#hopefully some of this is helpful to someone

[yungbludz]

En Su Casa

SUMMARY: well deserved rest days back at home feel like torture for the champion…

WARNINGS: smut

You didn’t know exactly when or why things took a weird and unexpected— very predictable though— turn. Whether it was when Carlos finally came back home with you or when he laid in his bed after months of constant traveling around the globe. What you did know was that he was… restless.

His family had known you for a while yet you had been to their place only a handful of times. Carlos wasn’t home that often either so you mostly spent your time together during tournaments or on a beach somewhere warm. When he asked you to go back home with him you didn’t even hesitate. Anything for the champion, no? Oh boy, you were in for a ride.

At first you didn’t even notice. Well, you didn’t put two and two together at least. When you walked into his house, his parents were making dinner together. His whole family was there for their champion and you felt pride and joy overwhelm you as they congratulated him warmly. Carlos thanked each and every one of them, hugging some and kissing some others before excusing the two of you to go put your bags in his room.

“Can I take a shower before dinner? I feel gross,” you commented as you tried to find a spot for your bag. You didn’t even acknowledge Carlos, being very surprised his room was in its usual messy state — courtesy of his mom.

“Of course. Maybe we can even shower together and save some time, no?” You were used to this kind of jokes. Carlos was always rather flirty with you but it didn’t mean that he always wanted to act upon his eleven year old jokes. In hindsight you should have seen the way he was eyeing you up and down or how he was already taking his shirt off. Yet you giggled and brushed it off, grabbing your clothes and closing the door behind you.

The next hint should have been after that dinner. You were helping loading the dishwasher with Carlos— which should have been odd enough to ring a bell since Carlos was not one to volunteer to help. He was passing you the dirty dishes to put them in. His mother had insisted you let her do the hard work but you shook your head and told her she should relax. You were staying there for a few days, the least you could do was help out around the house. Carlos had quickly stood up and followed you. Even his own family shared a look of confusion.

You were listening to his family banter coming from outside. It wasn’t hot yet in Murcia which allowed you to enjoy a chill evening out on their little terrace. Carlos was awfully quiet for someone who didn’t know what quietness meant.

“Everything okay?” You had asked at some point turning around. Carlos looked up from the pile of dirty dishes and smiled. You should have noticed it wasn’t his usual lovey dovey grin: it was a smirk.

“You are so sweet. Taking care of my mom and of my family,” he stated nonchalantly. You smiled back and shrugged your shoulders, resuming the activity of putting dishes in the dishwasher.

“It’s no problem. Your mom deserves some rest,” you replied absentmindedly.

“Hopefully you’re taking care of me next,” he had murmured. And maybe, just maybe, if you had seen the look on his face you would have understood his words’ true meaning. But you weren’t facing him.

“I always take care of you, sweetie,” you said sweetly. Carlos sighed and tried to say something back so that you could get him but his grandmother stepped inside the house. You didn’t notice, too engrossed in your conversation with his grandma but Carlos rolled his eyes and sighed annoyed. Not at you, but at the situation he was finding himself. Every time he tried something either you wouldn’t get the memo or one of his family members cockblocked him.

The next time he tried something funny was around bed time. His extended family had finally left and the rest of the house had gone to bed. You were brushing your teeth, washing your face and getting ready to sleep while Carlos laid in his bed only wearing a pair of boxers with his hands behind his head. The memory of his win in Rome only a distant memory now. There was something else he wanted now, almost more than winning in Paris again.

When you finally came back into his room he eyed you up and down. You were wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy or sexy. But it was the most attractive thing on earth for him, maybe because he had started to think with his dick and not his brain.

“Amor, vengas aquí,” he called for you as you paid him no attention. One thing Carlos was most of the time was needy. He needed your whole attention every single time. It was endearing to be fair. You locked your phone and crawled on the bed to lay next to him but he redirected you so that you sat in his lap.

“I missed you,” he mumbled tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You grinned confused.

“Missed me? We have been together the whole day,” you reminded him but he pouted and shook his head. His hands fell to your naked thighs and stayed there, caressing the skin.

“C’mere,” you leaned in to kiss him. He wasn’t entirely wrong: you had been together the whole day but you were always surrounded by family members. Carlos welcomed you in his arms. You pecked his lips but he was the one to deepen the kiss. His hands moving from your legs to your waist to pull you closer, his mouth moving slowly yet hungrily against yours. He was a good kisser, always been. The type of kisser to make your legs wobble and insides twist. But you knew a few tricks too. You knew he liked it when your pulled his hair gently or when you bit his bottom lip.

What had started off as a simple kiss turned into a sloppy make out session. Carlos was so invested in it that he forgot where he was and how quiet he needed to be. He was so used to hotel rooms where he could be as loud as he wanted because he always booked his room as far away as possible from his team that it didn’t cross his mind the fact that his parents were two doors away from his bedroom.

“Shh…” you giggled when he let out a grunt. He let out a breathy giggle and enjoyed your lips on his for a little longer. Your nails scratched his scalp as you kissed him. And then, suddenly, you pulled away.

“Time to sleep,” you had reminded him while trying to get off him. Carlos looked at you in shock and bewilderment. He glanced at you and then down at his lap, his white boxers did nothing to conceal his growing bulge.

“Amor?”

“Yes, we can cuddle. But don’t snore,” and with that you turned around and went to sleep. Carlos was so confused he didn’t even protest at first. He was so confident all that kissing would lead up to what he wanted that the thought of you just going to sleep after getting him all worked up baffled him. Did you really not get in the mood after making out? Did he do something wrong? Oh God. What if you didn’t like having sex with him? Did he not satisfy you anymore? Carlos tried to remember if there was ever a time when he behaved selfishly during sex. Did you fake your orgasms? Oh God. Was he one of those guys? Those who can’t tell when their girls are faking it? Carlos started to spiral. Going to sleep was now the last thing he could do but you seemed to be fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Therefore Carlos turned, flipped around, huffed and puffed as he tried to find the right position. Yet the problem wasn’t the position, it was thinking you weren’t attracted to him anymore.

What Carlos didn’t realize was that his single sized bed wasn’t big enough for you to not feel every single movement he made. Therefore you weren’t getting any sleep either. Thanks to him. It was around midnight when you finally took matters into your hands and turned around to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him. He was taken off guard because he genuinely thought you were sleeping.

“Nada…” he tried to lie but he was the worst liar on earth.

“C’mon tell me. Why aren’t you sleeping? Whatever is bothering you is bothering me too since I can’t sleep if you keep moving around,” you sighed and sat up to turn on the little light he had on his nightstand. Carlos debated whether or not he should have said something. He hated showing he was insecure to you but he also knew it was better to work it out together than to hide it.

“¿No te gusta como follamos?” (Do you not like how we fuck?) it was so random that you stared at him with the most puzzled look you could come up with. Was he on drugs? Did he drink any wine at dinner? The lack of answer made Carlos internally panic.

“You don’t? Oh god, are you going to break up with me?” He blurted out panicking. Uh? You stared at him as if another head had grown out of his neck.

“What are you talking about? Where is all of this coming from?” You finally spoke. He had blindsided you with this sudden question.

“You have been avoiding having sex with me,” he stated matter of factly. You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your brows. Uh? You couldn’t recall a single time when you had rejected his advances.

“Earlier. I thought we were going to fuck but then you went to bed,” he finally explained. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help but laugh. It didn’t calm Carlos down at all. Now you were laughing at him. Oh God, it was over. He was officially single.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he pouted and crossed his arms looking down.

“Oh no, baby. I’m laughing because I had no idea you wanted to have sex. Carlos, we are literally two doors away from your parents. I thought it wouldn’t be appropriate,” you tried to explain your thought process. That finally calmed Carlos. So you didn’t hate him? Good to know.

“But why not?” He kept pouting. He was cute when he did that. You smiled and caressed his cheek sweetly.

“Because, baby, you are the loudest person ever when we fuck and I don’t think either of us wants your family to know that,” your point was more than valid. Carlos embarrassingly smiled but didn’t give up. He was confident he could keep it quiet.

“Pero puedo ser quieto,”

“You couldn’t even be quiet with my panties in your mouth in Rotterdam and Juanki was next door,” you reminded him. You weren’t wrong. His coach side eyed him the whole flight back home. Carlos wanted to talk back but he knew you were absolutely right. Yet he couldn’t change his mind. The bulge in his boxers had a mind of its own.

“Pero amor…” he started to talk and put his big puppy eyes to work. You giggled and shook your head. You weren’t going to let him get away with this. Carlos grabbed your hand and tried to pull you closer by also grabbing your waist.

“Carlos,” you warned him pointing a finger to his chest. He was playing with fire.

“Pero, amorc mira lo que me haces. No puedo estar así toda la noche, ¿no?” He took your hand in his and led it downward till you reached his boxers. He was hard. You rolled your eyes but you knew he was working his magic on you.

“Dale, amor. Te juro que puedo estar quieto,” he mumbled while kissing your shoulder and then your neck, leading to your cheek and then his mouth ghosting over your lips. Damn. He was hard to resist.

“The first sound I hear coming out of your mouth I am stopping,” you warned him. He nodded like a good boy and smiled. Of course he always got what he wanted…

You didn’t know how hard it was to be quiet. You assumed Carlos would be the one struggling the most but you were wrong. He was sitting up against his headboard while you rode him. You were sure your jaw was going to snap soon because of how hard you were clenching it. Carlos licked his lips and sighed. His hands guiding your hips as he imposed an atrociously slow rhythm. You could feel every inch coming in and out of you. It was torture.

“Carlos,” you whined as he slowed down.

“Quieta,” he scolded you. The audacity… you looked away and tried to breathe in and out. This wasn’t pleasure, this was medieval torture and why on earth was he enjoying this so much? You bit your bottom lip and clenched around him every time he bottomed out. He gave you a warning look but that didn’t stop you.

“Y/N,” he grunted as you continued. He couldn’t expect you to keep going like this the whole night.

“Shut up,” you shushed him. Your hands holding onto his broad shoulders for leverage. He gripped your waist and let you finally move. And so you did. You went faster and he began to struggle. His mouth dropped open as you rode him the way you both liked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the point where your bodies were conjoined, the way his cock slipped in and out of you.

“Joder,” he grunted sinking his nails in your flesh. You didn’t stop, resting your forehead against his as you tried to find a more stable position. The skin to skin wasn’t very quiet but you prayed the door and the walls would muffle the sound. Whereas you took care of Carlos’ increasing grunts by slapping your hand over his mouth. Of course he couldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Carlos, I swear—“ you groaned when he let out a deep grunt. He couldn’t even be quiet on court. What did you expect?

The Spaniard took you off him, which left you puzzled and annoyed. He flipped the two of you around so that you would be lying on your back and he sneaked between your legs, his face hovering over yours and his arms around your head.

“What are you—“ he pushed your legs back so that he could have more access. His face was soon hid in your neck where all of his grunts and moans were muffled. The angle switch did wonders on your core. You sank your teeth in your bottom lip to silence yourself.

“Fuck,”

“Be quiet,” he reminded you smugly. The prick.

His pace was ruthless and didn’t let you even breathe. He was going harder than you expected but you could also feel your orgasm build up faster.

“Amor, un día me vas a matar,” (you’re going to kill me one day) he muttered breathlessly. You wanted to answer something snarky back but you didn’t trust your own voice in that moment. Carlos’ stamina and strength on court were just as impressive in bed. His hips ruthlessly slapped against yours till you couldn’t take it anymore. His teeth bit your neck, his hands fisted the sheets as he teetered over his own orgasm.

“Correte para mí,” he begged you in your ear and you could only do as you were told. Carlos followed you right after, coming undone inside of you. His hot seed spilling into your throbbing core. You tried to be quiet in the process, biting onto his shoulder. Carlos pulled out after a few seconds and smirked when he saw his cum spill out of you and onto his sheets.

