#does anyone else have a real issue with therapy and/or counselling?

[fixated-frenzy]

Miraculous Characters in Need of Therapy

⚠️Spoiler Warning⚠️

The characters in Miraculous have been traumatized over and over again throughout the past five seasons, some more than others. Some characters needed therapy long before the show's events began and for those characters, the need has certainly become more prevalent.

With all that Monarch has put the city of Paris through, everyone could really use some counseling, but I'm just going to touch on the ones who need it most.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Ladybug

Despite growing up bullied by Chloe, Marinette's real need for therapy started after she became Ladybug. She may not be a "normal girl with a normal life," but she did used to be. Although Marinette never says it explicitly, she makes it pretty clear that sometimes she longs for the days when her biggest problem was Chloe giving her a hard time.

While Marinette loves being able to help people and protect Paris as Ladybug, she is under constant pressure and it's only gotten more intense throughout the series. She is always saving everyone else. She's saved everyone she cares about from akumatization and in the process shouldered the burden of their troubles on top of hers.

After the season four finale, Marinette now has even more trauma and anxiety weighing her down. She's scared of loving anyone out of fear of it being used against her and getting in her way of stopping Monarch. She's still scared of what happened in Chat Blanc and of losing Chat Noir. In the last four and a half seasons, Marinette has developed trust issues and anxiety that have continued to worsen overtime.

There have been many hints at what will happen when Marinette gives up her Miraculous. However, it's important to remember that when she does give up being Ladybug, she'll also be giving up her role as guardian. When this happens, she'll forget everything and while I dread thinking about her losing her memory, I do wonder if she'll also lose her anxieties or if those are now a permanent part of her psyche.

Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir

I could make a whole post alone on why going to therapy would be good for Adrien and why he needs it, but for now I'm just going to hit the highlights.

Unlike Marinette, Adrien's psychological problems began long before he became Chat Noir. Adrien grew up with a loving mother who disappeared after being sick for a while. He grew up with a loving father too, but after his mom vanished, Adrien's dad became distant and unreliable. Adrien never had real friends growing up and didn't know life outside the walls of his home.

Adrien really started living when he began going to school and when he became Chat Noir. Being Chat Noir gives Adrien an escape and a chance to truly be himself. However, he does still face some of the same anxiety as Ladybug when he is battling villains. Chat Noir often worries about disappointing or failing Ladybug, which leads him to put more pressure on himself in the field.

When he's not Chat Noir, Adrien is busy balancing his other dozen responsibilities. Adrien is a people pleaser particularly concerned with pleasing his father. He pushes his limits on everything because if he doesn't, he knows he'll be ridiculed for it. Since Adrien never gets a break, he's never able to fully process or grieve any trauma he faces.

A part of being a people pleaser is feeling you can never open up to anyone when you're struggling because you don't want anyone to see you as "weak." We see this with Adrien when he is unable to tell his friends just how miserable he is as a model. Adrien knows he's loved, but he still can't help but keep things bottled up because that's what he's always been used to.

Adrien has gone through so much and has grown so accustom to trauma that therapy would be challenging for him. It would take a while before a therapist could get through to him and once they did, there would be a lot to sift through. But, Adrien would probably be much better off once he's been given a chance to comfortably open up and process everything he's been through.

Kagami Tsurugi

Kagami honestly deserves so much better. This girl has gotten the short end of the stick on everything. Her mom is horrible to her, she's in love with Adrien but he's in love with her best friend, and she always ends up as the middle man between Adrien and Marinette. Also, now she's apparently a sentimonster, which really caught me off guard.

Kagami is socially awkward and has a really hard time letting lose and being herself. She's introverted for sure, but she's also been heavily influenced by the harsh environment her mom raised her in. Kagami never got to be a kid or have friends. For so long, Kagami's mom was the only person she was able to have any kind of bond with, which was detrimental to Kagami's social skills and overall life satisfaction.

Since she has spent so much of her life with no ability to experience freedom, Kagami doesn't know how to be independent. She struggles with asking others for help and ends up letting people walk over her. Kagami's mom has always been in control, keeping Kagami from ever branching out on her own to make mistakes or learn anything that her mom doesn't push on her.

Nathalie Sancoeur

Nathalie is like an older version of Kagami, in my opinion. She honestly just wants the best for the people she loves and that often doesn't go in her favor. Like Kagami watching Marinette and Adrien fall for each other, Nathalie has stayed on the sidelines in support while she watched Gabriel and Emilie fall in love and start a family like she always wanted.

For so long, Nathalie and Gabriel were a team working together to get Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculous. However, now that Gabriel has gone rogue, Nathalie is desperately trying to keep Adrien safe and far away from Gabriel. This added pressure as well as the deepening guilt and sorrow she feels have been crushing her this season, and for the first time, we are getting some real insight into Nathalie's background and emotions.

From the additional information we have learned this season, it has become more clear how severe Gabriel has been taking advantage of her. Out of all the people Gabriel has victimized, Nathalie's treatment has been among the worst.

As the plot thickens and Nathalie's health continues to get worse, I am interested to see how her story specifically plays out. Nathalie knows everything about Gabriel's history and madness, which means she could easily ruin him. However, it's unclear how bad the truth could hurt Nathalie and Adrien as well.

✨B

[bandofchimeras]

more personality disorder longposting

BPD is like, hm none of these material goals accomplishments or tasks matter to me, only Being Loved. and then as soon as you are like okay, i will go out and attempt to allow someone to Love Me, its like PSYCH! being loved is a sham. what matters is material goals accomplishments and tasks. which you have rejected and the absence of which render you unlovable. die alone and WORTHLESS! get bent!

_______ part of the difficult nature of healing personality disorders is that being loved actually does help, a lot, but there are so many emotional and mental barriers to A. allowing yourself to be loved and B. finding people patient enough to see your value under the Complex that it can feel sort of impossible. and that of course the core issue is self-rejection and deep deep deep set insecurities and therapy can help. but the most painful symptom is isolation.

i would sign a contract to kill one hundred people with machetes if it guaranteed meeting just one person whose presence gave me access to that feeling of Being Alive and Okay consistently and knowing they wouldn't eventually make a sour face and go 'woah you're so damaged' and leave.

that is what people are talking about with "narcissists" "feeding" or finding a source of self esteem. you are all talking about a group of people that largely overlaps with autistic people and survivors of abuse and making them out to be evil, unworthy of life, for needing external sources for something they 'should' produce internally (self-worth, love, etc). i have been wanting to write something about neutralizing the concept of parasites, or at least symbiotes, that don't do damage to their hosts, and the very concept of disability.

if someone's legs are blown off and they need to be carried everywhere, when you get tired, is the solution to call them horrible manipulative and selfish, and leave them to sit until someone else picks them up, or drag themselves across the ground? or do you say you're tired and ask for help, and see if you can come up with an assistive device? why can't I require other life to survive? why can't we accept some people get hurt in ways that leave them unable to do or source things independently without assistive technology or spiritual technology (community values)? what i'm pointing out is the social mechanism of abandonment at capacity is at the heart of ableism.

/can/ someone with a personality disorder survive without support for their self-esteem or sense of self? as much as a person with no legs /can/ move themselves, its just painful, inefficient, and emotionally excruciating to know how it felt to be carried, and lose that support. and the goal isn't permanent dependence, its recovery of ability, or adaptive support to navigate without that ability, often an ability stripped at an early age. if you aren't the one, that's fine, but the demonization leads to further loss of supports.

now that's not to say pwPD or autistic people or anyone with any kind of disability can't become exploitative, manipulative, or abusive. there is no 'right' to anothers support. but that isolation and demonization/pathologization are cruel responses, symptomatic of a more broadly cruel culture in which we don't truly matter to each other. i personally can't support people w self esteem and personality disorders very well as my own 'supply' is extremely limited/situational and when its exhausted i can barely function. i keep a distance because i know when they exhibit certain symptoms i'm going to react the way i react to myself which is Not Great. healing my relationship to myself isn't done with a wave of the wand. there was a Metric Tonne of intense self hatred packed into me & my bloodline for such a long time that the surface scratching of counseling won't change much - we require a volcanic eruption, a total revolution of the Self, and although there's been tremors and minor changes so far, the real change is sort of locked until we can figure out this Love business and advance to the next level.

the real suicide prevention is believing in reincarnation bc we never ever ever ever ever want to learn the lessons of this lifetime again jesus fucking buddha christ i swear to every spirit this is the Last Lifetime for this particular karmic shit bundle.

also PDA makes all of this fucking hell but that's another day another dollar.

[vampyr-bite]

i have counselling in 20 mins and let me tell u… i don’t want to go!!!

[extasiswings]

“I felt it shelter to speak to you.” for Buddie

This was...not supposed to be this long but all the recent promo content has been...inspiring. Anyway...on ao3 here.

The first attack happens on a Saturday afternoon.

There’s nothing special about the day, nothing strange. Christopher is at a friend’s birthday party, Buck is off somewhere with Taylor, and Eddie is grocery shopping before he’s meant to meet Ana for an early dinner.

His shoulder aches a little—that’s what he notices first—but that’s not too unusual. It happens sometimes. Even as physical therapy has helped him regain strength and mobility in his arm and shoulder, a high caliber sniper round ripping through his upper chest is no minor injury. Plus, while he’s hardly ancient, he’s not even as young as he was when he was shot the first time, and those bullets left behind their own patches of scar tissue and occasional twinges.

So. His shoulder aches. It’s fine. He ignores it and moves on. Goes through the store, checks out, put his bags in the backseat—

There’s a glare off a window in the apartment building across the street.

Eddie reaches for the handle of his door.

Suddenly, his fingers start tingling, uncomfortable pricks of icy numbness traveling up his hands like they’ve fallen asleep, but shaking them out doesn’t help. And then, without warning, pain lances through his chest, sharp and acute, and he can’t breathe properly, as if his torso has been trapped in a vise that’s slowly tightening more and more.

His vision swims. He sways on his feet, grasping at the door handle with clumsy, numb fingers to keep himself upright.

He feels like—he feels—

He feels like he’s dying. It strikes him with sudden clarity. He’s dying. Dying in a random parking lot—he always assumed he was too young to have a heart attack but the symptoms fit and he’s just—

He can’t. He can’t die. Not when he’s survived everything else. This can’t be—

“Sir?” There’s a woman with a station wagon parked in the space next to his truck and she’s looking at him with no small amount of concern. “Are you okay?”

Eddie’s mouth is so dry and his breathing so irregular that it takes him a moment to respond.

“I—I think I need to go to the hospital,” he grits out as another wave of dizziness threatens to send him to his knees.

She calls 911. Eddie spares a moment to be grateful that the paramedics who show up a few minutes later aren’t from the 118.

As it turns out, he’s not dying. And he didn’t have a heart attack.

“A panic attack?” Eddie’s voice is distant to his own ears as he stares at the ER doctor in disbelief, his stomach flipping with a new kind of dread. “Are you sure?”

“Your symptoms resolved on their own and your EKG is normal, Mr. Diaz,” she replies as she flicks through the screens of his chart on her tablet. “And nothing in your prior history or other recent tests indicates that there’s anything physically wrong with you—you were healthy before you were shot and your recovery has progressed smoothly up to this point.”

She pauses and looks back at him. “Have you...spoken to a therapist? I noticed that your treating physician made a referral for counseling when you were originally discharged, but…”

Eddie clears his throat roughly. “Yeah, no, I, uh...with the PT schedule and everything else going on, I never followed up with that. But I’ve been fine. It never seemed necessary.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

There’s probably some truth to that. Eddie can admit that much. But that doesn’t mean he needs—he’s been shot before. He’s been in a warzone. He didn’t need therapy to move forward from it then and he shouldn’t now. He can—he can handle this. He can make himself get over it.

He’s already spent months leaning heavily on everyone around him. The thought of not being okay, of asking for more help when he’s finally easing back into working, when things are finally getting back to normal, when they all have their own issues to focus on—

God, it makes him want to throw up.

So...no. He’s okay. Because not being okay isn’t an option.

He’s fine. The panic attack was...a fluke.

“I appreciate the advice,” Eddie says finally. “I’ll think about it.”

He can tell the doctor doesn’t believe him when her lips thin.

“You know, more likely than not, the panic attacks will keep happening if you do nothing,” she points out. “Ignoring this won’t make it go away.”

“I understand,” Eddie replies. “If that’s all, does that mean I can get out of here?”

The doctor sighs. “Sure.”

Eddie’s phone rings while he’s in an Uber on the way back to his truck. It’s Ana.

He swears under his breath as he sees the time—he hadn’t called anyone, hadn’t wanted the hospital to call anyone either, but that means he’s now late for a date that he doesn’t really want to keep after everything and further doesn’t leave him with any good excuses for his absence except the truth which...he doesn’t really want to admit.

Before the shooting, Carla told him to make sure he was following his heart. And he’s been too exhausted and focused on his recovery to really think too hard about that. But now—

For a moment, Eddie considers it. Telling Ana the truth. Showing her some of the dark, messy, ugly pieces of himself. Being vulnerable.

The very idea makes him recoil. Not because he thinks she would run away necessarily, but because he just...can’t.

He can’t. Not with her.

And if he’s that uncomfortable with the idea of letting in someone he’s been dating for over half a year, if he can’t imagine himself ever actually being comfortable with that...then what the hell is he doing?

He calls her back when he gets to his truck.

“Hey—I’m so sorry, I had a little emergency—yeah, everything’s fine now, but I’m not sure I’m up for going out. Can I meet you at your place? ...okay, great. See you soon.”

He may know even less about ending a relationship than he does about dating in general, but he figures he at least owes it to her to end things in person.

*

Eddie goes to work on Monday feeling fine. Great, even. He sleeps well the night before, he gets Christopher off to school on time, traffic is light enough that he gets to the station early—

Everything is fine. By all accounts it should be a good day.

At least, that’s what he thinks right up until all of them get different emergency alerts sent to their phones and they find out the city’s systems have been hacked. From that point forward, everything is chaos. Damage control. Twenty-car pile-ups because stoplights are being messed with, an outbreak of animals from the zoo when the electric locks on their enclosures released—

Eddie’s fine though. He’s fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle—in fact, he’s usually great with chaos. He’s focused and sure and capable. Nothing else matters but the work, certainly not himself. When he’s busy, he has no time to think about anything else.

The gradually worsening tension in his shoulders can be ignored. The way he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking in a way he hasn’t had to do since his earliest days in Afghanistan can be brushed off. He doesn’t have time to think about anything but the jobs in front of him, which means he doesn’t have time to think about his own state.

Brush it off, pick yourself up, keep moving forward. That’s what he knows, that’s what he can do.

Except, then they end up at the hospital and—

A medevac helicopter falls off the roof. Bobby nearly joins it. Buck and Eddie barely manage to get him back.

