#Relationship Woes

[threadsofmylife]

Sitting in Misery

I find myself 29 and single again. I wonder if I will ever find the right man for me. It seems like all men just like to ski, mountain bike, rock climb, and play video games.

Where are the men that read books, go to museums, create art, and enjoy going for a walk? The deep men that are emotionally intelligent and can communicate in a healthy way? Men who aren't afraid to be vulnerable and speak their truth?

I thought I found one of those men. So sweet and caring. Who loved me so much I could never doubt it even for a second. Yeah he had some mental health issues, but who doesn't? He was getting professional help and working on it. IDK. Maybe I'm lying to myself. I just have this constant argument with myself about him.

He was all those wonderful things but he also got really angry at his mom sometimes, he had no social skills whatsoever (but he also had a super abnormal life where he never got to experience normal social etiquette on a normal basis), his lack of social skills made me embarrassed when we were around other people or my family, now these are the really bad ones... he had intrusive thought about killing people and would watch horrible videos of people getting killed in horribly grotesque ways, and then the worst one of all... he carried a gun around in his fanny pack without telling me. He carried is around when he was with me without my knowledge, hes legally not allowed to have it and doesn't have a carry permit. How can I get over something like that? I could I feel safe around him or trust him again? How is he stil so sweet and so loving and so understanding even when I have to break up with him? I'm so angry at him for messing this up. I was able to understand and forgive and move past so many of his obsticles. Why did he have to do this unforgivable thing?

And yet.. I miss him. And I love him still. I need to move on. I need to stop texting him. I need to stop wanting to text him.

I need to have hope that the man I seek is really out there. I'd like to have my dream home with my dream guy and maybe even some kiddos running around.

Or maybe it's just not in the cards for me. Maybe I need to be okay with being alone. Somehow alone but not lonely??

[curryvillain]

Nile SNL Follows Up With New Single, "Mumma"

Recording Artist Nile SNL is back at it again with new music. Having gained some viral love from the previously released, “Poem Of Chop“, he looks to keep the vibe going, and possibly secure more than viral attention. He was making the necessary moves to spoil his Woman on the last single, now he’s at odds with her in, “Mumma“. Produced by Overyard Production, Nile SNL wants peace, and to be in…

[sheilamurrey]

May 13th - Dysfunctional magnet (relationship woes and lessons learned)

It’s May 13th, 2024; Here’s an original uptempo rock country fusion song about dysfunctional relationships so many of us have experienced. This is one of my favorite songs of ours as Richard and I used to sing/perform it (with a gender change and without the spoken part at the end). I sing it with a twang if you can imagine. Perhaps I’ll get the opportunity to sing it again out somewhere. Open…

[thereallovebug]

Sorry, but your cat now thinks your GF is shit and will most likely pee in her purse. Your relationship is doomed. 😂

I’m sorry but this is the funniest Reddit post I’ve seen in a while

[skywriterjade]

I am the therapist friend. Every day, I thank God for making me acearo-spec because if I had to deal with half of the things I help my friends cope with I'd off myself.

Like, if your partner cheated many, many, many times throughout your relationship. Over 7 yrs together. The logical thing after trying to make it work the first time (maybe first three I'll allow as they both did awful things and really wtaf ppl) is to leave. Like, your mental health is not worth that.

Do I say all of this so bluntly? No. Do I wish I could? Yes. But I love my friend and I know it's not what they need to hear rn because everyone has been telling them this for years. Years! This last break up was supposed to be the end. Wtf

[gordopickett]

And If It’s Not Okay... (For All Mankind post-s2 fix-it fic)

*** Chapter 16 is up! ***

Chapter Summary: As pieces of the puzzle continue to fall into place for Ed, he demands the truth from Karen.

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: For All Mankind (TV 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gordo Stevens/Tracy Stevens, Ed Baldwin/Karen Baldwin Characters: Gordo Stevens, Tracy Stevens, Ed Baldwin, Danielle Poole, Danny Stevens, Jimmy Stevens, Karen Baldwin, Kelly Baldwin, Margo Madison, Molly Cobb, Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong Additional Tags: Episode: s02e10 The Grey (For All Mankind), canon until it's not, Fix-It, fam - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Timeline, Jamestown - Freeform, El Gordo, Welcome Home Party, Gordo's weight loss, Injury Recovery, Fix It Fic, For All Mankind fix it fic, For All Mankind fix it, Michael Dorman, post season 2 fix it fic, Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Female Friendship, Established Relationship, weight loss, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Joel Kinnaman - Freeform Series: Part 1 of For All Mankind Summary:

***FOR ALL MANKIND S1 & S2 SPOILERS AHEAD***

I just finished watching season 2 of For All Mankind for the first time, and I am in much need of a fix-it fic, so here it is.

