#introvert support

[shy-guru]

Too Shy for Therapy? How AI Offers a New Path to Mental Wellness

In today’s fast-paced world, discussing mental health has become more commonplace. Yet, many still find it challenging to seek traditional therapy. Whether it’s due to shyness, privacy concerns, or lingering stigma, the barriers are real. But what if there was a way to access support that feels safe, private, and judgment-free? The Rise of AI in Mental Health Support Artificial Intelligence (AI)…

[positivelypresent]

It’s okay! ✏️

[aventurineswife]

Relationship hcs for Dan Heng? 🤭😊🙏

Dan Heng Relationship HCs

Dan Heng isn't one for grand gestures. Instead, his affection shows in subtle ways—like remembering small details about you, leaving you little things he thinks you might need, or giving you a silent but meaningful look. It’s a quiet but deep kind of love, where actions speak louder than words.

He is naturally protective and often keeps a watchful eye on you, especially when you’re exploring new or dangerous places together. Although he may try to keep his emotions hidden, his protective nature often slips through, especially when he senses any threat toward you.

Given his introverted nature, Dan Heng values personal space, both his own and yours. He is sensitive to your need for solitude or personal time and appreciates it when you offer him the same. He views it as a mutual understanding, a respect for each other's boundaries that strengthens your connection.

Dan Heng rarely opens up about his past, but over time, he’ll let you in on small fragments. If you encourage him, he finds comfort in your presence, and he may gradually reveal his vulnerabilities. Your unwavering support and understanding become a source of strength for him, even if he doesn't always express it directly.

You learn to enjoy comfortable silences together, finding peace in just being by each other’s side. He doesn't feel the need to fill the quiet with words, and with you, he can finally let his guard down without worrying about being judged or misunderstood.

With you, he starts to open up emotionally in ways he never thought possible. You manage to draw out a rare smile from him now and then, which makes him feel slightly embarrassed but happier than he’ll admit. These moments are rare, but they become treasured memories for both of you.

Dan Heng respects your abilities, whether it’s in combat or otherwise. He might offer to spar or train with you, and these sessions become a way for you to bond. His combat tips are often delivered with a calm demeanor, and he occasionally slips into a protective role if he thinks you’re getting too close to danger.

Dan Heng isn’t naturally physically affectionate, but he’ll occasionally reach for your hand or brush a stray strand of hair from your face, usually when words aren’t enough to convey his feelings. These gestures feel almost sacred, as he rarely shares such intimate contact with anyone else.

When he does open up, it’s usually in the quiet hours of the night. You’ll find him sitting by a window on the Astral Express, lost in thought, and he’ll invite you to join him. These rare conversations often reveal the depths of his thoughts and fears, allowing you to understand him on a much deeper level.

With his tumultuous past, Dan Heng sometimes struggles with self-doubt. Your presence becomes a calming influence, anchoring him whenever he feels overwhelmed. Knowing he has you by his side gives him a newfound sense of purpose and a small but powerful hope for a better future.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Lu Guang is great because he is filled with so so much love and devotion that it’s almost painful and he looks like this about it -> 😐

[brainrotcharacters]

"found your new anchor being"

"and we're doing just fine, you piece of shit"

[helixhaus]

I saw this edit by mint syrup on tiktok and was sucked in, so I sent these messages to @foxesfromfall . What if Rosa, Eddie, and Alex were cousins and they were in the periphery of each other’s lives?

[taddymason]

Just a little fun question, but what would be Kaida's reaction to movie Jay? XD And Movie Jay's reaction zu Kaida (I bet he fears that she bites 🤣) And does Kaida even have a movie counterpart?

(I might do a one shot of Movie Jay falling into the Administration someday)

I'm of the opinion that showjay and moviejay are like two opposite people (it's actually pretty interesting if the movie counterparts have a lot of opposite traits to ninjas because they grew up differently), one is a scaredy dog ​​but is actually not impulsive and the other is like a wild cat that if he's having a bad time he'll make everyone else have a bad time.

So, yk, Kaida would be pretty shocked at this introverted version of Jay that can barely say two words but also after that she would just try to make jokes to get Movie Jay to open up and talk more. And also she wouldn't let go the fact that she and movie Jay are almost the same height.

And Movie Jay's obviously scared of this feral child and his adult counterpart who says that she's his daughter because it's a lot to process and he thinks they're both crazy at first.

I can't think of much for the movie Kaida counterpart. I know she and Jay probably wouldn't have the father-daughter relationship they have in the LP since I imagine them being only a couple of years apart (and I say this because in tlnm all the ninjas are the same age), so if anything they would have an older brother-younger sister relationship. She's probably still an orphan but with a relatively calmer and normal life, maybe she starts freshman year at the same high school where the others are and there she meets them. idk I have to think about this, I'm open to suggestions because I'm drawing a blank since it's been a long time since I saw the movie.

[relliwritingbish]

“Rainy Days Music”

Pairing: You x Introverted musician Genre: Slow-burn romance | Self-insert | College au | Fluff + slight angst + spice Content: Intimacy, mild angst, mentions of fame, supportive!reader, shy!boyfriend, emotional vulnerability, soft smut (nothing graphic) Summary: you’re a Fine Arts student. he’s the quiet boy you met in the music club room. You never meant to fall in love. but you did—and the world eventually noticed what you saw in him from the start.

It was a rainy Wednesday afternoon.

The lecture hall buzzes with idle chatter, pencils tapping on desks and sneakers squeaking against the floor. You’ve just wrapped up a critique session for your latest painting—a sweeping canvas full of ochre and maroon swirls that bled into each other like thoughts in a dream. Your professor’s parting words—"Brilliant color theory, as always"—still warm your chest like sunlit tea. Compliments like that mean something coming from her. It feels like validation, like maybe you’re not just floating through this Fine Arts degree hoping for meaning.

Outside, puddles are forming across the brick paths of campus, the sky a silver sheet rippling with drizzle. You tug your hoodie over your head and adjust your sketchpad under one arm, eyes fixed on the music building across the quad. You’ve passed it a thousand times before. Tall windows veiled with dusty blinds, posters for jazz nights and open mic sessions curling at the corners. But today, you push the door open.

It smells like dust and tuning resin. The kind of scent that lingers in old practice rooms and orchestra pits. There’s something intimate about the quiet thrum of a piano echoing faintly through the hallway—soft, unsure, like someone is playing only for themselves.

