#this is mostly for myself but if it speaks to you feel free to share

[feyriejane]

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO WALK AWAY

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SAY NO

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BE ANGRY

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO PUT YOURSELF FIRST

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TAKE UP SPACE

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SIMPLY EXIST

[itsmespicaa]

love love them.. they are so proper polished housecat vs messy scrubby fox and disaster bi vs proper bi/gay perfect hubby themed...

Police officer x judge au lol.. funnily enough i would see fa hua as the prim and proper young detective with Lan Ge as an intelligent disaster judge (totally not projecting into the character) who ends up stuck working with Fa Hua who fusses over him for the 'case sake' (yess Lan Ge would be a disaster bi police officer buttt for once i want to subvert the trope lol)..

writing more fics for them as soon as workload calms down - happy to exchange tropes and au... if there was less censorship, this couple could have got a live action lol... and be as known as an untamed.. love the action scenes and lgbtq vibes from a few of the side characters...

hiii yes omg!!! 😭😭😭 alas, even the barely intimate scenes are censored out in the donghua...damn you censorship, i despise you so much :( if only it managed to garner a bigger audience, then maybe a live action is still in the cards...im just grateful we managed to get a completed donghua now ahaha

Your AU idea is sooo cute!! Judge x police officer is always so fun omg, the tension and the reluctant working together...*chefs kiss* suuper excited to read your other fics and AUs!! (P.S. Are you by any chance the one that wrote "professional partnership"? 👀✨ I'm slowly seeing more fics pop up on ao3 now which feels so surreal...bless you all)

oh! Speaking of queer characters, there's actually a side character who wasn't in the donghua due to censorship but she was mentioned twice in the novel: she sees herself as a man and wanted to marry LG's mom (and got jealous when Xiangyun married Lan Xiang, even to this day) which is so cute and tragic??? gah- such a shame it was cut out, but I'm not surprised :") sigh

anyways, im more than happy to talk to you about them to exchange tropes and au!! If you ever want to reach out to me in DMs or through my inbox, I'm all ears :D always a delight to see others fall in love with the bbys!

[karlachismylife]

Writing Russian-speaking characters

So I have once again been chuckling at some adorable clumsy Russian in Nikolai and Nikto fics, and thus I decided to make a little list that might be helpful for fellow COD writers here. And yes, please, feel free to reach out to me if you need any proofreading of your Russian phrases, I would be glad to assist since google translator can butcher it in ways non-speakers won't be able to notice.

I would really appreciate if you guys shared this post and helped it reach people that might need it, I put way more effort into it than I expected myself <3 Also, I might make a followup with some more words and/or phrases that can be useful, so please feel free to request some, since here I am mostly focusing on terms of endearment.

I will write down Russian words, their (approximate and wonky, sorry for that) transcription/transliteration and what part of speech they are (keep in mind that adjectives can be used as nouns when used to address someone) and provide according translation and use.

Keep in mind that in Russian the gender of the word is important!!! I'll write down them in following order: he/him (он/его) version/ she/her (она/её) version/ they/them (они/их) version. However! They/them is NOT traditionally used as gender-neutral pronouns, it's plural only. Some queer and younger folks do use they/them (myself included), but it does sound wonky as it's direct copy from English. Unfortunately, Russian is not very suitable for gender-neutral writing, but there are ways to go about it (I'll try to note some of that too).

*however, since Nikto is sometimes using plural they/them to describe himself, that would be okay with him since it's plural. I hope that makes sense, lol.

So if you're putting an adjective with a noun (example: милый котик) you have to use an adjective in the correct gender form FOR THE WORD! If the noun (котик here) is masculine, you use masculine adjective form EVEN if you're referring to a person with she/her pronouns.

What is love?

The main thing I noticed is that y'all use a direct translation of the word "love" - "любовь" [l'ubov'] (n) to refer to a person. As in "how are you doing, love?". However, that's wrong. "Любовь" is either a word to describe the feeling, or a name (short version would be Люба [Lyuba]). If you wanna use an affectionate pet name, consider one of the following!

дорогой/дорогая/дорогие [dorogoy/dorogaya/dorogiye] (adj) - means "darling". Often used between spouses. Mostly used to refer to person directly, sounds a little quirky if you use it to refer to them in third person (as in "my darling went out to buy some strawberries").

любимый/любимая/любимые [l'ubimiy/l'ubimaya/l'ubimiye] (adj) - means "beloved/loved/loved one" and is probably the closest to "love". You can use it to refer to person directly or to talk about them in third person (as in "can't wait to see любимую". Also yes, the endings are changing depending on the case and I'm not entirely sure how to explain this concisely without going deep into grammar lol).

милый/милая/милые [miliy/milaya/miliye] (adj) - the word means "cute/cutie", but is also used as a general terms of endearment, like "sweetheart". Mainly to refer to someone directly, using it in third person is a little old-fashioned I'd say. Also commonly used by people outside romantic partnership, a kind old lady can definitely call you over with this one asking to help her read expiration date on a milk bottle or something.

любовь моя [l'ubov' moya] (n + adj/pronoun) - okay, I kinda tricked you saying you can't use the word "love" to refer to a person. If you say this (means "my love"), you can! It's pretty romantic and I am actually the one person that uses this daily, otherwise it's either very romance-novel/old-fashioned sounding, but there are moments when it's perfectly suitable. Have that fairytale moment! Also please note, that while "моя любовь" [moya l'ubov'] (adj/pronoun + n) is grammatically correct, it sounds kinda weird if you use it to address the person directly (like in a phrase "my love, you shine brighter than the stars"). While Russian doesn't have particularly strict rules about word order, it does matter to some extent, and this is a prime example: people just use one order way more often that the other.

Pocket-sized

I've already told somewhere here my favourite Nikto fic moment: the sweetest, romantic moment, interrupted by him calling reader "детёныш", which means "cub" as in baby animal. And while my parents do use this word affectionately, I can assure you, most people don't, and it was clear that this was a result of a clumsy translation of "baby" or something like that. So here are some variants for words like baby, little one and such!

малыш/малышка [malysh/malyshka] (n) - I'd say this feels more "little one" than "baby" to me, it's a tad less sexually charged if you get what I mean. Also, you call "малыш" a person of any gender/pronouns, while "малышка" is strictly for she/her. Obviously can be used for kids too.

детка [d'etka] (n) - this one is definitely "baby" or "babe" as a term of endearment, calling a real kid this would be WEIRD if you're not a really old granny. I would also say that it's more commonly used to refer to female partners, but that might be just my perception and experience. It's still okay to use both ways. Also this word can be very much used if you need a little bit of sleazy/catcalling/bad pickup line energy, like someone shouting after a girl passing by on the street. Yuck.

маленький/маленькая [mal'en'kiy/mal'en'kaya] (adj) - this just means "little" or "small", I'd say it's used less commonly and usually in this form "маленький мой/маленькая моя" [mal'en'kiy moy/mal'en'kaya moya] (adj + adj/pronoun). I will expand on this a little later here! Can be used to refer to kids too.

All kinds of fauna

While poor детёныш is reserved for furry freaks like yours truly, there are some animal nicknames that are very widely spread! Here are some that I think would be most useful for y'all. Granted, some people think that these are a lil' bit cringey, but I think it really just depends on what you're used to hear around you. So if I think calling someone a cub is cute, and bunny is cringe, that probably says more about me :D

котик [kot'ik] (n) - this is a term of endearment for a cat. NOT same as kitten, mind you! Mostly used to refer to men (since the word is of masculine gender) - in my experience.

котёнок [kot'onok] (second o here is like ö in German) (n) - now THIS is "kitten". I would say this is more gender-neutral than the previous one, but the word is still masculine gender.

зайка [zayka] (n) - I believe this would be an equivalent to "bunny", although it's actually a cute word for a hare, not a rabbit. Definitely used for all genders (also the word can be both masculine and feminine gender), also is okay to use referring to kids (even teachers that are into endearing nicknames can call pupils this and it's not weird. well, in elementary school). You can also say "зайчонок" [zaych'onok] (n) which is a word for baby hare, even cuter.

рыбка [ribka] (n) - a term of endearment for a fish. I think it's viewed as a bit old-fashioned and thus only used jokingly nowadays, but you know what? Nikolai could pull this off 100%. Bonus points if it's "рыбка моя" [ribka moya] (n + adj/pronoun). Only used for women and the word itself is of feminine gender.

медвежонок [medv'ezhonok] (n) - now, I actually have never met someone who would call their partner this, but I myself would (and I definitely saw it in some media, but that's obv not too reliable). It's a word for a bear cub, so I think it's cute to call a huge ass bear of a military man this word. It's of masculine gender, but I would say it's okay to call a she/her person this too. ALTHOUGH there is a grammatically incorrect (but this only adds to cuteness as it often happens) word "медвежонка" [medv'ezhonka] (n) - this would be a female bear cub. My family uses this word, I use it, no, it won't be in a dictionary, but everyone will understand what you mean. Is okay to use for kids too.

