#the bear is a story of mental illness and recovery

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii can u please write an emily x reader fic where emily sees readers sh scars for the first time? and kisses them or smt? if not don’t worry :))

Of course! :) Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Tracing You

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: past self-harm, mental illness, trauma, implied sexual assault/abuse (nothing graphic though!), mentions of afab body parts, discussions of sex Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Emily have been dating for over a month, and you've still haven't let her get to second base. You're scared she'll see your self-harm scars and run for the hills. But, eventually, you'll have to expose them.

You knew it was coming. You always knew, and you always hated it, hated to cut everything short.

Emily was kissing you hard, passionately, as you both lounged on her couch, and you kissed her back. The movie you’d started earlier was long-forgotten. You loved kissing Emily. You could kiss her forever. You loved the way she pushed her body into yours until she was nearly on top of you, as if she physically couldn’t stand to be apart from you–even one centimeter apart. You loved the way she snuck her tongue into your mouth, somehow gentle and rough at the same time. You loved how her fingers felt against your flushed skin–cool and electric. The way she smiled into you. She gave you butterflies.

But you also knew that any minute now, she’d pull up on your shirt, as if asking for permission. You knew that her hands would sneak a little higher up on your torso, and she’d watch you to make sure you were okay. And you knew that, just like you always did, you’d gently push her hands back down, gently tug your shirt back into place, and continue kissing her like nothing had happened.

But that was the problem–nothing had happened. Nothing would happen because you couldn’t bear to let Emily see what was under your shirt. It wasn’t that you were modest, that you had a hard time with sex. What you had a hard time with were the scars that dotted your breasts like a galaxy, scars that even the best of sports bras couldn’t hide entirely. You wanted Emily and, god knows, she wanted you. But you just knew that she’d see them–see those red streaks painted across you like an oil painting of flames–and one of two things would happen.

She might see them and feel sorry for you. And you’d seen that kind of sorry before. It was the kind of sorry that swallowed relationships whole, that changed the way someone thought about you, looked at you, loved you. And you hated that. You were six years into recovery, no relapses, and you were proud of that. You wanted the people who loved you, who saw you at your most vulnerable, to know the you that you used to be, but to love the you that was now. And so often it seemed that people got stuck on the you who dragged safety pins across your skin. You weren’t her anymore. You’d worked hard not to be.

Even worse, Emily might see the scars and find you disgusting. She’d see that there had been something wrong with you, with your brain. She’d know that at some level, there was still something wrong with you. After all, your trauma, your mental illness–they hadn’t gone away. You had spent a whole lot of years in therapy and on medication to deal with them, but they were still a part of you, a part of your story. They were a part that was hard to look at. Even for you. You found those parts of yourself ugly, believed they deserved to be hidden–much like your scars. How much uglier would they be to Emily? Emily, who wasn’t in your mind, who didn’t know what had come before or during or after, and could only see what was left–the evidence that you were not okay.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Emily’s fingers slipped under your shirt, tentatively dancing up your torso. You let out a shaky sigh and grabbed her hands in yours, deepening the kiss, hoping it was enough to distract her. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

She pulled back and watched you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” you prompted, flushing and trying to act like nothing was wrong.

She bit at one of her nails as she watched you, and you pulled her hand away to hold it between both of yours.

“Are you…” She hesitated, like she didn’t quite know how to ask. “Do you want to… break up?” She looked sad, scared. And, for your part, you were sure you looked absolutely shocked.

“What!? No! No, Em, of course not!” You ran gentle fingers over her face, trying desperately to communicate that you absolutely didn’t want to break up and would, in fact, like to never, ever break up.

“You just…” She sighed, picking at her fingernails again. “I love making out with you, but you never want to go any further. And I get it if you’re not ready, that’s completely fine. It’s just… it’s been a while, and I want to make sure you’re not here because… you know, because you feel like you have to be.”

You stared at your hands. You felt like your guilt might swallow you whole. Here you’d thought you were playing it cool, but realistically, what would have been the end game? Never having sex with Emily? Never letting her see your body? You’d been in relational limbo for over a month now, and it had been stupid, so stupid, to assume there wouldn’t be any consequences. She thought you didn’t like her! She thought you weren’t as into her as she was into you! And it was exactly the opposite–you were so into her that it scared you, so into her that it was scarier than it had ever been to show your scars. The thought of losing her–already, even so early on–was terrifying.

“Emily,” you started, rubbing your thumb over her hand. “I’m here because I want to be. I really like you.”

She blinked, thinking harder. “Am I… am I doing something? You know, that makes you… not want to–”

“Oh god,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “No, Em. No. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. I do want to.”

You sighed and looked at her. Her head bent, hands worried. Your self-consciousness was making Emily self-conscious. And you really couldn’t bear that she’d think less of herself because of you.

“Take off my shirt,” you said, bluntly.

“What?”

“Take it off. It’s okay.”

Emily fiddled with a stray piece of upholstery on the couch. “I don’t know, Y/N, this doesn’t seem like the right mood for—”

“Emily,” you pleaded, squeezing one of her hands. You knew if you didn’t do it now, you might never. “Please.”

Emily watched you with concern, but did as you asked, slowly lifting your shirt up and over your head.

You looked up to the ceiling, exhaling shakily, willing yourself not to cry. She would see them. She was seeing it. She saw them. You didn’t know if you could ever look her in the eyes again. You didn’t even know if you could look at yourself.

You felt Emily’s hand press gently into yours, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Then you felt one of her fingers, cold for the shock of it more than the actual temperature, at the top of your breasts, the part that peeked out from the bra, littered with angry, red lines that had only somewhat faded over the years.

You felt her trace one of the scars, the whole, long trajectory of it, with her finger, and then when she reached the end, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at its zenith. Your breath caught in your throat as she continued following the scars, kissing you again and again and again until–though you’d worked so hard not to–you had stray tears leaking down the side of your face.

Emily grasped your face in her hands, so gently, so gingerly, and lowered your head, using her thumbs to brush the tears from under your eyes. You still couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Y/N, look at me,” she said softly, caressing your face. You finally forced yourself to look into her eyes, and what you saw there surprised you. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t disgust. It was something new. Admiration and respect. And–maybe, just maybe–love?

“You’re beautiful,” she told you, staring at you pointedly, holding your face so that you couldn’t look away. “You’re beautiful, and that’s all we’re gonna say about it unless you want to talk more.”

“I feel like you should–” you said, your voice breaking a bit as you sniffled. “You should know why and– and when, and–”

“I am happy to listen to anything you want to tell me,” she assured you. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your story, and you can tell me what you want, when you want. Believe me, though,” she said, smiling mischievously. “I don’t need any more information tonight if you’re not ready.”

“Really?” you asked.

Showing the scars had been hard enough. You didn’t really want to talk about your hellish high school and college years, the man who had touched you there and made you want to rip all your skin off, the years of therapy, the relapses, the depression, the medication. You’d tell her. You’d tell her all of it, you knew. But right now, you wanted to reap the rewards of being brave. The rewards being Emily.

Emily nodded and winked at you, then leaned in to brush her lips against your ear. “Y/N,” she whispered. “The only information I needed was that you had boobs under there.”

You blushed and grinned at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another heated kiss.

When you pulled away, Emily was nearly panting. You smirked. “I showed you mine. It's your turn.”

[wishcamper]

Nesta, Interrupted: gendered perceptions of alcoholism in ACOSF

CW: addiction, sexual assault, gendered violence.

Creds: I’m a licensed counselor with a degree specialization in treating addiction. I have career experience with multiple modes of mental health, trauma, and substance use treatment in women-specific carceral, institutional, and healthcare settings. And I know anyone can come on the internet and say that, but I pinky promise.

The short version:

ACOSF stigmatizes alcoholism in line with cultural standards.

Western culture feels differently about female and male alcoholics due to systemic sexism, and thus treats them differently.

Women’s experience of alcoholism is often compounded by or even a result of systemic factors and intersectional identity.

Nesta’s treatment in ACOSF, while repugnant, is in many ways very accurate of attitudes today.

(I’ll be using “women/men” and “male/female” to denote cis afab and amab people. Little research exists on the experiences of queer, nonbinary and gender expansive considerations in addiction and recovery, which is a fuckin’ shame. Studies are also largely conducted with white participants due to enormous barriers to treatment for Black, Indigenous, and people of color, so this convo is inherently incomplete where it neglects those intersections.)

Okay, first things first: ACOSF is a book that stigmatizes alcoholism. I will not be taking questions.

The number one thing to understand is that in America, land of Miss Sarah, we are very bad at addiction treatment (tx). Why? Because our culture hates addicts has as stigma around addiction. And female alcoholics bear a very specific set of stigmas based in their identity.

In Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted , Kaysen’s character is institutionalized following a non-fatal suicide attempt. When evaluated, she’s diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, that bastion of diagnoses perfect for people (75% of whom are female-identified) who don’t fit into our polite definition of functioning. As the book unfolds, she reflects on how (white) women are often pathologized when they buck against systems of oppression that create the dysfunction in them in the first place. That is not to say other women in the institution are not genuinely in need of help, nor that mental illness in women is always from a systemic wound. But it’s crucial in the treatment of female addiction and mental health disorders to considered the systemic factors of gendered violence and patriarchy, and the attitudes we hold about women who struggle with drinking.

Think about female alcoholics in media. If she’s young, she’s a loose, reckless sl*t looking for trouble and deserving of the reality check when she finds it (Amy Schumer in Trainwreck, Lindsay Lohan in general). Or if the woman are older, they are discarded, or gross, or pathetic, or evil like anyone Faye Dunaway played or Eminem’s mom in 8 Mile (deep cut lol). Men are afforded a much larger spectrum of experiences and struggles - Ernest Hemingway, Leaving Las Vegas, Sideways, the dude from A Star is Born, Frank from Shameless (brilliant), frat boys, blue collar workers, introspective tortured artists, fucking IRON MAN. I could go on forever, but I hope that illustrates the depth and diversity of male-centric stories of alcoholism not often afforded to women.

One of the most empathetic and accurate portrayals of female alcoholism, in my opinion, is in the show Sharp Objects (the book, too, but actually witnessing it makes a difference). We see Amy Adams’ Camille swig vodka from an Evian bottle while fending off vicious, veiled attacks from her verbally and emotionally abusive mother and experiencing flashbacks of teenage sexual assault. We watch her struggle to find emotional safety in her conservative hometown, both wanting to fit in and get out in order to survive. We GET why she drinks and I have trouble blaming her for it even as she wreaks havoc on herself and others. We can see her clawing just to make it out alive, and alcohol is the tool she’s using to do it, for better or worse.

