldn't give it without showing his own brand of devotion. I do think he 100% had an underlying jealousy and hatred of Manon, how Rody was still stuck up on her. How she never once mentioned Rody when her and Vince dated (though outside of Vince's pov I'm pretty sure Manon was just doing the healthy normal thing by not mentioning an ex?? but Vince is soooo gone) which is obviously a sin (he doesn't seem to take kindly to people who are mean to Rody. Such as the article and Rody's old college classmate) and proof she wasn't deserving enough of Rody's love. But alas she was still a gift and show of love to Rody.

On the personality topic (thought I forgot about that did you?), Rody is such a brash and kind person. A perfect foil for Vincent's more stoic nature. Rody willing to try and befriend Vincent, running into the kitchen to talk to him. He showed a bit of said love to Vince by trying to befriend him and how could Vince not want more? (why wouldn't Vince try to reciprocate in his own way. Make him happy) I mean he seems pretty feared by his cooks, and the people at the party have mentioned that Vince is pretty ruthless, not at all a person many wish to get to know. But Rody is willing to, yet Vince wants his undivided attention...

Okay wow this has gone on way too long uhh I'm 100% open to further discussion especially if I forgot something! And I haven't really looked too much into the game past playing it, so any reveals the creator may have given I'm mostly unaware of and would love to be informed of more!

Anyways tiny Vincent attack!

[canisalbus]

wait ive been reading some of these asks. do machete & vasco have a written out story? or comic? i havent seen any links on your page for something like that (unless I'm looking over em :"D) but I'd love to read/hear more if so!

Hh sorry, they have lots of story stuff planned out but it's all just rattling around in my head, there's no comic, written fiction, lore depository or anything substantial that I could direct you to. I mostly just design characters for my own enjoyment and then put them in little imaginary situations because it's a fun and inspiring thing to do.

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

The backlash against Frozen, which, from my observation, has cooled down (that isn't a joke, I swear-) quite a bit over the past few years, was less based on the quality of the movie itself and more on the fact that its massive success and reach really overshadowed a lot of other movies that came out prior to it and after it and was getting credited for stuff that had already been done before plenty of times, and in many cases, in those exact movies. This is why, to this day, many fans STILL refuse to give Tangled its props without trying to put Frozen down in some way. In their eyes, Tangled should have gotten the glory and accolades Frozen received, but did not, and that made them quite jealous. Overall, Frozen is far from a bad movie. It's a great movie with a great message, characters, music and does actually deserve the success and recognition it got, and some fans need to stop being so salty about it and uplift their fav movies without putting Frozen down so they get the proper appreciation they deserve as well. Although, yes, the credit this movie got for allegedly introducing themes, archetypes and tropes that had already been seen before in Disney, including movies set in a fairytale world with heroines as the protags, was undoubtedly the most annoying part about its success and is part of the reason why many tried to drag this movie and its main leads.

[karamazovposting]

On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part three)

This is my favorite part of this whole thing. I haven't written it yet, that's literally the opening line, but here I'll be talking about one of the most interesting (to me) aspects of Ivan's character: how the other characters perceive him; I already know I'll be having a blast writing this. Internal vs external perception is probably my favorite topic when it comes to character study, so I was thinking of doing something similar for Dmitri as well in the future because I noticed some things that I want to talk about. I'll think about it.

For once I don't have to make an introduction where I explain what I'll be going over in this because there's none to be made, so let's start from the beginning. The first time we see Ivan is when they're all waiting for Dmitri at the beginning of the book, and what does he do? He takes the piss out of everyone, of course. And I think that in everything that happens there and in the following passages (I was particularly struck by Father Zosima's words about him, which I've already mentioned in here) we pretty much have the key to Ivan's character, and he doesn't even give it to us himself (very fitting indeed). The first thing we find out is that Alyosha is afraid Ivan will be condescending towards the monks and while Ivan technically isn't, he still adopts a subtly mocking tone with them, which checks out considering that Miusov says Ivan feigns arrogance to mask his own insecurity. Also it's very telling that Ivan's demeanor changes when it comes to Zosima, I feel like he actually does respect him and to some extent appreciates his words. Funnily enough I've found myself in a similar situation in the past (atheist surrounded by nuns, my family was there, they told me some things I appreciated; I wasn't making fun of anyone though I swear) so I get it.