A cold sweat breaks out on Eddie’s brow as Bobby leans heavily against the wall next to the roof access door to catch his breath. His stomach roils. He doesn’t feel fully connected to his own body, caught somehow between present and past, a rooftop in Los Angeles and a desert in Afghanistan.

He breathes in. He tamps down on the rising panic.

Bobby is fine. The helicopter pilots and their patient are fine.

He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie jumps at the question, his head whipping around to find the source. Buck’s brow furrows as he holds up his hands.

“Sorry,” Buck says quietly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

He glances toward the door. “You know, I think I’m going to head back down,” he says, hoping Buck won’t notice the fact that he hasn’t answered the original question. “I want to make sure the pilots are holding up alright.”

“I can come—” Buck starts to offer, only for Eddie to cut him off.

“Someone should stay with Bobby,” he replies. He forces a smile as Buck’s eyes search his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Buck glances at Bobby, then back to Eddie before he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says. “But here, take the radio. If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know.”

Eddie makes it down one flight of stairs before he decides to take the elevator the rest of the way down. The numbers on the top of the doors tick down, down, down—

And then, abruptly, the elevator lurches to a halt, throwing Eddie off balance and into the wall as the lights go out, plunging him into total darkness.

His ears ring from the impact.

He’s trapped. Trapped in a metal box in the dark. A box that could easily become a coffin if the emergency stop failed and sent it careening down to crash at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

Eddie’s breathing speeds up against his will. His chest starts to hurt.

Not again, he thinks vaguely. Not here, not now, not again.

But. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. Some distant part of his mind recognizes that what he’s feeling isn’t real, that he just needs to calm down, but he can’t—

He’s going to die. He’s going to—

The radio crackles in his belt.

“Eddie? Eddie! Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s mind latches onto the sound of Buck’s voice like a lifeline in an ocean of distress. It takes him a moment to make his trembling hands work through their numbness, to remind his fingers how to work the buttons, but eventually, he lifts the radio to his mouth.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice shakes. “I’m in the elevator. It’s—I don’t know which floor. Or if I’m between floors. I don’t—”

He shudders. His eyes close, not that it really matters given how dark the space is already.

“It’s okay,” Buck replies. “It’s okay, Eddie, we’ll find you. We’ll get you out, don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to die here.” It slips out of him before he can pull it back. Buck takes a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

“That’s not going to happen,” Buck says firmly, although his own voice seems less steady than usual. “I would never let that happen. I’ve got your back, remember? Always.”

A shudder rips down Eddie’s spine and he slides against the wall to sit on the floor. The walls still feel too restricting, like they’re closing in on him more each moment that he looks away.

The radio crackles again.

“Eddie. What can I do? What do you need?” Buck asks.

I don’t know. I don’t—I can’t—

“Eddie.” The fear and desperation in Buck’s voice cuts through the fog in Eddie’s mind.

He never wants Buck to sound like that.

“Keep talking?” Eddie replies. “I—just keep talking to me. Please?”

Don’t go, is what he really means. Stay with me.

He’s never allowed himself to say those things though. Not during the early days of the pandemic when they were sharing a bed in Buck’s loft. Not after he moved back home with Christopher and the other side of his bed felt too empty for sleep to come easily. And certainly not after he started dating Ana.

During his recovery, he never had to ask Buck for anything really. Buck was always just...there. Even though he was with Taylor, he was still there with Eddie and with Christopher whenever Eddie needed him. Like he knew somehow. Or maybe as if he needed to be there as much as Eddie needed him there.

Eddie hasn’t looked too closely at any of that. He’s not ready to. It’s too much, too complicated, too—too—

Dangerous.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Eddie swallows hard as his head rests against the wall. As he allows the sound of Buck’s voice to wrap around him like armor. Like home. Insulating him against the panic and isolation.

“Anything,” he says quietly. “Just keep talking.”

And Buck does. He talks about everything and nothing, random facts and stories from his past that Eddie hasn’t heard before, he talks and talks and talks until his voice grows hoarse in Eddie’s ear and the pressure on Eddie’s lungs eases.

Eddie exhales shakily and takes a few deep breaths as he continues to listen, as his body shifts from hyper-awareness and panic to wrung out exhaustion. When Buck finally cuts off, it’s because there’s an ugly screech of metal as the elevator doors are pried open, as light filters back in.

Eddie’s legs are unsteady as he gets to his feet. He trips on the edge of the elevator door when he exits—

Buck catches him before he can fall. Because of course he does.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s shoulder as he finds his balance.

Buck shakes his head. “I promised we’d get you out, didn’t I? Besides, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“I decided—”

“I shouldn’t have let you,” Buck repeats, low but insistent. His eyes meet Eddie’s and Eddie swallows hard.

“You weren’t okay. Were you?” Buck asks. And Eddie—

He wants to lie. Part of him does at least.

But he can’t lie to Buck.

Not to Buck.

“No,” he confesses. It’s half a whisper. “No, I wasn’t.”

Buck bites his lip and nods once.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

And somehow, Eddie believes him.

[nicknellie]

For months I’ve been saying I’d write a fic where Alex starts counselling because this fandom is in desperate need of good therapy representation, and I’ve finally got around to it! This follows Alex deciding he wants to get therapy, having his first assessment, and having his first session. Most of it is pulled from my experiences so far, but bare in mind that not all therapists/organisations will function the way this one does. Also I’m very tired and I didn’t proofread so I’m sorry for any errors, I’ll fix them at another point.

TW: anxiety, therapy, mentions of depression, mentions of homophobia, mentions of OCD

The Right Decision

It was another one of those days where Alex felt exhausted from the moment he woke up. Not exhausted in that he needed to sleep longer (although admittedly that was probably a part of it), just exhausted because here was another day he had to get through, another challenge he had to overcome, another stressful sixteen hours of endless worries and things to do. Sometimes Alex felt like there was no escape, no rest, no pause in his life. He had to keep going no matter how drained he felt.

It was exhausting.

Everything felt like too much nowadays. Between going to school and sitting exams, playing with the band, and keeping up with his friends, Alex felt as if he had no time to breathe. He couldn’t slow down for longer than a moment or two before along came the next thing and the next barrage of anxieties that accompanied it. He couldn’t catch his breath, he couldn’t keep up, and it was dragging him down.

What he couldn’t understand was how nobody else seemed to feel quite as worried as him. He had always been more anxious than his friends, that was nothing new – but when everyone he knew had mostly the same stresses as him, it struck him as impossible that none of them seemed too overwhelmed. Perhaps every now and then Luke would complain about an exam at school or Reggie would mention that he was having trouble sleeping, but none of Alex’s friends ever mentioned weak legs, trouble breathing, clouded thoughts, needless panic that stemmed from nowhere, the feeling that nothing they did was really worth much at all.

Recently, Alex’s days had been muddled, his mind occupied with each new worry that he thought up. He was finding it hard to focus on much at all. He’d find his leg bouncing whenever he sat down or his fingers scratching at his knees, little repetitive movements that he wouldn’t notice until somebody pointed them out. He struggled sleeping at night, his mind racing at the speed of light, every nonsensical thought keeping him awake like the world’s most pessimistic firework display. When he was around his friends, his mind snagged on what they thought about him – he began acting the way he thought they wanted him to rather than the way he normally would have.

It felt like he was constantly pretending to be coping better than he was. If he carried on the way he was, he knew sooner or later he would break.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said that morning, sat on the opposite side of the sofa to Willie. He had stayed the night at Willie’s place, vastly preferring it to his own – his strained relationship with his parents wasn’t exactly doing him a world of good either.

“About what?” Willie asked, kicking their feet up onto the sofa and resting them in Alex’s lap.

The question was strangely hard to answer. Where was he even supposed to begin answering it?

“About me,” he ventured slowly. It seemed like a good start, he just wasn’t sure how to carry on.

“I think about you a lot too,” Willie said, beaming. “It’s one of my favourite pastimes.”

Normally, Alex might have blushed, but he was so caught up in his own head that the flirtatious nature of Willie’s comment flew right over his head.

Willie sat up, looking concerned. He took Alex’s hand in his own, dragging Alex down from his addled thoughts. “What’s going on, hotdog? What have you been thinking?”

“I’ve not been finding things easy recently,” Alex began. He hadn’t expected tears to fill his eyes so soon, and yet there they were. His voice wavered, his words interspersed with sniffles. Frustrated, he sighed and wiped roughly at his eyes with his sleeve, annoyed that this was all getting to him so easily. “I… I can’t explain it.”

Willie reached up and gently pulled Alex’s tight fists away from his eyes and instead wiped Alex’s tears away softly with his thumb. “Take your time,” they said. “It’s alright. I’m listening.”

“I just… I feel so nervous. All the time. About every little thing. And it feels like it’s getting worse. I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

One of the things Alex loved most about Willie was that he was never pushy. He always let Alex talk as and when he needed to, getting everything off his chest the way he wanted, even if it took hours. They did it now, just holding Alex’s hand, their eyes fixed on him attentively. From someone else, the unbroken eye contact might have just unnerved Alex even more, but from Willie it felt reassuring. He knew he was being listened to and heard – he knew he was safe.

“I want to get help,” he breathed. “I don’t want to carry on the way I am. It scares me.”

“If you want to get help, then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Willie told him, threading their fingers together. “And Alex – it might not feel like it, but you’re so brave for telling me that. It can’t have been easy, but I’m proud of you for telling me instead of just struggling through by yourself.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Alex asked apprehensively. Willie was always supportive of him, but it was such a drastic change from the way his parents treated him that sometimes he couldn’t help but check it was all real.

Willie smiled gently and cupped Alex’s cheek with his hand. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the touch, so he couldn’t see Willie when they replied but he could hear the honestly in his voice. “I think it’ll be really helpful for you. And if it’s what you think you need then it’s worth trying no matter what.”

“Thank you,” Alex whispered, barely audible, throat clogged with suppressed sobs.

“Anything, Alex.”

The two of them spent hours researching different therapists and counsellors. Willie carried out extensive background checks on every one of them – at first Alex thought that maybe it was a bit much, but Willie was adamant that only the best would do, that he didn’t want anyone with a chequered past or a dodgy record.

Eventually they came across a charity that offered free counselling. The sessions would take place at the same time on the same day each week and they could go on for as long as Alex needed. He would be assigned the counsellor deemed most fit to treat him after completing an assessment, and the organisation appeared to have very good reviews and success rates.

“We don’t have to sign you up today,” Willie explained, “not if you think it’ll be too much too soon. But it’s worth keeping in mind that this place is probably a good one to go for.”

Alex thought for a moment before making his mind up. He knew himself – if he kept putting it off because he was nervous about it then he would never get around to doing it at all.

“Let’s do it now,” he said resolutely, trying to sound confident in the hopes that maybe he’d believe he wasn’t so nervous himself. “Get it out of the way. It’s now or never, right?”

Willie just kissed the top of his head and clicked the application button at the bottom of the webpage.

*

A week or so later, Alex received an email informing him of when his assessment would take place. It seemed like a very informal thing – someone from the charity would phone him, they’d have a casual chat where they would ask him about himself, and they’d offer him either a space on their waiting list or suggest somewhere else that might be able to help him better.

Despite how friendly and casual it all sounded, Alex couldn’t help but feel nervous. For one thing, he hated talking to strangers. He’d never been good at it and the whole idea made him feel sick with worry. Though, he supposed, that was why he was going through with this whole thing, to make that worry stop.

But the other issue was that it was a phone appointment. Inexplicably, one of the things guaranteed to cause Alex anxiety was phone calls. The thought of picking up the phone when somebody rang was enough to make his head spin and eyes water. Just the notion of it made him want to lock himself away in a lonely dark room and not come out until he felt he could breathe again. It was painfully ironic – he had to do the things that made him most anxious in order to get help with his anxiety.

When the time of the appointment came, Alex was sat on Willie’s bed by himself, staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring. Willie had kindly offered to be in the room with him, but Alex had declined. Even though Willie was the most supportive person in his life, having them in the room while he had his assessment would have made it a thousand times more difficult.

The phone rang and for a moment Alex considered just not picking up. Was it worth making himself even more worried over this? Maybe he could learn to cope with his anxiety alone instead of getting all worked up over receiving help. He’d managed just fine in the past.

But you’re not managing just fine right now, Alex, he reminded himself. Pick up the phone.

“Hello?” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice level.

“Hi,” came a voice on the other end. It was an airy, soft-spoken lady, and though Alex couldn’t see her he could imagine her sat in her office, surrounded by motivational posters and dreamcatchers, wearing far too many scarves. “My name is Elizabeth. I’m calling for your mental health assessment. I just need to confirm who I’m speaking to.”

“Alex Mercer,” he said, glad he could answer that first question right at the very least. And sure, maybe the other questions he would be asked didn’t have specific right or wrong answers, but he still felt as if he had something to prove with them. Here at least he knew what he was doing.

“And your age and date of birth please, Alex,” Elizabeth asked. He could hear the faint scratching of a pen on paper.

“I’m eighteen and my birthday is the first of August.”

A tiny voice in the back of his mind questioned him, but he pushed it away. He wasn’t going to overthink so quickly. He knew what his own birthday was.

“Great, thank you, Alex,” Elizabeth said. “So I’m just going to talk you through how this will work quickly, okay? I’ll try not to take too long with the whole assessment, I know sometimes talking on the phone or talking to strangers can be tricky. All that’s really going to happen is that we’ll have a little chat, I’ll ask you about your life and your mental health. Everything we say will be confidential, the only other person who’ll find out is the person we assign as your counsellor. All I need you to do is be as honest as possible when you answer the questions. Is that all okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. His throat felt tight with worry but he did his best to ignore it. Elizabeth sounded like a lovely lady and the whole point of this was that he would stop being anxious, or at least learn to manage it better. Maybe this bit was hard, but it would only get easier as time went on. “That’s alright.”

“Fantastic,” she said. “Okay, Alex, we’ll start with the most obvious question: why do you want to come to us for counselling?”

He told her what he had told Willie, just with fewer tears. He could feel them stinging the backs of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. His voice stayed level but only because he forced it too.

From then on, it seemed like fairly quickfire questions. Elizabeth didn’t linger on any one aspect of Alex’s life so long that it made Alex uncomfortable, as if she was just sizing him up rather than trying to properly inspect him.

“Who do you live with, Alex?”

“My parents and my little sister, but I don’t spend a lot of time at home.”

“Do you not get on with them?” she asked. Her tone made her sound curious rather than concerned and somehow that was a lot easier for Alex to respond to. She just wanted to know – she wasn’t worried about it.

“My little sister’s fine, but not my parents.”

“Where do you stay instead?”

“My boyfriend’s apartment.”

Pen scratching on paper again.

“How’s your relationship with your boyfriend?” Elizabeth asked.