“Great, now we have to make the bed again,” you huffed and tried to sit up but Carlos quickly pushed you back down. He towered over you with a big smug, his naked and hard chest almost intimidating.

“I’m not done,”

[taetebebe]

AFTER THE ENCORE

Pairing: idol!Sunoo x fan!reader

Synopsis: He had the whole world watching. Still, he looked for you.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Ask:

Author’s Note: BIRTHDAY SPECIAL FOR SUNSHINE SUNOO <333 Anonnie, hopefully this is what you were looking for :) My longest fic yet! - I feel bad for Y/N cuz if it were me staying in something unlabelled for even two days I would run away. This is fic delusional stuff so pls remember this is just fiction <3

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

The café you always came to after class was barely marked from the outside. Just a faded green awning and an old wooden sign that said “Rest”. It was quiet, the kind of place no one went to unless they meant to stay awhile. You came for the warm tea and solitude, for the cracked windows that made the sunlight look softer, like a film still.

He always arrived after 6 p.m. Sharp. Always with the same Iced Americano with syrup order, always with a black hoodie pulled over his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face. He sat in the back corner, behind a low bookshelf of forgotten novels, where the light didn’t quite reach. He rarely took out his phone. Sometimes he brought a book. Mostly, he just… sat.

You knew who he was the first time you saw him. You’d recognise that kind of presence anywhere. Kim Sunoo. One-seventh of the group that had gotten you through some of your hardest nights. The boy with the soft voice and eyes that smiled before his mouth ever did.

But you said nothing.

Not on the first day. Not the second. Not the seventh.

You figured he came here for the same reason you did—because it felt like the only place in the city that didn’t expect anything of you. And you weren’t about to ruin that.

The first week passed that way.

The second week, he left a napkin behind. Not a mistake—you could tell by how it was folded. Neatly. With care.

You found it after he left. A line written in a looping hand:

“Some silences feel like company.”

You didn’t know what it meant exactly. But you started arriving earlier. Just to be there when he came in.

You were already a fan. You knew his name, his face, his laugh—the curated versions. You’d streamed every title track, watched fancams when you couldn’t sleep. But none of that felt relevant here. Because this wasn’t him on a stage. This was someone sitting in his own silence, drinking tea, looking out a window like he was waiting for the sky to say something worth hearing.

He never approached you. But one day, when your bag tipped over and your notes scattered across the floor, he got up. Quietly. Helped you gather them with both hands.

You looked up, said, “Thank you,” and saw that his mask had slipped below his chin.

And maybe he saw something in your expression—recognition, yes, but not desperation. Not the giddy kind of awe that made people chase him.

He just nodded.

The next time, he sat one seat closer.

You didn’t know when it changed. Maybe it was the day you accidentally dropped your pencil and it rolled all the way to his table. Maybe it was the day he nodded at you as he left, and you caught the faintest flicker of a real smile in return.

Maybe it was the notebook.

He forgot it one day, left under the edge of his chair. You found it hours later, when the barista was sweeping up and muttered something about throwing it out if no one claimed it.

You shouldn’t have opened it.

But you did.

The pages weren’t linear—some were blank, others filled with lyrics half-scribbled, margins filled with doodles. A page near the back had a sketch of a stage drawn in a single pen line. Empty. Curtains down. Underneath, in barely-there handwriting, it read:

“Would anyone know me if I stopped singing?”

You closed the book with shaking hands.

The next day, you brought it back.

He was already sitting in the corner, drink in hand. You walked over before you could second-guess yourself.

“This is yours,” you said, placing it down on the table. “I didn’t read much. Just enough to know it’s important.”

He looked at the notebook, then up at you.

Then he nodded. “Thank you.”

No mask today. No hoodie.

You expected your heart to race, but it didn’t. Not in the way it had when you watched fancams or comeback trailers. This felt different. Quieter. Realer.

He was the one who started talking.

“I always wanted to go to university,” he said, unprompted.

You blinked. “What would you have studied?”

“Literature. Maybe philosophy. Something useless but beautiful.”

You laughed, caught off guard. “I’m literally doing that right now.”

He smiled, and it was small but real.

“Then maybe I’m here for extra credit.”

You got to know each other sideways. Not through long conversations, but through exchanges left in books, scribbled on napkins, underlined pages from secondhand poetry collections.

He told you he missed autumns. “They go by too fast when your schedule is set six months in advance.”

You told him about your habit of walking slowly in autumn, dragging your feet just to pretend time was on your side.

He said he envied that. Not in a glamorous way, but like someone admitting they miss being a person more than being a presence.

You said, “You still are one. Even when you’re quiet.”

He looked at you.

It was slow.

Not romance. Just comfort. Just something solid and safe.

You learned little things first. That he liked sunshowers. That he loved to take selfies but hated having to post them too often. That he once spilled hot coffee on a very famous producer and didn’t speak for a whole day out of embarrassment.

He learned about you, too. That you liked folding laundry while watching nature documentaries. That you preferred used books to new ones. That you kept a lucky charm on your bag—a small, plastic token from a limited photocard set.

“Who is it?” he asked, half teasing.

You looked at the charm, then at him. “It’s you.”

He blinked.

“But not because it’s cute or anything,” you added quickly. “Well, it is. But I kept it because it was the only one where you looked… tired. Not like, bad tired. Just… real. I don’t know. It looked like someone had caught you in a moment before you put on the idol smile.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“That’s my least favorite one,” he said.

“I figured.”

A pause.

“Mine,” he added quietly.

But you weren’t just there for him. He learned things about you too. Not just what you studied, but how your voice dropped when you talked about your silence, or how you always ordered chamomile but almost always left it untouched—“I just like how it smells more than how it tastes.”

You told him you had this fear—not of being alone, but of being half-understood. That people only ever liked the parts of you that didn’t ask too much.

And he didn’t rush to comfort you. He just said:

“I get that. I’ve lived entire years only being loved for the loudest parts of me.”

Then he added, quieter, “But I think I like your quiet parts best.”

There were rules—ones you never said aloud, but both understood. You never took photos. You never posted vague stories with his sleeve barely visible in the corner. You didn’t go to fansigns or message him online. He didn’t ask for your number. You didn’t ask for his schedule. The café was the only place you existed together. 

But the world didn’t always let you stay inside your boundaries.

It wasn’t love.

It was something more dangerous: recognition.

A mutual understanding that felt too rare to name. A conversation that continued without words.

You started to feel it more in what wasn’t said.

When he touched your wrist just to pass you a sugar packet and left his hand there half a second too long. When you wrote a line in your notebook and caught him trying to read it upside down. When he didn’t show up for a week, and you still came every day, just in case. When he finally returned and said, “I had a rough week,” and you said, “Do you want to sit in silence or in story?”And he said, “With you is fine.”

After that, something shifted. Just slightly.

He started walking you to the bus stop after the café closed. Started sending little sketches to you via folded notes left behind in the bookshelves. One day, he left you a list titled:

Things I Never Got To Do (But Might Want To Someday) 1. Enroll in a literature class. 2. Study on a college lawn. 3. Write a poem without worrying about its rhythm. 4. Hold someone’s hand without looking over my shoulder. 5. Be called by my name, not my stage one.

You added your own underneath.

Things You Still Can: 1. Ask me what we’re reading in class this week. 2. Sit with me on the grass outside the uni library. 3. Write a bad poem and read it only to me. 4. Hold my hand. Here. Now. 5. Sunwoo. That’s your name.

When he saw your reply, he folded the paper gently, like it was made of glass.

Then he reached out.

His hand, warm and hesitant, found yours across the table.

No cameras. No noise. Just two people and a connection that neither of you had planned for.

He told you once that he couldn’t write when he was happy.

You tilted your head. “That’s sad.”

“It’s not. It’s just… when I’m happy, I’m living it. I don’t need to document it to prove it existed.”

You reached for your cup, then said, “So what would you write about this?”

“This?”

You nodded.

He looked down at the steam rising between you.

Then he said, “This feels like the part of the story no one sees. The chapter before the climax, when everything is still soft and possible.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you said nothing.

But he reached for your hand under the table. And you let him.

The first time he cried in front of you, it wasn’t because of work.

It was because you read him something you’d written.

Just a short paragraph. A memory of your mother braiding your hair in silence the day you left home. The way you knew she loved you but didn’t know how to say it without her hands.

Sunoo blinked and asked, “Do you ever write about now?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I usually wait until the feeling’s over. It’s too hard to put something into words while it’s still happening.”

He nodded.

Then looked at you with a softness that felt like apology.

“Then maybe I’ll be the one to remember it. In case you forget.”

You never told anyone.

You didn’t need to.

He still went back to his world. To stages and studios, to photoshoots and rehearsals. But now, there was a place in his life that existed without flashbulbs.

And every time he walked into the café, past the cracked window and the worn couches, he found you—book open, tea cooling, eyes meeting his like you’d been waiting all along.

You knew what this was. What it wasn’t.

There were no labels. No promises. No declarations. He didn’t call you after shows. You didn’t ask for updates. You were just two people orbiting the same quiet place.

And yet.

When he pressed his forehead against yours one cold evening, on the walk home from the café, and whispered, “I think I know who I am when I’m with you,” you felt your heart ache in a way that didn’t need to be spoken.

You whispered back, “Then stay. Just a little longer.”

And he did.

He always did.

It wasn’t love the way people wrote it in songs. It was quieter. Like a window you didn’t know was open until the breeze changed the room.

That winter, you stopped trying to explain him to yourself. Stopped trying to define what it meant when he leaned his head on your shoulder. Or when he said things like:

“Some days, I want to be ordinary. And the only person I want to tell that to is you.”

It wasn’t fantasy anymore. It was two people folding their sadness into the same space and calling it comfort.

Sometimes you wondered what this would look like to someone else.

If they knew who he was. If they knew who you weren’t.

You were not famous. Not dazzling. Not part of his story in any official way.

You were just there. At 6:05 p.m. In the café with the crooked window and the soft chair.

And still—he always looked for you first.

He started bringing a camera.

Not for vlogs. Not for social media.

Just a small film camera. Cheap. Disposable. It was barely working. You teased him about it.

“You’re literally sponsored by tech brands. Why this?”

He shrugged. “This doesn’t try to correct things. If the light is off, it stays off. If it’s blurry, it stays blurry. No filters. No smoothing. Just memory.”

“Are you making memories now?”

He smiled faintly. “I think I’m learning how.”

Later, he gave you one of the developed photos. It was a picture of your hand on a book. A smudge of sunlight on your wrist. Nothing obvious. Nothing staged.

He had written on the back:

Not performing. Still perfect.

You kept it tucked inside your journal, folded soft between pages about all the things you never thought you’d be brave enough to feel.

One day, as spring began, he walked you to the university campus.

He wore a hat, glasses, kept his head low. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart. But he insisted.

“I want to know what it’s like,” he said. “To sit in the grass and not have anyone waiting on me.”

You bought two iced teas. You sat under a jacaranda tree. He took off his hat.

There were people around. But no one looked. And even if they did, he didn’t seem to care.

He looked at you instead.

The wind lifted a piece of your hair. He tucked it behind your ear without asking.

Then he said:

“If I met you before I debuted, I think I’d have fallen in love with you in a classroom.”

“And now?”

His gaze softened. “Now I’m just falling in love with you wherever I can.”

The words weren’t heavy. They didn’t need to be. Because by then, you already knew.

Not from what he said. But how he started memorizing your favorite poems. How he asked about your essays and remembered which ones made you cry. How he once missed a party with famous people just to sit next to you while you pressed flowers into a book and didn’t say a word for an hour.

That’s what it became: not loud love. Not scripted affection.

But showing up.

Again and again and again.

With a paper flower he made during a variety shoot. With a candy from Japan he saved in his pocket. With a napkin with a scribbled quote from a poem he read on a plane.

Two years later, things changed.

You graduated. He went on tour. Again.

The café closed down for much needed renovations.

You didn’t see each other for 47 days.

He texted. Sometimes late, sometimes rushed. You never asked for more than what he could give.