You follow the sound.

He’s sitting in the corner of a practice room, back turned to the door. Slouched, like he’s trying to disappear into the cracked leather bench, his fingers brush over the piano keys with a hesitant grace. The hoodie he always wears is bunched at the elbows, and from where you stand, he looks like a sketch come to life—smudged, deliberate, quiet.

He doesn’t hear you at first, not until you accidentally nudge the door with your shoulder and it creaks. He turns.

You know his face from a few classes.

Intro to Art History, you think, and maybe a general elective last year. But he never spoke. Always kept his head down, hoodie pulled up, eyes focused somewhere between his notebook and the floor. He had that gentle quiet about him.

The kind you notice when the world gets too loud.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—" You apologize quickly, stepping halfway back.

He shrugs, barely a movement. "It's fine."

His voice is deeper than you expected, low and slightly rough, like he doesn’t use it often. It gives you pause. You step fully inside, curiosity outweighing any awkwardness.

"You’re... good," you say. "At the piano, I mean. I didn’t know you played."

He shrugs again, but this time, there’s a twitch of something at the corner of his lips. Maybe amusement. Maybe just surprise.

You introduce yourself anyway.

And he nods, says your name slowly like he’s tasting it. Then he offers his. You tuck it into your memory like a secret sketch.

You start seeing him more often after that. In the practice rooms, in the back corners of the library, and even writing lyrics on the back of a takeout napkin in the campus café. You start sitting next to him, asking questions, slipping compliments into the spaces where his self-doubt lingers.

He’s brilliant, you realize. Quietly, devastatingly brilliant.

He doesn’t just play music. He writes it.

Full songs with aching lyrics and tender chords that crawl under your skin and stay there. You listen to his demos on borrowed headphones in your dorm room, pencil paused mid-doodle, heart thudding a little too fast.

"You should post these," you say one night, watching him tweak a melody on his laptop in the common room.

He shakes his head. "No one would listen."

"I would," you say. "I do."

It takes weeks, maybe months, of gentle nudging. But eventually, he lets you help. You set up a basic account on a music-sharing platform, upload one song. His favorite. You type the shared it. 

Haunting lyrics. Fragile and beautiful. Give it a listen.

You check the stats every day. He pretends he doesn’t care, but you catch him glancing at the numbers.

It’s slow. Painfully slow. For a long time, there’s barely any movement. But you keep sharing. Keep showing up. Keep reminding him his voice matters.

He starts letting you in. Not just in music, but in life.

You start studying together, dragging your sketchpad to his apartment because his space is quieter than your dorm. He makes you instant ramen while you paint, his playlist humming softly in the background. You fall asleep on his couch one afternoon, only to wake up with a blanket tucked over you and your paintbrushes neatly rinsed.

It’s not a grand confession. Not a cinematic moment of realization.

It’s gradual. Gentle.

It’s staying longer after practice. It’s learning how he likes his coffee. It’s your fingers brushing when you hand him a pen, and neither of you pulling away.

It’s spending the night without meaning to. Waking up in his bed, both fully clothed, his arm around your waist like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then one night, it shifts. One viral song. Then a record company offering him a contract. The number slowly going up. For some reason, it doesn't have much effect on him. All he sees is you

You’re sitting on his bedroom floor, your back against the bed, your knees brushing. He’s talking about a melody that won’t resolve, frustration knotting in his brow. You reach out, smoothing a lock of hair from his eyes.

He goes quiet.

You can hear your own heartbeat.

Then he leans in, slow like a question, and you meet him halfway.

His lips are soft. A little unsure. But when your hand finds the back of his neck, he deepens the kiss like he’s been holding it in for years.

Everything after that is a blur of skin and heat and whispered names. He touches you like he’s memorizing you. Like you’re a song he doesn’t want to end.

You fall asleep with your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

It’s not perfect. He’s still quiet. Still unsure of the spotlight. But he’s sure of you.

"Be my manager. My partner. I don’t want to do it without you."

Your heart does this stupid cartwheel thing.

"Okay," you say, kissing his worries away.

The transition from campus life to music industry chaos is anything but smooth.

Your first venue is a converted warehouse with peeling walls and a stage so small it might as well be a soapbox. He’s pacing backstage, fingers twitching like they’re itching for a keyboard. You catch his wrist before he can wear a hole in the floor.

"Breathe," you whisper, squeezing gently. "Just like you did in the practice room. You’re still you."

He nods, silent, but the look in his eyes softens. He always listens when it’s you.

You watch from the wings as he plays. The crowd is small, but they listen. Really listen. Phones in the air, nodding along to words only you used to hear in quiet corners. It’s a beginning.

The following months are a blur of travel, sleepless nights, and takeout containers balanced on hotel desks. You manage his schedule, answer emails, argue with PR teams who want to change his look, his sound, his image. He resists, always looking at you after meetings like he needs you to remind him he’s still real.

You do.

He doesn’t like crowds. He hates the interviews. But he loves the music. And he loves you.

It’s in the way his hand finds yours backstage. In the way his eyes search for you when he finishes a set. In the song he writes after a bad show—one where his mic cut out and the lights glitched, and the label rep almost canceled the tour.

He writes a song called "Steady Hands."

He says it’s about the only thing that kept him grounded when everything was falling apart. He looks at you when he says it. And the world tilts a little.

You wake up tangled in hotel sheets, his head resting on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist like you’re something precious. The blinds are half-open, letting in slats of early morning light.

You comb your fingers through his hair. He hums sleepily and presses a kiss to your hipbone.

"We have to be in the lobby in an hour," you murmur.

"Mmm. Five more minutes."

You don’t argue.

The intimacy isn’t always soft. Sometimes, it’s desperate. The kind of hunger born from weeks of silence on airplanes and exhaustion backstage. The kind that has him pressing you against the dressing room wall after a particularly raw show, his breath hot against your neck, your fingers in his hair, tugging like he’s the only real thing you can hold onto.

Sometimes, it’s slow. In his apartment on an off week. Candles burning. Music low. Your sketchbook of half-finished pieces on the bed while he traces every inch of you like a melody.

You don’t need words. You have each other.

He blows up faster than anyone expected.

One song goes viral. Then another. Soon, he’s charting. Millions of followers. Trending hashtags. Fan edits with captions like "he’s the soft boy poet we deserve."

They want to know who his songs are about.

He posts a blurry photo one night.

