#how to handle a toxic work environment

[florida3exclamationpoints]

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[mxgyver]

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[littlebellesmama]

What to Do When Work Gets Frustrating (Because It Will, Sometimes)

Let’s be honest—work isn’t always going to feel good. Even if you love what you do, even if you’ve landed your “dream job,” there are going to be days where it all feels like a bit too much. Maybe you’re tired of the meetings that could’ve been emails. Or your ideas aren’t being heard. Or you’re just feeling stuck, like you’re spinning your wheels and not getting anywhere. That kind of…

[pokemonblack3white3]

Okay let's talk about Hau and Hop. They're both nice. They both ditch the protagonist to have a rivalry with some jackass instead. A prominent male familial figure in their life left them to pursue a career in battling.

Hau's dad couldn't handle the pressure of being the son of a kahuna, so he abandoned his family to become an elite four in another region. His existence is very easy to miss. He's rarely brought up, and Hau doesn't seem particularly torn up by his absence. Hau is very close with his family that is present, Hala easily filling in for the role Hau's father left vacant. Still, Hau is a lot like his father. Hau refuses to battle at his best so it hurts less when he loses. Despite his closeness with his family and living in the Alola region, whose denizens are so friendly that even wild pokemon will lend each other a hand in a pinch, Hau frequently masks his real feelings. His arc involves realizing serious battling could be in his future, if he really wants it and is willing to work for it, but that means that sometimes he is going to try his hardest and still lose. Hau could outgrow his father and become the next kahuna.

Leon undertook one of the most stressful and high-pressure jobs in Galar as the undefeatable champion, and his prescence there is inescapable. The only people Leon's life isn't completely open to is his own family, who still neglect Hop in favor of him. Hop's entire world revolves around his brother, but Hop is nothing like Leon. He's fought his hardest since day one but still isn't half the battler Leon was at his worst. The Galar League is an incredibly toxic environment and it punishes a kid like Hop for wearing his heart on his sleeve. Hop's arc is about how he can't keep trying to become his brother and needs to find his own path. He will never become champion.

They're just so completely and fundamentally different characters. Obviously there's some similarities in there, but their arcs are taken in two entirely different directions. I love them both dearly.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

astro thoughts - short n sweet: all about mars

Mars in 1st house - These individuals have a strong presence to their aura. These people could be workaholics as far as being in the gym goes. They could have a lot of energy to get things done so they can seem pretty intimating around people who don't have strong martian energy. They can be scapegoated because their boldness tends to rub people off the wrong way.

Mars in the 2nd house - A passion for getting the things they want with little to no effort. Hard work pays off. They dont have time to waste on mundane things, they simply want to relax but it seems too much for them sometimes. I say for this group, give yourself that time to chillax for a bit... the world aint what it seems sometimes.

Mars in the 3rd house - Could have a lot of outbursts from time to time, they feel things just a little differently than others and could be pretty opinionated. They have a lot of use for people who can debates with them on topics. They need someone who can go toe to toe with them at times, or else they'll get bored. They are very fast learners. Could also have a thousand hobbies because none of them could keep them occupied enough, and thats okay.

Mars in the 4th house - Could be overstimulated with family issues as this placement can make them the scape goat/black sheep. They are not afraid to say whats on their mind. There could also have been volatile experiences growing up in the house, so their a little open to having gentle partners/friendships because the toxic environment could have left them strifled.

Mars in the 5th house - These people like to live life on the edge, they need something to get them out of their racing mind. There quick learners just like the 3rd house babes, and they need someone who can match their fly. Could be a sex maniac with this placement. Needs someone who they can be passionate with.

Mars in the 6th house - WORKAHOLICS... please. just get some rest. What I love about this placement is that they NEVER STOP UNTIL THEY GET WHAT THEY WANT. They are powerhouses for sure. Because they wont eat, sleep,relax until they get the results. Literally blood sweet and tears is their motto.. They gotta get it done one way or another.

Mars in the 7th house - Incredible sex drive. Just like their friends in the 5th house, they need someone who can bring them passionate energy. They can bring the house down with their fiery energy alone, but they need someone to match their flow or else they will run that individual to the ground. It be like that sometimes.The more mars energy the more this can be a problem.

Mars in the 8th house - Damn. Damn. Damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is probably one of the best placements to have with mars because 1. its in its rightful house (it is a ruler of scorpio). They're sex appeal is powerful. It will have anyone dropping to their knees. They are psychologically aware of people and their intentions and they can use this to their advantage. Dark feminine energy is a strong aspect for this placement. I could go on, but decided to keep it cute for now lol.

Mars in the 9th house - May have a tendency to travel outside of their homeland at some point in their life. This is necessary for their growth as an individual. They need to be alone more than usually so they can see the world from a different point of view. They are very intelligent creatures and give their all to know more than what they've been given in their short time span on this earth. They have a gift at teaching people how to navigate life through their own lense. Its a difficult path to say the least, because they always have to be confident in the face of trouble. But they always come abck out with ease.

Mars in the 10th house - Strong presence. Very practical nature. Has issues with the public eye from time to time. Could master the art of thought and can handle any situation most would crumble in. The life they lead isn't for the weak. It seems like they have an arrow on their back from time to time, but to no avail they use the energy to their advantage at some point. Great leaders, could have jealous friends/associates around them so they must be cautious.

Mars in the 11th house - LIke their friends in the tenth house, they are also really good at leadership. In their friend groups they can be considered the 'alpha' or the person who tends to plan out things or just knows what to do in general. It reminds me of blossom in the power puff girls to say the least. Their capable of taking on goals and commitments most people probably couldn't take. Just be careful you don't wanna make them mad. They can have a lot of disputes with friends and associates for the wrong reasons.

Mars in the 12th house - Mind over matter. Thats their theme. They could have a lot of issues with people and this could seem out of no where. A lot of hidden enemies with this placement :( It seems like no one likes them but they have a raw special energy to them thats hard to ignore. A lot of people do want to be around them but for some reason they can sort of despise them and it could be something subconscious and this is where a lot of the hidden hate comes from. This group has to be more open to the heart than most because its easier to shut back down after always being around people who use them for their personal gain.

let me know what you think :)

[invested-in-your-future]

The Portrayal of DID in Ave Mujica

(I have to preface this by saying that I am approaching this from a narrative writing standpoint and from my own personal delving into psychology overall. The subject topic is complex and the medical knowledge on it is ever-evolving, so if any of my notions are outdated, I am very, so very sorry.)

(I also understand that the topic of trauma and DID might be a triggering experience to some people, so caution is advised.)

(The discussion will also have open spoilers about the show and as such is tagged with spoiler tags.)

If there's one thing I would never expect when watching a music show, it is for it to turn into a deeply introspective psychological drama about flawed characters grappling with anxiety, mental wellness, toxicity and so on.

I did something like this a few times before and I can't help but want to explore and convey my thoughts on the character writing and handling of dissociative identity disorder within this show.

Now, Ave Mujica's predecessor, MYGO (to which Ave Mujica is a sequel), did play with the portrayal of neurodivergent-coded traits and still remains one of the best attempts at that overall, but a lot of that could be written off as subtextual.

So Ave Mujica portraying DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in a textual way comes as a surprise.

What's even bigger surprise is the lengths the show goes to make the portrayal feel authentic and how up-to-date the overall knowledge within the writing is.

Now, for starters, some explanation is needed.

What is DID?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is a type of dissociative disorder that usually develops in early childhood due to traumatic experiences—most often emotional or physical abuse or neglect.

The conditions within the environment lead to a child failing to integrate into a unified identity due to compartmentalizing their trauma and various other facotrs. In layman's terms, "distancing themselves" from their own psychological trauma.

The key aspect to understand is dissociation, a concept that is crucial to DID but NOT limited to it. To quickly explain what dissociation is—to handle specific amounts of stress and trauma, the brain copes with the information via "disconnecting" one's sense of self from perception.

Dissociation is actually a very common reaction to trauma and can manifest in different ways without it being DID (hence dissociative disorders being a whole branch of stuff)—like, for example, dissociative amnesia, where a person might forget selective memories associated with a traumatic event.

Grief tends to sometimes lead to dissociation, especially during the early phases, too.

Another common example is depersonalization, which involves "perceiving yourself as an out-of-body observer," which usually involves an altered perception of time too, with time slowing down or speeding up or the concept of time losing meaning.

Both of those can manifest as part of DID, but can also exist separately—for example, derealization and depersonalization can be symptomatic of PTSD.

DID in itself as a concept is about a person at a young age failing to integrate into "one".

The way a child's growth goes is that the mind reintegrates and parses those their experiences and traumas shaping their identity. Experiencing dissociation doesn't instantly mean DID, because dissociation by itself is a common trauma-parsing mechanism, as I said before. A child can experience trauma, neglect, or abuse without it leading to DID.

In the case of DID, the child fails to integrate, the trauma/abuse/neglect instead leading to compartmentalized elements working together—a system.

It's important to note that trauma doesn't create alters, as it's been thought for a while. It's not something fake or "split" or "created"—the system is all the alters as equally "real"; it's just that alters themselves might have different traits of the identity.

While alters are identities, they aren't necessarily separate people—they are a system. Alters might differ from each other, and have separate memories, and skill sets, but every alter is part of that system. Alters don't appear out of thin air as separate entities and it's better to view a system as an entity comprised of equally real alters functioning together, with the "primary" one (the one that's out for the longest periods) being often called "the host".

Thus, alters can be subtle and almost indistinguishable from the host. And even if they have distinct personality traits, most alters would have an awareness to "fit in" by not standing out, instead internalizing them and trying to mimic the host personality (because it's "normal").

There isn't a secret evil spirit or a ninja assassin living in a person—portrayals like that (ex: the movie "Split") are extremely harmful because they perpetuate a toxic stereotype that just isn't true.

There's no "real personality and fake personalities" and so on. The current understanding of DID is a child at a young age, due to internal and external factors, failing to integrate into a singular identity.

Now depending on how young we talking, the person might have had a personality-before or might not have at the point DID develops, but the concept of "original/core" personalities is currently considered antiquated.

And just like alters aren't "created," they can't "die" either.

Now that this covered basic terminology and information, I can actually discuss about the show itself.

First, let's talk about Mutsumi and her character.

Mutsumi

From the very first appearance in MYGO, the characterization conveys the personality of someone who is stoic, internalizes her emotions, and has trouble communicating with others—her first spoken line in the show is ambiguous.

Mutsumi is a stoic, shy student who had been in a band together with her childhood friend, Sakiko, and three other people. The band imploded after her childhood friend suffered from circumstances she felt she couldn't share with others and disbanded it.

The character is often coerced or influenced by others to do things for them and plays more of the role of an observer.

It becomes quickly obvious that Mutsumi herself is extremely uncomfortable with this role—not only blaming herself for the band's breakup but also feeling awful about her friends' mental well-being afterward.

Meanwhile, Mutsumi's childhood is no better—as a child of a star actress and a famous comedian, Mutsumi didn't have what one could call "a normal childhood.". Her parents had surrounded her with wealth but at the same time had adopted a completely hands-off approach, which led to her feeling neglected and alone. For example, she doesn't even call her mother and father dad/mom/father/mother/etc., instead opting to refer to them by their first names like friends would do. The mother is also enamored with being an actress—for example, one of the things she would offer her daughter's friends visiting would be to watch movies she starred in.

The show makes sure the audience gets a sense of the scale of her home life—a luxurious house filled with servants where her mother is a star rather than a parent.

What's more, due to the circumstances of her parents she's constantly compared to her mother and father and their talents, with expectations placed to follow in their footsteps. This ends up with her feeling like she has nothing of her own in her life—whatever praise or expectation is placed upon her ties to The Star Actress and The Comedian instead of who Mutsumi is as a person.

As a result, she values the bonds she has formed with other people a lot. She cares deeply about her childhood friend (whose family circumstances are the actual reason for the band breakup), and she cares about the one other bandmate who had kept in touch with her (the person who is mainly keeping in touch due to selfish goals though).

So when her friend decides to create a new band, Mutsumi feels responsible to support her and help her.

Unfortunately for her, her friend is going through a lot emotionally, and the entirety of the new band consists of a lot of openly toxic individuals.

Thus she is placed into a situation where she has to juggle the neglect and distance she feels at home, the expectations her suffering friend is placing upon her, the expectations the world has for her due to her parents, and the pressure from being a member of an extremely popular band—a tough deal for someone who from the beginning had trouble expressing herself.

But hey, at least since the band has the whole pseudo-visual-kei thing going for it, she will be able to wear a mask.

Which is where her journey through Ave Mujica starts.

Ave Mujica and DID

The first notable thing we see happen is her struggling with an interview, reinforcing the idea that she has trouble expressing herself.

Ironically, this is another case where someone else ends up speaking over her.

The episode ends with the first notable trigger for her emotional state worsening, which is one of the bandmates going off-script and ruining the whole "secret identity" thing by unmasking them live on stage to an audience of hundreds if not thousands.

Considering her character set-up and her issues and insecurities, this is about the second most terrifying thing to Mutsumi in the entire world.

As the bandmates argue and blame each other over what had happened, the show then proceeds to take time to showcase how the pressure and the stress of what had happened affect her psychologically and emotionally.

This is a character who had been defined by the impostor syndrome caused by the neglect of her parents and comparisons society draws to them due to their fame—essentially getting doxxed live to an audience of hundreds if not more.

The show then dedicates its runtime to showcase how this character is slowly ground down by the building up pressure and anxiety, the dam breaking due to the traumatic experience—especially when she flubs an interview, causing even more tension and pressure.

"Don't speak out; play your role; don't make mistakes; be perfect or people will hate you."

The show makes sure to slowly build tension and highlight the growing anxiety and the increasing levels of dissociation the character experiences from the world around her as she goes through interviews and photoshoots—interactions that only worsen her mental state by anxiously comparing her to her parents or reminding her of the mistakes she made, as numbness overtakes her.

The anxiety, the stress, and the tension within all build to the point of insomnia as the character retreats to the one place she was implied to feel safe in throughout the show—the rehearsal room at home where she would spend time alone playing her guitar.

Because, again, as implied, her parents don't exactly pay any attention to her beyond showering her with wealth, and everyone else views her as an extension of her parents. So for her this is one spot that is truly hers.

And even that spot has now been taken because her mother had offered the whole band to use the rehearsal room. It's no longer just her space.

Depression, anxiety, and insomnia are but a few of the things that both influence and happen as a result of dissociative disorders

The show highlights the character's worsening physical state due to her deteriorating emotional state, to the point that the character has trouble walking down the hallway.