—he came back.

Not to the café. Not to the city.

To you.

He waited outside your new apartment, hood up, holding chamomile tea with one hand and a book in the other.

You opened the door, stunned.

He didn’t say hello.

He just handed you the book.

Inside: Letters to a Young Poet. The same one he had given you the year before.

Except this time, he’d underlined passages. Dog-eared pages. Written in the margins.

“There’s a note inside,” he added, then cleared his throat. “If you want to read it later.”

You found it on the title page. His handwriting, neat and hesitant.

I know I can’t give you normal. But I hope I can still give you something real.  If I’d gone to university, I think I’d want to sit beside you. I think I’d want to ask you what you were scribbling in your margins. I think I still do. —S.

Another corner was bookmarked.

You flipped to it. The qoute read.

“I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”

He had written beneath it:

You know. You always did.

You looked up. He looked nervous.

“I have to leave again next week,” he said quietly. “But… I wanted you to know that I still come back here. To this. To us. Even when I’m far.”

You swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” he said. “Because I think this is the truest thing I have.”

As you went to put the book away something slipped out.

A ticket.

Your name written neatly on the back.

Your seat was far from the stage—nosebleed section, middle row. But it was his concert. His first solo stage on the tour.

“I won’t ask you to come,” he had said softly. “I don’t want to bring that part of me into this if you’re not ready.”

“I want to come,” you said before he could finish.

You watched him sing to a crowd of thousands that night, all of them screaming his name.

But when the final ballad played, soft and aching, and the camera zoomed in on his face, you knew.

He was looking past the lights, past the sea of phones, to where you sat.

His voice cracked just slightly during the second verse.

You felt it in your chest like something tender being unwrapped.

After the concert, you didn’t wait for him outside.

You didn’t send a message. You just walked to the café site, like always, and stood outside.

He arrived an hour later—hair still slightly damp from the stage, hands buried in his coat pockets. He looked exhausted. He looked alive.

“I cried,” you said simply, as he stopped beside you.

He laughed, voice hoarse. “Me too.”

Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled, sweat-damp paper.

It was the setlist.

At the bottom, one song was circled: "After The Encore" Next to it: “For her.”

Your breath caught.

“That’s not its real title,” he admitted. “I renamed it. Just for tonight.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

And he let it stay there.

The café opened again a month later.

New chairs, new paint, new name. But the same window. The same light.

You found your seat again. Back corner. One cracked tile left untouched beneath the table, like a secret the renovations had kindly decided not to erase.

He arrived a few minutes late. No mask, no hoodie. Just him.

He placed a small box on the table between you.

Inside: A key. A photo. And a folded piece of paper.

You opened the photo first.

It was the two of you—not posed, not planned. Just a reflection caught in the café window. Your head on his shoulder. His eyes on you.

You smiled.

Then unfolded the paper.

You once said you wait until feelings are over before you write about them. I guess I’m writing this because I don’t want this to ever be over. Come home with me. Or let me come home to you. Whatever we call this— let’s keep writing it. No ending. Just more.

You looked up.

And for the first time, he didn’t look like someone who belonged to the world.

He looked like someone who had chosen a single place to stay.

You didn’t say yes.

You just took his hand.

And stayed.

© taetebebe 2025

[ikiracake]

The Rapunzel!Danny and Flynn!Manny pics just tickled my brain so nicely, I couldn't help but write a little something about their first meeting. I hope that's okay!

The first thing that registered when Manny regained consciousness was that his head hurt like hell. The second thing that registered was that he was sitting in a chair.

The third thing that registered was that he was tied up.

His eyes flew open, and he glanced down at his body in alarm that quickly shifted to confusion when he saw the strange black threads wrapped around him. It was unlike any rope he’d ever seen before. In fact, it almost looked like…hair?

Who the hell tied someone up with hair?!

He was distracted from his baffled thoughts when the sound of someone’s foot scuffing across the floor drew his attention. He looked up in the direction of the noise, his senses fixed on the shadows surrounding him. Someone was here in the tower with him, somewhere close by. But were they the person who trapped him? Or someone who might be able to help him? Only one way to fight out.

“Who’s there?” Manny demanded, glaring into the darkness towards where he thought the person was lurking. “Come out, show yourself!”

“You’re not the one who’s making demands here,” said the figure from the shadows. Manny couldn’t help but perk up a little at the sound of their voice; they were clearly trying to be intimidating, but Manny had worked with enough scoundrels and thieves to recognize when someone was putting on a tough act to hide their fear. And the person definitely sounded scared, the tremble in their voice clear. But why the hell would they be scared of Manny when he was currently tied up? Did they recognize him?

Hopefully not from the wanted posters. They never got his scar right.

“Alright then, amigo,” Manny said slowly, making a show of getting more comfortable in the chair. The hair wrapped around him was itchy, but he made sure to keep his expression smooth. He was obviously going to have to negotiate with this person, and the last thing he wanted to show was weakness. “You want to make the demands? Demand away.”

The person hesitated, clearly caught off guard by how at ease Manny seemed. But the longer that Manny sat there waiting, a cocky smirk growing on his lips, the more they seemed to grow impatient. Eventually he heard the sound of soft footsteps padding across the floor, one of the shadows shifting as the person stepped forward towards the small pool of light that illuminated the middle of the room.

As the person came into view, their gaze was focused on Manny with a look of wary concentration, their lower lip trapped between their teeth as they cautiously inched their way forward. They had an old iron frying pan held defensively in their hands, keeping it pointed at Manny’s face like they would strike him with it if he tried anything funny. But Manny barely paid the pan any attention, his eyes locked on the person themself. His smirk slipped away to be replaced by a stunned expression as he took in the pale skin, the icy blue eyes set into a heart shaped face, the strong arms and shoulders visible even under the person’s loose tunic shirt.

“Wow,” Manny muttered under his breath, eyes wide. “Espléndido.”

But then the person kept approaching, and Manny started to realize that the dark shape extending from their head wasn’t a shawl or blanket wrapped around their shoulders like he’d first thought. It was hair. Long hair.

Manny’s eyes darted back and forth between the person’s scalp and the hair currently pinning him to the chair. They looked…exactly the same.

All he could do was stare blankly up at the young man who seemed to currently have Manny tied up with his impossibly long hair. “What the hell…?”

Alright, fine. He’d seen some strange things, but this one definitely took the cake.

(I didn't know where to take it from here so that's about as far as I got. I choose to believe that Danny has a pet blob ghost named Pudding instead of a chameleon, though, because he 'borrowed' one of Vlad's books that he thought was a cookbook to try a new pudding recipe and accidentally summoned a blob ghost instead <3)

Tangled AU

[glxssy-the-first]

Guest 1337👊+ Doey!reader angst

Requested by strawb3rrycr3p3c00ki3, reader goes by they/them

TW: Death

May be OOC

You were some kind of robloxian made up of some playdough-like consistency, being more flexible due to this. you also have the ability to walk through tight spaces since you have no bones, just dough. And carrying three souls in one body! Though, you were mostly in control.

You got kidnapped and placed in some realm in a processed called 'forsakening', and forced to play some cat-and-mouse game against killers all while trying to survive.

But despite the situation, you managed to stay strong! Besides, your motives to protect others stayed with you while trapped in this place, and you made it your goal to protect the other survivors stuck here.

This caused a friendship to sprout between you and another survivor with the same ideas in mind; Guest 1337! You both wanted to protect others in this hell

He would help reassure you everything would be fine in the end, hopefully, everyone could escape from this place peacefully. You and Guest 1337 were inseperable

That was until...

tonight.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

You sat at the end of the dock, clutching a newspaper that had appeared in the lobby (like those missing posters that would appear sometimes) But this one...this specific one...

It was like a brick to the heart- someone you cared for before you got kidnapped here. They died. They're gone. You would never see them again. Even if you managed to escape, they would still be gone.

You clutched the newspaper harder, feeling a different soul take it's place, the more emotional one. Why did this have to happen? Why? Why while you're stuck in this realm?

As you felt these emotions start to overwhelm you, a voice cut you out of your own thoughts. Right...It was Guest 1337.

"[Name]" He started, standing over you "What are you doing?"

You stayed silent, before handing him the newspaper you were holding. He would look it over, realizing your situation "..Ah"

Staring at your reflection in the water, you let out a sigh "That was...my friend. Someone I really did care for before this whole thing. And now, I won't ever see them again. Free or not from this place." You turned your head up to look out past the water, if there was even anything beyond, nobody really knew.

"I'm supposed to protect others." You started, picking up a smooth stone next to you, your doughy fingers brushing over it. "But how can I protect everyone if I can't prevent the death of someone else?!" As you started to get more upset, Guest 1337's face changed to one of concern.

"If it wasn't for this stupid realm, I could've been there to stop that from happening!" You said before throwing the stone out to the water, causing it to skip a few times before falling into the water.

"Hey- it's gonna be fine-" He reached for your shoulder but you stopped him by slapping his hand away and abruptly standing up. "No it's not!"

"It's not gonna be okay! What about everyone else up there?! What if they follow suite and if I escape, there's nothing left?!" You spat, while Guest 1337 put his hands up

The other soul was now taking control, all you were feeling now was just pure, unfiltered anger. He said everything was gonna be fine, and was everything okay right now? No, and things could only get worse from here.

"Just calm down..." You couldn't calm down, not right now. He lied, he gave you a false sense of hope. Your anger was currently directed towards one person, and it was him.

Completely blinded by rage, you swung at him. Out of self-defense and pure instinct, He countered the attack by shoving you backwards. The shove was more powerful than you both predicted, and you went barreling back, falling into the freezing cold water.

The cold engulfed you immediately, shock from the temperature following. The water filled your nose as you sank down, his figure slowly fading away.

Now it's all quiet, with the cold water biting at your body, you come back to your senses. realizing your actions resulted in you here. You'd be with that friend soon

As you felt you end creeping in, one last thought came to your mind.

I'm sorry...

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

Standing where you once were, staring into the dark water. seeing the ripples slowly fade, leaving nothing behind but silence after a conflict.

He dropped to his knees. They're gone, just like that. No more [Name]. He was left alone.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

Some wonderful drawing provided by the person who requested this!

[cloud-noon]

i'm having more life series! scar thoughts. there was an impulse hc stream not that long ago where they were chatting about the upcoming series, and when the topic came to scar in the games... "scar becomes the worst in these series, scar betrays everyone" which...probably would be warranted, if we were fresh off of secret life. but after wild life? scar seemed exhausted with that persona, and more and more desperate and frustrated when any attempt at helping someone would be met with doubt and derision. not like he was a saint that season, but his shadiest acts (the death coaster, the cheap kill on grian) really aren't any worse than the average lifer. i think there is a very...doomed nature to scar's character in the life series. people have a very clear idea of Who He Is - built from a foundation imo, of mostly the first three games. a reputation so entrenched scar can't escape from it anymore. and because he's vindictive as all get out when he thinks he's being treated unfairly or being misjudged, he's only setting himself up to fulfill their expectations. any act of aggression will be seen as Villain Scar, despite the fact that most lifers have done their fair share of shady shit themselves. and all this, coming from skizz - hand to heart, i don't understand folks who say he's the most innocent of the life series. skizz won't let go of the heart foundation, but he's gotten his revenge and then some, and i think in wild life he proved himself more morally aligned with scar than he'd like to believe. skizz, who in wl! hunted scar down for a kill scar didn't do, when there was nothing to be gained from it. skizz, who was eager to destroy lizzie's bamboozler birds before grian dissuaded him. skizz revels in the same chaos scar often does. skizz, i think, is just better at finding a justification. better at spinning the destruction he already wanted to do as Right and Good. and because he's entering the games with the exact opposite reputation of scar, i wouldn't be surprised if they find themselves at odds yet again. scar does a villainous thing, because Of Course He Does. and skizz responds in kind, just as a hero should. (this is all character talk - hopefully that's clear :-) )

[missvelvetsstuff]

Misunderstandings & Miscommunications

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader works as an administrator for the Thunderbolts* and quickly falls for the White Wolf. The team is hesitant to trust her and drama ensues.