It was one of the only questions Alex felt confident answering. “My relationship with Willie is the best thing in my life.”

He thought he could hear Elizabeth’s smile as she said, “I’m very glad to hear that, Alex.”

She asked him about his friendships and he told her that they were strong. When she asked who his best friend was he momentarily panicked because he didn’t know which of his friends to choose – they all meant the world to him in different ways – but settled on Carrie. He explained that he was in a band with most of his other friends and that it was one of the only things that made him feel relaxed.

Elizabeth asked about school and Alex told her about his exams, how the stress of them definitely wasn’t doing his mind any good. She asked about his grades and he told her that they were high but he worried about keeping them that way. She asked him if he was part of any clubs or teams and he said he was on the cross-country team but didn’t find much enjoyment in it anymore.

It was odd, he thought absently. As he spoke to Elizabeth, he not only found himself being open and honest with her but also with himself. Half the things he told her were things he hadn’t thought about until she brought them up, and realising that he worried about grades more than he’d thought and that he didn’t want to be on the running team was more of a surprise to him that it should have been. He noticed more and more things about himself as he went on, things he probably never would have realised otherwise, and it sparked a little flame of hope inside him that maybe this counselling was already being beneficial to him.

The assessment was over much more quickly than Alex had thought it would take. Elizabeth told him that she was happy to put him on the waiting list and that she would be in touch when a counsellor became available. After a friendly goodbye, Alex put the phone down and took a few minutes to collect himself before heading out into the living room of Willie’s apartment to tell him how well it had gone.

*

It was a month or two before Alex heard from the charity again. He got another email, this one telling him the time and location of his first appointment. He showed up on the day, Willie by his side, feeling the worst he’d felt in weeks.

“Hey,” Willie said gently as Alex just stared at the door, his stomach flipping at the thought of even pressing the intercom. “Just remember you’re doing this to help yourself. I believe in you, hotdog. You’ve got this.”

Alex pulled Willie into a brief hug, but disentangled himself quickly and pressed the intercom before his adrenaline disappeared and he had another chance to dwell on it.

“Hello,” came the voice of the receptionist inside. “How can I help?”

“My name is Alex Mercer, I’m here for my counselling session,” he said. He wasn’t sure how much of his sentence actually sounded like words, the entire thing having been rushed out on one breath, but the receptionist seemed to get it. The lock on the door clicked open.

“Come on in, you can sit in the waiting room and your counsellor will come and get you soon.”

Alex took a deep breath and pushed the door open, Willie following close behind him as the two of them walked into the building. The waiting room was on the left as soon as they walked in so they took their seats beside each other. There was hardly anyone else in there – the receptionist was sat behind the desk in the corner, there was a lady flicking through a magazine on the other side of the waiting room, and a young man was sat with a toddler, trying to keep the little boy still when clearly all he wanted to do was run around. The walls were covered in posters, most of them either with motivation quotes on them or symptoms of different mental health issues. Alex had to tear his eyes away from the anxiety one, his hands rubbing together in his lap restlessly.

They weren’t sat there for very long when a kind-looking man poked his head into the waiting room and scanned it. When his eyes landed on Alex and Willie, a small smile grew on his face.

“Alex Mercer?” he asked.

Alex stood up and wiped his sweaty hands down on his trousers. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” the man said. “I’m Graham, I’ll be your counsellor. Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, this is Willie,” Alex said, gesturing vaguely in his direction.

“Hi,” they said, “great to meet you.”

“You too,” Graham said. “Alex, Willie can come in with you for a little bit if you think that would make you more comfortable, or he could stay here in the waiting room and it’ll just be you and I in there. Whatever you prefer.”

Alex cast a glance at Willie who just gave him a reassuring smile. Your call, their expression said, I’m here for you no matter what.

“I’d rather go in alone,” Alex decided.

Graham nodded, smiling genially. “That’s alright. If you’d like to follow me then.”

Sending one last look to Willie (who gave Alex a thumbs up and mouthed ‘you got this’), Alex followed Graham out of the waiting room, up a flight of stairs, and into a smaller room on the second floor. There was hardly anything in there but a desk with a laptop on it and two chairs positioned opposite each other, a coffee table between them with a lamp and a box of tissues on it. Graham sat down in one chair and gestured for Alex to sit in the other.

“Alright, Alex,” Graham said, donning his glasses and picking up a pen and paper. “How are you feeling about being here today?”

“I’m a little nervous,” Alex told him. “But you know… it’s something I’ve got to do, right?”

Graham nodded. “Looking at your assessment, I think you made the right decision in coming to us. I just want to briefly explain what will be happening in these sessions – I’m going to be doing CBT. Do you know what that is?”

Alex shook his head.

“CBT stands for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy,” Graham explained. “As people, we have thoughts. Those thoughts influence our mood, which then influences our behaviour, which influences our thoughts. It’s a cycle. When our thoughts or our behaviours turn negative, it can lead to mental health problems like yours. What CBT aims to do is change the thought processes and behaviours that lead to things like your anxiety. With me so far?”

Alex nodded.

“We aren’t going to start that today,” Graham said. Alex breathed a sigh of relief and Graham chuckled at it, but not in a way that made Alex feel like he was being made fun of. “Today we’re just going to get to know each other a bit, we’ll go over the information I’ve got from your assessment in a little more detail, and then I’ve got a questionnaire for you to fill out. Sound good?”

“Good,” Alex said. Well, he supposed, getting one word out was better than none at all.

Graham pulled out a few sheets of paper and the two of them spent the next half hour or so going over the assessment Elizabeth had conducted. It was a lot more detailed, a lot more personal, and Alex needed to think about himself a lot more than he would have liked, but it was made easier by Graham’s easy-going personality and the fact that Alex’s knew it was all necessary. He wasn’t being judged for any of it, he was just helping Graham help him.

It just felt like a chat with a friend. When they talked about Alex’s parents and he explained they weren’t supporting of his sexuality, Graham said, “When I told my folks that I’m bisexual they had a similar reaction. I understand it – you’re not alone, Alex.”

And as he said that, Alex really felt it was true. He was understood here. He wasn’t alone.

They talked about Alex’s trouble sleeping, how he worried about the little things rather than anything really important, how he was a picky eater, and every detail that seemed insignificant but clearly meant something to Graham. It felt a little invasive, but the environment was comfortable, so Alex didn’t really mind sharing. It was ridiculously easy to say everything on his mind and so much more freeing than keeping his emotions bottled up like normal.

“Alright then,” Graham said eventually. “All I’ve got left is this questionnaire. It’ll take you through forty-seven questions and all of the answers give you a choice between always, often, sometimes, or never. Sometimes it’s quite obvious what the question is getting at – there’s one about repetitive routines that’s obviously about OCD – but I want you to answer as honestly as possible, don’t even think about what it might do to your results. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “that’s fine.”

Graham led Alex through the questionnaire, selecting the answers on his laptop. Alex tried to answer quickly, not giving himself time to overthink it, but a few of the simplest ones stumped him. He’d never thought about how much he thought about death, he’d never paid any mind to his specific behaviours. But still, he answered as best he could and the questions were over relatively quickly.

“Looking at your results,” Graham said, pushing his glasses further up his nose and squinting at the laptop screen, “you answered most highly for general anxiety – you got twenty-nine for that. Then social anxiety, you got twenty. Depression and low mood, you got sixteen. For panic disorder you got fourteen, eleven for OCD, and five for separation anxiety. Does any of that surprise you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Alex told him, laughing at himself a little. It was exactly what he would have expected from himself – he wasn’t quite sure what the numbers really meant, but having general anxiety at the top wasn’t a shock to him.

“So what we’ll do each week from now on is fill out a smaller one of those, but it will be more focused on general anxiety, only eight or nine questions long. And we’ll start your CBT next week so these little questionnaires will be very helpful to track your progress. But that’s it for this week! You’re done, Alex, you made it!”

Alex felt himself smile. He’d done it. It hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he had thought it would be – it felt like there had been a weight lifted from his shoulders and he could breathe easily. His mind briefly wandered back to how anxious he’d been to even press the intercom outside; now he felt the lightest he’d been in as long as he could remember.

He and Graham said their goodbyes and Alex made his way back down to the waiting room to see get Willie. When he saw the bright smile Alex wore, Willie’s face lit up and he beamed.

“How was that?” they asked, immediately slipping his hand into Alex’s.

“Really good,” Alex told them. Willie’s face softened – there was a definite look of pride in their eyes and Alex knew it was for him. “I’m glad I’m doing this.”

Standing up on his tiptoes, Willie pressed a featherlight kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I’m glad. I’m proud of you, hotdog.”

“I’m proud of me too,” Alex said. For the first time in a very long while, he actually meant it.

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @boggie-brainrot @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas @callmeontheleyline

[neworleansspecial]

Dysregulation

Summary: Carlos thinks it's time to address some issues.

WC: 1.4k | AO3

Warnings: discussion of mental illness

-

They never talk about what happened at the firehouse after Owen got arrested.

To be fair, there’s a lot more going on, Carlos can admit- their home and the firehouse burned down, Tommy’s husband died, there was a massive dust storm- there hasn’t been a lot of time to talk about anything that wasn’t happening in the immediate moment. That does not mean, however, that Carlos has forgotten.

It’s not the first time he’s had to restrain TK to calm him down. While it’s not a daily occurrence, it’s happened enough that Carlos needs more than one hand to count them off. Part of him wonders if anyone else has even noticed the issue, or if it’s just him trying to hold TK together when he comes dangerously close to flying into pieces. He knows of at least two other occasions TK sought out poor coping mechanisms. There was his fight at the bar where he got arrested, and an altercation with Judd over some stupid call.

Carlos does research about it before he even thinks of talking to TK. He likes to know all the facts of a situation before he gets into it, and he figures that if he can find some answers or coping strategies online, this might go easier than just trying to shoot a shot in the dark about helping his boyfriend. What he finds describes TK’s behavior as emotional dysregulation, and it’s not uncommon in a variety of disorders, at least two of which he knows for a fact TK has been diagnosed with.

He calls Gwyn one morning alone while he’s meal prepping for the week. TK, Owen and Mateo have already gone to start their shared shift, while Carlos’ isn’t until the evening. While he doesn’t know much about Owen- seeing as TK mostly refuses to talk about his father and the two of them are rarely in the room together long- he knows him well enough to recognize a lot of the same neuroses between the two. If that doesn’t help, at least Gwyn has known TK longer than Carlos has.

They spend a few minutes on pleasantries and catching up before Carlos drops the questions on her. “I wanted to talk to you about TK.”

“He’s not hurt again, is he?”

“No, no, nothing like that, he’s fine.” Carlos double checks his mother’s recipe card and pulls out the next vegetable to dice up. “I think he is, anyway. I just wanted your advice on something.”

“Of course.”

Carlos takes a second to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t mean to just dump TK’s business out in the open, but he needs someone to help him figure this out, and he figures someone who raised TK would have some guidance on how to approach this. He wants to help TK in the same way TK helps him when he’s overwhelmed or anxious.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes TK doesn’t exactly… manage his emotions well.”

“Oh, definitely not. He gets it from Owen. Between the two of them, living in that house was just constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“That sounds familiar.” He considers the time they fought after the farmer’s market. TK acted like the world was ending, even going so far as to remove some of things from Carlos’ apartment. It had felt like an insane overreaction, but one that he couldn’t really say anything about when he didn’t know what it felt like to be in TK’s position. “How did you deal with that?”

“I spent a lot of time in therapy figuring that out.” She pauses. “Probably should have been the two of them in therapy, come to think of it. But what my therapist told me was that I have to realize that it’s real for them.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“TK’s blown up at you at least once, I assume?”

“Once or twice.”

She hums. “When he’s that upset, it’s like it’s the only emotion he’s ever had. It’s real to him. The best advice I can give you is to step inside his head with him. The thing people like you and I have to understand is that if we want to be with them, we have to understand that it's a mental illness and we aren’t going to be able to fix them. We can only support them in recovery and try to understand when they’re having an episode.”

“That’s very insightful, Gwyn.”

“I’ve been dealing with Owen Strand for almost thirty years. I picked up a few things.”

He laughs, but only because he feels like he should. They chat for a few more minutes before he hangs up and finishes his meal prep. It makes sense. Carlos isn’t a therapist, and he won’t try to be, but he can be there for TK.

When he and TK both sat down and had the conversation about their health, it had been maybe two weeks into their relationship. It was something they had needed to speak about. Carlos talked to him about being autistic, and TK told him about having ADHD and the series of inconsistent diagnoses he’s been given by the laundry list of doctors he’s been through. The current diagnosis is borderline, he had said, but he’s been diagnosed with everything from bipolar to psychosis since he was first seen by mental health professionals in his teenage years. Every doctor has a different opinion, he had said. Whatever the case, he knows what Gwyn means when she says to keep in mind that it’s not coming from a rational place in TK’s mind.

Now that they’ve moved back in with Owen while they hunt for a new place to live, things have become more tense. TK doesn’t like being here and it shows. He and Owen are constantly on edge with each other, on the cusp of a fight or actively having one that winds up with Owen drinking outside in the backyard- and pressuring Mateo to join him- while TK paces in their room and Carlos tries to convince him not to hit something. It can’t be healthy for any of them to keep living like this.

He waits until they have the place to themselves to talk about it, both for TK’s comfort and in case things blow up, as they sometimes do when TK and Carlos fall out of step with one another. They’ve had their dinner and washed up, and are now tucked under a blanket together on the couch while a documentary plays on the television.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

They fall into a short silence after that. TK fidgets in what he undoubtedly thinks is a subtle way, bouncing the leg that’s not pinned beneath Carlos’ weight and tapping his fingers against each other. Carlos feels bad for bringing him anxiety, but they do have to talk about it at some point.

“I love you,” he starts, “I really do love you, TK, and I’m not going anywhere, but I need you to be more aware of yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

This is the difficult part; finding a way to phrase things without making TK feel like he’s being attacked or cornered, something which will only lead to a fight. Carlos recognizes the irony of this tone-policing when he’s trying to talk to TK about the very root issue.

“I feel like you don’t have a good handle on your emotions and it’s upsetting me,” he tries. “It makes me feel like I have to walk on eggshells and like your emotions matter more than mine. I’m sure that’s not your intention, but that’s what I feel like, and I was hoping we could figure out a way to deal with this.”

“Like what?”

Carlos shrugs. “Ultimately it’s up to you, but one thought I had was about therapy. Maybe trying a different approach with your therapist, or even getting a new one. Or, I thought we could try couple’s counseling.”

“Couple’s counseling is for failing relationships.”

It is at that moment that Carlos knows he lost him. Whoever put that in his head- and Carlos’ money is on Owen- has won out over reasoning for right now. They don’t have to do that, of course, and if TK needs time to come around he can have it, but the mere suggestion has effectively shut down the conversation for now.