More importantly, the people around her—her band, her parents, her friend—they don't realize that. If anything, they put more pressure on her shoulders, they tell her to not stand out, to play the role to perfection, to not ruin the performance or further ruin the band's reputation.

The pressure and tension build to the point where the show depicts the first on-screen dissociative episode for the character.

Experiencing dissociation from gazing into a mirror is actually pretty common, as is the idea of recognizing your reflection as someone else. It's not limited to DID, however. There are common experiences where people suffering from anxiety might feel a sensation that they are looking at a stranger for example. Gender dysphoria might also elicit a feeling that the reflection is "wrong".

The show also showcases another common DID symptom: losing large chunks of time as the character finds themselves jumping from the changing room to the middle of the scene without knowing how she had gotten there.

The scene also involves the character witnessing(and more importantly, recognizing) multiple of herself. While the most common way for the host personality to perceive alters is auditory, visual perception is also possible, as are all other senses.

The series of visual hallucinations ends with a character making a mistake live on stage and experiencing a complete dissociation as she slumps onto a stage prop chair motionless like a doll with strings cut..

Essentially, this is a moment when no one is in control. The host personality has experienced complete dissociation, but neither the host personality nor any alters are "behind the wheel.".

Now, to this point, the idea is still subtextual (barely) in that the story shows but doesn't tell what is happening.

However, what comes after this grows more and more textual.

The dissociative episode and perceiving multiple of "you" leads to the character experiencing even more vivid hallucinations.

This time, however, the character directly acknowledges and converses with an alter within her mind-space.

Having a healthy and proper way of communication between host and alter(s) is actually crucial to functioning as a healthy system and living with DID.

Most of the conversation, however, happens within mind-space, as the character relives her past experiences and memories as if she were watching them as an observer, with the alter narrating her life's story.

The mindscape is often metaphorical so the alters don't necessarily always appear human, but they always would be "humanlike", because the brain perceives the alter as alive. The form alters might take within the mindscape is often dependent on the kind of trauma a person has suffered.

The story as narrated by the alter establishes the reason behind why the character values playing the guitar so much—because it's something truly hers, something she had learned on her own and something that is in no way "because of her parents".

But she feels like she's not good enough.

She can't be expressive, she has trouble communicating her emotions, and thus her playing skills, while technically perfect, lack that self-expression capability.

She can't make the guitar sing.

And thus due to impostor syndrome, she concludes that being "wrong" somehow is why the bands she gets involved with on her friend's behalf keep breaking up—why her best friend keeps suffering.

A person suffering from anxiety, trauma, and neglect, someone who has issues expressing themselves, would often wrestle with issues of self-hate and depression and Mutsumi is no different there.

Experiencing one's own memories from an outside perspective, as if watching a movie or seeing themselves from outside observing something is once again quite common in terms of DID.

As the toxicity within the band keeps growing and her friend keeps suffering, the character's anxiety and stress build further, the auditory and visual hallucinations intensifying.

Just a reminder that while this goes on and Mutsumi slips in and out of her mindscape, her best friend, her parents, and the whole band are completely unaware of any of this. In their minds, the dissociative episode she had experienced was "her acting out" or "acting" or just being "closed-off".

This is the first case where the alter has a direct and open back-and-forth conversation with the Mutsumi, rather than narrating her life like before.

Alters within a system often end up serving specific purposes—because they are more comfortable doing something the host alter isn't. Sometimes it's a single memory the host can't parse or a personality trait.

The alter in question showcases worry for the host's well-being—A Protector.

The alter represents worry over the character's own well-being and where the current stressful self-destructive path may lead.

(Important Note: I do feel the need to say that alters do not neatly fall into classifications and there's not some "class system" for Alters that is always true. There are many complex reasons for how alters within a system can be and there's a lot still unknown, as is true with the overall human mind. Since alters aren't created or "split", an alter merely providing a specific role doesn't mean they exist solely for that role, as it becomes clear with the case within the show too.)

The alter believes that if Mutsumi stays with the band, she will experience the full brunt of the band imploding and the alter also perceives Sakiko as someone who is not healthy for the character—toxic even.

Mutsumi however reaffirms that she wants to support her friend no matter what, to always be by her side.

Eventually, however, as the days go on, and the band keeps arguing, the character ends up tying together what is happening now with a traumatic event in her past—her best friend's previous band imploding in a similar fashion.

The character draws parallels between the two situations—between two traumatic experiences—which further worsens their wellbeing.

As a side note I do love Dutch-angles and how universal they are in conveying things going wrong somehow or being unsettling.

All of this leads to the final straw—a confrontation with her best friend, where the character ends up being accused of "not being good enough" and "not supporting her like a friend should".

Why can't she smile or talk or be more social?

Now I do feel the need to interject and say that while her friend is completely in the wrong here, things aren't that simple. Sakiko also has her own issues, depression, traumatic experiences, and absolutely horrible life—all of which she is unable to properly parse and thus turns towards alienating everyone who cares for her rather than showing how hurt she is.

This is the final straw, the moment where the anxiety and traumatic experiences build up to the point where the host just wants to escape.

A moment where subconsciously she'd want to turn to the someone for help.

This is also the first time this alter is properly given a name (one of Mutsumi's stage persona, Mortis).

The scene is eerie and haunting, but it has to be—sleeping is as close as the situation can get to ego-death.

(Because, like I mentioned before, parts of a system can't "die".)

Once the stage play starts, both the bandmates and the audience are treated to a performance that is unlike the character's usual self.

Mortis fulfills their role, shielding the host from a traumatic experience, taking it up to themselves to do something the host would suffer trying to do. In this case, it's to pretend everything is fine and play the role her best friend expects her in the band—to smile and to talk and to help keep it together.

From this point on, Mortis is in control.

She smiles, is social, and delivers efficient jokes to lighten up the mood—she pays attention to the wellbeing of other bandmates and is extremely expressive.

It needs to be noted that the bandmates and parents STILL have no clue. The other bandmembers barely knew her for a month so they don't really see anything wrong with the change in how the character behaves. If anything they see it as an improvement.

Mortis is doing everything they can to do what the host was too anxious to—to be a perfect actress, supportive and caring for the band, and nurturing an environment where the band stays together.

There are a few problems, however.

For starters, Mortis doesn't know how to play guitar, at all.

It's a skill and talent the host alter developed and as far as systems go not everyone would have access to the same memories, experiences, or skills and it's possible for alters to develop different skills than the host too.

And second of all, as the one who wants to protect Mutsumi, Mortis feels disdain towards the main source of Mutsumi's anxiety and depression—her childhood friend, Sakiko.

In Mortis's eyes, the dissociative episode the host suffered and the extreme amounts of anxiety and stress are all because of Sakiko.

This comes to a head in a scene where Sakiko, after spending a whole episode feeling uneasy because of how different Mutsumi is now, decides to have a one-on-one talk with her about what's going on.

It's in this scene that the show textually acknowledges DID.

What finally tips her off is that Mortis refers to her differently than Mutsumi would.

This scene also provides a direct affirmation of the fact that parts of a system don't "die"—they might however go dormant and "fall asleep".

As a side note, the scene does contain ominous framing, but it's mainly due to it mainly being from Sakiko's POV. The writing, however, makes it extremely clear Mortis isn't a villain as much as someone protective of Mutsumi and spiteful towards Sakiko due to her neglect of her best friend—and that Mortis isn't entirely wrong to blame Sakiko for this.

This is kind of surprising because that's pretty "new" information as far as the medical topic of DID goes. People used to think alters could die due to a faulty understanding of the idea stemming from the older now debunked theories as I mentioned before.

The reality, however, is, that alters aren't really something "different" nor "created/split"—a system has the same brain, and the same biological functions, which means the brain can't perceive itself as "dead".

DID develops at a young age due to neglect trauma or abuse. It doesn't suddenly happen because of some extremely tragic event as fiction often depicts it (the tragic events however can cause the host to dissociate and push specific trauma onto an existing alter).

The show, once again, acknowledges that too!

The scene basically spells out that Mutsumi's DID developed at a young age as a result of parental neglect and anxiety. Note that the show doesn't imply Mortis "having been created" ever.

Mortis basically spells out what Mutsumi wouldn't have been able to say—she speaks of the stress the band had caused Mutsumi and how Sakiko's neglect and toxicity ended up causing her to retreat into sleep.

(Once again have to add this: Alters can differ in terms of their thoughts, species, speech patterns, gender orientation, etc. Alters even can have different heart rates, eyesight, and how they respond to allergies.)

Mortis is resolute to protect Mutsumi and her band, but she's also a child—one that can be very blunt in the ways Mutsumi isn't and also naive in the way Mutsumi wouldn't be.

She can't help but detest Sakiko for her toxicity and the trauma it has caused.

She bluntly states that Mutsumi ceding control to Mortis is Sakiko's fault and if Sakiko keeps acting this way instead of actually parsing her problems, Mutsumi might never return.

Mortis isn't merely "a role protecting someone". She is childish and she is, in a way spiteful and she has an opinion about Sakiko that Mutsumi might not agree with.

There's a struggle there because the dissociation between the two alters is too big—there's a lack of communication as once Mutsumi gets to interact with Mortis again, the two are talking past each other.

Mortis is way too focused on what Sakiko had caused and on how it had hurt Mutsumi, while Mutsumi is still ever so focused on how much Sakiko herself is hurting and ignoring her own problems.

It's somewhat common for alters to communicate their memories or experiences with each other via mindspace creating a filing system of sorts as some described it as a computer with a search bar or a cabinet.

The show makes sure to highlight the dissociation currently between Mutsumi and Mortis and the communication between the alters having been strained due to conflicting motives and viewpoints on their mental wellness and how much a person Mutsumi cares about affected it.

The show also doesn't shy away from the problematic treatment of mental wellness in the world and how often it gets sensationalized.

The first major example is the public's reaction to Mutsumi dissociating on the stage—the band is flooded with demands to REPEAT that "performance". In fact multiple show appearances and stuff set that as a condition for the band appearing at all. To the public there's not even an ounce of worry that this was something real—to it couldn't have been anything but acting. Which is actually a common toxic reaction towards systems in the real world. Even within the Ave Mujica tags there were people screaming how "Mutsumi must be just pretending to have it".

Even one of Mutsumi's teammates mistakes her dissociation and Mortis for masterclass acting talent and is STILL haunted and feeling inferior by it even after she KNOWS what actually happened.

The characters also use the outdated term "split personality" when conversing about Mutsumi and Mortis and a majority of the cast doesn't "get" what this is and are way out of their depths—Sakiko blames herself for "having broken" Mutsumi, Umiri and Uika just completely don't care, Nyamu feels insecure and the MYGO cast are also just as out of their depths even though they display far more empathy.

It's a sheer contrast to one character who has no direct connection to Mutsumi but is known for her blunt nature and ends up recognizing both Mutsumi and Mortis as individuals (even asking for the name of each alter when they exchange introductions) and befriending Mortis.

Likewise, when Mutsumi and Mortis end up arguing over their motives and goals and falling down the stairs, the first reactions the onlookers have is to...snap photos and film the situation because it's a famous person and maybe this is some performance too! A completely cold and cruel audience of observes that keeps snapping photos even as another characters desperately begs them not to film this.

And of course, it gets shared and goes viral on social media.

Overall so far the representation of DID and overall mental-wellness issues in Ave Mujica (and MYGO) have been the series highlight and I certainly hope the show continues to treat the subject matter with care and research needed as it further delves into the character.

Another highlight is the variety of issues and insecurities the other main characters are facing—from Sakiko's complex traumatic experiences and implied self-harm tendencies, to Uika's obsession, to Nyamu's insecurities to Umiri's complete emotional disconnect and compartmentalizing to the point others see her as lacking empathy (even though that last scene implies it's not completely true, so we don't really know what's exactly going on there).

Ave Mujica, if it lands, is shaping up to be one of the best shows in a while when it comes to character introspection and psychological themes.

[stzrgirl4norris]

My Kink Is Karma

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After a turbulent break up, Max left you all alone, dealing with the pain from his poisonous words. He was thriving, having the time of his life, and you were determined to see his downfall.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), degradation, Mean!Max, Mean! Reader, they are both toxic to each other, revenge sex, hate sex. All the good stuff

I'm on my Max kick later, specially since the last race. Hope you guys can enjoy my freak with me!!

Three months, twenty eight days since he left.

Actually, since you left. No, even worse, since you were kicked out of his stupid cubicle of an apartment. Why is every goddamn apartment in Monaco so small either way? It's like millionaires have a kink for minimalism or something. There were still a couple of his t-shirts hanging around, shoved down the back of a drawer you never opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, picking up anything with his scent on it would cause world war three, and you didn't want that.

Not because you don't hate him, you do, wholeheartedly, but you would rather see the universe handle it, slowly, sadistically, because you always believed in karma, plus, he didn't deserve any type of reaction from you.

However, almost four months is a whole lot of time of waiting for Max Verstappen to get something bad coming his way. Somehow, that blue eyed man is always on top. McLaren had the fastest car and he was still dominating, pole position, podiums, even fucking won a race against all odds. Max Verstappen not only defied your beliefs around love, but your beliefs in general. He tested your faith. Because in this wednesday afternoon, sitting on your plane sit, next to a crying baby and an exhausted mother, you were wondering if the universe gave a flying damn about how much that man hurt you. Gods Are you listening over there? He left me with no direction, no sense of belonging, stole my pride, joy and clothes. I was left empty. So why the fuck is he the one thriving?

That's why you decided to make matters with your own hands. Karma isn't real? No problem. You would create karma and shove it down his throat. Max Verstappen is not going to hell when he dies? Then, you will make sure he lives through hell while you are around. And the plan starts with a suitcase and an economic class ticket to Bahrain.

The city was scalding. The complete opposite of an early spring in Monaco. Too many people, a legion of tourists who were there for the Grand Prix. You looked around, analyzing the environment, but he was everywhere. In t-shirts, flags, posters, dolls. "The flying dutchman", "The Dutch Lion". That was the worst one. A lion? That motherfucker was just as coward as a toddler being confronted by their angry parent.

Hey. Just landed. Where was the place / was supposed to wait for the driver?

Max: Gate seven. He's already there.

You don't answer. He doesn't deserve an answer.

On the other hand, if the plan was going to work perfectly, you needed him to believe you were desperate for him. Because Max has an ego, he craves the attention. It's Machiavellian, but any current pain is worth the final result. What even is a single text message compared to seeing Max Verstappen’s downfall live and in bright colors?

You walked towards gate seven. Sure enough, the man was there, holding a little white plank with your surname written on it. As if it was needed, since to his left, there he was, wearing his stupia red bull cap, white t-shirt and dark blue jeans.