Note: As usual I'm stuck in a story and starting yet another one. This has been rolling around in my head since we went to see Thunderbolts* so hopefully getting this out will help knock some inspiration for The Situation Room and No Benefits.

I've tried to keep the reader neutral but she is a she and as always taller than average. I haven't seen a story like this one but haven't been able to keep up with all the new works so if it seems similar please know that's not my intention.

Warnings: Swearing, cannabis use, Thunderbolts* spoilers, angst

Chapter 5

After Bucky left, Poppy changed into a sleep shirt and shorts and went thru her bedtime routine knowing she would need some rest to deal with what was coming. After eating an edible, she dreamed of bright blue eyes and soft but chapped lips.

It felt like she had just dozed off when someone knocked on her door but when she looked at the clock Poppy could see it was almost 7am. 3 sharp knocks. She groaned and climbed out of bed to answer.

She opened it to see Carli with a smirk on her face. "Come on puppy, the team needs to speak with you. Your jig is up."

Poppy looked at her confused "My jig? What the Hell are you talking about?"

Carli scoffed and grabbed Poppys arm roughly "Right, like you don't know. We knew you were dirty and now the whole team knows, even your precious Bucky."

Poppy pulled away from Carli "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about but keep your damn hands off of me or I'll make you regret it."

Carli laughed "Yes, I'm so scared of the office manager puppy, I'm sure you're lethal."

Poppy pulled on her bathrobe and slid her feet into her slippers, yawning "You're welcome to test that assumption at your earliest convenience." She giggled "But you might wish you hadn't."

Carli scoffed "Whatever just get your ass up and to the main conference room."

Poppy smiled "What ever could you be up to? It's too early for my birthday. Hmmm."

She followed Carli into the conference room but her face fell when she saw the cold glare Bucky gave her.

She walked over to him and touched his shoulder "Buck? You okay?"

Poppy flinched when Bucky jerked his arm away from her and moved to the other side of the room.

Poppy followed him meekly "Bucky? What's wrong?"

He turned and scowled at her "Were you ever going to tell me? Tell us? What's wrong is that I don't know who the Hell you are."

Poppy felt her eyes fill "No, Bucky you know me. You know-"

"I know what "Poppy"? He snapped at her. "I'll ask one time and you better fucking tell me the truth." He paused, breathing heavily before speaking, deathly calm "Are you related to Val? What's the real reason she has you working here?"

Poppy laughed nervously "What are you talking about? I'm not related to Val and she hired me to handle the business part of-"

"Stop with your lies!" Yelena snapped "We know the truth so stop lying and maybe we won't hurt you."

Poppy glared at Yelena "What is it that you think you know, exactly?"

Carli had been waiting to pounce and took her shot "Val is your aunt. You've been spying on us this whole time."

Poppy rolled her eyes "Val was my aunt. Was. She was with my uncle but isn't anymore. Val asked me to spy on "those losers" her words not mine but I've always been on the team's side. I know exactly who and what Val is."

Yelena frowned "Who's your uncle?"

Poppy laughed "What? Ms big bad black widow couldn't find that information? My uncle isn't relevant, this is about me and you have no evidence that I've done a single thing against any one of you. Everyone here has secrets."

Ava finally spoke up "I've known Poppy for years and she's always been my friend. I have no reason to distrust her."

Carli snapped back at her "Did you know she was related to Val?"

Ava yawned "By marriage, she used to be related but isn't now."

Carli bristled "You knew but didn't tell anyone? Maybe you can't be trusted either,"

Bucky spoke coldly "So you were spying on the team for Val. If you were on our side then why not tell me?"

Poppy looked at her hands "At first I didn't know if I could trust any of you, except for Ava." She looked at Bucky sadly "Then I was scared and the longer I waited the worse I knew it would be but everything I said to you, everything that happened between us, I meant. I've never fallen for someone like I have with you."

She sighed "I didn't tell Val anything important or serious, just like -"

Yelena "How are we supposed to believe you? And who is Hughie? Your boyfriend? You talk to him a couple of times a week, at least."

Poppy replied "You can believe me because Val has very rarely come here to check on us. Remember the paintball fight? And how someone accidentally bought paintballs that weren't water soluble and wouldn't clean up off of the walls? Did Val call any of you about it? Or come here complaining about the cost to repaint? No. You know why? Because I took care of it and never told her. Out of my own money."

John tried to say something but she didn't let him.

Poppy snapped "How about when Alexei and John were sock skating everywhere and slammed into the glass wall, cracking it all to hell? No! Again because I never told her and paid to replace it myself. So maybe I'm not the one you need to be spying on and pointing fingers at!"

Poppy took a breath to calm herself before looking at Yelena "Yes, I knew you bugged my phone. Some great spy you are, Yelena, I knew you were sneaking around, hacking my laptop and phones. You were so obvious, nowhere near as slick as Natty was."

Yelena growled at the mention of her late sister but Poppy interrupted her before she could speak "Hughie is a close relation. In fact, he's the only living family I have left. He'll be back in town in a few weeks and I'll introduce you to him."

Yelena wasn't placated "What's his real name? I couldn't even find a complete birth certificate for you. The one I found had your place of birth and fathers name redacted. I've never seen anything like that before. Who was your father?"

Poppy rolled her eyes "He died a long time ago, when I was young so it's irrelevant. In fact-"

Before she could continue, Poppy was interrupted by the conference room door opening, her eyes grew wide when she saw who it was. "I should have known you were behind all of this, Mel. What's the matter? Still miffed that I'm working here instead of you? Trying to get in good with Bucky?" She scoffed "Yeah, I heard you begging Val for this job but you're just too important to her. Isn't that what she said?"

Mel shook her head "Oh, Y/N. Don't be mad that I told your new friends the truth about you. How you were booted from the CIA for inappropriate relations with more than one of your supervisors and how Val saved you from obsolescence by putting you with Dr Foster. If it weren't for Val you'd be working in some call center."

Poppy laughed "Is that what Val told you? And you believed her? Bless your heart."

Mel's smirk dropped at that "You're right, I shouldn't believe anything Val says but that doesn't change how you lied to this team."

Poppy looked at Bucky who was still staring at her like he was trying to untangle this mess and find the truth. "Bucky, can we talk? Alone? Please."

The team was sitting in silence, waiting to see what else would come out about Poppy and Val. They turned to see Bucky's response.

Bucky sighed "I don't know. I need some time to think." He moved to leave before stopping to turn to Mel "Would you like to go get coffee with me?" He smiled and offered his arm.

Poppy felt like she had been punched in the gut and her eyes started filling up again, barely whispering "Bucky?"

Mel smirked at Poppy before turning to Bucky and smiling "Of course" she took his arm and followed him out of the room.

Yelena sat back, gloating "Looks like we saved Barnes from whatever you were planning on doing to him. It's a start but when I'm done with you, you'll wish you never heard of Thunderbolts."

Poppy shook her head "And when you find out the truth you'll wish I was still home in California." She stood and stretched before looking straight down her nose at the shorter woman "You see, there is more to me and my presence here than my former aunt knows about but you'll have to wait until everything is said and done before finding the truth. I was planning to tell you all sooner but there's no point now."

Poppy sighed "You might want to keep an eye on her with him, she can't be trusted."

Yelena scoffed "Mel? She's the one who helped us figure out what Val was up to. She helped Bucky figure out how to find us and the evidence of Val's plots."

Poppy smirked "Did she now? Are you sure? Or did she help Val wrangle you all into where she wanted you, a presser announcing the "New Avengers"? Just something to think about."

Poppy nodded to each person at the table before leaving the room with Ava trailing behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next couple of weeks at the tower were awkward, at best, but Poppy showed up every day and did her job no matter how much it killed her.

Poppy felt an empty ache in her chest, like she had been hollowed out, every time she saw Bucky and he made it painfully obvious he was intentionally ignoring her, unless it was work related. She had given up on trying to get him to listen to her.

Mel came to the tower almost every night, sometimes she ate with the team and sat in Poppys old spot, next to Bucky, others he took her out.

Poppy ate in her room or Ava's for every meal, she couldn't stand being around Bucky as he ignored her and definitely didn't want to see Mel or hear the teams gossip.

One night when Poppy went to the kitchen to get her dinner she saw Mel, dressed up in a cocktail dress. Bucky walked past her like she wasn't there, in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back and greeted Mel with a kiss on her hand. Poppy felt her knees weaken before rushing back into her room. She never had dinner that night.

She stopped doing all the extras that she had been for the team, like baking fresh treats from scratch, stocking the snacks they liked and making sure their laundry was done properly. All the little things that they took for granted stopped getting done. The teams chore chart was up but without Poppy to remind people about their chores every day, few were done. The common area devolved into a disaster with dishes, food wrappers and laundry everywhere.

Everyone but Bob and Ava refused to speak to Poppy and started sending her texts or leaving post its on her desk when they needed something. She responded by creating a request form and sending an email to advise the team that all requests must be submitted by email or they would be ignored.

The tension was growing to a head and small arguments within the team started spilling over until they were tattling on each other to Poppy like grade schoolers.

Something needed to give but before it did, Poppy finally got a phone call "Hughie?" and left the tower quickly after hanging up.

Yelena went to follow her.

@preeyas-world

[lonelyxoutcasts]

Zoe wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to apologize for it not being sentimental, but she also didn’t want to interrupt him so she waits patiently, setting the vial aside as he looks through one of his trunks. Her eyes widen when she sees the box he brings to her, it looked like a jewelry box and she smiles faintly when she realizes she’s right when he explains.

Her breath catches in her throat when he opens the box, her fingers reaching out to slowly trace over some of the delicate gold chains and glancing to him when he explains what it is, “It’s beautiful Loki, I..” she can’t help the tears that come to her eyes, “It might be a tradition but I..I love this, it’s..will you help me try it on?” She asks hopefully, taking the box to place on the bed so she can carefully take the headdress out.

She’s never worn anything like this before but she tries to place it on her head appropriately before turning to Loki, letting him make any adjustments on the placement and keeping her eyes closed, trying not to get too giddy. She’d been turning down gifts for years, gifts from hopeful suitors that she had never even opened. This was the first gift she’d every accepted from someone outside of her family or the close court, and she could already tell she would love it.

Necessary Alliance

“But Thor I don’t understand why..” Zoe’s voice is calm but clearly irritated, and she couldn’t stop fidgeting in her formalwear.

Thor cuts her off, “Zoe I don’t think we need to understand, Father never explained his decision to me. If I had to guess I think at the very least it’s to help build an alliance with Jotunheim,” he says firmly as they walk to the throne room.

Zoe scowls, “I’m not some pawn in father’s plans for peace with the realms, he should at the very least tell us what he’s planning. How do we know he isn’t some brute?”

Thor shakes his head, “regardless of father’s plans, I wouldn’t let him hurt you. I failed to protect you once, sister, I won’t do it again”

Zoe is silent as they finally walk into the throne room, she was grateful for her brother’s protection and he had taught her how to protect herself too. She just hated being forced into this, she wasn’t even given a chance to meet her betrothed until now, just days before the wedding. As she approaches the throne, her eyes are drawn to the group of Jotuns that were already there off to the side. Which was to be her husband? Her eyes are drawn immediately to a smaller one, still taller than her but shorter than the other giants. She can’t deny that he was handsome, her breath caught in her throat for just a moment, though she hides it well.

She doesn’t stare though, looking up to Odin at the throne as she curtsies, “Father,” she greets, bowing her head.

