#my common complaint is how little they actually cared any mental health in the mental health show

[becoach-a]

them having a therapist on richmond grounds for an entire season but………a lot of people who needed therapy…didn’t get it?

[bigskydreaming]

Sorry to bother you, but RE: the Jason Todd in Arkham thing, like, what was Dick supposed to do? Take him home to the same house where two of the KIDS that Jason had threatened/attacked were supposed to be living in what one hoped would be relative safety?

Like, full offence, Jason had at that point proven himself a danger to all the people around him. If he wound up at Arkham, oh well, maybe don’t kill a whole bunch of ppl and harm numerous others. If Arkham doesn’t work as a hospital, maybe he should have been at another one, but at that point in his character arc, a secure mental health facility was probably the best he could expect.

It’s like ppl forget he’s a multiple murderer with a history of targeting the ppl Dick loves. I don’t even read the comics and I know this much.

Oh for sure, I mean, I've posted meta about this before because the fandom accepted narrative gets it sooooooo wrong. Like, I'll always be right at the front of the line yelling IT WAS JASON'S CHARACTERIZATION THAT WAS CRAP THROUGH ALL THAT, THAT'S NOT JASON, GIMME NUANCE OR GIMME DEATH. Y'know, something like that.

But like, given that Jason was written as repeatedly trying to kill Dick's other two brothers its like, yeah?! What was Dick supposed to do? He'd tried asking Jason nicely hey could you stop doing that and Jason was like LOL no.

And also....people are like - Dick callously threw Jason into Arkham right next to the Joker and then just left him there and forgot about him and....SOURCE?

1) Dick didn't DO this to Jason, JASON went after Dick and Damian and in the process of fighting him in a very public space, Dick beat Jason and police were already like....right there? Dick didn't actually have the option of being uh no, you can't take this known and notorious criminal into custody, I'll stop you on the basis of - well I can't tell you actually but plz just trust me okay, he totes didn't mean it! (except like also, at that point he totes did, so.....)

2) What pull Dick DID have as Batman with the GCPD, he used to get Jason put into Arkham INSTEAD of Blackgate for his SAFETY. We know this to be true. Jason himself confirmed that absolutely nothing bad happened to him in Arkham, he just didn't want to be there but WHO THE HELL EVER WANTS TO BE IN A PRISON OF ANY SORT? And the first thing Dick said when Bruce said Jason had demanded to be transferred to Blackgate is that Jason wouldn't be safe there with all the enemies he had gunning for him. It was abundantly clear that Jason's safety had been a primary concern for Dick the whole time (and Jason wasn't safe at Blackgate, its just fine, he only wanted to be transferred in order to enact an escape plan that got like 80 people indiscriminately killed but whatevs. Its Gotham, what's a few dozen more dead criminals am I right? *rolls eyes at how often that little detail gets left out of the narrative).

3) Dick consistently put time, focus and Wayne Enterprises money into Arkham Asylum while he was Batman, since Arkham was being rebuilt from the ground up after it was blown up in Battle for the Cowl. Also, Dick had been one of the last 'patients' in the old Arkham, given that he went undercover to infiltrate the Black Glove while they were in control of Arkham and spent a week in there drugged to the gills, locked up and in a straitjacket before being almost lobotomized. He has every grievance with Arkham that fan writers like to PRETEND Jason has from his stay there, but Jason's only complaint was that he again, was bored, and he had to take psych evals every other week because it was after all, still a mental health institution. Dick did everything in his power at the time to make sure that even if Jason did have to be locked up to keep him from going after more people, like, it was going to be as humane as possible and the stuff that Dick himself had JUST experienced in the old Arkham WOULDN'T happen to Jason.

4) The Joker was literally nowhere near Arkham THE ENTIRE TIME. This is not a small detail, given that 'the Joker was just five cells down' is the entire basis of most writers' Jason-in-Arkham angst and the anti-Dick sentiments they tend to create. All the major Rogues escaped from the old Arkham in Battle for the Cowl BEFORE it blew up. That's why they're not DEAD. Dick's run as Batman was primarily about fighting the escapees. And Joker, very significantly, was clearly among those Rogues not present in Arkham during Dick's Batman run, given he was literally toying with Dick and Damian through most of it. Seriously, how much do people have to hate Dick and think the worst of him to think that he - the dude who btw, BEAT THE JOKER TO DEATH WITH HIS BARE HANDS FOR MAKING JOKES ABOUT KILLING JASON - would just....obliviously lock Jason up right next to the Joker and throw away the key?

Like...and it goes on and on, lol. I remember the first time I brought all this up in an argument with some Jason stans, they literally started laughing back and forth to each other in the replies about how someone was a bit too carried away with their own fanon, and its like...LMAO! Yes! Someone is! Its YOU! You are the people you guys are talking about, looooool, I can literally back all this up with sourced panels.

Buuuuuuut, c'est la vie.

I mean, this is nothing new for us, its literally Teen Wolf fandom alllll over again. Probably why I just said nope, not doing this again awhile back and was like umm actually I will NOT just be ignoring the blatant false narratives thrown around here just so that people happy with the fanon narratives that prioritize the characters they like and sling shit at the characters they don't can have their fandom just the way they want it at the expense of everyone else in it. You wanna push bad faith interpretations of specific characters at every literal opportunity, its like, that's cool! I got the drive! I can push back with actual facts, its all good!

But the most hilarious thing to me will always be how fucking INDIGNANT people get about that, like "How dare you point out the precedent we established in not caring about any fandom experience other than our own and thus being loud and everpresent with our preferred interpretations in an attempt to drown out any other possible interpretation just so that the most people possible would be influenced by us instead of anything else, and we'd get more of the content we like at the expense of any possible nuance whatsoever."

Like, the most common complaint I get is people griping about how damn often I'm saying "mmmm, no, this isn't what happened actually" and "okay but have you considered flipping the script BACK from the way you flipped it initially in order to get this weird ass interpretation of a superhero noted for his emphasis on emotional caretaking of his loved ones actually being this callous oblivious selfish jerk who tramples all over the feelings of everyone around them and makes them just the woobiest woobies that ever did woobie all throughout Woobieland?"

And I'm just like, okay see, I hear you, its just the thing is, the THING IS......

If you didn't want that to be the topic of conversation so damn often, then hey, just a suggesh, but maybe you shouldn't have devoted literal years to coming up with the most bad faith interpretations of this character possible at literally every available opportunity. Maybe there'd be like.....less reason for the topic to come up so often, if like....you by your own actions hadn't made it a necessary topic to tackle so often?

I DON'T KNOW, I'M JUST SPIT-BALLING HERE, DON'T MIND ME AND MY CRAZY-ASS IDEAS OF FAIR PLAY.

[s-creations]

In Sickness, In Health Chapter 3 - Mental Health

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros           Rating: General Audience           Relationships/Pairings:  José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles   Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

José knew it was a long time coming.

 He wondered if it was the constant, non-stop life of a job and raising three kids kept it at bay for so long. Because it was upon realizing the familiar gray clouds were approaching once more that he also counted how long it had been since his last...episode. How long ago his last relapse was. How long it had been since his heart beating heavily in his chest while his mind became muddled. 

 It started out on Monday. Waking up early to get into work. Knowing he was going to be gone until Friday. Gone from his family and the warm bed surrounded by his husbands. Sleeping in numerous hotel rooms where it was uncomfortably cold. 

 Then his mind seemed to fixate on every negative aspect of his job. How long the flights seemed to be. How every patron had made it their mission to be as loud, needy, and rude as possible. He was sure every mistake, which was numerous his mind helpfully offered, would cost him his position. Which sent him down a spiral thought of how the family would suffer. How dependent they were on him financially and he would be a disappointment once more.

 José knew the mask was slipping when co-workers pulled him aside after one flight. Asking if he was okay. To which he merely smiled and said he was feeling fine. But he could tell by the exchange of worried glances he wasn’t being convincing. 

 It was both a relief and a mounting worry when the end of the week arrived. He was finally able to go home. But he didn’t want to face the family. The kids were old enough to know something was wrong but not able to understand what was wrong. This was a burden José didn’t even want his husbands to deal with. He didn’t want the kids to worry as well.

 The front door opened slowly, José standing in the doorway. Contemplating if he should go in or just rent out a hotel until this passed. 

 But it won’t pass. The problem is always there. Hiding will only make them worry more. They’d just hunt you down and do you really want to do that to them?

 José couldn’t tell if the voice was supposed to be helping or not. Letting out a slow sigh, he walked in. Mind and body exhausted, he shuffled over to the couch. Unable to convince himself to make it to the proper bed. Merely kicking off his shows as he settled down. Sleep not coming to him until a few hours later. Even then, it was restless. 

 He heard when the family woke up. Familiar sounds of feet hitting the ground. Cheerful cries of ‘Tio Chito!’ and ‘Uncle Donald!’ coming from the triplets. Very mumbled and soft replies from the two adults. José rolled so he was facing the back of the couch. Curling up to be as small as possible. Footsteps drew closer. Heading straight for the kitchen, the sounds of breakfast cooking and plates clinking together following. José wondered how long it would take for them to find him. 

 It honestly didn’t take that long. 

 Curious footsteps drew closer to the couch. “Tio José?”

 Oh, it was Louie. Of course it was going to be one of the triplets who found him first. José could only hope that Louie would assume the parrot was still asleep. That the duckling would eventually become bored and wanders back to the family. 

 José twitched slightly feeling hands grasping the back of his shirt. Louie climbed up and laid himself across the parrot.

 “Louie?” Donald called out from the kitchen, “What are you doing in there?”

 “Shhh, Tio José’s sleeping.” The duckling replied. Two sets of footsteps sounded as, no doubt, Donald and Panchito walked in. Louie was lifted up with a small noise of complaint. 

 “Come on, let’s let Tio José sleep.” Donald said, his voice growing distant as he went back to the kitchen. 

 Panchito had remained behind, José didn’t have to look up. Sure enough, a hand was gently placed on his shoulder. “José? ...Where are we on the scale?”

 It was always ‘we’, never ‘you’. The rooster made it clear how determined he was to help out in any way. It wasn’t a problem José didn’t have to manage alone. This was an issue they handled together. 

 “José, where on the scale.”

 Oh, right, he was supposed to answer. “...7.”

 “Okay, we can work with a 7.” Being cautious, Panchito slowly moved the parrot to sit up. José opened his eyes to get his bearings as everything shifted. “Did you sleep?”

 “...I think so...but not long…”

 “I think the first thing we need to worry about is getting you a shower. And out of your work clothes. I’m sure that will help out as well.”

 José made no complaint as he was moved to stand. The rooster more than happy (more or less)  to carry the other to the bedroom.

 “Tio José?”

 And they had to pass the kitchen. So the triplets had their full attention set on their uncles trying to sneak by. Donald looked sheepish, a silent apology for having José being caught in the act. 

 This wouldn’t be an issue if you could actually take care of yourself.

 “No worries,” Panchito attempted to calm the worried looks, “José’s just feeling a little unwell. But he’s going to get cleaned up and sleep for a bit.” 

 José watched as the three ducklings exchanged looks. The parrot holding himself back from hiding away behind the tall rooster. 

 “...I like watching movies when I’m not feeling well.” Huey quietly offered. 

 Which Dewey jumped onto easily. “Yeah! Movie marathon in the living room! Can we do that, please? To help Tio José.”

 Louie’s eyes darted between all. Curious about the outcome, but not wanting to weigh in. 

 “As wonderful as that sounds, Tio José may just want to sleep. Let’s let him get himself clean and decide what he wants to do after that.” Panchito smiled softly at the small chorus of ‘Yes, Tio Chito’ as he led José away. The bedroom door closed, placing both birds in darkness.

 “You go get clean. I’ll bring you your sleepwear. Then we can decide what to do after.” 

 “...What if I do not want to be with the kids?”

 “Then you don’t have to. We won’t force you to.” 

 “...But I will disappoint them.”

 Panchito gave a gentle kiss to José’s forehead. “You could never disappoint them. Now, go shower. Take all the time you need.”

 The parrot gave a small sigh. Wishing he could just hide away in the red plumage. But knowing he wouldn’t win, he instead shuffled away to the bathroom. 

 The water was scalding as it fell on José. The room filling with steam as his fingers ran through his feathers. It was nice to get the work dirt and smell off of him. Sure, the hotel rooms had showers. But being home just made that feeling of being clean all the better. That didn’t mean José was going to leave anytime soon. He still had to decide what happened when he left. 

 Do you really think your family will want to be around you?

 “But I want to be with them,” José quietly argued back, “Wasn’t that the whole reason I came back?”

 It was so they didn’t have to hunt you down. Continuing to be a burden. Just tuck yourself away and keep out of the way. They don’t want to see you.

 The parrot frowned. Not in defeat, but in determination. “Except they do… We planned a movie marathon tonight. They suggested it.”

 They don’t want to see you!

 “Well, I want to see them.”

 José turned the water off after only a few minutes of getting clean. Climbing out and grabbing the towel, scrubbing it over himself to dry off quickly. Eyes landing on a pile of clothing resting on the toilet seat. Panchito must have walked in while José was internally arguing with himself. The parrot ignored the feeling of clothing sticking to wet feathers as he left the bathroom. The rooster, who had been scrolling through his phone, jumped as the door was suddenly opened. Clearly not prepared.

 “J-José, you alright?”

 “I want my boys.”

 Panchito gave a relieved laugh and smiled. “Alright. Let’s go see our boys.”

 They entered the living room, where the couch was already transformed into a blanket tent. Stack of movies resting at the base of the entertainment system. Dewey cheered upon seeing Panchito and José. But Louie was the one who dashed over, clinging to the parrot’s leg. José instantly bent down to pick the duckling up. Finding comfort in the weight and warmth in his arms. 

 All clambered onto the couch, smuched together as the movie started. No one commented when José fell asleep halfway through. 

[playing--koi]

Creatures Alike

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning(s): SMUT, brief mentions of violence and torture, brief mentions of blood and injury, swearing, unprotected sex (y’all this is a mythical world, but stds are very real here so keep that shit locked up)

Summary: A mysterious Witcher saves you from criminal sacrifice and quite a grim background of servitude and torture. Since he’s decided to nurse you back to health and treat you with compassion, you’ve felt something awaken inside of you for the first time in your bleak life.  

Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

The coarse bark of the tree trunk pressed painfully into the skin of your back. You weren’t sure if the liquid you felt soaking through your rags was that of sweat or blood. The hot, sticky air of the forest was palpable and, if you weren’t otherwise occupied with being tied to a tree, no doubt the heat would’ve instead been the subject of your complaints.