Which is where Nesta enters the chat. When we get our first glimpse of her alcohol use is ACOFAS, it’s portrayed as something everyone knows about but that she’s still mostly keeping it together - her dress is clean, her hair is neatly braided, she doesn’t need a chaperone to show up to a family event. The deterioration between ACOFAS and ACOSF is alarming, and we know that alcoholism is a progressive condition so that tends to happen. Was there a particular trigger? That’s hard to say. Solstice certainly didn’t help, especially with the pressures to perform and conform to the standards of the Inner Circle aka the people in power. I imagine seeing her sisters bouncey and reveling in the world that stole them and killed their father was probably.. tough, to say the least. The barge party seems to be a turning point as well, though this one is more confusing to me. But given the child abuse, extreme poverty, sexual assault, kidnapping, bodily violation, witnessing her father’s murder, almost dying, WAR - and that’s not even to mention essentially becoming a refugee - it would be amazing if she DIDN’T drink. She 100% has complex trauma, and is looking for ways to cope.

No one with full capacity dreams of becoming an addict when they grow up. Addiction, in my professional and personal experience, is largely a strategy for coping with a deeper wound. People don’t drink to feel bad. They drink to feel good, and to survive. Nesta herself is drinking to survive, but it’s having the unfortunate side effect of killing her at the same time. As she slides into active addiction, the thought of her own death may even be comforting, and alcohol in that way is her friend. (There's some interesting research right now framing addiction as an attachment disorder, but I don't know enough to speak on it much.)

So she obviously needs help. That’s not a debate. What is a debate is how the IC should best go about intervening. A variation on the Johnson method is used in ACOSF (the one from the show Intervention) and appears to be successful only because they threaten her if she doesn’t comply. This method has mixed data to support it, and while it’s very good at getting people into tx, there is a higher relapse rate for those who receive it (1). The “family” gathers and tells her the ways she’s hurt them and tell her the consequences if she doesn’t seek the help they’re offering. And again, so many of their reason are the effects on THEM, how she’s making THEM look, not her pain.

The IC’s ignorance and dismissal of her alcoholism in ACOSF is frankly mystifying. Why do they intervene on all the drinking and sexing, anyway? It seems like they’ve been fine enough with it up to this point. But now it's gone too far, not because of her illness but because she is embarrassing them. And I don’t know about you, but between Cassian apparently fucking half of Velaris and Mor’s heavily documented emotional drinking, that’s hard to square. It makes it feel much more likely that they don’t like the way she is coping, that she is not fitting into their picture of who she’s supposed to be. This picture is inherently gendered, because Prythian society and those who live in it have explicit and implicit expectations of gender roles, whether they’ll admit it or not. Cassian and Mor are playing their roles well; Nesta is not.

That leads me to believe it is NOT all about her, but the systemic and internal factors influencing their perception of her and the ways she’s struggling. It’s distasteful to them for her, a female, to be deteriorating this publicly, despite the fact that her very identity makes it harder for her to function in the patriarchy of Prythian. We hear almost exclusively about sexual violence against women, aside from 2 male characters. Past or present assault of women is a major plot point on multiple occasions (Mor, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie, Rhysands mom and sister, the lady of autumn, Cassians mom, Azriels mom, I could go on). But something about the way Nesta is contending with that is unacceptable, and I believe it’s because she’s not trying to cover up her dysfunction. In prythian, we keep these things hidden- Mor’s assault is never processed in full, Azriel’s mom seems to be alone at Rosehall, priestesses are literally hidden inside a mountain for centuries. Women process trauma alone and in the dark, but Nesta is in the light and she is loud. She is refusing to hide her problems, and the IC don’t like that, whether they realize it or not.

So why don’t the IC understand this? Like I said earlier, as a culture we hate addicts, or what they stand for, in very much the same way I think we hate people experiencing homelessness. We convince ourselves it was a series of bad choices that led someone where they are, choices we would never make because we are smart, smarter than them. We believe are more in control than that. We can prevent bad things from happening to us because we are good, because we are better than whoever it’s happening to. But the reality is almost ALL of us are one hospital stay away from homelessness, just as all of us are one trauma away from addiction. And with female addicts, we have another layer of expecting women to only struggle nicely and quietly, or to go away. Intersectional factors are at play here, too: white women are much more likely to have alcoholism attributed to mental health and trauma factors, where people of color often suffer the same addiction being more associated with crime. You can imagine how that plays out differently.

So what is the effect of all this? Gendered expectations lead to not only external stigma around addiction and tx, but also to internalized stigma which can limit willingness to seek tx. (2) Many social forces encourage women to drink and discourage them from telling anyone. Factors such as poverty, family planning, access to education, racial discrimination, and location can make services harder to access. Internally, women are more likely to enter treatment with less confidence in their ability to succeed, but report more strengths and more potential to grow recovery strengths during and following tx. For men, the pattern is reversed (3). And women have more successful tx episodes overall when gendered considerations are a part of the design and implementation of services (4). For Nesta, the effect is that she’s forced into treatment and copes by having hate sex with her ex and changing herself to conform to her family’s expectations while the House and the Valkyrie’s actually take care of her. I do not see how Sarah drew the line from there to recovery, I truly don’t. If anything, she recovers in spite of the ICs intervention, not because of it.

In summary, Nesta Archeron deserved better. Nesta deserved the same compassion the book gives to men who are struggling, and it’s a reflection of not just the book’s culture but the author’s culture that she doesn’t get it. Female alcoholics are worthy of treatment that integrates their identities, as those identities are often essential factors contributing to their addiction. What's shown in ACOSF is a reality many women live, and they shouldn't have to.

Barry Loneck, James A. Garrett & Steven M Banks (1996) The Johnson Intervention and Relapse During Outpatient Treatment, The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse, 22:3, 363-375, DOI: 10.3109/00952999609001665

Groshkova T, Best D, White W. The Assessment of Recovery Capital: Properties and psychometrics of a measure of addiction recovery strengths. Drug Alcohol Rev. 2013;32(2):187–94.

Best D, Vanderplasschen W, Nisic M. Measuring capital in active addiction and recovery: the development of the strengths and barriers recovery scale (SABRS). Subst Abuse Treat, Prev Policy. 2020;15(1):1–8.

Polak, K., Haug, N.A., Drachenberg, H.E. et al. Gender Considerations in Addiction: Implications for Treatment. Curr Treat Options Psych 2, 326–338 (2015). https://doi.org/10.1007/s40501-015-0054-5

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You, Part 14 (Polin, Rated R)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

A03 link if that’s more your jam

GIF credit: @maxanor

Penelope tugged at the fabric of her dress, feeling her insides coil with tension. It was a dark, gloomy day with occasional bursts of rain peppering the city, reflecting the somber mood that she was in. Hyde Park was nearly empty, not unexpected considering the weather, providing the perfect location for a rendezvous. Earlier today Arthur had sent word through a messenger asking to see her, and she had given instructions for him to meet her at the park. With Martha following behind, she circled the Serpentine for a second time, scanning the grounds for him. A few minutes later she spotted him approaching, and her feet suddenly felt heavy as lead.

Arthur Debling was a handsome man with thick blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard that enhanced his distinguished appearance. A decade older than her, it was his maturity and wry sense of humor that attracted her to him. She was used to being not noticed, even deliberately ignored by the ton, yet he had been the one to seek her out and initiate a conversation in Ayleshire. Awkward at first, she slowly grew comfortable around him and their friendship deepened over time, finally leading to the night they kissed.

“Good day, Penny.”

His smile was warm and friendly, eyes radiating an effusive energy that normally would have put her at ease right away. But today his warmth felt like a loaded burden to bear, knowing how she was going to shatter it soon.  “How are you, Arthur?”

“It’s been too long. I missed you.”

“I missed you as well.”

“You look more beautiful than I remember.”

Guilt flushed through her. “How is your mother? I hope she made a fast recovery from her illness.”

“She did, thankfully. I think it helped when I told her about you. She’s quite excited to meet you.”

“I’m happy to hear she’s in good spirits.”

“And you? How are you?”

She gave him a perfunctory smile. “Have you been well? You mentioned in your letters the expansion has kept you busy?”

“Yes, the bank has been flourishing.” He peered at her closely. “Your last few letters were sparse in details. I am unsure if I even received all of them.”

Her stomach tightened. “Shall we walk? We have much to discuss.”

When he offered her his arm, she hesitated for a moment before looping her own through his. The ground was wet and muddy from the rain earlier, making it difficult for her to keep up with his pace. Arthur possessed a quick gait, and it wasn’t unusual for her to be out of breath during their vigorous walks. In the past all she had to do was bring it to his attention and he would slow down, but today she found herself irritated by the thought. He could clearly see that she was struggling, so why didn’t he simply adjust his speed without being prompted? “Could we slow the pace, Arthur?”

“Yes, of course.”

His sweet tone evoked waves of guilt, and she chastised herself for being unkind. As she paced her breath, she mentally prepared to initiate the difficult conversation. Under normal circumstances she would have preferred to do this in private, but she had given Colin her word she wouldn’t meet Arthur alone.

“I hope your return to society was acceptable. I remember how much you were dreading it when we were at Ayleshire.”

“It has been bearable, I suppose. That is the best I can hope for.”

“And you have not yet reconciled with Miss Bridgerton?

Images of Eloise and Cressida flashed through her mind. She still didn’t know how to feel about them, only that her heart yearned for how alone and confused Eloise must have felt. “I have not.”

“The newest Whistledown sheet found its way to me. It was very enjoyable.”

A small smile escaped her lips. “Was it?”

“You certainly have a way with words, Penny. The crowd at the tavern last night were happy to regale me with past Whistledown gossip. They hold your work in high regard.”

During their months together she and Arthur had talked much about her nom de plume, her writing process, how she had built a network of people who provided her with information that she normally wouldn’t be privy to. It was exhilarating to be able to claim the work she did and be proud of it, and Arthur had reveled in her accomplishments alongside her. It broke her heart to acknowledge she could never be as fully honest with Colin. If he found out the truth it would be the end of Whistledown, and she would be forced to cut out a cherished part of herself.

“Is everything alright, Penelope?” He cast her a concerned gaze. “You are very reserved today.”

“There is something of import I must speak to you about.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in the last letter I received.”

Her throat felt dry, her hands clammy with sweat.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?” he suggested. “We also need to discuss when I should call upon your mother.”

She stopped in her tracks, forcing him to do the same next to her. As much as she wanted to be gentle, there was no softening the truth. She had to be honest with him. “I kissed Colin.”

Immediately he released her arm, taking a step back.

It felt as if the world had come to a stop, everything but Arthur disappearing from her line of sight. His face revealed a spectrum of emotions, from confusion to hurt. He didn’t look at her, probably because he couldn’t bear to. In the months they had spent together, she had never seen him angry. Frustrated, yes, mostly because of strenuous business endeavors but there was no occasion where he’d been furious. But that was the expression he wore now, appearing more and more agitated as the minutes ticked by. He had every right to feel that way, she reminded herself, after how she betrayed him.