You two sitting in his bed while he shows you his notebook. Your hand in his. No caption.

The internet erupts.

You trended on Twitter for two days. You get hate. You get love. You get dragged into his spotlight whether you like it or not. But he never flinches. Never hides you.

During interviews, when they ask if he’s single, he just smiles.

"No," he says. "I’m not."

He talks about you like you’re the anchor to every storm.

The night of his biggest concert yet, the venue is packed. He’s pacing again, earbuds in, hoodie zipped to his chin.

You step in front of him. "You okay?"

He pulls you close, forehead resting against yours. "I always am when you’re here."

After the show, he dodges every paparazzi, every backstage guest. Walks right past the flashing lights and autograph lines and finds you in the green room.

"Come on," he says. "I want quiet."

You end up at a quiet bar a few blocks from the venue. It’s almost empty, just the two of you and a bartender who doesn’t recognize him.

He orders two whiskeys. You sit in the booth, legs brushing.

He reaches across the table and threads his fingers through yours.

"Do you ever think about how it started?" he asks. "That rainy day in the practice room."

You smile. "I think about it all the time."

He leans across the table and kisses you.

Soft. Familiar. Like home.

You fall asleep in his hoodie that night, your fingers intertwined on the hotel mattress, the sound of his next song playing quietly through his laptop speakers. It’s unfinished. But you already know it’s about you.

And it always will be.

[fishbone-art]

The introverted crow(d) wiseness

it started as crow studies but ended up having a theme haha

please notice the “party pooper” thing my childish sense of humor needs that gratification 🙈🙈🙈

[bokvshou]

i desperately need a friend group of jiang cheng enthusiastics because sometimes i can't deal with people coming into my posts by myself. i need backup AND people who love jc instead of bringing negativity into my face as soon as i mention his name.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

😂🫣🤣 - Book calling out the married love up behaviour of our bestie soulmates

And then you have First responding????

(Spill the beans boys, what do you know that we don’t?)

LOL Fanfest 2024 - BTS rehearsal

23/05/2024

[hexgirllovesyou]

Astonishing friendship between an introvert and extrovert part 6

You know what, sometimes I'm both 😂

Fun fact: To catch that particular quote from the game, I have tried and played for 3 months and I'm not joking 🫠. The first time I cathced the scene, I almost fell asleep so accidentally I skipped the scene because my eyes were constantly closing down 😁

[zhi-liet]

emotional support strawhat

[scarefox]

[sjsmith56]

Mr. Barnes Seizes the Day

Summary - AU one shot. Mr. Barnes, a bachelor grammar school principal romances a spinster teacher on his staff, after receiving his orders to report for duty in WW II.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: James Barnes, named OFC.

Warnings: lack of confidence, fear of rejection, no smut although it is implied.

Author notes: Was going to wait on posting this but these recent pictures brought up an idea for a story. Other writers may see him as a mobster, but in this AU I see him as an unmarried school principal contemplating his life choices and deciding to do something about it.  Carpe diem is Latin, translated often to "seize the day." Images of Sebastian Stan by @popeofthebowery. 

Brooklyn, January 1943

He looked in the mirror as he did his tie, the same colour tie he had worn every school day for 18 years.  It had always been a black tie with a white shirt, a black sweater vest, and black suit, black shoes; his current uniform, soon to be replaced by a pink and green one.  The new uniform would actually be a dark olive drab jacket over a lighter shade drab for the trousers but he had it on good authority that the officers in the army called them pinks and greens.  It was going to be quite the change for the 40-year-old bachelor. 

James Barnes looked once again at the orders he received in the mail yesterday, to report for basic training, followed by officer school.  After all the years of being regarded as too soft to be anything but a teacher, Mrs. Barnes only son Bucky was going to war.  Not that the staff at the school knew him as Bucky.  To them, he was always Mr. Barnes, a quiet, bearded, unmarried man who seemed destined to always be alone.  After Ma died, he had been just that as his sisters were busy with their own families.  Well, at least with him being in the army, he would be going somewhere, doing something, instead of just being the principal at a grammar school in Brooklyn.  He sighed.  Maybe, just maybe he could get past his usual introverted nature and go out with a woman before he left.  Perhaps he could even finally get up the nerve to ask Miss Heathcott to dinner, or at least a walk in the park.  It had only been 12 years since she first joined the staff at the grammar school.  He really should have asked her out then when he was still a young man and had more to offer than the confirmed bachelor he now was.  How she was still unmarried was beyond him but maybe she was waiting for the right man.

He combed his hair into its usual place, put his vest on and went to the window, just like he did every weekday morning to see the weather, confirming that it looked like another grey winter day.  He turned around, taking in his two-bedroom apartment, his haven after a busy day dealing with the stress of running a school.  The bookcases full of his favourite titles, the gramophone, and records of the jazz music he loved, were his escape from his loneliness.  It suddenly bothered him that it would all be sitting here, unused unless he could find someone to sublet it to, someone who would look after it for him so that when he returned, he could live the quiet life again in his personal haven.

After his usual breakfast of two boiled eggs, toast and coffee, Mr. Barnes washed up the dishes, brushed his teeth, put his jacket on, then his overcoat, and his hat, ready for the brief walk to the subway station.  When he got there a lineup awaited him.  Now that gasoline and rubber were rationed, many people had to put their cars up on blocks and switch to public transportation.  It had made commuting longer and more crowded.  He stood in the packed train car, holding onto the strap that hung down from the top bar, trying to keep a respectable distance from the women who had joined the work force since the men were called to war.  At his stop, several others got off, going their different ways after leaving the station.  It was only a few minutes walk to the school, and he fished his master keys out.  Only he and the head custodian had them.  Mr. Barnes usually unlocked the school in the morning, Mr. Santucci locked it up at night.  He turned on the lights from the master electrical panel, then entered his office, taking his overcoat off.  Checking the thermostat, he made sure it read 72°, so that it would be warm for the children by the time they got there.  Then he started up the coffee urn in the staff room, before unlocking the staff door, knowing that they would start arriving within the next quarter hour.  It was all part of his usual morning routine, and it suddenly struck him how much he was stuck in that rut of duty, habit, and dullness.  Leaning against an empty wall he wondered what he had become.

He was still standing in the staff room, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating, so he could empty the used grounds then clean the filter, to prevent the coffee from becoming bitter, when Miss Heathcott arrived.  She stepped inside, surprised to see Mr. Barnes leaning against a wall, looking down to the floor but not seeing anything.  He seemed a little pensive, then he heard her and straightened up, giving her a small smile.

