#Healthy Living Patterns

[marketxcel]

Unveiling the Impact of Health and Wellness Trends on U.S. Consumer Behavior

In the dynamic world of constant change, the U.S. is currently undergoing a transformative shift in consumer behaviour, propelled by an increasing focus on health and wellness.

[sunnemona]

☆i have lately been feeling pretty anxious with myself about the pace at which i create. it is difficult to feel like i am doing enough when my peers are doing more, difficult to balance my constant need for attention and admiration with how much "content" i can realistically create at any time, difficult not to be upset when my peers who create more often than i do receive more of the attention i crave than i do - it feels like i have missed a train and i am running to catch up with it. i am not burnt out, far from it, but i fear my light is not bright enough to reach others, i fear i am not doing enough to make it bright enough. does that make sense?

☆in case anyone needs to hear this, though i know this is likely a sentiment expressed many times before by people more eloquent than me, it is okay to not create all the time. it is okay to only create when you feel like it, to be unable to create on a schedule or to meet a self imposed deadline, to be unavailable to create because of obstacles like school or work or home management or disability, to be in a mental valley and be too tired or hurt or in pain to create. it is okay. you are not worth any less because of it. the world is not moving on without you, you will not become irrelevant because you have not posted in a week or cannot find it in yourself to draw something every day. creation is meant to bring joy, not stress, this is not a job, you are allowed to work at your own pace. there are no consequences to suffer for it. no matter what there will always be someone out there who will enjoy it, wholeheartedly. no matter how long it takes for you to create something or if you think you've been forgotten. you are allowed to want your creations to be loved by another. and they will be. rest if you need it

[vaguely-concerned]

for various rl and depression reasons I haven't actually gotten to play da:tv for quite a few days now, and I cannot adequately convey to you the sheer hilarity of the effect hearing lucanis' voice again just had on me. I was fully in the deepest trough of a depressive slump, still breathing but by no means what I would describe as 'alive', heard him Say Something (as he does), and immediately something in my soul went 'oh yeah no this changes everything actually I just forgot for a moment there sorry for the inconvenience'. like my depression is not healed or anything (it never is :') ) but it did lift its crushing weight from my entire being by a significant amount and let discernible light in where there had been pitch dark unshifting misery before. this is so funny. no real life human contact or warmth, no high ideals, no wise words encouraging hope, no awe nor curiosity over the infinite complexity and wonder of the universe has managed to do what lucanis dellamorte breezily coming to terms with the grand necropolis by grasping its role in nevarra's financial system just did in an instant, 'what like it's hard' style. no one is more baffled than me to find that it's not even a bit he just does that to me. that literally just happened. mary kirby I unironically kind of owe you my life

[incangencence]

ooc: Woke up with So Many Thoughts on the Fifteenth Doctor… and I am TRULY at war with myself about whether or not I wanna wade into fandom discourse…

I don’t…

But WOW, what a fascinating and beautiful knot the production team has created for themselves…

[floralilyy]

learning that angel numbers were made up by some random woman in like 2004 and that she herself has come out to say they aren’t real and people should be skeptical of supposed supernatural signals or manifestation as a practice has made me feel… I dunno I just relate to that a lot. Being completely delusional and mentally unwell leaves you vulnerable and like a kind of target for some people who will lure you in with promises of a better life if you just follow these really unhealthy behaviors and also pay them money in some cases

[ms-demeanor]

I understand that vaccines are proven to work and are a great advancement in our medicine, and also that homeopathic remedies don't work, but don't they work on the same principal? Why does one work and the other doesnt?

They do not work on the same principle.

I can see how vaccines look like a "like treats like" situation, but in homeopathy "like treats like" is a kind of magical thinking.

Let's take an example from Chicken Pox, a virus for which there is an effective vaccine and for which there is a common homeopathic treatment.

Chicken pox infects people once, and it is extremely rare to get a second case because once you have had it, your body forms persistent antibodies against the varicella-zoster virus. When I was a kid, they didn't have a vaccine for this, so kids mostly got chicken pox once and it ran around whole schools and that was it. It's a virus that is fairly minor in children, though it can cause dangerously high fevers. Adults who get chicken pox typically get much sicker than children who get it, and it can lead to permanent harms like infertility in adults who get it. Because it can be so dangerous, we don't want people to risk getting it, so we vaccinate.

The way the vaccine works is that it takes a weakened form of the virus and introduces that into the body of a person with a healthy immune system. The immune system responds and the person who got the vaccine may get some minor symptoms, like a headache or a slight fever, but it will be nowhere near as severe as getting actual chicken pox would be. Because the immune system was exposed to the virus and responded, it now has antibodies against the virus that recognize the virus and respond immediately before it can start replicating in the body. If a person who has either previously had chicken pox or who has been vaccinated against it is exposed to the chicken pox virus, their body uses those antibodies to react to the virus and protect against a systemic infection.

Are you familiar with Star Trek? It's kind of like the Borg. You can't use the same attack pattern against the Borg multiple times because if you do, they'll recognize the pattern and will be able to defend against it. The virus is the attacker, and your immune system is the Borg. It knows what it's looking for and won't let anything get through its defenses.

Homeopathic remedies don't seek to prevent illness or provoke an immune response, they seek to cancel out something that is happening in the body.

For chicken pox, which produces itchy red bumps, homeopaths use Rhus Tox - a dilution of poison ivy, a plant that causes itchy red bumps if you encounter it in nature. The Rhus Tox didn't cause the chicken pox, it's not given to prevent the virus, it's from a plant that is completely unrelated to the virus that happens to produce some of the same symptoms as the virus when you touch it.

They don't even think that the Rhus Tox will provoke an immune response from your body like actually touching poison ivy would, they're attempting to use an unrelated compound (that is so diluted that it isn't even present in the preparation) in place of your immune system to attack the itchy red bumps.

So I'm going to go over this in a few brief points:

Vaccines are preventative ONLY, they are not a treatment for illness or symptoms of an illness

Vaccines work by introducing your immune system to a partial, weakened, or dead virus so that your immune system can form antibodies against that virus and prevent that virus from replicating in your body when it is later exposed to a whole/strong/live virus.

Different vaccines have different levels of effectiveness and produce different lengths of immunity; this is for a number of reasons, but if you get a measles shot as a kid you may only ever need one booster, while you need a flu shot every year and a tetanus shot every decade. All of them work the same way, though: they show your immune system what a virus looks like so that your immune system can kill the virus.

That is why immune compromised people sometimes can't be vaccinated, or why vaccines don't work as well for them or may need higher doses or more boosters. Because they don't have a healthy immune system, weakened viruses like the ones in the chickenpox virus might be too strong for their immune system to fight, and even if it doesn't get them sick, their bodies may not be able to produce enough effective antibodies to protect them from the virus in the future. That's part of why it's important for as many people to be vaccinated as possible; the more people who are vaccinated, the harder it is for viruses to spread, and vulnerable people like immune compromised people or babies too young for vaccination won't be exposed to deadly viruses.

Homeopathy, on the other hand, aims to treat symptoms of an illness that a person is already experiencing.

Homeopathic treatments do not aim to provoke an immune response, they aim to cancel out a symptom with a cure.

Dilution is a very important part of homeopathy, with homeopaths claiming that the more diluted a preparation is the stronger it is. This is simply incorrect; I don't know how to make a more logical explanation of that, it is just wrong that less of a substance causes more of a response.

Homeopathy says "like treats like" and that may seem like using a vaccine with a weak virus to prevent infection from a strong virus, but their version of "like" is different - Rhus Tox (poison ivy) is supposed to be "like" chicken pox because both cause itching. Rhus tox is also supposed to treat PCOS, erectile dysfunction, uterine prolapse, sunken eyes, nausea, and backache. "Like" can have an extremely broad meaning in homeopathy, which should be cause for suspicion.

Here's a paper that compared the immune response of college students given homeopathic "vaccines" against a control group and against a group of students who were given standard medical vaccines. The control group and the homeopathic group both did not have an immune response in titer tests, while the vaccination group did have an immune response, demonstrating that they had protection from the vaccinated viruses. It's a pretty good demonstration both of how effective homeopathy is (not at all) as well as how to set up a fair and ethical study to look at the effectiveness of different kinds of treatments.

[flwrkid14]

Love and Obsession: The Tim Drake Way

part 2

Everyone in the Batfamily knows Tim Drake has… issues with boundaries. They’ve spent years trying to teach him what’s appropriate and what’s—well—deeply unsettling and completely invasive. To be fair, he’s learned. Mostly. He doesn’t stalk his family anymore (much), and he no longer pulls up files on every single person they talk to (okay, maybe just sometimes). But it’s progress.

But then Tim starts dating Danny Fenton. And, oh boy, a few screws come loose.

It starts small, as always. Just little things. Tim’s a detective, after all—background checks are second nature. Danny’s living in Gotham, and Gotham isn’t safe. So, really, what’s the harm in knowing a little more about Danny’s friends? And his professors? And maybe also his classmates? It’s just standard protocol. Okay?

“Tim, you’ve run a full dossier on my entire biology class?” Danny asks one day, laughing as he flips through a file on the coffee table. Tim shrugs. “What if one of them is dangerous?” “Pretty sure the most dangerous thing in that class is the midterm.”

Danny doesn’t think much of it. He’s a little flattered, even. Tim’s protective. It’s sweet.