For a long time there was only silence, before he finally spoke again. “When did it happen? How many times?”

Penelope owed him the truth but she couldn’t bring herself to share the details. Not only would it hurt him but it simply felt wrong to expose that part of her and Colin with someone else. “I don’t think-”

“Answer me!”

“More than once. That is all I can say.”

“How could you do this to me? After everything you and I have meant to each other? After the future I planned for us?” The contempt in his voice made her ashamed to even breathe. “You agreed to marry me, Penny. How could you betray me like that?

It was difficult to speak. “I did not mean to, Arthur. I never wanted to hurt you-”

“But you did, and you did it with a despicable cad who humiliated you. Was it worth it? Was he worth jeopardizing our future together?”

Arthur’s heated gaze bore into her and she quickly glanced down, unable to stand the crushing hatred on his face.

“Perhaps I was a fool for not seeing you for who you truly are. If you could be intimate with me before marriage, of course you would be a lightskirt with others.”

His words were sharp and cutting, slicing her very soul. She stood frozen in place. No one had hurled such derogatory words at her before, yet there was nothing she could say to defend herself against his accusations.

“I never want to see you again,” he said coldly before storming away.

He left her standing there, spiraling in self-disgust.

***

“Miss, are you alright? You are very pale,” Martha inquired, staring at her with concern.

Penelope nodded, remaining silent. Thus far she had managed not to break down in the carriage ride home, holding herself together through sheer resolve. However her insides were churning, flooded with much guilt and sadness. She couldn’t forget Arthur’s contempt towards her or his vitriolic words, which grew more insidious the more she pondered them. Society did not approve of loose women but she had never thought of herself as one. Up until she met Arthur she couldn’t even imagine anyone desiring her let alone that she would be intimate with anyone before marriage. But she had thought Arthur would be her only chance at passion and she didn’t want to lose that opportunity, so she had laid with him only to be taken by surprise a few days later when he proposed to her.

Suddenly a dreadful thought dawned upon her. If Arthur thought of her as a harlot, was it not possible that Colin also felt the same deep down? Gentlemen wanted their brides to be pure and innocent, virginal, and she was no longer that. So why did Colin want to marry her? What did she have to offer him? If he was pursuing her because he was caught up in lust, wasn’t it only a matter of time before he snapped out of it? Would he resent her after?

“Miss, we’ve arrived.”

Martha’s words brought her out of her reverie and she exited the carriage, walking up the stairwell. Mister Thomas opened the door and Penelope slid past him, absently removing her cloak.

“Mister Colin Bridgerton arrived a few minutes earlier. He’s here to call on Lady Featherington.”

Penelope paused. Her brain went into a tailspin trying to process Colin’s presence, why he wanted to talk to her Mama. Arthur’s hateful words.

“I did let him know she was not here, but Mister Bridgerton insisted on waiting for her to return. He’s in the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like to go upstairs and rest?” Martha asked.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll see Colin now.”

“Do you require a chaperone?” Mister Thomas inquired.

Penelope shook her head ‘no’, already approaching the door to the drawing room. “We will be fine. Thank you.”

Colin was standing by the window that faced the Bridgerton home, looking out while he sipped on a cup of tea. As soon as she closed the door and he turned to face her, her numbness evaporated. All the remorse and sorrow triggered by Arthur came rushing back like a tidal wave, cruel and vicious, devastating her even though he had every right to despise her.

“Pen?” Colin’s blue eyes regarded her with concern, growing darker by the second. “What’s wrong?”

She fell to her knees, breaking into tears.

He stormed over immediately, throwing himself on the ground next to her and cradling her in his arms. “What happened, Pen? What did he do?”

Shame flooded over her, her body wracked with tears.

Panic saturated Colin’s voice. “Did he hurt you?”

“I hurt him. I didn’t want to but I did…so badly… I don’t know how to fix it… how to make things right with him again…” She clung to him, sobbing as she fisted his jacket. “He despises me…”

His voice was strained, his hands soothing whilst he embraced her. “He needed to hear the truth, Pen.”

“Did he?” She pulled back to look at him. The suffering on Colin’s face reflected her own turmoil, as if he was experiencing the same emotions she was. “I could have been kinder. I could have given him some other reason to break the engagement-”

“Then he would still carry hope that you two would reconcile one day.” Colin shook his head ‘no’. “And that will never happen. Because you do not love him. You love me, Penelope.” His words tilted up, filled with hesitation. “That is still true, is it not?”

Her insides hurt, seeing how afraid he was. She reached out to cradle his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Colin-”

“Do you regret choosing me?” His eyes were wet with unshed tears. The fear in his voice was palpable as his voice grew more erratic. “Pen, you can not. You may think he will make you happy but it would be nothing compared to the happiness I can give you, the pleasure I can make you feel.” Taking her hand, he pressed it against his heart. “Do not give up on me, Penelope. Please.”

“I have not. I will not,” she reassured him. “You are who I want, who I love. But… “

“But what, Pen?”

She looked away, flush with trepidation. “Do you see me as…?” The lump in her throat was painful to swallow. “Debauched?”

It took her by surprise when he moved to stand up, pulling her to follow suit. Bent forward, he grasped her face and forced her to meet his gaze. “Why would you think that?”

“Because Arthur…” She shook her head, refusing to repeat his words. “Gentlemen want their wives to be untouched.” Her lips quivered. “And you know I am not that.”

The abrupt change on his face was startling as a dark expression settled over him, his jaw clenched. “I do not care what other gentlemen want. The only thing that matters is you, that you are with me, you are mine. We both have been with others but that is in the past and that is where they will remain.” His eyes darkened whilst he pored over her face. “I will be the last man you touch. You kiss.” His thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “You fuck,” he murmured, his breath humming against her skin.

“And I will be your last,” she reminded him possessively, smoothing her hands up his chest.

His lips swiped the tears from her face, slowly, languidly. “Yes.”

A jolt of current ran down her spine, taking in his seductive focus on her bosom. It wasn’t that he simply admired her with his gaze. No, it was because he devoured her, his intensity heightening every nerve in her body, making her feel alive and bold and wanton. Clarity dawned upon her, bringing with it the realization she didn’t care what Arthur thought. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was a woman of loose morals, but what she felt for Colin was potent enough to push aside her doubts and give into temptation. It was the idea of not being with him that filled her with remorse rather than the opposite. “Will you come to my bedchamber tonight?”

He stilled immediately. “If I do, I will not be able to restrain myself.” The ache in his voice was greedy and demanding. “We will make love, over and over. I will spill my seed inside you. On you. On your beautiful breasts. I will mark you in every way so that you never have any doubt that you belong to me again.” The blue pools of his eyes darkened to a shade she had never seen before, holding her spellbound. “That is what will happen if I come to you. Is that what you want?”

Although they had come close to making love before, she had pulled away because of Arthur. But now there was nothing holding her back and she wanted to be with Colin. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was breathless with anticipation. “Yes.”

He raised her hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on her skin. “Then nothing will stop me from visiting you tonight,” he said with a charming smile that made butterflies flutter in her stomach. Just as suddenly the smile dissipated, his mouth closing over hers in a possessive kiss, ravishing her. She returned the kiss with equal fervor, lacing her hands through his hair, tugging on the strands when his lips trailed down her neck hungrily-

“Penelope!”

She immediately pulled away upon recognizing her mother’s scandalized voice. Standing at the door was Portia, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, eyes widened with shock.

“Mister Bridgerton, what is the meaning of this?” Portia screeched. “You have absolutely ruined my poor daughter! I insist you-”

“Pen has already agreed to marry me,” Colin replied calmly, not even a little flustered at being caught in such a compromising position. His attention remained on Penelope, lovingly tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Rest assured, I will ask Anthony to procure a special license for us.”

It was a rare occasion that rendered her mama speechless, but that’s exactly what Portia was. Her eyes drifted between Penelope and Colin, her mouth agape with incredulity.

Ignoring her mother, Colin kissed her hand again. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now, there is an appointment I must attend to. I will see you… soon?” His eyes twinkled with wicked delight, reminding her of their plans to meet later tonight.

“Mister Bridgerton!” Her voice back, Portia started pacing the room. “You can not simply leave like this. There are things we must discuss.”

Colin walked to the door. “Mother and I shall call upon you tomorrow to discuss the arrangements. Have a good day, Lady Featherington.”

Penelope smiled, watching after him while he sauntered out of the room.

“How long has this been going on? Why did you not tell me about you and him?”

Penelope knew there was no point in answering. Anything she said would only trigger more queries from her mother and she was not in the mood to cope with them. “I am tired, Mama. I will speak to you later.” Ignoring her, Penelope walked away.  

***

Colin wondered if there was something wrong with him. Arthur Debling was groaning with pain on the floor and Colin did not feel any guilt for putting him in that position.  Before storming into Arthur’s room at the inn, Colin had been bursting with rage and ready to explode. Penelope might have hesitated to reveal the truth, but it quickly became clear to him that Debling had lashed out at her. Colin was determined not to let anyone—anyone—hurt Penelope. “You made Penelope cry, and that’s something I can’t forgive.”

His foot stomped down on Arthur’s arm, breaking it no doubt.

Immediately a sense of calm flowed through him, the anger in him finally subsiding. With the back of his hand he swiped the blood from his bruised lip. Arthur had landed a few punches on him initially, but in the end Colin took him down without exerting much effort.

He ran his fingers through his hair to fix it before reaching for his jacket. Slipping it on, Colin exited Debling’s room.

A/N - Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next chapter will be from Colin's POV :)

@cringycat24, @josephine-waters

[the-bonfires-ember]

ive been thinking about that thing people say about mental illness. yknow, 'its not a part of your personality' 'dont make it your identity' etc

but when you have a personality disorder, that doesnt really make sense anymore.

which makes my feelings on cluster b pride flags a little conflicted. coz, sure, it is fundamentally a part of your personality and certainly shapes your identity, but something about pride flags has always been off to me. perhaps especially as a person with aspd.

now, sure, on the one hand i get it. theres something appealing about having that kind of validation that you arent alone, especially when you are constantly masking and shifting who you are to fit the situation best.

we might have antisocial personality disorder but we are still, at our core, social creatures. we still desire community, we're just also afraid of it.

so yeah, a banner of community and others 'like us' seems fair enough, right?