"Good morning, Miss Heathcott," he said, politely, trying to restore his usual projection of calm leadership.  "You're early today."

"I had some final preparations for art class," she answered, taking her coat off and hanging it up in the closet.  "Is everything alright, Mr. Barnes?  You seem a little preoccupied."

"I am a little," he answered truthfully.  "I have an important announcement for the staff, but I'll wait for everyone to arrive before I make it.  It will only take a few moments between first bell and final bell."  He moved over to a chalkboard in the staff room.  "I guess I should put that down so that people return in time to hear the announcement.  Coffee is made if you wish to have some.  I still have to empty and clean the filter."

"Thank you," she smiled.  "I will.  I can clean the filter for you, since you were thoughtful enough to get it started."

She poured herself a coffee then opened the top and carefully lifted the filter with the steaming grounds out of the urn, aware that he was watching her.  Why it made her a little nervous today was a mystery to her.  They had worked together in the school for twelve years, her entire school career.  He had been a 5th grade teacher when she started fresh out of college.  Promoted to assistant principal ten years ago, and principal four years ago, he was still a handsome man and she had wondered if they could ever have more than a working relationship.  But his introverted nature, especially around women, became clear soon enough and she gave up any hope of him noticing her in a romantic sense, resigning herself to being a spinster since other men seemed as indifferent to her.  Still, he was always a gentleman, and an effective manager of their staff as he was quite unflappable by the shenanigans of some students, as well as being well respected by the parents.

Leaving the staff room to don his overcoat again and take on the supervision of arriving students, Mr. Barnes greeted everyone as they arrived.  There was always a persistent group of children around him, sharing the details of their lives.  He took it all in good stride, knowing from experience that for those children from a single parent family, they needed the attention of another adult to hear their thoughts and observations.  It was also a way for him to learn who was having difficulties with the necessities of life or dealing with issues that could be overwhelming.  For the children who were smaller, weaker, and prone to bullying, he was their knight in shining armour, making it very clear that particular behaviour was not tolerated at his school.  It was all part of keeping the school running efficiently while providing a safe learning environment.

Before the first bell sounded, he asked some of the more responsible students in the 5th grade to shepherd the younger students to their rooms as he had a brief staff meeting to attend.  When the bell sounded, he made sure everyone was lined up, filed inside in an orderly fashion, then he went straight to the staff room, removing his overcoat along the way.  The talking in the staff room stopped as he entered, placed his overcoat on a chair and stepped towards the chalkboard.

"Thank you for being here on time," he said.  "There is some important news to share after I received a letter in the mail yesterday.  I am to report for basic army training in one month.  After 8 weeks I am to attend officer training school, after which I will be sent to the European theatre.  I haven't informed the superintendent yet, but I will as soon as the morning classes start.  I will recommend that Mr. Miller be promoted to principal in my absence, but the final decision is with the administration of our school district, as are any decisions regarding assistant principal.  The parents and student body will be informed once we get the confirmation of the transfer of responsibility."

He waited for questions.  Since there weren't any, he nodded his head briefly at the staff, then left, picking up his overcoat along the way.  Mrs. Hardy, his secretary, followed a few minutes later, taking her position at the desk in the front office, while he hung his overcoat up.  He came out again, to supervise in the hallways before the final bell rang, signalling the start of the school day.  Satisfied that everyone was where they should be he returned to the office and sat at his desk to make that phone call to the superintendent's office.  With that out of the way, he began dealing with the school budget. 

That lasted until two boys were brought into the office by Miss Heathcott, both boys appearing very sullen.  She left them in the outer office then appeared at Mr. Barnes' door to explain the situation before returning to her classroom.  He couldn't help but watch her leave wondering why it made him feel like he was being left behind.  Putting that aside he dealt with the boys' dispute, listening to their versions of it as he sat in his chair, his hand on his jaw.  Their dispute was based on a game of marbles that resulted in one of the boys losing his boulder aggie, large agate marble for those who never played.  He told them a story of his boyhood friend who died of polio at the age of 10.  Steve and he played marbles all the time, regularly winning and losing against each other but never letting the heat of the game interfere with their friendship. 

"When he died his ma gave me his marbles, knowing that he would want me to have them.  She said I could give them to my sons, except I don't have any because I never got married.  You two remind me of us, except we never fought each other or called each other names, other than jerk or punk.  I miss him, every day of my life.  Marbles are just things, to be won and to be lost.  But friendship lasts a lifetime and beyond.  Don't let the marbles make you enemies.  Now, if you two can show me that you can get along and maybe become friends, I might be persuaded to give you a bag of marbles that have some dandies in them.  But you have to prove that you're worthy of them.  Can you boys do that for me?"

They both promised and Mr. Barnes walked the boys back to the classroom, making it clear he expected them to apologize to their classmates and Miss Northcott for interrupting the class.  With a nod to the woman teacher who smiled warmly at him in a way that he felt deep inside, he returned to his office and the matter of the budget for the rest of the day.  When classes were dismissed, Mr. Barnes usually insisted that all teachers make an appearance outside the school, both to make sure the students were dispersed and to be a visible presence for any parents who were there.  In his experience he found some parents, especially those from certain families were uncomfortable inside the school but found it easier to approach a teacher outside.  Today there were a few inquiries but nothing that wasn't handled quickly.  More than once he found his attention drawn to Miss Heathcott, her caramel-coloured hair shining in the winter sunlight and her cheeks pink from the brisk air.  Had she always been this beautiful?  The answer was yes but she seemed even more beautiful today.

Most of the teachers stayed for a time to prepare for the next day classes, but Mr. Barnes was always the last one of out the school, other than the custodians.  It was just the way he was.  Walking through the hallways to find out who was still present before he finally left, he was surprised to see Miss Northcott still in her classroom, considering she was in early that morning.  He watched her for several moments, unseen by her.  Intently focused on some papers on her desk, strands of her hair had worked their way over her face, and he wondered if it was as soft as it looked.  Knocking gently on her door frame, he stood in the doorway, as she looked up at him.  Her eyes were a little red.  Had she been crying?

"You're here late.  Is everything alright?"

Embarrassed, she looked away briefly.  "Mostly."  She gave a nervous laugh.  "I know that's not much of an answer.  I guess I'm a little concerned about you going to war.  It will be different here, without you."