Speaking of words, there are many used for him in those chapters, and there are even more as the novel goes on, brushstroke after brushstroke painting a rather confusing and contradictory picture of this young man: he's bright yet insecure and "a tomb", he's weird and a misunderstood outcast in his own family yet he's charming (said by multiple characters in multiple occasions, I think it's the word that's used the most to describe him) and refined, yet again eccentric. He's paradoxical and a riddle (another word used multiple times), and his own father fears him more than he fears the son who almost beat him to death and at first I couldn't understand why, considering everyone else's opinion of Ivan and the fact that Ivan actually helped get Dmitri off of their father when he was beating him, but then I went back to Book Two and stumbled upon a line that managed to completely go over my head in the past (how could that happen? God, the horror!) that does explain a lot and looking back now, to me feels like one of the most important lines (about Ivan) of the whole novel:

What seemed to [Aleksej] strangest of all was that his brother Ivan, [...] who alone had such influence on his father that he could have stopped him [...]

I don't think I need to explain why I think this line (that you can find in The old buffoon for context) is crucial so I won't say much about it, but it also explains why Ivan's presence in the Karamazov household is seen as a guarantee for quiet and order (as stated during Dmitri's trial, and we also see it in the fact that both Dmitri and Pavel had in mind to murder Fyodor only if Ivan had been out of the picture, though for different reasons), and honestly it surprised me: I mean, Ivan's influence over other people plays a very important role in the story, but him having influence over his father? Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov? Wow. Also I have something else to say about the quiet and order thing but it belongs in part four.

The rest of that line is also interesting in my opinion:

[...] [Ivan] sat now quite unmoved, with downcast eyes, apparently waiting with interest to see how it would end, as though he had nothing to do with it.

This, maybe trivial, line never really left my head, which means it must mean something to me. Maybe because that behaviour fits Ivan's character so well and I always like when he gets to act like a normal, unbothered, and even childish at times, twenty-three year old (he's not even angry there, what a rare occurrence) and because according to how the other characters speak of him, it feels unexpected (and turned out to be useful for this post).

Back to how others speak of him, someone (Fyodor I think) goes as far as saying that maybe Ivan deliberately seeks torment, which honestly feels a little too familiar to me and that's why that's another line I can't seem to get out of my head; when people have such a high opinion of you they do tend to blame your own struggle on you, at least in my experience, as it's their only way of rationalizing it. You should be better than that, you should be smarter than that. But you're not, so maybe you actually want it; why would such a brilliant person be like that otherwise? You're not allowed to be "weak" and I think Ivan is a perfect example of this as he has internalized this concept, but I'll go over it in part four.

But what does all this have to do with bipolar disorder? I'm getting there, but you'll have to bear with me because this whole thing gets quite intricated at this point and I have to be as clear as I can (and I can't, ever), so let's take a seemingly nonsensical step back to see the bigger picture.

None of the brothers are stupid: Dmitri is naive, impulsive and uneducated, sure, but the narrator does describe him as a fairly intelligent man in spite of it, Pavel was basically a child prodigy and a very smart young adult (and maybe I should talk about it sometime because everyone in the novel considers him to be capable but stupid and there's only one person who explicitly recognizes his intelligence in a genuine way apart from the narrator, guess who), and Aleksej, while also uneducated, isn't stupid either. But there is a particular emphasis put on Ivan's intelligence and it's hard to find a paragraph where he is present or where someone else is talking about him that doesn't mention it. Ivan is bright, Ivan is educated, Ivan is an academic. It's pretty much the first thing the other characters think of when thinking about him, it's almost some sort of morbid fixation. And it's not a positive thing either as it does nothing but feed into his insecurities and Pavel even uses it against him by telling him how intelligent he is over and over until he officially loses it. Ivan is smart to the point of being charming and admired, but that turns out to be a double-edged sword (of course) because everyone puts him on a pedestral and higher the pedestral, deadlier the fall, as we see in the second half of the novel. In my opinion the only one who seems to view him as a human being and not as some sort of ghost or higher, detached entity (apart from Zosima) is Alyosha; Dmitri considers Ivan to be better than everyone else including himself, Smerdyakov is...well, Smerdyakov, his father's attitude towards him is basically I don't understand what's up with him and I don't really care (in addition to what I said a few paragraphs ago) and even Katya is charmed by him more than she loves him, at least at first. Everyone else doesn't even really know him and that's partially his own fault, but I can't blame him.