So how had you ended up tied to a tree? Simple. You were a criminal, ostracized and locked away; a long life of torture awaiting you for the murder of your village’s king. However, you didn’t regret it. Hell, you’d practically give anything to go back in time and do it all over again, savoring the vision of that vile man’s blood that glistened upon your dagger.

He got exactly what he’d deserved and you’d sworn to every high priestess sent to talk to the “daughter of Lilit” that you’d never repent. As far as you knew, you had no relation to the demon goddess of the night, intent on exterminating the human race; though you decided you’d lean into it. It was easier to claim Lilit’s likeness than to relive the horrors that you’d experienced at the hands of that man.

You were an orphan that’d been left on the doorstep of the king one night. It quickly became the subject of town gossip because your ears showed that of elven heritage. Not fully, but certainly enough to be recognized. Against all suggestion from his council, he decided to take you in to one day become a servant girl. The village ate that garbage up from the palm of his unscathed, perfectly manicured hands; woes of his “kind, gentle spirit” and “innate care for all creatures, no matter how disgusting”.

It made you sick. He made you sick. With his creative list of unthinkable punishments that he saved for only you. The halfblooded elf who was used as an outlet for his rage. His council knew, his family knew, neighboring royals knew. And no one batted an eye. If it kept their king happy, drain the elf’s blood.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you killed him. But evidently it was. There was talks of hanging you, burning you at the stake, stoning you to death; frankly, you’d lost track of the plethora of capital suggestions. Everyone cried of how ungrateful you were. That he’d accept one of your kind just to be murdered for his generosity. It almost made you laugh that these people were so busy sneering at you over a man that they only pretended to know the first thing about. In their minds, the honorable king would never lay a finger on an innocent creature, but oh, how wrong they were.

And now here you were. In the stead of public execution, you were now being offered as a sacrifice to the griffin that had been terrorizing the village. You’re pretty sure that everyone knew one lousy meal wouldn’t do anything to quench the abomination’s blood-thirst, but everyone was excited by the idea of a painful, terrifying, and gruesome death for a criminal such as yourself. Well, fuck them too.

You weren’t quite sure why they’d tied you up in the forest, considering griffins mostly traveled by flight, making it nearly impossible to see you hidden within the tree tops and thick foliage. Either you’d die by some miracle of the griffin finding you or perhaps another horrid creature, starvation, dehydration, or bandits. So many options, lucky you.

Lightheaded due to exhaustion and overheating, you couldn’t tell if you were imagining the noises that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. After years of mental torture and loneliness, you were more than aware of your mind’s ability to hallucinate quite grand things. Like that one time you’d managed to have an entire argument with your dinner rations. And you weren’t even sure if you’d won.

However you couldn’t imagine that your own mind would be able to conjure up the noise that you’d just heard. A growl so menacing and threatening, you were sure this was your end. And you hadn’t even seen the beast yet. You’d been through a lot, so you were not usually convinced that you wouldn’t survive something because, after so many days spent begging not to, you still prevailed. But this might actually be it.

And then you saw it. After many tales of such a beast; paintings, sonnets, songs, epic novels: a griffin. It was huge, grotesque, and sinister. Its face looked permanently smug as it traipsed in and out of your vision through openings. And it was on foot; how peculiar. But the closer you looked, the easier it was to see that it was injured. With a trail of blood closely following it, you concluded that it must’ve been its wings because, had it been another extremity, it probably wouldn’t have been walking as easily as it was.

But what creature would attack something so massive and menacing?

You kept your breaths as silent as possible, remaining as still as you could. You weren’t sure how good its hearing was. You didn’t really know much about griffins. You didn’t really know much about anything, to be honest. Spending most of your life hidden from the world certainly did an excellent job of also hiding the world from you. Whenever you could sneak a book from the king’s library, you would, but any of his more riveting, knowledgable ones were kept very far from your reach.

It was now far darker than it had been just a few minutes before, so you prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t see you. Seeming to be wandering aimlessly, the creature’s steps were slow and heavy before it made a sort of bedding with the surrounding leaves and curled up—as much as such a large body could “curl”—and began to snore.

Great, I pray to the gods for safety and instead they send a griffin to my exact location where it falls asleep, no doubt ready to maul me the moment I make an inkling of a sound. What a fucking joke.

Before you can agonize for too much longer, you see a flash of white in your peripheral vision and you whip your neck to face it. You see a man. A very large, very intimidating man with long white hair and dressed head to toe in black. He had weapons sheathed on his back and moved with a swiftness of someone who really knew how to use them. And he appeared to be purposely moving closer to the griffin. Oh no. He was going to wake it up and you were both going to die.

Well, he was just speeding up the inevitable. So you decided to watch. At least enjoy some entertainment in your last moments.

You couldn’t help but notice his pure beauty and the rugged nature of it. He was a daunting presence, one of indisputable importance and humble pride. He moved like both the lion and the gazelle; he was a contradiction, both gentle and dangerous. Reckless yet careful. Gods, he was approaching a griffin, yet it seemed to be just a daily occurrence for him. Maybe you both were going to live if his stature was anything to go by.

He was then standing over the sleeping body of the griffin, unsheathing his sword with delicacy so as not to awaken the beast. And without a sliver of hesitation, he chopped the overgrown bird’s head cleanly off its shoulders.  

You gasped without a thought and he quickly searched the darkness for the source of the noise and you could feel the blood drain from your face. Sure, he’d saved you from the imminent danger, but what if he was the new imminent danger? A man that confident and sly couldn’t be underestimated by a prisoner tied to a tree.

In the dark of the night, you could make out his eyes just as they found you. His brows furrowed, no doubt confused by your predicament. You couldn’t imagine it was a common occurrence to find a woman tied to a tree in the middle of a forest right after killing a griffin. He slowly began to inch closer to you before he was only a few footsteps away.

You could now make out the rich amber of his eyes as they scanned your…dilemma. His face was nothing short of perfect— sculpted by the delicate fingers of the gods—and mauled ever since by the cruelty he’d clearly faced on the continent. His face was dirty and battered, like he’d picked a pub brawl with the wrong gang of thugs. But after seeing the cool and collected way he slayed that animal, you couldn’t imagine him losing any fight.

And then he spoke. A deep rumble that sounded harsh to unprepared ears. His voice was that of smoke; thick and mysterious—throaty and coarse. It awoke something primal in you that’d been stifled perhaps your entire life. So much so that you’d forgotten to listen to what he’d actually said.

“Ma’am?” He inquired, clearly trying to get your attention. Little did he know he had it undivided.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t resist.

“Who are you?” You wondered aloud, your voice remaining constant in such a threatening situation. Due to the trials of your life, it’d been a long time since you feared death.

“Geralt,” he grumbled. Well, it didn’t exactly cover the complexities of your question, but it was a start.

“Are you going to kill me, Geralt?”

He grunted in response, but you could swear you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. He pulled the sword from its place hilted on his shoulder and you closed your eyes to brace for impact, but instead of an untimely demise, you simply felt your balance slipping as the rope was no longer holding you up straight.

Before you could land face-first on the forest floor, you could feel a forearm reach out and catch you around the waist. Upon opening your eyes, you could see that you were angled toward the ground and, had this peculiar man not reached his hand out and almost effortlessly stopped your downfall, you’d have had a mouthful of twigs.

He pulled you back up straight and, after no longer feeling your need for his support, he left you to stand on your own—though he watched you like a mare would her foal. Making sure you didn’t immediately go topsy-turvy. The absence of his warmth around your belly was somehow even more uncomfortable than the sweltering heat. You couldn’t even begin to think how sweaty he was under all of that black leather. What you’d give to get him out of it.

You tried to physically shake the thoughts from your head.

“May I ask why you were tied to a tree?” He questioned, sizing you up, almost as if he was guessing what the reason could be himself.

“My village is convinced that I’m the daughter of Lilit, so they left me as a human sacrifice for that griffin,” you pointed to the recently-slain beast.

He raised his eyebrows at your confession. “So you’re the servant girl who murdered the king,” his eyes narrowed as he continued, “I’ve heard talk of you. You’re not exactly spoken about favorably, considering you killed one of the continent’s most well-regarded rulers,”.

You felt a pang in your chest. You were so sick of the assumptions that everyone made about you. How you were a no-good, selfish, bloodthirsty elf. Always defending yourself from people who would never know the truth. Well, if that’s what they all thought, there was no use trying to change their minds.

“That would be me.” You sneered, “Probably should’ve just left me to die, huh?” You pushed past him, stomping away from your beautiful savior. Even a mysteriously handsome man saving your life couldn’t be a source of happiness.

However you didn’t exactly have time to dwell on it too much before your vision blurred and you could feel your body giving out. You were dehydrated, overheated, starved, and possibly bleeding. When was luck ever on your side?

You crumpled to the ground, a deafening ring reverberating through your head. Your body ached as your mind blanked. You didn’t even notice that you were now being moved. Your eyes grew heavier, heavier, heavier.

~

There you were, back in the basement of the castle. Drenched in your own blood, the color a more muted red as it mixed with that of your sweat. Your ankle was raw from where the shackle was tightly bound to it, dirt and grime seeping within the cut.

You couldn’t possibly be back here, you’d killed him. He was supposed to be gone. But the sounds of his boots thundering down the stairs alerted you that it was far from over.

You startled awake, gasping for air. In a fit of panic, you jumped up from the makeshift bed you’d been asleep on, frantically searching the room for an explanation. You quickly came to the conclusion that you’d found yourself within an abandoned cottage of sorts. And you were not alone.

Geralt studied you with a confused intensity. His brows were furrowed as he sat in a chair that was situated next to the bed you’d been asleep in. An opened book was settled on his lap.

Your eyes drifted from him and instead looked down at your own body and saw that several areas had been bandaged, including places that you hadn’t even known to be injured.

“Clearly they’re not too kind to prisoners in your village,” He stated after seeing that you’d been studying your own wounds.  

“Why did you help me?” You questioned.

He cocked his head to the side, confused by your response. He probably expected some sort of gratitude in your words instead of the cautious interrogation that he was now being met with.

“You said it yourself, I’m a murderer,” you pushed further, “so why did you help me?” You gritted your teeth, the pain throbbing in your head did nothing to assuage the rage you felt at his dismissal of you upon your first meeting.

He inhaled deeply before answering your question. “I was originally going to take you back to your village along with the griffin’s head in hopes of some sort of…compensation,” you rolled your eyes at his honesty, “but when I examined your wounds further, I didn’t think you would live through the journey without some proper treatment.” He answered frankly.

“So your plan is to heal me and then turn me in?” You scoffed.

“Originally, yes. However, the more I’ve studied you, the more curious I’ve become.” He set the book on the ground and crossed his legs, leaning further back in the chair. Even from across the room, you could feel that the probing was about to begin. “Their stories don’t really align with what I’ve seen from you. What do you have to fear? Your village speaks as if they’re terrified of you. All anyone seems to call you is the daughter of Lilit, the elf with no soul—so what would you have to be afraid of?”

You sputtered out a laugh at the sheer irony of it all. What did you have to be afraid of? What a laughable question. What didn’t you have to be afraid of?

He stood from his seat and started to walk around the bed toward you and your body reacted before your mind even had time to register. You flinched, moving to protect all vital organs from the beating you felt to be inevitable. Your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly, spots were collecting within your darkened vision. Time stood still as you waited for the assault, but you couldn’t even hear his footsteps getting closer.

You slowly opened your eyes and moved your face from where it was tucked into your elbow. You saw Geralt standing there, his hands up in surrender as he looked at you with the mildest bit of sorrow.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he conceded, speaking in a way one might to a frightened animal, “It was unfair of me to pass judgment on you after our first meeting. Humans do it to my kind all the time and I know better than anyone how frustrating it can be,”.

“Your kind?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’m a Witcher,”.

Your eyes widened, remembering the stories you’d snuck from the library stacks about Witchers and their superhuman amounts of power used to defeat monsters across the continent. “You’re a Witcher?” You whispered, curiosity dripping from your voice. You were desperate to hear the tales of someone so well-traveled and brave.

“That’s enough about me, little elf.” He took a step closer to you. You narrowed your eyes at the nickname, but let it go quickly; it sounded more like a term of endearment than anything else. “Now sit back down on the bed, so I can redress your wounds. All of this excitement seems to have reopened a few cuts,” You obeyed, no longer preoccupied enough to ignore the pain.

He crouched down in front of where you were seated and moved to lift up one of your pant legs in order to check on the dressings. He continued this on your arms and legs for quite a while, very meticulous in his work to insure you didn’t walk away with any infections. It was then time to look at your back, the part you’d been dreading.

Sure, you knew he’d already seen it, but your back was covered fully in scars from your years of servitude. It was unsightly and you hated the reminders.

You faced the other direction, so you were now looking away from him. You carefully removed your old, tethered shirt. You used the raggedy material to shield any sight of your breasts, although you knew he couldn’t see them from his place behind you. He began to untie the cloth and remove the bandaging, goosebumps arising wherever you felt the ghost of his touch. Grabbing a damp rag, he started to clean the gashes that littered your back. You attempted not to hiss in pain, but it failed fairly quickly.

He slathered ointment onto your burning skin, lightly massaging it into the wounds of your back, making sure to take extra care of the areas that were especially banged up. This was all so foreign to you; these hands that held you with a gentle touch. Someone alleviating your pain instead of adding to it. You sighed in contentment at the sheer pleasure of another’s hands, especially those belonging to such a beautiful specimen, however pointedly you tried ignoring that fact.

Far too soon, the caress was replaced with more bandages and gauze. You were left internally whining at the loss of Geralt’s closeness. Before you went to put your same shirt back on, he tossed you one in far better condition that he must’ve found in the cottage.

You were fighting sleep, eager to spend more time in his presence. It was so soothing to you in a way that nothing else had ever been. He took one look at you, no doubt seeing your internal fight to stay awake. “Rest up, little elf,” he insisted, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

And with that, you gave yourself permission to sleep.

~

You’d been trapped in the cottage with Geralt for roughly three days at this point, practically vibrating out of your own skin at the temptations you’d had to sit through. With Geralt constantly tending to you, the little amount of privacy the cottage offered, and having to bear witness to his perfectly crafted body, freshly soaked from his baths; a new side of you had suddenly awakened.

He captivated you. Your eyes followed him every moment you could get away with it. You certainly weren’t covert about it either. The feelings were just so new and profound that you were honestly just excited to be feeling them at all. Any common activity could become entertaining so long as Geralt was the one performing it.