But Tim’s mind doesn’t stop there. Danny’s too handsome. Too charming. What if someone tries to hurt him? What if someone tries to take him away? It’s not obsessive—it’s just concern. So, a tracker on Danny’s phone? Necessary. Cameras in his apartment? Standard. Monitoring his sleeping patterns and hangout spots? Logical.

Tim tells himself it’s love. And maybe a little insecurity.

“You have a tracker on his phone?” Dick asks, trying not to sound alarmed. Tim nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Of course. What if something happens to him?” ��And the cameras?” “Safety.” “The background checks on his professors?” “Gotham U isn’t exactly known for its stellar staff, Dick.”

It doesn’t stop there. Tim knows everything. Danny’s eating habits, his favorite places to go when he’s stressed, his childhood allergies. Tim’s mapped out Danny’s entire life. He knows about Danny’s ghost powers too—of course he does. He’s Tim Drake. The moment he realized Danny was Phantom, it just… clicked.

Danny being half-ghost? That’s just one more reason to worry. Tim’s up late at night, watching for any signs of ectoplasmic interference. He tracks the energy spikes. He monitors Danny’s fights.

He doesn’t think Danny knows. He’s terrified of what will happen if he finds out.

But then he does.

One evening, Danny walks into Tim’s apartment and casually drops a folder on the table. Tim’s heart stops.

“What’s this?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow. Tim swallows hard. “I… it’s just…” “You’ve been tracking me?” Danny opens the file, glancing through pages of surveillance reports, background checks, even analysis of his ectoplasmic energy. Tim feels like his world is about to shatter.

“I… I can explain,” Tim says, his voice tight. “I’m just… worried about you. You’re in danger all the time, and I—” Danny walks over, cupping Tim’s face in his hands. Tim braces for the worst.

But Danny just smiles. “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

Tim blinks. “What?” Danny kisses his cheek. “If you’re watching my back, it’s only fair I watch yours. I need to make sure you’re safe too.”

Tim stares at him, speechless. Danny doesn’t look scared. Or angry. He looks… fond. Like Tim’s obsessive tendencies aren’t a problem at all.

“I’ve never had someone care about me this much,” Danny says softly. “I trust you with my life, Tim. This? This just proves how serious you are.”

Tim thinks he’s just fallen deeper in love.

-------------------

The Batfamily? They’re worried.

Jason corners Tim in the cave. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve got cameras in his apartment. You’ve mapped out his entire life. You’ve got a tracker on him and a heartbeat monitor. And he’s… fine with it?” Tim nods, a dreamy smile on his face. “Yeah. He even wants to put a tracker on me.” “That’s not… healthy, Tim,” Dick says carefully. “That’s—” “It’s mutual,” Tim interrupts. “We’re protecting each other.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tim, this isn’t how relationships are supposed to work.” Tim shrugs. “It’s how ours works.”

Damian watches the whole thing with narrowed eyes. “This is deeply unsettling,” he mutters.

They try to talk to Danny. Intervention style. They invite him over, sit him down, and gently (or not so gently) try to explain that Tim’s behavior isn’t normal.

Danny just laughs. “You guys do know I’m half-ghost, right?” “That doesn’t mean—” Dick starts. “I spent my entire life being hunted by ghost hunters. I’ve had worse invasions of privacy.” Danny smiles. “Tim cares. He keeps me safe. That’s all I need.”

The bats don't quite know what to say.

-------------------

Tim and Danny, two slightly unhinged souls who think mutual surveillance is the ultimate act of love.

The bats? They’re just trying to keep up.

(“At least they’re happy?” Barbara offers weakly. Bruce sighs. “For now.”)

Gotham’s version of love was never going to be normal. But this? This is a whole new level.

[thatfoodyncraftygirl]

Mindful Sleep matters...

I was often ignorant of my sleeping pattern and my sleeping habits. I usually try to travel overnight just to save my daytime. Recently, I had to travel by train for 4 consecutive days mostly overnight, so of course I would have been sleep-deprived. On the 5th day, my body gave up. My back was hurting terribly with hyperacidity and nausea. I did not eat anything but rather slept for 10 hours…

[aly4khq]

A DRAGON'S LAIR! ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*

— sum: You were exploring Tarus city as a self mission, trying to find the dragon who was told to have lived in the city for many years to come. You thought that you would encounter barely anything, but you were ever so wrong.

— characters: dragon!sylus

— warnings: pining, he tops ur clothes, double penetrartion (he had too dicks), improper use of his tail, manhandling, biting, fuckin from behind. (if i have missed any, please inform me!)

— wc: 1,746

You've never been one to lerk into unknown territory or to find refuge in a random city that you learnt about in a history book — it's never been in your nature at all. But once you saw the posters, you knew that it was a place of worship and surprise.

Tarus city, a city where it's been claimed to have a dragon that laid in the depths of a special cave. The cave was highly risky for any normal human being, I mean, the image that laid on the posters was frightening enough to keep away tourists. The unusually greyish-red that scattered around the cave's entrance, moving around like a line circling a branch, a black thick coating around it which looked like claws when compared to each other, the singular hand on the top leading to the cave like it was inviting you.

You loved mythical creatures so this was a field day for you, you needed to go.

There was also a garden which yearly grew beautiful flowers there, crimson in colour and rose in shape. They scattered everywhere, and they seemed to have been planted by a very skilled gardener — if there even was one back in the early years of life. Oh how you'd love to distress by rolling in there after a long day, what a dream.

But you weren't just there for the cool looking dragon, you were there for the sword. Like that playground sword that you had to remove from the ground, and whoever could move it was the 'chosen one', there was one that laid outside the cave, imbedded in the beautiful scenery of flowers and healthy grass with its delicate pattern leaving you with mysteries.

"Where did it come from?" "What does it symbolise?" "How did it get there out of all places?"

Who owned it?

Well, let's just say that you weren't too scared to find out. You needed answers and if you had to dig into a random mythical cave then you will. Despite the lack of information, you searched up any little tips to help you navigate inside of a cave.

You needed to be prepared, and properly prepared.

After a while of constant climbing and exploring the beautiful long yards of greenery, you stood face to face with the cave that was feared the most back in Linkon City, aka the Dragon's Lair. In the papers, it looked like absolute horror capturing in a frame but in person, it was gorgeous.

The cave was expanded and opened for anyone to come into, and you'd did just that. Entering the cave, you turned on the flashlight you brought, seeing insta treasures of many different kinds of art scattered around the walls of the cave. "Wow...this is cool..." you softly murmured to yourself, still engrossed in the scenery—

...what the hell was that?

A deep and raged growl sped through the walls of the cave like air, filling your eyes with an intense sound. Hissing, the growl's sound waves led you to an expanded room, where a big bed-like item was in the front, surrounding by more jewels of ancient treasures. You found yourself searching around, looking for what this place could've belonged to.

And after 5 minutes, you dug in, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Searching the amazing rich items on the floor, your bag got heavier and heavier with time. Each jewel that caught your eye went in. Some of them even had ancient symbols on them, now that's a lot of money.

But, a singular gem caught your eye. It was a necklace that had a black substance scattered all over it, laying on the bed that was in the middle of the room. "Oh?" your hand went out, curious, "This is peculiar."

The necklace was a beautiful golden chain, wrapping with ancient knots and twists so it was bonded together perfectly. On both sides of the pendants scattered around the necklace, there were small, very intricate patterns dented into the metal. It had a pocture of a dragon on the front, and it...was weirdly shaped. Like the top half was crossed out, but forget that, you just found a good millions of money in your hands.

"Well, that's been a nice journey here cave, thanks for the new finds and...yeah. I'll be going."

You turned for the entrance where you came from, and it was blocked off by a large bolder. "Huh..? Why...who?"

You turned around to find a way to get out when a tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to your knees in a rapid manner. You scrapped your knee on the harsh carpet. "Ah! Hah...ow.." You tired to arise from your forced position when you heard a deep voice.

"Were you never taught of etiquette? Or was it just you who missed out?"

He boomed over you, a...handsome man. He was silver hair, crimson eyes and weird black claws and a tail. His clothes bleeding in with his skin.

This isn't the dragon. I mean, it's a literally human being?

"Etiquette? Who are you?" You replied back harshly, not thinking before you spoke. Remembering quickly, it was too late, his tail went around your body before whipping the skin behind you thighs. You yelped, cursing the man-dragon above you.

"You!—" "Me what?"

He arose from his throne, walkijg menacingly to grab your waist before pulling you up to your feet. He turned you around, your back against his toned chest. His hand went over your chin and upper neck, pushing your head back to his shoulder with a smirk.

"Maybe I should teach you," he bite your collarbone before growling, "how to respect a dragon's cave."

"Gahh—Ugggg, you're so deep!—"

"Focus."

That same dragon had you bent over the same drawer you had stolen from, your clothes ripped from his sharp claws just where you soaked pussy was.Your back arched like never before and his hand still around your chin, his teeth biting and sucking on your collarbone with delight. His hips were slow but deep, reaching your cervix with long strokes, his dick sending you into a wave of pleasure.

"What's the answer?"

He'd made you write down the rules of entering his cave again, the pencil shaking vigorously in your trembling hands. The paper soaking up your falling tears as you begged and pleaded with the man above you. "Hahh— Sylus— please...! Please! I might just—"

His tail traveled down your clit, gently caressing it with the peek of the tail. "Write it down, or I'll do even worse." He threatened, and you obeyed, grabbing the pencil and harshly writing down, "I will be respectfu—"

"Ah!!" His hip gave you a sharp thrust, a warning to behave and write properly. His hand groping your wee cheeks to the point that you could feel his claws digging into your flesh. "You have one more chance." With every word, he thrusted harder until you shrieked, your body bending more forward to escape his powerful hips, you pussy squeezes into the life out of him.