This is going to be a long road.

[tellywoodtrash]

balh2 31.08.21 lb

priya stops the auto to let ram in, but he's whisked away in the now-fixed car by his posse, and she's like yeahhhhhhh seems about right for rich ppl, and goes her way.

very subtle playing of song show title is based on. ram hums along happily while priya tells auto bhaiyya to pls turn it off. lol she really does hate any type of sentimentality, and i'm here for this peak grumpy girl representation.

blah blah time waste establishing ram's family. aaaaaaaaaand they have shubhaavi choksey playing his mom when she's the same age as him irl. wonderful. best. very nice. i'm not angry about this at all.

snobby rich ppl greeting exchange. air kisses missing.

priya comes home to discover maitreyi and her husband are visiting. she just ignores them and walks into her room.

meanwhile ram walks into heartache after heartache. ek toh sagaai went on without him, and shivi's toast is only for her other brother shubham and her mom and her besties. (one of whom looks very familiar, where do i know her from???????) anyway someone give ram a (non-vegan) cupcake to feel better from having a shitty fam.

vedu notices ram and points him out to shivi, who's suddenly all RAM BHAIIIIIIIIIIIII, MY BIGGEST SUPPORTERRRRRRRR. pssssh.

oh btw, that fucker who wanted to use that totally non happening video for blackmail seems to be vedu's husband/???

ponky from naagin 5 is a friend of ram's. but he's a literal fetus???? i'd have thought he was a younger brother ala rudra.

priya's brother has his fucking shoes on her bed and mereko jo gussa aa raha hai na by goddddddd. YOU JUST CAME IN FROM THE FUCKING RAIN YOU DIRTYASS............

anyway priya's like idgaf that maitreyi married my ex bf.

"humein khush rehne ke liye kisi ki zaroorat nahi hoti." she's saying words i agree with, but show immediately cops out by showing her tearing up and blubbering "i don't need anyone, i'm fiiiiiiiiiine" unconvincingly. guh. idk if i'm gonna be able to watch this show if it keeps diluting its messages like this.

ram toh udhar giving lecture on baarish. BRO ENOUGH. I AM SO DONE WITH THIS TOPIC OF CONVERSATION. itna toh baarish se lagaan ke champaaner waalon ko pyaar nahi tha jitna iss show mein log karte hain.

priya doing a very convincing mimickry of kinda pretentious maitreyi to entertain one new younger sibling. how many fucking siblings does priya have??????? (too fuckin many, is the answer.)

i do not appreciate the characterization of ram's chamcha friend's wife as a nagging ball and chain type.

new mangatar and bitchy shubham are snidely remarking about ram and his bechaara broken dil thanks to vedika.

ok if shivaay was obnoxiously self assured, ram is just......... almost annoyingly roll over and show your belly type of soft and diplomatic and people pleasing. only extremes for nakuul sir i guess.

adi's wife (brinda?) catches him looking out into baarish and shedding a few silent tears, and she's here to nag HIM now about getting a wife. yes brinda, because you make marriage look like SUCHHHHH AN APPEALING PROSPECT.

ram's like no i don't need anyone and then wistfully stares at vedu saying i'll never find someone who loves like she does her husband.

brinda's like it's all fake, dude. real couples fight and argue and cuss at each other and wow.... i think brinda and adi might need couples' counseling coz..... you're not SUPPOSED to be so complacent about your marriage being so dysfunctional.

oh breakup was 6-7 saal pehle. ok yeah sir you should have gotten over it by now. therapy for you too.

NO NOT THE EK TARFA PYAAR KI TAAQAT SPEECH NO FUCKIN NO OK

SHUBHAAVI AS NAKUUL'S MOM WILL NEVER NOT ENRAGE ME. I NEVER THOUGHT IT'D GET WORSE THAN MANASI SALVI, BUT LOVE THAT TELLYWOOD MANAGES TO FUCKING ENRAGE ME WITH THIS SHIT WITH EVERY NEW SHOW.

priya refuses to have ice cream because of her principles against capitalism. which............... ok??? there's no ethical consumption under capitalism, sis. just eat the overpriced ice cream.

just realised that the eldest sister is played by the actress who was jai's elder sister in just mohabbat.

anyway eldest sister (sara) and youngest sister (sandy) are team!priya over maitreyi.

priya is as anti-shaadi as me and asks sara if she's happy (priya clearly doesn't think much of sara's husband who leaves all the child-rearing to her, in addition to running the bakery) and sara's like "maate, mujhpe mat shuru ho jaate, pls" snort. yeah, no one likes their bad choices rubbed in their faces.

oh, their dad ran away after allll the betiyaan and married someone else. zindagi gulzar hai sitch hai.

more of priya asserting that she's happy single and show undermining her with the music cues and character reactions. fuck this messaging. why can't it be that she's genuinely happy single and ram is just a good complementary partner she finds and decides to change her mind about marriage coz that's what they want for themselves. i hate this black and white nonsense.

sisters are forcing priya to go on a date (with whom?????) and the scene just cuts off awkwardly.

ram has PINK shoes on today. man this is so a nakuul thing, this one (1) atrangi styling element of an otherwise formally dressed man.

ram also being set up on date by adi/brinda. should be with someone else, i guess. i don't think brinda and priya run in the same circles.

ram is right in that the least these ppl could do is ask consent before setting it all up.

priya is grumpily refusing to do any thaam jhaam dress up for date. good for her.

lol @ sara trying to sneak away priya's beloved raincoat.

anyway psych 101 shit ki priya has confidence issues and is so down on herself that she rejects everyone before they can reject her.

lmao priya is me at hearing the date is in some hoity toity place where they give small portions for exorbitant amounts of money.

sara di gets call ki some "unhone" didn't pay their share of bakery emi? the nikkamma husband? or some other business partner??

priya is out on warpath to go confront that person.

she's psyching herself up outside their door. i think it's her dad?

OMG CHACHI FROM IMMJ2 LMAO, IS SHE THE SECOND WIFE?

ok dad's a rudeass fuck. he's all she's not my daughter, but all ready to dole out thappads when she says it like it is. sperm donors like these should be kneed in the nads.

idgi tho? there's ONE beta there tho???? is akshay not his biological son?????

anyway, priya is right in thinking men suck. #yesAllMen

precap: her date niiiiiiicely validates the misandry by being a fucking jerk. looks like ram is cheering her up in a sweet moment? priya catches akshay getting cosy with.... shivi i guess??? idk all these girls look the same to me. #faceblindness

[banashee]

Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

-

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

-

 A Second Chance

 Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

 It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

 Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

 By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

 Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

 Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

 Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

 Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they  shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

 “I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t…  sleep with people. In, well, in      that     sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

 A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

 “One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I      said     to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

 “Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

 “She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I      know     that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

 Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally   arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

 Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

 Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

 Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

 But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

 The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

 How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

 If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

 He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

 “Let me take care of you.      Please    - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

 Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

 Martin and Jon  have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

       Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

 So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

 Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

 Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

 Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

 Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

 While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

 The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

 Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

 They start to live, instead of just surviving.

 It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

 A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

 “...Jon?”

 “Yes, Love?”

 “I had no idea we had      so much     stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

 “We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

 “....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually       do     things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

 “Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

 ‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

 “...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

 “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

 Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

 (“By      colour    ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the       fuck    . You’ve worked in a      Library    for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

 “Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

 It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

 The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

 There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

 As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

 On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

 It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

 Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier-  it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

 The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

 “...Just five more minutes.”

 “Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

 All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

 He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

 “I love you, too.”

[a-room-of-my-own]

A bit of reading : orwomen.()scot/did-you-know/?fbclid=IwAR0H7TqxQNqemZcAGFtvR_HLkbkxmZ4FY6srcgrULWxGPyWuc6QPTmDQfVI

Did you know…

…that 80-95% of people who say they are trans choose to have no medical treatment at all – no surgery, no drugs, not even therapy? Transwomen are just male people who subjectively believe that they are female. That’s it. That is all that’s required.

Despite some commentators describing an “epidemic of violence against trans people“, transwomen are no more likely to be murdered than anyone else, and the best data available shows it’s half as likely. In Scotland, zero have been killed. In fact, transwomen are almost twice as likely to be the perpetrator of a murder than to be murdered in the UK, which is not surprising since a male pattern of violence is retained regardless of any transition or cross-dressing.

The 48% of trans youth have attempted suicide statistic is nonsense too. It was based on just 27 trans people (aged 26 and under), from a self-selecting online survey – which made the data worthless. Yet that hasn’t stopped the TIE Campaign peddling similar in Scottish schools (or is it 27%, they seem confused?), contrary to Samaritans advice on avoiding attributing the cause to any one incident. The NHS Gender Identity Development Service actually says “suicide is extremely rare” and rates of self-harm, distress and suicide ideation are similar to other children seen by CAMHS.

Did you know that 1 in 50 males in prison now self-id as trans according to Ministry of Justice figures? If it is so dangerous to be trans why do so many choose to come out when in jail?

Were you aware that 95% of prisoners are men, and 5% women? That most women in prison are there for financial crime, and most men are in for violent offending. Did you know that men commit 98% of sex offences? That 48% of transwomen prisoners are sex offenders (compared to less than 20% in the general male estate) and would swamp the female estate if they all transferred.

What makes these convicted sex offenders, who were born male, women? Why should female prisoners be locked up with rapists if they say “I am a woman”? Are you willing to be in a prison cell with a male rapist on that basis? And if not, do you think other women should be? Are you aware that women have already been sexually assaulted and raped, in several countries, because of this policy?

Did you know that Scotland already has a policy significantly more liberal than England’s, stating that transgender prisoners must normally be housed according to the “social gender” with which they self-identify? And that this policy was brought in by a senior prison officer, himself now a convicted sex offender? A policy put in place without even talking to women’s groups or considering that there would be any impact on female prisoners at all. Despite warnings of abuse, including from former women’s prison governor Rhona Hotchkiss, the promised policy review has not been forthcoming.

What about women’s refuges, have you considered what it could do to a woman fleeing male violence to encounter a male in that refuge? Read why the CEO of a domestic violence charity, Karen Ingala Smith, considers it imperative that refuges remain women-only, and her speech at the Scottish Parliament.

Did you know that a woman was asked to leave a shelter because, as a rape survivor, she couldn’t sleep in the same room as a strange male, regardless of how he identified? Are you aware that a man used self-id to access a women’s shelter where he sexually assaulted vulnerable women? Are you aware that a rape relief shelter in Canada lost all public funding for insisting they remain women-only, and had a dead rat nailed to their door?

Are you aware that the Scottish Government imposes a transwomen inclusive policy on Scottish Women’s Aid as a condition of funding and that Rape Crisis Scotland refused to guarantee a female counsellor for a traumatised teenager? We know from private meetings that they erroneously believe they cannot provide a single-sex service due to a lack of ‘case law’, despite having previously done so for many years. Did you know there is a male manager of a rape crisis centre, who failed to disclose his sex at interview, and which still claims to be women-led?

Are you aware that despite less than half of changing rooms in swimming pools and sports centres being mixed sex, 90% of sexual assaults have happened in them? Yet mixed-sex, ‘gender-neutral’ facilities are constantly pushed, including in schools – contrary to law and building regulations requiring separate sex provision – when it would be more responsible to increase third space unisex provision for the comfort of those who need it.

That’s before you even get into the issue of how to keep out predatory men who aren’t trans, if you say that any man who ‘identifies as a woman’ can use communal changing/showering areas at will. A man exposing himself in a park commits a crime. A man doing so in a women’s changing room, where you’re also naked, who need not have even told staff he identifies as a woman, may no longer be committing an offence.

Did you know that the Scottish Government funded LGBT Youth Scotland, a spin-off group from Stonewall, to write guidance for schools that breaches children’s rights in at least eleven ways? This includes the unscientific belief in gender identity, which even the Justice Minister is at a loss to define, the promotion of harmful breast binding and the removal of all single-sex spaces and sports. No-one should be surprised at this as Stonewall have long campaigned for the removal of women’s rights, although single issue political pressure groups should have been no-where near schoolchildren.

It took the Government until June 2019 to commit to replacing this guidance, having privately received advice that it was “not legal“. Yet, this new legally compliant guidance is seven months overdue and the Education Minister is refusing to withdraw LGBTYS’s guidance in the interim.

Why should we accept smear tests from any male who feels they have a womanly gender identity – what does that even mean (let’s ask the Justice Minister again)? And yes, it is happening. A rape survivor who wanted a woman to carry out her breast screening found her letter used as an example in hospital trans guidance as ‘unacceptable’ and ‘highly discriminatory’. And a woman in a psychiatric ward who was terrified at being locked in a ward with an “extremely male-bodied” fellow patient was regarded as a transphobic bigot. The truth is that women in mixed-sex hospital wards, particularly psych, have very real reasons to fear men.

Did you know that 35 clinicians have resigned from the Tavistock (children’s gender clinic in London) over their failings, including the Governor? Who later wrote a damning account of the abject failure to heed evidence that their affirmation-only policy is harmful to children, especially to the huge influx in girls who may suffer other complex problems, such as trauma, autism, a history of sexual abuse or discomfort with their developing sexuality. A staggering 48% of children referred to Tavistock have ASD traits, and a BBC Newsnight investigation revealed significant numbers of children seeking transition treatment based on their family’s homophobia.

Are you aware that studies show that puberty blockers result in 100% of children progressing to cross-sex hormones – whereas, if left unmedicated, the Tavistocks’s own research shows over 90%, if supported by counselling, are happy with their sex once they emerge from puberty. Did you know hormone blockers may cause sterility, a large decrease in IQ, bone density loss, and more? An investigation by the Health Review Authority concluded that blockers are really the start of irreversible physical transition and recommended that “Researchers and clinical staff should…avoid referring to puberty suppression as providing a ‘breathing space’, to avoid risk of misunderstanding.” This led to a major overhaul of the NHS UK website which no longer considers blockers to be fully reversible and confirms long-term effects are unknown.

The young person’s gender clinic at Sandyford, Glasgow has recently withdrawn their information booklet and we trust it will be similarly updated. Do you think all the government funded trans organisations will be scrupulous in updating their information too – including LGBT Youth guidance in Dumfries and Galloway, Scottish Trans/NHS guidance, and Stonewall advice, among many more, including of course the already deemed “not legal” school guidance by LGBT Youth?

Are you aware that the number of children referred to Sandyford is rising at a faster rate than the rest of the UK? Yet they don’t actually know how many girls have been referred as children can select what sex they want recorded on medical records – although unofficially, clinicians report similar concerns as elsewhere about the huge proportional rise in young girls seeking to transition. Did you know that bias, and not evidence, dominates the WPATH transgender standard of care followed in Scotland? And it is woefully out-of-date considering the fundamental change in patient make up since it was written in 2011.