You were entranced by his unexpected tenderness. He would sometimes sneak out at night to check on Roach when he thought you were asleep, making sure that nothing in the surrounding wood had agitated the horse. While his skills helped you to feel protected, his morality was what made you really trust him. He could’ve easily brought you back to your village, gotten a hefty sum, and been on his way. Hell, it wasn’t like you’d claimed innocence in the first place.

But no, instead he’d decided to offer you medical care using his own supplies, give you most of his hunting rations, find you shelter, and be the first person to ever treat you with true respect. So, what were you meant to do? Not develop any sort of feelings for him? That level of self control seemed utterly ridiculous.

Although it’d only been a short period of time, you felt so safe with him. He asked you questions and showed true interest in your answers. He comforted you after a few jarring nightmares. He asked your opinions on things and never made you feel ashamed if you didn’t know something. He told you some quite riveting stories of his travels and woes; of monsters and magic and all sorts of things.

You could feel a considerable predicament arising.

~

Before he’d left to go hunting, Geralt had been kind enough to prepare a bath for you. Your complaints of muck had probably started to annoy him at this point, so he pulled out all of the bells and whistles. Flowers, herbs, oils, scents, milks, powders; you didn’t even know what kind of concoction this was, but it felt fancy. So you were going to enjoy it.

You scrubbed your body until your skin was practically raw, not allowing even one granule of dirt to be left behind. Frankly, you’d needed the distraction that concentration brought. Anything was better than the devilish thoughts of Geralt that replayed in your mind at every moment since you’d met him.

And since it was your first time being truly alone in the cottage, maybe it was time to do something about it.

You couldn’t help yourself. It was the perfect storm of desire. The heat of the bath, the filth polluting your mind, the views you’d had the honor of seeing throughout the past few days; he was irresistible. And if the only relief you could offer yourself was within the confines of your own fantasy, then so be it.

The herbs and flowers floated around the surface of the bath as the milk and oil clouded the water, obscuring the view of your hand as it lowered down the skin of your stomach. You’d never felt such strong urges in your entire life.

It was your first time trying anything like this, but you’d had the pleasure of indulging in a few erotic novels throughout your time at the castle. Your fingers lightly caressed the flesh of your opening, teasing the sensitive area and imagining the droplets of water cascading down Geralt’s back earlier that day. How it’d feel to run your tongue across each rippling muscle, collecting the liquid in your mouth.

You sunk your middle finger into your core, feeling the wetness pooling inside of you. This man had you wound so tightly around his finger; you were practically bursting at the seams. Once you’d collected some of your slick on the tip of your finger, you pulled back and circled around your tiny bud of nerves. When you’d finally made contact, your body reacted in a way it never had before. Your legs twitched, causing some of the bathwater to splash from the tub, but you couldn’t find one care in the world, not even slowing at the sound.

A desperate whine left your mouth unexpectedly before you bit down on your lower lip, silencing yourself. The hand that wasn’t busy with your throbbing nether regions gripped the edge of the tub, almost numb at this point. You knew that if Geralt was the one doing this to you, that hand would be wrapped up in his bright silver strands. The thought of him doing anything to make you feel this immodest nearly had you drooling. His dexterous, strong hands taking ownership of your pussy, showing you just how accommodating he could be.

His name left your lips in a desperate plea as you finally found a rhythm that suited you. You felt as if your body was no longer your own as you continued your descent in the search of pleasure. You slowly worked yourself, wanting to savor this feeling. Your breaths were loud and labored as you arched your back slightly, searching for a path closer to release. Your mind replaying every word Geralt had uttered to you since you’d first met, clawing for any semblance of relief.  

Your movements came to a screeching halt upon hearing the deep voice you’d come to know so well—now outside of your thoughts. You snapped your eyes open quickly, seeing his smug face staring back at you as you jumped to cover yourself as much as you could.

“Am I interrupting something?” He cocked an eyebrow.

You gasped, hot shame bubbling in your chest as you fumbled through any words you could get out. “Geralt—I’m s-so sorry, I really—”.

He slowly started to untuck and unbutton his black shirt. Your mouth went dry as more of his skin was exposed, effectively silencing your babble. The raised markings of his scars were covered in a light sheen of sweat that looked absolutely delectable. You could feel your pupils dilating, your mouth opening slightly without your control.

He smirked at the look on your face, tossing his shirt to the side. “Would you like some help?” He gave you an appreciative once-over to emphasize his proposition.

Your eyes widened as you prayed to every god that this wasn’t some twisted trickery. You nodded, fearing that your voice would betray you.

He stripped himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing. He worked quickly and gracefully, tossing the garments without a care as he walked closer to the tub. While you were obviously curious, you avoided any glances south of his abdomen, feeling too bashful to even look. Moving to get in the bath, he sat down in front of you. Now face to face, you were curious as to where he was going with this—before he hauled you up to sit on the rim of the bathtub completely emerged from the water, now completely at the mercy of his gaze. You were completely unveiled to him and you couldn’t cease the nerves that flared up in response.

He kneeled back down in the water and you quickly moved to cover you breasts. But before you could successfully shield them from his view, he moved one of your hands to grip the tub and the other to grasp onto his hair. He maneuvered your legs to rest over his shoulders, putting you on full display to his hungry eyes as his huge hands held you steady by your thighs. His dominant movements, situating you how he’d like caused a heavy pulsing feeling to arise in your already glistening cherry.

He kissed each of your thighs passionately, sucking marks into the skin with lips ghosting over each valley of skin—just shy of where you needed him most. The outline of your pubic bone, your navel; using his tongue to explore the plains and ridges of your body.

“Gods, I’ve been waiting to eat this sweet cunt since the moment I cut you from that tree,” His voice somehow got rougher in this moment, soaked in the intoxication of lust, and you could swear you almost fainted. But before you had time to burn out, you were lit afire once again as his tongue licked a long stripe up your aching center, wrapping his lips around your clit as he reached the bundle.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you let out such a guttural sound, urging him on as he made work of your sensitivity. You were covered in the wetness from your bath and, now that you were out of the water, your body felt slightly chilled which was a delicious contrast from the aching heat of your core as he devoured you. Not missing one morsel.

He pleasured you with such eagerness and paid close attention to each of your sounds, repeating movements that granted the noisiest and most reactionary ones. The obscene musing of slurps, licks, and Geralt’s moans had you seeing stars. Each time your body would pull away from him in shock, he’d simply pull you closer by your thighs, grinding you onto his face.

“You taste like heaven. How does that feel, little elf?” He questioned, golden eyes staring into your own. “Hmm?”

He was so smug, but you didn’t have it in you to be even the least bit annoyed. Because with his skillful tongue, he deserved to be smug.

You whined at the separation, desperate for the release you’ve been denied your whole life. You could barely handle another second without it. “Please, Geralt—” you nearly sobbed, panting in between words, “I’ve never felt this way before. Please let me finish on your tongue. I want it so bad,”.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes glazing over in desperation at the utterly wrecked look on your face. “Anything you want, little elf” his warm breath ghosted over your dripping cunt as he spoke, “I’ll give you anything,”.

He pulled you impossibly closer and licked into your center, using his nose to nudge and stimulate your bundle. His groans as he devoured you reverberated through your center, overtaking all of your senses as you neared the edge.

Geralt enclosed his lips around your clit, sucking it feverishly with his tongue—and your vision went white. You let out the most broken sound as your insides bursted. You tugged relentlessly on the hair that you assumed he regretted offering up to you, but his groans of pleasure actually made you question that hypothesis.

Your breaths were deep and long as you looked down at him. He was still staring up at you with a look of pride—not cockiness—like he was excited to be able to share that impure moment with you. You moved your thighs from his shoulders and lowered yourself back into the tub, pulling him in for a kiss.

Your first kiss. And it was perfect. Although the order of events seemed a bit backwards, you couldn’t have hoped for anything better.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he pulled you closer to sit on his lap in the water. His hardened member pressed against your stomach, so you decided it was his turn. You wrapped your fingers around his thick cock, all shyness from earlier dissipating, as you paid close attention to the tip. You pumped him slowly, slowly adding more pressure as you continued.

He inhaled a deep breath, almost as if he was holding himself back. “I’m going to take you to bed now, little elf” he enunciated his statement with a quick peck, “only if you’ll have me, that is—”.

You rolled your eyes at his chivalry. “Take me to bed then, Witcher,”.

You squealed in joyful shock at his show of strength as he quickly lifted you both up from the tub, water now cascading from your bodies and onto the surrounding floor. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you simply giggled.

You both fell onto the bed with water still dripping from your bodies, soaking through the sheets. You were a quilt of limbs, wrapped up in one another as your mouths communicated longing with deep, passionate kisses. While he was your only kiss, you could somehow tell that he tasted better than any others.

He worshipped your body with his hands, offering you the loving touch that you’d never felt. Whispering praise of how good you were doing and how lovely you were and how much he’d wanted you.

When he first entered you, he kept it jarringly slow—wanting to avoid any pain—but after he’d opened you up so well, there was only mild discomfort at first. Giving into your begs, he fucked you into the sheets with your prayers of more. You clawed at his back and he wished you would dig harder, so the memory of your first time together could scar and overwrite the brutalities that currently littered his spine.

You squeezed him so perfectly and brought him such euphoria. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your divine center, each thrust bringing you both closer to your end.  

“C’mon, little elf. Come for your Witcher,”. Your Witcher was what did you in. You climaxed around his thick cock, the pulsing of your orgasm sending him over the hill right along with you. Both of you unleashing the most primal noises into the skin of the other; a shared moment of vulnerability between two creatures alike. This moment in which both of your worlds tilted in the most complementary way; a change that could be felt in the atmosphere.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly as you came down, grounding yourself in his slow breathing.

~

Once you’d both gotten cleaned up, you curled up in bed with Geralt as you laid your head on his naked pectoral. You studied him for quite a while as he played with the damp strands of your hair, battling sleep yet again, trying your best to lengthen this moment as much as you could.

But, of course, being the observant man he is, he quickly noticed your eyelids growing heavier.

“Rest up, little elf,” the smallest simper graced his eyes as he repeated his words from the first day in the cottage, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

You closed your eyes with a ghost of a smile.

fin

A/N: Here’s my first crack at a fic for the Witcher (first of many, I’m hoping)!! I really hope you guys like it!! I’m not actually finished the series yet, so sorry if I get anything terribly wrong (I’m just trying so hard to savor it since it’s not back until 2021). I’m brushing back up on fanfic etiquette and writing style since I’m just getting back into the swing of things, so any feedback would be treasured!!! Let me know what you think, babies! 

I used to have a tag list, but since it’s been so long since I was posting consistently, I’ve decided to abandon it--so if you wanna be tagged in my stuff, just drop by my ask box. I’d love to have you and I sincerely hope you didn’t hate this, ha! x g

[sweetpeaownsmyheart]

Just a Couple of Notes (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Hello friends! Sorry for the inactivity, I've had a lot going on and have been dealing with mental health but I haven’t forgotten you! I was so happy to come on today and find that someone has messaged me a request, my first one yay - so I should get that out soon! This is a lil idea I had late one night, I didn’t really know I was going with it but wanted to get something out and actually kinda like it!! (just a warning bc the plot is a bit naff lol) Love you all sm - stay safe and healthy xxx <3

Word Count - 2300

Warnings - umm not that I can think of! An odd plot maybe? Too fluffy? Very OOC Pea?

Summary - you write notes to SP when you start work at Pops, it’s not long before he responds. But then there’s a bump in the road!!

-----

You're move to Riverdale was a quick decision made by your parents in Autumn when a new job opportunity arose. Within a week you were packed up and moving to the town leaving behind your friends, other family members and the quiet life you had gotten used to.

Riverdale was an odd place to you. You were used to the comforts and quirks of your hometown and for that reason your attention felt drawn to the awkwardness and divide and, what seemed to be lurking beneath the surface in your new neighbourhood.

It was about a week after your move that you had noticed the 'help wanted' sign in the window of Pops and were pushed to apply by Jughead who you had met the first night you had come to town. Besides Jug, you kept yourself to yourself, limiting your interactions to with your family and customers. Of course, it wasn't for others lack of trying, often Betty or one of Jughead's other friends would talk to you.  However, you knew that when you were old enough, you would move back to your hometown so didn't want to create too many ties.

That all changed when Sweet Pea started frequenting the diner.

He had come in asking for Jughead before noticing him in the corner and hurrying over. The way he sat with his shoulders hunched over and stony expression was intriguing to you, but you were quick to learn that he was as much of a 'mystery' as you were.

He always wore black in some way, had dog-tags round his neck that you longed to wrap your hand around and a curl on his forehead that you wanted to push back into place. If it wasn't for the few times that you saw him with Fangs and Toni, you would have thought him incapable of feeling joy but the way his face broke into a smile and his laugh carried across the diner was enough to make anyone's heart beat faster.

You were smitten with a boy you didn't know, the boy who was pegged as 'trouble' by Jughead when you asked about him.

Soon your want to know him overtook your want to keep to your solitude and that was when the notes started - that way you could still keep him at a distance.

-----

It was around 8pm on a Sunday that the first instance happened as Sweet Pea came to pay for his groups dinner. You had heard him complaining earlier that evening about how his English teacher was going to fail him if he didn't pass his next test with flying colours and you had subsequently spent your break writing out quotes from the book Jug had mentioned they were studying and exam tips you had found on google.

You passed the napkin to him along with his receipt and quickly left to serve another group (and avoid any embarrassment) missing the look on confusion on his face.

As you finished serving the table you turned back around you met his gaze as he reached the door. He threw you a quick wink and walked out leaving you standing with your heart racing and head spinning.

-----

For you it became common place after that day. Whenever Pea visited the diner, he left with a little note on a napkin that you wrote on your break. The notes ranged from help with school when you had overheard he was struggling to random facts you found or occasionally a cheesy pick up line. If you plucked up the courage to look, you often saw him smiling down at the notes when he thought no one was looking which made it worth it. You didn't expect a response, but it was something fun to do, and although the thought crossed your mind that maybe he it was making him feel awkward, he hadn't told you to stop so you continued.

He didn't respond, until one day he did.

You had just closed up for the night and were cleaning the tables when you noticed a napkin on the table where he had been sitting. You had given him a list of songs to listen to that day, slipped it onto the table as they paid and you hadn't seen anything then so were wondering if Sweet Pea had thought it odd and left the note but as you approached you saw the writing was not as light as yours. It had more of a scrawl to it.

'Don't walk home over the bridge today - Sweet Pea

PS. I like (your favourite band) and I like getting these notes :)'

And that's how your interactions were from that point onwards, he gave you a warning or a place to stay away from and sometimes something personal about him and you gave him a fact or compliment or anything you could think of. It wasn't much but it suited you both and you had had a few conversations with Toni and Fangs about how much he liked you and now a bigger part of you wanted to stay.