Classic Max. You weren't taken by surprise, at the end of the day, Verstappen was as predictable as playing chess with a child, at least to you. You knew he was going to be there, just to torment you, prove, somehow, that he never left, his scent, manners, soul, were all surrounding you, everyday since that rainy tuesday when all hell broke loose.

As you approached both men with a confidence acquired from whatever cheap wine they offered on the flight, you could swore you saw a glimpse of relief in his arctic blue eyes.

Max was relieved. Seeing you, full shape, materialized in front of him like a dying man's last vision, as beautiful as ever, maybe even more, left him with a feeling of immense relief. Because ever since the break up, he never saw or spoke to you.

He didn't even understand how the hell that was possible, considering Monaco was just a big gated commune. He had no idea, however, that for those three months you barely left your bed, purposefully avoiding him. The funny thing is, Max could've swore on his career that he saw a different type of glimmer surrounding you, because as you gave him a shy kiss on the cheek, shivers went down his neck, all the way though his spine. There was uncertainty in his mind if, at that moment, you were a salvation from heaven or his worst nightmare.

"I didn't actually think you would come?" He couldn't control the excitement in his voice. To you? Pathetic.

"You know Bahrain has always been my favorite circuit." Lies. "Plus, I really wanted to talk." More lies. Oh, weren't you just the best pretty little liar?

'I agree"

Max had no idea of what you planned. With all the innocence of a little boy in love, who fucked up, he believed that you wanted to try again, that you were able to give him another chance. If for three months you were crying underneath the shower steam, he was begging via text messages, voicemails, red roses and handwritten notes to talk to you and sort things out. In his mind, his words were bad, a disaster. "Your career isn't important, you can't keep crying over this shit." Actually, the words were bad, but the context was even worse. To be fair, you were crying over a minor problem, a grain of sand in the midst of long beach, still, that was the result of a build-up that lasted weeks, days having to suffer countless abuse in your job, burnout was imminent. Haven't you been breaking down, releasing every tension from the stress of your career, you could have actually forgiven him. In contrast, the coldness and nonchalant in his voice when saying "your career isn't important" was what actually got to you. "So, I can't cry over my boss raging at me from mistakes he made, but you can cry whenever your stupid little car isn't 0.5 seconds faster than another car? Why? Because being a Formula 1 racer is the only job that matters? Huh, Max?"

That whole argument spiraled to a rabbit hole of pointing fingers and repressed emotions. Deep down, you knew you hated your job, you wanted to leave every time you stepped a foot in that building, but Max didn't need to know that. And he had no right assuming that it wasn't important.

Arriving at his hotel, the boy next to you handled a room key. 405.

"It's right next to mine"

You gave him a look, the one that said "well, obviously." Another predictable move. God, if any other driver paid enough attention to him, you were convinced he wouldn't be called Mad Max at all, because, in reality, Verstappen was as clear as a crystal glass.

The whole way up to the room, Max was a gentleman, carrying bags, hands on your lower back, guiding the way, walking in front. Just like you never stopped being his girlfriend. Maybe, in his mind, you never did.

The room was brightened with yellow lights, contrasting to the cold of the atmosphere between both ex-lovers. Even though you were trying your best to not give anything away, Max wasn't stupid, he could read you with eyes closed, he knew there was an unsettledness in your movements, he just couldn't point exactly why or what is going on.

"Do you want me to leave? Or do you just want to get it out of the way?" Max didn't quite know what he meant with "it", whatever it was, it has been filling his lungs with deep anxiety. And you knew he was suffering. For a man who was used to get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, being completely lost in the matters of the heart, hurt his pride and gave him tremendous affliction.

"I was hoping we could catch a nice dinner, properly talk with some good food and wine. What do you say?" The words came off of your tongue spontaneously, as if you didn't rehearse them 300 hundred times during that 11 hour flight.

"Sure, yeah, fine. Even better with people around... That way you won't have the courage to kill me." You could hear the tension in his words when he joked, and he could hear the mockery in your chuckle just as well.

"Pick me up at eight?"

The fact that you made no comment around his stupid joke bothered him to his core. Which is the reason he just nodded and left the room without saying anything else. Just as soon as that door closed, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. You couldn't say what the fuck you were feeling, nausea, pain, anxiety, shame, guilt, rage. You should just open the door, go to his room, throw things around, break glasses, throw his suitcase on the hotel pool, tell the press he is leaving red bull and get on a plan, never look back. Having to wait for revenge to be served cold is what drives everyone insane, and no one talks about that.

Countless of hours later, after two long crying sessions, and screaming, and burning pages of your journal, you were ready. Dressed up casually. You wouldn't give him too much, because you knew he was expecting to show up as beautiful as ever, Lady Di in her revenge dress, so the fact that you were just dressed as his Y/N, raw, honest beauty, broke his heart. Because when he opened the door to your room, he was taken by your perfume and your pure self, just like he did for three years every time he came home from a race weekend and you were waiting for him on the couch.

"Come on, Max, you don't need to give this look." You were surprised by how effective flirting was in maskaring hate.

"What look?"

"Like I'm your long lost childhood love you encountered 20 years later." He shook his head, slightly.

"You're something like that."

Something like that. What the fuck did he mean?

"We should go." You said a little bit more desperate than you hoped. Maybe due to the fact that you were dying to leave. "Lead the way."

*

God. Wasn't middle eastern food the key to all your problems? Maybe if the scent of blended spices and dates filled your nostrils before, there would be no reason for any of this.

For the past couple of hours, you were focused on trying to enjoy the delights Sakhir had to offer.

Notice the word trying. Because with Max Verstappen looking like a god sent angel in front of you, no amount of cloves and cinnamon would be able to erase the scent of wanting that was emanating from him.

Max was paying extra attention to you. Every time you looked excited about whatever you were tasting, he could catch a proper breath. However, one look into your eyes later and he has filled with thousands of questions in his head.

"So, what is the strategy for this weekend?"

"Do you actually want to talk about my racing strategies for the weekend?" Yes. You did. How were you supposed to ruin his life if you had no clue what was going on with the only thing that mattered to him. "You said you wanted to talk, Y/ N."

"We are talking." He raised his eyebrow. You sighed, stomach twisting in ten thousand knots.

"Fine..."

Before you could select which carefully constructed phrase you compartmentalized for this very moment, Max, with his usual quickness, took the upfront.

"Please, come back to me."

It's not that you weren't expecting that he would say something like this, you just weren't expecting how much your internal organs would fire up as a response. In that particular moment, you could swore you forgot all of the lines of the plan you spent one month obsessing over. He broke your character, for just a slight of a second, a fraction.

"You really hurt me." For the first time in this whole entire trip, you were being honest.

"I know. I am truly deeply sorry. I fucked up."

You just stared. Contemplating if you were going to let him talk a little more. The dark twisted part of your brain was enjoying seeing him act as pathetic as you once did for him. That same side of your brain was already collecting ideas. Screw that one month evil plan, Max was giving everything you need to do even more damage than you anticipated.

"Let me show you how much I regret it. Let me make it up to you." The phrase was constructed as if he was asking for permission, but both of you knew, deep down, that he wasn't backing up any soon.

"These past few months were hell to me, Max."

The words were true, but there was no emotion in your voice to actually reflect the pain you went through. Max had no idea. He would never guess.

It seemed to him that you were giving something, but a weird feeling in his gut was sparking a doubt that you were hiding something.

"I will fix this up."

His legs under the table were shaking like the first time he stepped out of a Formula 1 car. Max was speaking as he was walking barefoot on shattered glass. There is no way for you to fix this up. Only me. You wanted to answer. You couldn't.

"Are you excited for the race?"

The deviation of the subject showed Max you were uncomfortable, which is why he decided that was enough of pushing. He didn't know there was a strategy underneath your tongue.

"Are you?" He fired back, letting himself taste a bit of the wine that you chose. It was bitter, dry, unlike the sweet rosés you'd usually go for.

"Thrilled." Your lips curled into a smirk stained with maroon liquid. Something shifted in the tone of your words. It was malicious, Max could sense it, but he was a man after all, guile and sexiness go hand-in-hand, specially coming from a girl holding a glass of wine.

ready to head back, whenever you want to go."

"Are we not going to order dessert?"

Nope. He wanted to leave. Matter of fact, as soon as possible. He wanted to take you to his room, or your room, whichever one is closest to the elevator door, and peel off every lying secret you were hiding behind your sore, tired eyes.

"Do you want dessert?"

You looked at his eyes, then his lips, then his neck, back at his eyes. Licked your lips, the bitterness of the wine reminding you of pure sex.

"Maybe not from here."

You knew you had control over him by the way he looked at you, like a puppy begging for food. Max didn't even try to hide how much he was longing to just touch you in any way, shape, or form. God, men were so easy.

A few formalities and street lights later, you were back to the golden architecture of the place you were staying. It wasn't your first time in the country, but it was your first time in this hotel, hadn't it been the circumstances of your visit, you could have actually enjoyed the experience.

The elevator door shut, fourth floor was a short ride. Helped to ease the tension. Not too much, but just enough.

"I can't find the key to my room."

Max knew it was inside your purse, you knew it too, obviously. There was just no reason to bother looking it up.

"Hm. Thankfully, I got you." He held the white car between his fingers, flashing them with a teenage boy smile.

"My hero,"

For the first time during this night, you felt the tension leaving with the winds of Sakhir. Sex was not on your plan, in fact, quite the opposite.

However, you forgot there was no such thing as a plan when it came to Max Verstappen. Specially not when it came to desire and love. Plus, a girl is allowed to enjoy herself, it's not like you were going to get soft on him now, right?

The closing door blocked all the noise. Suddenly, the room was carried with heavy air, lost faith, gained hope, misery, all at once. If you listened closely, you were able to hear Max's heart beating irregular beats. It felt to him like he was about to have a stroke, a heart attack, a breakdown, or all of the above. You were danger, your presence was too powerful. He needed to get control back, or he would just spiral.

But you would not let him. Not right now.

Just as quick as you left him that night, you were pulling him by his neck. Lips connected like they were never meant to leave each other in the first place. Looking for each other's air because the room was getting smaller and smaller. This was the point of the night in which you didn't need to perform. You were not doing it for the plot, the revenge, you were doing it because you desperately craved him.

Max had only a few times seen you this way. It was unusual, but he wasn't complaining. He didn't quite like the fact that if you asked him to kneel down and bark, he'd do it, however. And he was afraid you'd notice it and just torture him the whole night. The boy was just a little too late.

"You said you wanted to make it up to me." Max didn't know how you managed to get a full sentence out in the middle of what was going on, if he opened his mouth all that would leave his throat were pathetic sighs and moans. "Then prove it."

You pushed him away, slightly. Max's chest underneath his navy blue t-shirt didn't hide his erratic breathing.

"I am proving it to you."

He leaned in, but was met with another slight push. This time, mixed between his confusion, was frustration. Just as much as you wanted him, he wanted you. No, he needed you. Needed to be close to you as if there was a war going on outside and that was the only way to keep both of you safe.

"No." No? What the hell no meant? "Kneel."

Your command was firm, imperative. You were no stranger to take charge in the bedroom with Max, but it usually lasted around five minutes, a way to spice things up or push him to the edge until he finally broke. In a way, it was fake-control, because you knew it was just a matter of time until you were at his mercy. But not this time.

"What?" He heard you well, the question was put there simply as a way of making you change your mind.

"You heard me, Verstappen. Kneel and beg for me."

Max didn't have a chance to respond or brush it off with a scoffed laugh, your hands were already on his shoulders, applying force to bring him down. It wasn't gravity the one who put Max Verstappen to his knees, it was the magnetic force of your words and the torment of his desires for you.

"Schatje, come on."

"Hm. That all you got?"

The truth is, Max was running out of protests. You knew it took him a lot to put his pride to the side.

He wanted you back, but there was no way he was going to beg for it. Max Verstappen doesn't beg, for anyone. Actually, he never needed to, he always got what he wanted. But his resources were coming to an end, because your posture and the way you were demanding the room, left him with no choice.

With the gentlest touch, like you were made out of the rarest crystal, Max's hand came to the back of your calves, slowly making their way to the back of your knees. He stopped there, didn't dare going further up. His hands were big enough to almost wrap around it completely, and he applied pressure. It was a simple gesture, but goddamn it you missed his fingers touching you, you didn't care where.

You looked down, right hand travelling to his hair, fingers intertwining between some strands, making a mess. He always looked beautiful with messy hair.

"Please." A kiss on your right knee. "Please, forgive me." A kiss on the left knee. "I will do anything for you."

The hand that was on his hair made its way to his cheek. Your thumb brushing the soft skin underneath his eyes. Max was flushing, the blood was rushing everywhere through his veins, heart pounding, maybe after this he should cancel his weekend, because there is no way he would make it out alive.

Then, all of the sudden, your gentle rub became a slap. Not a rough slap, in fact, only a couple of taps, to call out his attention. And, damn, maybe a hard slap would be less humiliating than this. And it didn't help when you had a devilish grin in your lips.

"Come on, pretty boy, just a little bit more. You're almost there. Look at me."

He was. Like a puppy. Like a dog starving. His pupils were so dilated you couldn't tell his eyes were pale blue. You were hell. That wasn't you. Looked like you, wore your clothes, the same old vanilla perfume, but if his whole life Max saw you as his sweet girl, this time he was seeing you as a mythical creature, completely transformed into something else.

"I fucked up. I can't live without you. Please, Y/N, I am about to go insane. I fucking love you, just come back to me, please. I can't make it without you." His chin rested somewhere on top of your legs.

You smiled. Humiliating Max sexually was not a part of the plan, but it was so satisfactory you could go straight back home with fulfillment in your bones.

"Good enough."

You backed out and walked straight to the door. In a sudden movement, Max got up, his legs felt like jelly, his head was spinning. There was no time for him to catch up, you had already left. He heard something like a see you tomorrow, but wasn't completely sure. In that particular moment he was out. Interpreting his feelings wasn't always easy, and right now it sure as hell was the hardest thing for him to do, considering there was a mix of everything inside his guts.

It took all of your strength to not go back, just to get a glimpse of how Max Verstappen looked completely desolated, alone in his hotel room, frustrated, confused. Exactly like you were that afternoon, three months ago. If you suffered, he was going to suffer the exact same thing, but ten times more.

*

"Max, you good? Looks like you're about to throw up."

Sitting in a round table, his salad was untouched, his cup still filled with water. The voices were mushy, he couldn't tell which driver elaborated that question. Truth is, he wasn't paying attention to anything else, too busy looking around, searching for any glimpse of you. Anything to demonstrate that you were still there, because you could probably be back home by now, laughing while sitting on your sofa, seeing his misery on live television.