@broken-ice-puppets

[forgottenroderick]

OOC | The Imperial Nursery/ies

ok, so once again i went to answer the guin/arthur thread and realized that, tho we'd talked abt their later years, we hadn't really worked out the early ones! so i am once again asking you to all to help brainstorm how we want that to work!! sldkfjaksldjf so you know me, i immediately consulted history so ive got some potential thoughts! we don't need to go w these but hopefully they'll get the discussion started, at least!!

ok so we abt [ here ] abt their later lives and, armed w that knowledge, i wade in here hahaha

smth we didn't really talk abt much is the set up of the ~imperial nursery~ prior to the heirs being separated out into their own households, and i kinda have two thoughts on that...and we should maybe have a freewheeling discussion abt this? @forgottenmarian @forgottenguinevere @forgottenedmund bc obv the kid players should def get a say, but also the wives would have had one bc, for example, i don't think someone as sus as @forgottenamira would be chill w her baby being left where elaine (who she was probs more worried abt than marian at the time, since she could pull rank etc if she wanted to plus probs had a bigger grudge against amira at that time, all things considered, etc) or marian could get at him!!!!

but anyway, there're usually kinda two/two point five/three structures, more or less, for royal nurseries

COLLECTIVE

ok so in one structure there's a collective nursery where ~all royal kids are attended by their maids and nurses etc, and obv their mamas can come in and carry them off, boss ppl around, etc, but yeah kinda like the maternity ward at a hospital, the kiddos are all quartered in, cared for, and educated, etc in their own ~children's wing, essentially, which is separate from the queen's wing, tho the kids can be brought to them there etc etc

@forgottensebastian and @forgottencassandra probs would've remained there even after ot3: succession got their own households, but what happens after they are deemed old enough/achieve their majorities can differ -- and, given they were being shuffled across countries and castles, might've differed depending on the physical limitations of the current palace, itself?

in some situations, esp harem situations, there would be slightly more independent quarters in the ~children's wing for older children who aren't heirs (aka sebastian, cassandra) where they would basically remain until married/titled and can go to their own home

alternately, they would only remain in the children's quarters so long -- usually at least until such time as they achieved their majority/were deemed old enough to begin their adult life and thus move on. in sebastian's case, he probs would've been off to join roderick, marian, or @forgottenarthur 's household (or potentially edmund's, but im guessing? marian would object and arthur ~def would since that gesture would seem to say he supports ~edmund's claim lakjsdfkljsdf). cassandra to join likely marian or guinevere's household (which im guessing? marian would've objected to, since itd, again, be an implicit support of ~guin's ascendancy coming from arthur's full sister, but arthur, himself, would probs view it as harmless bc hes like 'idk they're just girls being girls let them be girls father will never countenance a female heir anyway' lakjsdfkjdsf) -- or cassandra ~could amira's, technically, but i really cannoT recommend it on a loT of levels lkajsdfkjlsdf tho i ~can def see amira tryna lure her there to implicitly support edmund lakjsdfjsdf but im just guessing marian would not be having ~that lakjsdfkjlsdf

financially, this is probs a better set up for the queens, bc it basically means that paying for all the kids' needs comes out of the king's household reveue, and keeping up royal kids, clothing them, feeding them, educating them, etc, is a huuuuugely expensive affair, ~esp heirs!!!!!!

alternately, financially, the collective nursery would sometimes be set up as its own household ~within the king's household, essentially, under a chosen governor -- probs bartholomew or potentially later on @forgottenalaric -- tho as im thinking abt this, he was probs ~living there himself, since he's sm younger, and would have had a similar trajectory to sebastian's own, choosing between his brother's household, his uncle's, or one of his nephew's, or else in his case, roderick might've formed alaric his own ducal household as soon as he was considered old enough/came of age/whatever.

@forgottenciara and eoin could also have been in this nursery, too, after their mom died and esp since their dad was off at war (tho that'd be bart's call if he wanted that or not), another thing that'd make it beneficial in roderick's eyes to have a single collective nursery for all the varmont kids!

given all that, this collective nursery is probs the set up roderick would've preferred but he does think women get a say in marriages and childrearing (but not much else lakjdsflksdf) so, in this, anyway, he def would've listened to what they wanted.

QUEENLY

an alternate structure is that each queen has her own nursery for her own kids as part of her own household

can def say that @forgottenamira defffff would've pushed for this!!!!! doesn't mean she would've won, but its def what she would've wanted!!! she aint abt trusting anyone w ~her kid!! lkajsdkjf

in this set up, @forgottentristan probs would've been part of of this, or else sent into alaric's, godfrey's, or (ultimately) edmund's household. even in the collective nursery set up, tho, he's probs in amira's or godfrey's (but probs amira's bc...godfrey's off at war and tristans like 6, a lil young for war even by varmont standards lkasjdfsjdf) household in the above set up, tho, since, unlike alaric, he's not a varmont (which is probs another reason amira was for the queenly set up -- i got a kid here already anyway!!)

in this case, cassandra likely more or less stays put even when she is deemed old enough, simply being appointed as a lady-in-waiting of the queen when she's old enough (tho she certainly could ~request transfer to another female household if she wished, once she hit her majority! tho itd be up to marian whether or not to honor that request), but sebastian probs has the same situation as the other one, having to formally join a household, since he's a boy

in this situation, alaric was probs either in the empress' nursery, or else his ducal household was probs set up in his minority w a governor (likely bart or potentially even someone like @forgottenalistair or aleksander royce if bart already had too much on his plate as hand) to oversee it till he was old enough to do so, himself. if he was initially under the empress, his ducal household was probs formed after her death, and if ciara and eoin were in the royal nursery, eoin was probs admitted to alaric's household atp (tho i can def see amira and marian potentially tryna get him placed in edmund and arthur's households respectively).

ciara would've been a source of some consternation, bc she'd need to be in a female household but there's no longer an obv place to put her, and again itd be a tacit support for her to be in any household. roderick would probs think she should go to guin's since that's effectively the empress household, still, in his mind anyway; amira would def push for ciara in her own as roderick's next-ranking queen; i imagine marian would also want to take her? bart might've just taken her home tho atp? idk lkajdsfjkdsf if either of his kids were even there to begin with...

financially, this means that paying for the kids comes out of the individual queen's own household revenue and yeah!! huge expense!! (might be another reason amira was like 'nah, one kid at a time' till edmund got his own household and had to pay for ~himself if we go w this option alkdsjfkljdsf)

COMBINATION

so in this situation, you kinda get both the above!! and would potentially make a good compromise if there was a lot of tension re the other options? so in this system, raising, feeding, clothing, and caring for the kiddos is the queen's responsibility, but they all come together to be trained/educated in the various lessons they'll need to learn, and ~that's the king's responsibility

the household situations in this one probs work out as they would more or less in the queenly nursery option

so yeah!! idk what everyone's thoughts are but!! that's a thing! also, if you guys have other ideas/suggestions pls def add those! these're just structures im aware of, but im confident there are others irl -- and lbr we can also completely make up our own thing, too so!! def don't want us to feel limited by this, but hopefully it'll get the ball rolling on talking that all out! <3

[wellplacedbanana]

I’ve seen a few posts recently talking about how important it is for us to share our tips for dealing chronic illness with each other, and I’ve realized that as a freakishly avid community enthusiast, I’ve been falling down on the job. So, I present

Wellplacedbanana’s Ridiculously Long List of Tips for All Things Chronic Illness (Curated Over 8+ Years):

Infusion Centers

Headed to an infusion center to get that sweet sweet (expensive as hell) live-saving medication pumped directly into your veins? Here’s what I do.

Bring headphones or earplugs. Most infusion centers try to maintain a semblance of quiet for the patients, but it can get loud fast—beeping IVs, pulse ox monitors, loud families, codes. Some infusion centers do pods of multiple people and some do individual bays, so this can affect noise levels.

Drink lots of water before if you have to get an IV placed. Don’t worry too much about bringing a water bottle because they’ll give you one when you get there. (Of course, if you have something like POTS and need more intense hydration, bring the damn water bottle.) If you’re not hydrated and they can’t find a vein, they’ll call in the ultrasound tech, and they’ll bring the longest IV needle you’ve ever seen. It hurts. Drink water.

Bring a book or your Switch or something else to entertain you, but don’t expect to actually do it. I tried bringing papers to edit the first time because I was like “Oh it’s an hour and a half of uninterrupted free time. I can get so much done!” I was wrong. The nurses are constantly checking in for vitals, the unit can be loud, and I spent the whole time trying not to vomit everywhere. Different infusions will have different side affects. Knowing what yours might be will help you plan for what you want to bring. Knowing how long your infusion will be can also help. Most infusion centers have to keep you 20-45 minutes after your first dose of a new medication to make sure you don’t have an allergic reaction, so factor that into your time too.

If you’re in a pod with other patients who’re friendly and if you feel up to it, don’t be afraid to talk with them. Lots of them are lonely, bored, interested in other people, etc. I met an elderly Thai lady one time who had been there for three hours and would be there for another four AFTER I left. We talked about her husband and her kids, and she listened to me talk about punctuation as style in prose. It made me feel less alone in the medical system and helped distract me from the nausea.

Conversely, if you don’t want to interact with anyone, snap on those headphones and block everything out. The nurses will get your attention if they need you. Don’t worry about staying lucid. Your job is to get the infusion and do what’s best for you.

You can bring snacks if you want, but most units/centers will have something to munch on or can order you something from the cafeteria if you’re at a hospital. Also the medication and the smells in the unit always make me nauseous, so it’s kind of a waste for me to bother pulling together food before I leave. You can always eat before or plan to get something on the way back. Going through a drive thru to get something with protein is my go to.

If possible, schedule your next appointment while you’re there. I have to go every three months, so I schedule the next one while I’m there, and then I never have to make any fucking phone calls. Phone calls are the worst.

My last and most important tip: ask the nurses when you need something. Blankets, water, snacks, pain meds, the lights turned off. If they can’t do it, they’ll tell you. They’d rather have you ask and have to say no, then you be uncomfortable. Don’t suffer if there might be a solution.

Dealing with Shitty Doctors

There are shitty doctors everywhere, in every specialty and every hospital system. It sucks, and you can do your best to avoid them, but most chronically ill patients will have to put up with one at some point. Here are my suggestions:

If they’re refusing to acknowledge one of your symptoms is a problem (won’t order tests, won’t refer you out, won’t ask any questions), tell them it’s affect your Activities of Daily Living. ADLs are one of the ways doctors measure severity of symptoms and quality of life. ADLs are the absolutely essential things you need to do to be a functioning human: eat, shower, get dressed, brush your teeth. ADLs are a trigger word for most doctors. Physical therapists and occupational therapists were created specifically to help patients achieve their ADLs. If you’re having severe joint paint, say it’s affecting you’re ability to shower and dress in the morning. If you have intense fatigue, say you’re too tired all the time to cook food to eat or even brush your teeth before bed. Tell them your symptoms are affecting your quality of life and your ability to function daily. This won’t always work, but it’s a good starting place. (A side note: if you have have to submit an insurance appeal for something that was denied, citing ADLs as a reason to receive the treatment/medical equipment/doctors visit, will often spur them into action. Sometimes, it’ll just make them ask more questions, but questions are better than flat out denial. This was a very helpful tactic when I was trying to get my manual wheelchair approved. I told them I was unable to complete my ADLs and it was affecting my quality of life, and they eventually came around. It’s also important to remember that ADLs are only the most base tasks that you need to live. Driving, working, socializing—those aren’t included in ADLs, and insurance especially will laugh in your face if you try to say you need medical equipment for something like that.)

Lots of doctors, consciously or unconsciously, will judge how you’re actually feeling by your mood in an appointment. I had a pediatric neurologist who couldn’t be convinced that my pain was at an 8 because I would laugh with my mom in the waiting room. Eight months in, I started getting real quiet, not talking, crying when he talked, all that shit, and he was so fucking flummoxed. He was like “what changed?? Are you depressed??” And I had to remind him that I was thirteen with a severe shoulder inure that hurt every time I breathed. Doctors will judge you based on how you look and how you present. It’s horrible, but it’s true. Present to them in the way that represents what they’d expect to see for your symptoms.