That was until Josie came along.

You had met Josie before, a couple of times, but your conversations were always limited to taking her order and the general waitressing 'stuff'. She seemed nice enough, but you hadn't seen her with a serpent before and since you were home schooling you didn't even know she knew them (besides Jug).

She sat with Pea for hours. Just the two of them. They spoke in whispers and you often caught at least one of them sending you quick glances. You did not want to infringe on them so let one of the other waitresses serve them both ignoring her questions on why there was a sudden change.

You thought back to all the longing looks, all the flirting both in notes and over your waitressing and of the fact it all was or at least seemed reciprocated.

That was the first time since you had first served him that he left without a note.

-----

He didn't come in again for another week or so. Everything was getting on top of you and your plan to move back 'home' was once again in your mind despite weeks of not speaking to your 'friends' or thinking of your life before Riverdale.

You felt odd. You knew that you had no ties to this place besides Jug but one part of you thought your plans to move away were based on the actions of Sweet Pea rather than your lack of connections.

You knew that you had no real relationship with the boy, it was only notes passed back and forth. You couldn't claim to know him or be his friend as you hadn't exactly spoken much but one part of you felt drawn to him and hurt that he didn't feel that too - he would rather step out with Josie.

If looks could kill, in that moment, both Sweet Pea and Jughead would be dead from each other’s stares. Jug was your confidant on all Sweet Pea matters. He had listened to you gush about how adorable Sweets was and in the last week had listened to your complaints. He knew that the actions of Sweet Pea may drive you to leave and he desperately did not want you to leave.

So here in the diner at 11pm, glares were thrown towards Pea by Jug who was sat with you whilst you were on your break. And glares were thrown right back in his (or your?) direction by Sweet Pea who had settled in a booth by himself.

You were the only one working that night so knew that you would have to serve him eventually so as your break ended, and Jug left the diner you walked over to him.

'what can I get you?' you said breaking the unsettling silence.

'Just the usual please.'

'And what would that be?' You knew his order. Of course you did. But part of you felt spiteful and hurt and you wanted him to feel that too. But you regretted it immediately when he turned to you with a look of sadness on his face.

'Come on Y/N. You know my order. I've only not been in for a week.' Maybe he was trying to joke to get rid of the tension.

'Yeh maybe I do and maybe in the week you've been MIA, you've forgotten that we don't serve food after 11. So, I'll ask again, what can I get you?'

'Just a chocolate shake please.'

You walked off to make the drink but were pulled back by a strong hand and a falsely strong voice. 'When were you going to mention in one of you notes that you're dating Jughead Jones?'

You scoff. 'When were you going to mention you're dating Josie McCoy?' You pulled your arm out of his grip. And turned to look at him. He looked confused. 'Yanno Sweet Pea, you were here last week with her? Has your memory gone?'

'I'm not dating her.' He splutters out.

'You know what Sweet Pea; I don't care who you're dating or not dating. It was only a couple of notes between us. So, I'll just go make your shake and you can sit here if you want or leave if you would prefer. And when you come back next week I won't be here.' You leave to make his shake but when you come back, he is not there, but a napkin is in his place.

'Sorry - SP'

-----

A couple of days later you were packing all your bags in the back of a rented pickup truck, ready to take a long road trip back to your hometown with Jughead. When he arrived, you said goodbye to your family and jumped in the passenger’s seat, Jug had agreed to take the first shift.

You made light conversation and sung along to the radio for about 20 minutes before you noticed that Jug was taking a wrong turning.

'You're going the wrong way.'

'Y/N, please don't hate me. He made me do this.'

'Okay Jug, what's going on, you're scaring me.'

'You know you said that Josie and Sweet Pea had been in Pops? Well, it's not what it seems. Just listen to him yeh?'

'Jughead Jones where am I?' He guided you out of the truck and led you down a path into what appeared to be a small forest. 'you better not be murdering me Jones.' You joked. 'I was going to road trip with you and all.' He rolled his eyes and remained silent.

He had led you to a clearing, told you to wait there and then ran off.

'Jones.' you shouted. 'Jones, come back here. Stop messing this isn't funny.'

'Did you know that the inventor of the frisbee was cremated and turned into a frisbee when he died.'

You jumped and turned around, shocked at the new voice in the quiet forest. 'Sweet Pea? What are you doing here?'

'Did you know that 12 bodies were found in Benjamin Franklin’s basement? You wrote that when i was studying for History.' You looked down and saw in his hands a pile of papers. Napkins.

'Here's one of my favourites - Do you know how much a polar bear weighs? Enough to break the ice. I'm Y/N. That was one of the first notes you gave me, remember?' You nod. 'Well thing is, it was never 'only a couple of notes' to me. I really like you, or I think I like you from what you've said about yourself in the notes. Just tell me now, did I read it wrong? I know you're leaving, I just wanted you to know.' His voice remained strong throughout, but his eyes did not hold the same confidence.

'What about Josie?'

'What about Jughead?' he retorts but quickly breaks into a smile and shows he was joking. 'Me and Josie aren't a thing. We used to be. I really liked her, but she didn't like me and then last week she came and told me that she suddenly did. But I told her I have a thing for this amazing girl who knows too many pickup lines and facts about dinosaurs.'

'really?'

He cleared his throat and looked down at a piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket. 'do you have a band aid?' you look at him confused. 'because i scraped my knee falling for you.'

You break out in a smile and walk closer to him, reaching out to his hands and then running yours up his arms and resting them on his shoulders 'Maybe let's leave the pickup lines to me. What google search found you that one?'

He pulled you closer and wrapped his other hand around your waist. 'I searched -how to get the pretty, witty, lovely waitress to fall for me-.' You giggled and brought your hand to rest on his cheek. You saw pure adoration in his eyes and hoped he saw the same in yours. You lent in and gently placed your lips on his in a quick and innocent kiss. When you pulled back and opened your eyes, he was smiling the brightest smile.

A question came into your mind as you noticed all the napkins strewn across the floor, you looked up with him through your lashes with your head tilted and asked. 'Did you really keep all my notes?'

'Like I said Princess, they are more than just notes to me.'

You felt complete and knew that in a couple of hours you would be unloading all your stuff again back in Riverdale because there really was something to stay for.

[south-park-meta]

One thing I really don't understand is the common misconception about Kyle having to put up with Stan's emotional issues.

When it really isn't really all that much. And Kyle usually separates himself because he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Kenny dies, Raisins, Your getting old.

Where Stan has to put up with alot of more Kyles emotional issues. His rivalry with Cartman. I can see him bitching about it to Stan on regular basis.

Even if he disagrees with him Stan stays by his side.

Cartmanland, The List, CBAA, Obama Wins.

Also, Stan keeps it to himself. Kyle lashes out and causes havoc.

Could it be that Stan didn't really know very well how to give himself boundaries. Just the Cartmanland episode. We get Kyle whining about it how Cartman won a million dollars and he how is a good person and Cartman isn't, almost the whole episode. He even dies almost from overdramatizing so much.

Stan stays by his side, the whole time. He doesn't even complain once, that Kyle should get his shit together. If the roles where reversed Kyle wouldn't put up with this shit, even back in Season 5.

Is it because Stan sees himself more as the comforter and Kyle more as being comforted?

This is kind of tough because I agree that Stan has more patience than Kyle and is more emotionally mature than Kyle. And I agree that Kyle doesn't constantly put up with Stan's emotional issues, but I don't think the way Stan goes about it is healthy. I do think you're right that Stan would rather comfort people than be comforted, too. To start: I don't think Kyle should have put up with Stan in YGO/Ass Burgers. I don't even think he should have put up with him more in eps like Raisins. He tried being nice to Stan in both cases, he tried tough love in both cases, and in both cases Stan gave him squat for a response. In YGO in particular, spending time with Stan was actively keeping him from enjoying anything. Stan was actually mean to him in Ass Burgers, and Kyle values Stan's opinion of him a LOT. Like a lot a lot, like caring if Stan thinks his hat is dumb a lot. Kyle gets a lot of bullying from Cartman and feels the most an outsider because of his religion. I don't think Kenny or Cartman would've cared too much if Stan said 'Fuck you, you're a piece of shit', but this is a judgment call that Kyle expects from everyone BUT Stan. That's something that cuts DEEP. Cutting Stan off for his emotional health was fine. If Stan actually apologized and improved his behavior it seems like Kyle would've accepted it, too. Stan really wasn't negatively affected the same way. In Cartmanland, he gets Kyle's complaints even if he doesn't care nearly as much, and he's perfectly happy trying to sneak behind Cartman's back. In CBAA I think he keeps playing games while Kyle uses him as a sounding board. Kyle IS likely annoying him, but Stan knows he's working through his guilt to do the right thing. He knows that it is a temporary state and Kyle's coming around soon, versus YGO where it's just how Kyle thinks Stan is going to be forever since he got an official diagnosis. I think by and large these things honestly didn't bother Stan that much for one reason or another. Kyle complaining about Cartman IS a bit different, though, and it is something that we can see in more recent seasons. More recently, he's tried getting Stan to weigh in on his fights with Cartman, to act as tie-breaker, and Kyle's gotten an effective 'Why the fuck should I do anything?' in response. In the past I don't think Stan cared about Kyle complaining about Cartman either, tbh. He doesn't like Cartman and loves Kyle, so in the past it was probably more 'fond exasperation' coupled with getting in on it himself when Cartman annoyed him too, than really hating that Kyle did it. In recent seasons though, it's been like when you suddenly realize there's a little hum, a background noise, and all of a sudden it's LOUD because it's ALL you can focus on. Stan is sick of negativity. He's sick of fighting. He's sick of having causes. He's sick of having to seem functionally well. He is still hurt by Kyle, and that drains the 'fondness' out of the exasperation. I don't think that Kyle was crossing any boundaries with what Stan wasn't emotionally fine with, until Stan started shutting him down on complaining about Cartman in very recent episodes. Stan crossed emotional-burden boundaries for what Kyle found acceptable in Raisins and in YGO, and at least imo, when Stan is mentally in a good place, Kyle never did that. Maybe sometimes Stan should've redirected him, but genuinely I don't think it's beyond what he's capable of/what he likes dealing with when he's not in a very dark mental spot. When it came down to it, he did draw a boundary when he couldn't stand it by not getting involved in Kyle and Cartman's recent arguments. But Stan DOES have trouble with boundaries and he DOES like being more of a fixer than being fixed. He's grown up very aware of the fact that people have their own problems. And so they don't need his, so he does avoid complaining about his feelings, particularly when they're not connected to a cause that he intends to fix himself. And he wants people to like him, desperately. So if he can fix their problems, that will prove his

worth, it will prove his aptitude, it will prove he can fix his own problems, making the whole thing a terrible cycle. He doesn't want to ask for help because other people need help. He helps others, which proves he can do things without asking for help himself. Ideally Stan would be better at opening up when he has small problems, instead of only trying to talk about the ones that are so large that he doesn't even know where to even start in explaining them. When his feelings are big enough they're like 'How do I go on when nothing makes me happy' or 'I feel like my body's shutting down', that's just such a big difference from not usually talking about being sad at all. When it comes to Stan actually expressing emotions, not like, dumping on his friends calling everything shit, I do think he needs Kyle to be more receptive. And I do think Kyle gets uncomfortable when Stan's sad, and he doesn't know how to handle it, in part because Stan usually handles things well. But I also don't think it's fair to expect Kyle to know how to handle Stan's jump in emotions going from 'eh yeah that kind of sucks but it's fine' most days to all at once being more in line with 'How do I keep living?'. I think you're right that Stan really doesn't emotionally dump on Kyle or anyone else too much (though he's doing it more lately) but when he DOES he can go from 0 to 60 in no time flat. Having open communication about feelings is one of those things they both need to work on for sure. I want them to end up best friends again and I think time apart will help them do that. Coming back together as a choice instead of just because it's always been that way would be good for them. And hopefully they both get better at actually talking about feelings.

[hqshine]

Hiiii!! I was wondering if I could have a matchup with a little head cannon about our relationship type of thing? I’m a female, 5’9, brown hair, brown/green eyes and I’m a Virgo. I’m pretty intelligent and my favourite subjects at school are English, Drama, History and Geography. I have some mental health issues (anxiety/depression) and am also pretty sensitive to what people say so I’m not the biggest fan of teasing, I don’t mind it if you are very close to me though. I’m on the more introverted side and am the mum friend of the group and am also the resident therapist of my friend group as I’m always taking care of others and helping them with their problems. I really like volleyball and actually played it when I was younger so I wouldn’t mind going to his games if he wanted me there. I like music, fashion, makeup, dancing, writing, reading and any other forms of art. My favourite animals are dogs, followed closely by penguins and elephants. Thank you!!

Hi @drphilslovechild ! Thank you for requesting ^^

This is actually the first time i’m doing a matchup and i apologise if i’m way off. Anyways i hope you like this!

I match you with Kuroo

Reasons

First of all when i first read your ask, i honestly immediately thought of Kuroo.

As much as Kuroo has always been quite known to provoke people, i feel that he’s very sensitive to the ones close to him

Sure when he dates you, a few snide comments might be thrown from each side. but Kuroo knows when to stop when he crosses the line.

Being close friends with Kenma and the captain, he has a very keen eye on movement and sensing something wrong.

I feel that he’s the type who would notice straight away if you’re ever feeling that you’re in a dark place.

Kuroo would learn how to comfort you in a matter of time because he wants to help you whenever he can and be by your side.

Kuroo is a scorpio! One of scorpio’s best matches are virgos. (i googled this)

At first i wanted to match you up with Suga, knowing he’s a mother figure and probably the most sensitive in Karasuno.

However, sometimes i believe mother figures in groups have better compatibility with a more fun type of personality.

As the “mom” you learn to be more mature than your peers and at certain times you have to step up.

Your personalities might clash harshly if so and i don’t think it’ll be great. Sometimes when you’re in need of the therapy, you’d want someone to just lend their ear and maybe advice could come later on.

On the other hand, dating someone super playful and energetic may drain your energy very quickly!

Dating hcs

He definitely wants you at his games and wearing his jacket or jersey.

Since you used to play volleyball, i actually think that Kuroo might confide in you whenever he needed to think of new moves to learn.

Kuroo would want to show you off and make sure every other player or guy knows that you were with him.

At the start of your relationship, Kuroo learns a lot about you. How you react if he teases or provokes you, and he would try to not do it to you especially when you don’t love it.