Your hands went back, trying to push his pelvis away from you. "Hm?" He hummed, his eyebrow rising before you hear a chuckle, "Want me to slow down sweetie?" His voice was playful, yet you nodded quickly anyway.

"Too bad." 



He sped up, his hips snapping so fast with your to the point where it echoed in the room. Your hands banged on the drawer, lookijg for a way to soothe to intense pleasure that you were being given. You couldn't even speak, your face fucked out and your body slowly weakening.

"S-Sy...luss...I can't...! Please..." You begged, trying to find a better way to convince him to give you a break. His dick the was so deep that you thought that it was two dicks at once. It felt so huge, and more struggle.

The stretch was too much, you yelled, "Sylus! Why is it—" You gasped loudly, relent that he had two massive ducks in you at the moment, both of them lodged deep in your pussy. In that moment, you nearly passed out. "Ahh ah hah...hahh!!" You cried out, tensing, "Pleaseee..."

"You're fine, just one more." Sylus cheered on, his tail moving up to caress your back, travelling down the straight line. His tail met your ass, gently put slowly digging it into your other hole, "No! No no, please, i can't, please," Your whole body was shaking, your sweat coating your skin.

"Mhm, fine, for now." Sylus replied in a teasing tone before continuing to roll his hips into yours, and by that tight squeeze he knew that you were close. You stood a little, crying, "I can feel it!— I need to pee—Why does it feel like I need to pee?!—"

He reassured you, speaking in your ear, "It's normal, you're fine, just relax." You wasn't breathing at all. He grabbed your chin again before ordering you, "Cum."

Your orgasm hit you, your lungs not being able to take in oxygen due to the sheer force of your release. The intense feeling was still shocking you, your hands braking some of the wood of the drawer due to your grip. Your legs shaking like no ever before you felt his claws tap your chest, "Hey, Breathe."

You took a deep breath in before covering your mouth, instantly being met with fatigue. "I need a rest...I can't feel myself..." Sylus chuckled at your position, his hand goijg around your waist to carry you to his bed. "It's okay, you took both off my dicks, well done."

"I knew you'd come along," Sylus hummed, "so just relax my Queen, I'll take care of you.

this is not proofread! i was too eager to post so sorry hotties!

@ aly4khq, do not plagiarise, translate or copy my work. (30/11/24)

[sh1-n0bu]

i have noticed a small pattern of elves being on my latest fictional character obsessions and HEAR ME OUT!!

elf who has lived for hundreds upon thousands of years, who had experienced many of the things the world has to offer. sadness of bidding hundreds of farewells to the beauty of life and alliance of different races

elf who even after all his years of living still yet to find a love for himself. regal and seemingly detached to the concepts of relationships elves may be, even they get lonely. some nights feeling a little bit too long, a little bit too cold as they add another layer of blanket over themselves or reaching over to hug one of his puffy pillows like how he would hug his future lover. the coldness of being immortal seeping into his bones and making him shiver despite elves being above the concept of getting sick or feeling the cold temperatures

elf who runs into you by some chance meeting. maybe you were walking in the territory of elves without knowing it, maybe he purposely goes to human residences and towns, seeking adventure, excitement and change of pace. who immediately is enamored by you just by your smile that you flash his way, a kind one, a gentle one, to a nearby passenger. who falls in love with the callouses of your hand, the freckles, the small scars, the little bits of imperfection that marked you as clearly human, very much mortal, very much brittle but still with your own strength that he hasn’t felt before

elf bf who starts to court you the moment he realizes that you weren’t seeing anyone, bringing small gifts, exchanging knowledge, singing you soft ancient lullabies that no other mortal has ever heard before. maybe he finds himself writing a poem about you one day, describing your looks, your feelings, your everyday actions that you may see as mundane but ones he sees as just as courageous and beautiful in their own ways

elf bf who has never seen human flesh or bare skin before, finding the rippling biceps and toned legs of yours to be… curious. a tentative finger touching the muscles here and there, stopping you mid work as he inquires about them in a soft tone. elves of course were magical beings, blessed with magic and eternity and had no need to develop visible physical muscles till the point they become buff or beefy to some extent all due to their magic and ancient powers. the tips of his pointy ear twitching softly, eyes wide in wonder as you explain that contrary to his kin, your own develop muscles if they are put to work in physically demanding job for enough time

elf bf who over time, finds himself obsessively scribbling down any sort of new information about human anatomy on a journal, always asking you new things as he finds himself able to learn more despite having been alive for hundreds upon thousands of years. tracing the old faded scars on your body with the tip of his finger, counting the freckles, kissing the stretch marks as they were all you. regardless of how you see it, to him it was all you, together and healthy. you were alive even if you may have battle scars and he always makes sure to thank the stars as it was thanks to the tribulations you have conquered that you two were here now. staring eye to eye, touching your foreheads together as you whisper about mundane things

elf bf who one day sees you cut down a tree, cut a log off or prepare firewood and finds that he was imagining the bulge of your muscles against himself. big arms caging him in a bear hug, legs to support him and strong back that he could sink his nails into as he moans under you— hold. since when has his thoughts of you turned… impure? since when has he become turned on? sitting there on one of the logs with a painful strain against his pants as he swallowed the saliva that gathered in his jaw down, tearing his gaze away. no no, he really shouldn’t think of you as such, you were still in courting phase after all and elves were a race that took their romances and courting extremely important

yet regardless of his kin’s customs and traditions, your pretty elf bf couldn’t help but continue to stare. his gaze constantly seeking your figure out, seeing you just go through the motions of every life peacefully while he gets pathetically turned on by your actions as if he was still but a fledgling who learned of a kiss. chopping down trees for firewood, maybe you would work in front of a fire or heat for too long and get sweaty, removing one of the overtunics. maybe you’re just simply dragging a bucket full of water from the well, cranking the pulley as the muscles on your arms and back strained

elf bf who finds himself extremely aroused as his mind wanders to the gutters as he just shamelessly stares at your working form. oh, to feel those calloused hands touch his colder skin, palms smoothening over his creamy skin, and down his chest, his stomach and over his bulge. maybe you would tease the poor thing, tease him of how quick he is to get aroused, the pre of his half-hard cock weeping through his underwear and pants like he was some sore pathetic loser. a little virgin. bully him about being unable to use his cock, make him whine at your mean words as his hips weakly buckle under your exploratory hands

elf bf who couldn’t help but imagine the usual sweetness of your attitude gone, replaced by one that was just a tad bit meaner as you pushes his face down into the pillows of your bed, force his hands to stretch open his puckering hole for you to fuck senselessly. imagining you whispering all sorts of filth into his twitching ears, promising to breed him full, to use him to your heart’s content all night long as he whines and squeals like a little lamb caught in the nest of a hungry wolf. who couldn’t swallow down the quiet whimper coming from his throat as he imagined your hand grasping at his long locks, fisting it tightly as you yank him back, forcing him to arch his back and push the tip of your cock to bruise his guts even more

elf bf who waves off your worry when you had managed to hear the embarrassing noise that slipped past his lips, saying that he was having a bit of a sore throat. gods, he would love to actually whimper from having a sore throat of getting his mouth plowed all day by your fat cock head forcing his jaws wiiideee open

elf bf who couldn’t help but get a little needy in his kisses since then. hands that touched your muscles with curiosity now running over your skin as if trying to feebly seduce you. dropping things to the ground a bit too many times, following you close behind even as you told him that some of the work you needed to do required space and for him to be away for his own safety. who straddles your lap all snug, pushing his chest flush against your own as your simply daily evening kisses after dinner becomes a bit too heated. he definitely had little to no experience with the way his tongue kept licking at your lips meagerly, long fingers curling over your shoulders tightly while his bucking hips on your lap as he starts to get hard again

elf bf who has finally had enough of just his meager imaginations, tugging on the strings of your white tunic with shaky hands as he rambles about touching you, you touching him, feeling him, using him — anything dammit! use those hands of yours on him!