Whatever you do, don’t say anything (or send any snappy messages) that might be considered aggressive until you are absolutely, 100% positive you will never ever have to see them again. I’ve had a few doctors that said ridiculously horrible things to me. It’s tempting to send them a message about how shitty they’ve been or how much they’ve hurt you, but it won’t help. Shitty doctors have fragile egos and they don’t like to be challenged. They won’t take this well, and they’ll mark you as attention seeking, emotional, mentally unstable—you name it. When your other doctors call to ask questions about symptoms, etc, they’ll start talking shit, and everything gets complicated. This might sound dramatic to anyone who hasn’t seen it happen, but honestly, the medical system abuses emotion and mental illness to discard patients that aren’t afraid to advocate for themselves, and this is one of the least immoral ways they do it.

Remember that you don’t owe your doctors anything (except basic human decency). If they ask you to do something and you can’t or don’t want to, don’t. My psychiatrist was really fixated on me getting a light box to cure my depression. I did Not want to do that, so I didn’t. Sometimes, your doctors won’t move on to further treatment or tests until you try it, but most of the time you can say, “that’s not something I’m able to do right now. Let’s explore further options,” and they’ll move on.

Remember that learning to advocate for yourself takes years of practice. Just do your best, and try not to blame yourself for the ways you get mistreated. Therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made for this. It’s helped me learn how to advocate and how to process medical trauma.

Medication

For gods sake, take the as needed medication when you have a migraine or if you’re nauseous. Don’t punish yourself.

This might seem like a no brainer, but if you’re traveling and you’re going to take your medication bottles with you, put them in a ziplock bag. They will definitely open in your suitcase, and you’ll have to pick Levothyroxine out of your socks.

If a medication gives you icky side effects, tell your doctor and ask if there’s something that doesn’t do that. For me personally, it’s hard to find medication that works at all, so I often get stuck with things that make me feel like shit. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. Sometimes new medications come out or they dig up old ones.

Some medications come in dissolvable tablets or suppositories. They’re not fun, but if you have trouble swallowing pills, this is a good way to go. Again, communicate with your doctor about these things. I know that there are Scopolamine patches for nausea too. I’ve never used them before, but it might be worth looking into if need easy nausea relief.

All Things Wheelchair

Man, wheelchairs suck, but they’re also amazing. If you find yourself using one, you’ll encounter a steep learning curve.

If you’re not super buff when you first start, it’ll seem impossible to go up even a slight incline. Your arms will get stronger the more you move around, but it might take time. I eventually bit the bullet and started doing personal training. I’m lucky that I can afford it, and I know it’s not an option for everyone, but if you can, find a trainer who won’t saying anything shitty and who’s willing to accommodate. I worked with a queer-owned gym to find someone I was comfortable with. We do upper body strength training, and it gives me a chance to move my body more often. I still can’t go up big hills, but I feel infinitely more mobile. Give yourself time to adjust to the new strain on your body, even if you don’t do training for it. You’ll be sore in the beginning. Ice and heat will be your friends after long days. If your wrists start hurting a lot, you’re not wheeling correctly, and you should ask your doctor for a referral to PT or OT. Oh and your hands will be fucked for the first few weeks. I bought special wheelchair gloves to try to combat this, but it just made it harder for me to maneuver. Now I only use the gloves if it’s cold, if I’m going down hills, or in the rain/snow. (But seriously, if you’re going down steep hills, use traction gloves.)

Learn to pop a wheelie as soon as possible. It’s such a helpful skill. If you get good enough, you’ll be able to get up over single steps and traverse shitty pavement.

If your wheelchair has a cushion, then it has a cushion cover. Wash it.

Time for the grossest part: cutting hair out of your caster wheels. I hate this. I hate it so much. It’s fucking disgusting, but you have to do it. It’ll fuck up your wheels and make it harder to maneuver. Also it’s just gross to have all that nasty hair hanging out by your feet. Get yourself a long pair of thin scissors and cut all that hair out every week or every two weeks. If you don’t have long hair or live with people who have long hair, then you might be able to wait longer. You should also sanitize your hand rims while you’re at it. Hand sanitizer or Clorox wipes are great for this.

You’ll notice that it’s fucking impossible to carry shopping baskets or suitcases if you use a manual chair. Some people try to balance them on their laps or wedge them onto their footplates, but it’s pretty precarious. I got these weird peg things that attach to the frame. You can place a basket or your bag on it and still keep your hands free. Here’s the link for the ones I got, but it depends on your make and model, so do some research and call some different companies before buying anything. Also, make sure to measure the distance between the two sides of your frame to make sure a basket will be able to balance on the two pegs. Your frame might be too wide for this. Mine is, but I bought a special basket to take to the store that’s wide enough to reach across.

Lots of people will offer to push you. Some won’t even offer; they’ll just grab on and take you in whatever direction. It’s insanely invasive and dehumanizing. Don’t be afraid to put on your breaks if someone does this. I can stand and take small steps, so sometime I just get up and stare at them. You can also buy covers for your handles that have spikes so people can’t grab them. I know some wheelchair users who like it when people offer to push them. That’s good too! Take the help if you want it. Just remember to prioritize your safety and comfort. I had a big debate with another disabled person about whether it was infantilizing for someone to offer to hold open the door for us. I’m firmly on the side that they can offer, and I can say no, and they can listen, and then we can both appreciate the moment of shared humanity between us. They did not agree. Disabled people fight and disagree all the time because we’re not all carbon copies of each other. That’s okay! Just be respectful.

Getting a customized manual wheelchair was one of the single most stressful things I had to deal with. Insurance doesn’t like to pay for them because it’s about 3-12k, depending on the specifications and add-ons. But it’s also been the most liberating thing I’ve done since getting my mobility stripped from me. I’m not sure how it works for everyone, but I got a referral from my doctor to a custom wheelchair company. From there, they took measurements, discussed needs, and showed me different models. It’s going to be really really difficult to know what you want the first time. There’s a lot of different brands and customizations, so do your research and talk in depth with whoever’s making your chair. Ultra lite rigid frames are my favorite because they’re usually only 15-40 pounds, and the wheels can come off to make it even lighter. However, rigid frames don’t fold together in the middle like classic manual wheelchairs that you might find at a hospital or get at a rental company. They can be difficult to fit in the backseat of a car or in some trunks, so make sure to measure any cars you ride in regularly. Some people prefer to have tilted wheels so they can turn easier. Some people don’t want anything to do with that. Depending on your mobility and the people in your life, you might choose not to add push handles to your chair. I added some to mine because I often get dizzy, and it’s helpful to have handles in case I need someone to push me out of the crosswalk or into the shade. People who are highly independent and extremely strong might not want push handles because they won’t need help up steep hills. I like my handles a lot; however, my chair back is shorter than a standard wheelchair because it helps increase range of motion when I’m wheeling, so my push handles are lower than normal, and anyone who wants to push me has to hunch a bit to reach. Again, do your research and talk to your rep before making final decisions. Some companies will let you test out the chairs they have on hand to see what you like. It’s important to work with a wheelchair company you really like because you’re literally putting you life in their hands. I’ve had better luck with smaller, locally-owned companies, but you can’t always get referrals there, and not every town has them. Here’s my tip to you: Numotion sucks ass. Avoid them. My branch of Numotion seems to be an outlier; I’ve had really good experiences with them. But most of the time, its impossible to get ahold of anyone, their hours are few and random, and their customer service reps are rude. But! After you’ve completed your order form—gotten measurements and found customizations—they’ll submit it to insurance. This is the tricky part. I went through four appeals, before I got mine approved. Luckily, I had insurance through my mom’s job, and after the last appeal, her company told the insurance that they had to pay for it. This won’t be the case with everyone. Be diligent with your appeals. Have your doctors write specific, clear letters about why you need it, including information about all the customizations and add-ons. It’s likely that they’ll only pay for the base chair, and you’ll have to pay out of pocket for any extra things. Another note: most insurance companies will only pay for a new chair once every five years (if they approve the first one at all), so be sure that the chair you pick out will work for you for at least the next five and a half years.

I had an advisor in college tell me something devastating once: there is no AAA for wheelchairs. I’d broken a caster wheel and gotten stuck on a university sidewalk in 102 degree heat, and she was telling me about her own experiences getting stranded after one of her tires popped. She’s right; if you’re wheelchair breaks, you’re stuck wherever you are without any backup. Carry your phone with you. Tell your friends or family where you’re going before you leave. Familiarize yourself with the wheelchair repairs shops in your area. Sometimes places like bike shops will be able to help you fix smaller things. I always carry an Allen wrench with me in case I need to take a part off. And don’t worry; you’ll find that if something does go wrong, people are far more willing to help than you’d expect. One of the sculpture professors in the art department found me that day and went back to his workshop to get all his tools. He brought me water and sat in the sun while he tried to fix my wheel, and when he couldn’t, he offered to drive me wherever I needed to go. This man was a tenured professor with a prestigious MFA, and he was running late for a party where he was supposed to be handing out awards. You’ll find lots of good people when things inevitably go to shit.

Going along with the last point, your wheelchair will break, and you will have to send it into the shop to get repairs. If you can, invest in a cheap manual chair that you can use in emergencies. If you live with other people, you can buy a transport chair for cheaper, but you’ll need someone around to push you because it won’t have hand rims.

If you’re new to wheelchair use, give yourself space to feel all the emotions. When I first started, I had been using an office chair(!) to get around. My mom would push me from my bed to the bathroom and then back to bed while we waited to get a rental. I was so relieved when I got my own chair that I pushed everything else down. It took months to allow myself to be sad about all the things I couldn’t do anymore and be angry about all the inaccessible infrastructure that America has. Don’t push it down. Talk to a therapist or find people in the community to discuss it with. (If I choose to talk about my frustrations with friends, I always start with “I need to vent right now, and I’m grateful you’re willing to listen to me, but I’m not looking for any solutions to this at the moment,” or “can you give me some suggestions to work around these things that are frustrating me?” This gives my friends insight into what I need, instead of making them guess. It keeps us both from getting frustrated, and I highly suggest it, especially if you or your friends have trouble navigating social situations/expectations.)

Hand Controls

Hand controls are great option for your car if you’re unable to use your feet to drive. I got mine about a year back, but it was tricky and really confusing at first.

First thing you need to know: you can’t get hand controls without a prescription from a specialist. Usually a certain type of occupational therapist. You can look up driving rehab OTs in your area, but there aren’t many of them, and lots of the time you’ll have to drive several hours to see one. There’s usually a long wait list as well. (And of course, a lot of them don’t take insurance.)

If you’re able to find someone who’s certified, they’ll do an intake appointment and assess your physical abilities and needs. Sometimes, they’ll do the assessment and decide you aren’t fit to use hand controls. This can be for a multitude of reasons, including impaired mental cognition and slow reaction time, issues with hand or arm mobility, or there might be a better way to adapt a car for you. Again, it varies greatly on the person, and I’m not an OT, so I don’t know all the ins and outs. If you pass the assessment, and they view you got to drive with hand controls, you’ll be required to do a certain amount of training where you practice using different equipment. Some OTs will know what you need to use right away, and others will have you try different things out to see what fits best. There’s a lot of types of hand controls and a lot of adaptations that can be done to a car, so it really depends on the person. My training was only about 15 hours (plus independent driving practice), but it’ll depend on whether this is your first time ever driving, if you’ve driven without hand controls before, and if you have any other medical issues that might make it hard for you to adapt. Once you’ve completed the training and received your certificate from the OT, they’ll write a prescription to send to a shop that does specialty car adaptation. Kind of like wheelchairs, the shop you go to is very important. Ask your OT if they have any favorites in the area. Insurance never covers this, and some shops will way overcharge you if you’re not careful. My hand controls were about 3k out of pocket, but it was definitely worth it. It would’ve been a lot more to add other adaptations like a lift or a ramp, but sometimes you can buy used accessible vans for cheaper than adding it to your own car. Something to know: you’re usually able to turn your hand controls on and off. So if your friend needs to borrow your car, or you need to let a mechanic test drive it, you can disable to hand controls and allow someone else to use the foot pedals as normal.