I feel that when the two of you are alone, he becomes very child-like and adorable. Always wanting to be close to you like touching you even when he’s doing his work.

favourite places to kiss you would be your neck, forehead and hand.

Pet names for you, “Babe”, “Babygirl”

Kuroo will do anything to make you happy. He would be willing to listen to talk about the things you love while brushing your hair.

When you’re in a dark place, he learns how to be there for you quickly. Whether you want to be alone, or when you need a shoulder to cry on. Everyone has different needs! Kuroo make sure he learns most of yours.

Whenever you need to rant, Kuroo would let you ramble on and on. He has no complaint, he doesn’t say a word but he listens intently to you.

If he has some advice, he would tell you in a gentle manner

i feel that Study dates or movie nights will be very common with the two of you. Kuroo is also on the more introverted side thus he would rather spend more time with you alone.

Your relationship, overall would be very mature

[dragonsaphirareads]

The Fosters’ Magic

Day 2 of @tsshipmonth2020 Fluffuary!

Ship: Logicality

AU: Single Dads 

Word Count: 2642 

Summary: Single dad Logan takes his kids to the neighborhood park and meets another father raising kids of his own.

(Like listening to podfics? You can listen to this oneshot on my YT channel here!)

"Virgil! Get your shoes on!" Logan called out to his older son, pulling a fresh shirt onto Ernest. The toddler squirmed with excitement, making it harder for Logan to actually dress the child. He heard a groan in response to his call, and no movement from downstairs. 

"He's being difficult, right Daddy?" Logan chuckled as his younger son spoke, parroting the words Logan often said himself.

"That's right. Come on now, let's go get your brother ready and we'll walk to the park, ok?"

Ernest bounced happily and agreed, and Logan picked him up and headed down the stairs, seeing Virgil lounging on the couch. He was staring at his phone and was making no move to get up, or even to acknowledge his father standing in front of him. 

"Virgil, come on. We're going to the park." Logan told him, and Virgil simply grunted. Ernest started wiggling in Logan's arms, getting impatient. 

"Please, Bee! I wanna go!"

Virgil wrinkled his nose, still not looking up. "I'm not a little kid, Dad. I don't want to go play on the swings or whatever."

Logan wasn't swayed. "Then you can sit with me on the benches and play on your phone. But we all need some fresh air. Besides, Ernest wants to play with you, isn't that right?"

"Yeah!" The toddler piped up. Virgil didn't respond for a moment, but after Logan stood firm and refused to back down, he finally groaned and flung his legs off the couch, clearly not happy and making sure his father knew it. Logan didn't care about that - his elder son rarely went outside, and he didn't want it to affect his mental health and make it any worse than it already was. 

"Thank you, Virgil." He murmured as his son brushed past him, while Ernest clapped his hands in excitement. The pre-teen huffed, but he put on his shoes without any further complaint. 

The park was just a few minutes walk from their house. Logan let the toddler down when they stepped onto the sidewalk, and he immediately latched onto his father's hand and reached for his brother's. Virgil tried to shove his hands in his pockets, but the insistent little one latched onto the seam of his pants and refused to let go. 

Logan smiled as he watched Virgil out of the corner of his eye. His son took his hand out of his pocket and let Ernest grab it. He wasn't usually a sentimental man, but little moments like this melted his heart. The young toddler had been a gift, and he could only pray that their relationship would remain good as they grew up. 

As they crested the hill that lead to the park, Logan saw two other children running around on the brightly colored playground. They were clearly very into their game, waving around sticks and kicking wood chips at each other. 

"There's already people here..." Virgil muttered, slowing his pace to almost a stop. Logan shook his head, continuing to walk at a pace Ernest was able to keep up with. 

"They don't own the park, Virgil. This is a public place - we're allowed to be here too."

"I wanna play on the swings!" Ernest insisted, pulling at their hands. 

"Dad, look at them! They could hurt someone!" Virgil tried to argue, gesturing to his younger brother. Logan shook his head. 

"Then why don't you stay with him and make sure they don't?"

Virgil still didn't look happy, but as Ernest kept tugging at his hand and insisting he wanted to go play, it was impossible for him to say no. 

Logan walked with them up until the edge of the playground, where he then moved towards the wooden benches under a small pavilion. He watched his sons go over to the swings, which were thankfully a ways away from the other two boys running along the play equipment. They paused for a moment and watched Virgil walk with Ernest, and that was long enough for Logan to realize that they looked nearly identical. They had to be twins, or at the very least brothers. They both had rather large sticks in their hands, and paper crowns perched in their hair. One red, and one green. 

"Afternoon! Wonderful day for the park, isn't it?" A voice greeted him, and Logan turned to see there was another man sitting in the shade at one of the tables, smiling brightly at him. He had on glasses and a light blue polo shirt, with a logo from some company he didn't recognize. Logan nodded, returning the friendly gesture. 

"Good afternoon. And yes, it's perfect weather for it. My youngest was practically begging to go outside, but it took a while to convince the other one to leave the house."

The other man laughed, a kind and warm sound. "I wish I had that problem! My boys never want to come back in!"

Logan shrugged, taking a seat at the bench across from the other. "Ah, well, teenagers never want to listen, even when you're trying to help, right?" He received a sympathetic hum at that. 

"Oh yeah, the terrible teens. I've heard all about them from my brother. I've got a couple more years before those hit, but then it'll be two at once!" The man then held out his hand, leaning over the table towards Logan. "I'm Patton Foster, by the way."

"Logan Andromeda. It's nice to meet you Patton."

"And you too, Logan! I don't think I've seen you here before." Patton told him, tilting his head. Logan nodded. 

"That would be correct. We just moved to the neighborhood a month or so ago, and it's taken a bit to settle in." Logan adjusted his glasses, his eyes flickering between Patton and his kids on the playground. Ernest was just sitting on the swing, not moving as one of the other kids - the one wearing the red crown - was excitedly talking to him. Virgil looked nervous, but not openly hostile, and Ernest's eyes were shining with excitement, so Logan decided it was safe to leave them for now. 

"Well then, let me officially welcome you to the neighborhood! We're excited to have you here."

"I appreciate it, Patton. The community here seems to be very welcoming and inclusive."

Patton nodded. "I'd say it is! If you ever need anything, you can just let me know! I'm involved in quite a few different groups around town. I'm right over there, across from the park." 

Logan followed the finger Patton pointed, seeing a house peeking out from a low line of trees. 

"Oh, and if your boys want to come over to play any time, they're welcome!"

Logan chuckled, telling him that he'd send them over if he could get Virgil to leave the house again after this. They fell into silence after that. Logan took out the book he'd brought, and Patton had a planner or a journal of some kind that he was writing in. 

He tried to not get too invested in his book, looking up every now and again to make sure his kids were safe and having fun. The kid in the red crown seemed to be brandishing his stick against Virgil, with Ernest right at his side waving a twig. The kid in the green crown was beside the teenager, protecting Virgil against the "attackers." 

For not wanting to come to the park at all, Virgil seemed to be enjoying himself. He launched himself at Ernest, gently tackling the toddler to the ground in a vicious tickle attack, and Logan could hear the younger's laughter all the way across the playground. 

"They look like they're having fun." Patton remarked absently, and Logan glanced over at him. 

"I'm surprised Virgil is playing along. He can be hard to engage." Logan told him. 

"Virgil's the older one, then?" Patton clarified. 

"That's right. Just turned thirteen, and he's entering eighth grade this coming year. My other one is Ernest. Nearly four, and he's starting to pick up on his brother's sass." 

Patton chuckled at that. "I've got a few more years until that, but my boys are already so mouthy. They think they know best." 

"Are they twins, then? They look like they're a similar age."

"Yes! The one in the red crown is Roman, and the one with the green is Remus. They're going into sixth grade next year." Patton smiled fondly as he watched his kids play, and Logan couldn't help but smile as well. "They're a handful, certainly. Neither of them really like school - they much prefer to play outside for hours when they have homework to get done. But watching them play, and weave their elaborate game... it's like free entertainment!"

They both perked up as they heard a cry of pain, and Logan couldn't help but sigh in relief when it was one of the twins who came running up to them, tears in his eyes. "Dad! Remus hit me in the face!"

"I didn't mean to! He got in my way!" Came the cry of the other twin, following his brother. Patton sighed quietly, beckoning Roman forward. The kid had lost his crown in the grass, and there was a small scrap on his face that was turning red by the minute. Patton gently took his son's face in his hands, holding him still as he prodded at the scrape. 

"How many times do I have to tell you two to be careful with those sticks?"

"But we need our weapons to fight the monsters!" Came the chorused response from both kids. Patton sighed - clearly, this was a fight he'd long accepted he couldn't win. 

"Well, maybe you're done fighting monsters for today then."

There was a whine, and suddenly Roman didn't seem to care that his cheek was red. He pulled out of his father's grip and shook his head, proclaiming that he was fine now! Then they both sprinted back to Virgil and Ernest, who had been watching them from a distance. 

Patton shook his head as the twins went back to their game. Logan huffed a small laugh. "Is that a common occurrence then?"

“They love to try and get the other one in trouble, but if it means they have to stop their game then they’re always quick to back out of it.” Logan had to chuckle at the exasperated fondness in Patton’s voice. It was obvious to Logan that Patton loved his children more than anything.

“Like I said, they’re a handful, especially on my own.”

Logan pursed his lips. “You’re a single father as well?”

Patton glanced at him, surprised. “Y-Yes, I am! You too?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. We actually moved to downsize a bit, since Ernest came to stay with us. He’s not biologically mine, you see. He’s my sister’s son, but she... wasn’t able to take care of him, so he’s with us now.”

The other father watched him with sympathetic eyes, seeming to pick up Logan’s hesitation and realizing it was more than what he’d said. “I see. Well, I think that’s extremely kind of you. It’s clear that you care a lot for him.”

Logan nodded, and the conversation trailed off again. They talked on and off until the sun started to get low on the horizon, and Virgil eventually came up to his father, holding Ernest on his hip. “Dad? We’re getting hungry, and Ernest is getting tired too.” 

The toddler whined quietly against Virgil’s shoulder, but didn’t resist when Logan took him into his arms and patted his back. “We can get going then. Did you have fun?”

Virgil stared at his shoes, mumbling that he did. “Can we... um... come back, sometime?”

Before Logan could nod, he heard a small tearing sound and then Patton was holding out a folded slip of paper, smiling knowingly. “My boys are here almost every day, but if either of you two want to come over and play, just give me a call!”

Logan smiled, taking the slip and putting it in his pocket. “I think we might be back tomorrow, in that case.”

“We’ll be here!” Patton called as they left, and Logan heard the twins coming up to their father and excitedly telling him all about the game they’d been playing. With a little bit of prompting when they got home, Virgil started gushing exactly the same way. 

Logan had to wonder, as Virgil took a breath between stories, what kind of magic Patton and the Foster kids had worked on his anxious, introverted son. 

~

That first day at the park had only been the start. Logan took his sons to the park nearly every day during the rest of the summer months. On the days when they had something else to do instead, there was a tangible disappointment from both of his kids. 

Logan mentioned that to Patton one day, the last week before school started up again. He was pretty sure the other father had noticed it, but he wasn’t sure if Patton understood the full scope of what his boys had accomplished. 

“Ever since he began to talk, he was hard to engage. He only wanted to stay by me, no matter where we were. When he started school, the bullying...”

Patton smiled that smile of his, the one that said he understood exactly what he was going through. “Kids can be cruel, sometimes more than adults.”

Logan nodded at that. “They can. But your boys... Roman and Remus have done something that I never knew how to do. They’ve actually gotten him to open up. He talks to me at dinner now. And he spends time with Ernest willingly, instead of just when he asks him to. I just... I cannot find the words to express my gratitude to you, Patton.”

Patton chuckled, shaking his head. He shifted in his seat, sliding across the bench to sit beside Logan. “Virgil’s not the only one who’s changed. Ever since they met your boys, my kiddos have been... well, it’s like they’ve found two more siblings.”

The other father shifted, looking over at the four kids running around on the playground. After that first day, the twins had brought two more handmade crowns, a purple one for Virgil and a bright yellow one for Ernest. They were his sons’ most prized possessions.

“My kiddos... they’ve always fought with each other. It’s natural - they’re so close in age, and so similar, but it doesn’t hurt any less to see your children not getting along. Getting to play outside in the summer dampens that behavior for a while, but even then they squabble about the tiniest things.”

Patton wiped at his eyes, his voice breaking slightly. “But just last week, I came into their room and I found them working together! It’s unheard of! And I have no doubt that it’s because they have your boys to spend time with.”

“Patton...”

The other man smiled, turning back to Logan and placing his hand gently over Logan’s own. “Logan, I’m grateful to you for everything, but it’s not just my boys that you’ve made an impression on. So, I was wondering... do you think Virgil would be willing to come over with Ernest and babysit my boys? If you’re willing... I’d love to take you out tomorrow night.”

Logan blinked. “Patton Foster... are you asking me on a date?”

That smile again. Logan had thought about it before, but he’d not admitted it to himself until now that it made his heart race. 

What a feeling!

“I certainly am. What do you say, Logan Andromeda?”

Logan smiled, leaning into Patton’s warm touch.

“I say I must accept. It’s a date.”

Patton smiled that beautiful, warm, glowing smile once again, and Logan hoped that one day, he could learn how to smile that bright as well.

[dysperdis]

tw: traumablogging, talking about suicide & abuse, sexual trauma.

I need to get this shit out, in one big chunk, before I lose track of it.

I keep wondering why the fuck Beru decided to spend so long treating me like shit. Do they just hate me? Was I just a convenient target? Did they realize they'd let their mask slip in front of me & decided I needed to go? Why did the abuse start so immediately? 

Beru basically started moving in within a week after I said it wasn't fair of the two of them to jump straight into the "overly-obsessed new couple" stage of a relationship without so much as a heads up to the other two people involved with this relationship, long before I had any inkling that they were actually already fucking by that point. By week 3, the complaints were pouring in about how "unwelcome" I was making Beru feel by, say, insisting that they tell the other people living in the suite when they're going to spend the night before putting on their pyjamas and setting up on the couch, or letting me know to make food that Beru could eat without taking over the single bathroom in the house for most of the evening (& of course, they "didn't want to make extra work" by saying anything when I was asking them to simply let me know before I started making food!), or literally any frustration I expressed over my boundaries being ignored, all of which were delivered to me by Monica, not Beru, but very clearly as a result of Beru's complaints. I wasn't allowed to set any boundaries; I could be lying half dressed in my bed with Monica with the door shut having a conversation & Beru would invite themselves not just into the room or conversation, but *into my fucking bed* without so much as a word to me. These violations were constant, and at the same time I was pressured into doing more to facilitate the relationship, including chauffeuring the two of them around so they could go to Beru's apartment (did I mention yet that Beru lived alone, and could have been inviting Monica to visit them instead of invading my only available workspace & telling me that wanting to work there made me an asshole?)