Read the speech given by Dr David Bell at the Scottish Parliament and consider why, if his report about issues at the Tavistock prompted the Director to resign, was it not enough for the Health Minister, Jeane Freeman, to instigate an enquiry into identical practices at Sandyford? Perhaps the Government will listen to the outcome of a Judicial Review that is being sought by Keira Bell, a detransitioning woman, who wants to protect other troubled young girls from similar treatment.

Are you aware that women with our views are threatened with violence, rape and death, almost as an everyday occurrence? We are told TERF is not a slur, but I challenge you to find any instances of it being used without abuse or threats attached to it. Do you think it’s in any way acceptable for lesbians to be on the receiving end of these menaces for asserting, or even just trying to be proud of, their right to be same-sex attracted? Do you really think there’s such a thing as a lesbian with a penis?

All that hate is from transactivists, and is aimed at women with our views. I challenge you to find anything remotely equivalent from here, from our recorded talks, or indeed anywhere else. This is NOT a case of two sides as bad as each other. And it’s notable that the hate is not aimed at genuinely transphobic, aggressive men. It’s aimed at women. It’s aimed at us.

And JK Rowling. Read the tweets she posted and look at the replies. Read the essay further explaining her thoughts and ask how anyone could possibly think she deserved such atrocious abuse, or how transactivists thought it in any way acceptable to post penis images in retaliation (don’t worry, it’s been edited!) on a child’s thread about Ickabog art.

Did you know women can be, and often are, fired for believing sex is real, that humans cannot change sex, and women and girls are entitled to privacy when undressing or otherwise vulnerable? And yet poll, after poll, after poll, after poll show that this is the majority view, by at least 80%. You may well wonder why then, is the Scottish Government proposing to bring in Hate Crime legislation that would see even JK Rowling imprisoned for up to seven years for expressing views deemed abusive by transactivists, yet affords women no such protection in law, based on their sex.

Innate gender identity is a belief system. There’s no evidence one exists. If our Government cannot even define it, then it should not be presented as fact to our children. It should not over-ride women’s hard fought for rights.

Do you know that the very word ‘woman’ will change definition, if the trans lobby succeed? If we can’t define what a woman is, how can we accurately capture data? How can we record male violence, the pay gap, our representation in government, business, finance, law, media…anywhere? Police Scotland already record incidences on the basis of gender identity, but can’t seem to recall when, or why that happened, and the census looks to be going the same way, despite the importance of recognising sex being shown quite dramatically by COVID-19.

An influential lobby loudly insisting that they won’t be erased (when trans organisations are heavily state funded and train all major businesses, branches of government, school teachers, universities and NHS boards) are actively campaigning to erase the very definition of what a woman is – best archive it, just in case! Have you noticed how easy it is to define a woman when we’re being aborted, subjected to FGM, married off, denied the vote, raped, murdered, paid less, represented less in every single sector of government and industry, expected to perform most of the world’s unpaid labour, and constituting 71% of the world’s modern slaves? The only places that seem unsure on what a woman is are the places feminism was starting to make inroads. It’s almost like there must be some sort of a connection, isn’t it?

We don’t have any fear, resentment or hatred for trans people. We agree there should be protection in law against discrimination and violence. We just don’t agree that our rights need to be railroaded over in the process. We don’t agree that male people should access women’s spaces, or benefit from women’s provision, at will, without our consent. Our name is WOMEN and our rights matter.

Don’t you agree…?

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #18- Rung Psychologically Tortures a Man with Poor Snack Management

So, Swerve’s having a less than stellar day, and for once it isn’t linked to his deep-rooted sense of self-loathing.

Good thing he already emptied those stills, otherwise this would be just the hugest mess.

Thanks to some off-panel Whirl shenanigans that took place prior to this storyline, Swerve had Brainstorm put in a few security measures. Of course, Brainstorm being Brainstorm, never does weaponry in any half-measures.

Still, it isn’t quite enough. Looks like Swerve’s going to have to break out the big guns for this guy.

There’s a lot going on here, so let’s break it down.

On the character side of things, it would appear that Swerve is a merciful god of robot booze, as he’s not yet banned anyone from his small business, even when he probably ought to- Fort Max I get, and Whirl has the whole “is also an Autobot” thing going on, but Cyclonus has actively attempted to murder Swerve in the past, and also is the closest thing to a Decepticon they’ve got on the ship at any given time.

On the weaponry side of things, it would seem that Swerve having blown his face clean off his skull back in issue #12 got back to Brainstorm, who- because he’s married to his career and loves a project- immediately got to work on a gun that Swerve could actually handle with his funky little cartoon-man hands. Of course, that doesn’t mean Swerve’s going to get away with his dignity intact, oh heavens no! This thing has a literal smiley face slapped on the front of it. Well, you know what they say: it’s Nerf or Nothing.

Swerve blasts a hole in the Legislator with his silly, silly gun, and the bar is saved from further destruction.

I like to imagine that Brainstorm recorded that victory line himself, because he wants to support his friends, in his own, bizarre way.

Things are looking rough for the rest of the Lost Light, as the Legislators have completely flooded the ship with their forces, as the crew do their best to fight them off. Blaster’s had his titty compartment blasted open. Huffer is screaming. The medics have taken to violence. Skids has broken out the brass knuckles and is making god-awful math puns. The Legislators are still coming, without any end in sight. It’s a real shitshow.

Over on Luna 1, it would appear that Ratchet immediately passed out after seeing Pharma, which is a fair response to seeing someone who’s supposed to be very much dead, I think. Pharma calls Lockdown, they have a bit of banter, and then the scene moves on to whatever Cyclonus and Whirl are doing.

Because these two are the only ones on the away team who can actually fly, they’ve broken off from the rest. Whirl’s getting antsy, and decides he’s gonna fight something. Cyclonus, though he does mention that Rodimus told them not to do exactly what Whirl is suggesting, seems to agree with this line of thought.

Speaking of Rodimus, him and the rest of the gang are zipping around on those M.A.R.B.s, though it appears as if some of the passengers have switched drivers. Rung’s over with Chromedome now, holding on to him for dear life. Maybe they’re having an impromptu grief counseling session as they run from danger. Tailgate’s with Rodimus, and he’s just pointed out that Ratchet got left behind. Rodimus can’t deal with that right now, though, and decides that they need to get away from all these gotdang Decepticons and then figure out their next step.

Then he’s distracted by the literal lineup of dead Titans just hanging out on the moon.

Luna 1’s kinda fucked up.

Cutting back to our framing device- nope, still haven’t gotten caught up with the present yet- Ambus asks what Rodimus did next. Well, a lot happened. A lot. Chromedome jumped out of his therapy session with Rung and transforms into his alt, which I want to say is the only time he’ll do it in MTMTE. Whirl and Cyclonus are faffing about in the sky, more or less toying with the Decepticons following them. Rodimus wants to pull another Fantastic Voyage, much to Tailgate’s horror.

Rodimus zooms into the first crack he sees, but doesn’t manage to lose his attackers. Tailgate provides commentary, as Rodimus wraps the little guy around his neck like a cape, leaps from the M.A.R.B., and does some super sick gymnastics, hanging from a pipe jutting out of the ceiling as the guys who were chasing them run into… well, I assume each other, but it’s not terribly clear.

Crisis avoided, Rodimus drops down, transforming as he does. Tailgate goes with him, because gravity is still a thing on the moon, and we get a reminder that he’s only got a couple days left to live. Unfortunately, it would appear he’ll be spending his final days rotting in a prison cell, as Lockdown shows up with everyone else in handcuffs, forcing Rodimus to come quietly. Everyone seems very put out by this whole situation, especially Brainstorm. He’s downright furious, probably because he got captured by the guy with a fish butt on his head.

Oh, the indignity of it all!

Then again, maybe he’s just focused on working up the cajones to ask just what the hell is going on on this super weird moon. Lockdown obviously isn’t a bad enough dude to be running this operation- we saw what happened the last time he went against someone who actually had the time to plan something out- so our away team has deduced that there’s someone higher up on the food chain here. Also, there’s the whole issue of money clearly being a major factor in all this.

That sort of tech doesn’t just fall out of the sky.

As they’re being walked down this corridor of tension building, Chromedome spies Ultra Magnus in an adjoining hallway. He calls to him, but is very solidly ignored. But there’s no time to worry about Magnus being a rude shit, because it’s time for character reveals!

There’s an interesting little detail about Tyrest’s character, which is a little hard to see given the layout of the art for this page, but here it is, on the end of his staff:

Now, I know that the Autobot badge was appropriated from a symbol meant to represent Primus, but that was millions of years ago. So much for being a neutral party, huh Tyrest?

Rodimus is real peeved about being chased, shot at, arrested, and held against his will, and fully intends to give Tyrest a piece of his mind. Tyrest isn’t interested, however, telling him to shove a sock in it, or be “held in contempt.” While this is happening, Perceptor and Brainstorm have noticed the positively humongous and positively ancient space bridge that Tyrest just has lying around in this room.

Oh no, this is about the baby field from last issue, isn’t it? Brainstorm’s going to jail for infant arson.

Rodimus greatly dislikes this whole situation, and expresses himself through the art of verbal abuse. Smash cut to them back in the cell, Ambus not seeming terribly impressed with how Rodimus handled himself with Tyrest.

The tale is finished, we know where we were. Now how to move forward?

Chromedome asks for a bit more information on our new friend, because the whole “Ambus” thing is throwing him off, and with good reason: how do you tell your late husband’s ex that you had to blow up your mutual partner to keep him from being eaten by a lippy bastard? But this isn’t the illustrious Dominus Ambus- this is MINIMUS Ambus, the lesser known brother. Chromedome/Dominus isn’t completely taken off the table, however, as Minimus uses some awkward phrases that seems to tell me Dominus isn’t confirmed dead.

Rung wants to know what Minimus’ whole deal is, seeing as he’s also in prison with the lot of them. Minimus explains that he’d been moving a shipment of energon derivatives, when Tyrest had arrested him for having traces of space cocaine in his goods.

Was taking his eye really necessary, Tyrest?

Minimus was placed into custody years ago, and has been awaiting trial this whole time. Not exactly sure why, seeing as this moon isn’t exactly off the chain populated. Maybe Tyrest’s just been busy doing things that are absolutely NOT nefarious in any form or fashion whatsoever.

Minimus mentions that he’s lost his Autobot badge, and Rung offers to let him borrow his own- which we’ve never seen him wear because it’s apparently too big for him- but Minimus would rather he wear it himself.

Tailgate doesn’t take to this bit of information about the appeals system very well, seeing as he’s not got years to wait around. He’s beginning to panic, not trusting Cyclonus and Whirl to break them out, and starts needling the others to do something. Brainstorm reveals that his briefcase, which he’s had this entire time, as he always does, has an attention deflector built into it, making it effectively invisible to Tyrest and his goons. Rung feels a certain kinship with the briefcase in that moment.

Imagine walking up to a widower and saying “Hey there, honeybunches, how about submitting to that crippling addiction your late spouse begged you to quit so we can bust out of prison?”

Of course, Tailgate’s only told Cyclonus about his condition, so no one’s exactly raring to go busting out, since they’ve assumed everyone present is effectively immortal.

Over on another part of the moon, Ratchet’s finally waking up from his stress-induced nap to find Pharma channeling his inner Jigsaw. Ratchet gives him some constructive criticism on his new hands, but Pharma’s kind of over listening to whatever Ratchet thinks.

Oh, I hope it’s one of those gag gifts where you open it and get hit in the face with a pie. Those are always a laugh.

Back on the Lost Light, Swerve is looking for his very best friend in the whole wide world. I really hope the feeling is mutual, because there’s no way Swerve would survive that sort of rejection.

The doors to the oil reservoir open, looking like the elevator scene from The Shining, and we see what’s become of our dear, dear Skidsy.

Skids is pretty sure all this Legislator nonsense is because of him, and he’s not about to let people die for his sorry butt today, no siree. He’s gonna save the day.

Then again, this is about where Star Saber pops into existence behind him and stabs him through the spine, so maybe not.

Behold, a bastard!

Star Saber in the IDW run is well-known as being a witch-hunting zealot who can and will commit acts of violence over any perceived slight against Primus he identifies in any given living creature. This is a stark removal from his original character, who is so pure-hearted, kind, and generous, he literally adopted an orphan to raise as his own son. So, what exactly happened here?

TMUK happened.

Back in the days before Roberts was a professional scriptwriter, back before IDW had the license for Transformers, the members of the TMUK fan group decided that Victory’s Star Saber was going to be evil. Why isn’t exactly clear, only that it was a decision that was made not by Roberts on his lonesome, but more as a collaborative effort. Of course, this Star Saber isn’t a one-to-one copy of the TMUK Star Saber- that guy was much more conniving and, uh, Hitler-y, than what we have here.

Getting back to the story, Swerve tries to save/avenge Skids, firing with his custom gun, only to miss every single shot.

Looks like there’s going to need to be a rework on the My First Blaster.

Swerve gets beaned over the head with the butt of Star Saber’s sword for his troubles, his visor shattering in the process. Damn, sure hope he’s got a reading prescription, and not anything he’ll actually need to see.

Back over on the moon, Ratchet’s pretty uninterested in playing Pharma’s little game. It’s just as well though, because, as it turns out, Pharma’s an impatient guy. Must be an absolute nightmare during the holiday season and birthdays. He throws open the box, revealing what’s inside.

THAT IS NOT PIE.

But we saw Ratchet’s face over on the other side of the room. How can he be in two places at once? Well, here’s the thing about Transformers…

They’re pretty darn hard to kill.

Back in the cell, Rung’s doing his part as a member of the away team by passing out snacks. Tailgate reveals his awful garbage disposal mouth. We get the down-low on Tyrest.

Once upon a time, Tyrest was an engineer. Then the war happened, shit got crazy, and suddenly he was organizing exoduses and peace talks with genocidal maniacs, and got appointed Chief Justice by the space pope himself.

Rodimus comes over to get in on the little snack party Rung and Tailgate are having, mentioning the Aequitas Trials- the very ones that were recorded onto Ironfist’s brain back in Last Stand of the Wreckers. Minimus comes over, warning Rodimus to keep hush-hush about those, since they’re top secret and all. Kind of a weird thing for you to do, Minimus. Hell, why do YOU know about these super secret trials, Mr. Nobody Trader Guy? Those were after Dominus disappeared, so it’s not like you had an in through your cool older brother.

Rodimus gives everyone the skinny on the trials, despite Minimus being weird about the whole thing.

Perceptor knows all this already, but I suppose it’s possible Rodimus is the only son of a gun who isn’t subscribed to Wreckers: Declassified and isn’t aware of Perceptor’s whole deal.