Why do I consider this bipolar coding? To make it short, intelligent people are often considered charismatic and many psychiatric studies suggest that there's a link between bipolar disorder and high intelligence (which to me personally kind of feels like a consolation prize, like nature saying hey, you'll hate being alive but at least you're not an idiot!, thanks a lot I guess) and it's also worth mentioning that bipolar disorder is linked to creativity as well since Ivan has come up with multiple poems over the years, which means he must be a creative person to a certain degree. I haven't been citing my sources because this is not an academic paper and I'm just some guy on Tumblr who doesn't even study psychiatry and just happens to be basically cursed, but there's a book about this topic that I want to mention: Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament by American psychiatrist Kay Redfield Jamison; I've also read her (very relatable) autobiography and I'm a big fan of hers since she knows what she's talking about even more than the average psychiatrist because she has bipolar disorder herself. For anecdotal evidence, I keep a mental list of historical figures and artists (including contemporaries/celebrities who are still alive) diagnosed with bipolar disorder (so if you ever want to know if someone has/had it hit me up I guess) that I won't include here for obvious reasons, but let me just say that the doctors who did the aforementioned studies do seem to have a point (and I'm an artist myself). I want to make clear that I'm not trying to play into the overused, boring, inaccurate, and generally uncomfortable (for me at least) mentally ill tormented genius trope/stereotype and that it's obviously not what Dostoevsky was going for either; it's just that I've personally had people fixate on my intellect my whole life (not to mention the general weird fascination the average person has for mental illness and mentally ill people as well) and seeing Ivan go through that same experience combined with the studies I just mentioned made this association inevitable for me. Also people seem to find you more fun and charming when you're manic/hypomanic (only when you're the "right" kind of manic/hypomanic of course, when you're experiencing dysphoric mania/hypomania people just become ableist because that's the "wrong" kind of mania/hypomania, duh) which is...uhm...I don't really know how to feel about it honestly, but it's a fact so I'm mentioning it.

But what came first, Ivan's self-isolation or people's misunderstanding of him as a person? Is it the former that caused the latter or the other way around? To me this feels like having to talk about the good old chicken and egg dilemma and I still haven't figured it out in relation to myself, so I guess this will remain unanswered for now (or forever). But what I do know is that bipolar disorder is a lonely experience, no matter how hard someone tries to not make it lonely; people just don't get it even if you explain yourself a thousand times over and over. It doesn't mean you don't have relationships with others, it just means you know you have to keep some things to yourself sometimes and you get used to it, which seems to be Ivan's case too; to me the best example of it is when he's just about to tell Alyosha about the devil but stops himself from doing so and decides to push him away instead. In my opinion it's also connected to his inability to show "weakness" that I already mentioned and that is often one of the core experiences of living with bipolar disorder, but I won't go over that now. I'll just say the problem when it comes to Ivan is that everyone (the readers, the other characters, even himself) gets tangled in a net of performance; living with bipolar disorder feels like having to constantly keep up a certain kind of act (that I wouldn't even know how to explain) in front of others due to the stigma, and I'm pretty sure that's the case with every neurodivergence and invisible disability (bipolar disorder is in fact a disability and I'm legally disabled, that's why I mentioned ableism earlier). Ivan knows what people think and expect of him (we've seen it in his first real interaction with Alyosha and I've already talked about it in part two) and we see few moments when he goes mask off, and apart from those moments his facial expressions are always described as being forced or "off" in some other way. One thing that struck me is the significant contrast between what Mrs. Khokhlakova in particular says about him and how we actually see him behave when he doesn't bother with his forced coldness and collectedness (usually by himself or around his family): she talks about how refined and chivalrious he is multiple times because that's the side of him she sees (and almost everyone else sees), yet he's the character who swears the most (I don't know if "swearing" is the right term as in the novel there are no actual curse words in the modern sense but he doesn't really speak kindly does he); his language is even worse than Dmitri's. I'm not saying that being polite in public/formal settings and swearing like a sailor in private/informal settings is something unusual because I'm also like that (as I'm afraid you might have noticed, sorry for all the swearing!), I just wanted to point that out because to me it seems important in general and relevant for this post.

