#the mammas and the pappas

[reetsmusic]

California Dreamin’ - The Mamas & The Papas (acoustic cover)

[skruttet]

MOOMINVALLEY SEASON 4 POSTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sator-the-wanderer]

"Snuffkin's and Moomintroll's room" - Moominvalley Map by Tove

[captain-mozzarella]

I am SO TIRED

I’m not entirely happy with the watercolour (cuz I’m mostly not used to it lmao) but Im too tired to care at this point

(Individual photos under the cut :3)

[smokeys-house]

No nuance no bald no vanilla extract and most of all no snufkin these are your only two choices

[analogboii]

[nostraightgloops]

Yinu is doomed to a life of huge hands

[unfortunately-lilith]

i can not explain to you how much i love the mammas & the pappas, the little choir kid girl in me cant take California dreaming and dedicated to the one i love

[shiroselia]

Jag har aldrig brytt mig om dejtingprogram någonsin men en sak är fucking säker

Anledningen till att Paradise Hotel med flera suger är att de har idioter under 30 bast

Bonde söker fru, Hotell Romantik, osv. osv. är alla någorlunda gulliga at WORST och enda anledningen att de inte suger är för att det är vanliga människor som dessutom levt utanför internetet mer än 2 år i sitt liv

[spookle]

hi everyone

getting into a car accident is EXPENSIVE❗❗ dont do it

[wendibird]

And like, if I didn't tell her, I could leave today.

lowkey all the leaves are brown and the sky is grey

[narmothewraith]

Dyed my hair yesterday btw :)

Also liked it without the green, so I had blonde streaks through my hair but I wanted to dye my hair for almost 3 years an unnatural colour so maybe the next time I just go with blonde through my hair :)

[girlgenius1111]

alone.

i wrote this in maybe a half hour and it's very short but i was very in my feels so you get angsty sol as a result before the events of family line. sol struggles. there is change on the horizon, but she doesn't see it.

-----

It was the same every morning, the same every day. A quick knock would wake you, a second knock a few minutes later telling you it was time to get up. You’d throw on clothes that didn’t quite fit with Spain’s climate, tie your hair up in a bun, and go downstairs. 

Breakfast was always quiet, ever since the first few weeks, when Ingrid had tried to engage you in conversation and you rejected every attempt. She’d ask you a question that would remind you how little she knew about your life now. You’d snap back at her unintentionally, she’d get angry, and the table would fall quiet. Eventually, it just stayed quiet. 

You’d go to school, barely understand a word spoken to you. Scrape by with passable grades, most of the time. Go back to Ingrid’s house. Do your school work at the kitchen table, where she could keep an eye on you. Hide in your room until dinner. Hide in your room after dinner. Distract yourself with a mindless show, or more often, a nature documentary of some kind. Fall asleep, dream of lakes and forests and grass and mountains; things that could never be disappointed in you. 

You went through the motions. Step by step, day after day. Not really living, just existing. Not trying, either. 

You’d stop trying a long time ago. Long before Spain, before the small, bland extra bedroom you slept in. Before disappointed looks had begun to come from your sister. You’d stopped trying when you were still in Norway, still disappointing your parents. 

Back in Norway, you felt content being mostly invisible. Your parents ignoring you was better than being yelled at, though they still did that a fair amount.There was something about being here, though, in Spain that was just… different. 

Perhaps it was that part of you, little you, who still remembered Ingrid as someone who gave the best hugs and always knew how to make you smile. Little you hadn’t ever had much hope in her parents, but she’d had hope in Ingrid. That part of you clung to the idea that Ingrid could still make everything better, like she had when you were small. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t let go of that hope. 

It crushed you, time and time again, when Ingrid yelled at you, or frowned at a bad grade, or sent you to your room for being a few minutes past curfew, without even letting you explain why you’d been late [there’d been a turtle in the road on your walk from the climbing gym, and it had taken 5 minutes you didn’t have to make sure it got across safely]. When she’d sigh after another weekend passed, and you remained locked in your room. When she’d tell you to just try harder. At speaking Spanish, at making friends, at school. 

You didn’t have anything left to give. All of your energy was spent dragging yourself out of bed. Why couldn’t she see that? Growing up, it had felt like Ingrid had been the only one to see you. Now, though, she was just like everyone else. She saw what your parents saw, you decided. Someone who just wasn’t worth it. 

Ingrid had always loved you. Even when it was hard to believe that your parents did, Ingrid always told you she loved you. She hadn’t said it in a while, though. You hadn’t heard from your Mamma in weeks, the last text you’d gotten from your Pappa had been scolding you for spending too much money. [You’d bought Ingrid a birthday present, but he made you return it before you could give it to her]. 

Maybe you just weren’t someone who could be loved. You rolled onto your side, covering your ears to block out the sound of Ingrid’s loud laughter at something Mapi had said. Tears dripped off your face, and you wished you were 7 again, burying your face in your sister’s shoulder and knowing that as long as she had you, you’d be okay. That was back when she loved you, though. You were pretty sure she didn’t anymore. How could she? When all you did was screw up, who could love someone like you? 