Overall, it’s a very long, very expensive process, so plan ahead and be prepared to wait and pay.

Navigating Raising a Kid with Chronic Illnesses

I don’t have any kids, but my mom was my sole caretaker growing up, and I can offer you some of her thoughts. You have to remember that no matter what age your kid is, chronic illness is an impossible thing for them to deal with, and yet they have to deal with it anyways. Sometimes, there’s no good way to comfort a child who’s in 10/10 pain, or who’s about to undergo a life-altering procedure. All you can do is your best. Communicate. Offer support. Give affection. Make your love unconditional. I was a very angry teenager. I was angry with my mom that she couldn’t fix it, and I was angry with my doctors for the way they treated me. There were days where I would yell and sob and refuse to take my meds, and there where days where I would stare at the wall and not respond to anything. It drove my mom up the wall. She’s used to fixing things, and this was one of those things she couldn’t even help. I know she stills holds a lot of guilt for this, but she shouldn’t. She did her best. You’re doing your best too. You can’t fix everything. That being said, here are her suggestions:

Therapy, therapy, therapy. They might hate it, but some day, they’ll thank you. Remember that not every therapist is right for every patient. If your kid wants to switch to a different therapist, let them. It’s better than them sitting and not speaking the whole session.

Lots of kids with developing rare undiagnosed diseases will go through this vicious cycle where they get a new symptom, get sent to a specialist, get dismissed, and then develop a new symptom and start the process all over again. It’s not easy. My mom was a fan of throwing Pity Parties. Every once in a while, when the grind of it all started making us feel hopeless, she’d take me to the store and say, “pick out snacks and drinks. We’re going to throw a pity party, gorge on sugar, watch Lord of the Rings, feel bad for ourselves, and tomorrow, we’ll dust ourselves off and try again.” It helped. It was good to know that sometimes you can let life feel unfair, and it was even better to know that the next day it would be easier to try again.

A lot of being chronically ill as a kid is getting decisions stripped from you and having unexpected negative experiences. My mom would try to do spontaneous things every once in a while to remind me that not all surprises are bad. Instead of driving straight home after school one Friday, she took me to Starbucks without saying anything. After an MRI, she stopped at an art fair and let me pick out a necklace. We would go to the library after I spent the day in the hospital. Sometimes, she’d call my aunts while I was at school to come over and play card games on the weekends. And she was really big on giving me choices in everything. She never made me agree to new (non-lifesaving) treatment. Ever. If she really wanted me to do it, we’d talk it over and come to an agreement that made us both happy. Sick kids are forced into adulthood early; they know how to make calculated, logical decisions when needed. Let them be a part of their own healthcare. (They should also be given the chance to make rash, stupid decisions that have no bearing on their health.)

Keep track of everything. Doctors, meds, ER visits, PT exercises, diets they’ve tried for GI issues, everything about the surgeries they’ve undergone. Some day, you’ll need it. Or your kid will grow up into a chronically ill adult, and they’ll need it.

Talk to their school counselor about getting a 504 or IEP. Even if they’re not struggling. I was a super academically minded kid; I didn’t struggle to understand new concepts or complete homework correctly. But eventually it became hard for me to attend class and finish assignments. Having an IEP saved me. 504s are a lot easier to get (a lot less paperwork, less testing, less pushback from admin), but they’re not legally binding. If you want something concrete and all-encompassing, go for the IEP. IEPs are also really helpful when trying to get accommodations in college. You can also start with a 504 and switch to an IEP later. While we’re on the subject of school: remember that education is important, but school is not the end all be all of your child’s life. What should matter the most to you is that they end up safe and happy. I didn’t graduate high school; I took a proficiency test my junior year and dropped out. It was the best choice I could’ve made at the time, but it was still tough for my mom. I ended up going to college, and now I have a pretty solid job, but every kid will be different. Their mental and physical health is the most important. School is a huge huge huge stressor. Don’t make it harder for them than it already is.

Dating

God dating sucks enough on its own, but adding in chronic illness and disability just makes it a shit show. I don’t have a lot to offer on this other than you shouldn’t settle for anyone who doesn’t respect you, treat you with love and compassion, and accept every part of you for what it is. People will say rude shit. They’ll be nasty, fetishizing, infantilizing, dismissive. Some won’t be able to put up with all the things that come along with being ill. I sound like a broken record, but find a good therapist who can help you voice your needs and expectations clearly. Remember that you never have to go on a date if you don’t want to. Participate as you see fit. Throw it all out if you want.

I don’t have enough time to go into my tips for intimacy/sex and disability, but I’ll give you the highlights.

Communicate. Make it very clear what you’re able to do, what you’re interested in doing, and what you don’t want.

There are lots of ways to have sex. If you’re both having fun, being safe, and engaging consensually, then you’re doing it right. Don’t let abled bodied people tell you the way it should be done. There are lots of accessibility friendly toys to invest in, too.

As weird as it might sound, don’t be afraid to take breaks. Keep water near by. If you have POTS, keep salt or electrolyte tablets on hand. If you have to stop to vomit or go to the bathroom, don’t let it shame you. Go at your own pace and take care of your body.

Misc

Having seizures on a college campus: Most universities have a policy that if you lose consciousness while on campus, they have to call an ambulance. You are not required to ride in the ambulance. You can decline, and the paramedics will make you sign a form before leaving. If you’re still actively having seizures, then they’ll take you anyways, but you probably won’t be in any shape to try to decline. If you’re having seizures regularly, tell your professors. It’ll freak them the fuck out, so warn them ahead of time. It makes the whole thing a lot less awkward when you collapse in the aisle during a lecture. Related to that: communicate with your professors about all your accommodations and emergency health needs. They really honestly appreciate it when you talk to them about this stuff. Even if they have a big class and don’t remember you, it’s good to send them an email and introduce yourself. Hopefully, you’ve also talked to your college’s Disability Resource Center. If not, go do that. Now. (There’s a whole lot of shit that I have to say about campus accessibility and disability resource centers, but I’m not gonna go into it right now.) Also, wear your medical alert bracelet. I know they suck, but it sucks more for someone to be digging through your pants pocket while you’re seizing to try to find your wallet. And keep your emergency contact info pinned up somewhere in your dorm. I used to put mine on the fridge and point it out to my roommates at the beginning of term. It can take a while for RAs to pull yours up, so it’s best to make sure it’s easily accessible.

Remember that you do not function like a normal person. There is no wrong way to solve one of your problems. If you need to put a stool in your bathroom to sit at while you brush your teeth, do it. I got an extra tall stool to sit at while I cook at the stove because my wheelchair is too short. (Cooking in a wheelchair is another thing I could talk about forever.) If you need to wear a sleep mask on the bus because the light makes your migraine worse, do it. People can look at you funny all they want. Like I said, I rolled around my house in an office chair while I waited for a rental wheelchair. What I’m trying to say is find things that work and implement them, even if they’re non traditional.

Here’s what I pack in my bag for an ER visit: headphones, phone charger, book, zofran, Naproxen, water bottle, wallet with cash, socks, and sleep mask to block out the waiting room lights. If I’m expecting to be admitted, then I’ll pack more, but I try to keep it light if it’s just triage and a visit with the ER doctor. Sometimes I’ll stuff a granola bar or some almonds in there too.

My biggest tip for surviving hospital stays is to get out of your room (if possible). Go on walks around the unit. Some hospitals have little courtyards patients can sit in. If you’re in peds, go visit the rec room, even if it’s awkward. Their activities are usually meant for the younger kids, but it can be fun to connect with other people your age, and you’ll thank yourself later when you’re stuck in bed at 3am. Also, tell your friends to come visit you. Not everyone will be able to, but most people are happy to come hang out for an hour or two. It’ll help; I promise.

Clean your room every few weeks. Dear god, clean your room. I have trouble with executive functioning and finding energy to do housekeeping type stuff, but I get more depressed when my room is gross. So clean your room. Especially if you have hypersomnia/sleep excessively.

Don’t force yourself to use a pill organizer. I know everyone says it makes it easier, but I get overwhelmed when I have to refill it, and then I just don’t end up taking my meds. If it doesn’t work for you, don’t do it. If it does, then do it!

Don’t buy the self help books your therapist recommends unless you’re actually interested in reading them. It’ll just sit on your shelf and make you feel guilty for not being good enough.

Mental illness is tightly bound to physical illness. Try to be an active listener in your body. Sometimes, when I’ve been feeling really nauseous, my PSTD symptoms will get triggered over nothing, and it’ll frustrate the fuck out of me because it seems like it’s happening over nothing. I try to track when my emotional state is worse to see if it’s correlated to my physical symptoms. This helps curb the frustration and guilt. Sometimes it makes me dissociate more. It’s a balancing act. Just do your best.

Hobbies are so so so important. Make sure to give yourself time to work on them! And there are a million ways to adapt the activities you love if you’re having trouble, so don’t afraid to do some research. I know they have crochet hook grips for people with arthritis or loose grips, and there are super intense magnifying glasses for people who like to cross stitch and are having trouble seeing the tiny ass holes. I have a color blind friend who sends us pictures of paint to see if it’s the shade he wants. Very occasionally, you’ll come to the conclusion that there’s a hobby you can’t adapt. Let yourself be sad. I can’t hike anymore and it sucks. I can’t go tide-pooling either, and its not like if I just work really hard I’ll be able to do it some day. Life is shit, and sometimes you have to let things go. Be angry, be sad, tell people to fuck off if they try to turn you into inspiration porn, but also remember that there are lots of other cool things out there to try.

Going along with the hobby thing: take the time to learn ASL if you’re having trouble with your hearing or if you often go nonverbal. One of my friends had to get hearing aids last year, and we offered to learn with them, but they were hesitant because it feels like a non necessity to them. Something selfish that would take up all our time. If you think it’ll help, you should grant yourself the time to learn. Capitalism makes us think that we shouldn’t engage in activities unless we gain money or power from them, but that mindset will kill you. Your life will be infinitely easier if you learn ASL online with your partner or friends or siblings.

Look up Spoon Theory. It’s not a helpful metaphor for everyone, but most people in the community talk about it, so it’s good to be familiar with it.

Don’t be afraid to go out and find community! Find support groups, look up wheelchair sports if you’re into getting sweaty, brave the awkwardness of starting conversations with other patients in the clinic. I’m wholly and completely of the idea that humans are innately good. There are lots of interesting chronically ill/disabled people who’re looking for connection. Insurance companies and other medical entities rely on us feeling isolated, alone, and uniformed to continue making money and hold power. It’s important that we share with and support each other.

I know a lot of this is basic stuff, but it’s helpful to have reminders, and if you’re new to the whole song and dance, then it’s nice to get a sneak peak. There are a million things I didn’t get to, but this was what was on the top of my brain.

Also, I’m not the collective voice of every chronically ill person in the world. My experiences are not yours and they’re not everyone else’s. What works for me, might not work for you. Be kind.