Minimus moves the topic over to the crew of the Lost Light, latching on to Skids specifically the moment he’s mentioned. Rung does his due diligence and offers Minimus a ride on the snack train. Minimus declines, Rung insists, and the box of space pocky is dropped on the floor.

Minimus goes to help Rung pick up the snacks, as Rung actively hinders the clean up effort.

Minimus is two seconds from snapping Rung’s scrawny little wrist like a toothpick if he doesn’t quit it. Luckily Rodimus is there to break up this positively bizarre situation. And then things get really weird.

Rung’s been watching Minimus since they got here, noticing things that were very familiar- speech patterns, mannerisms, tone, inflection, OCD behaviors, things like that. Once he developed enough of a hunch, Rung started intentionally antagonizing him by making a mess and putting his Autobot badge on in a way that isn’t up to standards. Why would he do this? Why would he want to cause an outburst in someone he just met?

Well, the thing is, he hasn’t just met Minimus Ambus. He’s actually been serving under him for the last year.

That’s a rather dark use of your doctorate, Rung, forcing a man to reveal his true identity by poking at his mental health until he was about to snap your neck over some candy. You did it so well, too.

Maybe you were on Kimia for more than just psych evals. What was your career officially called again? Psyops specialist is what they have listed on the Wiki. Truth be told, I don’t even know what that entails. Let’s look it up, shall we?

...I guess therapy is his side gig?

So either Roberts meant something else entirely, or Rung is actually super fucking scary.

[dragonquill]

Durin’s Day: Boxing Day Edition??

Here is my fic for Durin’s Day!  It was inspired by the amazing @ofahattersmind, who was 100% more patient than I deserve with my writing issues this month. 

See the lovely art here!

Happy Durin’s Day ah....delayed!

----

Fili is five the first time it happens. 

It begins with a sense of warmth and contentment that almost makes sense - he’s by the fire with his parents, and happy enough - but the warmth is stifling and the contentment brief.  But what follows - a sense of searing brightness, fear, indignation, is so clearly foreign that he bursts into tears, burying his face in his father’s chest and shaking with the power of it.  

He tries to explain, but he’s only a child, five years old and precocious but with no point of reference for what’s just happened to him.  It passes in minutes, and his sobs give way to little gasps for breaths and the occasional hiccup as his father rubs his back and kisses his hair and worries over him.

His mother has her suspicions, but keeps them to herself.

Keep reading or Read on Ao3!

----

For Kili, there is no “first time.”  From the day he’s born, he seems oddly mercurial, his mood shifting suddenly from time to time.  He’s a cheerful, loving child, outgoing and friendly nearly to a fault (“We don’t talk to strangers,” he recites after his mother, but once someone says hello, they’re not a stranger anymore!).  But there are times when he goes quiet and thoughtful, watching the world instead of forcing himself on it.  He likes those times, he says.  He feels peaceful.  Like he’s not alone.  

“That’s our Kili,” his mother says fondly, watching him go from spinning in hyperactive circles to curling up happily on the couch, watching the crackling fire. 

----

Kili hears words first.  Perhaps it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.  It feels like his quiet times, and the voice in his head isn’t saying anything scary.  It’s a little boy voice, like his, and it’s studiously practicing multiplication tables.  Kili’s years from learning them, though when the day comes he’ll already know them and won’t quite be able to explain how. 

In the stories about soul bonds, the first communication is usually dramatic and meaningful, the beginning of something otherworldly.

For Kili, it makes his nines tables a sinch five years later.

----

Fili’s parents die when he’s twelve.  His uncle takes him in, serious Thorin with his Durin-blue eyes and limited understanding of how children work.  He is the one who tells Fili about soulbonds, how rare they are, how their minds meet across the entire world.  He suspects Fili has one.

“And if you do,” he says, as gently as he knows how, “they’ll be feeling all the pain you’re feeling, and might be very scared by it.”

Maybe it’s a dirty trick, using a boy’s empathy for others to dry his tears and toughen up, but it appears to work.  Fili stops crying so much, starts getting out of bed and living life.

But what Kili feels, far away, isn’t the facade but the real thing.

His parents worry and fuss and arrange for therapy as he cries himself to sleep, night after night.

-----

Fili is rather secretive by nature.  He doesn’t want to bother anyone into worrying about him, and by the time he’s fourteen, he certainly knows they’d worry if they knew he talks to himself in his head all the time. The fact that the voice is different from his own only makes it more disturbing.  

I hate living with Thorin he’ll sulk, because Thorin is trying but he isn’t Fili’s parents. And his own mind answers Yeah he seems like a and a stuttering pause before dick that makes Fili laugh.  

And then he’ll find himself defending Thorin, who isn’t so bad, and the voice makes up a silly song about Thorin’s tendency to talk like it’s 1854 until Fili is sprawled in bed grinning to himself over how clever the voice in his head is, and why can’t he be that clever in real life?

----

Kili is an open book, and he forgets not to just talk back to the voice in his head.  It’s cute when he’s a little boy with his invisible friend, but the older he gets the more concerned the adults in his life get.  

He doesn’t know about the quiet meetings among counselors, teachers, and his parents.  He doesn’t really understand the new doctor who tries to convince him the voice isn’t real.  

He doesn’t like the summer he has to leave home and go stay in a hospital for two weeks during his vacation.  He’s furious, and lonely, and everyone is telling him to lie about the friend in his mind, but he’s not a good liar by nature.

I’ll know the truth his brain-friend says.  We’ll know.  Just tell them you don’t and then tell me you do.  It’ll make them happy.

Kili is reluctant, but he does as he’s told.

He still slips up sometimes,and he sees the worry in his parents’ eyes and laughs it off.  He’s a class clown, right?  He can get rid of these things.

Only his friend knows he hates it, hates the lies, curls up in his covers and sniffles some nights, feeling like a bad person.  

For a while, his friend promises to go away, and leave him alone. But that is so much worse, because it’s quiet in his head and he’s all alone and. “Is this what people want me feel?” he asks the dark, arms wrapped around a well-worn blush manatee he’s too old for as well (keeps it under the bed so his parents won’t take it away, as his friend suggested).  “It’s awful.”

And he tells his friend just how awful it is, until he comes back.

---

It’s sensible enough to name his inner voice Kili, Fili figures.  As good as anything else.  It is just an aspect of himself.  A..creative one.  Who tells stories about a life different from him.  Who lives out some of Fili’s fears (is he not quite sane?? Is his inner voice too much??  Don’t writers and such have this??  It’s fine, it’s fine).  Who is warm and funny and optimistic in a way Fili isn’t, but wants to be.  

Just a way of thinking things through.  It’s fine if he gives it a name.

He hopes.

----

His friend’s name is Fili, and Kili loves how they match. It’s like destiny in his favorite tv show!  They’re meant to be the best of friends!  The show is all about a legend about soulmates being bound from birth, and talking to each other, and finding each other and--

---

Fili visits the library, and researches, and wonders.

---

It happens on a lovely fall day in Fili’s home town. Fili is working on his post graduate degree in business administration - not the most interesting, but it’ll help out his uncle’s business, and that’s a guaranteed job that will pay enough that he can hone his own hobbies and interests on his off time. He’s still sensible, but that doesn’t mean he can’t turn some of that practicality to funding his personal interest in writing and travel. 

He’s also working at the business’s central office, actual pay instead of an internship, so he’s stayed close to home.  He’s saving money for a trip down south, for warm weather and sprawling beaches that remind him of stories he’s heard.  Or.  Made up.  Via Kili.

Fili tosses hair back over his shoulder, adjusts his coat, and walks into his favorite park.  The trees here were selected to look as colorful as possible in autumn, and he loves it.  Best time of year, hands down.

-----

Unlike Fili, Kili traveled for university.  He’s on the archery and lacrosse teams, with actual scholarships, and he’s studying English, which is mostly so he can go on into a proper specialty in myths and folktales.  He secretly believes he is a folk tale, despite the counseling and medications to convince him otherwise.  He loves the city, filled with carefully maintained parks and currently a chaos of fall colors.  It’s too hot back home for anything like this-

He sees someone out of the corner of his eye, and turns his head with practiced nonchalance for a better look.  Kili is a man who appreciates the human form.  Oh ho, he thinks, he’s hot.

And he is, all long golden hair and neat beard and fur lined leather jacket.  He’s shorter than Kili, but more solid.  He looks delicious, in the best way.

Stop creeping people out, says Fili in his head, and Kili laughs.

The man stops, frowning a little.”Odd,” he says aloud in a soft tenor voice that makes Kili’s heart thump.

He gives his head a little shake before looking around.  Blue eyes- so blue Kili can make them out from a fair distance - flicker in Kili’s direction.  He doesn’t seem to have a bit of Kili’s secret shyness.  He smiles, slow and inviting.

Never mind, I’ve found a pretty one, too, Fili says in Kili’s mind.

Kili nearly chokes on his own spit.  

The blond man turns and walks closer, more than a hint of swagger in his steps. 

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

-----

Kili feels his jaw drop.  His heart is racing.  He can hear it in his ears.  He bungee jumped once, Fili refusing to have anything to do with it.  It felt like this, like ziplines and roller coasters that flip you upside down.

He clicks his jaw shut.  

“Ah...hey,” he says back, intelligently.

---

Fili feels a flash of concern, and steps closer.  “You okay?”  He puts his hands up.  “Promise I’m not a serial killer after tourists.  I’m honestly just flirting.”

---

“I’m not a tourist!”  It’s not what Kili means to say, because he knows, in his bones, who this guy is.  He wonders why he never really thought about what Fili must look like.  He’d have thought taller, but everything else…

Yum.

“I’ve been here a year!”

----

“Oh, pardon.”  Fili grins and bows like an old-fashioned gentleman.  “Practically a local, then.  Does that mean you’re familiar with the Ri Family Teashop?”

Fili is forward, but not usually this forward.  But somehow, he wants to know this person.

Or already knows him.

Something.

----

Kili starts to grin.  “Are you asking me to tea?” he asks, because oh, good, Fili knows him too.

“Hmm.  I don’t know.  My mother said never to have tea with strangers.”  Fili holds a hand.  “Fili Durin, local peacekeeper and not an axe murderer, and you are?”

----

The cutie is staring at him, and the stare is starting to look singularly unimpressed.  “You know who I am, Fili.”

“Ah, afraid not,” Fili answers, but there’s a tug in his belly like he’s lying to his uncle Thorin about why he was out so late as a teenager.  “But I very much hope to.”

The definitely a nine sighs and puts his hands on his hips.  “I honestly thought you were smarter than this.  But you can’t be completely perfect, I guess.”  But he’s smiling, fit to battle the sun, and Fili can’t even work up a sense fo indignation.  “It’s me, Fili.  It’s Kili.”

-----

Fili will deny it until they are old and grey, and Kili will just keep telling the truth anyway.

Fili’s eyes roll back in his head, and he stumbles, and Kili grabs Fili in his strong arms like the hero he is.  It’s not fair to say Fili passes out, maybe fades a bit would be more accurate.

Either way, he regrets it forever because it makes him the damsel who wakens (blinks and sees better, because he wasn’t unconscious or anything that dramatic, correct?) in the arms of a stranger who is no stranger at all.  And dammit, Kili even kisses him awake.

(It’s soft and chaste and sweet and Kili, a press of lips just like his voice, beloved and real and everything Fili ever wanted to be real.)

“Hi,” Kili says again, grinning down at him.  “Welcome back.”

Fili will argue later that he didn’t go anywhere and he would have been fine and etc. etc, but for now, he reaches up from his awkward arching slouch in Kili’s arms and brushes hair from those playful hazel eyes, and tugs him down for their second kiss.

----

Nice!, they think, and the kiss turns into laughter.

[radiantresplendence]

Doctor Takuto Maruki Was Right

Maruki is the Councillor Arcana in Persona 5 Royal and is a fantastic character that the original game was sorely lacking. I’ll be talking some spoilers here. Be warned. 

We can talk about how Demiurge/Yaldabaoth/Yagor/Jägermeister (or whatever you want to call him) is straight trash and shouldn’t be the overarching antagonist of Persona 5 another time, but that’s not what’s important here. 

What’s important here is that Maruki wasn’t in the original game and that does a disservice to everyone who played it. 

For the vast majority of P5R, Maruki is just the high school counselor who was brought in to the school in the aftermath of the Kamoshida incident as a means of damage control. He’s kind, emphatic and insightful and genuinely wants to help anyone seeking his services. 

The Phantom Thieves, due to their involvement in the Kamoshida incident are mandated by the school to talk to him; as the game progresses, most of the team members form some sort of connection to him, save for Akechi and Futaba (I believe) as Akechi is only a Phantom Thief when his goals align with the team and Futaba isn’t a student. 

Even Yoshizawa and Yusuke interact with Maruki, as Yusuke goes out of his way to do so after hearing about him from the other thieves and he was Yoshizawa’s counselor after the death of her sister. 

Over the course of his confidant, Joker gives Maruki his perspective on some of Maruki’s research, which is later revealed to be Cognitive Psience. At the end of his confidant arc, Maruki reveals that he’s known that Joker’s group were the Phantom Thieves since he saw them exit the Cognitive world during the first heist. He says he supports the thieves and their justice but he has to go a separate way. He then exits the story until after the defeat of the God of Control.

If you finish Maruki’s Confidant Arc by the time that he leaves the school, Maruki completes a belated Cognitive Psience paper that he was working on with funding from a college in Toyko and winds up applying his theory when Mementos merges with the real world. 

In short, Maruki fully awakens to his persona with the special ability to rewrite cognition. When the cognitive world and the real world are merged, however this power becomes absurdly potent, and Maruki begins to warp reality in order to make a world where no one suffers. 

Maruki’s machinations affect all of the Phantom Thieves positively: Joker doesn’t go to prison because... Akechi is alive and confesses to his crimes in Joker’s stead. Akechi is let off the hook for his crimes. Morgana is a human. Ryuji was never injured and is still the star of the track team. Ann’s friend Shiho never attempted suicide. Yusuke was never exploited by Madarame, who instead acts as a passable father figure to him. Makoto and Sae’s dad was never assassinated. Futaba’s mother is alive and is presumably in some sort of relationship with Sojiro. Finally, Haru’s father wasn’t executed after his bossfight and he was never an exploitative egoist. 

There’s a lone exception to this: the girl who the game refused to let join the Phantom Thieves; a girl who had been receiving therapy from Dr. Maruki since before the start of the game due to her trauma from the death of her sister, Sumire Yoshizawa.

In a way, “Kasumi” was Maruki’s prototype for the world he wanted to create. She couldn’t process the guilt she felt for surviving the crash that killed her allegedly more talented sister and consequently wished that she was her late sibling. 