elf bf who soon realizes that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew when your hands grip at his hips, dragging his clothed cock against your thigh that had him whining like a cat in heat. meagerly, he tries to replicate what you just made him do, dragging his hips back and forth on your thigh but he all but just looks like an inexperienced bunny. which he probably was judging by the things he spoke to you about himself

elf bf who finds so much pleasure in simply grinding against your thigh for now, the precum of his now hard cock weeping through his pants, staining it into a darker color. all cute and red in the face that spread to his pointy ears, cute high pitched whines falling from his chewed up pink lips. a cute, surprised “a-aahn♡︎??” echoing in the room as you pull his eager body against your own. your chest to his back, hands loosely draped over the hip bone of his

elf bf who lets out the most embarrassing high pitched squeals when your hands travel up his body under his clothes, traveling more and more until teasing at his nipples. rolling your fingertips against the soft areola, squeezing and fondling his pecks as if they were breasts. who jolts in place when you pinch at the hardened buds, tugging at them to test the waters as he arches his back off of your chest, a filthy mewl falling as if he was being fucked stupid already

elf bf who blubbers out uncharacteristic words of “s-shensiitiivgh♡︎ n-no, don’t pinch the-eeengk♡︎♡︎!“ his pleads of your rough hands not torturing his sensitive nipples being replaced with an open mouthed wail when you place a kiss to the pointy tip of his ear. his ears were so sensitive! you knew that and now you were just being downright mean to him as you whisper filth into his ears of acting like a cooped up virgin for merely getting his chest played with. he wasn’t! he was way older than you! slurring out “how c-could you be sooh m-meanngk…♡︎?” as you lick a slow stripe up the pointy helix

elf bf who bucks his hips on your thigh, trying to bounce, trying to move away but ending up whining as his clothed cock grazes against your hardened muscles again. his cute nipples being tortured and groped by your hands, the delicate helix of his ears being assaulted by your wet kisses and licks. any time your hot breath spoke into his ears of how he was such a precious little thing, just like a bunny in heat, he would try to wiggle away. shaking his head with a weak sniffle, his mind churning into a mush as all he could do was to pathetically fuck his cock into your thigh, letting out a soft mewl everytime you buck your leg up to meet his shy excuse of thrusts, jumping in place

elf bf whose minds and body starts to feel weird. the room feeling stifling and your touch making his own skin heat up too much. who tries to tell you that he was feeling ‘odd’ and concerned, yet only to harshly thrust his hips back into your own arousal. eyes widening, a shudder running down his spine at the feeling. still clothed and hidden like his own but good grief, it just felt… so huge since he was sure your human dick couldn’t possibly be much bigger than his own. but no, it got him gulping down the saliva in his mouth

elf bf who bounces himself experimentally onto your own hardened, covered dick, feeling his balls brush against where he guesses is the tip of your strap. his earlier cute whines growing in volume as your torture of his sensitive spots grow worse, groping, squeezing, calling him too eager to get fucked, making him dumb and airheaded. the constant tugs to his chest, the words you spat into his mind so lovingly and the small actions of your hips thrusting up to meet his own weaker excuse of grinding

elf bf who’s voice grow more and more breathier, who finally loses it as he throws himself back against your chest, his head on your shoulder as he let out a wail of “h-hoowt!! t-too ahgg♡︎ haah anhg t-too hoounwt...♥︎!” as he cums into his pants, dirtying the material as a single glob or two of his sweet transparent arousal oozes out through the linen. the dark patch growing into a considerable size, his body racked with twitches and jolts as he cums untouched on your lap. precious little thing getting drunk on the feeling of sex and physical pleasure so much till the point he disregards all of his traditions, bending himself over onto the bed, his hand reaching back to tug you forward by the belt with a desperate whine and a cute blown wide pupils and twitching ears♡︎

⇨ meludir, lindir, legolas, maglor, mairon + whoever you like

[urdreamgirlangel]

a soft exit from doom scroll culture 𐙚🧸ྀི

Life wasn’t created to be lived through a screen, it was created to be lived through experiences ₊˚⊹ ᰔ michi

I constantly feel like I’m missing out on life. I’m never physically doing anything but I am always.. always scrolling. And for what? To be entertained. For those weak ass dopamine hits. To distract myself from my thoughts and my mental state. To have an excuse as to why I’m not doing something.

Neglecting yourself? Doomscrolling? Having trouble sleeping? Eyes always tired? Unhappy? Always feeling drained and tired?

Don’t you guys ever feel like you’re missing out? I mean you must since you’re here.

So I decided to try a digital detox.

Not in some extreme, delete-everything-and-vanish kind of way (I actually tried that many times and failed each one). I just wanted to see what would happen if I gave my brain a break. If I stopped reaching for my phone the second I felt bored, uncomfortable, or lonely. If I actually let myself sit with things instead of escaping into a timeline that never ends.

It was weird at first.

My brain kept telling me to “check something,” whether it's Instagram, TikTok, even Pinterest like ?? girl for what?? I realized I’d trained myself to need noise. Constant noise. And without it? I felt unsettled. Quiet. But underneath all that static, there was something else too. A kind of peace I didn’t know I missed. My mind actually started to feel like mine again.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to live a life I’m watching from the sidelines. I don’t want to be so overstimulated I can’t even hear myself think. I want to choose what I consume. What I feel. What I do with my time.

I want to remember that I don’t have to perform every moment. I don’t have to be productive to be worthy. I don’t have to post everything to prove I exist.

Sprinkles ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

I thought to myself I should have rules. I should try setting rules and boundaries because, as I said, social media isn't the problem, but rather how we use and interact with it is.

When you do scroll, do it purposefully (because you’re looking for something specific rather than because you’re just bored and you’re trying to entertain yourself quickly)

Delete and uninstall any apps you no longer use & make note of the ones you use too much - a lot of similar posts I’ve read on this topic always talk about keeping tumblr because it’s not that bad blah blah.. But can you really say you don’t scroll mindlessly on here? People use tumblr as an escape from all those other apps, but at the end of the day, it’s still social media.

Set time limits for screen use

Reduce use bit by bit

be careful with what you consume

Don’t be afraid to be bored. You are going to be bored and lonely.

Silence your notifications

Realize it’s okay to have social media but it shouldn’t be abused

Be in the moment. You don’t need to have a hot girl walk with a podcast playing in your ear. Bitch, be the podcast. Yap to yourself and look fucking crazy because I do. And it’s fun.

Find something to do with your free time, in my post Pretty Girl Content, you will find some hobby suggestions, or even in my Enhance Your Whimsy posts.

Tech-free zones - keeping your phone out of the bathroom, kitchen, bed, dining area

Check-in windows: only check social media during scheduled times

A ‘why I opened this’ list - every time you open an app, ask yourself why and write it down. Write it down. After a few days, review it to see your patterns and learn from them. nd if you wanna share thats ok too!

Dopamine Menu - a list of things that gives you pleasure or satisfaction a healthy way. instead of reaching for your phone when you feel lonely, bored or restless, pick something off the list and then do it.. They start easy with the first course, then require more effort and engagement as the course goes up.

Angel’s Dopamine Menu ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

🧁 Sweet Treats (Low-Effort)

Light a candle and practice breath work

Make a cute warm drink

Do mobility routine

take a shower

say affirmations

style dream closet mentally

cuddle blanket and/or pet

stand in sun for 3-5 mins

change into favourite cozy outfit

🍱 Comfort Courses (Medium Effort)

journal with dreamy prompts or about something i’m curious about

write a letter to my future self

Walk around the block

Bake something cute and simple

read a book

Reorganize space a bit (clear bed, fluff pillows, wipe mirror)

Watch a comfort show, no snacks, no other screens

have a tea party with plushies

🥘 Soul meals (High Effort)

solo adventure

Deep clean space

write letters to past you, present you and future you

go to a concert

choose a topic that fascinates me and go full research mode

start a new cute slice of life anime/kdrama

work on a hobby (start a scrapbook, upcycling an outfit, etc.)

write or continue writing a post

sign up for a workshop/class that excites you

learn a new skill (writing, language etc)

host a themed night for yourself (cottage core evening, 2000s movie night)

Plan my dream life

But now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have a question for you

What do you want from these apps? ೀ

𖹭.ᐟ Is it validation?

𖹭.ᐟ To feel seen without having to do much?

𖹭.ᐟ A distraction?

𖹭.ᐟ Community and connection?

𖹭.ᐟ Inspiration?

𖹭.ᐟ Entertainment?

𖹭.ᐟ Self-expression?

𖹭.ᐟ FOMO?

Are you actually getting it? Or are you just stuck in the loop, hoping the next scroll will finally give you what the last hundred didn’t?

People say cons of not having social media is not knowing what’s going on “in the outside world” but.. to me that’s a pro because I get to focus on myself and my mind and loa. So nothing else really matters to me since I’m focused on building the life for me starting with myself. Which I really need right now given my mental state. When i deleted tiktok, I feel good about not downloading it. Whenever I need it, I redownload it. Hair content. That’s about it. Then I delete. I dread even redownloading it because I’m kind of impatient. But I also do the same for tumblr. If I need a little pick me up, a sweet post and I know I have no one around give it to me and I really need to hear it from someone else, I redownload. I use it on my pc mainly now and I don’t find scrolling on my pc interesting enough to do it all the time.

So let’s get to the more philosophical, harsher side.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Modern life encourages consumption, rather than understanding and contemplation - challenge yourself, learn about something that honestly doesn’t seem that big of a deal, like learning random facts about random things. Remember libraries and book shops exist.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ One thing about social media it will give you unsolicited advice and opinions, it will try to make you feel like you have to listen and believe what is being shown to you. It could cause you to stray from your own beliefs if you aren’t strong in them. People’s opinions being thrown at you left and right when you aren’t even comfortable and strong in yourself is… jarring. “You shouldn’t do this bc..” but what if I want to? And why are people mad that I want to? Or don’t want to? Realizing I don’t wanna hear anyone’s opinions before I was grounded in mine was a big reason for my detox and regulation.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ You pick up a lot of stuff you consume online unconsciously. For instance, I watched a lot of American and Canadian tv growing up.. now I react to certain situations in certain ways (just like a lot of the characters I saw on TV) and I literally didn't notice until like a few days ago. That's the result of repeatedly consuming the same kind of content. So guess what- the thing people call ‘brain rot’… is actually rotting your brain. Surprise, surprise.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Social media constantly exposes you to other people’s timelines, and it quietly convinces you that you’re behind in life. But most people are only sharing fragments- the polished, curated parts. And when we forget that, it’s easy to start holding ourselves to unrealistic standards or feeling like we’re not doing enough. You are not late. You are not less. You are unfolding, slowly and softly, in your own time. And there’s something quietly magical about that.

₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ And on that note… influencers really do be scamming sometimes. Like, a lot of it is just the same old stuff, just prettier now. They take outdated ideas and wrap them in pink ribbons and call it healing or empowerment. Suddenly, being “feminine” means looking a certain way, acting soft and quiet, never taking up too much space, and spending money just to seem effortlessly perfect. But don't get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with liking pink, or soft things, or wanting to feel pretty. But when femininity becomes a performance—when it’s reduced to a list of aesthetics you have to buy into to be “the ideal woman,” that’s not empowerment. That’s marketing. They just dressed it up and made you feel like you chose it. But it’s still about control. About shrinking yourself into something small, sweet, and palatable. It’s not just influencers because some of them genuinely believe in this and don’t realize what they’re doing. In the end it just leads back to men trying to be in control... Ew. You might not even realize how much of what you like or think you like is just what society has convinced you need to like to be worthy of love or attention. This is not to say you can’t enjoy this stuff because I most definitely still do. But do so mindfully. This is also not to say that life can’t be aesthetic and pretty because it can and anybody that says not is just.. boring I guess. Just be mindful.

So I’m detoxing. To control the identity I’m building for myself and making sure it’s something I like, something I’m doing for me rather than for the algorithm. This is not to say that social media- or rather, how we use it- is to blame for everything. Because it’s not. People around you can genuinely suck. You have to pull away from that. The point is, if it’s not benefiting you, it’s depriving you.

Log out. Go outside. Touch the real world. You deserve to feel real again. -`♡´-🧁

follow @urdreamgirlangel 444 more

inspired by:

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ michi goodbye TikTok, hello living

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ xiao's you don't have to be that girl

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ denee you'd be hotter if you logged out

[siriusleee]

beating, twice

↳ 3.8k words

↳ simon has a new heart

↳ author's note: this has been sitting in my google docs since december of last year. so i'm posting it now because i've become stuck and can't figure anything else out with it

The mountains had never appealed to Simon; he preferred the asphalt jungle of London; the glittering beetle eye concrete of New York City. Easier to disappear into, the pulsating feel of the crowds giving him a sense of anonymity. But at discharge, the doctor's told him to take it easy - to enjoy retirement. 

"You're not exactly a young man anymore Mr. Riley," the military doctor said, a silver wedding ring glittering on the back of her clipboard. "You're being medically discharged - you need a plan to keep yourself healthy."

A new identity. A retirement account. A generous do-over to a life filled with one time only regrets. His heart had been grafted over with a piece from a soldier who died in the same blast that nearly killed Simon. He'd told the doctor when he woke up that he could feel it squeezing his heart, but the doctor told Simon that it was just psychosomatic - he knew there was a new piece to his heart and so he felt it. 

It took a year of rehab before they finally got tired of him, and another six of bureaucratic hell before the paperwork was finally processed. 

The relocation specialists asked him where he wanted to live - Simon didn't know what to say. He'd been all over the world, and yet the name of a singular town couldn't crawl towards his lips. 

"You can just point at the map," the specialists had said, fingers twirling a pen. "Some guys do that." So that's what he did - the clock ticking in his ears growing louder and louder as he stood, stupidly, staring at the map on the wall. He tried to count the seconds. How many had passed? Two minutes? Three? His eyes scanned the map, looking for places that he hadn't been to before, places that didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

And then he spotted it - a little dot on the map nestled in the Black Hills. No where he'd even been before, or nowhere he had a memory of. But that graft on his heart squeezed when he saw the name, and before he could think, he was tapping the map with his fingernail. 

"Alright - I'll have you a place in a week."

The compulsion to walk starts the moment the last box is moved in; the pile of boxes pathetically small in the little house the military bought for him. Or maybe it was once a safe house - Simon didn't know and he didn't care. The walls are faded and the porch sagging, but it's a fresh coat of paint on the water stains that have plagued him. Simon can sense the neighbors peering out at him from behind their curtains; they twitch back into place when Simon steps out onto the porch, the wood moaning beneath the weight of his boots. The sky threatens to spit snow onto him; the first snowfall of the year comin' soon the movers had quipped to him. Simon hadn't replied, just grunted as he passed over the two hundred dollars he owed for moving everything in.

The air bites at his exposed face. When was the last time he was exposed like this? When was the last time he was allowed to show his face like this? Something like self-consciousness presses against him, making it hard to breathe until he tugs his hood over his head and he can breathe again.

The grass crunches beneath his feet, curled brown to protect itself from the oncoming storm. He doesn't look at where he's going, just lets his feet take him where they want to go as the sun slips beneath the treetops. The town falls to sleep around him as his boots carve patterns into the concrete. 

The music stops him short. It's entirely out of place on the starlit street - the notes tripping over one another to spill out onto the asphalt with a gentleness that rolls through the darkness. It makes him sick to his stomach with something he can't place, some feeling on the edge of his tongue that he hasn't felt since Johnny's funeral, since he heard gunshots and saw the way Price's hand shook as he shook the hand of Johnny's mother. The absence of something he refuses to name. He's sure he's never heard it before, but it pulls him back to sand beneath his boots and to the hum of Blackhawks above him.

The street is devoid of life; light spills out of the windows and onto the streets, little jewels that hang onto the rough and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The music is faint- a radio turned down so a conversation can be heard. The entire street is frozen with him, the little flurries that were attempting to collect on the street cracks hang heavy in the air, breathing with him. 

Simon doesn't know how long he stands there, hands in the pocket of his jacket and letting the music wash over him. But it stops eventually, and the entire street lets go of the breath it's been holding; the flurries start to fall again, faster to make up for their pause with Simon. 

It suddenly occurs to him that he must look like a fucking freak, standing there on the sidewalk, David beneath Michelangelo's hands. It takes every bit of strength in his body to keep his boots moving, moving away from the last notes that linger and swirl around him.

He walks all night, finally falling into the bed with no sheets when the sun starts to peak back out.

He gets a job as a mechanic. His references - names all made up and cell phone numbers that lead forgotten CIA workers whose only job is to answer and read a script- give him the best recommendations, and the old man running the garage doesn't really need Simon to know how to do anything other than change spark plugs and change the oil. The man looks Simon up and down, and Simon catches the POW-MIA embroidered on the man's hat, and that's that. There's something that passes between the two of them that neither of them speak about, but they recognize it in each other's eyes. He starts the next Monday. 

He doesn't need the money. Between all the years of hazard pay that wasn't eaten away at by daycare fees or wedding bands, he has a small fortune to practice spending, but he needs the distraction from the walls that should be holding up his military honors, but instead hold blank emptiness. He hasn't been able to unpack anything. He just digs through each box when he needs something, slicing his hands against the knives and sharpened memories. 

He walks his path ad nauseum. Each night there's a new symphony that washes over the little town. He tried, more than once, to not be a fucking creep and stand in the middle of the street listening for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. But even across town he could still hear the music creeping its way through the buildings and beneath the cars. 

It stalked him beneath the street lamps until he was pulled back towards the street, trying to figure out which house the sound was coming from. 

The snow is thick on the ground, being pounded flat each night by his boots by the time he discovers which house it's coming from. The curtains are pulled back, light spilling further out onto the street than usual. The window is pushed open and the music doesn't pour out, but rushes over itself angrily. He finds himself drifting towards the open window - the music is a siren song to him. He knows it. He knows.

He knows this song. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just knows that it pulls on his grafted heart in a way that's painful.

She plays with the kind of look a person has after years of practice. Simon recognizes it as the same one he has when he cleans his gun - the look you have when you don't need to fully pay attention to what you're doing because your body knows it by memory. The song ends abruptly - the last note wrong. It stops Simon in his tracks - 15 yards from her window. He suddenly panics, thinking she's going to look at and see him standing there. She must have stopped playing because she finally caught the stalker who's been standing on her street each night. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stands, and reaches across to slam the window shut. The house shutters from her anger, and she pulls the curtains closed. A moment later the sliver of light that was left is extinguished and Simon knows then, he needs to move. 

He's getting too comfortable. He spends too many nights outside her house listening to her play - too many nights getting closer to the window until he's found that he can stand right on the sidewalk and see her through her curtain when it's closed. 

He learns the pattern of each song by heart until one night when he passes by and the street is silent. There's no light in her windows - he immediately thinks the worst. The gun at his waist feels a thousand pounds; he reaches back to grab it as he walks up her steps.

The front door is cracked open, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Each room is empty - nothing seemingly misplaced. When he clears the final room, his shoulders sag, his gun finds its place back in its holster. He suddenly feels like creep being alone in her house.

Her.

He doesn't even know her name, and he's standing in her living room. A decrepit calico cat meows angrily when he walks by the couch, and then bounds out from its hiding spot beneath the couch to rub against his leg - completely unafraid of Simon. 

The place is empty - almost depressingly so. It mirrors his own house, no relics of family or friends. The only thing that looks used regularly is the piano. He runs his hands across the top, and it spooks him. 

He leaves, making sure the cat is left sleeping on the couch and the front door is shut tight. 

He finally figures out her name when he sees her standing in her driveway, kicking the shit out of the passenger side of her car. 

Hands tucked tightly in his pocket, he stops a respectable distance away before speaking. 

"Car trouble?"

She jumps, swinging around to face him. Her face is closed, guarded from him as she takes in his face and he wishes he had his mask back - wishes it wasn't strange to wear a mask out in the civilian word, wishes -

"Yeah it won't start; the piece of shit."

Simon keeps his spot on the sidewalk as he speaks, worried that if he moves towards her, she'll move away. 