The "sleepovers" happening at random most nights a week over that summer were undermining my ability to do any work for the upcoming events I was paying for table space at, space I shared with Beru because I wasn't confident of my own ability to fill a table & thought a "friend" might be able to help. I was explicitly told that wanting to work in the living room overnight for creative work when no one else was awake to use  it was an unfair attempt to monopolize and dominate the suite's common space. Even after I asked Beru to spend time away from the home  because I felt like the lack of boundaries was incredibly unhealthy for me, I still felt obliged to facilitate the relationship in ways that continued to deny me a chance to set any sort of healthy boundaries because of the previous months spent harping on how "unfair" I was being by expecting Monica to prioritize the relationship she was still referring to as her "Primary" relationship & the health of the partner she was calling "husband" over the happiness of her continuing affair with Beru.

I'm pretty sure I paid for 100% of all the tables, including the Canzine table Beru had entirely to themselves because I knew if I went I'd end up pulling out the zine I made to vent about how stressed I was about everything going on, and all of the gaslighting I was starting to notice even then but let myself ignore. I don't know if knowing the answers to any of this would help me, but it probably would help Monica, if it's not another thing she already knows and has been trying to deny while everything burns around her. But I'm not sure if I can ask without my bitterness making it sound like pure pettiness. I kinda wish I had gone to Canzine and taken the zine & let it all blow up then, I would have felt bad about it afterwards but I doubt it would have been anywhere near as terrible as I've been feeling for the last 2 years, but I  wasn't willing to toss 6 years away for someone who only inserted themselves into our lives so substantially a few months prior.

When I told Monica about my discomfort, that I couldn't have this person involved in my life, she acted like she understood. She made a new friend during this time, and started visiting them "going out for coffee" a lot. She kept finding excuses for why I shouldn't worry about giving her a ride, and finally she admitted that it was because she was still seeing the person she had cheated on me with, and pressured me into agreeing that it was "incredibly unfair" to demand she either stop cheating, or stop pretending to respect our relationship. She told me she wanted to work on our relationship, while targetting my insecurities to convince me that expecting honesty and respect for my boundaries was abusive, and that I was overreacting. Throughout this time, I was gradually scheduling my life more and more around when Beru wanted to see Monica; the solution Beru, Monica, and Liz decided on for "letting me get Beru out of my life" was to continue seeing Beru while never mentioning their name, or giving me details I needed to know how to schedule my own day-to-day life. If you ever wanted to know how someone could participate in abuse without actually directly interacting with them, well, there's you're answer- you continue as a shadow presence in their life while your fellow abusers take all the direct action. And, every time the subject came up, Monica didn't actually want to break up with me, and agreed to "work on things" (tell me how I needed to forgive her & stop ~getting in the way of her happiness~, but also maybe planning 2 or 3 "date nights" with me before getting distracted & falling immediately back into the same habits. At some point, she started using the insecurities she had learned about me thru the years to start convincing me that I needed her, and that I wouldn't be able to survive without her. She knew exactly what fears to prey on, and I believed her. Meanwhile, Monica had a whole new circle of friends, who Beru has been telling that the reason I can't stand to be around them is jealousy or some shit. I thought I was imagining the distain in their voices when they realized I was there, but no- Beru has been telling lies to them about me, and Monica is too concerned with them liking Beru to intervene, so now she's surrounding herself with people who don't like me and are enouraging her to dislike me.

As for Liz, she pretended to be a neutral party throughout, shutting me down any time I tried to bring up concerns about the effect Beru's shadow presence in my life by telling me "she's Beru's friend, too" so it was inappropriate to talk to her about it- even when I had literally just tried to kill myself for the second time in 4 days. I had long ago noticed that Beru seemed to get upset any time word got back to them about me complaining about the various issues I had with their relationship with Monica & the implications of my own & that when that happened, Monica started taking it out on me; between that and a desire to "protect" Monica- who was slowly but surely picking up a lot of Beru's cruelty and boundary issues- from judgement because a) she was the one who was doing most of the direct harm, even the stuff that was clearly initiated by Beru, and 2) Beru has a bit more social padding to protect them (a cutesy autistic dfab enby vs a recently-transitioned trans woman with a history of ~scary~ mental illness DXs). So I stopped talking to friends about my issues. I'm not going to go into details about the boundary issues except to say that being surprise face-fucked the first time I tried to give head at 14 by a dude who was loudly disappointed I didn't swallow is no longer the most traumatic sexual violation I've experienced.

Meanwhile, Monica (and to a lesser extent, Liz) were encouraging me to distance myself from my last remaining safety net outside of that garbage fire of a relationship because the idea of coming out to anyone in my family made them uncomfortable. So, instead of dealing with it, they turned anything that involved me interacting with my family at the house for more than 5 or 10 minutes into a sign that my boundaries with my family were still too weak, and I needed to make them stronger. I needed to not talk to my elderly grandma because of how stressful it was for me (mostly because I kept having scramble to come up with more lies about so many details of my own relationship, because being honest with someone who had no way of outting them to anyone they'd care about even if they were inclined to do so was too uncomfortable.)

By the end of the relationship, when Liz walked out the door with less than 24 hours actual notice of her move out date (and no, a single spoken sentence a week before to a person who was between back-to-back suicide attempts, trying to keep track of a 3rd person in the convo who was bouncing rapidly between mania and an extreme suicidal state, and also on T3 & a bunch of antibiotics with harsh side effects does not fucking count, no matter how much she pretends otherwise,) someone tried to get me to see her side by asking me if it didn't make sense that she was avoiding actually giving me anything that resembled a reasonable amount of notice because she felt "awkward" talking to me, and I fucking snapped.

Maybe if she had sucked it up and had one or two of those "awkward conversations" a little earlier, I wouldn't have needed to ask her to hide the pills so I didn't go through with the plans I had made to kill myself that night (I was literally double checking my math on the dosages when she got home). Instead, she pretended to be a neutral bystander in her own relationship, while taking advantage of my subservience and inability to set boundaries in most situations. Most of the private time I sought out with Monica ended up including Liz because I felt I wasn't allowed to say no to that, either.

I was accused of driving away my support network by calling out Liz and saying that any other abuse apologists who wanted to defend Beru to me could piss off with her, but I strongly disagree. Considering Liz part of my support network was a dangerous mistake that could have gone much worse, if she had decided to stay out a little longer or something that night, or had snuck to her room without me noticing (a common occurrence, I had taken it as a sign that I was still taking up too much space by existing in the common spaces of the house.)

Basically, all three of them were fucking awful to me over the last 2 years, and used any negativity I displayed about the situations they were putting me in to beat me over the head, telling me how "unfair" I was.

[textsfromtheborderline]

I recently received two very important and interrelated questions:

Anon 1:

My psychologist don’t believe my mental illness, I feel like I couldn’t take it anymore, I want to choke myself until I passed out.

Anon 2:

Hello, I’ve been seeing a psychologist for a few months now. I’ve had problems with emotion dysregulation and abandonment issues for almost my entire life, but recently I’ve started reading about BPD and looking at the symptoms, I can say that I’ve never related to anything else more in my life. I’m not 18 yet, but is it still worth bringing it up to my psychologist? Ugh, sometimes I feel like I’m just faking it for attention.

I get questions like this frequently and have addressed them many times on this blog. However, considering the fact that this is clearly a persistent and pressing issue for many people, I’ve decided to do the following:

I’ll give a deep-dive answer to both these questions that is hopefully informative and helpful.

I’m working on a new resource that offers guidance and solutions to the frequent, common problems of BPD.

Before you read on any further, I want to emphasize that dying is absolutely out of the question. Not an option. No dying allowed on my blog. Life is short. You don’t have forever. So please don’t cut your precious time off prematurely. 

But this only points to the fact that this incredibly overwhelming impulse is an (over)reaction to the desperate, stressful, and toxic situation that is reinforced by psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists. There’s a problem where there should be a solution, blame and shame where there should be help and support.

The misbeliefs that Borderlines have about themselves are prevalent and persistent, both out of the sheer ignorance as well as the viciously cruel design of the psychiatric community. It’s time to start changing the way we think about mental health and mental help.

In the plainest possible terms, it’s really hard to find a good mental health worker. The only way to actually do it is through trial and error. Misdiagnosis. Informing yourself and building your own networks when you get referrals from doctors. Going out of town because no one in your area is accepting new patients, then having to pay all the gas and parking bills yourself.

This is all assuming that you can afford a decent mental health worker, of course.

People caught up in the healthcare system, especially in North America, quickly find out how uncaring and ineffective it really is. Why? Because the way it is set up is to run exclusively for profit.

Healthy people are not profitable.

For example, this is reflected in the mentality that pills are given to patients as the very first option for “care.” Psychiatrists in particular receive kickbacks from leading pharmaceutical companies depending on the kinds of pills they prescribe. But pills are not a viable long term solution, in my opinion, because they do not teach life skills and healthy recovery. 

So, it is no surprise that a mental health worker who is concerned about profit over long term care will push pills as the first (and often primary) option.

Another example is that there are tiers of help, according to how much you can pay a certain type of mental health worker.

Psychiatrists are trained medical doctors, which means that they can prescribe medications, and often exclusively develop a medication management plan as the only course of treatment. Typically, you can expect to pay up to $500 for an initial consultation, and at least $100 per hour for ongoing services.

Psychologists focus extensively on psychotherapy (i.e. talking through experiences) and treating emotional and mental suffering in patients with behavioral intervention. Psychologists can also be exclusively academic researchers. They are qualified and trained to critically assess a person’s mental state in order to determine the most effective treatment plan, which often includes total lifestyle changes.

Both of these are psychotherapists, in that they use a form of therapy (medication, behavioural intervention) to treat your mental health (the psyche). Hence the term psychotherapy. Given these definitions, personality disordered people should lean toward seeing psychologists.

In North America, some psychologists can charge as much as $200 or more per session, but most will charge around $75-$150 a session. Many also work with a sliding scale fee schedule, which means their fee will depend on your income level (a crucial point for young people and young professionals).

University/college mental health workers (including counselors) are always understaffed and over worked. They are paid from a portion of tuition, so technically their services are free. But their “walk in services” are often the first line of defense, but their sessions are limited to 15-30 mins. There is very little accountability both for the worker and the patient; you’re seen as just another number in a very long, long line. When it’s determined that you’re “well enough”, you will be kicked out to make room for the rest of the people who are waiting. This is the lowest tier of care and it also happens to be the one that is accessed the most often.

Whoever the mental health worker is, then, they are working within a profit driven system. On the one hand, they need problems in order to generate profit. On the other hand, this promotes the idea that mentally ill people (particularly the most “difficult” personality disordered people) should be reduced to nothing more than a problem.

As if it isn’t incredibly dehumanizing and disgusting to reduce us to nothing more than a problem to be solved, at a significant cost.

Then on top of that, we have limited means to complain if we are abused by the system and all the people in it; we cannot hold mental health workers accountable for misdiagnosis, unproven treatments and pills, sudden appointment cancellations, and lack of follow up because we are dismissed as just being “too difficult” and “too crazy” to be listened to.

I was doing some consulting work for the largest mental health organization in my region. They were under pressure to have their services evaluated. They were by no means underfunded or understaffed; they had hundreds of psychologists and psychiatrists. The facility was modern, clean, environmentally friendly. They treated even the most “severe” patients, including Borderlines and Narcissists.

Yet they had no complaint process or means for mentally ill people to provide feedback. Why? I was told it was because the feedback that these people could potentially provide could never be trusted, due to the fact that it’s coming from an unstable mind.

I suggested that resources need to be created with mentally ill people in mind, and that they should be written in language that each person, given their mental illness, can easily understand and implement. I was told the pros had never even considered this idea before.

I was told that people with BPD and NPD in particular were just “too difficult.” They were drug addicts. They were irresponsible. They were violent. They were prone to suicide. One client had killed themselves recently, and when the outraged family demanded accountability, they had no course of action because there was no framework put in place by the organization. The mental health worker responsible for care was not held accountable because they had washed their hands of that client. They were already “too difficult” and suicidal, so their death came as no surprise.

Mentally ill people are not taking responsibility, I was told, because they are lazy and unwilling to work for recovery. Why? They supposedly like their mental illness. And these mental health workers apparently work oh so hard, but it is useless because their clients cannot be cured. The topic of E-health was touched on as a means to counter the fact that a lot of mentally ill people are too intimidated or too ill to actually come in for a session. But this organization did not want to implement even monitored Skype calls because “bringing the care to the people who need it most” was too complicated and they didn’t have any accountability measures in place. E-health is an emerging field, and as such, I was told that it is too risky to try this suggested approach.  

Sitting there and listening to all this made me sick to my stomach.

I recall a tumblr post along these lines:

“if you want us to see a doctor so bad does that mean you’ll pay for our doctors appointment, pay for all our sessions, get rid of our fear of doctors, shorten the absurd amount of time we have to wait to get appointments, take away the intense stigma professionals have against people with certain mental disorders, transport us to our sessions, remove us from abusive environments that prevent us from booking appointments, make sure that professional diagnosis is always 100% right every time, and remove all the abusive psychiatrists in the system??? (x)

Essentially, the underlying message that is given to mentally ill people on behalf of the health care system and its workers is that no one gives a fuck about us.

Yet somehow, we are still expected to invest tremendous amounts of money, time, and energy to get better- because despite reaching out for help from professionals who we expect will competently do their job with our well being in mind, the entire burden of being mentally well still falls entirely on us.

And we’re supposed to be the crazy ones?

The Validity of Self-Diagnosis:

Taking all this into consideration, I think that self-diagnosis is valid.

As personality disordered people, when we are faced with incompetent mental health workers whose professionalism is questionable at best and life threatening at worst; when there is such prevalent stigma against personality disordered people out there; when we cannot afford care; when the quality of that care is poor; and when we’re so scared and confused that we turn to finding information on our own and then find it accurately applies to our life-

Why wouldn’t we frame our own thoughts, feelings, and lived experiences (for free!) within a diagnostic framework that matches our internal processes?

It’s true that not everyone has a psychology degree. It’s true that the DSM is a flawed diagnostic manual (something I extensively critique in my own work Between The Lines: Comparing BPD + NPD and suggest five keys ways it can be improved). It’s true that there’s a chance for misdiagnosis.