You weren’t 7 anymore, you were 17, and you were all alone. In a house hundreds of miles away from home, with your sister who you felt like you barely knew anymore. All alone. You were beginning to think that was all you’d ever be. Alone. 

You didn’t know a lot of things, though. You didn’t know about the book shoved under Ingrid’s pillow, about troubled teens. You didn’t know that she’d stand in your doorway sometimes, just watching you sleep. Enjoying that, at least while resting, you didn’t frown. 

You didn’t know your Pappa picked up the phone often, but never called, feeling like he’d created a gap he wasn’t sure he could ever fix. Didn’t know that sometimes your Mamma slept in your bed, remembering the small child that had once smelled of syrup and brought her flowers from the garden. 

You didn’t know that Mapi stayed up late at night, duolingo open on her phone, hoping that maybe speaking a language you understood would make you feel more at home. 

You didn’t know that Ingrid loved you more than her heart could take, sometimes, and that she was just doing what she thought would work. She didn’t realize you didn’t need discipline, that you just needed a support system. 

Things would improve, but you didn’t know that. As you sobbed into your pillow, you were pretty sure you’d always feel like this; unloved and completely alone. 

[featherwurm]

Tav doesn't really feel strongly about sexy underwear (it's fine, but not really necessary), but she's willing to do stuff for fun. Karlach does like eye-candy though, and Tav is real nice to look at.

Also for fun, here's some of Karlach's and Tav's use of pet names for each other:

Both frequently use sweet, typically romantic things (Love, Darling, Sweetheart, Dear, Honey, etc.) Both also frequently use Casual insults (Dummy, Goon, Dumbass, Smartass, Asshole, Loony, Dork, Dick, Prick, Cunt, etc.)

Tav specifically will use ‘Dove’ and ‘Heart’ and continues to use ‘Soul’ although it’s become more intimate in it’s use with Karlach. Karlach still uses ‘Soldier’ (and it has become similarly affectionate to Tav’s ‘Soul’ when using it specifically with her) but will also use ‘Commander’ if they’re being sassy at each other.

Both will refer to each other as Red and Blue if they’re harassing someone else “Hell of a thing to say, Red” “Exactly what I was thinking, Blue, exactly what I was thinking…” *proceed to get into a bar fight over a vague insult.*

Tav doesn't tend to use ‘baby’ but Karlach will if she’s feeling particularly mushy. They’ll both tend to default to ‘lady’ (‘pretty lady’, ‘sweet lady’, etc) rather than ‘girl’ with each other either. They both will sometimes randomly switch to masc terms of endearment too – handsome, sir, mr. etc. as both of them have a bit of a tenuous grip on gender.

Karlach does playfully refer to herself with Mamma K/Daddy/Pappa every now and again, but it's more silly and fun (and occasionally threatening) than anything sexual (and Tav doesn't call her that apart from support if she's bothering someone else "Yeah, listen to Mumma K, Shadowheart, you need to sleep" etc.) Tav doesn't really have an equivalent, but Karlach will call her stuff to match if she's talking about both of them in that kind of line (she will usually use 'Z' instead of 'T' for Zatavia rather than Tav, it's pretty silly, but Karlach says it with confidence enough that it works.)

[caramelpenguin]

Simon is soft. Simon is warm. Simon is golden and he is safe and he is love. These are simple, solid facts that- at this very moment- makes Wille want to cry a little bit. It is the opposite of the icy atmosphere in the Palace, where his mamma criticises his every thought and move and decision, and his pappa stands there to watch.

It's early autumn. Outside, the cold is beginning to seep into their bones, biting at the edge of the world. Simon is tracing lazy patterns onto his collarbone, curled up next to him on his bed, bathed in the orange glow of the fishtanks. They fit together. Wille doesn't know who he'd be without this.

"Do you want to talk about?" Simon asks. He whispers it as if the world will steal his question from him if he's too loud. He's had too much taken from him already.

Wilhelm shakes his head. He cried enough before texting Simon asking if he could come over. He really doesn't want to cry again.

"Okay. That's okay." A kiss on neck. Lips pressed onto his cheek. Onto his forehead. Fingers combing through his hair, over and over, like they're stitching him back together. He is surrounded by warmth. His chest is stirring, he hears his heart thumping in his ears and something weird is welling inside and it might tip over but he can't let that happen because then he'll think about his mamma and that look on her face and the way she says her words so that they cut cleanly through him, so that they drip with disappointment and how she won't let him be himself and how controlled his life has been and will always be and he really doesn't want to cry.

"Thank you, Simon," he says instead of falling apart. Wilhelm swallows hard, he breathes deep. He clenches his jaw.

"Don't thank me."

"I just did."

Simon tuts playfully. He draws a heart onto Wilhelm's cheek with his index finger. "I hope you know that I am so proud of you. All your friends are. Parents aren't always right, you know." Simon threads their hands together. "They don't get to decide who you are, or who you'll become. That's yours." Wilhelm shuffles to wrap an arm around the body next to him. He's clingy and desperate and aching. He's a little boy again. Starving for hugs. Starving for a love he doesn't have to earn.

"One step at a time," Simon murmurs, holding Wille tightly against him.

He nods. "One step at a time."