"I work at the shop in town if you want me to give it a look."

She's shrewd; she looks at him like she's waiting on him to say something else, and he knows she's used to men hitting on her. But he can also tell she's desperate, and he can see the argument inside herself as she debates letting him look at her car. 

"I'd like that."

Her starter is completely fried, and he tells her that. She kicks the tire, but this time all the fight is removed from it, and it's a pathetic kick. 

"Thank you for telling me," she says as if the words are bitter on her tongue. 

"I can fix it for you this weekend if you want."

"I can't afford it. And I'm not sleeping with you to pay for it."

Simon snorts in spite of himself. 

"I'll get a recycled part - don't worry about it."

The argument inside herself is written all over her face, and even when she reaches out to shake his grease stained hand and tells him her name, the fight is still written across the wrinkles in her face. 

It's still there when she hands her phone to him, tells him to put his number in and to text her when he's on his way back over. 

"I can't afford this, you know."

Simon can barely hear her as she speaks over the engine, her words crawling between the houses and housing of the innards of her car to reach straight up to him. 

"You can pay me later."

"I just told you I can't afford this."

Simon's mind lingers on the emptiness of her house that he'd seen the week before - he knew better than he wanted to how little she had at the moment. But he can't let her know that, can't let her know that he's traced the inside of her house while she was gone.

When he's satisfied with the noise of the engine, he slams the hood shut. She's leaning against the driver door, her breath fogging around her - it crosses Simon's mind that he could corner her right here, tell her what repayment he wants. but he's not a fucking freak.

He's not. 

So instead he wipes the grease and dirt from his hands onto his jeans where it mixes with the grease and dirt from work and mirrors her lean. 

"Cook me dinner?"

The hint of a smile starts to creep on her face, but she bites it back. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of her sweater before she answers. 

"You want me to cook dinner for you? How do you know I can cook?"

"I'll take my chances."

She chews on her chapped lips before sighing, boots kicking at her tire. 

"Come by tonight, alright."

He doesn't own anything fucking nice. He's pushed all his clothes around - in the back corner his dress blues hang sadly, and everything else has a grease stain on it. 

"This is ridiculous," he growls to himself, annoyed with everything all of a sudden. He reaches into his back pocket to his phone. He's just going to fucking cancel. This is fucking stupid. This is-

She's sent a picture. He doesn't know what he's going to see when he unlocks his phone, but a little piece of him has some hopes. It's a chicken in the oven, surrounded by oranges like something out of a magazine his mother would have flipped through in the grocery line. 

Hope this is enough to repay you :)

"Fuck," he says to his pants that hang limply, and they say nothing back to him. 

He chooses the jeans with the least amount of stains. 

She's wearing a skirt with a slit dangerously high when she opens the door. 

You shouldn't wear that around the wrong men, he wants to tell her, but he is the wrong man, and he knows that, but she doesn't. He doesn't want to be the first person to tell her that about him.

His repaired heart knows the curves of her - somehow he knows that if he were to run his hand up the part of her thigh the slit is showing, there's going to be a scar there, he knows - 

"Are you alright?"

"'Course. The smell stopped me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Terrible."

She wears a hint of a smile as she steps to the side to let him in; he catches a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and tobacco and whiskey, and he's got the sudden urge to lick the base of her neck. He holds himself back, hands held behind his back as he follows her through the living room, past the piano, and into the kitchen. 

The scruffy cat comes out of the shadows to intertwine around his ankles like they're old friends. A pot boils on the stove and the chicken is on the side, steam pouring off the golden skin. 

It scares Simon how at ease he feels in her kitchen, how the kitchen table's chair is so comfortable to him. She's tense - he can read it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way she taps her nails against the counter. 

Simon's heart beats too fast watching her flash around the kitchen and nearly jumps out of him when she places a plate in front of him. 

It feels familiar in a way that terrifies him. 

He's like a stray dog - she fed him once, and he keeps coming back. She only complains once. 

"I'm a teacher, you know. I don't make enough money to keep feeding a big man like you."

Simon buys her groceries after that, his own refrigerator growing empty as he spends more dinners at her house. He knows they both feel it - they both feel how fucking weird it is that they can orbit each other so easily despite knowing nothing about each other. 

He reads in the evenings. She doesn't have much, but she has more books than one person should, and she plays the piano and he pretends not to know the pieces. He pretends that he hasn't stood outside her house night after night committing each song to memory.

If she finds it suspicious that he hums along too fast, picks up the melody too fast, she doesn't mention it. 

"I was married once," she says, like it's a dirty secret. She taps her fingers against the glass of her beer, a sharp staccato that increases in speed like it's her heart. 

Simon doesn't say anything, just takes a drink of his own beer to quell the storm that's conjured in his chest. Married once? He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but it can't be this, can't be this anger that suddenly starts beating against the architecture of himself, the anger that unhooks something in his blood. 

"It wasn't very long," she continues, the rhythm of her ring getting faster, "We only were married for a year before we divorced."

Simon's beer hits the countertop with a little too much force.

"Why'd you divorce?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so eager, so fucking needy, but if she hears the edge to his voice she doesn't say. He needs to know what led to the destruction of her first marriage, so he doesn't make the same mistake with her. 

"We were kids, you know. We shouldn't have gotten married to begin with, but neither of us had anyone else. And there was no one there to tell us it was a bad idea."

"Where's he at now?"

"He's dead."

Her ring stops tapping.

"He died in a bomb blast almost two years ago. He was in the army, and he was deployed. There was nothing left of him for them to ship back to me. I didn't even know that he listed me as his family."

Simon's mouth is suddenly dry, and he feels like he's going to choke. She's still not looking at him, her eyes are still trained on the red neon sign behind the bar, so she misses the way he presses his hands into the bar to keep them from shaking. 

"I just thought I should tell you," she says, half turning in her chair to finally look at him.

The ground beneath him has shifted, he's off tilt and he doesn't know what to say. I might have his heart in my fucking chest and that's why I feel this way about you. 

"Can you take me home, please?"

There's a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to take that request. He swishes them around in his mouth with the last of his beer.

"'Course, love."

The two beers are nothing to him, but she's a different story. She stumbles on the ice in the parking lot, and steadies herself on his elbow. She doesn't let go until he opens the passenger door of his truck for her and he helps her climb in. Her foot bounces as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a three minute drive back to her place, four for him to put the truck into park. 

He expects her to unbuckle, to climb out. But her hands don't inch towards the buckle. She seems to steel herself for what she's going to say next, and he's waiting on her to tell him that she noticed how weird he's been - she doesn't want him to come back. 

"Do you want to fuck?" She asks suddenly, and the abruptness of it takes Simon off guard. 

"What?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

Simon's hands grip the steering wheel so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter beneath his grip. He waits just a moment too long, and she scoffs, unbuckles the seatbelt and has her hand in the door handle before he can react. 

He reaches across to grab the handle from her, keeping her from opening the door. She won't look him in the eye, instead pushing roughly on the door to try and shake it loose from his grip. 

"I didn't say no." The gentleness in his voice shocks him, but it's not enough to get her to look at him. 

"You didn't say yes either."

She breaks the door from his grip and slides out, her skirt hiking up high enough that he catches the edge of her curves.

His stolen heart beats, trying to escape his chest as she disappears inside - to get the fuck out from behind the steering wheel, to knock on her door and explain that his timing is bad, he doesn't know what to say and when he's supposed to say it. He tells himself he's going to leave when the light from her bedroom turns off - he just wants to make sure that she's safely asleep before he leaves. 

But the light doesn't go out.

His watch creeps past midnight before the front door opens again. The nightgown she has on makes his hands sweat - it peeks out below the heavy jacket she's thrown on top. She veers towards the passenger door and when she climbs in, Simon's hands start to shake at the amount of thigh that flashes him.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safely asleep."

"You saw me walk into my house."

"You never know."

And she doesn't ever know. She doesn't know what kind of horrors could be around each door. Simon wants to explain that to her - explain what he's seen to her, but he doesn't know how to do that. He doesn't even know how to broach the subject of the million things that he should be telling her. 

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?" She asks in a small voice that Simon hates, and he hates himself for being the reason she sounds like that. 

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to just fuck you."

Her knee bounces nervously.

"Alright. We can do the other stuff."

He almost tells her, more than once, about the heart that beats in his chest. Once, when he had her folded over the piano, and again, when she tangled their legs together in her bed and the ancient cat was purring on his chest. 

He's too cowardly.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

"Malnutrition is dangerous! Smoking is bad for you! Brushing your teeth is necessary!!!" Yeah guys, we know. We're not actually living in an alternate universe where addiction is healthy and starvation is safe. It's just that it takes more than knowing that to get out of these patterns

[lqveharrington]

For Better or Worse | C.S.

summary: Coriolanus was never the same after he came back from District 12. All he saw was power and fame.

pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady!reader

includes: BABY SNOWWW aka Elizabeth Snow, manipulation, fluff, comfort, angst, death, guns, blood, trauma, coryo is kinda misogynistic, lying, Lucy Gray makes an appearance, (tell me if I forgot anything!)

a/n: love me some coryo fics :)

You’ve known Coriolanus Snow for as long as you’ve lived. You were there when he was at rock bottom and—somehow—you were by his side when he rose to power and fame. His sudden rise to politician to president wasn't at all shocking to anyone in the Capitol. Especially when he "rightfully" won the Hunger Games.