BUT

theres still something... off to me about it. what it was, exactly, only came to me after a discussion with my partner about DID and PluralKit - yeah i know, im diving into plural drama now, lfg i guess

they showed me an infographic about the process of DID recovery which showed the progression from very disconnected and separated identities to a more blended 'final fusion' (a term they take issue with but thats a different story). i said that PluralKit must be confusing for people on the later ends of the spectrum they were showing me because, at that point, how do you tell who is blending with who? when the lines are blurry, how do you know who to tag yourself as? it seemed like an inhibitor to recovery if you were constantly cutting yourselves off from each other. (this is not me saying anything one way or the other about plurals and recovery in DID or whatever the fuck else, im just using this as an example. stfu i dont care about your opinions on any of this so dont waste your breath)

i think my feelings on aspd flags is somewhat similar. coz i mean, they are pride flags, right? and i think if you are taking pride in being aspd then you are far more likely to lean into your symptoms, and i think thats a slippery slope to go down and has just a very 'anti-recovery' vibe, if you know what i mean.

with that all said, i also very much think that if you dont want to recover, you dont have to. i dont think you can force anyone to recover and i dont think you should even try to. recovery is fucking shit and its hard and if you arent ready for it, you are just going to hurt whoever you are trying to make recover.

but i also think that you can have that opinion, whilst also being a voice for recovery, and be against 'anti-recovery' thinking.

because look, like it or not aspd is a fucking disorder. and at some point that becomes unhelpful or it wouldnt be a disorder. symptoms of aspd are debilitating and pretending otherwise that helps nobody. especially with all the 'all pwASPD are evil' scum out there.

so yes, i think the pride flags are... unhelpful at best and harmful at worst. but what about the other stuff? the creatures alla tbh creature and the plushiedreadful rabbit? (i think both of those designs suck btw but thats not the point)

idk those feel like they are in a different category. theres not really a sense of pride in those, more a sense of comfort. again, community, but also a sort of softness(??) that the pride flag things seem to miss - especially when they are like 'vampire aspd' or 'evil aspd' or any of the other bullshit things ive seen out there. i guess they are also just way more 'mental illness' coded than pride flags are.

pride flags have always been a 'we're here and theres nothing wrong with us' kind of thing. but the creatures and the bears are more lighthearted and sort of making fun of the conditions a little bit. highlighting symptoms and coping mechanisms. just look at the imocreature - specifically the worm one which is my favourite - and the way its able to be so pathetic looking and cute. its not meant to be cool or badass or whatever else, its just a lil guy that gets sad without supply.

which, yknow, relatable.

[getinthehandbasket]

Stucky Fic recs for GFFA

@gffa do I have recs for you! Disclaimer: these are *all* coming from my bookmarks, which are absolutely filled with porn and other filth. Feel free to roam there as you please. I know you (probably) won't judge me.

First, we start with individual "fix-it" or "fix-it"-like fics.

everest by mcwho Rating: Explicit 904 words Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Drabble, Dirty Talk, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, that last tag undersells it i need something like, Steve Rogers is Fucking Filthy, Name-Calling, Top Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Multiple Orgasms Summary: Three O's in, and Bucky can’t quite remember which way is up anymore. Or, Steve gives and gives and Bucky takes it.

The Life of Bucky Barnes by stephrc79 Rating: Mature 292,199 words Tags: Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Gun Violence, Nightmares, Standard Stucky life issues, recovery bucky, post-CATWS, boys being little shits, sorta kinda NSFW, don't even mention the peen, violence against MC, Blood, past mention of mental instability, past mention of wanting death, but that last one is brief, and this is Recovery!Bucky, it's kind of expected, Spiders, mention of spiders, but only for three chapters Summary: The ongoing story behind the pictures from the Instagram The Life of Bucky Barnes. This work is a series of ficlets that tells the story of each picture. As each chapter progresses, it will encompass one or two of the images, how they appear chronologically. These are inspired works for petite-madame with her blessing.

Thank God for PR by Cimorene105 Rating: Explicit 37,886 words 14 works Tags: too many to list Summary: Steve and Bucky make some startling discoveries about each other on live TV. From there, it becomes a happy struggle to fit even more of each other into their daily lives.

Good Boy by triedunture Rating: Explicit 13,473 words Tags: Collars, Dom/sub Play, Multiple Orgasms, Exhibitionism, Body Worship, Master/Pet, Petplay, Hair-pulling, Hair Kink, Bathing/Washing, Praise Kink, Kink Negotiation Summary: Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. Increasingly, though, what seems to make him comfortable is strangely intimate.

Surprise, Steve! You're a gentle dom and Bucky wants to be your pretty pet!

A Fucking Written Invitation by chaya, Desdemon Rating: Explicit 9,563 words Tags: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Pepper Potts, Clint Barton, UST, Dubcon Kissing Summary: "Jesus, Steve, I just had to explain to a ninety-something year old ex-killer that it was normal to have dreams and wake up with unusual physical attributes and, and listen, we have to get him a male GP, a, a man, because when I asked him why he hadn't just called her to discuss this he looked at me like I'd suggested he slap her in the face."

Alternate titles: "It's Just You". "Steve Rogers Can't Get a Goddamned Clue". "SSRIs and You". "Steve, Natasha is Going to Hit You". "Buying a Clue". "Steve's Clue-Field is Barren".

(slight tw for a non-con makeout moment.)

i was found and now i don't roam these streets by hipsterchrist Rating: Mature 15,913 words Tags: Bucky Bear, Team Dynamics, Team Bonding, Friendship, Therapy, Hospitals, Medical, Illnesses, Minor Character Death, Child Death, Teddy Bears, New York City, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Self-Esteem Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Feels, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier Summary: They’ve decided to start producing Bucky Bears again, now that he’s all shiny and redeemed and fighting for good on this big Avengers misfits team. "He has a little shiny gray arm," Bucky says, wiggling the stuffed arm in question, one of the tweaks made in the new model. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, actually looks a little bit proud around the eyes.

Or, Bucky relearns himself and how to be on a team, the rest of the Avengers try to get answers, and everyone watches too much Criminal Minds.

Handling Wants by eclecticxdetour Rating: Explicit 5,063 words Tags: Rimming, Barebacking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bottom Steve Summary: As the asset, desire was nonexistant. As Bucky Barnes, he's unsure how to deal with being allowed to want.

All the First Times by Vee (Vera_DragonMuse) Rating: Mature 9,694 words Tags: Recovery, rebuilding the self, from the ground up, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier Summary: Bucky starts over and finds new ways to survive.

Next, I offer links to my bookmarks, filtered in various ways:

Bucky/Steve, no other pairings with those two. Includes dark fic, non-fix-it, AUs, etc.

Bucky/Steve, including them in other pairings or OT3s- mostly Steve/Darcy/Bucky in various configurations

All Marvel fics*

All my bookmarks - if you wanna judge me pls do it in your inside-your-head voice lol *the link errored out when I tried to exclude *all* other fandoms that aren't Marvel. If it's still erroring out, let me know and I'll re-include some other fandoms and you can just skip those.

[acciomorningstar]

Shattered

Story tags: Hogwarts Legacy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), Poppy Sweetingxgn!MC Characters: gn!MC, Poppy Sweeting, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Natsai Onai, Amit Thakkar, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes Synopsis: After MC is permanently scarred at the repository battle, they will have to adjust to a new normal – which is proving to be their most difficult challenge yet

Warnings for heavy angst, mental/physical scarring and disabilities, depression

Reread my previous angst post and got inspired, so I decided to try my hand at something heavier. It turned out longer than I expected, but I'm proud of the end product, considering I usually suck at bittersweet storytelling lol Significantly heavier than most of my previous posts on here, so tread with caution.

While relief took hold among the students of Hogwarts and things soon returned to a sense of normal after Ranrok’s attack, for some the struggle was only beginning. Poppy had attempted to find MC in the wake of the repository battle, but all she was told was that Professor Fig had perished and MC had been critically injured, having been directly transported to the infirmary once their unconscious body had been retrieved from the rubble. She wasn’t allowed to visit, so her only resort was to hassle the nurse for details whenever she was able to. Eventually, she managed to find out that MC was being sustained in a magical coma as the pain of being awake was likely to tear them apart. It wasn’t so much a matter of when they would wake up – it was whether they would ever wake up at all.

The news took its toll on MC’s entire inner circle. Sebastian and Ominis bickered less, Natty was strangely absent-minded during classes, Amit’s marks in Astronomy tanked to the point where Professor Shah constantly asked whether he’d taken ill, Garreth’s concoctions noticeably suffered from the absence of his potion companion, and even Imelda seemed more prickly than usual.

Poppy herself wasn’t faring much better. She woke up sick to her stomach every day without any news about MC, and she found that her usual pastimes weren’t doing much to keep her mind off things either.

And then, after a few agonising months and a lot of sleepless nights, news came that MC’s condition was stabilising. The nurse cautioned that they were by no means out of the woods yet, but at least they were allowed to have visitors over.

Poppy made her first visit along with Natty, who had also jumped at the opportunity to see their friend. MC was barely responsive when they stood at their bedside, and the nurse told them to get out after five minutes because they needed rest.

“All those scars… there were so many of them,” Natty said, shaking her head as they walked back through the corridors. “I cannot even begin to imagine how they will ever bear the pain if they regain consciousness.”

“They are still the same person underneath,” Poppy insisted. “You’ll see.”

She knew she was mostly talking to herself, but the alternative was simply too painful to consider. And for a while, things genuinely seemed to be improving. After a few weeks, she received news that MC was finally awake and responding, and she rushed to the infirmary so fast that people in the corridors looked at her with shocked faces and asked whether there was an emergency.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, she noticed MC’s bed had been moved to a sectioned-off corner in the back of the hall. It was for the wellbeing of the other patients, the nurse explained – MC had developed a habit of waking up screaming every night, to the point where it had become an active obstacle to the recovery of their fellow patients. As horrified as Poppy was to hear this, it was even less of a shock than the sight she was confronted with once the curtain was drawn back. Fresh scars ran up the right side of MC’s body, all the way up to their face, which looked as if it had been cut up with a knife. Purple veins stood out under the almost transparent skin near their right eye, which appeared strangely discoloured. When Poppy looked down, she noticed an unmistakable tremble in their burnt hands.

“Poppy,” MC said in a raspy whisper, “is that you?”

“Yes, my love,” she answered, having to suppress the quiver in her own voice as she gently took one of MC’s hands. “I’m here.”

MC seemed disoriented, so she had to remind them where they were and explain how they ended up here. Her heart broke when they asked where Professor Fig was – she debated internally whether she was the right person to tell them, but she didn’t want to lie to them either. When she told them the truth, MC just sat there against the pillow, their brow furrowing as they tried their best to understand. Then the tears came, and the screaming, and all of a sudden it wasn’t clear anymore whether MC was wailing out of sadness or out of pain, and Poppy ended up holding them until the nurse hastily arrived and instructed her to leave.