щенок [sh'enok] (if it helps, щ is like German "schtsch", like in Borschtsch, like sh but soft) (n) - now, this actually is not used as a term of endearment, it's "puppy" and it's suitable for degradation. The word is of masculine gender, but you can call anyone this to be honest. You can tell Nikto he's "глупый щенок" [glupiy sh'enok] (adj + n) (silly puppy) and that man will either bark for you or gut you. If you say "тупой" [tupoy] (adj) (dumb) instead of "глупый" [glupiy] (adj) (silly), it will be downright offensive. You can say "щеночек" [sh'enochek] (n), which is an endearing term for a puppy, so it's a little bit sweete. OR you can use my personal favourite - "щен" [sh'en] (n), which is actually also incorrect, but if you've ever heard of a great poet and poetry innovator Mayakovskiy, he was called this word by Lilya Brik. I do NOT have the time to unpack that wild relationship (there was a throuple involved. Russian poetry scene of early XX century was WILD and it's my favourite poetry period hands down), but it's pretty famous. The word "щен" consists of the word "puppy" but with the end diminutive suffix cut off. The trick is, that while some words return to their non-diminutive form with such procedure, this one does not - so you're basically inventing a new word that now sounds quite degrading and harsh, but also sexy as hell (personal opinion). I would definitely call Nikto this word.

птичка [ptich'ka] (n) - that's just "birdie", but I actually wouldn't say many people use it to refer to each other. HOWEVER, Nikolai 100% calls his steel bird this. The word is of feminine gender and if you are calling a person this, it's probably more suitable for a woman.

цыпа [tsipa??] (n) or even цыпочка [tsipoch'ka] (n) - that's a chick, like a baby hen, used only to refer to women (feminine gender word). Honestly I only heard this in foreign films dubbed in Russian or like in jokes/sarcastic phrases. It's kinda rude/indecent/vulgar and the only man that can say that and stay attractive is Captain Jack Sparrow (he used this word in Russian dubbed Pirates like once maybe, talking to Elisabeth, and that was funny cuz he be crazy like that). But maybe you want this, idk.

And everything sweet

Unfortunately, I haven't seen anyone translate the word "honey" as "мёд" directly, that would be another brilliant laugh (cuz it's wrong to refer to a person like that), but there are some "sweet" words to use!

сладкий/сладкая [sladk'iy/sladkaya] (adj) - this just means "sweet", like the taste, and it can be sexy or sleazy or just cute. You can call a kid this word too, BUT for a child would be better сладенький/сладенькая [slad'en'kiy/slad'en'kaya], which is like one step further into diminutive-endearing department.

конфетка [konf'etka] (n) - this is a diminutive word for a candy, a sweet, like a caramel or chocolate or whatever. Not very common, but is cute. Also a way to describe a sexy/good-looking person (more likely a woman, the word is of feminine gender) or just something really good (a bit jokingly). The latter is usually used in a phrase build like "не ..., а просто конфетка", which is roughly translated "that's not ... that's just plain candy". Might have an actual English equivalent that I can't think of right now. Maybe "a total snack"? Probably that one, yeah. Can be said about anything, a car for example.

Shiny

I wanna stick in a few more words of endearment and they all are kinda shiny, lol, so here you go!

солнце [solntse] (n) - this means "sun", like that big glowing thingy in the sky, but it's very welcome as a term of endearment. This word is NEUTER gender (explained in the next section). Viktor Tsoy (a famous rock musician with an unfortunate fate and immortal cultural heritage) had a song ("Cuckoo" - "Кукушка") with the words "солнце моё, взгляни на меня" [solntse moyo, vzgl'yan'i na m'en'ya] (my sun, look at me), so "солнце моё" (n + adj/n) is a good one. You can also use "солнышко" [solnyshko] (n) which is an endearing version of "sun", so it's like "sunshine". Also of neuter gender! Can and should be used to address kids too.

золотце [zolottse] (n) - this literally means like... a little gold? A little golden piece? I don't think there's a proper equivalent in English. It's a word of neuter gender and it's very much used for kids too. Another version would be "золотой мой/золотая моя/золотые мои" [zolotoy moy/zolotaya moya/zolotiye moyi] (adj + adj/pronoun) - this is "my golden", it's a little less common and I feel like it's often used to be condescending, but it's not inherenrly bad, so you can use it for a loved one.

сокровище [sokrov'ish'e] (once again it's щ, look previously) (n) - this is a word of neuter gender and it means "treasure". I personally adore this one and it's pretty common. Can be used for any gender and for kids!

звёздочка [zv'yozdoch'ka] (n) - this is like a little star/starshine. Wouldn't say it's that common, but I use it a lot. The word itself is of feminine gender, but you can call anyone that! Or you can say "звезда моя" [zv'ezda moya] (n + adj/pronoun), which means "my star". Also feminine gender word, but can be used for anyone.

This dog belongs to...

I am not going to go too deep into sexy/sex-related words in this part, because I'll just get overwhelmed with the amount, but I want to go over some words of ownership quickly.

мой/моя/мои/моё [moy/moya/moyi/moyo] (adj/pronoun) - this means my/mine. It goes really well with many words in this list, especially the adjectives, like "мой дорогой" [moy dorogoy] (my darling) or "солнышко моё" [solnyshko moyo] (my sun/sunshine). The last version, "моё" [moyo] is neuter gender, it's NOT gender-neutral! It's the "it/its" I guess (not exactly, but let's just stick with this simplyfied explanation). Previously there were some words of that gender, so here you go. BTW I would say that in speech it's more common to put this word before adjectives and after nouns (like in my examples), just sounds better, but it's not wrong to do otherwsise. You can also just say "ты мой" [ti moy] (you're mine). Also can be used to refer in third person, like when you're discussing your man with your gossip girls, you can just go "а мой вчера..." [a moy vch'era] (and mine yesterday...) and everyone will understand that you mean your man. Unless you wee discussing pets, then they'll probably assume it's your cat.

хозяин/хозяйка [khoz'yain/khoz'yayka] (n) - saw this one too btw. This means "owner" or kiiiinda "master/mistress", and they are gendered, so it's actually wrong to call a woman "хозяин" unless there's some kinky genderfuckery going on (which I'm all for, but like. you get what I mean).

господин/госпожа [gospod'in/gospozha] (n) - okay, THAT is definitely master/mistress, also gendered. Standard BDSM terminology and yada yada.

And that's where I'd like to wrap up for today! However, if needed, I can write more - perhaps with curse words or with sex-related words, or some phrases? I dunno, you tell me! Once again, I kindly ask you to share since I think this will help people (and while I understand the struggle of writing in another language and especially using words from language you don't speak at all, I can't help but be a little thrown off every time I see a wrong use of words in text).

Also remember: while Siberia is bigger than USA or even Canada, there are still other regions in Russia that deserve to be mentioned <3 a lot of places with mindblowing nature, cultural heritage etc.

[wordstome]

COD Men as Dream Daddy DILFs

Call of Duty single dads x gn!single parent reader

⤐Characters: 141 + König + Horangi + Keegan

⤐Premise: You just moved into a neighborhood with a high population of retired military personnel.

*glances at my 3-4 wips* let's talk about some dilfs, shall we? ...Don't look at me. I had a vision. (No relation to the actual characters from Dream Daddy, just a similar premise) Also a disclaimer: I'm writing these dads mostly in their late 30s to 40s, but don't think about their ages and the ages of their kids too much. This is all vibes. And sorry ahead of time if I gave one of the kids the same name as you 💀 Feel free to imagine the kid has a different name because the names really don't matter

p.s. I wanted to write more characters but I had to reel myself in. I could be persuaded to write a part 2 with Vaqueros, Nikolai, Valeria, Nikto, and other Ghosts tbh

Warning: this shit is LENGTHY. Strap yourself in.

Price: A post about DILFs and you expect me not to start with Captain John Price? Price is the lynchpin of this cul de sac. He's the one inviting everyone over to the barbecue, tries to get the dads to get along, and gives everyone advice. He has the quintessential dad energy. He 100% slaps his knees and says "well!" when he gets up. Price also has major girl dad energy. He's got three adorable little ladies, aged 3 (Clara), 9 (Brianna), and 11 (Alice). Yes, he did name his daughters in ABC order, I can see him doing that. Oh, he dotes on his girls, and they love their dad endlessly. He's the model father: recitals, sports, parent teacher conferences, you name it, he's there.

That's how the two of you meet: he comes up to you at one of the aforementioned events and gives you a firm handshake and apologizes profusely for not coming around to introduce himself earlier. It's not like him not to at least swing by, and he hopes you can forgive him the discourtesy. He hands you his number and says anything you need, just give him a call, or maybe swing by for a beer sometime. He gives you a wink that makes your knees weak, a wink that says he definitely noticed you checking out his muscled arms and broad shoulders. Maybe you will swing by for that beer sometime—and maybe get a little more than just a drink.

Ghost: I could see Simon having a one night stand kid. He certainly never saw himself starting a family after he lost his last one, but he was stressed and probably piss drunk as well. Years and years later, he's back from deployment and finds a social worker with a boy on his doorstep, and the rest is history. I love the idea of Simon with a moody 16 year old, but I actually see Simon and his son having the same dynamic as Mike and Abby Schmidt from the FNAF movie. Since Simon wasn't around for Caden's early childhood, they have a relationship that's undeniably father and son, but leaning towards casual and sibling-like. Simon's figuring his shit out, dealing with his PTSD and the various lasting health issues his time in special forces has left him with, and Caden's a quiet, sensitive 10 year old boy who thinks the world of his dad.