He was brought back to the real world with Charles' voice commanding his attention, because finally, for the first time during that stupid lunch, someone said something that actually mattered.

"Mate, what is Y/N doing here? I thought you two broke up."

"Where is she?" His voice sounded so desperate, so pathetic, Lando couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just saw her talking to Honer when I passed the Red Bull garage. Could've swore I was seeing things, but it was actually her. Are you two back together?"

Midst sentence Max was already gone, rushing through the crowd as fast as he could before it was too late. He looked desperate, like he was looking for water in a desert island.

The meters to the garage seemed like the distance to the moon. His eyes were filled by the sigh of Horner, talking to someone else, not relevant, nor for him, because the someone else wasn't you. The conversation seemed important, and it would be rude to interrupt, but Max couldn't care less.

"Christian, where is Y/N?"

Horner turned around to look at his driver, bright fake smile. A little annoyed that he interrupted, but there was no way he was going to show Verstappen any annoyance.

"Well, hello to you too, Max. I was meaning to ask, what is she doing here? Thought you left her."

"Where the fuck is she?" Max asked again, this time his tone showed little to no patience.

Horner narrowed his eyes, if anyone else in this world talked to him like this, God would feel sorry for them. But again, the golden boy could do anything he pleased.

"If I'm not mistaken, she was looking for you. My guess is that she is waiting on your driver room."

The boy left. No thank you, no sorry, just simply vanished like dust.

The fragile door was opened with violence. This time, Max was quicker, not giving you a chance to play your game.

Eventually, after two days of deep contemplation, torture and screaming into his pillow, Max decided that he had enough of your games. Now, both of you were going to play things his way. Or so he thought.

"Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck do you want?"

You were sitting, legs crossed. His presence was dominating, but you didn't break character.

"What happened to good mornings? No one taught you proper manners?"

"Cut the fucking bullshit, Y/N. Why are you doing this?"

You got up, making your way towards him. Not too close and Max thanked God for that, because one more step and he would just break down again, crumble into crushed pieces of a boy. However, standing from a safe distance, his mind was taken by frustration, he wanted answers just as well as he wanted to rip your clothes off and make you pay for the little stunt you pulled two nights ago.

"I want to see you suffer."

You knew he would eventually caught up. It's Max, he is smart. And if anyone would understand the reasonings behind your feelings, it would be him.

So there was no reason to hide your true intentions anymore.

Max nodded, hands on his waist. He expressed some sort of laugh as a substitute for just yelling and screaming. He had done that already.

"How's that going for you?"

"Not nearly as close as the amount of suffering I am hoping for." Max was taken back by the cruelness and coldness in your words. "I want you to regret leaving me 'til the day you are buried six feet under ground. If you suffered ten times of what I did for those past months, still, wouldn't be enough.”

"I don't know how to break this to you, sweetheart. But making me kneel and beg, although I appreciate the effort, it was cute, isn't really close to the pain of getting dumped. You'll have to work harder than that."

Your lips curled into a wide spread smile.

"I know."

Up and close to his eyes, between your delicate fingers, a medium sized black piece of something he had an idea of, but didn't want to believe it was real.

"What is this?"

"You should get going, Maxie, quali is about to begin."

"You removed a piece from my fucking car?! Are you fucking insane?! This is psychotic, Jesus fucking Christ!" His eyes widened, his hands went through his hair in a desperate act. "How the fuck did you even manage to do that?!"

"A lady never tells."

Max thanked the universe when he heard a knock on the door, because God only knows what his next move was going to be, hadn't he been interrupted by GP at that second.

"Buddy, we have 10 minutes, you better come." He looked at the clueless man standing at the door, then back at you, who put on your best innocent smile, hands behind your back like you just didn't do the most devilish, disgraceful thing he has ever seen.

"Yeah, okay, give me two seconds.

As GP closed the door, Max took a step closer to you. He contemplated letting people know, snitching on you, but he held his anger and shoved the burning flames to the back of his throat. He wasn't going to play your game. If you were bad, Max Verstappen was worse.

Max's next move wasn't what you were expecting at all. With the gentleness of a first kiss, he brought his lips to your forehead, like he always did before stepping to his car, however, this time, taking a little bit longer, savouring the feeling of your skin beneath him.

"See you later, Schatje."

You were confused. Angry, even, by his reaction.

And then, when he finally left, you felt it. The shame, the guilt. You knew you went too far, but you were too blind by hatred, and too hungry for seeing him break.

On the other hand, Max walked into his car with the confidence and determination he hadn't felt in a while. It was Red Bull. This was a secure place, there were a innumerous amount of people there watching his fucking car. There was no chance that you, clueless girl, could just walk up there and steal a piece of whatever that thing was. God, you didn't even know how a Formula 1 car worked, how the hell were you supposed to remove an important piece? Max thought, hoped, wished, that you just took something he could manage to work without, and it was what gave him a little bit of relief stepping into the car.

Nonetheless, as quick as the relief came, it was washed away by a thought so much darker, what if you had help?

"Hey, Paul." Max called out for the man to his left.

"The car is good, yeah?"

"You tell me, mate." Paul joked around, not quite understanding the driver's question.

"No, I mean, the car is intact, right? Nothing missing?"

Paul arched an eyebrow.

"Of course, Max, it's all good."

The driver nodded and soon enough left with his car.

Qualifying started. You watched nervously through the screen in the garage. Maybe you crossed the line. On the other hand, you knew Max wasn't stupid, he made sure you knew with that ridiculous kiss. No other man could drive you insane. Two days later you were reading him like your favorite book, now, you couldn't tell a word inside his brain, except for, of course, how badly he was cursing you.

And boy... He was. Every time he made a turn and the car trembled he found a new name to curse you inside his mind. Thank God the FlA couldn't hear thoughts, at least twenty thousand fines were proffered only in the first five minutes.

The car was shit, unsteady. It was honestly scaring Max how unpredictable it was. Never in his entire career he felt so uneasy with a vehicle, not even in his rookie years.

"There is something really wrong with the car."

Max added in a frustrated radio message before firing back to his garage.

The crew was there, waiting for him. He stepped out of the car and let the engineers take a look.

You managed to catch a glimpse of him, even though his face was hiding behind the helmet, you knew he was contorted in desperation. You couldn't believe it. For better or for worse, your plan fucking worked.

The engineers cleared the way and Max tried again, completely incredulous on how you managed to ruin his entire race weekend. There was no way your relationship was going to make it after this. Max didn't even know if he was going to make it after this, he might just shove the car into a wall and die inside of it just to prove a point, watch you suffer with guilt until the end of your life.

By the last lap he was third.

Q2 was a bit better than Q1, that until someone crashed their car. Perfect, not only were you ruining his day, but the universe also decided to collaborate with your evil plan. Maybe you got Max's rivals to be a part of it. Maybe the whole entire team and crew were by your side.

By Q3 Max started to actually considering driving his car to the wall. The breaks weren't working. He couldn't break, at all. You fucking destroyed his breaks. You toyed with his car like it was a lego piece. At the end of that session, taking seventh place, Max stormed out of the car and threw his gloves on the floor. He just wanted to get everything off, his clothes, his helmet, his shoes. He wanted to go back home, to his cats, to his pillow, cry for hours.

Yes, the disaster of a bad qualifying hurt, but it was the heartbreak that got to him. Never in a million years he thought the love of his life would be capable of doing something so cruel and evil.

That wasn't normal. A normal thing would be for you to burn his hoodies or slash the tyres of his Porsche. You manipulated his car, possibly messing with his safety. You weren't the love of his life, you were a full blown psychopath. Which is the reason Max thanked that you weren't in his driver's room when he came back.

That being said, he wasn't so blessed when he opened his hotel room and found you sitting on his bed, wearing the same clothes as you were in the afternoon.

"Are you fucking for real? You have some guts coming into my room thinking that I would actually want to see you. I take everything back, I don't want you! I fucking hate you! I want you gone! I want to never look at your face again! You are the most terrible person I have ever met."

He was shouting, yelling, clenching his teeth and jawline. Stomping around like a maniac while the explosive bursts of verbal thunder left his mouth.

"Max, please, let me explain." You didn't raise your voice, you couldn't, you were wrong here.

"Explain what?! Huh?! How you manipulated my car?! Played around with my safety?! Almost killed me?! God, Y/N, I love you and you do this? This isn't normal, this isn't alright, this isn't something you fix with an explanation. There is no fixing this."

His voice became lower, not because he wasn't angry, he still was outrageous, but now the sadness of a heartbreak were too consuming, surpassing every emotion that was battling inside his mind and heart. There were tears in his eyes and they were the bluest you have ever seen. His lips were pink, trembling. His cheeks and nose were red. You felt an agonizing need to hold him.

"Max, you need to breathe." Poor choice of words, you could see it in his entire face as his eyes became shallow. "I didn't alter your car."

Max was about to lash out again, but he didn't believe his ears. As much as he hated you right now, you caught his attention. He didn't slow down, though, his chest was heavy, he was close to breaking down.

"Come again?"

"I didn't take any piece from your car!"

He could see you were crying now and he could swear you seemed honest, like a child trying to prove to their parents that they weren't the one in the wrong.

"Yes, you fucking did, you showed me! Do you seriously think I am going to believe your bullshit right now?"

"No, I didn't, this isn't anything! It's just a stupid piece of plastic!"

In a desperate attempt you held the black piece close to his face.

His vision was blurry, by tears, by confusion and hatred. He caught the piece and analyzed every corner of it. It didn't seem legit, it seemed, like you said, just a piece of plastic.

"What the actual-"

"-I just wanted you to believe I did. I wanted to scare you. I wanted to make you doubt yourself. I would never do anything that would actually put you in danger, Max, I love you. I wanted to prove a point." He couldn't believe it. In fact, he thought he was hallucinating the whole weekend and this was all a twisted nightmare, "Yes, it was selfish, I am wrong, I crossed the line. But I thought you were going to catch up to it. I didn't believe it was going to work, you are you, Max"

Now, add skepticism to the list of emotions inside his gut.

"But the fucking car was shit! The breaks weren't working! I couldn't drive that thing at all!"

"That has nothing to do with me."

Max couldn't tell if he was relieved by the fact that you didn't try to kill and you still loved him, or felt betrayed by how you manipulated his reality to the point he drove like shit just because he believed something was wrong with the car. Or maybe Red Bull just fucking sucks. Both later options were not respectful outcomes to him.

"Please, say something. I am so sorry, Max! I regret it. I should have never done it, I know. I am so sorry. I understand if you never want to see me again and, God, I'll even move from Monaco if that's what you like. I'll disappear, completely."

Your words hit him. He thought about them for a split second. The thought of you leaving his life, to him, was death. Sure, what you did was not okay, he was heartbroken, it would take time to heal. However, the more he thought about it, the more willing he was to try. If you were able to give him a second chance, he should give you the benefit of the doubt. You were taken by passion, by heartache and overwhelming sadness, Max wasn't a stranger to strong bursts of emotions and impulsiveness, which is why, deep down, he understood why you did what you did. Maybe, if he was in your shoes, he would've done worse.

"We are too old for shit like this, Y/N."

You could feel he was a bit more relaxed, which is why you felt an openness to just hold him. You didn't care if he wasn't going to hold you back, you just wanted to show him how much you regret your childish ploy.

"I know, baby, I am so sorry, I love you."

Fair enough, Max didn't hold you back. Instead, he pushed you away, another idea forming in the back of his twisted, unserious mind.

"You're going to work a little bit harder than this, sweetheart, if you want my forgiveness."

In his eyes, you could see there was still anger painted in the black of his pupils, but mixed with the gleam of his almost dried tears, you noticed a different kind of sparkle, one he saw in your eyes two nights ago.

"Do you want me to kneel and beg?"

Max took a step back.

"I want you to kneel, but I think your mouth can do better things than begging."

There was a feeling of delirium happening in the back of your mind, that carefully traveled through your veins as if you had take the most powerful drug available in the market. In just a matter of seconds you were down on your knees, hands playing with the hem of Max's shorts. You looked up, as if asking for permission to take them off. To Max, that was a vision out of the walls of the louvre, you, down, eyes sparkling with sultry glamour, mouth watering.

With an attentive movement, you pulled down his shorts, leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of his thigh, making sure you were scratching every inch of his skin, treating him as if he was the cure to all your worries and troubles. He might as well be.

"Get to it, my love, no teasing."

"Where's the fun in that?" You asked with a tint of playfulness in your voice.

"You're not really in a position to have fun. You either put those pretty lips to use or I will leave you here with nothing."

"Well, since you asked so politely."

You completely removed his boxers, facing his cock. Your mouth watered. You made sure you spread enough saliva around, licking every inch of him, paying extra attention to his sensitive spots you were well familiar with, before taking him with gluttony, tasting every bit he was giving.

Your hands were everywhere, scratching his thighs, caressing his balls, while you moved your head, feeling him in the back of your throat, around your lips.

Max was in pure bliss, his organs were electrified.

He swore you got better since the break up. Or maybe it was the absence that made it much more intimate, filthy, delicious.

"Jesus, Schatje, you're so dirty." He ran his fingers through your hair until he decided to guide your movements with his hands, slowly, making sure the pace was comfortable for both of you. "You look so pretty when you're doing what I want."

He went a bit further and you gagged in response, moaning right after. The vibrations coming from your throat sent Max into a frenzy. You swirled your tongue around his head, looking up through your eyelashes, exactly the way he liked. You loved giving Max blowjobs, it was as pleasurable for you as for him and he could tell, and there was nothing hotter to Max than seeing you get aroused by giving him pleasure.

Each time his cock hit your throat, he could feel he was getting closer.

"Don't stop, keep sucking me off, keep going." You just obeyed, feeling yourself get hotter by the second, you knew your panties were gone by now, yet you still craved more. You needed to taste him more, you needed to take back the time you missed. "Fuck-Y/N, fucking hell. Just like that.

You're so good."

The praise was everything, because you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve him. Yet, here he was, giving you all of him, all of his time and body, the best parts.

One more deeper thrust and you gagged again, the reaction made you squeeze his thighs. Max shut his eyes tight, groaning and moaning a bit too loud, but he couldn't control himself, not when you were on his knees, taking him so well, doing your job like a freaking pornstar.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum." The liquid was everywhere inside your throat. He made sure he finished before removing his cock from inside your mouth, drops of drool spilling on the floor. "You better swallow every drop or we'll do it all over again."

You did as he asked, you wouldn't dare do it otherwise. You stood up, looking right into his eyes as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

"Good fucking slut."