Now the world that Maruki creates is essentially a utopia, where no one suffers and crippling psychological harm is unable to befall anyone. Now we can consider the value of free will that Maruki is removing by becoming a new “God of Control”, but as a card carrying deterministic nihilist, I see it as more or less as trading the whims of an uncaring chaotic universe for those of a benevolent eccentric. The game frames this as a stagnation of humanity, something I don’t entirely agree with. Maruki understands that physical wounds (aka hardship) are inescapable (and can provide adversity to fuel growth) and his big theory revolves around altering cognition to inoculate against mental illness. Any issue with Maruki’s world revolves more around his personal flaws and lack of moderation than it does with his theoretical framework. Regardless, Maruki’s world is more ethical than what it replaces. 

In the third semester, if we ignore some of the alterations like reviving the dead as they’re more of a condition of the world than an effect of it, many people who would otherwise be sick or destitute are not, and the natural conclusion of Maruki gaining full control (as evidenced in the bad ending where you side with the doctor) is a world where no one is. Essentially, the Phantom Thieves in the third semester who fight against Maruki are condemning these people to poverty, despair and a miserable death. Ethically, for the sake of their own morality, the Phantom Thieves are the bad guys. 

Maruki’s motivations need to be examined closer. He is someone who has been largely unable to move past his own trauma (as evidenced by the entire third semester and foreshadowed in the scene where he runs into a college friend) so he has come to the conclusion that he should dedicate himself to moving others past theirs. I mean, mind-wiping your fiance of most of her life with you to cure her of her PTSD and having your life’s work stolen by Shido as you try to pick up the pieces would probably leave a guy feeling pretty empty. Essentially Maruki has resigned himself to his own sorrow after repeatedly being dealt a bad hand, so to speak. 

I think we can safely say that at the very least, Maruki has been emotionally displaced (if not worse) since the incident with Rumi and having his life's work defunded has led him to a place where his only real desire is the pursuit of a singular goal: obliterating sadness. Not his mind you, but everyone else's. 

Basically, Maruki is not well, emotionally or mentally, despite him being able to function as a productive member of society. Completing his contract with a cosmic entity and taking the throne of the god of control, enables him to pursue his goal far beyond what he was capable as a mere doctor with a special power. He infests the human subconscious to further his goal and relentlessly tightens his grip on the world. Despite having augmented physiology in the fused metaverse as a persona user, I feel that he's a mentally ill man who's burning the candle at both ends, so to speak. I think, if anything, fully awakening to Azathoth’s power exacerbated his preexisting mental state. 

To evidence my claim of Maruki’s declining illness, allow me to cite: putting a friend and confidant into a vegetative state because he couldn’t solve a moral dilemma in a month’s time, tentacling a teenage girl and brainwashing her because her dissent is a rejection of your life’s work, picking a fistfight with a high schooler while screaming about stuff unrelated to him, choosing to martyr yourself in resignation to your own suffering when you have the power to avert it. 

Imagine a world where Maruki became the new ruler of the Cognitive World, but acted in a more limited capacity that is more in line with his original research, than the extreme conclusion of it. Consider him acting more like the collective subconscious's guardian angel than the god of control, possibly with the blessing of the Phantom Thieves. I think that’s more what a sane Maruki would settle on, feeling responsible to use the powers he was granted by his contract with an outer god. 

With that out of the way, let’s discuss the way that Maruki implements his agenda.

While working at Shujin, Maruki isn't anything particularly special as a counselor, as it's neither something that he's particularly skilled at, nor is it something that he's passionate for. It's more or less a case of his job being something that he is qualified to do. 

We know that his real passion was cognitive psience research. In essence, he's a scientist over a health professional, even though the funding for his area of expertise was slashed to bits forcing him to take an alternate career path. Especially early on, the way he’d approach his job would certainly be influenced by his passion. To that end, I think you need to analyze his session with Yoshizawa from a research perspective. He rewrote her cognition to be that of her sister’s because he thought it would help her move on. His actions here were absolutely unethical, as he was experimenting on a minor without guardian consent or full disclosure of information, but initial results of his cognition rewrite were positive (especially in the short-term, despite Yoshizawa struggling more in the long term than she otherwise may have). 

"Kasumi" in a lot of ways is a proof of concept for the world he creates in the third semester, even if she isn't necessarily an optimally-functioning prototype. Now, I think Maruki was definitely acting as a bad counselor, and a "mad psientist", if you'll allow my pun, in the flashback. In the third semester however, there's no validity in examining him as a counselor, as he's not actively doing counseling. You can't even really examine him under the lens of ethical science, as he's essentially beyond morality. The man has the power to massively warp reality, raise the dead and alter memories. Essentially, his powers are such that only the end result of any action he takes really matters. If Maruki were to harm or kill someone, regardless of intent, he could make it never happen. So, only the ends of his actions can really be taken into account. 

The ends of his actions are, of course, to obliterate human misery, and he proved effective at this. The exceptions being Sumire Yoshizawa (albeit before the full implementation of his agenda) and himself (his palace is the Laboratory of Sorrow after all.) I guess what I'm getting at here is that, Maruki has to be judged as a god for all of his actions in the third semester, as that’s really the only lens applicable to his role there. 

With that in mind, the questionable actions that he takes in the third semester are basically just holding Akechi’s life hostage and forcing Yoshizawa to be Kasumi. He avoids physical altercation with the Phantom Thieves until they literally approach him with a mutual agreement of force. The Akechi situation is one that Maruki claims to be unintentional, and I do believe him. I think the awkwardness of that reveal is more due to Maruki’s social ineptitude and difficulty revealing that sensitive piece of information than it is anything nefarious. As for the Kasumi situation, Maruki has every ability to revive the real Kasumi and adjust Sumire’s life to become one more satisfying to her. In the end I think that that unfortunate situation has more to do with an ill man with unlimited power unable to distance Yoshizawa’s rejection of his initial gift as a personal sleight to everything he’s spent his life working towards. With his work being pretty much the only thing he’s currently attributed meaning to in his life his swift rejection of dissent makes a little more sense. 

This leads to something I consider mandatory, Yoshizawa needs to rebel against the fate Maruki assigned to her, or every member of the Phantom Thieves would be working against their and all of humanity’s best interests. 

I think no one would disagree with me when I say that his role in the third semester is that of a god antithetical to the themes of Persona 5, and thus narratively has to be deposed for a satisfying conclusion. Looking objectively at his grand plan however, even with his hiccups, I can’t really say he’s wrong, even if his implementation isn’t as clean as I (or even himself in a better frame of mind) would like.

[drawbauchery]

An Enemy, An Enemy, A Frenemy of Mine?

(fic by cartoons-tothemoon)

“So, explain to me again why I’m still tied to a chair and your face isn’t planted clean into the floor?”

“Well, for one, I made scones.”

Skipper had to roll his eyes at that.

It seemed he’d been letting his guard slip as of late. After busting Savio’s NYC rings, he didn’t even hesitate to move them to New Jersey as soon as possible, and with Blowhole still out there and even Private’s old golfing buddy giving them trouble, it appeared that the more paranoid Skipper got, the less obvious clear threats came to him.

Hence, being completely oblivious to obvious things, like anthrax-filled letters, or poisoned scones, or Hans in the corner with a baseball bat, pretending to be a lamp, and somehow succeeding.

Well, at least one of those things got Skipper stuck at Hans’s mushy-gushy tea party of love and frenemyship, on the top of some skyscraper, in the middle of the night.

C’est la vie and all that.

Skipper still had no idea where he stood with the guy. Like, he hated him, clearly, but the kind of nemesis that could be foiled with a lunch date every now and again was not an enemy Skipper considered worth having. If every domestic terrorist could be foiled with hugs and kisses like that, Private would probably be leading the task force. However, Hans’s attacks were always rather personal, never directed at the public in any way. So, somehow, there was something more efficient and more enjoyable about taking care of him for the week he was in town than taking him up on any of his offers were.

Not that Skipper got to rescind that offer now.

“Face it, Skipper. If you didn’t really want to be here, you would have escaped by now.” Hans purred.

“You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.” Skipper said, leaning down to attempt to reach the one of the knives he kept in his boots.

“I just want to talk.”

“Yeah? Well, you got 4 minutes.”

“I think you have some things you want to talk about as well.”

“Buddy, that’s between me, myself, and I. You’re not my therapist, and I wouldn’t talk to you if you were.” Skipper’s speech was soon cut off, as he grabbed the knife from his boot with his teeth, sat up once more, turned his head, and dropped the knife into one of the hands that were tied behind his back. Hans looked rather unimpressed as he sipped his tea.

“You do know that I was going to let you go after this whole ordeal, right?”

“3 minutes.”

“I think you need someone to talk to outside of your task force.”

“I have Marlene. And Kitka.”

Skipper began to carve away at his ropes. Although it was a sharp blade, these were still the strong ropes that Hans would use back in the day. It would take him more time than he let on to carve completely through them, and Hans knew that.

“You need someone who lives the same life that you do, that does not live the same life you do.” Hans made the motion to pour Skipper a glass of tea, despite the fact that he couldn’t reach his cup. It was just something to do. Something to ease his nerves, and Skipper knew that.

“I’m not saying this has to be me.”

Skipper stopped his carving.

“I know you don’t confide in your task force, or in those outside of it. You have a lot of stress in your field of work, Skipper. It’s not good for you.”

“You’re not my doctor, it’s never been a problem before, and who are you to care about any aspect of my well-being at all?”

“You’re repressed, paranoid, sleep-deprived, in love with Private, and are clearly coping with some kind of guilt complex.” Hans stated, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

“You’re right. I don’t care about your well-being all that much. I wouldn’t even say at all. But, you’re my enemy, and that’s what I’m supposed to do. Not care.”

He let out this large sigh, which hid the fact that at the mere mention of emotions that Skipper began carving at his ropes once more.

“But I do. What is Denmark if not a sign of that? You may have bigger bads with bigger ray guns and larger influence, but I do still believe we have something far more special. And I want that to mean something.”

“All I’m saying is that you deserve someone in your corner for once. If I can read all these things from only a few visits in these past few years, imagine what someone far more malicious could do with these things.”

“God, you got all that from “reading” me? More like you went to couple’s counseling.” Skipper snarked, but Hans heard the Freudian slip that came from “couple’s” counseling, instead of any other. He chose to ignore it in that moment. “I don’t need anyone else in my corner. I’ve got enough people to dry my eyes when I scrape my knee, thank you very much. I’ll deal with it on my own when it becomes an issue. There’s no reason to now.”

“When it becomes an issue?” Hans practically screamed before he began chuckling to himself. “Skipper, honey. You haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in two weeks, you tried to attack the mailman but opened a letter filled with anthrax, and if Private so much as smiles at you you go into crisis. You’re dealing with everything now, but you’re not doing anything about it.”

“Yeah, uh, how did you know any of those things?”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s a point to all of this.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to talk to me. Talk to somebody. Anybody, about any of this. Sure, it may be your problem now when Private sends you into a state of cardiac arrest, but as soon as anybody else figures that out, it’ll be everybody’s problem.”

Skipper felt his cheeks growing hot. “You seem to be fixating on something.”

“Maybe so.” Hans shrugged, before taking another sip of his tea and rising from the table. He walked away from where the tea party was held to look out the window at the NYC skyline, as the sun began to rise. “I suppose we’ll always have Denmark.”

Skipper wanted to snark more, but this whole meeting put him on edge. This wasn’t the sickly sweet tea party where Hans would talk of friendish things in order to woo him back to how things used to be, nor was it the torture basement Skipper had almost been suspecting before he knew it was Hans. This was almost genuinely friendly, almost earnest. Not only was this strange to have to hear from someone who Skipper considered an enemy, but from anybody at all.

Kowalski may place a firm hand on his shoulder, or Private would say something reassuring and adorable, and Rico would always be the more unstable of the two of them, making him look well-adjusted by comparison, but nobody really tried confronting these issues that Skipper had. Maybe because they knew he’d turn it back on them, and having to cope with their rejection-related dysphorias or low self-esteem or other instabilities that dwelled within them was just too much.

But, Skipper was their leader. It wasn’t really talked about, but it was undeniable. He shouldn’t be having these interventions, much less asking for them. He held himself to a certain standard. Possibly an unreachable one, sure, but, that’s what everyone said about Everest.

“You have a lot of enemies, Skipper. And the enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine. A lot of them are willing to pay top billing for information on your weaknesses. Things I’ve found out so easily, things I know just by looking at you.”

Hans turned to face Skipper. “But, if you confide in me, I’d be willing to give out some false leads to send them chasing after their own tails.”

“Sure, so I’m just supposed to tell you every insecurity and expect you to not use it against me? Who in the world expects that?”

“Therapists do.” Hans shrugged. “Under the Hippocratic Oath, nothing you tell me could be shared with another living soul without me risking losing my license, and frankly, I think I’ve taken to therapy. I have an office and everything. I quite enjoy it, personally.”

“Alright, but what do you get out of it?” Skipper asked, ever so certain he’s gotten him up a tree.

“I’ll get to see you more often.” Hans smiled. “I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t use what I’ve learned from these conversations in my own plots, but I’ve found that it’s an art of give and take. You’ll have a knife to my throat, I’ll have a knife to yours.”

“You’re really trying hard to make therapy appeal to me, huh.” Skipper processed. This whole meeting felt so circular to him.

“Of course. I did mention I worried about your well-being.” Hans said, as he walked behind Skipper’s chair to unite his ropes, mere minutes before Skipper’s incessant sawing would have finally snapped his ropes free.

“And I thought you said that enemies didn’t care about each other’s well-beings.”

“An enemy, an enemy, a frenemy of mine.” Hans smiled, in a sad sort of way. Not that it made Skipper feel anything, really. He did feel hungry. He wondered if Rico was putting bacon on the stove by now.

“At least think about it. It’s not very fun for me to play these games when I’m so aware of how easily I could break you.”

Skipper scowled at that, in a resentful sort of way.

“And I’m sure to wouldn’t be fun for you either if I fell apart on you either. There’s a delicate balance to these things, these games we all play, but they need maintenance.”

Skipper was finally freed from his bindings, and took a moment to soothe his wrists, which had been rubbed raw from all the sawing he had been doing to get out of this conversation.

“We should do this again some time.” Hans stuck his hand out for a handshake, eagerly. Skipper eyed it wearily.

“I’m sure we will.”

(I’m going to be real here, this was more supposed to be Hans confronting Skipper on his feelings for Private, because I love writing pining and I love writing this dynamic and whatever, but it clearly got away from me??? My bad. Hope you guys enjoyed anyhow!)

[blackmommingdaily]

Child Hood Trauma =Adult Drama

Okay Ladies,

 This is the touchy subject that allot of us try our hardest to brush underneath the rug. Today we’re discussing how Childhood Trauma is effecting our adult lives. We will also over view “Repressed Memories” and how it can effect you.

 Grab your glass because we’re about to get deep.