[future-supertuna]

this is very in-text but i love that zoro gets attuned to kiku from the get-go not only because of this sword wielder code that he's followed through all extremes of the practice, from brook to kin'emon -- recognizing and respecting all masters -- but because her existence is the solid evidence, the living proof that kuina was wrong

[oceangemstone]

therapy resources / schema therapy / dbt/dialectical behaviour therapy / internal family systems / meditation / c-ptsd etc. resources

this is a link to my personal google drive, it has lots of dbt stuff, some random other resources that either i or my friends have found helpful incl. DID/OSDD/dissociation resources, & some handouts from a personality disorder program i did (was aimed at pplwbpd officially but the staff all refer to it as the "personality disorder clinic", fwiw)

bunch of other stuff under the cut including video content if that's more your thing

DBT stuff

this subreddit is a wonderful community, usually helpful with questions & has some resources linked also:

https://www.reddit.com/r/dbtselfhelp/ https://dbtselfhelp.com/

TIPP skills (from dbt/distress tolerance unit but deserves distinction. biochemical benefit > psychological benefit. at least for me)

https://manhattancbt.com/dbt-tipp-skills/ https://in.nau.edu/wp-content/uploads/sites/202/TIP-Skills.pdf

also emotional freedom tapping / eft (not a tipp skill iirc but it should be, one of the few things that kinda works for me)

https://www.health.com/emotional-freedom-technique-8399985

SCHEMA THERAPY

"client's guide to schema therapy"

https://disarmingthenarcissist.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/clientsguideSchemaTherapy.pdf

(the website name is very questionable but i can't find the pdf for free anywhere else orz. this is a good starting point for schema therapy tho. sorry y'all. i will steal it for my google drive when i have time)

https://www.psychologytools.com/professional/therapies/schema-therapy

^THAT LINK stuff is not free!!! BUT you can find a lot of them with this google search:

[title of worksheet/handout] -site:psychologytools.*

ex. i search the following: "unhelpful thinking styles" -site:positivepsychology.* ...and this pops up, tadaaaa:

https://talkheart2heart.org/resources/unhelpful-thinking-styles/

(i'm just linking the paid site because i cant find them gathered like that anywhere else… dont have time to search each one individually rn lol. maybe another day)

free stuff:

https://positive.b-cdn.net/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Schemas-Needs-and-Modes-Reference-Sheet.pdf (overview) https://bmcpsychology.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s40359-020-0392-y/tables/1 (more detailed info on each schema) http://www.schematherapy.com/id72.htm (more info on modes) https://positivepsychology.com/schema-therapy-worksheets/ (a few worksheets linked on that page)

if video content is more your thing:

DBT UNITS:

interpersonal effectiveness extras: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwPrhSDQ0V_tBg36U3wWZpLopxJBurSsq

"middle path" skills: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwPrhSDQ0V_uB2e7Y570ihYBEYd7dK9Sv

"radically open" skills: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwPrhSDQ0V_udTjVVHhz5e1wzOSDyVeN2

DBT expanded edition: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwPrhSDQ0V_vjlYkkflUDRmfhw_hM13M-

more DBT, videos by Dr. Thomas R. Lynch: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkKKzTWUSjRhnRr5Pe2GMA7VDg_E8wBcm

DBT skills animations:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL4Qw4-tlRJe-T2l5MtFOsLkTIkfZqjobY

--

FAMILY SYSTEMS + ATTACHMENT

Patrick Teahan channel:

(great channel run by a mental health practitioner who has experienced childhood trauma, he gets it. check out the playlists tab. he also has some free resources/worksheets on his website which is linked on his channel iirc)

attachment styles playlist by Jennifer May, Ph.D: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwPrhSDQ0V_smHuEjj2CxW4u7J_FozLlS

Crappy Childhood Fairy channel: https://www.youtube.com/@CrappyChildhoodFairy/playlists

(cptsd content mostly, haven't watched much of her stuff but i liked what i did see. she isn't certified but she is someone who experienced childhood trauma as well).

healing cptsd (small channel, few videos but good info iirc): https://www.youtube.com/@healingfromcomplexptsd2767

MEDITATION

(i cannot recommend her channel enough… i don't watch her longer videos/seminar(?) stuff but her meditation videos are like. actually helpful lol? i find a lot of that stuff not helpful at all but something about her is very calming and open and grounding. love her)

--

MISC

Rachel Richards massage channel:

https://www.youtube.com/@rachelrichardsmassage9660/playlists

(she has some great videos for somatic symptoms... some playlists focus on anxiety relief, breathing/relaxation, posture/mobility, sleep, etc.)

-

Dr Daniel Fox channel:

https://www.youtube.com/@DrDanielFox/videos

(cw: ableism/ableist language toward cluster b's is present on this channel, he just has a LOT of videos so i include the link... like if youre looking for something specific to do with pd traits, there's a good chance you can find SOMETHING here. *i have mixed cluster b traits incl. the more demonized ones disclaimer*. but yeah steer clear if that bothers you)

-

Struthless channel:

(mostly adhd/exec dysfunction/motivational advice stuff but i find his videos like actually kinda inspiring/motivating so i'm including it here since not a lot of stuff... feels motivating to me at all ever. but i never regret clicking on his vids! good motivational speaker lol)

-

that's all i can think of rn please lmk if any of the links are broken or like... if you have a question u think i can help w ^-^

[salamispots]

hi! I don't really know if you can awnser this, but I really like fish.... but I don't know anything about them. I want to learn about them and stuff, but it seems so overwhelming!! do you have a starting point or any tips? tysm!!!!

hello fellow fish enjoyer :0 and honestly seeing a fish you like/ are curious about and researching about it (videos, articles, wiki, etc) is a good way to start!

this wiki article is another possible route/starting point I guess if you want more background; there's a few sections that talk about the different groups of fish/sea creatures (like are you interested in invertebrates or fish only, saltwater or freshwater, deep sea or coral reef fish, etc haha)

there's also museums and aquariums if you have access to them! aquarium websites will also usually have a section with what animals they have and little info blurbs about them.

blue planet 1 + 2 documentary series is also a neat watch/start as well if you don't feel like reading a lot at first!

(..actually thinking about it blue planet might've reinforced or started my deep sea fish obsession haha when I first saw it as a kid)

[liones-s]

listen. If you feel like you can’t have a good day today. you can set yourself up for a good day tomorrow.

sometimes if you have a huge amount of work or a bad stomach ache or you just feel bad, it feels like the day is a write-off. and doing the work that’s hanging over your head or eating something healthy isn’t going to fix it or make you feel better today. but it can set you up for tomorrow. rather than thinking of today either as something totally lost or as something that you have to save, let it be a space to make tomorrow better. you’re a friend to your future self and you’re starting a new day, but you’re not starting it without help.

[backslashdelta]

I like to think that if you're in a fandom space posting AI art, it's because you just aren't aware of why that might be a problem.

So in case you aren't aware: the generative AI you might be using to create "fanart" is trained on a countless number of artworks created by artists whose permission was not asked. Or maybe it was, technically, intentionally buried in a terms of service document somewhere, or in an update which they could either accept or else delete an entire social media account with years of history. This "art" is only possible because of stolen art. When you post images created by generative AI, you are supporting that.

Also, fandom is about creation and community. Individuals and groups creating art of all sorts, and sharing it with each other. When you post AI art... you haven't really created anything. To me at least, that's kind of detracting from what fandom is about. I want to share and raise up works of art that my community has worked hard to create, not something generative AI spit out from a couple key word inputs.

I can't tell anybody here what to do. If you are posting AI art, I'm sure there are some people who will like it, who will share it, who will be happy to do so. But there will also be people who aren't happy about it. There will be people – and especially artists – who will be frustrated to see other people in their community who support this technology that has stolen directly from them. There will be people who will block you, who will refuse to interact with your posts, and it will make your community smaller.

I understand it's tempting, especially if you aren't an artist yourself. But if you want art that fits a specific prompt, there are other ways to get it that actually support the fandom community: submit your prompt to a fanartist who accepts prompts, or commission someone for a piece of art, or even give it a try yourself and start learning to actually make art!

I don't hate AI as a whole. I think there are a lot of really amazing things we can do with AI, if it's used correctly. But posting AI fanart is not one of them.

[lilwoofs]

Ooo I just noticed sonic movie threes song titles are have references to the games!!! (I’ll explain some of the ones I know under the cut, but I’m also not going to look anything up so I’ll definitely miss a few)

1. One of shadows first lines in sonic adventure 2 (‘it all starts with this, a gem containing the ultimate power’ something like that)

2 the ultimate life form is what shadow is called, I don’t think they call him that in the movies, but that’s what he is in the games

3 and 4 aren’t references (to my knowledge)

5 and 6. Both are referencing Sonic’s first like is sonic adventure 2 (talk about a low budget flight no snacks or movies I’m out of here!)

7. Uhhh could be a reference idk I forgot

8,9,10,11,12 are more around things that happen in the movie, (the Maria one could be shadows scream from in the game, but I could be missing something or pushing it lol)

13 in the game maria makes a wish before she dies to shadow, and it’s said a lot as ‘Maria’s wish’ so that’s probably what it’s referring too (could also be because you make a wish in a star and in the movie she’s compared to a star but it’s probably the first one)

14 I mean it fits for both games and movie

15 I FOUND YOU FAKER. FAKER I THINK YOUR THE FAKE HEDGEHOG AROIND HERE YOU’RE COMPARING YOURSELF TO ME HA YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO BE MY FAKE. ILL MAKE YOU EAT THOSE WORDS- (iconic lines from sonic adventure 2 lol)

16 again movie thing probably not game references that I can think of

17. Shadows main theme of sonic adventure 2 has the same title!

18, 19, 20,21. Idk

22. Shadow says that in sonic adventure 2

23, 24. Idk

25. I think that’s what sonic says to shadow in sonic adventure 2 when he is sent in an escape pod that explodes and shows up fine (he chaos controlled out of it)

26. ‘Give them a chance to be happy’ that’s Maria’s dying wish to shadow in sonic adventure 2.

27. Obviously that’s a song from sonic adventure 2

28. That’s the name of eggmans theme in the games

29 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

30. I think that’s a reference too how in sonic adventure 2 there is three stories, hero, dark, and then the ending (which I thought was called final story, but could be called last story)

31. That’s Maria’s very last words to shadow, it’s also what sonic says after shadow sacrifices himself to save the earth. (It’s the very last line of sonic adventure 2)

32. Connects back to 3 but game wise doesn’t do much

33. Lyrics to live and learn

[mildlycursedhistoricalobject]

TW: SA

This is the only thing I’m gonna say about this, but yes, this post is about the Neil Gaiman allegations. Before I write my actual post, I’d like to say that my heart is with the victims and the victims only. I hope they receive both the support and justice they deserve.

Ok. Can we please stop attacking each other? People who are discrediting the stories of the women involved should stop, because surely they can see how the narratives they’re pushing are not only unhelpful but actively harmful. There really shouldn’t be “sides” here, because none us are involved in this situation, but it’s insane to me that some people have been so quick to completely dismiss the stories of each woman. People you like can be shitty.

However, everyone saying I told you so? That is equally NOT helpful. You’re not morally superior for disliking Neil Gaiman first, and again, the narrative that people “should’ve known better” is actively harmful for victims of SA.

In continuation, people are allowed to be upset that a work they’ve found solace in turns out to be created by someone accused of SA. I agree that this shouldn’t overshadow the emotional impact on the woman actually involved in the situation, but people expressing their own feelings about personal links to his work is not harming anyone, and shutting people down for doing that is once again NOT helpful.

I doubt I can seperate the art from the artist in this case, but those are my individual feelings. If someone doesn’t want to read his work anymore, that’s fine. If someone does, that’s also fine. Stop attacking each other, because like I said, the victims need to be put first, and forcing people to cut ties or not with Gaiman’s WORK isn’t doing anything constructive.

Now, in light of what I’ve just said I want to share two things (these are potentially triggering so please feel free to skip):

1. I was sexually assaulted in November last year by someone who I trusted, looked up to, loved, and I am still dealing with the consequences.

2. Do you know what novel helped me through this experience? Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean at the End of the Lane.”

That book became very impactful in my life, very recently. So yes, as I said, I doubt I’ll be able to have the same relationship with it, or with Gaiman’s work, but I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that this whole thing has brought stuff up for me.

There are people like me all across various fandoms conected to Neil Gaiman. Stop assuming that you’re helping victims of SA by telling us we can’t feel upset because the work we found safety in was created by a man accused of the very thing that hurt us. You’re not helping.

I apologise of this post came across as irritated, or superior, because that’s really not my intention. I’m just saying there’s nuance here, and we should all think before we post. I’m just feeling pretty tired of all this “discourse” I keep seeing, and it’s distracting us from actual issues that we as a society need to be addressing.

To summarise, stop attacking one another. We should be supporting each other and the women involved.

(Edited a couple of words for clarity.)