This doesn't mean I think of Ivan as a fake person because I would have to have that same opinion of myself and I don't, it's quite hard to explain if you haven't lived the bipolar experience first-hand or don't really know what masking is and I hope you'll understand what I'm trying to say here; it's just that he hides and polishes some parts of himself due to a combination of childhood emotional neglect, mental illness, and a personality that's difficult on its own (but really, when you have a disorder like this one it's quite hard to tell what's personality and what's mental illness, especially because at times they're one and the same; it shapes you and sometimes you can't even do anything about it and to me it's no surprise Ivan's sense of self is as warped as it is), all factors that contribute to his partially self-inflicted isolation. I mean, he does say himself to Alyosha that at first he kept him at a distance on purpose and you can also find a glimpse of that in his own philosophy: he openly says that he loves humanity but dislikes humans. He can only show affection from afar and I think that also reflects in the situation with Pavel and in Ivan's own guilt: I don't think Ivan lacks empathy (quite the opposite), he just doesn't have the tools to do anything with it. Could he really have done something? He says he would have if Pavel had explicitly told him to stay in their father's house (here the conversation shifts on the physical aspect of things as Ivan now feels guilty for also being physically distant from his family and not only emotionally), but Ivan's words are never really reliable. How can we expect someone who's incapable of getting close to people to help them? Even when trying to help Dmitri escape prison he's still rough with him. There's a reason why his thing with Katya is a mess as well and he refuses to admit that he loves her (he even says to Alyosha that he doesn't like her and he's with her only to prevent a catastrophe at Mitya's trial, which are later stated to be lies by the narrator): he always tries to convert his feelings into reason, otherwise his whole façade crumbles.

I also want to mention Ippolit Kirillovič's words about him at the trial because they seem very important to me, but only very briefly because first, many things he says have already been talked about in my other posts and second, it seems a little unfair to leave the other members of the family out because Ippolit Kirillovič says many interesting things about all of them; maybe I'll make a post about that in the future. Basically, Ippolit Kirillovič doesn't particularly like Ivan because he got the better of him in a couple public arguments they had in the past (very funny to me by the way), but he still prefaces his criticism of him by talking about his positive qualities (once again, his vigorous intellect and brilliant education) and saying he was welcome in their community (but not in the same way Dmitri was). This is yet another case of me not knowing where I'm going with this, but this particular instance stood out to me so it was worth mentioning; I think it summarizes the other characters' attitude towards Ivan quite well, but I can't really explain it.

Another thing that I noticed is that no one ever calls him by a nickname, not even Alyosha. I wrote a post about the use of names and nicknames in The Brothers Karamazov months ago but I hated the way it turned out because I felt like I wasn't making any sense so I decided to throw the whole thing away and I don't even know if I should try writing it again. Anyway, it's very interesting to me that pretty much everyone is referred to by a nickname (even Rakitin of all people) except for Ivan; not even Alyosha calls him anything other than his name (and if I remember correctly not even Katya, who talks to Ivan using the informal you, does). Actually, there are a couple instances where this does happen and that drives me even more insane because the first one happens at the beginning of the novel, when his father calls him Vanya a few times only to never do it again (and honestly Ivan didn't seem to like that either), and the second one is Rakitin mockingly referring to him as Vanechka when talking about him to Aleksej (because of course he'd never call Ivan that to his face and I also have a feeling he'd get decked if he tried). I don't really know where I'm going with this (again) but I wanted to throw it in anyway because it always stood out to me considering the only main characters that are never referred to like that are Fyodor, Ivan, and Smerdyakov and well, there seem to be implications here. In the aforementioned deleted post I wrote about this topic I mentioned sense of belonging (Mitya belongs there after all) and affection/connection (everyone loves Alyosha) in opposition to being excluded (Smerdyakov is not a legitimate son) and being unable to connect with others (Ivan is an outcast due to the multiple reasons I went over in the previous paragraphs). Maybe I really should try writing it again.