In a sinful act, Max spat in your tongue, holding your hair tightly in a knot between his palm. The move was so dirty, so filthy, you could come just by relieving the scene alone.

With desperate hands, you started to remove your top and then proceeded to his shirt. Meanwhile, Max was practically ripping out your skirt, abruptly removing every piece of fabric that dared touch your skin.

His kiss was demanding, hard, rough, thrilling.

There was a primal instinct awaken inside you, one that wanted to be with him and serve him for the rest of your life. One that could live in beds with him until you grow old.

Max pushed you to the bed, body towering yours.

Your hands desperately tried to grab his neck, his back, bring him closer, if it was any possible. You felt his hand sliding slowly between your thighs, until he reached your folds. He made sure to spread the wetness around, making a mess on your inner thighs and hip bones.

"Max, please." You pleated, voice cracking, there was no way you could form coherent sentences, your mind was hazy, no other thought inside your head except Max Verstappen and his hands.

"Look at you." His voice was dark, husky. "So wet just from sucking me off. Do you want more?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Then ask for it, use your words."

That man had you in the palm of his hands. If he asked you to go to war for him, at that moment, in your situation, you would.

"Please, Max, please." Your vocals were stuck down your throat, you were struggling to speak, the sensations of his hands rubbing your clit ever so slightly you could barely say they were in there was just too overwhelming.

"Pathetic, try again." He placed a kiss on your collarbone, then on the curve of your neck. His lips were wet and hot, a little bit swollen from the roughness of your kisses.

"Max, fuck me, please, stuff me, use me, do Whatever you want."

Max stopped every touch. Looked deep inside your eyes with a smirk on his lips that you just wanted to slap it off, or kiss it off, whichever one your reflexes allowed.

He scrunched his nose and giggle, it was a way of mocking you, you knew that. You knew you sounded pathetic, you didn't care. The humiliation was not crossing your mind, nothing to worry about, it wasn't worth it. He was. Max was worth it.

"Stupid little thing, trying to pull stunts on me, then begging me to use you like you were some sort of cheap whore."

You moaned in response, lifting your hips to meet his. In a firm movement, Max held your hips down with his right leg, applying pressure on your lower belly, making it unable for you to move.

"Stop lifting your hips like a goddamn whore, you're going to take whatever I decide to give you."

He wasn't treating you kindly, you knew there was still resentment somewhere inside him. Sure, there was. Max knew it too. At that moment he was using you, taking his frustration out. But it wasn't like you haven't done the same, only your way of torturing him was a bit less fun than his.

You felt yourself sinking into Max's cock, involuntarily you sunk your nails on his back, trying to fight back the scorching sensation filling you up, making you whole. Max's rhythm was slow, painfully slow, which was unlike him, he never fucked you like this, always fast, slamming, pounding. This was even more overwhelming than his usual desperation and roughness, because it wasn't hurting but it felt like you simply couldn't take it, the lack of pace was driving you insane.

Max knew it, it was taking every single tear of strength left in his tired body to keep it slow, because you felt too good, too perfect wrapped around him. He missed your feeling, he missed your whimpers and cries.

"You feel so good, Schatje, like you were made only for my cock. Nothing more. Too useless to anything else, couldn't even figure out how to take a piece out of my car." He laughed, replaying the scene back in his memory. "Stupid little thing."

You cried out because you felt that he, without thinking, went a little bit harder when remembering what happened. If you wanted him to give you what you needed, you would have to push him only a little bit. You lost the war, you know you did, but there were still some battles left.

"Come on, Max. Slow on tracks, slow in bed. You used to be better than this. What are you trying to do? Fuck me to sleep?"

He looked down on you, with contempt. How dare you talk to him this way? But it was a good try, he was close to snapping, making you regret the whole week, going too hard until you couldn't remember why you were on this earth for.

You were scared of his eyes, how dark they were, but your stomach flipped with the thrill of waiting for his next move.

"Oh, she can talk!" His voice was drenched in disdain. "Let's fix this."

Not even stopping, Max parted your lips only to shove the lace fabric of your panties into your mouth. Fucking bastard. You protested, but now even you had to admit the sounds coming from you were a joke.

"Much better."

Then, in a sudden, fierce movement, he flipped you. Stomach down the mattress, face pressed against the egyptian sheets, a luxury that only Bahrain could provide. Max's left hand was pressing your head further down as he started to pick up the pace, slamming hard and faster. He was, in fact, using you as a personal fucktoy, but you didn't mind it, the feeling was too good.

You felt euphoric, your blood was buzzing. You tried to hold the sheets, grab something, but there was no way for you to control your body. The sounds coming from your mouth were involuntary, so were the one's coming from Max.

It was too much for him, he knew he wouldn't last longer. He never used you like this before, it made him feel like a god. No amount of championship wins would come close to the feeling of being buried deep down inside you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- Look at what you made me do, fucking slut." You could feel the tears coming down. Good tears. The hot kind. "Are you going to cry on me now?"

You saw one of his hands coming to your mouth, removing the fabric and tossing far away to the other side of the room.

"Yes, Max, oh God, fuck."

He groaned, the wet noises were feeling the room.

The familiar sensation of fire pooling low in your abdomen started to show up. If he asked you to hold on, God forgive you, there was no way in hell.

You heard him moan a mixture of curse words and your name, but your senses were coming blurry, as if you were about to pass out.

"Max, 'm gonna cum."

"Gonna cum inside you, baby."

He pressed down, letting his weight fall on top of you, that's when you felt the tightness around your organs being released. The sounds coming from you were too much for Max to hold on any longer, not even seconds later he was breaking down. It was animalistic, filthy, pornographic, even.

He never took it out, he stayed inside of you for minutes after he was done. You were too sensitive to take any movement. That experience was whatever religious people were trying to reach with their existence. Who needed faith when you had Max Verstappen as a lover?

You barely noticed that his weight left the top of your naked body, only flipping back around when you saw him coming from the bathroom with a towel. He sat down next to you, breathing slowly, gently rubbing the fabric between your thighs.

"Are you okay?" You nodded, thinking you blacked out for a second. "Do you want a glass of water?"

"I just want you to lay down here."

He did as you asked, letting you wrap yourself around him. You could tell there were no bad feelings around, everything vanished into thin air.

It was just you and Max, same as ever.

"Do you forgive me, Max?"

He placed a long lasting kiss in your right temple.

"Is it bad if I said you should pull stuff like this more often just so that we could repeat this?"

You giggled, fingers tracing drawings on his stomach.

"I think we can figure another game that won't risk our relationship burning to ashes if something goes wrong."

"Fair enough." You felt him adjust his body. "And, yes, I do forgive you."

You needed the reassurance, Max knew that. He knew you. You were a melody from his favorite childhood song, one that he listened to it and it never left his mind.

There was no letting you go. It would always be complex and easy at the same time. But any complication was worth it if it meant you would never leave his side.

[little-forest-goblin]

Steve blackman i will never not have time to drag you you fucking bitch. You not only ruined a good show with your shitty choices for the fourth season and cut back 6 to 4 but you also blatantly ignored david castenada who tried telling you in the nicest way possible that that fuck ass choice of making a love triangle was uncomfortable and weird. I can't look at any of the interviewings for season 4 because I can feel this thick tension that is awkward between all of them. But lets not just talk about that lets talk about your fucking controversy that has just appeared of you allegedly making a toxic bullying work environment for your staffers. 12 anonymous people gave complaints to HR about your fucking behavior. You pitted staff against each other making an angry and untrustworthy working environment. Oh lets not also talk about the fact there were complaints of your ass making lewd remarks that people said were sexist, homophobic and transphobic. Elliot page praised you for your fucking handling of his characters transition but other sources say you also would praise your team and staff in public and than go behind there back and bully them in private you fucking two faced scumbag. You also would ice out your own fucking staff if they didnt fall in line with what you wanted or would blatantly get rid of them. How fucking power hungry do you have to be to do that shit. Lets not also forget that you were a bastard to a poor pregnant woman who didnt tell you she was pregant when she was hired and had to go on maternity leave so you failed to extend her contract because she didnt make it your business she was pregant you fucking creep. You gossiped and talked shit about your own staff but really you should praise them since they're there to help make this show run. Their there to make this whole operation not fucking crumple and you’d think you’d give them some sort of respect but you wanna act like a little bitch and whine and cry when you dont get your way and get called out when they dont wanna do something that is uncomfortable for not just them but everyone else. Let's also not talk about how you did not give proper credit to those who made scenes and stories for the show and took all that credit for yourself. Your a fucking piece of shit that couldnt come up with your own ideas so you stole everyone else’s because your unoriginal and had nothing good to input within the conversation. On top of all that, I think people should check your computer because you had no problem making a creepy relationship between two vastly differently aged actors. Aidan Gallagher is freshly of age to depict mature romantic relationships within tv shows and you instead of finding someone who is more closely to his age you pick the actress that he GREW UP AROUND. HE WAS A CHILD WHEN THEY FIRST MET. But also fuck Aidans parens too for not maybe coming out and saying that this is fucking creepy. Maybe they where silenced and paid off to stay quiet but looking at Rob gallaghers creepy and controversial fucking behavior anyway, i dont think it took much for them to be silent. The fact that you deny any and all allegations of any of those claims and your representatives tried to save your ass steve and than there was a investigation which surprise sur-fucking-prise was less than comprehensive. You probably paid those investigators off to get off your ass and have your representatives scrambling so you don’t get cancelled and you keep lining your pockets with money that you probably stole from your staff too since you wanna steal their work. so might as well double it and give it back to yourself, right? . Fuck you and everything you stand for steve blackman you toxic, manipulative, predatory, creepy fucking bastard. Fuck you. 

[lunarjimin]

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Jeon Jungkook

Synopsis - After a long day at work, you come home, still feeling sick and in need of rest. Luckily, your boyfriend knows exactly how to take care of you.

Pairing - boyfriend!jungkook x female reader

Genre - established relationship, unhealthy amount of fluff, very little angst if you squint.

Tags - slice of life, mentions of low-self esteem issues and insecurities, subtle hints of self-loathing, soft!koo hours, oc and jungkook are too altruistic for anyone's liking (but we all love a compassionate couple), jungkook offers oc so much reassurance that it's sickening, mentions of low-key making out, overall oc and jk are full on domestic and adorable.

Word Count - 4.5k

Ratings - PG-13

It's finally the weekend and you huff a big sigh of relief as you unlock the door to your shared apartment with Jungkook, eager to unwind from all the stress work has put you through throughout the week, you head straight to the kitchen to grab some snacks as you are starving.

Typically, your ideal weekend would involve a movie night with Jungkook, but that’s the last thing on your mind since you've been sick for the past few days, leaving you with little to no energy for getting out of bed and facing the day.

Lately, things have been quite stressful for you—not just because you’re sick, but also due to the overwhelming and unpleasant environment at work.

You recall the time your manager belittled you for working at a slower pace on an upcoming project your team was handling. It felt utterly ridiculous because you were putting in your work, even while being sick and getting ridiculed despite your best effort left you feeling irked and resentful of the workplace culture.

This is why you absolutely hate, even despise, the corporate industry: it’s the same everywhere, regardless of your niche. The toxic work culture, the myth of the nine-to-five working hours when you're expected to stay back until half past seven and the fake smiles that mask subtle criticism from coworkers—none of this fools you. Unfortunately, this is the only way to survive in this profession.

You only need to hustle a few more years to achieve some financial stability, after which you can quit your job and invest in the stock market or maybe even start a business of your own. Although the said “few more years” feels like forever, you have no other practical alternative if not for this.

You're a patient person; you credit yourself for that. You might not be as patient as you should be when you travel by conveyance that gets stalled, but you're patient enough to wait a few more years to get stable and resign from your job, huffing out a breath and pushing these thoughts aside as you head to the living room, turning on the television and picking up the show where you last paused.

Settling onto the couch, you exhale, feeling every bit of energy visibly draining away from you, you’re not really proud to admit that you have such a weak immune system even a relatively small flu can leave you feeling completely wiped out (like a mess).

You try to shake your mind off it by focusing on the show you started, reminding yourself that it’s futile to dwell on things you have no control over, especially since there’s nothing that can be done.

As you’re getting cozy on the couch, you hear the soft creak of your front door opening and you don’t really need to look to know who it is.

It's Jungkook, who enters your shared space, removing his shoes and socks, glancing at you from the doorway.He flashes you his typical eye-crinkle smile, which you faintly mirror, while he takes off his coat and hangs it on the nearest rack, you look at him for a moment longer before shifting your attention back to the show."

How was your day?" Jungkook asks, stepping forward and moving to stand right behind you. Gently placing his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature to see if you’re feeling any better than you did before, caught off guard by his random gesture, you turn to see him gazing at you with a raised brow, clearly waiting for your response.

“Just the usual—a bit hectic here and there, but on the whole, it was alright I guess.”, you answer with a slight shrug before focusing back on the television.

Humming in response, he notices that your temperature still hasn't dropped down, taking a mental note to prepare you a hot bowl of soup later.

Joining you on the couch, he turns to watch the show you’re occupied with. As you both get snuggly, you instinctively shift closer, resting your head gently on his shoulder.

Jungkook stretches his arm out, giving you more space to get comfortable prompting you to settle against him.Your body feels so calm and relaxed around him, melting in his touch. Oh, how much you could get used to this every day. Everything feels so peaceful and you wish you could stay like this forever, but as the moment stretches, you notice him settling in a bit too comfortably.

"Not going to shower?", the question slips out on impulse, watching him get cozy on the couch. It's not that you mind; matter of fact, you’d love it if he chose to stay with you right after a weary day at work. Still, you think he might need a proper shower to feel renewed.

"Not yet. I just don't feel like taking one right now—maybe later, if you don't mind?" he probes, pulling you into his arms even further so you're almost half-lying down on the couch.

Of course, you wouldn’t mind and you’re certain Jungkook knows that too. You were just a bit concerned since Jungkook is the type who never skips a shower, whether it's after a workout or even just after doing the dishes. He always protests, saying he feels unclean as soon as he finishes any chore.

You just asked out of intrigue.

“Of course I don't mind, Kook. It's just that I'm not used to seeing you rest right after coming home from work, since you usually head straight to the shower,” you state plainly.

“That’s right,” he mumbles, pressing a gentle kiss to your nape as he continues, “I usually wouldn’t, but I just feel like cuddling with you right now.”

“Well, come to think of it, I don’t think I’m too opposed to the suggestion,” you say, pondering on it while feeling a tickle as he nuzzles deeper into your neck and rests there.

Jungkook looks up at you from where he’s lying and as you lock eyes, you both burst into a fit of laughter, finding the whole scenario amusing.