For all the lack of news in the last couple of weeks, there suddenly seemed to be an awful lot of it… MC was regaining strength in the parts of their body which weren’t affected by Ranrok’s magic, but it wasn’t like there were a lot of those left to begin with. Their eye wasn’t healing and at this point this likely meant they would end up losing half of their vision; the tremble in their hands persisted and they barely had any mobility left in their right arm, but the worst news she was told by MC in person. Apparently, the magic had eaten away at the nerve system in their spine, which would likely leave them all but paralysed from the waist down for the rest of their life.

“They say I’ll never be able to walk again,” MC sobbed at her through a mist of tears. “Never play Quidditch again, never again climb the hills or swim in the lake –”

Poppy simply held them as they cried. She didn’t say anything, lest her voice betrayed the tears burning in the corners of her eyes.

The inner circle and the school faculty tried their best to accommodate MC however they could. As soon as MC was allowed to leave the infirmary for short periods of time, professors accompanied them to help levitate their wheelchair up stairs so they were able to attend classes. Whenever MC was too tired to leave their bed, the professors would organise little private classes at their bedside. Sebastian and Ominis would indulge them with late-night chats about their personal experiences with living with a disability. Natty would entertain her with stories about her homeland, staying with them to ease their path into deep slumber, after which she’d watch over them. Amit made sure to supply them with notes to help them keep up with schoolwork, Garreth frequently dragged his potion kit all the way up to the infirmary to brew new concoctions next to MC’s bed (much to the chagrin of the nurse), and Imelda personally escorted MC to every Quidditch match, jinxing everyone who gave them as much as a funny look. Sometimes it would even feel as if things had truly returned to something resembling normalcy – if it wasn’t for MC freezing up at every strike of lightning or explosion in the corridors, or bursting into tears whenever someone as much as mentioned the name of Professor Fig.

In spite of everyone’s monumental efforts, no one was as devoted to taking care of MC as Poppy. She visited the infirmary and offered to push them around the castle as often as she was allowed to, and if she wasn’t she would spend her hours holed up in the library and interrogating Professors about any means to alleviate MC’s suffering. People started commenting on the bags under her eyes and she had to give up most of the free time she’d usually spend caring for beasts, but those were sacrifices she was willing to make.

Which didn’t mean that things were getting any easier. She had her own life, and juggling commitments had never been her strong suit. Moreover, the more time she spent with MC, the more often she would find herself at the receiving end of their outbursts of frustration and self-loathing. One particularly nasty fight came after she had taken Highwing out for a flight, only to suddenly remember that she’d promised to take MC out to the courtyard for some fresh air.

“I am so sorry,” she gasped as she stormed into the infirmary, cheeks flushed from exertion. “I was caring for Highwing and I lost track of time –”

MC looked up at them from their wheelchair, a cold expression on their scarred face. “Oh, don’t bother with excuses,” they said. “I’m sure your beasts need your help more than I do.”

The sneer struck her like a hot arrow to the chest, but she knew not to take it personally. “Don’t be silly,” she answered as she walked up to them. “You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be –”

“Please,” MC scoffed. “You’re only here because you pity me. Guess that’s all I get for risking my neck for a bunch of stupid birds.”

She felt something different now, a fit of hot anger bursting its way up from her core. “How can you say all of those things? You know, I haven’t had a single proper night of sleep since they found you under that rubble, and I’ve been sacrificing everything to help you when all I get in return is anger and resentment –”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you!” MC snapped back, their voice cracking. “Next time I run into Ranrok, I’ll just ask if he finishes the job, all right?”

“Please,” Poppy said, tears running down her cheeks, “you don’t know what you’re saying –”

“I don’t want your help!” MC shouted at her, before hunching forward in their wheelchair, crying out in pain as they clutched their sides. Poppy took an instinctive step forward, reaching out to help them, but the nurse pushed her away, telling her to leave. She did as she was told, and ended up crying herself to sleep.

They made up, eventually, as they always did. But the argument revealed an underlying truth which was slowly becoming undeniable. Poppy was pouring all of herself into MC’s well-being, to the point where she didn’t have much more left to give. She knew it, felt it, but still she toiled on, not knowing what else to do.

A few weeks after their fight, Poppy was called to the garden above the Hufflepuff common room. Upon her arrival, she saw MC sitting on a balcony, facing the lake. They had their eyes closed and the sunlight gave their face an ethereal glow, which made even the scars look less gruesome.

“Hello,” Poppy greeted them with a smile, kneeling next to them. “You look well.”

“Better than I’ve felt in a long while, that’s for certain,” MC chuckled. They extended their good hand to her and she took it, gently rubbing her thumb over their skin. MC’s expression grew sober. “Poppy, I’ve given this a great deal of thought. The lengths you all have gone to these past few months to accommodate me – I… I will be forever indebted to you all, and to you especially. You’ve given meaning to every minute of my life since I met you, even if it was at your own expense… I would never have dreamed of anyone ever doing that.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Poppy answered. “You… you have touched so many lives around you, MC… if only you could see that the way I do –”

MC smiled. “I know. But I can’t allow you to keep throwing away all of that because of me. That’s why I’ve made the decision to leave.”

“Leave?” Poppy asked, feeling her heart stop. “But… to where?”

“To a place where I’ll be able to live in peace. I know telling you this would hurt, but I can’t keep going like this, Poppy, not with everyone looking at me with pity in their eyes and feeling like a burden to every person I care about,”

“But you’re not,” Poppy insisted, tears welling up in her eyes, “you can’t give up now, there’s so many things we still haven’t tried –”

“Poppy, listen,” MC said, and they winced as they brought their hand up to cup her cheek. “You’re so much stronger than you think. You’ve escaped from a terrible existence and built up an entirely new life for yourself. There’s so much you’re still going to achieve, you can’t let all of that go to waste just for me,”

“But that choice isn’t yours alone to make. You don’t deserve any of this –”

“Maybe not. Bad things happen to good people, you of all people should know that. But this is the only thing I’m able to do to repay you for all you’ve done, and it might very well be the last choice I’ll ever be able to make – so please, let me make it.”

Poppy finally broke out sobbing, leaning against MC’s shoulder as the tears flowed freely. MC gently stroked her hair, feeling something moist running down their own cheek.

“I-I’ll never forget you,” she sniffled, her voice barely above a whisper.

MC planted a kiss on top of their head. “Never.”

And so, life went on. MC left Hogwarts, and after a while they even disappeared from daily conversations as people found new things to laugh and worry about. Poppy found it hard to pick her life back up at first, often still ending up at the infirmary with the intention to ask about MC or visiting Professor Weasley for counsel. She didn’t get back into her shell as far as friends were concerned, however. MC wouldn’t have wanted her to, and she was determined to do right by their memory.

Eventually, she was able to move on – though she would never forget the day that one new fifth-year came to Hogwarts and changed her life, for the better.

[angiethewitch]

If it’s not too invasive, can I ask what onset was like and what meds and therapies you tried in your recovery? Or any good therapy resources? My best friend was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia and she’s got a lot of anxiety surrounding her situation. She also tends to respond weirdly to meds and so far a lot of things just haven’t worked. She’s a very strong, determined person and I do believe that she’ll be okay and be able to get back to regular life at some point. I just don’t want her to feel hopeless about the current situation.

its hard to describe onset because I actually had childhood onset schizophrenia, which is pretty rare. my psychologist had a hypothesis that whatever big red genetic button in my brain that caused the schizophrenia was triggered by trauma in childhood, as stressors have been observed to cause someone predisposed to schizophrenia to have a psychotic break. so it's not easy to describe because I've grown up with it, it's pretty much all I know, I never even knew I was different until I was older. I mean, all kids have imaginary friends, all kids lie, all kids make up wild stories, so I wasn't to know any different and neither was my family. I was actually discussing this with my older sister and we were like oh okay that behaviour in childhood was a fucking symptom.

the therapy process was first rehab, to get sober and clean, to rule out any alcohol or drug induced psychosis. then I was referred to the community mental health team (CMHT) to find out what exactly was Wrong With Me and after a few months they gave me a diagnosis. then it was on to medication and on a waiting list.

now because the nhs, especially the welsh mental health sector, is chronically underfunded, it took 3 years until i finally got therapy. in the meantime I self referred to a local trauma service, who take on patients for free and i had 2 years of trauma therapy. eventually I got a care coordinator who referred me to the acute psychosis intervention team and I was with them for 3 years. I was discharged this summer.

I cant really tell you much about anything I did in the years prior to psychosis therapy. they kept upping and upping my meds, which also acted as a sedative, and studies have shown they can cause neural degeneration, so those few years are a black hole. I barely remember any of it.

however, CBT didn't work. what really helped me was ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy), DBT and my therapist also thought stoicism would work for me. we did values focused therapy which I found very helpful. in rehab I also had resilience training which was very helpful. from everything I've read about shadow work, its a lot like ACT, but I do not recommend it for your friend (or anyone really but especially if youre inclined to psychosis) without medical supervision.

I wish your friend the best of luck and I get the hopelessness - realising I'll have this illness for life and facing societal stigma was almost too much to bear, on top of the constant cycle of relapse and recover, rinse and repeat. but my therapy taught me that yes i have this illness, but I can live with it. it doesn't need removing, just caring for. its a part of me that deserves compassion and acceptance like every other part of me. tell your friend that, she deserves to know she's not a monster and she still deserves respect and compassion, even from herself.

I wish her the best of luck

[flowerandthesongstress]

The (renewed and shortened) Masterpost of 2020-2024, i.e. Muh Stuff In English.

The majority of my works are heavy on subtext. Some are allegories. Most are autofiction.

Immigration, ‘otherness’, and the search for belonging are the ever-present themes in everything I have ever written, so I’ll omit the repetition; they’re there by default, always.

I'm not including short stuff (under 15k) and/or request fills, but you can find some of those through the blog archive and the tags and all that.

My writing is free and hopefully will always remain so. But please be considerate and remember that ‘free’ does not equal ‘public domain’ or ‘free to reuse, repost, plagiarize, skim for ideas, and silently snatch from’. 'Free' in this case means that 1) I'm lucky enough to afford not to monetize my writing, and 2) I write things that are too personal to monetize them, anyway.

Please read the annotation at the end of this post. Seriously. Please don't skip it.

With that said, below is some of the stuff that’s available either publicly or on request (see the pinned post for my contacts, the reasons why I no longer share most of this publicly and why I deleted so many works, etc):

Beauty and the Best friends forever — Gen, F/M/M, rated T. Word count: 75k. Themes: found family, abandonment issues, patience, depression, the power of friendship, Everything About The Shithole Is Either Ridiculous And Stupid Or An Evil Void Of Horror. Tagged as ‘if you only read one work by me’, not because it’s the best I've written — far from it — but for other reasons. The designated talking animal: a few demonic chickens.  

The Largest Eggplant in the Valley — F/M, rated E. Word count: 110k. Themes: ADHD, executive dysfunction, honesty, communication, compassion fatigue, hospitality, cultural stagnation, expressing yourself through fiction, traditions and superstitions, breaking out of intergenerational trauma. Is the dorkiest, sweetest, cutest thing I’ve ever written. The designated talking animal: a bear. (removed as of 2024, with a fool's hope for better times) Available on request (see the pinned post for contacts and all that). (the remaining carcass). (playlist)

Hive — F/M/M, rated E. Word count the tractor is okay, but he runs on soup, not on gas: 128k. Themes: CPTSD and recovery, when it's not my paws aching, it's my tail falling off abandonment issues, capitalism, societal pressure, and I barely catch mice anymore found family, urbanism vs ruralism, personal growth through emotional support, I recently started moulting social anxiety, Hey You Check Your Internalized Misogyny, environmental issues, hereditary my nose is cold and my shagginess has increased mental illnesses. /I doubt that any passerby was reading Hive for allegories, so let's just leave *that* historical layer be... Yet if you caught it, the drinks are on me. All of the drinks, bruh. And ALL of the ice cream. / AMt🐝 series. the shopkeepers here know me and give me juicy bones for free The designated talking animal: a cat. (playlist)

Wrong Shoulder — the beequel; F/M, F/M/M; rated E; Word count: 270k. On the surface: three people (last seen prettying up a hamlet, beekeeping, and solving mysteries together), each with their individual ongoing grievances and fresh traumas, meet and hit it off in a giant resort hotel situated in a charming coastal town. Following at their heels are an overly cheeky voice and the mysterious number 20, but the latter feels natural somehow. Underneath the surface: several mindscape allegories awkwardly climbing atop one another in the name of self-therapizing + a nesting doll of story layers (or is it). Themes: internalized ableism, recovery from addiction, making friends with the Shadow Self, creativity vs consumerism, My Life Results Tripled The Year I Gave Up Hope And That One Other Thing. The designated talking animal: the same cat, but he’s now a bipedal and rants at everyone. He's also totes getting a cute girlfriend or two. AMt🐝 series. Available on request. (see the pinned post) (the same playlist)

Don’t Remember — F/M, F/F, F/F/M, F/MMM, FF/MM etc, rated Very E, Word count: 90k (WIP, but it's plotless smut/domesticity). Initially a parody of the godawful ‘aunt polly writes poly’ ‘reverse harem’ ‘genre’ that got popularized and westernized on wutpad; somehow turned into a straightforward depiction of an adorkable polycule living a wholesome rural life and being happy. Contains all of the compersion and hugs (and recipes? and gardening tips?!). This one is just for funsies and comfort. And for bleaching my brain. The designated talking animal: a unicorn. AMt🐝 series. Available on request (see the pinned post).

Lawful Status — F/M; rated TBD. Word count 85k (WIP). Just a slow-burn romance between a teenage girl and a demon, with some wholesome family dynamics, taking place in an urban fantasy, written on a dare, nothing else, pinky swear... damn, almost kept a straight face 😆. It's an allegory of Inner Child Therapy; I'm a metamodernist and I'll die a metamodernist, but for this one I am actually keeping count of how many tropes I can invert/subvert. The designated talking animal: the previous unicorn's brother who made slightly different choices in life. AMt🐝 series. Available on request (see the pinned post).

Frogs all the way down — F/M/M, rated M to E. Word count: 33k (WIP but it's an anthology). a toxic cesspool traumatized me so much that now I can only touch it through the double-padded cozy soft protective gloves graciously provided by a friend Yo dawg, I love your fanfiction so much that I’m writing fanfiction of your fanfiction, and it's about a character writing fanfiction. Themes: ADHD, executive dysfunction, personal growth, friendship, emotional support, processing trauma through fiction, communication, honesty. The designated talking animal: ow maaan where do I even friggin’ start.

The not-so-Great Filter — F/M, rated M to E. Word count: 96k. Themes: dealing with the loss of a parent, lookism, culturally ingrained fear of intimacy, Adulting Be Hard, existentialism meets tacos, Sad Clown Paradox meets the Fermi Paradox, East meets West but they're both Asia, My Life Results Tripled The Year I Gave Up Hope And That One Other Thing. The designated talking animal: ‘Not this time’. ;-) (playlist)

Until You Meet Yourself and to get you home — F/M, rated T to E; just a bunch of one-shots, mostly written as gifts for my SO. Themes: insecurities, social anxiety, non-verbal communication of affection. (removed as of 2024, with a fool's hope for better times.) Available on request. (the remaining carcass) (playlist)

Pelicans, shmelicans! — F/M, rated T to M. Word count: 16k. Themes: childhood friendships, peer pressure, Being a Teenager Is Hard, anger management.  

FatS — F/M, F/M/M, rated E. Word count: 280k. Themes: CPTSD and recovery, insecurities, personal growth, personal accountability, Organized Religion Bad, mood disorders, colonialism, psychedelic drugs, Why Our Brains Can't Communism. The designated talking animal: suspiciously absent, unless you count the guy in the cat t-shirt. Removed (reasons), available on request.

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

Please also note that I am NOT in any fandoms or interested in any 'blorbos'; merely using ready-made worlds sometimes, as handy outlets to channel personal stuff and write my loved ones into them*. And occasionally attach funny ears to said loved ones. Point being, you don’t need to be in any fandoms or know any canons in order to read and understand, either. Another important point, though: if you are strictly after fanfiction and blorbos, then I am not your gal. As in, I am not the author for you and you are not a reader for me.

* as there's been some substantial confusion, I'm editing the post to explain what I mean...

It's very handy when one doesn't need to labor over twenty archetypal background characters and a detailed infrastructure. A ready-made world: get to write and process your personal issues through that writing without bothering to invent where the grocery store is located. Super mega convenient. 

Or so I thought.

I have since realized my mistake, my ignorance, and my naiveté, and how they were caused by a different cultural context. I have since withdrawn — after going through a brutal bout of culture shock and encountering so many instances of plagiarism that I started wondering if I was caught in a simulation — and corrected that unfortunate mistake, via deleting everything I could still delete and building all of the necessary ‘infrastructure’ at home; as in, I created my own world that metaphorically represents my brain, with every aspect of that world signifying one of my brain functions, and with everyone I know written into that world as fixtures. And I just quietly churn out novels set in that world and then share those novels with friends and loved ones and friend-shaped people. Or with no one at all (in which case the novels in question are simply not on this list).

To reiterate: 1) I am fandomless. That fictional thing you think I'm invested in? I'm not invested in it. In fact, that thing might be a trigger now. That 'blorbo' you think I like? I do not. I like real non-fictional people. I prefer to write various fictionalized versions of my relationships with them. Why do this..? In very-very short: fear. Existential fear. Fear of loss, fear of death, wanting to tuck us away into better places where we're safe from both, because there's magic there etc. I also love to metaphorically kill off a certain country, sometimes in the silliest ways possible, every chance I get (I'm sorry for what I have been doing to Lewis all this time... I made my own idiotic old-fart 'mayor' to repeatedly kill off now). In reality, that country is an evil gerontocratic dictatorship that wants me and my loved ones dead. Laughter helps sometimes. Stuff like that... As I said, it's for self-soothing. Coping. Dealing. Emotional catharsis. Call it whatever.

2) if you're strictly after fanfiction and light entertainment and certain names—as in, if you wish to separate me from my stories—then I'm not the writer for you and you're not a reader for me, and we can and should just go out separate ways. Pun intended.

3) sidenote: if you are a good person who is invested in a Thing I never heard of, I can actually acquaint myself with the Thing and write something for you! There's been multiple precedents. Not like I'm against the general idea, and I love writing requests and making good people smile and feel happy. But, dear fren, please understand that me doing so would not mean that I am now invested in the Thing. I'll just hand you a lopsided gift (it will likely be something comedic), give you a hug, and go back into the sandbox in my dark corner. Safer this way.

back to the main page

[words-after-midnight]

Chai and Hibiscus

Thank you! :)

Chai: Favorite character from your WIP? 

My protagonist, Gabriel. That being said, if I told you I haven't been on an antagonist kick lately, I'd be lying. They're very different characters with very different voices, and they both deeply fascinate me, but for different reasons. I never get tired of writing their interactions (I mean, I've been doing it for almost fifteen years).

Overall they're both my favorite characters (and also my best characters, I think), but I think Gabriel has a bit of a leg up because, unlike my antagonist, I actually like and (critically) support him as a person.

Hibiscus: What inspired your WIP?

It was a combination of a few things coming together. I already had come up with my protagonist months earlier, just didn't know where to put him. Then, long story short, I became interested in exploring the themes of mental illness and recovery in a writing project. I learned about Gabriel's primary disorder around this time, it fit his existing character well, and the story kind of developed from there.

The "original" story bears almost no resemblance to the story as it is now, though, because the antagonist wasn't a major part of the story yet - he was originally meant to be a guest comic relief character who appeared in two chapters, lmao. Now he's a central character who's crucially important to the plot (you know, as antagonists typically are).

[aajjks]

I had the idea of unrequited love from you and Bunny kook treating someone else like noona. Then chaos ensues and everyone believes Jungkook’s girlfriend gets beaten by you. She before that slowly makes you isolated from everyone. She also slowly makes Jungkook only choose her over everyone, well except his family of course. She spreads nasty things about you, and makes people think you are untrustworthy and untouchable because people go missing when the talk to you, everything was orchestrated by her to make you the villain in your own story. Also you get word from your doctor that you have terminal illness that can’t be cured and you do not have much time. Even with everything against you, you still try your best to talk to Jungkook and help him. He realizes too late that you were the love of his life.

Now you think it’s over right? Nope, you wake up in an alternate universe with a bunny that worships only you, and he calls you noona instead, this is when you first got him and he has a dog collar with your name on it. He also has a job, he is obsessed and desperate for you and will kill for you to get to you. He can be dominant and he wants you to himself.

For example:

I open my eyes and got a second I think I have entered paradise. That is until I heard a familiar *beeeep.. beeeep* My surroundings become clearer and I realize I am in the hospital with oxygen. How is that possible, did I die?! Why am I alive, then like clockwork my brain makes the nerves in my body awaken and I feel the pain of what felt like being mauled by a bear and being shot in the stomach.

I look around to bear my surroundings to find Jungkook eyes rimmed in red. What is this? I thought he was engaged to Eunchae? Why is he here, did Eunchae hurt him?! I try to move to indicate that I’m alive. He is crying over me and I try to move, and I try with all my will power to move but I only got my finger to wiggle. What happened to me?!

Jungkook suddenly looks up into my eyes and his widens and his breathe gets shallow. He stare is so intense and has a crazed glint to them that I even become unsettled. He kisses my hand and says “N-noona oh thank God, you saved a life today. I was gonna be taken away from you forever if you didn’t wake up. I’m so glad you pulled through like I knew you would.” He calls the doctor on my bedside table and tells the doctor in a cold voice to come here ASAP.

I cannot talk and I try to make a sound but it comes out as a whimper. He looks at me and smiles then whispers “I will do anything to protect you my love, you have no one else to rely on, so please let me love you.”

My eyes widened because he never talked to me like that, for all I know he is playing tricks on me. Why would he do that? I can’t talk, oh no oh no. My heart monitor was going crazy as the doctors look at the situation and tells Jungkook to back away. He sighs and nods his head as the doctor says “It is a miracle that you survived everything you went though.” Yea, mental breakdowns and trying to tell the love of your life you love him even though he was blindsided by Eunchae and dying of terminal illness and never got to say goodbye to him is what I went through.

The doctor told me that I went through a window and gotten stabbed by a crazy person, he says it like he needed to be careful. While I was listening to the doctor I couldn’t help but look over to Jungkook who was drilling holes into the doctors head. I say “uhm thank you for keeping me alive.”

Months later after recovery and rehab, I gained full control over my body. Jungkook’s constant reassurance made me feel something that I never felt before. Betrayal, what about Aaron? I just started to fall in love with a man with a beautiful heart. He made me feel love when I didn’t feel like I was lovable enough.

I died in Aaron’s arms, why… why is my heart beating for my best friend again. Oh yea he is my first love behind my father and brother. Once I got home from the grocery store Jungkook yelled out in worry “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! WHY DID YOU GO OUT WITHOUT ME?!”

I noticed how possessive but soft he became towards me, he was like this with Eunchae, why all of the sudden? I say calmly “I wanted to stock up on groceries and you were at work. I am sorry that I got hungry, and I’m not a child, you know I can handle myself right?

I see Jungkook pull on his hair and I sigh, it was a habit I know all too well. He is frustrated and I managed to make him even more frustrated. Then I say “Where is Eunchae, should you be with her and not worry for me?”

He looks at me if I slapped in the face and cut his balls off. He says in shock “Why the FUCK would I go to that bitch? She is the one who hurt you, she…. She almost took you away… away from me.. no.. no please don’t go away from me.”

He changed up quickly and he crawls towards me after I have put up all the groceries. He hugs my thighs and sobs and shakes his head. He keeps repeating “No no no no… I’m your bunny, I’m your bunny, I’m-“

I crouch down to his level and put his head in both of my hands and say “Sweetheart, what’s going on? Take me away from you? Weren’t you the one who wanted her in the first place?”

He looks at me in confusion and says “Why would I want her when I have my goddess, my owner in front of me?! She she tried to sabotage what we have! She was jealous of us.. so she took you away. When I finally found you, I have always dreamed of you noona. You saved me emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually. I killed my owners before, I began to loose hope in love, I became so cold and aggressive. You came in and changed my entire world, then you became my world. You always respected my boundaries and held me when I cried! Noona you are mine, my pretty noona. No one else deserves you, even I don’t deserve you…. I want to keep you caged with me forever but I know you want your freedom.”

I look at Jungkook and asked “Do you believe in alternative universes?”

-🦋

Oh wow… 🤩

[manicpixieirl]

october 19, 2023

One thing that most writers can agree on is that sometimes, writing hurts. Especially if you are a writer who finds yourself navigating mental illness.

Writing opens up wounds that I wish didn’t exist, and for the past month or so, I have felt so full of wounds that I couldn’t bear to open any old ones. Sometimes it’s important to take a break, especially when my definition of art also means pain. No matter how cathartic revisiting and writing about a tough moment might be, sometimes I just can’t.

I took a much-needed break and I think I am ready to revisit those old wounds, explore them, and stitch them back together - maybe they’ll heal entirely, maybe they’ll leave scars,

but scars are just stories on skin.

When I first went to visit my psychiatrist, he prescribed me Abilify to address my bipolar symptoms. I mentioned earlier that it’s been helping with my manic episodes, I wish I could say the same for depressive episodes. They seem to be a little more frequent, and it’s hard to differentiate what is situational and what is chemical.

I have experienced two profound losses in the past two months; I lost a former student to a tragic car accident, I lost my family dog to cancer. And it hurts. Writing about it hurts. But I am here and I am feeling and I am so lucky to be feeling in this world when so many people are numb.

I have been focusing more on the art of feeling than the art of writing; setting the joint down when I am experiencing an intense emotion, taking the time to work through panic attacks rather than smoke them away.

As I write this, I am on my way home from a week-long vacation and it’s the longest I’ve gone without smoking in about six months. I feel great, and although I experienced a day of very intense emotion on my final day, I navigated it sober. I learned how to let people into my pain, I finally realized that I don't have to do it alone. Wounds aren’t meant to be bandaged in singularity, we are meant to heal with our communities- not in numb isolation.

I’ve been focusing more on my emotional recovery, especially navigating a healthy relationship with substances, more than I have been focusing on writing. It was important to take a break and focus on bringing myself back into balance. Given my diagnosis, I will likely take many breaks, my survival as an artist and a human depends on it.

As I write this, I have been sober from my drug of choice, alcohol, for five days, five months, and five days. 555 in numerology means change. I have changed and I am ready to make another. Although I haven’t completely quit smoking weed, I have noticed that the moments where I would pick up the lighter are the same moments that I would pick up the bottle. The only difference is that instead of blacking out and being a literal menace to society, I am either eating or sleeping. Either way, I am numb and not experiencing life. I am not quite sure whether or not I want to quit, but I do know that I want to quit using it as an escape. This week has shown me that feeling is worth it, that I’m not only able to feel, I am able to feel and survive the intensity of it.

I spent twenty-six years terrified of my own emotional reactions to my feelings. I remember openly weeping in an Applebees when I was fourteen, unable to still my sobs over strawberry lemonade because I had done something to let my parents down. I remember screaming at my mom when I was in seventh grade, I don’t remember what about but I do remember that she was pregnant and I wouldn’t stop screaming until I lost my voice. All I can remember about my childhood is being happy or sad, intensely, and never both at the same time. I was teeter- tottering on one side or the other. Always. I feel so much empathy for my parents, it couldn’t have been easy to raise an undiagnosed, emotional-tornado.

I had my first drink when I was fourteen, I was also fourteen the first time I smoked. I remember feeling normal when I drank. Less heightened, less myself. So whenever I felt scared of myself and had access to alcohol, a blunt, or even an excess of food, I would use it as a way to disconnect from myself. And here I am, twenty-seven, and I feel like I don’t know myself at all now that the impulsivity and emotional reactions have lulled into manageable feelings.

I may not know this new version of myself yet, but I sure am excited to put in the work to meet myself exactly where I am. I don’t think “here” is such a terrible place to be.

[etherealising]

wonder if you’ll understand it’s just the touch of your hand, behind a closed door.

pairing(s): carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x ‘fem reader | the bear characters x fem reader

summary: friendship never came easy to carmen berzatto but when you entered his life that all changed, as you and carmy slowly grow into the world of adulthood things well within carmy’s control pull you apart. friendship doesn’t always last forever.

warning(s): angst | fluff | substance abuse | mentions of suicide | language | terminal illness | mental health | drug abuse | overdose | unintentional self-harm | scars | rehab | recovery | thoughts of relapsing | grief | unhealthy coping mechanisms | carmy being emotionally constipated | miscommunication | pining | semi-unrequited love | self-destructive behavior | smut |

wc: 141k

READER HAS NICKNAME BUT OTHERWISE AMBIGUOUS.

aiekoy playlist

main story:

one | two | three | interlude zero | interlude one | four | five | interlude two | six | seven | eight | nine-one | nine - two | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | interlude three | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen | twenty |

extras:

after prom hc | in the arms of another | chain of gold

what if?

what if…mikey lived?

updated: comprehensive timeline

outdated!comprehensive timeline

[sokkastyles]

Hi, firstly I am not a shipper, so I have no problem what people ship. I have read multiple about Zutara, and I could understand why people love this pair. That said, I do have a belief that Zuko, Katara, Aang, Sokka, Suki, Toph and the other young kids who got involved may need therapy before they can even think of romance, because of their involvement war. Post therapy, I think Zutara would work. Your thoughts?

Hi, thanks for the ask.

While yes, I do think that ideally, in the real world, people dealing with trauma/mental illness should get professional help, here's the thing about the "I ship x with therapy/happiness, not romance" stance that bugs me:

1) Stories are not obligated to work like reality anyway

2) This statement implies that someone can't work on themselves/their mental health and ALSO find romance. That people who are suffering from trauma or mental illness must fix themselves first. Which ignores that recovery is an ongoing process and that different people have different needs, and that part of recovery is often getting support from the people around you, whether it be a hired professional, friends and family, or yes, a significant other.

And while I get the backlash against the "character was fixed by love" trope, romantic love or companionship can absolutely be a factor in helping someone get better. In fact, requiring people to fix themselves by themselves before they even THINK of doing things that normal people would do or having relationships with others is 1) isolating, and 2) stigmatizing, and can actually make a person worse.

I think there are absolutely instances where romantic love can be unhealthy in these types of cases, especially if the personal issues are linked to the relationship or one partner is using the other as a crutch. Those are things I see in both MZ and KA, by the way. Mai and Zuko cling to each other because of their mutual hatred of the world, and feed off of each other's negativity. Aang and Katara both put huge expectations on each other because of their own personal traumas and that's what causes most of their arguments with each other, and none of that seems to ever have been fixed in the series proper, the comics, or LoK.

Zuko and Katara, on the other hand, are a good example of both characters working through trauma and helping each other without putting expectations on the other or counting on the other to "fix" them. Which is actually the healthiest way for this type of dynamic to occur. When you get into a relationship with someone, you have to decide what part of their burden you are willing to bear, and sometimes people don't heal or take a long time to heal. The problem arises if one person is unfairly burdened or feels obligated to handle the other person's problems in a way that is unbalanced or nonconsensual or causing them undue suffering to the point where the relationship is affecting their own well-being.

Some people say that it's "unfair" for ANY character to have to "deal with" another character's pain as a reason not to ship them and I really, really, hate this argument. If I want to imagine Zuko and Katara in love and choosing to enter into a relationship with one another, then I'm imagining that they choose to be with each other despite those obstacles, that loving each other is something they choose despite the days when it's hard. Of course, nobody should stay in a bad relationship out of obligation to the other person, but it's okay for people in a relationship to take care of and rely on each other, if that's what they choose to do. Particularly in the US, there's still such a stigma on mental health that we often think that people who are suffering should do so by themselves, and needing help is seen as a moral failure. At the same time, we also see people who struggle with their mental health as so dependent on others that they're incapable of making their own relationship choices. It's a double standard and the only thing it does is perpetuate stereotypes and needless suffering.

The important thing to remember is that people are still individuals, recovery is a process that is often nonlinear, and that entering into a relationship is a decision that two people have to make for themselves.

[captain-athos]

Okay I have been sitting on this thought for a while but I think it’s time. I have OFMD music thoughts. Specifically about the inclusion of Our Prayer. Like not from a narrative standpoint because it’s obviously included for Stede and not for Ed but-

you see, Our Prayer was one of the songs that was meant to be featured on the ill-fated Smile project, the one that was supposed to be Brian Wilson’s follow-up to Pet sounds. This is relevant to OFMD I swear, just bear with me-

Pet Sounds was meant to be Brian Wilson’s magnum opus. He poured everything into that album, convinced that the Beach Boys were going to revolutionise music making. And yeah, nowadays in 2022 we can see it for the incredible album that it was, but at the time? People didn’t know what to do with it. Critics from the US generally panned it for being too weird, although there was interest from the UK. That, and the subsequent disinterest in the Smile project and the pressure to return to more classic surf-oriented music, plus various mental health issues, and trauma (I’m not going to do a deep dive into Beach Boys history here) ended up with the project being scrapped, sinking Brian Wilson into a deep depression that ended with him ultimately withdrawing completely, first from music, then from his life in general.

It wasn’t until 2004 that Wilson had pieced together enough of what he’d originally started creating back in 1966 to finally release Smile as an album. And what was the first track on that album? Our Prayer. 

The song, to me, has always been representative of rebirth and recovery. The determination to try again after colossal failure and betrayal and suffering. 

I think it’s fascinating to have heard it used in OFMD, given the real life story that it represents - the story of a man who had something different inside him than the legend he’d inadvertently built around himself, the story of someone who took the plunge and poured everything of himself into the pursuit of something new... and ultimately failed. But also a story that has a hopeful ending in spite of everything that happened in the meantime!

Anyway, Smile (2004) is tonally and thematically a very OFMD album and even has songs about pirates on it! I highly recommend it! Follow 4 more music infodumps!

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hey, this is a bit of vent but if you have tips I would be soo happy.

Tw anorexia and weight loss mention, shitty doctors

I had anorexia for my whole teenage years but I didn't lose much weight. I later, during recovery, learned that an illness from my childhood returned, that made it impossible to lose weight without meds. So I took the meds and I recovered and gained weight and I was actually fine with it. I was overweight but it didn't look bad in my eyes. I didn't recover "mentally" because I never brought it up in therapy because I had a lot of comments coming from different therapists like "Well, you weren't underweight so it's not a big deal". Also, when I went to the doc, at the beginning of my recovery, and told him that I don't lose weight though I don't eat much (not the whole truth, that I was anorexic for 6 years at that point) he didn't believe me and commented how I was lying because I was still overweight etc. and I had to pressure him to make tests (which resulted in the knowledge that I have that illness). But he never apologized, I believe he straight forgot.

So, it is now a few years that I consider myself still in recovery because my mind about food and my body is still questionable at times. And during the last 2 years but more the last months I gained a lot of weight. I am used to fluctuations but this is... outside a range that I feel comfortable. I don't want to hear anything about that it's all the mindset etc. because I just hate it. It effects my mental health very negatively, more than I can bear atm. But I have no idea how to lose that weight again to get to my, for many years pretty stable, weight again. I didn't change my lifestyle or anything, I eat healthy, take my meds and do sports. But none of my cloths fit anymore. And I have no idea how to lose weight without triggering my dormant anorexia again. I have no scale, I don't want to count calories but I'd still say that I eat healthy so... i considered checking it with calorie counting, maybe I just eat more than I think, but I know it would be a mistake. I have no idea what to do, how to change my diet, how to check if it has any effects (because I don't have a scale and it will take some time, with a healthy diet, till I fit my clothes again). And I don't want to go to a doc again because of my past experiences. It makes me so damn helpless, you know, feeling like you are doing everything right and still having negative consequences.

So, long story short, how to lose weight without triggering past anorexia again?

Hey anon,

This sounds quite complicated and admittedly we weren't too sure ourselves. I think this is something you should perhaps ask a professional, for the best chance at avoiding triggering your anorexia. If anyone in a similar situation has any tips in the meantime, it would be greatly appreciated!

Sorry I couldn't be a better help, but I wish you the absolute best on your journey. Let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[anotherinkling]

The Real Demogorgon: Stranger Things and Childhood Trauma

It would be a mistake to say that the Netflix hit Stranger Things is simply another acclaimed hit of the horror genre. Though it exhibits some of the classic tropes popularised by the likes of terror titans Steven Spielberg and John Carpenter such comparisons always undersell the essence of what’s truly strange in Stranger Things. The real monster of the show isn’t really the haunting Demogorgon or the all-seeing Mind Flayer, but the trauma that our child heroes experience across the full span of the show’s four seasons. 

Childhood trauma really does lie at the heart of season four and is best exemplified in the character of Max Mayfield (Sadie Sink), who continues to bear the psychological wounds of both her brother Billy’s death and her mother’s alcoholism. It is for that reason that the first episode immediately follows Max along the bustling school corridor. The scene is visually and aurally distinct. As her classmates live out their quiet child-like innocence through laughter and normality, Max is detached. Head buried, eyes to the ground, with Kate Bush’s song Running Up That Hill drowning out the noise. The residents of the fictional town of Hawkins, a tortured environment, are completely unaware of Max’s inner torture. Meanwhile, the school counsellor, Ms Kelley, awaits. Max’s final words to her, “I am being open”, clearly juxtapose with her very obvious resistance to those around her – especially her friends Lucas and Dustin. 

Undoubtedly, the early portrayal of childhood trauma will be identifiable to many of the show’s large audience. Few authors and show writers are as informed on trauma as the Duffer brothers – the series’ producers. According to the brothers, two of the many inspirations of season four were horror royalties Stephen King and Wes Craven. King is responsible for the acclaimed hit IT, which also follows the stories of a number of children forever changed by the trauma inflicted on them by the supernatural clown entity known as Pennywise. Craven was the inventor of the unpleasant Freddy Krueger and his nightmarish dream world. The academic Roger Luckhurst has written that childhood trauma in King’s and Craven’s stories tends to feed into adulthood, which manifests in uncontrollable anger, resentment and mental illness. 

It is easy to see the clear parallels between the traumatised Max in Stranger Things and King and Craven’s characters. Yet it’s the thoughtfulness of the Duffer brothers in their portrayal of childhood trauma that not only distinguishes the show from others, but also reveals that the prison of trauma can be escaped. While other show runners maddeningly portray their characters with extreme trauma instantly recovering as soon as they’re helped, Stranger Things realistically captures the painful and long road of recovery. As Gabor Mate writes, “the attempt to escape from our pain is what creates more pain.” 

Toxic escapism is one of Max’s coping mechanisms in season four. In shielding herself from her grief and guilt over Billy’s death, she sadly pushes her friends away and refuses help from Ms Kelley. All of this culminates at Billy’s grave in episode four, where this season’s chief antagonist, Vecna, waits for her. In typical Stranger Things fashion, the showrunners pay homage to many of the cultural hallmarks of the late eighties. Vecna’s name is derived from a creature in D&D, which interestingly caused uproar for its assumed supernatural shadowiness across the US. There are moments like these in the show that, though terribly dark, are heavy reminders that we are viewers experiencing the trials of Hawkins through a child’s eyes. Though Vecna threatens Max’s life and the lives of her friends, the inference that he is characterised as a D&D character is a reminder that our heroes aren’t armour-clad warriors, but innocent children trying to make sense of pure horror. Trauma as a child is viewed with childlikeness. There is only so much that a child can make sense of, especially when painful ordeals are experienced. 

Vecna is drawn to Max because of her pain. Other characters across the season – Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney – are also prey because of their trauma, too. In a horrifying scene in episode four, Vecna manifests as the deceased Billy to extend Max’s guilt to breaking-point. Vecna claims that Max was “relieved to see your brother die.” The show hints that Max’s guilt is such that she wishes her place with Billy had been exchanged; that she had died and Billy had lived. This sentiment accompanies the lyric from Bush’s song, “I’d get Him (God) to swap our places”, and provides a whole new dimension to what victims of trauma feel. As Billy becomes the grotesque Vecna, darkness descends. Max’s worst fears are realised, which sees her running through a red-tinted plane of the Upside Down – a place familiar to viewers of the show. Vecna finds Max and overcomes her with a wave of tentacles. Unable to break free from her subjugation, Max experiences the frightening feeling of suffocation. Those who experience trauma as children often refer to moments of severe shortness of breath, as the world feels as though it’s collapsing on them. 

Across the red expanse of the Upside Down, however, is a portal that opens and reveals her friends – Dustin, Lucas and Steve - seeking to bring Max back. In harmony with their screams bidding her to return to them is again the 1985 hit Running Up That Hill. Though friendship is really at the heart of Stranger Things, the show is clear that (to some degree) Max’s battle with Vecna must be carried out by herself; that there are some demons that can only be conquered alone. The scene climaxes with Max breaking from her physical and mental prison, running across the expanse of Vecna’s realm. She finds herself back in Lucas’ arms before muttering the painful yet all too real words: “I’m still here.” Such a short statement will mean an incredible deal to those feeling the weight of trauma upon their shoulders. 

If Max’s ordeal conveys anything it’s that the real monster isn’t Vecna, but the disturbing lurking beneath the surface of our own lives. Those are the things that creep, skulk and seek to master us. Sophie Gilbert writes that the darkness Stranger Things explains is always there, in this dimension and in others. I would add that the darkness of the show isn’t primarily epitomised in the monsters of the Upside Down, but in the experiences of the children that navigate that monstrous realm. The physical monsters are merely the intangible fears of these kids made literal. Yet while Vecna will undoubtedly meet his end in the final volume of season four, it’s not yet clear if our heroes will vanquish their personal burdens just as easily. 

It truly is refreshing to see a show handle the difficult topic of childhood trauma so well. For all of its comedic timing, impressive CGI and eighties nostalgia, what really undercuts all of that is its insistence that trauma isn’t easily fixed. That recovery is not instant, but slow and difficult. Art like Stranger Things is necessary because it, as Stephen King writes, offer ways of communicating what can’t always be said out loud. Yet, as is always the case, there is no darkness that can ever truly defeat light. The monster behind Stranger Things, though more subtle than a Demogorgon, isn’t all-powerful. There is always, as is in Max’s case, a reason to continue ‘running up that hill’.