Well, I think I'm done for now. I found it a little hard to separate the themes of part three from the ones of part four, because the latter will focus on Ivan's self-perception (among what happens from Book Eleven to the epilogue and other, more "medical", things) but we see how he perceives himself through the devil but the devil is not an actual real person in the book so I couldn't really include that here and in my mind the themes of these two parts kind of blended together so I had to to figure out where to break them apart.

This took longer than usual (which bothers me but oh well) because I had to take a break from pretty much everything (which is why lately many posts have been queued) for a while due to the February-March period always being whacky for me bipolar-wise, mostly because of the seasonal change (something that plays a huge role in this shitshow of a disorder and something I'll go over in part four because surprise surprise) that always makes me mentally and physically tired. All of this, which can be summarized with bipolar disorder bipolar disordering, to say that I hope this part isn't as messy as it seems to me and that I hope you can't tell I wrote it during a time I wasn't getting enough sleep (I swear I did my best given the circumstances), and if I "disappear" or interact less from time to time it's usually because of this kind of stuff. I'm still not getting enough sleep by the way so I might take a break from serious posts again, I love that daylight savings time happens during one of the worst seasonal changes of the whole year for me every year and it doesn't mess with my disorder at all.

It sure didn't help that I chose to make part three more complicated than the others thinking it wouldn't go in a completely different direction than I had originally planned and wouldn't therefore have to reorganize my thoughts during a period I simply couldn't do so; I will obviously be punished for my hubris. But until then I'll be working on part four (and some other unfinished stuff I have in my drafts and have no idea when I'll post), which will be the last part of my bipolar Ivan Karamazov essay.

[palajae]

hi :3! not sure if you've ever gotten this type of ask before but, how do you make your long fics well ... long? i've been trying to get myself to write more full length fics but i can never seem to make good enough scenes that aren't too short if that makes sense 😭 if you could give me some tips on how to make scenes longer and make fics more interesting i would greatly appreciate it! :))

aaaa i never get this type of ask so im excited- ofc i’m super happy to answer!!

hmmm for me specifically, i like to think of the purpose behind each scene (i.e. characters meeting for the first time, establishing a conflict of the mc) because that’s how a story is made and how the plot moves along right?

then i use the setting and characters in the scene to incorporate the plot leading up to the true “purpose” of the scene + after the purpose is fulfilled AKA—transitions. that way, the scene is not super short and straight to the point (if that makes sense?)

here’s an example bc idk if i made any sense at all lol: let’s say the purpose of your first scene is to get the mcs to meet at a cafe. well, based off what i’ve watched and read, i could write ab how the characters get ready to go there/why they wanted to go to the cafe in the first place/even just their thoughts going to the desired location. that adds more lines or dialogue immediately. then after the two mcs meet, you can lengthen more by adding their reactions or thoughts after their meeting!

and for making things interesting, as long as you stay true to the story and characters actions/personalities while keeping the plot flowing smoothly—you don’t have to worry about it being interesting—it naturally will be! i feel readers mainly stop reading if the story doesn’t make sense anymore (the actions of the characters suddenly don’t align with their original values and the plot is just moving on with no purpose).? honestly it’s hard for me too to know what people find interesting these days lol.

another thing that can help make scenes longer is maybe reading other people’s works/watching movies or dramas to get inspiration ykwim? especially like kdramas that are made up of many parts, i think they’re good examples of longer scenes that fulfill their duty to the plot while still keeping it entertaining for the reader!

[tcypionate]

personally, i think if some sort of apocalypse happened, we wouldn't immediately collapse and get set back hundreds of years wrt technology, infrastructure, etc. it's not like every engineer, doctor, construction workers, etc. are going to also be wiped out. and even under the constant pressure and threat of capitalism, people go into these careers wanting to do good. (depending on how the apocalypse is started/how it happens) there would probably be a few rough years at first but people are really good at getting their shit together