It feels peaceful like this—just another day with your boyfriend, in your shared space, being all domestic and silly.

Eventually, silence falls over as you both laze in each other's arms, with the only sound in the background being the show running on the television and you find that you’re not really focused on the show anymore; all you can think about is how at ease you feel being curled up next to Jungkook, noticing that he has grown muscles over the week; you can tell by how bulked up his arms feel as they're wrapped around you.

One thing you're more than sure of is that Jungkook is a fitness freak and has always been one. He injects (figuratively) any fancy sport implements he comes across and is always best at what he does.

You don't envy him, although you wish you could be as dedicated to working out as he is, never missing out a single day, but you’re not quite there yet. You only manage to work out on days when you’re not too tired or worn out, which usually falls on weekends.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you feel Jungkook carefully remove his arm from your back, trying not to disturb you, as he gets up and heads to the bedroom. You figure he might have finally decided to take a shower.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧

You’re close to dozing off when Jungkook comes back into the living room after a while, dressed in a black oversized tee matched with gray sweats. He looks pretty with his damp hair, water collecting at the ends, threatening to drip.

Lounging on the couch beside you, Jungkook sighs, you guess he must be tired as well. “Are you tired?” you question, noticing the heaviness in his eyes as he leans back.

“Kind of,” he waves off dismissively. At times like this, you wish he weren't so guarded, Jungkook has always been like this, prioritizing his close ones over his happiness and willing to sacrifice his comfort just to please those closest to him.

His compassion often borders on altruism, leading him to put others before himself—a trait well-known to those who know him well (you).

You find this really ironic, particularly coming from you, who parallels Jungkook in certain attributes (altruism being one of them).

All of a sudden, you sense Jungkook sneaking his arm around your side, pulling you in by your waist as his scent hits you—a strong musk with a subtle hint of cinnamon, the fragrance of his cologne, your favorite. You think that you might actually combust this way.

You feel a deep sense of contentment. No matter how chaotic your life can be, Jungkook makes you feel better and helps you keep grounded at the end of the day. This is your home. He's your home and without him, you think that this place would just make for a house, you certainly don't mind lying in his arms, sprawled down with no care, even wishing you could stay like this forever if it meant feeling at home with him.

Maybe it's the intense emotions built up throughout the week taking over you, or perhaps it's the mood swings making you unpredictable, or maybe it's the exhaustion lingering; whatever the feeling is, it feels strangely soothing.

Something about laying in the arms of your lover after a grueling week feels so intimate it's unexplainable. You like it though, making you feel all dizzy.

As you gradually feel exhaustion setting in, you're suddenly jolted by a cough rippling at the back of your throat. Fuck, can’t you just relax in peace? It seems like luck is not on your side right when you try to get cozy with your boyfriend. Perfect, seems like just what you needed.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook asks, his gaze fixed on the side of your face with concern.

You’re unable to answer him as your cough intensifies struggling to clear your throat, you groan out your response, “I’m fine, just the cold taking a toll on me. Don’t worry, Kook,” voice coming out more groggy than intended as you assure him, though you can tell from the look on his face, that it's clear that he isn’t convinced.

“Kook,” you try again, emphasizing his name, trying to make it clear that you really are fine.

Sighing out long he gives up. “Alright but if I hear you cough one more time, we will take a trip to the doctor.”

“You know I hate swallowing pills, right? I’d get a shot injected rather take those pills,” you whine. Fuck this, why can't you be like your healthy self again?

A trip to the doctor is the last thing you would need right now. You'd rather doze off in your bed with a prolonged flu than swallow the pills you're being prescribed.

You try to calm down, despite still feeling very weak, but that's alright; all you want to do is rest and take it easy and your peace is abruptly stripped away by yet another coughing fit, leaving you struggling to contain it in.

You really don’t want Jungkook worrying over something as trivial as this mild fever, as a result, your eyes start watering the more you try to suppress it and you don't think you can hold it in any longer. Coughing more intensely, you jerk your whole body forward, feeling more frail than ever.

Jungkook looks at your side with an expression which morphs concern as your cough continues, clearly worried about your condition.

This was supposed to be a perfect date night with your boyfriend, but unfortunately, you caught the flu and your body couldn't handle it well and the last thing you would want is for your boyfriend to pity you. Great, it just happens to be your misfortune, isn’t it? Things always turn into mishaps right when you think you're in a better place in life and you hate it.

Warm tears trail down your cheeks before you know it, overwhelmed by the emotions you’ve bottled up all week, breaking down in front of your boyfriend feels downright humiliating. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—everything should have gone well, but somehow, it all took a turn for the worse.

You're unable to stop the full-blown breakdown as you're now sniffling in the middle of the hiccups. It's embarrassing to say the least.

“Hey, look at me,” Jungkook shakes your shoulders to get your attention, but his words go unheard.

“Baby, look at me, please,” he tries again by placing a finger under your chin and lifting it up to make you face him.

As soon as you meet his gaze, you start breaking down, wailing aloud. Why does everything feel so overwhelming?What was supposed to be a relaxing date night has now turned into a disaster.

You're unable to stop from crying when Jungkook pulls you into his embrace as you bury your face in his chest, soaking his fabric with your tears. You can't help it, but he doesn't seem to mind, gently drawing circles on your back, trying to comfort you.

Gradually, you try to calm down as your sobs ease and you gather yourself sniffling in his shirt.

"Are you feeling any better?" Jungkook looks down at you with genuine worry.

Not really having the energy to speak, you quietly hum in response, letting him know that the breakdown left you feeling a bit better.

“Alright, just wait for me here. I'll be right back, okay?” Jungkook says, looking at you, waiting for a response.

“M'kay,” you nod meekly, watching him get up, turn off the barely-watched show and make his way to the kitchen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧

Jungkook returns after a while with a ladle and a bowl of soup, along with a plate full of air-fried breadsticks, setting them on the living room counter.

Plopping down on the couch, he looks at you, gesturing toward the table near you, “Have some. You’ll feel a lot better,” he mutters, grabbing a breadstick from the plate, and dipping it into the mustard sauce before taking on a bite.

Your gaze softens as you look at him. At moments like this, you feel deeply loved, as if you receive more than you give. Jungkook makes you feel cherished, filling your senses with warmth.

Although, you feel guilty knowing you're making him care for you, even when he's already feeling drained, you're still thankful for him, you realize you're not so different from him. He always puts others' needs before his own, just like you do. Jungkook has always been a big empath, and so have you; maybe that's why you two got emotionally connected—sharing similar interests and values.

You try your best not to burden him with what you see as trivial concerns, but you forget that those who care about you are always willing to help.

You tend to overlook the fact that you are not merely an obligation to your loved ones but instead a priority.

Taking the bowl of soup from the table, you start eating, smiling to yourself because he made your favorite—French onion; you're thankful to have found a man who gives you more than you ever asked for—it feels surreal, but you're not complaining.

Glancing his way, noticing him staring right back at you as you bring the ladle to your mouth, slurping the soup in an obnoxiously loud manner while keeping your eyes locked on his.

Jungkook is the first to look away, bursting into laughter as he finds your actions comical, seeing you mirror his laugh.

You look his way again and speak up, “You want some?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, shaking his head.

“You know that I love you, right?” you question all of a sudden, not really expecting an answer.

“I really do,” you affirm, needing to get it off your chest.You've always been this way—confessing at random times, during random occasions, with words of affirmation as your dominant love language.

“I know and I love you too, you're too precious not to be loved,” he says, smiling cheekily right after confessing.

It warms your heart to know that Jungkook is always there to offer reassurance, whether in subtle or obvious ways. Although you take pride in not seeking external validation, when it comes to Jungkook, even the slightest compliment makes you dizzy and you can’t help but blame him for it.

Shaking your head, smiling to yourself as you dig in with the soup. “You know, I don’t always say this, but I’m really grateful to have you as my partner.”

It's not that you don't express your gratitude for having him as your boyfriend at all, but you don’t say it as often as you think you should. You know that Jungkook needs to hear how thankful you are to have him in your life, just as much as he reassures you whenever you need it the most.

Junkook smiles, his eyes crinkling with sincerity. Humming, he replies, “You know what? I could probably say the same about you.”

You look sharp at him, puzzled as you question, “Probably?”

“Mhm, yeah, probably,” he shrugs as he says, with a hint of mischief.

Carefully reaching your hand down on the couch, fishing and grabbing the nearest object—a heart-shaped cushion—and you aim it right at his face, but he's quick, catching it with a laugh and placing the pillow back down.

Scratching at the back of his nape he laughs at you as he speaks up, “How are you feeling now? Better than before, I hope?”

You can tell that he sounds a bit anxious, unsure if you're really feeling better, you sigh, “A lot better, actually, thanks to you and your bowl of soup,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at him while offering a fake smile.

He chuckles, clearly amused. “I'm seriously asking you, babe. I just hope you're truly more at ease now.”

“What do you think, Kook? Of course, I am. Nothing can happen to me as long as my boyfriend has my back,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

He shakes his head, amazed at how quickly you’ve bounced back to your usual self and visibly feels a sense of relief as he lets his shoulders relax. “And now my favourite brat is back,” he states.

“Jungkook!” you scoff as you exclaim, clearly knowing that he's trying to get a reaction out of you by calling you a brat, not that you mind.

Finally finishing the bowl of soup as you place it down the counter, you feel there are things you need to get off your chest—thoughts that have been weighing on you as you try to speak up, “I’m sorry for spoiling your weekend with all this. I know it should have gone as planned, but I’m really so—”

You’re cut off mid-sentence when a sauce-dipped breadstick is suddenly shoved into your mouth as you shriek, bringing your hands to your mouth and wiping off the remains while munching on the piece shoved inside.

“Save it. That apology might come in handy when you accidentally slip up and get ridiculed by your moron of a boss.”

Jungkook always gets bitter when it comes to your job. You've told him multiple times how your manager treats you and your coworkers with no regard for professionalism, which makes him have a sour spot for your boss, often calling him names. Although it’s worth a laugh to hear him call your boss a moron, you're grateful he holds back and doesn’t take it any further.

“I don't like it when you invalidate your feelings like that, Y/N and I’m sure you’re aware of that,” he says, searching for your eyes.

“Yes, our weekend didn’t go as planned, but we’re still able to relax and chill as usual. So, I’m not sure why you feel the need to apologize for something you’re not to blame for,” he lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze and shaking his head. It feels disheartening for him that you feel the need to apologize, believing that you have ruined the night for him.

It’s ironic to see someone as upbeat as you think this way, though he’s no stranger to your struggles with low self-esteem. “You know, I really wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“How so?”, your response comes out weaker than you intended, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you.

He looks your way, amused, doubting that he could ever put it into words, so he chooses to show you instead, just how grateful he truly is. “You really wanna know?”, as he probes, inching closer to you.

You simply nod, unable to find the right words to speak.

Jungkook lowers himself to your level and stops right before your lips are about to touch, looking at you with your eyes closed, waiting for him to make a move. he takes it as consent and gently leans in, brushing his lips against yours, testing the waters before diving in, deepening the kiss with such intensity.

You're quick to move your lips as soon as he finds yours. The intensity of the kiss makes you feel as if you're burning up, not in a fleeting or shallow way, but with a deep, longing passion.

Moving your hands to the back of his head, you twirl your fingers in his hair while kissing in sync—his slightly damp hair feels so soft, almost like a newborn’s and you smile at that thought.

Jungkook is quick to slip his tongue into your mouth as you part your lips and gasp in surprise, as he intertwines with yours kissing you more deeply, his hand curls around your waist locking you in, while the other gently caresses the side of your face, brushing aside the strands of hair that have fallen across it.

You're the first to pull away, placing your hands against his chest to keep him still as you gasp for breath.

Letting go reluctantly, his heavy gaze staying on you while he pants for breath and leans in to steals one last kiss—a soft peck—on your parted lips.

You narrow your brows at him, trying to appear stern, which only makes him just return you a sheepish smile.

“You kind of taste like caramelized onions,” Jungkook breaks the silence, teasing you about the kiss.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim as you physically gasp feigning offence, giggling and playfully shoving him by the chest.

He pouts, sulking at you.

“That’s so mean! Of course, I taste like onions—I just had the soup you made!” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He casually shrugs, cocking a brow.

You can’t help but chuckle, realizing how fond you’ve grown of him over the years, being with Jungkook feels instinctive, like something you’ve become so habitual with.

“You know, I was so concerned for you a while ago when you were constantly coughing,” he brings up.

You smile knowingly, seeing him back to his usual self. “Yeah, I knew, your face said it all.”

“Am I that predictable?” Jungkook asks, knitting his eyebrows with a scrunched nose, looking puzzled.

“Hm, you kind of are. It’s hard for you to hide your expressions,” you reply with a knowing look. “But honestly, I felt bad making you work right after you came home tired. It just made me feel guilty.”

“That’s part of my duty as your boyfriend. There’s no need to feel guilty. I’m more than happy to be here for you and you know that very well Y/N,” Jungkook says with a sincere tone. He’s willing to do anything you ask for and more; deep down, he still feels like he hasn’t done enough for you.

Words can't fully express how grateful you are to the universe for bringing someone like Jungkook into your life. He embodies what it means to be a gentleman and you don't think you can picture yourself with anyone else but him. “I know, but sometimes it's really difficult dealing with my self-worth issues,” you tell him honestly.

“That's exactly why I think you should see yourself through my eyes,” he replies, his gaze softening as he looks at you gently. “You’re everything I could ever want and more, I hope you know that,” he says sincerely as your smile comes off weak.

“It’s hard for me to believe that someone would want me with as much passion as you do, especially when you’re much more good-looking”, you try not to break down as your voice cracks and your throat feels tight talking about such a sensitive topic. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Kook, but it takes everything in me not to bring myself down every single time. It’s really hard dealing with all of my insecurities.”

Jungkook feels devastated hearing this. He’s aware of the issues you’re struggling with but never really realized how deeply rooted they must be, which makes him question his role as your partner as his conscience gnaws at him, filled with the fear of failing to be a better partner for you, knowing how you feel. He knows it’s not entirely his fault, but the guilt simmers inside him, threatening to overflow the more he thinks about it, to him, you deserve the world and so much more.

“I surely understand that; while I might not know exactly how you feel, I get the sense of it babe and I want you to know that I’m here for you—no matter what you need, I'll always be right here.” Jungkook places his hands on either side of your face, drawing you close and gently kissing your forehead.

“Let’s just not focus on this right now, alright? I don’t want you to worry about it too much unless you really want to talk about it?” He looks at you with slight distress, unsure of what you’re thinking. Whatever it is, he hopes you’ll share it, reassuring you that he’ll listen attentively, easing the weight of your feelings.