The second he was inducted as the President of Panem, you became his First Lady. It was expected of you by your past peers and inner circles. You dated him in while attending Academy and there were records of you and Coriolanus sending and receiving letters from one another while he was stationed in District 12.

But when Coriolanus came back from the Districts, he was different. You weren't exactly sure if he changed for the better, but it definitely came with its own challenges. His ideals and principles switched like a magnet. Those ideas that used to uphold his promises and quiet words to you were now vowed to the entire country. Your opinions no longer mattered to him—just the image of a loving wife doting on his every move.

Eventually, you changed.

Half your heart belonged to the boy Coriolanus once was while the other half belonged solely to you daughter—Elizabeth Snow. The second you learned you were pregnant, you practically begged the universe to bless you with a healthy child. Luckily, she came out absolutely perfect. She was an absolute rose.

Coriolanus loved his daughter more than anything Panem could offer, but his idea of being the best reined over his love. He was constantly away at business meetings rather than tending to his daughter—sending you or nurses to tend to Elizabeth rather than face the music himself.

He wanted—no, needed—a perfect family. He made sure to adorn the both of you in the best materials whenever presented to the public, even if you made quiet complaints about it being too much for you daughter. He made sure his daughter would be as smart as you, never him. No one should be as smart as Coriolanus Snow. Besides, you were tied with him for Valedictorian long ago.

If all his demands were pushing his family to their limits, so be it. Coriolanus demanded perfection—no matter what.

Despite all of his requirements to be absolutely perfect, you and Elizabeth found time to just relax with no expectations. Just you and her away from press and public images your husband set up for the both of you.

“Liza, what are you doing?”

You and Elizabeth were in the backyard of the Presidential Manor, although it was like a mini sanctuary if you were to describe it. There was a gorgeous pond in the middle with an entire forest encapsulating the entire backyard. There were rows and rows of flowers—mainly roses—and a greenhouse designated for fruits and vegetables you and Elizabeth would pick from time to time. It was your heaven away from the mess Coriolanus made, but you would never admit that willingly.

“Watching the swans, mama. They’re making funny patterns.” Elizabeth pointed out before beaming brightly when she saw you shut your art journal and approach where she stood, her platinum blonde curls bouncing with her every move.

“And why is that?” You hummed and dusted your charcoaled hands off, careful not to touch her precious clothing or stain her beautiful face with any idiotic movements.

“Well, it means a lot of different things.” She tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut, doing her best to remember everything she's read about swans. “The most common reasons are for establishing territories or displaying affection.”

You hum and look out toward the two swans, “What do you suppose those two are doing?”

“Neither.” Elizabeth opened her eyes again and shifted her gaze toward the swans, pointing toward the bigger one. “See how the male swan is fluffing his feathers and sticking his neck high? He’s showing off his dominance to the female.”

To be honest, you were quite stunned your daughter knew so much about nature. This wasn't the first time she was able to explain events within living organisms. You knew she read loads, but you didn't think she would ever remember all of the information. Especially since she was merely seven.

“Where did you learn this?” You ask as you lead her back toward the manor, your journal in hand.

“The books papa has stored in the library.” She stepped on the stone path like the grass was lava, using her arms to balance herself. She spun around once she passed the stones, running around the willow tree until you caught up. “Miss Beth lets me read them when papa brings you on business trips at the Districts or when you leave for parties.”

You hold back your laughter at her actions and look around before beckoning her over, whispering in her ear—yet her giggles infect you. “Perhaps I’ll speak to your papa about getting you a miniature library in your room.”

“Really?” She grabbed your arm with wide eyes, practically jumping from excitement. Elizabeth squealed when you nodded—pulling you closer and closer to the manor. Now that you mentioned a miniature library just for her, she would do anything to make the process faster.

“You seem to like reading as much as I do.” You start to clarify as you let her lead you to the back porch, leaning down to whisper in her ear once more. “Besides, it’ll be an excuse for papa to buy even more books.”

Elizabeth squealed once more and tugged you even harder to follow her, your laughter and hers ringing out in the backyard. You loved moments where you and your daughter could just exist in a world without constraints. She was a light in your dark and shrouded world—if anything ever happened to her, you swore you would become the exact person the Capitolites expected you to be.

Just as ruthless and unforgiving as your husband.

“Where are you two off in such a hurry?” Coriolanus appeared in front of the both of you, eyebrow raised in minimal interest.

Speak of the devil himself.

Of course, he wore his pristine—blood-red—suit with a white rose pinned to the jacket's lapel and a white ribbon looped in the hole of his pants. The ribbon was stolen from you the day of your wedding and he chose to wear it everyday to show everyone who belonged to him. It was one of his many prized possessions in life.

“Coming to find you, papa.” Elizabeth left your side and moved to her father's—allowing him to pick her up in his arms. She pushed a stray hair away from his face, earning a half-hearted smile from him.

“Is that so?” He shifted her weight into one of his arms, locking his gaze to your “messy” appearance.

In his eyes, you looked terrible. The curls in your hair were flat; your hands were covered in charcoal; your dress was wrinkled; and it was clear to him you were running from the way your chest rose and fell. It was unacceptable for you to run. People ran for the First Lady—not the other way around.

Rather than dwelling on your husband’s scrutiny, you casted your gaze toward your daughter—who looked like she was ready to explode in excitement if you didn’t say anything. “I have a request on Liza’s behalf.”

“And what does Elizabeth want?” Coriolanus spoke in a sure tone, using his daughter’s full first name. He never understood the need to shorten her name—her name was pure class and power. She was the daughter of the President after all.

“A mini library in my room!” She clasped her hands together and spoke dreamily, eyes filled with stars and fireworks. “I want to fill it with all the books in the world.”

“I see.” He fixed the collar of her dress before tilting his head to the side, catching your eyes for a split second. Coriolanus saw your face soften as Elizabeth’s silent begging, therefore giving him the answer to his daughter’s request. “That can be arranged.”

Elizabeth grinned so wide that it looked like her cheeks began to hurt. She moved to kiss her father’s cheek, words of gratitude spilling from her lips until she couldn’t breathe.

For a moment, you swore you saw the person your husband used to be. You saw the boy who would do anything to make his family happy, even if it cost him more than what he could give. Yet the moment was fleeting as he set Elizabeth down and sent her off to her governess—who was waiting by the double doors of the back porch.

“What is it?” You ask quietly as he guided you away from any prying ears, leading you toward the bed of roses and small fountain by the left side of the backyard.

Coriolanus subtly gestured toward where the governess last stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit in a composed manner. “She’s not filling her head with fairytales and nonsense, is she?”

“Absolutely not, Coriolanus.” You walk beside him and tuck your hands behind your back—watching every step you took on the cracked path of stones. “She’s been taught all her mathematics and history. When she has the time, Liza does her own reading.”

He hummed and nodded his chin toward the journal behind your back, “Is her portfolio as diverse as yours?”

“She’s learning new mediums every week.” You answer and look up at him—his piercing blue eyes boring into your eyes.

“What have you been up to?” He asked—snapping a rose from it's place and placing it delicately behind your ear, his eyes lingering on the earrings your adorned. Coriolanus had bought them for you mere days ago and expected you to wear them until he bought you a new pair.

“Taking note of everything in our backyard starting with the pond.” You say calmly and back away from his touch—instead—observing the swans and plants that you were drawing earlier. When you felt a burning stare in the back of your head, you continued to speak, hoping to please and ease his mind. “Peacekeepers were at a distance and surveyed the area before we came out.”

“Good.” Coriolanus replied in a curt tone and began to follow you once more, his mind going over a check list he conjured up earlier that day. “We have a conference with the mayors of each District at five.”

“It’s not the end of the quarter yet.” You curl your fingers tighter around your journal—your lips tugging down into a frown at the thought of another rebellion happening in your lifetime.

“They demand to push back the Hunger Games.” His own lips pursing together into annoyance. Who were they to tell him to push back such a crucial event that ever existed in Panem?

“How foul.” You respond accordingly and face him—having already made a short loop around the rose garden. “Of course you won’t agree.”

“Of course not.” He pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face—something Elizabeth learned from him after years of observing her parents. “They don’t have the power—“

BANG!

A loud, clear shot rings out of the Presidential Manor, your eyes widening at the sudden sound. Your grip on your journal tightens as peacekeepers begin to surround you and Coriolanus, your mind instantly wandering to your daughter's safety. You clutch Coriolanus' arm and look into the double doors leading into the manor—every sound muffling the second he begins directing the peacekeepers.

All you could hear was the blood rushing in your body—your heart pumping faster and faster. Your breathing was labored, each second that passed felt like an eternity until you saw the familiar curls rushing out of the house with her personal peacekeeper close behind. You pushed through the wall of peacekeepers surrounding you and instantly dropped to your knees, catching your daughter in your arms.

“Liza.” You breathed and held her closely, feeling for her pulse anywhere you could reach.

She was alive and well. She was alive.

“Mama,” She said shakily and buried her head into your neck, tears streaming from her eyes at the death she witnessed. She would never dare speak about the moment again and she swore her entire life on it. “Mama, Miss B-Beth—“

“You’re okay, I’m here with you.” You rub her back and wipe the tears from her face, your own voice shaky when you look up at your husband who looked like he was about to murder someone. “Coriolanus—“

“Already on it.” He replied coolly and took purposeful strides toward the back doors of the manor—peacekeepers to his left and right.

A peacekeeper from inside came out of the manor and saluted him before gesturing to the following group of peacekeepers behind him. “Sir, we found the intruder and murderer of the governess.”