You meet Simon at the local bar. His Ghost days are long behind him, but the balaclava's a hard habit to kick. Besides, he doesn't need people staring at his scars. He's usually there with the 141, but today he's alone, and looks like he could use some company. You sit up at the bar close to him and order a drink, but you don't disturb him, and he visibly relaxes when he realizes you're not going to try to make small talk. It becomes a routine, the two of you: always sharing a quiet drink together at the bar, and then both of you wordlessly go home to your kids. You have a sort of silent conversation every time: Good to see you again. Yeah, you too. Neither of you actually speak a word to the other until Price introduces you to him at a gathering, and you finally hear his voice. "We've met before," he says, with a glint in his eye that suggests perhaps he'd like to be more than just a silent drinking buddy. That's fine with you: you're dying to see what's under the mask and dark hoodie.

Soap: JOCK ALERT. Johnny's basically Craig from Dream Daddy: total dreamboat who goes on runs around the neighborhood and gets all the appreciative looks from the local moms. He thrives on the attention in a way that definitely makes the 141 roll their eyes. He's got an older little girl named Elodie, and a lil baby boy Thomas that he takes everywhere with him. Obviously he's just being a responsible parent taking care of an infant, but secretly, Thomas is a great conversation starter with aforementioned local moms.

Conversely however, it's Johnny who makes the move on you first. Maybe in the grocery store, maybe at one of Price's get-togethers. Sidles up to you and introduces himself with a look in his eye that means trouble. Only the good kind of trouble, of course. If you reciprocate and he finds out you're single, you're not getting rid of him. But why would you want to, anyway? He's endlessly charming, attentive, and good with his hands. When he's fixing a leaky tap for you, of course—what did you think I meant?

Gaz: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a fucking heartthrob. I'm saying it right here, right now. He's a walks in with flowers, makes you dinner kind of partner. Also househusband vibes, because, surprise: Kyle is still married. This isn't a Joseph (Dream Daddy) situation, though: he and his wife, Emily, have known each other for a long time, a very high school sweethearts situation. Over the years, though, they drifted apart with Kyle in the military, and Emily eventually realized she's not actually into men. They're still married for coparenting purposes: they've got an older teenage girl named Violet, and a younger boy named Elliott. (Yes, I'm naming him after Elliot Knight, sue me.)

Honestly, I think it would be HILARIOUS if you met Kyle on a dating app and realized he's your next-door neighbor. But however you guys meet, Kyle is an old-school courter kind of guy. He is taking you on dinner dates, listening to you rant about your day, and is on your doorstep in a heartbeat when you call him in a panic because your kid's running a 105 fever (41 in Celsius) and you need a ride to the emergency room. (Not that the other dads wouldn't do the same, but I'm trying to convey "most reliable man in the world" vibes here.)

König: Y'all...you don't know how much fucken time I've spent thinking about this man as a dad. He's in the same boat as Ghost where he never saw himself living long enough to start a family, but here he is with the most precious little girl you've ever laid eyes on. Ava's got her father's curly hair and big green eyes, and she has her dad wrapped around her pinky finger. For König, Ava is living proof that he's capable of being more than just a tool for violence.

You meet König through Ava, of course. Your kids are the closest of friends, and the two of them are constantly going over to each other's houses. You're obviously delighted that your kid is making new friends and fitting in so well, but you'd be lying if your heart didn't skip a beat whenever you open your door to see Ava's six foot ten dad standing there with soft eyes and a sheepish smile. I have to stop here, because I've already written an extra paragraph for this man that I've cut out and pasted for safekeeping in my notes app, and if encouraged I will write more. (Please encourage me.)

Horangi: I know we already had a sort of Robert (Dream Daddy) figure with Ghost, but I think Horangi is a dad whose kid is an adult, much like Robert and Val. I also think that out of all the dads, Horangi is likely the one who's still doing some level of military work. Either that, or he has a very demanding job that takes up a lot of his time. He's ashamed of the way he let his gambling affect his family in the past, and is making up for it by being responsible and keeping his finances in order.

You don't meet him until you've lived in the neighborhood for quite a while, but he pops up at a gathering, talking quietly with König in a corner. You'd thought you had met every neighbor in the cul de sac, so you're intrigued by the newcomer. Someone, probably Price, tells you what Hong-jin's deal is, and ever since that you just can't keep your eyes off of him. You can't quite work up the nerve to talk to him, so you occupy yourself talking with the other parents. Some time later, you're at the food table grazing on the snacks when you look up and make eye contact with him. There's something intense in his gaze that makes you freeze, like a deer in headlights. He's definitely checking you out, you think. Your chest erupts into nervous butterflies when he starts walking towards you.

Keegan: Keegan is an adoptive father! I love his dynamic with the Walker boys, so I can see him being the kind of guy who adopts an older teenager so they have a home and a family instead of aging out of the system. Jason and Cecelia are high school age siblings who would have been separated otherwise, and consider Keegan their dad in every way that's important.

I think you and Keegan are definitely rivals in some way. Maybe it's a PTO thing, maybe he gets a little too boisterous at your kids' sports game. Whatever it is, you can't stand the man, but your annoyance whenever he's around only seems to amuse him. You have no problem saying to his face exactly what you think about him, but unfortunately, Keegan can see right through you. And hey, Cecelia could use some experience as a babysitter, so you won't have to worry about spending the night over at his place, will you?

As always, I wanna hear peoples' thoughts and feedback! If you want to hear more about these dads, drop me an ask <3

[logans-whore]

Back from the dead to talk about Logan with a reader with an eating disorder. This was requested by @laiiis-stuff .Please note, that this mostly based on my experience, and I don't speak for everyone.

Okay. So let's be real, this man is OLD. He won't understand what a disorder is . But he'll notice the way your face falls whenever someone mentions dieting or weight, and the way you eat less, and less, when someone does.

And he notices when you skip meals, giving the excuse that you're not hungry, even as you eye food longingly

And ( I say this with all the love in my heart), this man is a dumbass, he’s going to think something is wrong. He’s going to worry like crazy about why you’re not eating. Are you sick? He can’t smell any sickness on you.

And his anxiety is gonna grow, and grow, and grow until it bubbles over and he panics. Cornering you in your shared room.

“Are you okay? Are you sick? You can tell me, I can handle it”

You’re confused, wondering what on earth he’s talking about, till he says he’s seen you not eating and you freeze

Hesitantly you explain. That food means weight, and weight is bad, even though you know it is’nt really, that food is fuel and that you would never say it or think it about any of your heavier friends, your brain won’t get the memo that it it’s that way for you too.

Once he finds out though? Hoooooo boy, he will be supportive.

The morning after you talk you come down to all the calories on the food you guys have scratched out. Like they were clawed out (I wonder who’d do that?)

He’ll take care to praise all the parts of your body that you’re insecure about, and bless his heart, he is not subtle about it, but he is trying and that matters.

Looking in the mirror in a too tight top? Like he has a super sense for when you’re feeling insecure, hes behind you, squeezing your tummy, mumbling about how much he loves it. Walking down the street with him? He'll slip his hand into your back pocket and squeeze your ass. At your smacking his hand away, he’ll grin, putting his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, doll, can't help myself. ‘S too addictive”

And he's had his own troubles with insecurities, and he's had his own problems with self-worth, (Just saying, with Jean and Scott, to constantly hear that Scott's better than him and that's why she chooses him? You're gonna need to reassure him sometimes too. That you love him and that hes the one you want.) and he hates to know that you're feeling the same way about yourself.

Just- even if he doesn't understand, he will be so, so supportive, and never fail to make you feel loved and beautiful.

(NOTE FROM ME! I'm taking requests now, so feel free to come scream (or cream) about Logan in my inbox!)

[sleepiexx]

The Sad Expression on the Face I Love So Much

Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Note: one bad week and suddenly I’m a fic writing god again. Had a Sirius oneshot planned out and mostly written but I pumped this one out before I could think of an ending to that one so you’re getting this first!

Summary: Your boyfriend patiently awaits your arrival home after a day out with your friends, only to be met with your saddened form.

Warnings: describes what i would refer to as a panic attack, but it’s never expressed to be one

Word count: 1310

Remus was a good man, it was such a shame you couldn’t match his upbeat energy when you entered the door to your shared apartment.

He had heard the front door click open, which sparked a smile on his face. He never wanted to stop your outings with friends, as he knew having relationships with people other than your partner was important— his own friends the truest testament to that statement— yet he couldn’t help but miss you when the house was left without your presence. Which is why he was pleasantly surprised by your early arrival home, no waiting up late for his nightly cuddle tonight, no, rather a nice long cuddle with a movie in the background.

He called out to you as he stood from the couch, scrambling to make his way to the foyer, “you’re home early, darling, how was your day out?”

He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Your frame stiff, eyes glued to the floor, clearly shined over with tears that have yet to be shed, keys still clutched in your hand, likely because you’d been too distraught to even reach up to put them on the key hook.

“Oh, sweet dear, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” His worried words and the safe environment he had provided made the tears finally fall. In an instant, he was in front of you, wrapping you in his arms. A pained sob ripped its way through your chest, you’d been holding it in far too long.

“My friends…” you began, having a hard time composing yourself to even say what was wrong.

Remus had a hunch what the problem was. He didn’t like your friends for a very specific reason, but he had always stayed firm in the fact that you were the judge in who you were friends with and it was really none of his business who you did and didn’t hang around. He knows he would not listen if you had said you didn’t want him spending time with his friends.

“I- I just… I’ve been really anxious this week,” You started to talk with the shakiest of voices. Remus could tell from the way your breaths started cutting you off that you were beginning to hyperventilate. He didn’t want to stop you from talking it out, though, so he led you to come and sit down beside him where he’d been on the couch before allowing you to continue.

“And irritable— and- and- and you know how I- how I spiral when I’m irritable, because- because I just think such mean thoughts, and- and I just hate myself,” your stutter only got worse the more you revealed, because speaking about it made you think about it, and thinking about it made breathing harder. Not to mention the sniffling you had to do every five seconds so you wouldn’t cover your upper lip in snot.

Remus held your hand, rubbing soothing circles overtop your knuckles and keeping his own breathing as steady as possible in hopes that you would eventually sync up. His free hand moved its way to your back, rubbing up and down.

“I just thought,” you sniffled, futility wiping your face with your sleeve as you continued to cry, “that maybe I’d f-feel- feel better if I went out with- with my friends but..” your lungs seized and your voice came out strained and cracked, “but no.”

You wanted to keep your breathing steady for Remus, but it proved impossible. Your diaphragm seemed to have a mind of its own as it contacted with no care whatsoever of your say so.

“They just kept- kept making that stupid joke,” your voice was drowned in a visceral sadness and a defeated anger, making evident to Remus how you’d held off on sharing your feelings for far too long.

He knew well what joke you were talking about. It never sat right with him, made him clench his fists every time he heard it. It took everything in him not to blow up on your poor excuse of a friend group. He’d played the diplomat with your friends as long as he possibly could.

“Where they-“ sniff. “Pretend that-“ sniff. “They hate me- but- but-“ sniff. “But they get away- get away with it because-“ sniff. “Because I’m such a pushover and- and I never call them ou- out on it.”

Another sob wracked your whole body, Remus pulled you into him, your cheek pressed to his chest as he made a valiant effort to calm you down with his soothing touches.

“I know- I know that I’m a lot-“ sob. “But I- I’m kind. I- I treat th-them good so- so why d-don’t I deserve the same?”

Remus felt his heart drop, holding you steady through what felt like, to you, endless sobbing. He had always thought that you deserved so much more than the friends you made, but he just thought you had a really thick skin towards the subject. Everyone has a breaking point, he supposed, and for his sweet girl, this seemed to be it.

“Oh dove,” he cooed, “of course you deserve better. You are not ‘a lot,’ you are true to yourself, if they don’t understand that then that is their problem. You do so much just for them to be so ungrateful.”

You buried yourself further into him, holding onto him tightly as though he were a buoy in a storm. You sat for a while like that, until you could speak without stuttering as much— still, your quiet voice hardly carried and the heartbroken rasp in it was a sound unlike any heartache Remus had ever experienced “I wish I could control myself sometimes. Just- just make myself shut up once in a while.”

Remus scoffed, “I don’t.”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, “really?”

You looked as if even a small gust of wind would make you shatter, yet Remus would guard you from it all, wind, or storm, or even shitty friends who don’t appreciate you.

“Of course not, sweetheart, I love how genuine you are. It’s what made me fall for you. That, and how hard you love. I’ve never doubted myself for a second when I’ve been around you.” He brushed some stray hairs from your face, “I have never been able to stand your friends, they aren’t as kind to you as you are to them.”

You nodded. He knew that it would take a while before you fully believed it, but he was willing to shower you in love every day until you believed it. In fact, he was already planning on integrating you into his own friend group, James and Sirius adored you and he had no doubt they’d love the idea. Lily, Marlene, and Mary would all love you too, he knew for a fact that girls nights with them had to be more fun than with your old friends.

For now, though, he’d settle for the calm you’d finally achieved after talking your way through such an intense wave of emotions, he was proud.

“What do you say we go back to our room, have a cuddle, and watch your favorite movie?”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah?”

You nod and repeat yourself as he cracks a grin.

You walk hip to hip to your bedroom until you’re finally able to sink into your bed. Remus hands you the tv remote before disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a soft, wet rag covered in makeup remover. Your cheeks seem to tingle as you remember the mess of mascara that must currently paint them, Remus doesn’t hesitate to come wipe you clean. When he’s done, he tosses the rag and leaves a chaste kiss on your nose.

“There,” he mutters, lying beside you and pulling you into his arms, “this is much better, isn’t it?”

[morlock-holmes]

I recently found this article about Robin DiAngelo and it's really stuck in my head now. This woman is so instructive about the underlying psychological processes animating us in the early 20s, and it's totally unintentional, which makes her fascinating to me.

Partway through her presentation, DiAngelo asked us, “What are some of the ways your race has shaped your life?” She told us to give our answers to each other and added that if we were white and happened to be sitting beside someone of color, we were forbidden to ask the person of color to speak first. It might be good policy, mostly, for white people to do more listening than talking, but, she said with knowing humor, it could also be a subtle way to avoid blunders, maintain a mask of sensitivity and stay comfortable. She wanted the white audience members to feel as uncomfortable as possible.

In our group of three, Southern, who is white, went first. Like Woods, she was already steeped in DiAngelo’s ideas; Southern had led two church book groups in discussing “White Fragility.” She was fully persuaded that, as she said to me afterward, “we’re all racist in that we’re swimming in a culture that is racist,” and that “we don’t think, as white people, of white as a race that comes with all kinds of conditioning.” Yet, in the moment, in response to DiAngelo’s question, she struggled. She couldn’t articulate much of anything about how she’d been shaped by being white.

I went next. I, too, was ready for everything I heard from DiAngelo. In fact, I knew this very question was coming. Just the day before, I’d been to a session she ran for a fractious city department that agreed to let me watch as long as I didn’t describe the event; the department’s equity team had brought her in to spur white self-awareness. But I had failed to speak about my whiteness as formative. That is, I noted that my color gave me infinite advantages, but the words, while sincere, were passionless. I emphasized instead that three of my five nonfiction books were about race, that I thought about race constantly, that back in junior high my best friend was one of the few Black students in my school, part of an experimental busing program in the early ’70s, and that the way our friendship ended still haunted me, that I’d betrayed him badly.

At some point after our answers, DiAngelo poked fun at the myriad ways that white people “credential” themselves as not-racist. I winced. I hadn’t meant to imply that I was anywhere close to free of racism, yet was I “credentialing”? And today, after a quick disclaimer acknowledging the problem with what I was about to do, I heard myself offering up, again, these same nonracist bona fides and neglecting to speak about the effects of having been soaked, all my life, by racist rain. I was, DiAngelo would have said, slipping into the pattern she first termed “white fragility” in an academic article in 2011: the propensity of white people to fend off suggestions of racism, whether by absurd denials (“I don’t see color���) or by overly emotional displays of defensiveness or solidarity (DiAngelo’s book has a chapter titled “White Women’s Tears” and subtitled “But you are my sister, and I share your pain!”) or by varieties of the personal history I’d provided.

This is like some fucking 70s EST or scientology brainwashing shit.

Like, look at the list of responses to this question:

If you deny that being white shaped your life, that's White Fragility;

If you are too eager to show solidarity, that's White Fragility;

If you share personal history, that's White Fragility

If you talk about times when you were made aware of racism, that's White Fragility;

It seems like pretty much every single thing a white person could possibly say in response to that question is "White Fragility".

DiAngelo is clear that we're all inherently racist, but I want you to attend to the emotions that the author, Daniel Bergner expresses. He and his white colleague are eager to participate, and they know, and have heard, that their participation will be racist, but their primary emotions are anxiety and shame.

They are convinced that they have somehow shamefully failed at a very important task, despite the fact that DiAngelo is very, very clear that there is no way to succeed.

More than that, they feel shame at their desire to succeed, and anxiety at the idea of not trying to succeed.

Honestly as you keep track of the article watch how good DiAngelo is at subordinating people:

The surge of attention, DiAngelo told me, made her at once leery and hopeful. She worried that the posts were “performative,” the book “just a badge.” Yet, she said, “there’s a sense of scales falling from people’s eyes,” mostly because of the killings of Floyd and, before that, Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, but also, she believed, because of the work she and her antiracism colleagues have been doing. She felt a similar mix about the ASAP emails from corporations. “The very urgency itself says you don’t have a very deep understanding of how hard this work is, and how long it takes and how ongoing it needs to be,” she said. “Racism is not going to go away by August, so how about we do it in August?”

Being too excited to start being antiracist is evidence of how bad you are at being antiracist!

This woman is a terrifying menace.

What struck me reading both White Fragility and this article is the way that this way of talking and thinking distracts extremely heavily from concrete action. Everything pulls into an increasingly subjective, and religious realm, and the question of what we're actually trying to do recedes back into the fog:

Singleton spoke along similar lines. I asked whether guiding administrators and teachers to put less value, in the classroom, on capacities like written communication and linear thinking might result in leaving Black kids less ready for college and competition in the labor market. “If you hold that white people are always going to be in charge of everything,” he said, “then that makes sense.” He invoked, instead, a journey toward “a new world, a world, first and foremost, where we have elevated the consciousness, where we pay attention to the human being.” The new world, he continued, would be a place where we aren’t “armed to distrust, to be isolated, to hate,” a place where we “actually love.”

Bergner, and basically everybody he interviews, have gotten so excited to tell us whether this is a good idea or a bad one that they have forgotten to explain what "this" actually is.

I want you to do something brave. For a moment, forget that you and I think that it is utterly asinine to devalue "written communication" and let's agree with Singleton, putting emphasis on it is an example of white supremacist thinking.

Let's also pretend that we are teachers. What are we doing differently?

What specific classroom policy are we putting into place?

Are we eliminating all written classroom material?

Are we allowing social studies students to choose whether they prefer to give reports orally or as a finished written document?

Are we doing exactly what we were doing yesterday but trying to keep in mind that we shouldn't assume that a student is stupid just because they struggle with reading?

You'll notice that the range of options goes from "Insane radical thing that the school will never do" to "Something so obvious that basically any sane person will agree that it's a good idea"

You'll also notice that it's like pulling teeth to get anybody to actually put things into concrete terms like that (None of the people interviewed for that article is capable of doing so).

Hell, you know what I didn't notice until just now?

During a training in January 2019 run by [Darnisa] Amante-Jackson , which Chislett recorded, Amante-Jackson...went on to present “some characteristics of whiteness,” prominent among them “an obsession with the written word. If it’s not written down, it doesn’t exist.”

During a later session a white employee causes a giant stir by... wait for it...

Refusing to write on a poster during a brain-storming session.

This is the powerful hypnosis these people are working; you and I can listen to them talk about "obsession with the written word" and it doesn't occur to them or us to ask why so much of their anti-racist workshop revolves around the written word, revolves around demands to use the written word, and grinds to a halt when people refuse.

[parasolladyansy]

hello! i've liked ansy's adventure for a while, and i noticed how you play on japanese names for the pokemon, especially for mizumi's and sasmu's. what do you think of the languages in the pokemon world? i can guess hisuian equals japanese, but does sinnohan/kantonese also translate into japanese? or the four japanese-based regions are adapted into english ( or unovan?) i don't know if i'm explaining myself, but how do you view the pkmn languages and their equivalents in our world?

こんばんは! Good evening! Thank you for following along ^o^/

Class is in session lol! Professor Laventon seems to be most comfortable writing in his native Galarian, though he also has various notes in traditional “Japanese”, written vertically & read right to left.

So, language is a very interesting thing in fiction, & the Pokeverse is no exception! Through the games (& especially the latest ones, Scarlet / Violet) we’ve had a number of characters who spoke in different languages. I remember a couple of NPC’s in BW Unova, there’s Fantina in Sinnoh who peppers her speech with Kalosian (French), & a Hiker on Galar’s Route 6 who spoke what I’m guessing was Paldean (Spanish) rather than Galarian (English). Then in SV, we have Mr. Salvatore who teaches (& uses) many languages (off the top of my head, I remember him teaching how to say “thank you” in Spanish, French, Chinese, & German).

It does get tricky when it comes to the “Japanese” regions of Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh / Hisui, & Kitakami, as those regions otherwise make up one country in our world, but this has yet to have been canonically established (which is why I always put “Japan” / “Japanese” in quotes, as there currently isn’t a name for that one country, same with “America”). I do believe they share the same language - at the very least Hisui & Kitakami have the same written script, & I feel pretty confident that if they were to retcon it, they would have the other “Japanese” regions use it, too (before Legends Arceus, they just used random shapes that didn’t seem to spell anything, which I interpreted to just be placeholder characters).

If there is a common language in their world (& I think is, from characters from different regions being able to talk to each other no problem), I personally would guess it to be “Japanese” - as we look at the other regions, we can see a sort of Japanese flavor that would otherwise not be there (though they clearly did their homework on the various parts of the world these regions reflect!). Of course, Pokémon is from Japan, so it would make sense that they would add some of their own culture to this world they created. For a possible in-universe explanation, the Pokeverse seemed to have started in Japan (specifically in Sinnoh as we learned in Legends Arceus, so I guess their universe actually is geocentric like old astronomers used to think ours was?).

I think that’s about it. In DxP REWRITE, while my own language is American-English (& beginner-level Japanese lol) so I read the characters to be speaking American-English, they are actually speaking “Japanese” while in Sinnoh (which is why I haven’t really been peppering Ansy’s dialogue with Japanese). I have tried to write in the “Japanese” or Galarian scripts for signs & things a couple times:

The sign just says “Gear Station”

Here I (tried to lol) translate Mizumi’s letter to Japanese then wrote it out in in-game characters (in the modern horizontal, as Mizumi is from the modern era writing to someone in the modern era).

Thanks for reading yet another post of me geeking out lol. Feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! じゃあ、またね! Until next time! ^o^/

—

PS: For funsies, here’s the (non-canonical, as these were made by fans) references I’ve been using when writing in either Galarian or “Japanese” in DxP REWRITE:

I personally was confused by the “Japanese” script also being alphabetical rather than phonetic like hiragana / katakana (two common scripts in Japan, the first being mostly used to spell Japanese words while katakana is used to spell foreign words - the third script, kanji, is used to write whole words). If that is the case (which is how I wrote it in Mizumi’s letter), “Japanese” is written in what’s called “romanji”, where they write out words in the Latin (aka Roman) alphabet rather than phonetically: “ありがとうございます” becomes “arigatō-gozaimasu” (“thank you very much”).

Whether it is actually written out that way in game though…? At a glance of the signs I saw in Hisui & Kitakami, it does look like it’s more like hiragana & kanji instead, but this chart is all I got for now. Any Japanese folks or fluent Japanese-readers who can tell me if there’s anything out there in the Japanese fandom about this, please lemme know so I can do right by it into future - as of writing this, I haven’t seen much else among the English-speaking fandom 8u8;

As for the Galarian script, it’s clearly based on the Latin alphabet that much of the Western world uses for our various languages - we see it in Paldea as well as Galar, & according to the trailer in Pokemon ZA, they retconned it to be used in Kalos as well. In universe, I wonder if they were at all influenced by the Unown, being based on the Latin alphabet themselves. Again, who knows? (though I question the accuracy of this particular font / chart: if it is, the first thing Laventon’s chalkboard says “REXBOQ” lol XD)

[just-zy]

Some life she hoped

pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem Reader!

summary: Meeting again after so long wasn't really on your bucket list, neither did you receiving an apology.

A/N: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I apologize for the inactivity, I've been losing motivation on writing lately and ik this doesn't make up for it but I hope it does something to you 😞, the imagines are rotting in my drafts. Anyways, cheers to another year!

Warnings!: kind of angsty, mostly.. but that's about it!

Masterlist

There was always this nagging feeling keeping me from loving again, these past months I've been feeling nothing but grief. What once was love I couldn't stop giving, turned into something I threw all away after finally leaving my first love.

A year passed by and still, I would look for her at places I hoped she'd be in, for a mere coincidence I might get a glimpse of her, somehow, some way I wish I did. But then, I met Naveen, in a way our love felt so different. She wanted me to be hers, I gave her a chance, more than a few. It all felt like it wouldn't work out, but this last chance I gave her, I held on for dear life for it to actually be true. But it all felt like I was toying with myself more than I do her.

So I let her go, not for me, but for Naveen to find someone more worthy of her love.

.

A place I didn't hope to see her, but there she was, looking flawless as ever. How she looked under the night's gaze, and the stars reflecting on her eyes.

"Y/N?"

Jenna.

"What are you doing here?"

The same reason why you're here.

"Why can't I be? Better yet, what are you doing here?" I chuckled lightly while I felt my heart ache in a bittersweet dream.

She huffs, "I don't know, I just had the idea to... chill here for a bit and dip."

This place, a view of the beach while we're up on a hill with a singular bench. This was where we used to hide away from everyone, from the cruel world.

I quietly made my way towards her, "Mind if I?", she scoots a little further, I sat down with my hands on my pockets.

Winter was our favourite season, we loved watching the beach while listening to the waves and spouting out nonsense. A part of me hoped we didn't end the way we did, I had so much more to tell her that I can't speak about now.

"How are you?" She quips while still having her sight on the beach. I blew out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "I'm good, all's well. How about you?"

"He broke up with me."

He was no good for you anyways.

"How are you holding up?" I cautiously asked while I started rubbing my hands together, it was getting too cold. "I realized, I really needed this, even when we were together it all just felt too suffocating. I didn't need him anyway."

Then why did you disregard me for him just like that?

I hummed with a disdain. But she doesn't need to know that.

"That's good, knowing you're finally... freeing yourself—"

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

I—

"I know what I did to you was wrong, so wrong but I still did it anyway. I wasn't the perfect girlfriend for you, and I know you knew that too."

But, I needed you the most. I wish you at least had the time to think about me, about us. The moment you let go of me, a piece of my heart shattered with you.

"You know, I really meant when I said I hoped we were together in another life. I wish I'm better for you there, when then wasn't enough, I hope it's more than enough all the way on a multiverse."

...

I walked mindlessly in the library my friend worked in, I heard footsteps making it's way to my direction, I glance to my right, getting a good look at River, "Did you know? NASA actually finds out that there's more than just one world? I mean- there's this multiverse that's living like us but, in reverse, do you get it?" She looked really excited to share the story with me, and of course it caught my attention.

I chuckled at the thought, walking back to Jenna's place. I walked up to her door and gently knocked. With a click and a swift open of the door, there Jenna stood in her pajamas.

"I have a fact you might like to know."

She giggles at the story I had just told her, "Well if that were true, I hope we lived together in a mansion with millions of animals."

...

"Y- Yeah.."

Tucking my hair, my breathing went rigid as it suddenly felt too hot for me to think. I got up, bidding Jenna a good night's rest.

"Y/N– I... I hope you're doing okay."

I didn't dare spare her another glance. I knew I had moved on from her, but why is it that whenever I think about her, it all feels so heavy?

If I hadn't met you, I probably would have had more love to give.

A/N: this was shit but okay ig, I hope y'all enjoyed this more than I did. I did this in one sitting, so ik it's bad.

[gogo-gogurtman]

A Warm Meal and a Warm Embrace

Recently, your days have started before the sun gets up. It’s hard to find the motivation to get out of bed when all you want to do is to catch up on sleep and be energized enough to enjoy your free time. You get ready and go to work and get out by the time the sun has swam halfway across the sky. You’d be left drained emotionally as your body aches to return to your soft bed and retreat from the world like a hermit crab. Luckily, your Pokémon helps you stay motivated, as well as your special one….

👉 Contains: Fluff, comfort, separate scenarios, Ingo x Reader, Emmet x Reader

🌙 Hi, so I’ve started training for my certification and finished my finals therefore I’m verrrrry drained so here’s a lil something to cheer myself up and others in a similar state :) Honestly, I might come back and edit this.

🖤 𝓘𝓷𝓰𝓸 🖤

When you announced yourself as you arrived home, your partner Ingo seemed to have spawned behind you. He then pulls your startled and very tired self into an embrace.

“Welcome home, dear.”

You wasted no time to return the love and audibly groaned into his shoulder. He chuckles and makes a move to take your bag. Before releasing each other, you two shared a quick, tender kiss.

“I am literally just going to shower and go back to bed. My back is killing me,” you complained, already beginning to shed off the layers of your clothing. To that, as he puts away some of your belongings, Ingo narrows his sharp gaze at you.

“Assuming that you have already eaten a proper meal at work, right, dear?” The Subway Master pressed, making you look up at the ceiling in a newfound fascination.

“Oh wow, is that a new stain? That’s kinda cute.”

“Darling.”

/✰\

Turns out, Ingo have already thought ahead and bought your favorite takeout. It was times like these where you could’ve openly weep over your lover’s consideration and the ability to provide some good fucking food. And for that, you kissed him once again before heading off to scrub your body clean in the shower.

You’ve changed into your comfortable loungewear and returned to the living room where you find that your Pokémon had already been taken care of and is currently playing alongside Ingo’s. Speaking of Ingo, you immediately pulled him from his train documentary to join your meal. But in the end, you both settled on eating on the floor while watching the documentary. Aside from the usual ‘how was your day?’ conversation, it was mostly quiet between you two as you enjoyed each other’s company. But a little after you had your fill, your eyes began to drop and you couldn’t fight it back this time. You paid Ingo half a mind and let him coax you back onto the couch, laying you down on top of him. Like magnets, your arms found their ways around each other’s bodies once more and you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in deeply, and the faint scent of his body wash relaxing your body further. His fingers finds their way underneath your top and lovingly rubs the knots in your back away. He then gently kisses your forehead.

“I should have gotten a blanket…” he murmured. You grunt.

“Nah… I’m planning to go back to bed…. just wanna be with you for a bit.”

You were half asleep already, but you could still imagine how red his face must’ve gotten. And the image of his Skitty smile made you melt into him.

“I love you, Ingo.”

“I love you, more.”

🤍 𝓔𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓽 🤍

You’ve announced yourself home and hear the rapid footsteps of your lover on cue.

“Darling! Welcome home!” Emmet exclaimed as he stops in front of you and gently smooshed your cheeks.

“Hi, Emmy,” you muffled through your puckered lips. The Subway Master wasted no time to lovingly smooch your lips before letting your face go. His hands moved to lead his arms around your body and pulls you close. and in return you accept him.

“Arceus! I swear I can’t feel my body. Imma just shower and head to bed,” you whined into his shoulder. Emmet pats your head and coos.

“My pooor baby! So tired and verrry hard working. But!”

He abruptly pulls you away so he can look at you in the eye. You can tell by how his smile tightens and the way his eyes narrowed that he

“I am Emmet. And you have not eaten a single thing, today, hm?”

Suddenly, his messy silver locks snatches your attention.

“Your hair’s pretty.”

Emmet smooshes your cheeks, again.

“No, darling!”

/✰\

Being the ever doting and all-knowing partner (you poked his side at that), Emmet has already finished cooking a warm meal for you both. He insists on putting away your belongings and ushers you into the bathroom before you could even utter a protest. But he did stop when you offered him a kiss of gratitude.

You washed away the stress of today and changed into your usual loungewear. When you reentered the living room, you see that your Pokémon’s needs were taken care of and are with Emmet’s team. The smell of food beckons you to the dining table where Emmet was waiting for you to start the meal. The Polar Express was playing on the TV, which you find yourself as equally invested as he is. The meal was delicious and the conversation between the two of you was kept to a minimum. Not because you didn’t want to but because you didn’t want to ruin the intimacy. But not too long after you cleaned your plate, you began nodding off in your chair. Emmet notices, and moves to your side. He takes your hand and guides you to stand up.

“Let’s go, darling. Let’s go back to bed.”

“At least let me get the dishes.” You grunt. Emmet shakes his head and stops you from turning around.

“Nope. I am Emmet and I will take care of this after I take care of you. Okay?”

How could you insist otherwise? He’s simply too sweet for you. You gladly let Emmet lead you to your shared bedroom. He lays you down and tucks you in before lying down with you. Underneath the comforter, he wraps himself around you and tucks your head underneath his. You wholeheartedly welcome his closeness, breathing him in. The faint smell of his cologne puts you in a deeper state of rest. Emmet sighs in content, placing several soft kisses on your crown.

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you, too, Emmy.”

[demigoddessqueens]

Hello! Can I ask how the Vox Machina would react to a female muslim reader who wears the hijab? Even her as their S/O if you feel comfortable. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I love your writing!

Oh of course! 😄

a/n - I myself am not Muslim nor wear the hijab so I am open to any and all feedback

Masterlist 12

So for starters, I can see you hailing from the areas of Marquet and/or Ank’harel. Exandria is vast and diverse in its cultures, and they are not one to judge for differences.

Given most of their vices, you become a better influence for the group. Seeing you take time not to indulge so much rubs off more than they would admit.

Even when the worst of your most vicious enemies are rid of, seeing you perform dua does strike at them, especially Percy. He wishes he could have met you during the worst years when he was away from Whitestone.

Will always go out of their way to accommodate to dietary needs for you, even going alcohol-free

Of course you always have to look your best darling! The most beautiful fabrics for your hijab and a kaftan

Vex hears you pray and it reminds her of the guiding light that was her mother. A reassuring she needs when self-doubt creeps. Vax hears and sees you and he feels safe, calm and accepting of his future with the Raven Queen. He’s glad there’s another he can share his sentiments and feelings with.

Pike and Keyleth have grappled with their doubts and insecurities with following the Everlight and the Aramente trials before but you’re a reminder to them they can take that time for themselves. Keeping to what they believe and follow will be there, but to live a life and enjoy what has always been in front of them.

Grog has his fair share of philosophical questions here and there, which he is glad you make the time to answer. It’s refreshing that someone listens to what he has to say.

At the rooms you each have at Whitestone, Percy caters to your tastes and decorates your rooms to your liking. Whatever it takes to remind you of home.

If you’re good at textiles and artwork, then calligraphy has a soft spot in their armor and along their clothes designs .

Also, it becomes a rotation of each party member to come into your rooms to learn more of your language. It feels like an intrusion to hear you and your s/o speak privately to each other only in a dialect you both know.

Sometimes they’ll hear you singing, asking what those songs mean and if you could teach them. Mostly Scanlan just likes to pretend he’s learning because it’s an excuse to hear you sing, giving him courage to come to terms with his daughter.

And of course, the affectionate nicknames for each other! Say habibi and they turn redder than a tomato

Your relationship and dynamics can pretty much be summed up in the words of Nizar Qabbani:

Not everything in the heart can be said, so God created sighs, tears, long sleep, cold smile and shivering hands.

I throw my passport in the sea, And name you my country, I throw all of my dictionaries in the fire, and name you my language

[son-of-rap-bear-art]

So, do y'all remember the Adventure Time Mash-Up Pack for Minecraft back in like, 2017? Me and some friends have been messing around with that map lately and revamping some of the areas we consider a bit lacking with creative mode, and for me that was the Treehouse! I got ~100 reference pics from various episodes and tried to put it all together into the most autistically accurate Treehouse I could, and I wanna share it here cause I'm really proud of it!

Feel free to skip the text and just look at the pretty pictures. Cause when I say "autistically accurate" I MEAN IT. It's MY blog and I get to choose the special interest. :p

The exterior is mostly unchanged from the official map, but I added the orange tree from My Two Favorite People, and the pond. Also the log where Finn sits and thinks in Gotcha!

Yes, I will be mentioning specific episodes like this often.

I didn't make the Grotto, because I'm not THAT crazy, but I did make the pond really deep and filled it with the sort of things you see when Finn swims down there in Beyond the Grotto.

The first thing you see when you actually go inside is the treasure room, of course! The official map's treasure room is so small and sad, but I made it more accurate to how it looks in the show, with a ton of ladders and platforms going upwards until you get to the kitchen.

Speaking of, at this point I should show the layout I based the rooms' positions on...

I put this together myself and I THINK it's the most consistently accurate layout... of course, it's a cartoon, sometimes you'll get stuff like the bathroom in the left branch for the sake of a gag in Dentist, and characters will frequently run offscreen and then teleport to another room, BUT this is what I observed to be the most common layout seen when the camera will actually follow the characters through doors and ladders and etc.

Interestingly, the ladder in the trunk actually seems to connect to the kitchen, which is HIGHER than the living room, and then you have to go down a separate ladder to get to the living room. Confusing! But it checks out.

So yeah, climbing up past the treasure room takes you right to the kitchen! Some specific details to call out here are: - The picture of PB with the two spatulas is from Abstract, and I painted it myself in-game via a mod! Unfortunately I didn't get around to other paintings yet, they're a bit annoying to make. - The urn supposedly containing Margaret's ashes, from Conquest of Cuteness, is on one of the shelves. - There isn't a single torch in this whole build! It's carefully lit up with candles, just like the Treehouse should be! - There's actually this easily missable tiny room connected to the kitchen, seen in the last pic, that has another trapdoor and also the door to the bathroom. I believe that first shows up in Incendium and then stays around forever. - The cooler is entirely full of eggs, like how Finn exclusively buys pre-boiled eggs when grocery shopping without Jake, in Temple of Mars.

The bathroom! Funnily enough, the bathroom might be the least consistent room in the whole Treehouse. It's just made up of a toilet, bathtub, and sink, but these three things shuffle around the room entirely at random from episode to episode. In this sort of situation, I consider the most accurate way to handle it to be the same as the show: just put them wherever! So I did that.

That door in the kitchen leads to this room, connected by a bridge. I just called it the "bucket room" because it has a bucket that Finn and Jake ride in in Rainy Day Daydream, although that episode has a pretty wacky Treehouse in general.

I hooked up a hand crank with the Create mod, so you can use it like an elevator kinda.

Down the other ladder in the kitchen gets you to, the living room! This room's just a small round circle in some episodes, but others have it a bit bigger.

That bookshelf is there in Jake Suit, and has Dream Journal of a Boring Man, Vol 12 on it. Since one of the decor mods I'm using lets me place down books, I copied the 3 excerpts we get to see from it down into a written book, so it's even actually there!

A really inconsistent aspect of the living room is this weird platform with a door. I can only remember it appearing in In Your Footsteps and Three Buckets, but maybe I've just always missed it? I made it lead back into the trunk, so you can use it as a shortcut up to the kitchen.

Also over here is this workbench, which to my knowledge suddenly shows up in season 8 and becomes a REALLY REALLY consistent part of the living room?? Seriously, it's in Two Swords, Horse and Ball, Abstract... It's suddenly all over the place!! But I genuinely can't recall it existing before that. Am I crazy or is this an actual thing?

Anyway, connected by bridge to the living room is the den! Surprisingly, even though it barely even shows up in any episodes, the den is SUPER messy and lived in. I tried to reflect this by jamming as many decorative blocks as I could in there.

Also for some reason this fireplace doubles as a pizza oven in Abstract? Yeah, Abstract's got a really silly Treehouse. But it was easy enough to slot in there, so I did!

Way back to the kitchen and upwards: the bedroom! I always thought the bedroom was so tiny and cramped, but a good few episodes actually show it as pretty spacious! I tried to hit a good balance.

The pictures hung up around Finn's bed are a blurry, badly taken picture of Huntress Wizard, and a clearly old picture of Flame Princess. They're both cute choices for Finn's future, and are my girlfriends' respective favorite characters, so I included both :D

I also included the attic, which as far I know ONLY appears in Dad's Dungeon. I think it's neat, though, so I put it here. It'll be nice for survival mode storage.

If you exit through the attic, you can get to the cloud that Finn and Jake have tied down for its rainwater. The dripstone on the underside looks a bit ugly, but it makes it functional! If you scoop water out of any of the cauldrons with a bucket, it'll slowly refill with water from the cloud!

We're nearing the end! Here's a back shot of things. I added the power lines, Neptr's cave, and the farm. For some reason, Holly Jolly Secrets has a second, distinct set of powerlines, but those would be ugly so I didn't include them.

Lastly, the chicken coop, as seen in BMO Noire and mentioned in Three Buckets, featuring Lorraine. Who looks like Boobafina in this texture pack, which is silly.

I'm... honestly not very satisfied with the coop's placement, as BMO Noire shows it being out on a rarely-seen branch, but this is the best I could do without a major facelift on the tree itself.

So, yeah! That's the image limit. There's a good few extra details scattered around here and there, but I'll leave it at that. I hope this is as fun to read as it was for me to write :D

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

i would love to have a poly!plastics fic where reader has chronic pain and wakes one day to a bad flare up of joint pain They/he won't show to class and the girls worry so they ditch class(they walk out mid class) to o find reader who is at home, under blankets and groaning in pain at every movement. each of the girls helps in a way, from massages, to kisses, to having reader's favorite movie ready to be watched!!!! llove ur suff

Cuddles, Praise & Movies! Oh My!

|| poly!plastics x he/they!reader

(I myself am poly)

|| Warnings; injured reader, chronic pain mentions and descriptions, swearing

|| Summary; poly!plastics x they/he reader; reader's got chronic pain and doesn't show up for class, girls notice and come and comfort them.

Requests open!

Started; September 10th

Finished; September 12th

~~

There’s a saying about how everyone is fighting internal demons. Your demons? Chronic pain. An absolute bitch in your life. It has prevented you from being able to do a hell of a lot. For those who live a chronic pain free life and don’t know what it is, feel blessed. Chronic pain is a pain that can happen anywhere on your body and it’s on going. Usually it will last for more than six months at a time. Even if the original cause of the injury is gone, the pain can be left behind. It’s essentially a pain that never fully leaves you. Some days are more manageable; while others it’s hard to even get out of bed.

You were experiencing one of those days. It was more in your upper body where you felt it, from your back to your arms; and because it reached your arms you were in so much pain that you didn’t even bother reaching for your phone. You had wanted to text your girlfriends, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move further than the next pillow.

So you also didn’t go to school that day. The school was well aware of how bad your chronic pain could get, and on the days you couldn’t make it you would usually borrow notes from either Gretchen or Cady. If you didn’t have a class with Gretchen, which was really only a single class, then you had Cady to help you out. Karen and Regina were in some of your classes as well, but they weren’t exactly the most reliable note takers. One time you made the mistake of asking Regina to do it and the note she gave you at the end of the day wasn’t exactly PG. And Karen… well, she actually (literally speaking) took someone else's notes. Since that’s what she’d thought you meant. She tried, you appreciated it. Gretchen and Cady were the only ones who actually did it for you.

Meanwhile, your girls were all in the one class the four of you usually shared together. By now it was fourth period, lunch had passed with no word from you or sighting of you in the halls. Gretchen had even asked around just to double check, but everyone told her they hadn't seen you today. The three were starting to worry as they shared a quiet conversation amongst themselves at the back of the class. Away from Mr Rapp's earshot.

"He's probably at home. No one's seen them today." Gretchen whispered, looking between Karen and Regina. Mostly Karen. Who seemed to be trying to fan herself with her pencil. Gretchen sighed," Baby, no. Get a scrap paper and make a fan, here hang on. Like this." She then proceeded to show Karen how to make a foldable paper fan, which Karen watched with intense interest. Regina just rolled her eyes.

"Come on, we're leaving." Regina stood, the other two shared a confused look and Gretchen grabbed her things without question. She had a pretty good idea what Regina was talking about and was more than happy to skip classes for you.

Karen, on the other hand, was confused as she stood and followed along through the desk rows; "Where are we going?"

"Yes, I would like to know that too." Mr. Rapp raised as eyebrow as the plastics headed for the door.

Gretchen glanced back at him to say something, but Regina grabbed her wrist and pulled her along

"Ignore him." The blonde demanded, a look of fierce determination on her face.

Mr. Rapp tried to ask them more questions, but the girls listened to Regina and ignored him completely.

Regina lead them to her jeep, digging around for her keys. Pulling them out, she unlocked her jeep and got in.

"Hurry up!" Regina honked at them.

Gretchen sighed, understanding Regina was just frustrated and worried about you. All three of them were. So she just listened, not wanting to cause her anymore stress as she took Karen's hand and gave a gentle pull. "Let's go, mama."

The two got in the back, keeping their hands together and fingers interlocked.

In no time at all (Regina may have been speeding just a little bit) they arrived at your place and pulled in the driveway.

Regina lead three into your house, not bothering to knock since they've been there countless times before. Besides, your parents weren't home because they had work and if you were in a chronic pain state like they assumed... you wouldn't be able to answer the door anyway.

They walked up the familiar stairs and into the hall with your room, Gretchen ran ahead at a light jog; throwing your door open. Her eyes immediately found your form, laying in a ball curled up in bed. She frowned and joined you, gently pulling you into her arms so your back pressed against her chest. "I've got you, baby boy." She murmured against your neck, right below your ear lobe. You shivered as you felt the vibrations from her words against you and instinctively leaned into her. Making a small sound.

"A message would have been nice." Regina's voice came from the other side of the bed. You felt it lower, then felt her arms wrap around you as she joined the cuddles.

"Sorry. Couldn't." You explained in a mumble, albeit a poor explanation. Regina sighed and you felt her nails scratch along your back in a soothing motion. It was one of your favourite feelings.

That's when you noticed Karen hadn't joined you yet. You then glanced up from where your head had been buried in Gretchen's shoulder; scanning your room for her.

Karen was over by your desk, getting your laptop started up with a small smile on your face. You thought it was adorable.

"Karen?" You murmured, getting her attention. She immediately looked at you.

"Y/N?"

"What're you doing?"

"Getting a movie ready!" Her small smile became a grin as she pulled out some cd cases, flipping through them. You noticed that each one was one of your comfort movies and your heart melted just a little bit. The gesture was appreciated.

You picked the third one she mentioned, which happened to be Narnia; the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. One of your childhood favourites. She put it into the laptop disk holder then picked up the laptop and joined the three of you in bed, curling up with Gretchen.

You gave a soft smile as she set the laptop in Gretchen's lap so it was closer to you. She didn't want to put it in your lap because she wasn't sure how much pain you were in; and she didn't want to risk adding to it.

As the movie played, you felt Regina get up and turned to look at her with a pout.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Relax." She told you before leaving, Gretchen rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving your cheek a kiss.

You huffed a little and went back to watching the movie with your girls.

It was just about the scene where Lucy enters the wardrobe for the first time when Regina returned. Holding a tray of snacks.

"I thought you went to the bathroom?" Gretchen questioned.

Karen gasped," Did you find them in the bathtub?! Sometimes that happens to me."

Gretchen gave her a look of confusion and concern but didn't say anything. Figuring it wasn't a big deal.

Regina narrowed her eyes at Karen," No. I lied. Surprise." She muttered, holding the tray out to you. You could just tell she was at least a bit embarrassed by what she did.

You took a closer look at the tray and noticed a lot of the things there were snacks with clearly you in mind. She had all your favourites. There was some stuff for Gretchen and Karen, as well as herself too but mainly it was a tray made for you. She set it down in front of you when you didn't grab it and curled back in next to you.

"Thank you." You whispered to her, and if you weren't mistaken... you saw Regina George blush.

"Whatever." She muttered.

The three of you sat and watched the movie, enjoying your snacks; about half way through Gretchen offered to give you a massage. Asking where it hurt. You pointed it out to her and she happily helped you out, wondering if she was doing okay as her hands worked on the spot. You nodded, looking rather relieved as you began to relax.

She worked your muscles so well that you eventually fell asleep.

Last thing you remember feeling was Regina's kisses on your neck, Gretchen's hands on your shoulders and the voice of the White Witch yelling something in the movie.

[guesswhojusttt]

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

Ren Hana x suicidal!reader

Summary:

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

Full story on AO3

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

Summary:

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

― Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t give you any advice-”

“But what would you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s what you should’ve done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk the distance left to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right? Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

You didn't know this place sold beer.

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

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

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

He catches you staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right."

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

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

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

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

You just can't figure out why.

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

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

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

"I haven't seen you here before."

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Something about it in the eyes."

"You really wanna know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's just such a good listener.

~~~~

Author's notes:

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

[nipuni]

Time for an old school blog post, Hello!

Just various updates about life and shows and clothes and some photos! Adding a read more cut because I talk too much 😊

Happy equinox everyone!! The mild weather has been wonderful for daily park walks. We have been taking our meals outside as often as we can to make the most of it before summer scorches the land and all life. The longer days allow for a lot more wandering too but the imminent return of the heat is also making the longing to move up north worse by the day. We miss the choppy ocean and seaside cliffs 😭 We love the silence and the rain and the nippy sea breeze!! it's like being suspended in early spring for half the year and a rainy autumn the other half, Ideal if you don't mind humidity, but that's what wellies and flat caps are for. We have been looking for properties to rent to show up everyday so for now we lie in wait.

Speaking of nature, a few months ago we discovered a free app called Plantnet that you use to take and upload photos of plants, trees, flowers and it will identify them for you. You keep a log with their locations and can share them too to help contribute to each local biodiversity database. It feels like a pokedex for plants. There are many apps like this one to choose from too. It's been so fun learning what all these plants are called and memorizing them! I recommend it, is like a little educational side quest to take on while stretching your legs and getting some fresh air. This is not an ad I promise lmao I just think it's neat! kind of sad feeling the need to clarify that.

This weather is also making me want to start making outfit posts again! It's been so long since I made any!! my winter wardrobe is mostly long wool coats or capes and boots so the inspiration wasn't there but now I'm ready to pull out all my stuff back from under my bed storage and experiment again 👏 I've also been meaning to share some of Nicolas outfits for ages too so there is more variety, could be fun!

Speaking of clothes, lately I've grown more and more frustrated with how poorly most clothes fit me to the point where I'm considering learning how to make them from scratch. I usually have to take in the tops and hem the bottoms but most things I try on are just built weird even if I fix the size, or maybe I'm built weird! I think it may be both. Nicolas also said he would love to learn along with me so we will probably embark on that adventure soon. OH and on a short tangent, I got myself a sort of binder-like top that flattens the chest a bit and I'm loving it! I'm very flat already but what little bust I do have has always bothered me when I dress and I've found I feel a lot more comfortable in this type of top. I'm glad I tried it out so if you feel similarly you may want to give it a go too, see how it feels!

On the media side of things we have also been watching more of David Tennant's work. We are still very much in love with him to an embarrassing degree, you can probably tell if you follow me anywhere, my likes on twitter alone give me away alksjdf and Nicolas isn't any better! if he used social media his would look the same lmao.

Since my last report we have watched and absolutely LOVED "There She Goes" we already want to watch it again honestly. The family dynamics for all his characters are always so real and refreshing!! Their relationship with their wives especially are always so believable in every series we've seen, the comfort and camaraderie, the banter and just friendship! You can tell they enjoy each other's company, it feels true. I love it so much!!

We also watched "Inside man" which was..a very stressful mess but David was incredible as always, also very hot and very pitiful which is always great, and Stanley Tucci was on it! so that's also fun.

Then we rewatched season one of Good Omens and the first 4 seasons of Doctor Who, with all the extra content like the Confidentials, deleted scenes, video diaries and more, they are just so good!! our list of favourite episodes keeps growing, season four is incredible, we are loving all these seasons even more the second time around!! Now we are probably going to start watching either Classic Who or Torchwood, along with more of David's work. We were trying to pick what to watch during dinner the other day and Nicolas was like 'damn, David is not in this though, I miss him' and lmao same so now we just watch one show without him and one with him right after to cope 😂

OH we have also been doing more historical reenactment! Since the last one in the 20's we jumped back to Regency times. We have been putting our outfits together for a ball soon and hopefully another one in autumn in the UK 😊 1800 is the farthest back in time we've been yet so it's been fun doing research, finding pieces and learning the dances in class but also very hectic. I'll share more about this soon!

Then we also have a couple of 1900 events coming soon, so I'll be sharing more Edwardian looks as well, our favourite era!!

Anyway I think that's all for now, thanks for reading to whoever is doing so!! I know this is long and not a popular blogging format anymore but I enjoy it a lot, maybe some of you do too 🥰 I will reply to some messages soon, I'm so sorry I'm so bad at keeping up with those!! I've read them all and cherish every word 🥺 Thank you for supporting my art and shenanigans as always!! I hope you have a great week!!

[hellyeahscarleteen]

We’re here for you, as always.

If you’re a young trans or gender⁠-expansive person in the United States, the installation of the Trump administration and some of the intensely anti-trans executive orders that have come out⁠ since probably have you feeling pretty awful and scared. If you’re someone who cares about trans people, or you’re just generally not a garbage human, you likely aren’t feeling all that great, either. As a nonbinary⁠ and queer⁠-led organization, whose team is mostly queer, trans and gender-expansive people, and who has existed to serve and support marginalized young people from the start — and through several terrible administrations over the last 26 years — we’ve certainly been struggling with all of this, too. Suffice it to say, as is the case for some of us, what’s being said and what they are trying to do around transness may not be the only arena in which you feel vulnerable, attacked or targeted: you may also be having these feelings as an intersex⁠ person, a disabled person, as an immigrant, as a Black or brown person, an Arab person or more. I just wanted to remind you that even when we share these hard times, we still show up at Scarleteen every single day with the aim of being here to help inform and support you as best we can.  You can rest assured that we are paying close attention to all of these developments so that we can inform you about any policy changes you’ll need to know about and help you as best we can. So far, these executive orders are mostly just awful, cruel words on paper, not law, and will all undoubtedly be challenged in the courts. But they are also already changing how some people treat us, and how they treat us in systems of government, like with our IDs, and we’re here to help with both. Anyone can use our expansive free information, which we do our best to keep current if and when something changes that changes the information. Anyone can also use our direct services, including our text line at (206) 866-2279 and our message boards at: boards.scarleteen.com. Scarleteen centers young people and emerging adults⁠, and so that’s who we give the most of our time and energy to, but we also know that help and support can be hard to come by, and we’re also happy to help families, communities, our colleagues and other adults, particularly those who are themselves marginalized or have vulnerable people in their lives they care about. You’ll find some information about coping with the Trump administration as an LGBTQA+ person in Rebel Well, the guide s.e.smith and I wrote (with the help of a small team) the first time around with this awfulness in 2016, and which we have been updating for this latest iteration: scarleteen.com/read/culture/rebel-well-those-who-are-lgbtqa You’ll also find advice in Rebel Well about surviving a Trump administration if you’re BIPOC, disabled, undocumented, or a member of other groups for whom this is all particularly challenging or unsafe: scarleteen.com/read/culture/rebel-well-starter-survival-guide-trumped-america Our volunteer Anya K said this yesterday, which also speaks for the feelings of our whole team:

“Trans youth are everywhere. We are students, siblings, teammates, and friends. As a trans youth myself, I am scared about the things we cannot control, but nothing in this world will change my commitment to making all of our lives as safe, healthy, and joyously queer as possible. We are here. We are with you. You are loved.” <3