Gordo & Tracy fix the nuclear reactor's coolant system and return to the Jamestown airlock. Everything after this is my alternate universe/timeline wherein they both survive and have a chance to face the world (& beyond) together again.

[neverendingcomplaints]

I feel like

I'm on fire for him, but he's just lukewarm for me.

[photos-the-wereplant]

Really glad Tumblr is here for when I want to talk about something but don't know who to talk to and just wanna ramble without feeling like I'm typing into a notepad that'll sit in my documents for years without anyone ever seeing it.

Anyways, had a breakup. A confusing one. Things were great. We were a great match. But there were some things that I didn't quite understand when they happened (but now I do).

I guess, long story short, I was a rebound. She'd been dumped by her fiance earlier in the year and I'm betting I was the first person she seriously dated after the fact.

Things were going amazingly. We got closer and closer. We spent tons of quality time together. And then... she started getting a little distant. We still spent tons of time together and did a lot of stuff for each other though, so I assumed it was stress.

Come to find out... she'd been talking to her ex-fiance.

She only told me this when it was too late. We hadn't made anything "official," so it's not like she was "cheating." I'd expressed desires to make things official, and she'd balked a bit. I didn't push, because I thought she just needed time.

Here's the really, really confusing part.

She almost chose me instead. Apparently she'd been talking to her ex for like the last month, and it was probably a done deal. Except I thought that she was just stressed and ramped up my support and being loving. I actually ended up telling her I loved her.

The thing is... she felt massively torn. So torn that, if I'd pushed any harder to be a couple, she would've rejected the ex. Except that I was in a race I didn't know I was in.

After the fact, it's obvious that I was a rebound. Except that apparently I was so amazing that I guess I went from rebound to actual interest. So... task failed successfully?

Except I don't feel any better about it.

What hurts is that it was legitimately the best relationship I've ever had. She was just as serious as me about treating the other person right. We both listened and supported each other. I took care of her when she got covid. She brought me food when I got sick. She'd pick me up and put me on her lap, and I'd lay on her chest. I brushed her hair and massaged her shoulders. She took the time and effort to make me feel loved, despite never saying those words.

And then... it's gone. Through no fault of my own. Through no desire of hers to end it. She let someone else make the decision, and I didn't know I had a say until I didn't.

I still think about so many aspects of it fondly. But god... it's so bitter, too...

I just wanted to say "I love you," and for them to choose to love me too.

To choose me. To keep me.

To never let go.

[curryvillain]

The Love Goes Bad In Jeff Fullyauto's "So What?"

While today’s a day of love, some of us are not experiencing it. Some of us are dealing with terrible partners, unhappy unions, uncertainties, and loneliness. Dancehall Artist Jeff Fullyauto has his share of love, but he is currently dealing with a case of love gone cold. He speaks about it in “So What?“. Directed by JV Cinematic, Jeff Fullyauto deals with things going bad with a partner. Over…

[bigbrotherw]

This is the perfect summation for a funny relationship.

[larkinna]

"Don't let him scold you too much. Vi was worried about you."

crow goes hunting by ted hughes // 1 // crow’s first lesson by ted hughes // 2 // the lacuna by barbara kingsolver // 3 // domestication syndrome by dhole b // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. by sciencedfiction // crow’s theology by ted hughes // 4 // how to be a dog by andrew kane // the scream by ted hughes // unknown // for your own good by leah horlick

[nondelphic]

taylor swift writes about her exes, and the world calls her a lyrical genius. i write about my exes, and my beta readers tell me to “chill out” and “try therapy instead.” where’s the equality?

[polyamorousmood]

just a lil reminder that

You're never too good for old-fashioned miscommunication!

[kazifatagar]

Dating a Malay Boy, Family Pins Daughter Down to Ward-off Black Magic

A 23-year-old woman has claimed her parents subjected her to physical abuse because of her relationship with a Malay man. The trouble began when she introduced her 22-year-old musician boyfriend, to her parents in Ipoh, Perak, initially presenting him as a friend. The situation escalated after her parents learned of their romantic involvement, leading to alleged racist attitudes and abuse. Malay…

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)