But that chance is still 50/50, because despite the “professionalism” of mental health workers, they are also just as likely to misdiagnose personality disordered people (most notably, with anxiety/depression/bipolar) than they are to accurately “prove” that we are accurately mentally ill.

It’s really no wonder that people like Anon 2 feel that they are “just faking” their mental illness for “for attention.”

Dear Anon 2, you’re not “just faking it for attention.” Your thoughts and feelings about your own mental health are real and valid. If you relate so strongly with the symptoms of BPD, then that demonstrates your admirable level of self-awareness and willingness to recover! I talk about situations just like yours here and here.

Please don’t let people invalidate you out of their own sheer ignorance, arrogance, cruelty, and lack of compassion.

The “expertise” of Professional Diagnosis:

People like Anon 1 have been so deeply invalidated and dismissed by their mental health worker that they feel suicidal.

Please take a moment to let that sink in.

All mental health care workers follow the “medical model.” That is to say, you are either “sane” or “insane.” As a result, diagnostic criteria are developed with the assumption that there is only one “normal,” “right” and “healthy” way to live. Everything else is just pathologized and labelled as a disorder (especially in North American society, which has a disturbing propensity for black and white thinking as well as pathologizing emotions)

In contrast, Neurodiversity itself “ is the infinite variation of neurocognitive functioning within our specifies and it is a biological fact.”

Building off of this, the neurodiversity paradigm suggests that the diversity in our ways of thinking and feeling makes us stronger as a species, as communities, and as people. The neurodiversity paradigm is a specific perspective on neurodiversity – a perspective or approach that boils down to these fundamental principles:

1) Neurodiversity is a natural and valuable form of human diversity.

2) The idea that there is one “normal” or “healthy” type of brain or mind, or one “right” style of neurocognitive functioning, is a culturally constructed fiction, no more valid (and no more conducive to a healthy society or to the overall well-being of humanity) than the idea that there is one “normal” or “right” ethnicity, gender, or culture.

3) The social dynamics that manifest in regard to neurodiversity are similar to the social dynamics that manifest in regard to other forms of human diversity (e.g., diversity of ethnicity, gender, or culture). These dynamics include the dynamics of social power inequalities, and also the dynamics by which diversity, when embraced, acts as a source of creative potential.

This is where the terms neurodivergent and neurotypical come from:

Neurodivergent, sometimes abbreviated as ND, means having a brain that functions in ways that diverge significantly from the dominant societal standards of “normal.”

Neurodivergent is quite a broad term. Neurodivergence (the state of being neurodivergent) can be largely or entirely genetic and innate, or it can be largely or entirely produced by brain-altering experience, or some combination of the two (autism and dyslexia are examples of innate forms of neurodivergence, while alterations in brain functioning caused by such things as trauma, long-term meditation practice, or heavy usage of psychedelic drugs are examples of forms of neurodivergence produced through experience).

A person whose neurocognitive functioning diverges from dominant societal norms in multiple ways – for instance, a person who is Autistic, dyslexic, and epileptic – can be described as multiply neurodivergent.

Some forms of innate or largely innate neurodivergence, like autism, are intrinsic and pervasive factors in an individual’s psyche, personality, and fundamental way of relating to the world. The neurodiversity paradigm rejects the pathologizing of such forms of neurodivergence, and the Neurodiversity Movement opposes attempts to get rid of them.

Other forms of neurodivergence, like epilepsy or the effects of traumatic brain injuries, could be removed from an individual without erasing fundamental aspects of the individual’s selfhood, and in many cases the individual would be happy to be rid of such forms of neurodivergence. The neurodiversity paradigm does not reject the pathologizing of these forms of neurodivergence, and the Neurodiversity Movement does not object to consensual attempts to cure them (but still most definitely objects to discrimination against people who have them).

Thus, neurodivergence is not intrinsically positive or negative, desirable or undesirable – it all depends on what sort of neurodivergence one is talking about.

Neurotypical, often abbreviated as NT, means having a style of neurocognitive functioning that falls within the dominant societal standards of “normal.”Neurotypical can be used as either an adjective (“He’s neurotypical”) or a noun (“He’s a neurotypical”).

Neurotypical is the opposite of neurodivergent. Neurotypicality is the condition from which neurodivergent people diverge. Neurotypical bears the same sort of relationship to neurodivergent that straight bears to queer.

Hence, neurodivergence is a very real and very valid approach to mental health, especially when it comes to personality disordered people. It is supported and used by some credited therapists as well, such as the website Eggshell Therapy.

Despite this reality, mental health workers generally remain unwilling to acknowledge it. This is highly unprofessional. A competent, knowledgeable mental health care worker should be willing to consider all possible perspectives when it comes to the way a human mind works. But as we’ve established, most mental health care workers are far from professional. 

They rigidly cling to the medical model because it justifies the existence of their particular field of study and somehow automatically qualifies them to (mis)diagnose people, all while being paid very well for it. Dismissing self-diagnosis and neurodiversity invalidates mentally ill people; increases the risk of misdiagnosis; blocks the development of a meaningful and practical treatment plan; and obviously makes for a very strained working relationship.

Talking To Mental Health Workers About Your BPD:

Before you start you first assessment or initial session with a mental health worker (and even if you make it past the very first one), it’s a good idea to ask them what they think their job really is. Literally. Ask them for a job description, in their own words, about their work and how they view their client relationship.

Chances are, they’ll spew something along the lines of:

“My job is to help you. But you have to put in the work yourself.”

We’re already off to a bad start here: being condescendingly reminded that you have to actually make the right choices for yourself and learn how to live in a healthy way is a moot point. If you are coming in to see a psychotherapist, it is very probable that you have already put in most of the work (including self-diagnosis or at the very least, prepared points and questions) but that you are expecting a professional to competently and compassionately help you have the capacity to implement positive changes for your mental health.

My naïve understanding of the work that mental health workers do is that, precisely because of their “expertise”, they would be able to make up for the skills and knowledge that I could not do on my own. Instead, the concept of “self-help” keeps getting shoved down the throats of people who are tremendously vulnerable due to their mental illness. If you wanted to rely solely on self-help, it is fair to presume that you would not be seeking professional help.

Of course, “help” in their eyes is usually supplying pills (especially if the mental health worker is a psychiatrist). Even if your body reacts badly to it. The rest is, of course, up to you. Just help yourself!  

On top of all this, mental health workers are operating under the assumption that they will “cure” you of your mental illness, even though they should know that this is impossible. In other words, they aren’t there to help you learn to live with your mental illness in a healthy way (because that’s not profitable). They’re here to tell you what you should do about how “wrong” you are according to the medical model, while you pay them to help yourself.

And if you really want to reaffirm that point, ask them next what they think of the concept of neurodivergence and how it applies to you (you can even use Eggshell Therapy as a reference point). Their answer will likely be dismissive and re-emphasize that if you do not follow their specific treatment plan, then your condition will just worsen-maybe to the point that they cannot even “help” you anymore.

Having said all this, I don’t want to paint all mental health workers with the same bush. There are brilliant young professionals and aspiring mental health workers out there now who are working their asses off to make mental health better and more accessible for all. But I’m still talking about how the health care system is right here and right now. Good mental health can’t wait.

It’s also important to keep in mind that personality disordered people can cross the line as well: resenting authority and stubbornly refusing to implement a mutually agreed upon treatment plan; acting out and raging;  manipulating mental health workers; failing to show up for appointments all together; lying and smearing; threatening; being “offended” by deep, probing discussions about their own mental health; and dropping out of care without a valid reason after only one or two sessions.

There are evidently massive issues coming from both sides. The key takeaway is that bringing up mental health to your psychotherapist cannot possibly thrive in a climate of intimidation, confusion, and invalidation.

When you discuss your mental illness, it is important to draw from facts, your own lived experiences, seek clarification about the DSM criteria, and have plenty of examples how your daily behaviour fits into this framework. What prompted you to relate to this criteria so strongly, and why is it worth considering?

It’s always important to be as polite and respectful as possible. That goes both ways. And although it feels like you’re going through the wringer, if one mental health worker doesn’t work out, you are not chained to that situation. You are free to leave and seek out the services of someone else who is, in your opinion, more qualified to help you. This does take a lot of time and effort, with plenty of mistakes thrown in during the meantime.

But you are not alone.

Start building support networks: family, friends, teachers, social workers, colleagues…anyone who is willing and able to help you. Good mental health is not something that you should feel like you have to achieve on your own. You should be supported and cared for.

Hopefully, mental health care will improve drastically within our lifetime. I want us to keep in mind that we are striving for our own recovery in a kind way. That we can set good examples of how important it is to make sure no one gets left behind.

Above all, despite these systemic obstacles, we do need to talk about our mental health because that’s the only way anyone will ever listen to us.

[classyfoxdestiny]

ASK ANU: 'My husband doesn't love me'

ASK ANU: 'My husband doesn't love me'

Is your relationship causing you stress?

Are you feeling lonely, helpless, indecisive?

You are not alone!

As part of an initiative to help Rediff readers, mind/life coach, NLP trainer and mental health guru Anu Krishna wants you to talk about your problems.

Every week, Anu will answer your queries, address your concerns and offer expert advice on how you can take control of your life.

Dear readers, if you have a question for Anu, please e-mail it to getahead@rediff.co.in (Subject: Ask ANU) for her advice.

Meanwhile, here’s the unedited excerpt from Anu’s latest offline session with readers:

A: Dear Anu It’s been 3 years since I had my break up with my girlfriend.

We parted our ways on good terms but till date I miss her. Every time I feel like I should text her or call her but I don’t I just divert myself.

From past three weeks this thing is increasing I don’t know what to do should I contact her or not.

And I can’t discuss this thing with anyone I never told my friends about this relationship and I don’t want to.

Please help me out ma’am tell me what should I do .

ANU: Dear Anonymous, you can do one of two things. Either call her/text her and know what she feels about your relationship and whether she considers it as one.

If she does, see how both of you can rebuild it.

If she has moved on, then it’s obvious to move on as well. Easier said than done, I know.

But if you weigh what you lose by being in a zone of misery and anxiety versus what you can do and be when you move on, I guess it’s obvious what you must choose for yourself.

Start with initially distracting yourself from the phone into things that matter.

Do simple things; any repair in the house that you have put off or any course that you have been procrastinating about.

This is the time to start deeply focusing into something that will give you a sense of achievement that will enable you to have a better feeling from within.

Slowly, start to increase the level of difficulty of these tasks and soon, though you might still remember her, it will not be through pain or anguish but more a good memory.

Start now and always make sure you are surrounded by friends who pull you when you feel that ‘down’ moment.

Do remember, there was a reason why the two of you parted.

Honour and respect that reason and move on if that’s what is necessary for your peace of mind.

My best wishes to you!

HS: I don’t know how to start but things are not good in my life.

I lost my father 3 months back which still does not go out of my head.

I met a girl recently and developed some sort of feelings for her but she is not at all interested in me which made me more sad as I feel as I am just not good enough.

Due to my professional work I am not living with my family and their tensions extra.

I have zero friends who talk regularly to me or ask about me.

I have a thin body so people body shame me and it decreases my morale and confidence.

Profession is also not going as good I thought due to relationship issues with my manager.

Everything is making me more sad and lonely.

Please give me something to cheer. Don’t want to live life like this.. I am writing this with a heavy heart.

ANU: Dear HS, I am truly sorry for your loss; the passing away of a loved one is never easy on anyone.

Now let’s focus on what you might be bothered by. See, if you are going to depend on the external environment to increase your confidence or self-esteem, then you are setting yourself up for a rude disappointment.

Your state of mind is your choice which is the one that dictates how you perceive the environment around you.

If you wake every morning feeling sorry for yourself, do you think you are going to perform well at work?

Shying away from a social life just because you are body shamed pushes you back into an unfavorable state of mind where you shut away even a few ‘good’ people.

Why deprive yourself of the little joys just because some people measure you by how you look?

What do you get by giving into that drama that these people have created?

More agony, I presume! And then the loop goes on and on…

Do check a few inspiring videos on how people have overcome body shaming and take a leaf out of it and start living for who you are; people start respecting you when you respect yourself first.

Well, romantic feelings sometimes may not be reciprocated; but you feel sad because you already are in a self-pity mode; what if your mind space was stronger?

A rejection from a girl, would have still been fine and would have been easy to move on.

Sorry, I need to be honest and show you the mirror, rather than just cheer you up. Get up, stand tall, show up. Show Up, no matter what!

Respect yourself for who you are…you are your best Ally…Now, I want you to dust yourself off of all the feelings that are not useful and Show Up and Take Charge…watch how things change…

Best wishes and simply Show Up…You can do this…

RG:I have been in a relationship for 12 years when I married the man I love.

It is now 6 years of marriage and we have a kid. When I was pregnant my husband was in a relationship with another woman.

When my kid was 2.5 years old I came know about the relationship and I am destroyed.

My husband asked me not to leave him and since I didn’t get any support from my family I stayed. Now I am still not able to overcome the situation.

I know he doesn’t love me though he says he does.

I don’t know why I am with him, he is trying to maintain our relation but there is nothing like before.

I don’t feel the same way. I even don’t know whether I still love him or not.

ANU: Dear RG, I am going to assume that you want the marriage to work and my suggestions below are based on this assumption.

It’s time to get an independent person involved who will help in giving an impersonal view. This could be an elder member of the family or a Marriage Therapist.

What this person will help with is reevaluate your marriage, put things into perspective, clarify all your doubts.

Obviously, you have your doubts on whether he loves you or not after being cheated upon! But no amount of asking is going to convince you…that’s why it’s imperative for both of you involve a person who can guide you through this process of rebuilding your marriage in trust and love.

In the meantime, what I might suggest for you is: Remind yourself everyday as to why you married him and what he has brought forth to your life.

This helps you be in a sane space on a daily basis which also help you care for the toddler who needs a lot of care and love as well.

Spend time with friends that don’t just gossip and bad-mouth but can genuinely nourish you; you need this nourishment now.

Pick up a hobby and indulge in it; it helps not just distract you but also give you a ‘feel-good’ emotion and makes you have little moments of joy.

Of course, after you visit the expert, the choice of continuing in the marriage or not, rests with the two of you…choose wisely.

All the best!

GN: My name is Gatima, I’m 36 years old and a housewife.

I’m married from past 10 years and it was a love marriage.

I was bought up in metro cities like Delhi and Mumbai. I married to a guy from Goa and a shipy (merchant navy).

I was working when I got married but I left immediately because I wanted to sail with my husband, initial years were good. I have one boy who is 5 now .

We used to fight all d time but initially we used to understand each other and patch up fast , but from last one year our fights increased so much and we stop talking for even months.