Allot of us come from backgrounds that may not have been ideal circumstances for a child to be raised. Whether you came from the “Hills” or the “Trenches” we’ve all experienced some form of trauma that has effected us deeply. We carry this burden on your shoulders along with the duties of being a wife, mother, & friend etc. Allowing ourselves to suppress memories rather than face the core issue. 

I for one can honestly say that I’m one person who has childhood amnesia AKA “Dis-Associative Amnesia”. (When a person Represses memories they unconsciously block out feelings, impulses or unpleasant thoughts.)

 There are so many things that have happened to me that my brain has truly pushed out the most traumatic events (or at least pieces of the timeline). 

People who are victims of sexual assault, emotional or physical abuse may find it easy to “try to forget”. Let’s be honest there’s no escaping the past no matter how fast you run. Although memories aren’t forever, some things are imprinted in your physical being...

Have you ever been touched by someone and feel a negative physical response? (Skin crawling? Feelng dirty or disgusting?) Trauma can be carried throughout your body even things your brain doesn’t remember your body does.

I find myself avoiding situations, people, and settings that trigger me but that’s no way to live. Eventually I had enough of running from the blank dark canvas in my brain and sought professional help. #PRO-THERAPY

Throughout the years I’ve been faced with one question that nags me daily. How do I stop allowing my child hood effect me in my adult life? How do I resolve whatever is happening with me? 

I had to learn that being ashamed, afraid and isolating myself was not going to “fix the problem”. I also learned that I can’t “fix” myself, because I am not broken. I wounded person needs time to heal & I didn’t know where to start. 

If you’re anything like myself or the women I know, we are afraid of being looked at as weak. The idea of therapy or counseling meant that there was “Something Wrong” with me. In reality there was something wrong, and I owed myself to be free of all self persecution and so do you.

Often times we blame ourselves for things that we’re simply out of our control. As a child you were supposed to be protect from the world not thrown into it. The older we get the harder it becomes to let go & invite peace. Especially if you’ve never experienced the freedom of bliss and happiness. Sometimes we become comfortable with pain because it’s a passenger on this ride that will never leave. 

We accept that we will never “feel better” so why even try? 

The reality is that you do not have to suffer in silence. The resources that are available are there for looks. The stigma of taking care of your well being has branched into lip fillers & body augmentations. Often we’re hoping if we change our people, places & things (including our bodies) we will be “happier” or “satisfied”. I’ll tell you first hand you cannot paint, cut, drink, smoke, or cry away whatever is lurking in the closet. Ignoring these issues effects your relationships, parenting skills as well as you physical well-being. 

Sadly, many relationships fail because the other partner is completely unaware of how to help. The strain can become too much to bare which leads to other issues within your life. It’s important that you understand the difference between communication & dependency.

You should always communicate how you feel to your partner. Remember, It is not the responsibility of your significant other to carry your emotional baggage. It’s your job to make sure that you’re okay. If you can’t commit to loving yourself enough to seek help don’t involve anyone else. It’s not fair to expect a man or woman to “help fix” you or “make” you happy. You should be happy on your own and together you share that bliss. 

It’s time to stop making excuses and start creating solutions.

#BreakTheCyle

The first step to healing is accepting that you don’t have to do this alone. There are holistic treatment options that may help you cope with your struggles. Talk therapy may seem cliche, but therapist don’t get paid for nothing. Understand that therapy is a ongoing thing. It’s not a “cure” it’s a tool that allows you to learn how to learn yourself in a positive way. Depression, Anxiety, PTSD and other mental illnesses are REAL & deserve to be treated like any other medical condition. 

(Women who have experienced depression the past are more likely to develop post parts depression or psychosis. It is important to discuss any mood or behavioral changes with your physician. Especially if you have thoughts or harming yourself or others this includes suicide.)

When you choose to not promote self care for yourself it effects not only you but the people who love you the most. You can’t take care of anyone else if you’re not being kind to yourself. Often times we find ourselves easily triggered by every day occurrences. This is a sign that you may need to speak to someone who isn’t your cousin’s -baby daddies- sister’s husbands aunt. 

Today I encourage you to write down 5 reasons you need to go to therapy, then find a therapist. Stop self medicating and learn how to give yourself the love you deserve.

[purplesurveys]

1020

survey by lets-make-surveys

1 - What’s your average grocery bill for the week? How many people/animals does that have to feed? Could you cut it down if you had to? Around P10,000 every 1-2 weeks, which feeds five adults and two animals. I think it can definitely be cut down, considering a chunk of that bill comes from snacks or other fancy ingredients/condiments that we could technically do without.

2 - When was the last time you were woken up in the middle of the night? Two days ago, from the typhoon’s winds. It’s a good thing I woke up because my windows had been open through the night and they could’ve smashed against the pane and into a million pieces if the wind proceeded to push them.

3 - Have you done anything out of the ordinary so far today? I charged my phone through my dad’s car twice so I can stay aligned with what was going on at work today. I ended up having to file for an emergency leave (...four days into my role, how embarrassing) because the electricity didn’t come back until 4 PM today and because I was also unable to leave home to work in a coffee shop or mall with my village still submerged in flood for all of today – which meant I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with my tasks and meetings. It was so irritating to miss out on things and I felt really guilty for having to be absent less than a week into my new job. UGH. Better days, plz.

4 - How long is it until your birthday? Five months and a week exactly.

5 - Do you have a lot of debt? How long do you think it’ll take you to pay it all off? No debt.

6 - When was the last time you had to take time off work or school to attend an appointment? Last Thursday and Friday. I got my job offer last Wednesday and was expected to submit a mountain of requirements and government IDs before reporting for my first day this Monday, so I had no choice but to devote the whole of Thurs and Fri to completing those reqs.

7 - Do you get paid if you’re off sick from work? Do you think the number of sick days would change if you did or didn’t get paid? No. Not yet, at least.

8 - What colour was the last animal you saw? White with black eyes, nose, and pawprints.

9 - When’s your next payday? Do you have anything you need to buy when you get paid? Around a week and a half from now. I have to start buying Christmas presents, for sure.

10 - What kind of face mask do you prefer to use - re-usable or disposable? I don’t really have a preference but because my mom buys boxes of the disposable kind, it’s what I use.

11 - If someone told you five years ago, that you’d be living through a global pandemic, do you think you’d believe them? Absolutely the fuck not lmao. We were all so excited about 2020 and it being a new decade, and people even made a shit ton of memes about “20/20 vision” for years - there was no way anyone could’ve predicted a global pandemic, at least one of this scale.

12 - Is your state or country under any form of lockdown or “stay at home” order at the moment? Are you following the “rules” of that? People under the age of 21 are still prohibited from going out, as far as I know. But generally, the rules are a lot more loose now compared to the last few months. Everyone’s still required to wear face masks and face shields and practice social distancing while all public places have temperature checks, floor mats, and alcohol/hand sanitizers, of course; but it’s no longer out of the ordinary to hear of people going to the mall again or even dining out at restaurants. I follow the rules, because it’s really not too hard to keep myself and thus other people safe.

13 - What flavour were the last potato chips you ate? Sour cream and onion, but I didn’t like them. My parents got me salted egg flavored chips today though and I’m excited to open them :)

14 - If you have pets, do you let them sleep in or on your bed with you? Kimi never liked the bed, so he’s always slept under mine instead of beside me. Cooper’s a big ball of energy incapable of settling on a bed, and he needs to be in his crate to let him know it’s bedtime.

15 - Would you rather watch a sitcom, a reality show, or a documentary? I love all of these and I’m always open to watching any of them as long as I’m in the right mood for them. I don’t have a favorite and some days I’ll just be in a documentary mood, some days a reality TV mood, and other days a sitcom kind of mood.

16 - Do you have a favourite celebrity chef? Gordon Ramsay 100%. He’s entertaining across the board; his Hot Ones interview is my favorite, haha.

17 - When was the last time you did a load of laundry? Not in charge of that chore.

18 - Do you have anything interesting planned for tomorrow? What day is it tomorrow, anyway? Nah. I think I’ll have to do work tomorrow considering I had to go on leave today, which is okay. It’s nice to be busy on a weekend for once. Tomorrow is Saturday.

19 - Have you ever been in therapy or counselling? Did you find it useful? No but I’ve been considering it for a while, especially after the events of September lol. I do believe it will be useful and plenty helpful, yes, that’s why I’m finally warming up to the idea.

20 - What was the last film you watched? Is it one of your favourites? I didn’t finish it but I watched the first 20 minutes of a local movie called That Thing Called Tadhana. I wouldn’t say it’s one of my favorites, but it’s definitely a significant movie for me.

21 - Would you say you're an organised person? In what ways are you organised or disorganised? Eh, I’m right in the middle. I’m organized at work but I’m not super strict with myself when it comes to my personal space. Like if I’m able to keep my room organized it’s great, but if I’m unable to maintain it it’s not the end of the world. At work I like keeping my things color-coordinated and filed neatly in different folders or spreadsheets; at home I always seem to know where everything is, no matter how messy my space has gotten.

22 - Would you rather read a fantasy novel or an auto-biography? Autobiography, for sure.

23 - When was the last time someone paid for something for you? My parents bought groceries today.

24 - Do you have an open fire? If not, would you like one? I don’t know what this is. Is this a fireplace? Because if it is, we have no use for that here.

25 - What do you do with your old technology once you upgrade or get something new? Keep it around for emergencies, or hand it down to a sibling.

26 - If you were given the choice, would you solve a problem by speaking to someone on the phone, in person or via e-mail? Depends on who they are, tbh. The closer I am to someone, the more likely I am to take a more personal approach in handling an issue with them.

27 - Do you have an alarm set for tomorrow morning? What time do you need to get up? Nope, because it’s finally Saturday.

28 - What are you wearing at the moment? I’m wearing an old shirt from high school and a pair of shorts.

29 - Is there anyone else in the room with you? What are they doing right now? Just Kimi. Sleeping.

30 - Do people in real life know that you take surveys? If they don’t, is there a particular reason that you’ve never told them? Nah, there was never a reason to tell people...it just never comes up, really. Even if it ever does, it’d take too much explanation and I never feel like going through that, especially if they won’t be able to see what exactly I post anyway.

[crimeronan]

kitkat, do you have any advice for someone who’s a minor & wants to get help but whose parents “don’t believe in” mental illness/therapy? i’ve tried our school psychologist & then our student advisor, but both say they’re required to report to our parents & i don’t know what to do

hello!

i’ll preface this by saying i don’t have a lot of direct experience with this specific scenario (haven’t been a minor for a while, didn’t have this particular issue with my parents when i WAS a minor, etc) but i’ll do my best & also open this question up to anyone who has more in-depth guidance

online resources:

there’s this very basic guide from mentalhealth.gov for building support systems and creating recovery plans - just keep in mind that it IS very basic

some of the available resources will depend on your location

this is an article that has some information about how therapy for minors works in different locations  

given that your school counselor & student advisor say they’re required to report to your parents, i’m assuming (if you’re in the US) that you’re in a state that requires parents to give consent for medical treatment for under-18 children

if that’s the case, i’m not sure you’ll be able to get traditional therapy or counseling or medication, since your parents won’t consent to you seeing a therapist/psychiatrist

if you think your parents COULD come around to giving support, there’s an article here about talking to them about what you’re dealing with - but i think this is an intensely personal decision.  the article has an attitude that kinda assumes all parents give a shit about the wellbeing of their children, which..... has not at all been my life experience.  so if you don’t think they’ll ever come around, i’d use this as a last resort if no other resources work for you

this webpage has gathered quite a few resources on adolescent mental health, though i haven’t gone through each to determine how good/accurate they actually are

this webpage has resources specifically created FOR teens - same caveat as above, though, in that i haven’t checked out each individually to see how good/accurate they are

my personal advice:

i don’t want to just toss a bunch of unvetted web links at you and say “figure it out,” so i’ll give you some personal thoughts here too.  i’m not a mental health professional; keep in mind this is the perspective of someone who’s done a lot of work dealing with personal mental health issues, but who hasn’t been to Official School (TM) regarding them

i haven’t dealt with the specific issue of wanting help but being unable to seek it due to unsupportive parents before - however, i HAVE dealt with myself or my loved ones being unable to seek professional help because of insurance issues, money, institutional ableism, trauma, abusive familial relationships, or any number of other reasons

so this is my advice for if you’re not able to seek help through professional channels.

my absolute biggest piece of advice is COMMUNITY.

i’ve talked about my feelings on this a fair amount before, esp in varying book meta.  when it comes to mental illness and neurodivergence, one of the most important things for me has been finding other people who deal with similar things.  there are a lot of online community resources to be found for specific neurodivergence and mental health issues. 

 imo, having a place where you can be open about what you’re dealing with & see other people being open about how they deal with shit is vital.  ESPECIALLY if you’re struggling in a home environment where the people around you don’t want to discuss mental health issues and don’t think they’re real.

this does have some caveats, though.

because of their nature, online communities about coping with mental illness can sometimes become toxic.  it’s really, REALLY easy to slip from, “here is a place where i can talk about the messy upsetting behaviors/feelings that no one else understands,” to “here is a place it’s okay to feel these things, where i’m enabled not to need to address them.”

constant negativity and discussion of self-destruction and hopelessness in online circles will end up hindering you more than it helps you.  my rule of thumb is that i look for communities that are dedicated to helping each other feel better and learn to cope, rather than being dedicated to negative venting alone.

i asked my partners if they had any quick advice they wanted to share for this question and @rhythmic-idealist offered this excellent wisdom:

“an actual support net should NEVER feel like you can’t leave.”

things can get fucky in online support groups in terms of codependence or manipulative individuals.  always always ALWAYS be checking in with yourself about whether you’d feel safe leaving this group, and whether you’d be confident that OTHERS will ALSO be safe if you leave this group.

because you’re a minor, i’m gonna give some annoying Group Mom advice that i wish i’d been given when i was younger - bear with me.

i don’t think having friendships with adults on the internet is inherently unhealthy, nor is seeking support from adults who’ve dealt with stuff similar to what you’re dealing with.  (i’m honored you came to me!)

but i DO think that a healthy friendship between an adult and a minor, where mental health issues are concerned, should generally look more like a mentor-mentee relationship than a 1-to-1 peer-to-peer vent relationship.  

be very very cautious of adults who use you as a constant shoulder to lean on or person to vent to.  if the content becomes adult in nature (not just sexual, but about their relationships, substance abuse, self destruction, self harm, basically anything where they should be seeking support from other adults with relevant backgrounds), that’s a point at which i’d cut them off

basically, there’s a lot of self-monitoring to be done when you’re entering any mental health related community, and that goes 10x as much for when you’re a minor who doesn’t have irl mental health support.

this is all i have for now but if i think of other important stuff to add or clarify later, i’ll edit.  anyone with more insight is absolutely welcome to reblog this with further guidance