You nod in agreement, suggesting that you don’t want to discuss this any further, especially not now, after everything you’ve been through this week, you smile instinctively, seeing him look concerned and finding an odd sense of comfort in it.

You know Jungkook well, maybe a little too well than anyone else in his life. While you might normally share your concerns with him, you’d rather let it be and take some time to rest now.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate his support, but you’re simply not in the mood to talk about it right now, although his ways of reassurance always feel the best, making you want to listen to him even more.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this kind of sense of belonging with anyone before. It feels like everything has fallen into place just as you’ve always wanted, despite the chaos in your life.

“What’s on your mind?” Jungkook asks, seeing you lost in your thoughts.

You pause for a moment, staring at him unsure what to say as you blink swiftly, taking a deep breath letting out a sigh.

“Nothing, I’m just tired,” you utter, as you stretch and yawn involuntarily, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Right, I’m tired too. Let’s just cuddle like this for a while, yeah?” Jungkook mumbles as he pulls you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder and gradually closing his eyes.

You smile as you nod, feeling him move closer to your neck and place a gentle kiss as you let your body relax, you feel so safe like this, with his soft breaths calming your nerves. At moments like these, all your worries seem to fade away.

Maybe getting sick doesn’t seem so bad if Jungkook is the one taking care of you. Eventually, it’s only with him that you feel safe and at home, he's your sanctuary at the end of the day.

A/N : It's officially my first fan-fiction? ficlet or drabble? whatever you guys name it! although as much as i'm excited to publish this, i'm equally nervous too and forgive me if there are any errors cause i didn't proofread it. I would really appreciate any feedback or comments about my work, hope you guys had a good read <3 xox.

tmi: this piece of work was purely self-indulgence until it wasn't when I decided to turn it into an actual fiction, even though this basically lacks any plot and the struggle it took for me to figure out how this blog works is a rant for another day (😭).

[multifandumbmeg]

Anthony Lockwood is an emotional chameleon. He changes how he interacts with people to be what they want and need.

Think about how he acts with George. They bicker, they insult each other, they're not touchy-feely, but they get each other. They care about each other. Lockwood treats him like this because that's what George likes: blunt, to the point, back-and-forth banter and sarcasm. He doesn't treat George's neurodivergence or eccentricities as a fault like others, he casually accepts or even lauds them. He's the hands-off but there when you need him friend George needed.

Think about how he treats Lucy. She doesn't realize this is why, which is the cause of much of her internal fury, but he tries to be what she seems to want. Lockwood gives Lucy a huge amount of freedom, doesn't push her to open up, celebrates and accepts her gifts at face value (especially in the books) but in the show when she makes clear what she doesn't want, he apologizes and changes course. He becomes comfortable with her quickly and doesn't treat her differently because she's a girl- he knows she can handle herself and she's just another member of the household, no judgement for being messy or lazy or looking wrecked like the rest of them. He knows that she is closed off and resentful when people pity her or acknowledge her pain, so he shows his affection in subtler ways, like making her toast and tea. Giving her precious things that are part of his past as a show of trust and attempt at vulnerability. Frequently praising her, but only when she truly deserves it, because she wouldn't accept it otherwise. Constantly showing her how much her life is worth to him, no matter how much it drives her crazy. His relationship with Lucy changes as his romantic feelings for her grow, and it gets harder for him to mask how he actually feels and wants to act.

Now here's the controversial one: Lockwood does not show Holly favoritism, nor is a malicious, manipulative monster pitting two women against each other. Every single thing about how Lockwood treats Holly differently can be attributed to him knowing her past and trying to be what she needs. He is helping her. Lucy's internal monologue of intense jealousy is a matter of insecurity. She sees Lockwood's gentleness with Holly as him seeing her as a "real girl" and Lucy herself as "just one of the guys" - read, not a romantic prospect. But Lockwood makes it clear who he favors soon enough: when Lucy decides to leave, he offers to fire Holly immediately because he knows of their feud. It is Lucy he can't live without. Lockwood is, in a word, polite to Holly. He is kind and friendly towards her because her previous boss abused her, and she is traumatized in a fundamentally different way than Lucy. Whereas Lucy hardened but sees the agent life as all she can do, all she is worth, Holly is paralyzingly traumatized by agent work. Which is exactly why he takes her out on cases slowly, watches out for her, and does everything he can to rebuild her confidence. He gets onto to Lucy rather than Holly because 1) Lucy became hostile immediately and fully started their conflict, 2) as mentioned before, Holly is traumatized by an abusive, toxic prior work environment. He's trying to make her feel safe here, and 3) He's completely unaware of how Lucy sees this behavior as a personal slight because he fully respects Lucy as an equal, which he thinks is a compliment.

Also, I think George sees Lockwood's ever-changing personality as completely par for the course. As a fellow neurodivergent, he thinks this parade of masks is how everyone interacts, Lockwood's just good at it.

In conclusion, Lockwood is simply a kind kid with pretty damn high emotional intelligence, which is frankly remarkable considering how alone he's been. Anthony Lockwood tries to be whatever anyone else needs, because there was no one to be it for him.

[hadesoftheladies]

actually, I DID have gender dysphoria as a teenage girl without being exposed to anything about it on the internet, on top of "racial dysphoria" and body dysmorphia

there were points I DID want to kill myself because i wasn't, or bleach my skin or change my body, i would have done anything to be a white boy at one point

which is both sad and funny to me because i remember two of my then good friends explain being enby and transgender to me and me being like "that doesn't make any sense" and it's because of trans-discourse we eventually broke up. the closest i ever got to accepting trans-ideology was transmedicalism with weak support for "queer" culture. i did not understand pronouns, but i understood dysphoria. but i did not understand how one could be a man or woman without the sex characteristics.

how did i heal?

one, i left church. that was one of the places i was most scrutinized for my physical body. two, i distanced from my parents, especially my mom. who often made my ocd and body-image worse (not because she was mean, but because she was always fretting about "decency"). three, i focused on bettering my personal space. writing, reading, watching my comfort shows, getting the focus off me. four, i started eating better, and my body became less burdensome. i stopped getting horrible period pain. five, i surrounded myself with self-confident women and stopped trying to resurrect toxic friendships with girls and boys (especially boys). started eliminating each toxic friend and focusing my efforts on healthier relationships. six, i'd started educating myself on my own history, watching and listening to more black and African people. even when i didn't enjoy what they made or resonate with it, i found i appreciated the experience and could allow myself to hate or love whatever i found.

by the time i discovered radical feminism, this was like, the final step for me: consuming women-centric literature and media. this was HUGE. i'd see paintings and photography of women in all shapes, colors and sizes. i'd listen to master musicians, read women philosophers, anthropologists, etc. this started mending a lot of what caused initial disquiet when it came to my dysphoria or dysmorphia.

basically, i took myself out of bad environments (especially those which force you to scrutinize every detail about yourself, like social media, i took long breaks from that), drew boundaries with people i couldn't get rid of, learned about myself (ocd, dyscalculia, anxiety, female biology) so that i developed understanding and could empathize, stopped centering men and white people.

now, while there's still a hint or trace of dysmorphia and dysphoria, it doesn't plague my life. it's like the occasional itch. more of a mild temptation to go down a dark hole than an actual threat. and i've learned how to handle those.

i learned the root of things. not just my history, but the root of how society worked and how it affected me. and i'm still learning, and my life is still improving.

so yeah, girls and women going through this is normal and common. anyone who is used to who they are being shameful is more at risk (like gnc lgb kids), but you can recover. usually better if you get out of the places that are making you sick.

[bumbled-bees]

Getting Close Was What Set Me Free

(Or: Why I Do This Work)

So I've come to realize that getting close to Lily was what set me free. And by that I mean: the reason I was able to finally see Lily for who she really is wasn’t because I stumbled across some damning document or a big exposé. It was because I got too close to her to keep lying to myself.

I was in her server from June to September 2024. Three months. Not long in the grand scheme of things, but long enough to change everything.

Before that, I was just a casual fan. I watched her videos, nodded along with a lot of her takes, maybe rolled my eyes at a few. But I still trusted her. I still believed in the version of herself that she presents—the version that’s loud, unfiltered, “honest to a fault,” as she might say. Someone who’s rough around the edges but ultimately good-hearted. Someone who "says what everyone else is thinking." That’s the version she wants you to see.

And for a while, I bought into it. A lot of people do. Especially if you’re neurodivergent, LGBT+, or otherwise looking for a voice that feels like it “gets” you. She markets herself directly to us—those who’ve been overlooked, who’ve been hurt, who want to believe that someone loud and confident must know what they’re talking about.

But once I got inside that server, once I was in her space every day, I saw the real Lily. Not the polished version, not the performance. The person.

It started small. Subtle acts of condescension toward her own viewers. Passive-aggressive remarks she clearly expected people to just “get.” The way she acted offended if someone asked a question she didn’t feel like repeating herself on. That kind of thing. It wasn’t abusive in an overt way at first. But it chipped away at you. It created this atmosphere where you always had to tiptoe around her mood. And if you didn’t? Well, you were either ignored, mocked, or quietly exiled.

What really changed things for me was realizing how much effort she puts into controlling the space around her. That’s what it comes down to. Control. Everything is about control—what people are allowed to say, what kind of questions are allowed, what “tone” you’re supposed to use when addressing her. And the more time you spend in that environment, the more you realize that nothing you say is ever just a question. It’s a potential offense. A potential threat. Every interaction with her is a test you can fail, and she gets to decide the rules.

The incest game folder is when I started going back to old allegations, to posts I’d brushed off as “haters” or “drama.” And suddenly everything clicked. It wasn’t just “cancel culture” or “jealous ex-friends.” These were patterns. These were consistent behaviors. And they matched exactly what I was now seeing firsthand.

That’s when I got out. But that’s also when I realized how dangerous her grip really is.

Because if I’d stayed a casual fan? I wouldn’t have looked any of that up. I wouldn’t have believed the claims. I would’ve kept assuming that anyone who criticized her was just bitter or couldn’t handle a “strong personality.” And that’s what scares me most. How many people are still in that mindset? How many people are still where I was?

That’s why I started documenting. That’s why I made this blog. Not to “get back at her,” not to cause drama. But to lay out the patterns. To name them. To put them in the light. Because they are recognizable—and not just in Lily. The same red flags show up in other online spaces, in other creators, in other parasocial relationships. And if this blog helps even one person get out of a toxic space, or recognize that they’re not crazy for feeling like something’s off? Then it’s worth it.

I do this because I’ve been there. I saw it up close. And I got out. Now I want to help others recognize what I did—before they get pulled in too deep.

This isn’t a callout blog. It’s a flashlight. And I’m just trying to shine it where it’s needed.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Me and a friend were having a discussion on Pokemon videos at how a lot of times how easy it is to mistake them being distressed as being “playful”, but that it’s also hard to really tell just from a glance they’re being mistreated. Are there specific signs that show that a Pokemon is being forced into a stressful situation?

that's a great question! and you're right, it can be really hard to tell. i also wouldn't expect someone who isn't an expert in pokemon behavior to be able to look at a video of a pokemon and know whether or not the pokemon is in a stressful situation. in some pokemon, behaviors that often read to us as positive are actually signs of stress- such as leaf-shaking in oddish, which is often compared to tail-wagging in canine pokemon but is actually a method of dispersing toxic pollen in response to fear. in other instances, behaviors that people read as stressful are actually positive behaviors (e.g. the way plusle and minun give off intense spark showers when touching tails). on top of that, the context of a behaviors is really important to telling whether or not it's positive or negative, and a video doesn't always get the proper context. this leads to a lot of confusion and false accusations, unfortunately. what's most important is to listen to people who are experts when they point out something that could possibly be a concern!

all that being said, here are a couple common things to watch out for that should make you take a closer look:

prey/predator pokemon interactions outside of very well trained battling pokemon that are familiar with each other or actively battling. the average video of a purrloin chasing around a patrat is not very fun for the patrat. that's why the patrat often drop berries from their cheeks in these videos- it's an attempt to distract the predator chasing them

pokemon in environments that are inappropriate for their morphology/typing. think ice types on hot beaches that are panting/giving off steam or nocturnal pokemon in bright locations that seem disoriented.

pokemon in environment/situations that are not appropriate for the potential damage they could cause. this one is really tricky, because sometimes a trainer has put in the work to give a potentially dangerous/difficult to handle pokemon a good home, and you really can't glean that from a video sometimes. is it possible that the tyrantrum running around in an unfenced backyard is well-trained and well-managed? sure. is it likely? probably not, but you have to be careful not to accuse someone based off of a few seconds where the situation isn't clear.

pokemon that are being allowed to perform inappropriate behaviors unless it's an educational video. things like using moves on people or in public places where doing so could hurt someone or cause panic (think of poorly behaved pokemon in a grocery store) are not cute or funny. there are times when professionals such as veterinarians or behaviorists will post a video of this happening to explain what's causing it and why it's a bad thing, but if it's being treated as a joke, you know it's not good. a responsible trainer will never intentionally allow their pokemon to do something that could cause harm for the sake of getting views.

i also think it's always a good idea to learn about the body language of pokemon you interact with, so depending on what pokemon you have in your life, you could potentially become the person who teaches someone how to spot a bad video! and if you're not sure if a video is cute or not, i'd highly recommend taking a few minutes to do some research. look up the account that the video comes from and read up on that pokemon's typical behaviors, and if you know someone who understands that pokemon well, feel free to ask them! advocating for pokemon means you're always learning no matter how much you already know, and that's part of what's so awesome about it.

[letters-of-libertas]

Building confidence as a conventionally unattractive woman part 2 [with context]

In the first part I spoke about why it's important to build confidence as a conventionally unattractive woman & briefly touched on why low confidence can be caused and this post will focus on how to build confidence despite being conventionally unattractive that goes beyond ✨️just glow up✨️

Summary here

Know that this is going to be an uphill battle, saddle up partner - this wont be overnight work and will require consistency.

Speaking of battles, learn to pick the worthy ones - confidence is not about fighting everything & being the big girl. Sometimes the most confident (+ beneficial & safest) thing you can do is leave people in their delusion, their words don't determine you.

Carve a safe loving environment/space for yourself - Tough but most crucial advice here. When you're younger you have less control over your environment but as an adult you have slightly more control over where & who you want to be around. Gravitate to spaces that see you beyond your looks, stay away from negative places/people. Contrary to popular belief, strength & confidence doesn't always come from abusive environments but loving, safe, and secure environments. You're used to a level of standard so you're not going to be willing to accept less. Being in spaces where you're loved, defended, and appreciated can improve your confidence. You wont take shit knowing it doesn't have to be that way. I remember seeing a reddit post on a guy who tries making this attractive woman feel bad bc she wont date him. He brought cookies to an event & didn't give her any to make her feel left out but other people offered her some & she refused. This only made him feel worse. Bullying & toxicity only thrive in environments that allow it so if you're in a place with high amounts of negativity - find another place or build your own. There are always options.

There are always options - Following from the above. Know that there's always alternatives. Other people, other places, other environments, another choice, etc. Dont feel chained to a specific place, easier said than done but keep it in mind you dont have to take crap from places. Give yourself permission to explore.

Work on coming to terms with trauma you've endured due to your looks - Learn to handle your trauma either by therapy or another means because your trauma is going to keep interfering with your life when you least expect it.

Come to terms with being unattractive - If you own it, it can't effectively be weaponised against you. Traits of confident people isn't that they're perfect but they own their shit & know others aren't perfect either.

Learn to do things on your own/upskill - before the community commies come after me like iTs NaTuRe tO fOrM cOmMuNiTy; 1. I address a lot of this in this post but I'll highlight one point which is that whether you like it or not you're not going to have community. You're not going to receive support anyways. Dont waste time on others, focus on yourself. You only have yourself so give yourself what you can.

Be comfortable being the villain - Dont aim to be liked or disliked, have a purpose; stand for something and focus on that instead. Other people don't have to understand you anyways. It sucks but people will view your actions in a bad light (opposite to the halo effect) no matter what you do so own your shit instead.

Understand the impacts - The world aint kind to many but it's especially cruel if you're deemed conventionally unattractive. Know the impacts of this (such as more of your actions being perceived negatively) so you can navigate them better.

Be less apologetic - Truth is, when you're physically ugly all of your actions will be seen in a bad light no matter what. Made a mistake? Got a partner? Helped someone good? Did something good? Got an achievement? Got a good job? It will be seen as negative anyways and at some point with this constant negativity some will feel apologetic about their very existence. Instead, don't be apologetic & turn the spotlight back to them. You did xyz, so what? They can shut up & stay seething.

Learn to be witty - Many people are going to try and humble you or start shit with you even as you mind your own business. You'll be more confident when you're able to own your shit & shut others down.

Be adaptable - Being able to wing it & wade through situations will boost your confidence. Most things in life aren't planned, the more you're able to adapt the better you'll get at handling thing which can improve your confidence.

Accept & realise some most things are out of your control - this sucks but can also be an advantage. You can do everything right, have powerful cards and still lose. However you can also do everything wrong and still win. This takes me to the next point.

Learn to detach - Tying yourself too close to things or people leads to dependency which leads to anxiety. Learn to do things without attaching yourself too much. Do things for a higher purpose than the individual or just purely for the hell of it. Get used to doing things (either positive or negative) without attaching yourself to the outcome.

Dont take things personal - 9/10 times people will treat you based on factors you cant control. This isn't to say to not feel a type of way about how people treat you feel but try not to internalise it. Internalising it only knocks your confidence down. It sucks but it is what it is.

Find a source of strength & confidence - This will be your answer to why you SHOULD be confident. Why you should speak up. Why you should put yourself out there if you want. Why you should be okay when you get push back, etc.

Be okay with silence. Pause - You dont have to respond to or acknowledge everything especially if it doesn't serve you.

Study & mirror traits of confident people - Self explanatory, fake it till you make it & doing this will point you in the right direction.

You don't have to always justify yourself - This is important to bear in mind cause when you're conventionally unattractive your actions will always be seen in a bad light. It doesn't matter what good you do it's the opposite of the halo effect. When you dont care to be defensive & justify your actions, people have less ammo against you. Over explaining and trying to make people understand will do more harm than good. If people want to understand you they will, if not they wont & nothing you do will help.

Focus on the now over what was or could be - Mindfulness gets a lot of hate but a degree of it is honestly helpful for some situations.

Turn the spotlight back on others - As mentioned nobody is perfect anyways. If it comes to it, dont justify yourself focus on others instead. Take the focus away from whatever they're trying to highlight on you. I remember when a woman posted on twitter & people came for her size, she obliterated them by insulting their life circumstances over justifying her size. After this happened with a couple selfies she posted, trolls greatly reduced.

Move with purpose - Have focus and deprioritise the rest. When you have no solid concrete purpose you're prone to caring about everything including irrelevant stuff.

Own your shit (even if you're wrong) - People can tell when you're not confident & will take advantage of that in most cases. Also learn how to present a confident fromt until your confidence actually improves.

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Toxicity or Tough Love?

Characters: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: A quick fic of the realities of being with Carmy Berzatto. Nobody is perfect and relationships can be messy even with the best intention.

Warnings: Cursing, drug abuse and toxic environment, fluff

"Why do you do this shit every time." Carmy exclaimed

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him as you stacked dirty dishes from both of you just finishing dinner.

You could feel his glare on you and he leaned up against the kitchen counter both of his hands resting on the edge.

The toxicity that raised in your relationship from time to time wasn't anything new. Everyone knew that both you and Carmy fought too much. Arguments would get heated, and hateful words would get thrown around, but neither of you would walk away.

"Carm, you're over reactin-"

"Don't pull that Carm shit on me" He spat, bringing his hands up to his tossed hair.

"He needed money. What do you want me to do? Not help him?" You reached over grabbing more dish soap as the warm water run.

"Yes. He's a junkie" He snapped.

You froze, you continued to look down at the at the sponge in your hand, feeling your grip of the glass in your hand tighten.

"Don't say that." You gritted

"It's true and you know it" Carmy whipped back.

"He's clean," you said sternly slowly, starting to wash the glass again.

"Bullshit. How long?" You heard him question.

"A month," you said confidently.

You heard a snort from behind you.

And with a blink of an eye, you swung around, flinging the glass at him.

He dodged it.

The pieces of glass traveling across the room made you come to reality on what you did.

"What the actual fuck" Carmy shouted at you looking down at the shards of glass surrounding both of you.

You didn't notice your heavy breathing and saw that the glass wasn't in your hand anymore.

"Get the fuck out" You said as calmly as possible.

He didn't move.

"Get the FUCK out!" You screamed looking at him and throwing the kitchen sponge at him.

He stumbled out, glancing at you pissed off before leaving the kitchen and slamming door behind him.

You stood by the sink, looking out the window, feeling your chest heave with heavy mournful cries coming from your mouth. Your shoulders shook with the sorrow you felt in your body. You couldn't handle not being able to deal with your brother and his addiction.

He was your brother and all you wanted to do was help him get better. Trust him, but you should know by now that's not how it worked.

You felt the tears rolling down your eyes. Finally acknowledging that the money you gave him wasn't for what he said. It wasn't for rent.

Carmy was right.

"Baby" You felt a hand wrap around your waist. Carmy rested his forehead on your shoulder, feeling his presence behind you.

You immediately turned around and cried into his shoulder. You felt his hand stroke your hair. His gent touch calming you.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that" He whispered, he captured your face in his hands and looked at you with his doughy blue eyes.

"Shhh, it's okay" He comforted you bringing you back to his shoulder and nuzzling his head into neck.

"I-I'm sorry for throwing a glass at you" You sniffled pulling away and looking down at the ground covered in broken glass.

You looked back up at him. You felt him lean in, brushing his lips against yours and giving you a light kiss. You brought your hands up, twisting his curls in between your fingers. His hands resting on your lower back, holding you against him.

You both pulled away and hugged each other with his arms resting on your shoulders and yours around his waist.

Both you surrounded by broken glass.

Masterlist of other fics

[ohsoimaginari]

i’ll be here | knj

synopsis: reader has had a very bad and kim namjoon, ever the angel, makes it all better

cw: angst (maybe a mild panic attack and toxic work environment and like one mention of namjoon dieting), fluff, established relationship, squint and it’s an idol au

fem!reader boyfriend!namjoon (tbh it can be gn because there aren’t any mentions of pronouns or anything specific)

words: 1536 (unedited)

an: absolutely not happy with the ending lmao i had no idea how to end this sorry in advance

“So what does this one do?” Namjoon asks as you neatly pat the face mask down onto his skin.

“It’s a rejuvenating face mask.”

He makes a sound of approval. “I can feel its effects already. Feel younger already.”

You giggle. “Oh really? So quickly?”

“Yeah. Can feel it in my heart too. But maybe that’s just you.”

“Stop making me laugh. I want it to sit properly,” you playfully scold between poorly suppressed giggles.

Once you’re finished, you get off his lap and plop on the seat next to him. “How long should it be on for?”

“Fifteen or so.” Your face lolls to the side and unsurprisingly find Namjoon already watching you quietly. He reaches for your hand and pulls it onto his thigh, gently toying with your fingers. Your heart swells at the touch and helps you forget about the day you’ve had.

As soon as you entered the door, you were met with your boyfriend’s concerned face in greeting. You were immediately filled with a wave of relief and frustration, and finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to cry.

Namjoon knew work had been incredibly stressful for you the past few weeks. Your supervisor barely made it easy for you. It seemed as though they were adamant on finding every little fault in every document you’d handed to them.

You’d vented out your frustrations to him at first and he was happy to lend a listening ear but overtime, he noticed you withdrawing and telling him less and less. Whenever he’d ask you about it, you’d always respond that you finally have everything under control and everything was fine now.

Truth is, if anything, you felt it had only gotten worse. The deadlines your supervisor set were getting more and more impossible to meet and oftentimes you were forced to pull all nighters—thankful your loving boyfriend wasn’t home most times to see you do so as it would only increase his worry. That’s something you didn’t want to do.

You already knew he had a lot on his shoulders and felt as if you would be burdening him with your own problems and so you made the decision that you’d handle everything yourself from now on regarding work and find other ways to cope. However, much to your dismay, It was nearly impossible and soon you found yourself at a breaking point.

Namjoon had been texting you throughout the day to check in but you hadn’t responded.

You’d locked yourself in the bathroom, allowing yourself five minutes to cry before going back to work; something you’d been doing for the past week or so.

You’d stared at Namjoon’s recent text, your hand shakily hovering over the keypad but your mind wouldn’t cooperate on what to say in response.

Ultimately you found yourself dialling his number and placed your phone to your ear. “Baby?” The warmth in his tone, albeit worried, generated fresh tears.

“Will you be home today?” you asked. You hated how small your voice came out. You even thought there was no way he could’ve possibly heard you.

“I’ll come home,” he said in soft reassurance which only made you sob in return. You hated bothering him but you couldn’t help that you needed him right now.

Once you hung up, you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves and prepared yourself to get through the long day ahead which was why when he gathered you up in his arms later on upon your arrival, you didn’t protest.

You held on to him as if letting go would cause you to fall apart and fully sobbed into him. Namjoon had moved you both to the sofa with you on top as he allowed you time to let it all out. He softly stroked your arm as he whispered soothing words into your hair. You thought you’d feel embarrassed.

In the two years you’d been dating, you don’t recall a time you’d ever let him see you like this. Sure, you’d had bad days but none that have gotten to you the way today had. You didn’t feel embarrassed. All you felt was momentary relief to finally let it all go in a safe space.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head.

Today had been exceptionally difficult and your supervisor’s words still rang clear in your head. You wanted nothing more than to forget.

Namjoon knew the protocol for when you didn’t want to talk. He lay you down on the sofa, kissing your temple before he disappeared into the bathroom. It wasn’t long after where you heard the running water filling the bath.

You didn’t know when it happened but he’d come back and he’d gathered you in his arms again, you still sniffing and choking back sobs. He helped you undress and also with setting you in the warm water. He’d run you a bath with dried rose petals floating on top and what smelled like clary sage bath oil.

“Join me?” you’d asked him, although it sounded more like a plea. Your lower lip still quivered as you hugged your legs tightly to your chest and looked at him from where he was sitting. He nodded and got undressed himself before sitting behind you and enveloping you in his arms.

You both leaned back as you enjoyed the water, your tension already leaving your body in his arms. You closed your eyes and sighed, melting deeper in his embrace and the bath.

Namjoon would occasionally pour water on your body and place small kisses on your temple, neck and shoulder. You felt like for the first time the whole day—the whole week—that you could breathe again. You couldn’t remember the last time your heart gave such a steady and practiced beat.

Once you both had finished and the water had turned cold, Namjoon got out of the bath and helped you out as well, wrapping you in a towel before leading you to your bedroom.

You’d gotten dressed and felt infinitely lighter than when coming through your door earlier which was how you found yourself on the couch with Namjoon, asking him to join you in your nighttime skincare routine. It had been the first time he’d heard the playful tone in your voice in what felt like forever and so he happily obliged.

He’d gone out of his way to ensure it stayed that way, cracking jokes which made you cackle and bury your head in his neck in embarrassment. Namjoon joined in and both of you were giggling messes by the time you’d finished applying the mask and sat in comfortable silence as you were currently, enjoying each other’s presence.

You knew Namjoon’s mind was racing with questions he wanted to ask you about your day, about why you hid it away from him, about how he could help you solve the problem but you knew he held himself back and would wait for you to approach him.

You lean in and place a tender kiss on his cheek—or at least on the face mask, his dimpled smile in response warming you ever more.

“Thank you.”

“I’m always here. No matter what,” he says earnestly which only tugs more at your heartstrings.

Fearing you’d burst into tears again, this time because of your overwhelming love for this man, you simply nod and resume your position next to him.

“Do we still have ice cream?”

Namjoon thinks. “Just enough for tonight, I think. I’ll grab it and we can eat it while watching a movie or a show. Whichever one you prefer.”

“You don’t have to join me. I know you’re on a diet again.”

Namjoon shrugs. “I’ll just spend more time in the gym. My baby needs me tonight.”

You playfully roll your eyes before grabbing the remote from the table in front. From the mischievous twinkle in your eyes, Namjoon already knew what you’d choose. He groans.

“I heard the new season of Love is Blind was worth watching,” you pout at his resigned posture.

Namjoon sighs as he rescinds himself to the inevitable. “I’ll go get the ice-cream.”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. You get more invested than me!” You call after him as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“No, I get more invested for you,” he jokingly corrects once he returns with the tub and two spoons in his hands.

He sets them down on the table in front. He hands you a spoon while he takes the other. He gathers some on his spoon and is about to dig in when he notices you waiting with your mouth open. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he places his spoon in your mouth with the ice cream intended for him but you see his expression soften as you gleam at him.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I’m glad I have you to make me feel better,” you tease.

He smiles and brings your hand to his lips to kiss it and as you both settle down for a cosy night in, you couldn’t be more grateful for the man who’d always be there for you when you need him most.

once again so sorry for this ending 😭

until next time, stay safe everyone 🩷