He approached her desk, deciding to be bold for once in his life.

"Would you go out with me?" he asked.  "Dinner, or even just a walk on an afternoon this weekend?"

She looked up at him again, noticing how his distinctive blue eyes held their gaze on her.  She could get lost in those eyes.

"A walk sounds nice," she said.  "Here, or in the city?"

He smiled, his even white teeth adding to his handsome features.  "Central Park.  I can meet you at the subway or there at the park."

"At the park is fine," she said.  "Saturday, at 2 pm, at the boathouse ice rink?  Perhaps we can rent skates."

Envisioning the possibility of his arm around her waist as they skated in Central Park he agreed to her suggestion and the date was made.  As he waited for her to put her coat and galoshes on in the staff room before he left, he was filled with an anticipation he hadn't felt in years.  For the remainder of the week, it was challenging to keep their mind on their work.  Both of them, alone and lonely, wondered if perhaps this could be the beginning of something wonderful.  It was difficult not to imagine a future together, even though they had no idea if they were compatible beyond a good work relationship.  For the first time in a long while, both individuals dared to dream of a future with someone at their side.

Then Saturday morning dawned, and Mr. Barnes looked out his window in dismay at the heavy snow that was falling.  Quickly turning on the radio he listened to the announcer describe a weather system that was supposed to go north to Canada, but instead came east to New York.  Temperatures were expected to plummet throughout the day.  It was suggested that the next few days of snowfall could shut the whole city down with the amount that was expected.  Sitting forlornly at his kitchen table, Mr. Barnes made the decision to cancel the date and pulled out his list of teacher names, addresses and telephone numbers.  As he picked out Lucy Heathcott's name in the list, he noted her address was within walking distance of his apartment.  As the phone rang, he suddenly thought of another way to see her.  It was quite improper to ask this of Miss Heathcott, but something told him that if he didn't take this chance, he might regret it for the rest of his life.  For too long he had followed the path of least resistance.  Now was the time for confidence.

"Carpe diem," he said out loud, just as the receiver on the end was picked up.

"Hello?" said a voice on the other end.  He recognized it as Miss Heathcott.  "Who is this?"

"James Barnes," he replied.  Bold, be bold.  "It seems that the weather will make our plans for Central Park unwise, but I wanted to suggest an alternative."

She was quiet for a moment.  "I'm listening."

"You don't live far from me," he said, "and I would be willing to come over and walk you back, but would you consider coming to my apartment?  We can have lunch, listen to music and talk."

He let out a shaky breath.  He had done it, had suggested something as an alternative to cancelling the date.  She was quiet again, then he heard it, an almost imperceptible whisper of carpe diem.  Was it possible that she also wished to throw caution to the wind and do something completely out of character?

"It's supposed to get worse during the day," she said, hesitantly.  "What if by the time I have to go home it is isn't possible?"

It wasn't an outright refusal, but he understood that her reputation was on the line.  She was an unmarried woman, in a position of responsibility.  If it wasn't possible for her to go home, then she would have to stay at his apartment which could reflect poorly on both of them.  He did have a second bedroom.  Why couldn't Miss Heathcott be his guest and stay in the other bedroom?  That wasn't improper, was it?

"You can stay," he answered.  "I have a second bedroom.  It was my mother's before she passed away.  You would be my guest."  He breathed out.  Carpe diem.  "It's just that I was so looking forward to spending time with you.  When I saw the snow, and heard the forecast, it made me feel that perhaps fate was conspiring against us.  Then I realized that life is a choice.  We either accept the limitations placed on us, or we strive to overcome them.  If you insist on returning to your rooming house before dark, I will make sure you get home safely."

He closed his eyes, praying that she would accept. 

"Meet me halfway," she said, after a long silence.  "I live in a rooming house and the landlady would be bothered by a man picking me up.  I'll bring some things to stay, just in case, but I don't promise anything."

An hour later Mr. Barnes met Miss Heathcott, both bundled up enough to cover their faces, but he recognized her scarf and approached her as the snow fell in large wet clumps.  Extending his hand, he took her small valise from her, then offered her his other arm for the walk back to his apartment.  It was the first time they had ever touched and her presence on his arm felt wonderful to him.  They didn't speak until they entered his building and stamped the snow off their feet.  In his apartment they removed their galoshes, and heavy overcoats, hanging them up in the closet by the door.  Both quickly ran their hands through their hair.  He took her valise, leading Miss Heathcott, Lucy, to the second bedroom, handing her luggage to her at the door.

"I'll leave you to get settled," he said.  "Would you like a coffee or would a tea interest you?"

"Tea would be nice," she answered.  "Milk, no sugar.  Thank you ... James."

Lucy came out to a tray set up on a table in the living room, with a teapot, two cups with saucers, and milk.  Taking a closer look at the living room space, she thought it felt very comfortable, with good quality furniture and decor.  Although it was not what she was expecting it showed her host in a positive light.  Noticing the full bookshelves and the record collection she smiled, somehow not surprised at what Mr. Barnes ... James, did to relax.  He came out of the kitchen, carrying a small plate of cookies, wearing a pair of brown trousers, a grey shirt, and a pullover sweater with an argyle pattern of brown and grey over it.  She must have made a noise because he looked at her, then at himself, suddenly self-conscious.

"I've never seen you wear anything other than your black suit and white shirt," she said.  "You look nice, like a different person."

"My first principal insisted on all the men teachers wearing the same suit," he answered.  "Said it was a mark of professionalism.  It just became a habit, I guess.  I usually wear something like this on the evenings and weekends.  In the summer I'm even more relaxed in appearance."  A compliment on his clothing should be returned.  "You look good, too.  I've never seen you in slacks."

"With the cold weather I thought it was prudent," she breathed.  "You live alone?"

He approached closer to where she stood.  "Yes.  My mother lived with me as my sisters are married with small children.  She became too ill to live at home and had to go into the hospital.  She passed away about three years ago.  My father died shortly after I graduated from college. I assumed responsibility for caring for my family."

"I'm sorry.  My folks are still alive but they're in Illinois.  I only get back to see them at Christmas and in the summer." 

They both stopped talking and stood there, unsure what to do next.  He gestured to an armchair for Lucy to sit in, while he sat on the couch.  Pouring her tea first, he handed her the cup and saucer, then poured some for himself.  They sipped from their cups quietly, letting the warmth of the liquid rejuvenate them.  Sitting back, Mr. Barnes crossed his legs at the knee.  Lucy stayed upright in the armchair, crossing her legs at the ankle and angling them to one side. 

"How long have you lived here?" she asked.

"10 years," he answered.  "After my sisters got married my mother's health took a turn and she was unable to be in a place with stairs.  This apartment had elevator access which was easier for her.  Taking care of her took up most of my spare time outside of the school and left no time for courting."  He sipped again.  "I don't want to give it up while I'm away so I'm looking for someone to sublet it while I am overseas."

"It's a very nice place," said Lucy.  "It feels comfortable."  I could be happy living here.  It's much nicer than the rooming house.

He suddenly leaned forward and picked up the plate of cookies offering it to her.  With a polite smile, she took one, placing it on her saucer. 

"You have an interesting assortment of books and records," she said, after she bit into her cookie.  "Have you read all of the books and listened to all of the music?"

"Yes, to both," he answered.  "I taught my sisters to dance with those records, and I've been an avid reader since I was a boy.  Do you read?"

"Yes.  I listened more to the radio for music than bought records.  Who's your favourite author?"

"I was first interested in the stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Jules Verne, and H.G. Wells, then I discovered The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien.  It was like being transported to another universe.  Did you know he invented several languages just for the world he created, a place he called Middle Earth?  He's a brilliant man."

"I'll have to read it."  She ate some more of her cookie.  "I'm more of a mystery fan, myself.  Agatha Christie is a favourite."

"She is a good writer."  He looked towards his bookshelf.  "I have the ones with Hercule Poirot in them.  He's a fascinating character."

Lucy beamed at James, glad to have found something in common with him.  They talked more about books, music, and movies, although both admitted they didn't go to the pictures too often.  She offered to help prepare lunch and they talked more in the kitchen about food.  They spent the afternoon listening to several radio shows, sharing the sofa.  As the day lengthened into the late afternoon, Lucy suddenly moved to the window looking out over the snowy landscape.  There were no vehicles about and only a few people were walking.  The wind had come up as well, as she could hear it whistle a little bit through the window.

"I should go home," said Lucy.  "If I wait until dark it will make it difficult to see where I'm going."

"Don't go."  James said quickly.  "I am having a wonderful time getting to know you better."

"What would people say if they knew I was here?  I could lose my job."

"But they don't know," he answered.  "Did your landlady notice you leaving with your valise?"

Lucy nodded then looked down.  "I lied and told her I was spending the night with a girlfriend whose husband had just left for England.  Said she was nervous about being alone during the snowfall."

Wringing her hands a little betrayed her distress at having to lie.  Gently, he placed one of his hands on hers, stilling her motions.  It was a little presumptuous, he knew, but he didn't want her to leave.  This had been a wonderful time for him.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.  "In the morning the snowplows will likely be out, and the footing will be easier to manage."  He looked out the window.  "By the time we got halfway you would have to walk the rest of the way alone in the dark and I couldn't ... I wouldn't leave you to do that.  The odds of your landlady seeing us would increase.  Please ... stay."

Her hands were so soft that he was unaware he was gently rubbing his thumb over the back of one of them.  She looked at it, then at him and swallowed.  Smiling, he released her hands and stepped back. 

"I'll stay but you promise to be a gentleman?"

"On my mother's memory," he replied.  "I would never force myself on you."

She took him at his word.  Even though it was cold and dark outside, inside, in his heart, he felt light and young again.  Together they prepared dinner, lighting candles on the table, and listening to orchestral music on the radio.  After washing up, they returned to the living room and sat quietly again in the stillness that seemed to amplify the beating of their hearts.

"Would you dance with me?" he asked.  "There is always nice music on the radio." 

"I'm not very good," she replied, blushing.  "I rarely get asked."

"That's alright.  Neither am I really.  All we have to do is sway and move our feet a little.  Please."

She nodded and he turned the radio on, tuning in a station with slow dance music.  Taking his hand, she tensed a little at how his other hand touched her back, bringing them closer together.  Tentatively, they began swaying to the music, and slowly relaxed into it.  He placed his head close to hers, close enough to smell her perfume and became brave enough to tell her something, when The Man I Love came on.

"Every time I hear this song, I imagine I'm in Paris," he murmured.  "I'm with a beautiful woman and we're outside a café.  The music wafts out onto the sidewalk and the only light is from the streetlamp above.  Even though there are others there, in our circle of light we feel like we're alone.  It's a warm summer night.  I'm wearing trousers and a dress shirt, no tie, and my sleeves are rolled up because of the heat, while my partner is wearing a pretty dress and heels."

She looked up at him, noticing how dark his eyes seemed.  Lucy's heart was beating so loudly, she was sure James could hear it, but he just kept looking at her.

"What happens next?" she asked. 

"Suddenly, we are alone, as everyone goes inside to refresh their drinks.  I brush my fingers along her cheek."  He stopped and brushed his fingers just above her jawline.  "Then I kiss her softly on the lips and draw her into my embrace."

Looking at his lips she opened hers slightly and he leaned over kissing her gently, pulling her into his arms, as she wrapped her arms around him.  It was every bit as nice as he imagined.  Her lips were so soft and pliable, and the touch of their tongues sent a sensation into his brain that made him want more.  How her body felt, melded with his as they held each other, reminded him of the first woman he fell in love with when he was in college. The memory of how they spent their first night together affected him physically in a way he thought was gone forever.  The song finished but neither of them heard the next song be introduced or begin as they kept the sweet connection going.  Slowly, he pulled away then caressed her face.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he said.  "Lucy, I know that we don't have long before I leave but would you allow me to see you until then?"

"To what end?" she asked.  "I've wanted to kiss you as well, but I want more than just spending time together."  She looked away, embarrassed a little.  "I felt how your body responded to me as we kissed. I know it's normal in a man, but I've never been in the position of feeling desire that way. I want more."

He gasped slightly.  What was she saying?  Carefully, he cleared his throat.

"You felt desire for me?"  She nodded.  That was unexpected.  He had accepted her caveat of being a gentleman when she agreed to stay.  "It's been a long time since I was with a lady.  College, actually.  I never expected you to ...."

She put her fingertips on his lips, and he kissed them, softening his gaze on her.  He couldn't deny that the thought of being with her in that way wasn't enticing to him, but this was new ground for him.  As a man, he wanted it but as a gentleman there was more to consider, especially for her. 

What if a child was conceived?  It would make him a cad if he was overseas and received a letter from her saying their tryst had produced a baby.  She would lose her job, be ostracized, and evicted from her rooming house, although she could live here.  He glanced around his apartment; she could live here.  What if she did so as his wife?  They had known each other for 12 years.  They weren't strangers.  He was a bachelor; she was a spinster; successful marriages had been built just on that.  With the war on, she could continue working as a married woman, if she wanted.  He looked at her upturned face, a small smile gracing it, and felt that warmth again.  Carpe diem.

"Would you marry me?" he asked.  "We could go to City Hall before it closes one day and get the licence and be married next weekend.  You could move in here, stay here while I'm away, be waiting for me when I get back.  If what we do tonight produces a child, you'll be taken care of.  If anything happens to me, all that I have will be yours."

Marry him?  Her mouth was suddenly dry, and no words were forthcoming from her lips.  A proposal certainly was unexpected.  She had crossed a boundary by coming here, then had crossed another by even suggesting they be together physically.  Now, he was offering a chance to make it right.  He was offering the protection of his name and his home by asking her to be his wife, regardless of what would come from this night.  Is that what she wanted?  Carpe diem.

"Yes."

Their kiss was brief but deep, intense, and full of anticipation. James, ever the gentleman, wanted to ensure Lucy felt safe with him. He wouldn’t be aggressive with her as it wasn’t his nature. They could begin with sharing a bed and go from there.

"Do you want to change into your nightclothes?" he asked.  "We can be in my bedroom or in yours.  Whatever you're more comfortable with."

"Yours," she said.  "I would like to change.  James, do you like me?"

He lowered his eyes and breathed out noticeably.  For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer her or would say that he didn't.

"I have loved you from afar for a long time. If I had a flower for every time I thought of you ... I could walk through my garden forever.  Alfred, Lord Tennyson said that, and I have known that I loved you ever since the first day I laid eyes on you.  When I return, we'll have a house with a garden full of flowers.  It won't make up for the years I was too afraid to say anything, but I will say it now.  I love you, Lucy.  Now and forever, you will be in my heart."

Nothing else mattered after those words were spoken.  The kiss they shared at this moment was more intense and passionate than she had ever imagined a kiss could be.  To be wanted so much by a man, and to want him in return was the most wonderful feeling in the world.  Right now, this was their world, and they would live by their decisions.

💞 💞

June 1945

The taxi driver wouldn't take the money that Captain Barnes offered to him when he pulled up in front of the Brooklyn apartment building.  He saw the medals on the officer's uniform, then noticed the folded up left sleeve of the man's jacket.  This was a war hero, a man who lost an arm for his country, a man who made it back alive.  Today, he rode free.  With a slight smile, Barnes got out of the taxi, reaching in for his duffle bag and grasping the strap with his right hand.  As he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the brick building that he hadn't seen in two years he wondered if Lucy would forgive him for not telling her what happened.  Might as well get it over with.

The elevator ride was slow, but it gave him time to think about all that had happened since their quick marriage, and separation after he left.  It was only six weeks into basic training that Lucy wrote him about being pregnant.  She turned the second bedroom into a nursery, selling his mother's bedroom suite, on his insistence, to pay for the baby furniture they needed.  Her letters had been filled with love and longing for the day when they would be reunited. 

When he lost his arm, just days before Germany's surrender, he couldn't bring himself to tell her.  It was hard to admit that he felt less a man than he did before.  He wasn't sure he could return to being a school principal.  Would staff and students still respect him without his arm?  Then the day came when he got his orders to report to a hospital ship returning to New York.  His stump wound was healing well so he didn't need much medical care on the trip back.  An army doctor on board told him that as a veteran he could get an artificial arm fitted, admitting they weren't the most friendly looking things, using hooks to replace a lost hand, but gave him a card for a special foundation, funded by the billionaire Howard Stark.  He was developing a new type of prosthetic for amputees and wanted men willing to try his prototypes out.  It was worth exploring.

The elevator stopped and the door opened.  Grasping his duffle bag again, Barnes walked to the door of his apartment and placed the bag on the floor, then tentatively knocked on the door.  He could hear Lucy's footsteps approaching, his heart racing with an ominous sense of foreboding.  Then it opened, and there she was, looking up at him in surprise.  Her arms went around his neck, as she cried, calling his name out over and over again.  Wrapping his right arm around her, he buried his now clean-shaven face into her neck, taking in the smell of her perfume and the softness of her hair and skin.  Then their lips met, deliriously tasting and sensing that which they had both missed since they said goodbye.  Her hands went to his arms, and it was then she noticed, as she looked from where his left arm should have been to his face and back again.

"Your arm ... you lost it."  It was said as a statement of fact.  He nodded, prepared to explain.  "Oh, my darling, my love.  If that was the price to bring you back to me then that's how it is.  For you are back, aren't you?  You are still mine?  Still my James?"

"Now and forever," he answered, almost ready to cry in relief.  He took in all of her, her face, her hair, her lips, her hands that he brought to his own lips to kiss.  "I'm home and I'm never going to war again."

She caressed his face, then kissed him again, a sweet and gentle peck that was just as loving as the passionate one shared moments earlier.  Stepping back into the apartment as he picked up his bag, she waited for him to drop it off inside the door, then he took his cap off, placing it on a side table.  Leading him into the living room where a playpen held his son, James Barnes Jr., she dropped his hand.  The toddler raised his arms to Lucy, and she scooped him up.

"JJ, this is your daddy," she said.  "Daddy's home from the war.  Can you say hi and give him a kiss?"

The little boy's attention was taken by the medals on his father's uniform, reaching for them with his chubby hands.  Holding his right arm out, Bucky held him firmly on his hip, looking at the blue eyes, and Lucy's hair on this beautiful child, his child, conceived on a wintry night when a lonely man and woman, who thought life had passed them by, decided to seize the day and reach for happiness together.  His lips trembled and his eyes watered.  He had never been so happy, as he was right this moment.  What would the future bring?  Whatever they willed it.

One shots masterlist

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The whole discourse about the privacy/secrecy/support thing has been sitting with me for a few days (I mean other than it always does to a certain degree) thanks to all the excellent discussion happening and I know I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said a million times before, but I think what we're seeing and what we're going to learn (e.g. from TTPD) is that it wasn't just the support issue, but how it was shown/handled.

We've all gone out of our way to show that introversion =/= lack of support. Someone can be shy, reserved, etc. and still show up for their partner, whether in public or at home. To chalk any of the differences up to the clash between introversion and extroversion is unfair to folks who count themselves among either tbh.

@thisisctrying said something the other day that hit the nail on the head about how if that support had been offered in private, there very well may not have been a Joever to begin with, or at least not at this point in time. (Sorry for loosely paraphrasing, and for namedropping you! Long time listener, first time poster.)

If this were a case where the "shy" partner said, "I am really uncomfortable with the spotlight personally and do not want to court it, but I will support you in your ambitions and offer you whatever you need to make them happen and make the glare bearable," I suspect that would have gone a long way to making Taylor feel seen and comfortable in pursuing her goals in the way that she now has. Again, that might have been more akin to the balance that seemed to have been struck around 2019 from what we can see, but even speaking in a general sense, there are lots of couples out there, celebrity or not, that have similar approaches where there are highly driven people and busy careers involved.

(A famous example being Dolly Parton's marriage. Tbh I know next to nothing about her and Carl, but she's always heralded as an example in this regard, because her husband is famously uncomfortable with the spotlight and hasn't accompanied her to public events in decades, but she's said that she never minded that because that was always work to her, and what was important was that he supported her in pursuing all her career goals and basically ensured she had a place to call home to return to at the end of the day.)

We're kind of in a brave new world with her current relationship because it felt like, at least at the start, we were maybe watching her figure out her boundaries in real time as to what she was comfortable with or not and adjust accordingly. Like so many have said, I fully believe the extreme privacy thing was initially driven by herself and her experiences in 2016, and she needed that quiet time to recover from all of the things and figure out how to exist in the world again.

Stating the obvious, it seemed like eventually privacy was equated with secrecy, turning the relationship and the celebrity into the elephant in the room and something to never be spoken of to the outside world. People are free to choose whatever works best for themselves and their relationships, and for some the separate public lives might work, but the “kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath” theme is all over her work and it’s clear that it’s a sore spot for her, because she’s been made to feel shame just for the life she leads so many times in the past.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s pretty obvious something Not Great was happening behind the scenes, which didn’t just amount to “she wanted to be a public celebrity and he wanted to be a private hermit.” (Also, in case anyone forgot, this is a person who also chose a public-facing career who also has to engage in press for it, but I digress.) As her career reached new heights post-folklore, if she had the support at home to do all the things without judgment and with encouragement, and in turn offer the same support to her partner, she may have very well lived just fine with that, not unlike Dolly Parton’s case.

By reading between the lines in all the press since, as well as comments on tour and general ~vibes~ with TTPD teasers, it seems like one of the issues was that that was likely not the case. There was all the stuff that we saw — the reticence to acknowledge each other in the media (particularly on one side), the lack of public support even at events at which they were both in attendance for their respective jobs, the great lengths they went to not to be photographed together at events they attended yet no problem taking pictures with other friends and coworkers, the jobs that separated them, the withdrawing from the public even for work accomplishments, etc. Which could all be manageable if a couple chooses to do so together and are not inherently a sign of trouble in themselves.

But what we’re seeing now I think is a reflection of the things we weren’t seeing then, and it seems to indicate some very deep hurt. (I know, call me Captain Obvious.) And like so many have been saying, it feels likely that that part of that hurt is rooted in that very lack of private support where a person would expect it from their partner. Obviously as a Taylor fan blog I’m going to be more inclined to understand her side of a story, but tbh, it’s also because… this is sooooooo common, and something I’ve experienced in my friend group. (@taylortruther is right when she says most breakups are the same one way or another lol.)

One partner is resentful of the other’s success, or resentful that the other’s priorities begin to evolve as new experiences unlock new goals, or feels the other’s ambitions are not worthy of pursuit, and coupled with perhaps their own struggles in the same domain, it’s easy to see where that can chip away at the other partner’s morale and faith in the relationship. I know I’m just speculating here, but I also don’t think it’s totally unfounded. (Again, because a) I’m picking up what she’s putting down and b) it happens to sooooooo many women even among us dull normals.)

With all the pointed mentions about how much Taylor feels supported in her current relationship and how she in turn loves to offer the same show of support to not only her partner but other loved ones, how she’s stepped out more in the last year to a whole host of events, how she’s mentioned feeling like she locked herself away for years and she’s just proud of her partner and happy she can show up for him even if the chaos around it is unsettling, it paints a picture of what perhaps was happening before last year.

To feel like you’re all alone in carrying the weight of the relationship (or burden of it), of twisting yourself into knots to accommodate the other person’s boundaries (or insecurities) but not feeling reciprocity for your own has to be so painful. (The idea that it may have been even darker and to have a partner not only be unreceptive to your own needs but even perhaps resentful/dismissive/belittling of them is even more painful to think of. I guess we’ll find out when TTPD comes out if that was the case, too.)

At a certain point, that lack of acknowledgement will force your hand to be able to reclaim yourself. And it feels like the further removed Taylor in particular is from it, the more she moves from being sad about the life she felt she gave up by leaving, to angry at the life she felt she was giving up by staying. Especially being in a relationship now where it seems like everything comes much easier, where she can be open about the person she’s with and show up for them, all the stuff that seemed as challenging as climbing Mount Everest in her past is nothing more than a molehill at best in her current life.

TL;DR: I don’t think it’s privacy that inherently spells doom for a celebrity relationship like this; it’s the mutual support and respect that does. If Taylor had felt that in the later years of her previous relationship, I think we could be seeing a different, though not necessarily unfulfilled, person right now in 2024, who’d be happy on tour but whose personal life would look a little different. But it seems like by losing that support she lost parts of herself, and we’ve seen her reclaim that in spades in the last year, and perhaps to degrees she didn’t even realize she could from before all the Bad Stuff started happening in her young adulthood.

I know this was extremely long-winded and unnecessary, especially about total strangers we only know through scraps fed through the media, but I just always bristle at this idea that issues like these boil down to “personality differences,” as though one person wants to live in a city and the other on a remote island, or some shit like that. The whole support (and gender tbh) issue is one that’s just very close to my heart because again, I have seen it play out with so many of my friends in long term relationships and marriages and I just think people in relationships (and women in particular in some circles) deserve better than to feel like they’re being, well, tolerated.