My husband has lots of complaints from me and always blames me for every fight.

I’m feeling so guilty. I always curse myself and ask God why he made me so bad person.

Whenever we fight, all other family members cut off communication with me.

Although I am surrounded by so many I’m alone.

I cry most of time but now my eyes have dried and there are no tears.

I hate myself and my life. I cannot face the mirror for days bcoz I hate myself.

I am living for my 5 year old son. But I’m very depressed and have PCOD .

I don’t get sleep plus I get migraine attacks.

ANU: Dear GN, The past year has been different for different people; marriages have been rebuilt, new marriages have taken place, divorces have happened…relationships have gone through a huge transitions, in short.

Of course, not to undermine what you are experiencing right now!

Conflicts, arguments, debates are common in a marriage…but they can be worked upon as long as both of you want the same thing and want to stick around in the marriage.

What according to you has changed now when you say that things used to easily resolve earlier and now that doesn’t happen? What has caused this?

When you say, he complains and blames you, how does he do that? Does he actually say it aloud or are you interpreting it?

These questions get you closer to the truth of the matter at hand.

It takes two people to create a conflict, of course the phase of life or whatever the phase he is in, maybe he finds it convenient to blame you.

So why do play the role of the victim when you are not actually one?

And Yes, he may not be justified in what he is doing and throwing it all on you. But if simply being in this pool of misery has achieved anything, it has made you a victim…

If you want to feel better or change something about this situation, wake up NOW…do something, do anything; support or no support from anyone!

A small change in the way you perceive things and act for yourself can change your physical well-being as well.

PCOS/Migraine can be an indirect result of the anxiety and stress that you are carrying inside you.

Start focusing on what you are eating and if you are exercising enough…these can help a great deal in keeping PCOS/Migraine under control.

What you think is what you become…so keep your son also in mind and get yourself out of this misery or find an expert who can help you. You want this for yourself and your son, don’t you?

My best wishes are with you!

KS:My name is ‘X’ and I belong to a middle class family.

Right now, I am 46 and my marriage was solemnised about 10 yrs back.

It was a totally arranged marriage would like to state here that I didn’t like the girl or her appearance right from the start.

I am a teacher by profession and my mother wanted her would be daughter- in law to have a similar background that is like that of a teacher.

Initially, I was hesitant to marry this girl selected by my parents, but then I consented to the marriage thinking that whatever my elders and my parents had thought about my future would be the correct decision related to my life.

Moreover, everybody had started to say that the girl would suit me. But right from the 1st day of marriage, I started resenting the relationship.

Nothing happened between us on the 1st night of marriage.

The girl didn’t have any specific faults, but somehow she didn’t appear to be attractive at all for me.

The colour of her skin was dark, maybe I wanted a fair skinned girl.

Finally, the situation came to such an extent that she, in collusion with her family, lodged a false case of domestic violence against us because they felt that the girl was unfairly neglected by me.

They also wanted to derive unfair financial gain at my parents and my cost.

The case continued for 7 years and ultimately we won it. And now, after many years, I have once again started to feel that I should marry even though I am of advanced age.

I want a partner who is attractive, beautiful and above all, who is so matured in her outlook that after marriage, we will not even care for any petty issues and not fight over silly matters.

I am also taking the help of Shaadi.com in this matter through all the attractive membership schemes launched by them.

Now, at this juncture, I really need your advice as to whether I should proceed forward and take this step at my age.

This is moreso because as a life partner, I want an elite kind of girl who is far above the kind of girl which we see in most common middle-class societies.

I do not want to disclose my name.

ANU: Dear KS, before you proceed on this journey of finding a life partner for yourself, it is time to rework your strong beliefs on appearance, skin colour etc.

What went wrong with your first marriage maybe anybody’s guess, but there’s no judging here!

Not that, you were coerced into it; you fully know you always had the option of saying you didn’t want to marry the girl.

Yet, you went ahead convincing yourself that your family knew what they were doing for you.

The unfair financial gain that they wanted might have been a direct result of the unfair treatment from you towards their daughter.

Did that occur to you?

You say you want a life partner who will not rake up petty issues and be matured as well, don’t you feel that is what she will expect from you as well?

Since I don’t have the details, it would be unfair of me to presume anymore on this.

It was to simply turn your head towards how your old-fashioned thinking might step into your next marriage as well?

How would you feel if on the first night in your next marriage, your wife comments on your physical appearance or your performance in bed?

Are you going to walk around with a high self-esteem even after that?

Let’s now lead you to a place that can make it a beautiful experience for you…

So much has changed and I truly wish that you look at your spouse for what she can add into your life instead of harping on what she doesn’t possess?

I mean, as humans the flaws that we walk around, if it were pointed to us on a daily basis, it would depress us to a point that we may end up feeling that we are not good enough.

What I would suggest after having worked with couples over years helping them rebuild their marriages is to change your way of thinking and embrace the next person for who she is once you know your initial check boxes have been ticked that might involve matching value systems.

This helps in rooting your marriage on a strong foundation; rain or storm, the two of you will be smiling and holding hands to walk the journey together.

Wishing you a beautiful life!

TT: Dear Anu, I would like to discuss about a problem in my married life with you.

Me and my husband had a love marriage 21 years ago.

Before our marriage also my husband had many relationships and affairs but since he was very true about everything and he promised to change things, we married.

Though, our family was a happy one and we have two grown up kids also, everything seems OK from outside. But actually, my husband has had many affairs after our marriage also.

He has never left his habit of impressing females around him, it may be his colleagues or some common friends etc.. and I always come across some or the other female in his life.

Some of the affairs have been so serious that they even went ahead and spent days and nights together.

Every time, I discover some affair, he admits his mistake and tells me to move on, but he never believes in correcting his mistakes and either continues with the affair or finds a new partner.

I have lost all trust in him but since I am not earning and have two grown up kids and also love him a lot, can’t think of separation.

I have tried confronting him though but he gets angry always and blames me for spoiling our family life and not moving on.

Also, would like to accept that he is very supportive in family matters, loves his family a lot, is very dedicated to his work and to his kids, he is very empathetic towards people, helps everyone but needs his own space too.

I am completely confused about what should I do.

I am unable to trust him for anything and we keep arguing over smallest things.

Hope you will reply to me. Thanks.

ANU: Dear TT, I can only imagine what you must be going through.

Since you want to continue in the marriage, that choice is something I presume that has emerged after a lot of thought and I respect it.

The way this marriage will work is communicate clearly to him that his philandering ways have to stop as it is affecting you and the marriage.

If this doesn’t work, he seriously needs help in dealing with this…sometimes people don’t realise that they are jeopardizing their marriages.

I am not defending him but simply stating that sometimes people get themselves into a trap of not so useful situations and quite don’t know how to get out of it.

Also, what he might gain from so many extra marital relationships is something that he needs to find in other ways rather than swaying outside of the marriage.

This requires him to work with an expert as he will most likely not yield to your requests like in the past. Mere talking will not be enough; he possibly needs intensive therapy.

This will help him reunite with his family that he loves so much and he can be around completely without having to seek pleasure outside eroding the foundation of marriage.

As he seems to get better, it’s time for you to live your life as well, right?

What is it that you haven’t done in years? What is it that you gave up after marriage or after having kids?

What excites you enough for you to step up for yourself and create your own happiness? Simply DO THAT.

This will help you get back on your feet; who knows you might discover something that actually may end up becoming a money generator as well!

I wish you the best!

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[bipolarandannoyed]

On why I’m contemplating shutting down my AO3 account

So I wanna first clarify that this is not a decision I’m taking lightly. I’ve actually been contemplating this for around two years. I have not decided yet, but I wanted to let everyone know it’s a distinct possibility so they don’t go to check something, or re-read something and it’s just gone.

Even though this post is going to be a TL:DR in and of itself, I’m still going to give you a quick TL:DR of that in case you don’t want to read this monstrosity.

It’s a mix between my tumultuous relationship with fandom, some issues I’ve had with specific fandoms, problems with fanfiction in general, an extreme loss of inspiration and drive, mental illness, and my original writing.

All right. Some details. I can extrapolate on any of these, so if you want more information, please ask.

1) When I first joined fandom, it was a different beast. It was the mid 2000′s and I was a young teenager with only a few friends who, thinking back, probably didn’t like me that much. Fandom was the first place I could connect with people who liked the same things I did, back when the internet wasn’t the home staple it is now. A lot of you may still feel the same way.

But as the internet is such a mainstay in most homes, and most people have their own nearly unlimited access to it, fandom has changed. It’s taken on the popularity issues that prevail in every large culture. With the introduction to “fandom awards”, I’m not sure how this can be argued. And I despise popularity hierarchies. I hated them in school, and I hate them online.

Before anyone gets on my case about just being petty because I want to be popular in fandom, I don’t. I actually want to avoid being one of those “top tier” fandom people. I like to be anonymous. I even have anxiety about leaving my curtains open. I was raised to be paranoid, and for very good reasons I won’t be going into.

I have moral issues with popularity. Specifically in the way we treat those who aren’t popular. They’re all but ignored. And when they’re not, people act like they’re throwing them a bone, like any attention to the work they produce is a gift they’re receiving and they should be so excited and happy to get a single like. Meanwhile they watch the big names being showered with praise and attention. Think about when you’re in school and you experience this yourself, and how it makes you feel. But that’s the thing, no one does.

Fandom feels entitled to the work of people. I’ve received my fair share of “write it for those of us who are reading”, and that’s just unacceptable. You are not owed a single thing. People are producing things for you for free. And for most of us it goes completely unrewarded. I’ve said in the past to think about comments and reblogs as payment. Everyone talks a big game about supporting artists, but that ends pretty quickly when there’s a chance for real follow through.

2) As for my personal issue with fandom, it’s about people stealing the stuff I produced. Not my stories, thankfully. I’d be filing a complaint about that real quick. But with posts. I won’t name any names, or even fandoms, but it’s happened a few times with a few different people. Sometimes it would be a few days after I posted, and sometimes it would be as little as an hour. Since I’m not a big name, no one notices. And since I prefer to stay under the radar, calling the people out would only call unwanted attention to me. So, as a result, I’ve mostly left fandom.

3) So my problems with fanfiction are a bit more of a me thing. If you followed my old tumblr and read my personal posts, you’d know that I don’t really read fanfiction anymore. I haven’t for a couple years, only fics that people have personally suggested to me.

A few years ago I got curious about why my fics were unpopular. I’ve only written two that more than a few people have cared about, and in an unpopular fandom, or with an unpopular ship, that’s pretty par for the course. But I’ve considered myself a pretty decent writer for a while, and that was a huge blow to my ego and had me questioning my ability to make it as an author, which has been my goal for fifteen years, and something I’d been considering for a few years before that.

I did some research on what kind of fics and authors are popular, and I found it’s the opposite of what people like with books. Simplicity is the most important thing. Fics with common plot lines, predictable plot points, and recognisable tropes tend to be the most popular. Conflict tends to turn people away. Basically people want comforting stories that don’t challenge them in their fics. That’s something I just can’t do. I’ve actually tried. I love writing stories with high conflict and taking tropes that people are used to and turning them around. I’ve used fics to develop my writing to prepare for my books. I will never be a popular fic writer, and I’m okay with that.

4) I’ve lost most motivation for my fics. A big part of that is because of my living situation. I’m working on building a tiny home so I can make sure I’m not homeless, and for health reasons. Because of that I’m living with my family while I build it.

But an even bigger part is because there’s no energy in it. People’s excitement, their responses, gave me energy and inspiration. I wrote Pretend to be Dating in two weeks because of the interaction with people who were reading it. It’s about 28,000 words, which is the length of a novella, and I didn’t fill it with superfluous prose. People were excited, and they expressed that excitement. That made me want to produce more. And even before that when I was writing for TotA, a pretty much dead fandom, I had a friend who would get excited every time I would write anything, no matter how small. But she has a family now.

That interaction, that energy, inspires me. And I know it inspires a lot of others. And no, not every comment inspires me. It’s pretty easy to tell the difference between someone commenting because they like something, and because they just want me to continue. Being a temporary distraction from life until people move on to the next distraction actually has the opposite effect and kills my inspiration and drive. It’s important to me that people like my stories and my writing.

I’m aware that a large part of this is my fault. Because people liking my stuff is vital to my future career, as there is no career if people don’t, responding to comments on my AO3 makes me feel like I’m artificially boosting my comment count and making it seem better than it is. It’s a very weird bit of anxiety, but it’s very debilitating. That’s why I’ve encouraged people to come talk to me here.

5) So I’m bipolar. I’m taking meds for it, but I’m not currently in therapy.

A lot of people don’t understand what bipolar is. It’s not being moody. It’s a cycling disorder that can seriously mess up your life, fuck with your mind, and it’s one that’s still socially acceptable to dismiss and mock. Just look at every time someone calls Halsey “teen angst”.

Bipolar has a lot of effects on my cognitive abilities, and actually made it nearly impossible for me to read for three years before I finally started taking meds. I sometimes spend over and hour at a time pacing because I just can’t seem to stop, I’ve almost broken my hand because of sudden bursts of anger, and there are high risk behaviors we suffer from that have caused me to almost die on several occasions, behaviors I don’t consider dangerous when I’m doing them.

There’s a reason so many bipolar people relate to Jekyll and Hyde.

I’ve been depressive since last May. It’s been a very long depressive phase for me. It’s caused me to almost lose my job. And because of that, it’s been extremely difficult to write. I used to write until my hand literally couldn’t hold a pen, for twelve hours at a time. Now I’m lucky if I can get more than an hour a night. So when I can write, I want to write something that’s important. And if my fics aren’t important, if people don’t care, I don’t want to write them, no matter how excited I am about certain stories or chapters. And when I post a chapter that I’ve been so excited about, and no one else is excited, that has a really bad effect on me.

6) I’ve mentioned that I’m working on becoming a published author, hopefully a career author. This is vital to my happiness and fulfillment as a person. This is the entire reason I started writing fics back in 2005. I’ve written entire books that I’ve scrapped, have five projects in the works, and am working on creating a serial to gain attention.

At this point, writing fics is doing nothing to help me with that. It’s a distraction. And until recently, it’s a distraction that I’ve found worth it, because it’s something I enjoyed, and something that gave me creative satisfaction. But that’s not the case anymore. I don’t see the point in producing things for people who don’t appreciate them, when I could be working on things that could hopefully supply me with the means to live.

Fanfiction will always have a place in my heart. It’s been such a big part of my life. But like with most things that I loved as a teenager, it just doesn’t give me the enjoyment and satisfaction it once did.