Coriolanus' gaze hardened at the sight of an old acquaintance, his breath catching momentarily until he heard a quiet sob from his daughter—snapping him back to reality.

“Lucy Gray Baird.” Coriolanus shook his head at the woman, resentment filling every single step he took toward her. The sky began to darken as clouds covered the sun; the wind was much colder than it was earlier; and the tension that filled the air was thick enough to be seen.

Someone had to go, but it wasn't going to Coriolanus. He wasn't going to ever fall for her tricks again.

“Let go of me!” Lucy Gray fought against the peacekeeper's arms, eyes wild with rage and fury for the platinum blonde male in front of her.

“You killed my daughter's governess.” Coriolanus bent over and spoke to her face to face—hating how unfazed she was with his movements. “How the did you escape 12? Run off with the Covey after all?”

Lucy Gray clenched her teeth at him and shoved forward, barely moving from how hard the peacekeepers held her. She was probably bruised with how tight they were holding her. “You deserve no love for what you’ve done, Coriolanus. You know you were wrong.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He gripped her arm and pulled her closer to him, watching her eyes widen at the sudden aggressiveness. He scoffed, “I—“

“Your wife doesn’t even love you.” Lucy Gray spat and continued to struggle, hands clenching by her sides.

Coriolanus’ grip on Lucy Gray’s arm tightened the more she struggled and spoke, his knuckles whitening with the force of restraint. He spoke through his teeth—his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lucy Gray laughed. A brittle, sharp sound spilling from her lips.

“Don’t I? Look at her.” She tilted her head toward where you kneeled with Elizabeth, your arms wrapped around your trembling daughter. “Tell me, First Lady Snow, do you love your husband?”

Your heart pounded against your ribcage. The question hung in the air—heavy and suffocating. You glanced at Coriolanus—your husband—whose cold blue eyes pinned you in place.

He expected an answer. He always did.

“I love my family." You replied ever so carefully.

Lucy Gray snorted and tilted her head at you, tone mocking at your avoidance of answering a yes or no question. “That’s not what I asked, darlin’.”

“Enough.” Coriolanus’ voice was final—cutting through the thick tension like a blade. He shoved Lucy Gray back into the arms of the peacekeeper who found her originally, “You came here to what, Lucy Gray? Kill my family off until it was just me?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “I meant to kill you, but f’course you would never be with your daughter.”

Elizabeth gasped and buried her head into your neck again, squeezing her eyes shut. She wished this was all a dream—that everything she saw and heard was her imagination. A horrible and crude imagination.

“All that's left is to get rid of you." Coriolanus shook his head and glared down at the pathetic woman. Some winner she turned out to be. "Did you really think you could harm me or what belongs to me?”

“You’re sick." She spat and nodded her head toward you and Elizabeth. “Keeping them in this golden cage of yours. But they’ll never be yours, not really. You can’t make someone love you, Coriolanus.”

You take her words in—eyes darting between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus. Long ago you would’ve fought tooth and nail to defend him. Now, you weren’t sure if he was even worth defending.

“Take her away.” Coriolanus ordered the peacekeepers, stepping closer to Lucy Gray one last time, his breath hot with rage. “Make sure she never steps foot in the Capitol again.”

Lucy Gray smirked even as she was dragged away. Her voice was clear to everyone in the backyard, “You can erase me, Coriolanus, but you can’t erase the truth. One day, she’ll see you for what you are.”

The doors slammed shut behind her as they all left, leaving the Snow family in complete silence.

The sun returned and the winds calmed—even the swans came out of hiding to enjoy the once beautiful day. You finally stood up and wiped Elizabeth’s final tears, whispering words of reassurance and love until you felt the same burning you felt earlier.

Coriolanus turned to you with an unreadable expression, clearing his throat when he met your eyes. “Go inside with Elizabeth.”

You hesitated as Elizabeth held onto your hand tighter, her entire body still shaking from shock.

His eyes softened—just slightly—as he looked at his daughter. She was clinging onto you for dear life and you were thumbing circles into her palm, something you did for Coriolanus when he was stressed back in Academy.

“I won’t let anything touch you.” He murmured to the both of you, kissing your temple and leaning down to kiss the top of Elizabeth’s head.

But the question lingered.

Hadn’t something already?

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[prettieinpink]

HOW TO STOP SELF SABOTAGING + DOUBTING

MAKE YOUR GOALS/HABITS AN IDENTITY. Your lifestyle makes up who you are, quite literally. If you want to wake up early, then start identifying yourself as an early bird. If you want to get good grades, then start identifying yourself as a studious student. And so on. 

This helps with feeling more accountable and committed to our goals and habits. However, don’t use this as a reason to overexert yourself. 

THERE IS SOMETHING UNDERNEATH CERTAIN BEHAVIOURS. All of your bad habits stem from your subconscious. This is why mentally healthy people tend to think more about their physical health. 

The best way to recognise patterns beneath your bad habits is just to talk to yourself. In any way or any form. Identify it, see what might’ve caused this subconscious thought and then work towards a way to replace the feeling that these bad habits give with a good one. 

DETACH FROM THE OUTCOME. The more you fixate on the long-term results, the more longer, strenuous and exhausting your journey is going to be, especially because you’re going to want to give up as soon as results don’t appear. Focus on the short-term results. 

You exercised? Now you feel good inside. You studied hard and understood everything? Great job for being so productive. You did that one really scary thing? What a great start!

THE PART OF YOU THAT DOES BAD HABITS IS NOT BAD. It is the complete opposite of bad. It loves you and wants to keep you safe, so it refrains you from doing anything ‘scary’ (which is typically new things in our lives) and makes you fall back on ‘safe’ habits which are a coping mechanism. 

So, instead of berating that part of you that participates in bad habits even if you know it’s bad, understand it. As these coping mechanisms usually stem from our childhoods, we turn to these habits when we feel stressed, anxious or depressed. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Codependent Characters

Codependency

The state of being mutually reliant (e.g., a relationship between two individuals who are emotionally dependent on one another).

A dysfunctional relationship pattern in which an individual is psychologically dependent on (or controlled by) a person who has a substance use or non-substance-related disorder (e.g., alcohol use disorder, gambling disorder).

Signs of Codependency

Some things found to correlate with codependency include (Marks et al., 2012):

Low self-esteem

Low levels of narcissism

Familial dysfunction

Depression

Anxiety

Stress

Low emotional expressivity

Other signs of codependency (Lancer, 2016; Mental Health America, n.d.):

Having a hard time saying no

Having poor boundaries

Showing emotional reactivity

Feeling compelled to take care of people

Having a need for control, especially over others

Having trouble communicating honestly

Fixating on mistakes

Feeling a need to be liked by everyone

Feeling a need to always be in a relationship

Denying one’s own needs, thoughts, and feelings

Having intimacy issues

Confusing love and pity

Displaying fear of abandonment

Differentiate between a Healthy & a Codependent Relationship

In a healthy relationship, both individuals have a sense of autonomy and independence. Both are able to maintain their own identities while still being connected to their partner.

While in a codependent relationship, one person may sacrifice their own needs and wants in order to please their partner, or they may become overly enmeshed and lose a sense of self.

Additionally, in a codependent relationship, there is often an imbalance of power, with one person being overly controlling or dominant.

Overcoming Codependency

Research has been conducted into group, individual, and family therapy modalities for overcoming codependency, with one systematic review showing a significant reduction in symptoms when long-term post-intervention follow-ups were conducted (Abadi et al., 2015).

The main emphasis of these various treatment modalities is on altering how the codependent person views themselves and their relationships.

This can involve interventions with various (or numerous) goals:

Building Self-Esteem. Low self-esteem is a well-established symptom of codependency (Cermak, 1986; Whitfield, 1991). Building the codependent person’s self-esteem is a main focus of many counseling interventions, with evidence supporting their efficacy (Abadi et al., 2015).

Improving Boundary Setting. Weak or unclear boundaries are another reason codependent people are often willing to compromise their personal needs and happiness to satisfy a partner. Interventions aimed at building self-awareness, self-expression, and communication skills can help an individual’s ability to set and enforce healthy boundaries (Abadi et al., 2015).

Encouraging Self Care. Boundary-setting is just one form of self-care. People with codependent tendencies can also benefit from learning to prioritize their self-care, needs, and happiness before taking care of others (Beattie, 2008).

Originally, “the term ‘codependent’ described persons living with, or in a relationship with an addicted person” (Lampis et al., 2017).

A psychological construct involving an unhealthy relationship that people might share with those closest to them.

It was originally thought to involve families of substance abuse but has since grown to include other types of dysfunctional relationships.

Modern understandings of codependency: “a specific relationship addiction characterized by preoccupation and extreme dependence—emotional, social and sometimes physical—on another person” (Lampis et al., 2017).

The concept of codependency does still apply to families with substance abuse issues but is also used to refer to other situations too.

The main consequence of codependency is that “[c]odependents, busy taking care of others, forget to take care of themselves, resulting in a disturbance of identity development” (Knudson & Terrell, 2012).

To sum up, codependency is a psychological concept that refers to people who feel extreme amounts of dependence on certain loved ones in their lives, and feel responsible for the feelings and actions of those loved ones.

Codependency is not recognized as a distinct personality disorder by the DSM-5.

That said, research shows that while codependency does overlap with other personality disorders, it appears to constitute a distinct psychological construct. The best way to learn about codependency is to review some signs of codependency (examples above).

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs