#exploring the blurred line between physical and emotional pain

[skyborneveggie]

Title: Aeternum Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Paring: Crowley/Aziraphale Rating: M Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (though the violence is not literally happening, it is almost all metaphoric) Tags: Metaphysical Violence, Angst, Pining, Psychological Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, References to Dante's Inferno Summary:

Crowley takes a leap of faith. He’s flung himself into the blaze and, oh, it’s too late now.

An introspective on the finale, and Crowley's trauma in general.

Story beneath the cut

A/N: This story is meant to be an exploration in blurring the line between physical & emotional pain. It’s up to reader interpretation as to how much description is literal vs how much is metaphoric. Crowley is a highly unreliable narrator in this, and says a lot of things about himself here that aren’t true. He knows they aren’t true, but when you’re in the depths of despair your trauma can haunt you in all the worst ways.

Notes on Dante's Inferno: Judecca is the frozen center of the ninth & last circle of hell. It is reserved for traitors, who are encased in solid ice. At the very center of Judecca rest all traitors who have betrayed God himself. There, a three-headed Lucifer is trapped waist-deep in ice, each mouth forever eating those whom Dante deems the greatest traitors in history—Brutus, Cassius, and Judas. (Canto XXXIV)

*****

Aeternum

There is the pain of the fall. The freezer-burn in his bones, in the very marrow of him, frosting over tendon, sinew, muscle. How long did it take for the pain to subside, for the ice-fire to burn away the synapses and nerve endings of his skin as he lay there and writhed in the ice at Satan’s feet? He is still there now even, the core of him, his soul as his body continues to wander the earth. He is numb of it now, from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes. Feels nothing.

He will have to go back, someday, when it’s over. March past the vats filled with shit and boiling tar and flaming pyres. Someday he will bend under Satan’s shadow, crawling back down into his hole in the ice, body and flesh stripped away. Naked conscience, reuniting with its soul.

He is there then, to join them; Judas, Brutus, Cassius. Crowley wonders whose brain matter it will be that spatters onto his head, clotted rivers of tissue and blood dripping off Satan’s chins as he grinds their skulls into scarlet meal.

Crowley wonders if he will still feel nothing then.

There is the pain of the fall, and there is other pain.

Demons do not love. It is poison in their veins. Venom spreading beneath their skin with sickly, flush tint. It is not the fall, it is heat. It is a fire beneath him, it is a flaming sun in his chest. Have you ever tried to revive a frostbitten hand? The best he can do is to not think about it, don’t think about it. Push it to the back of his mind. He can deal with the dull ache of a distant, barely present flame, so long as he declines to warm himself. He can stand it from a distance.

Demons do not love. Satan help them if they do.

Except then Crowley, fool that he is, takes a leap of faith.

He’s flung himself into the blaze and, oh, it’s too late now. He is drowning in the boiling river, scalding liquid pouring down his garbling throat when he opens his mouth to speak. And the words tear from his blistered, deadened tongue with silent screams, begging him not to let them go. But Crowley—he is in it now. He roots them up and rips them out and vomits them onto the floor.

And he keeps on tearing. He tastes Aziraphale with ash on their tongues and when he comes away… well. 

The kiss, it rots inside of Crowley’s mouth. Eats away the flesh there like bacteria in an untreated wound; virulent, necrotic, lethal. He spits poison in its wake.

His love is not beautiful. It is a violent, desperate thing. He is sickened with want.

Demons do not love. Satan help them if they do.

[drnikolatesla]

The Burden of Genius: Tesla’s Battles with Memory and Perception

Nikola Tesla was a towering genius whose remarkable intellect often intersected with profound psychological challenges. His extraordinary mental abilities created a unique interplay between reality and imagination, which evolved significantly as he aged.

Tesla’s eidetic memory was both a remarkable gift and a source of distress. In his autobiography, he explained that during his youth, his vivid memories often seemed to overlap with his physical vision and reality, creating intense anxiety. For instance, recollections of his brother’s funeral would vividly reappear before his eyes, causing him significant distress. Tesla described these experiences, noting that his sisters frequently had to help him distinguish between reality and the projections from his mind.

Over time, Tesla mastered his memory, using it to perfect his inventions mentally before physically constructing them. This mental rehearsal allowed him to refine his designs thoroughly, ensuring that when built, they were as flawless as he had envisioned. This innovative approach was a cornerstone of his engineering process.

There’s a story about Tesla where his cleaning lady would find him sitting in a chair in the middle of his room, seemingly asleep. In reality, he was deep in thought, mentally exploring complex ideas, solving problems, and even working on his inventions as if he were in his laboratory. So immersed was he in his mental work that he could visualize wear on his apparatuses—all within his mind. Tesla would enter a trance-like state, appearing physically at rest while his mind was intensely focused. He believed these periods of mental immersion were crucial for his creativity and problem-solving. While others might think he was napping, his mind was actively refining his inventions and theories.

However, in his later years, the line between Tesla’s imagination and reality became increasingly blurred. His intense focus and stress began to distort his sense of what was real. In a deeply personal 1934 letter, Tesla recounted a profound and emotional experience involving his mother. He described his experience as being in New York in the early 1890s, and as he said, “I experienced an exquisitely painful longing for something undefinable” and was driven by a desire to see his mother, which was intensified by his inability to clearly recall her features. After rushing to her bedside, he saw her alive one last time. He then went to another building to rest and thought that if she died, he would feel a disturbance in the ether letting him know so. Sure enough, he had a vivid vision of her and was later given the news that she had passed. Out of nowhere, he realized with shock that he was back in New York and his mother had died years earlier. Tesla reflected, “My sufferings had been real though the events were but imaginary reflections of previous occurrences,” attributing the experience to a temporary “numbing” of his brain’s faculties from intense concentration. This incident highlights how deep focus can distort one’s grasp of reality.

By this time, Tesla was in his late 70s, and his mental state showed signs of decline. In John O'Neill’s biography, there is a poignant story about how Tesla believed Mark Twain was still alive and even wanted to send him money, only to be informed by his assistant that Twain had been deceased for 25 years. Tesla was adamant that he had met Twain just the night before. This anecdote underscores the growing blur between reality and imagination in Tesla's later years. Despite this, interviewers still described him as possessing grace and articulating his thoughts with both wit and intelligence.

His confusion over Mark Twain’s death and his intense, often troubling experiences reflect the toll that age and stress had taken on his mind. Tesla’s story reveals a man who grappled with the boundaries of his remarkable intellect and the increasingly blurred line between imagination and reality.

Tesla’s experiences remind us that even the greatest minds are not immune to the complexities of the human psyche. His life offers valuable insights into the delicate balance between genius and mental health, illustrating how the same qualities that fueled his innovation also led to profound personal challenges.

[mpreglover225]

Akash, a 25-year-old gay man with a slender build and piercing blue eyes, found himself in an extraordinary situation. He was in a hospital gown, lying on a comfortable bed in a luxurious resort in Maui. But unlike most hospital patients, Akash was not there for a routine check-up or surgery. No, he was there as a surrogate for a loving couple who longed for a child.

As the warm Hawaiian sun kissed his skin through the open window, Akash couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. He had never given birth before, and the anticipation of the upcoming labor was both thrilling and daunting. But Akash, always one to embrace new experiences, was determined to make the most of it.

Little did Akash know that fate had something unexpected in store for him on this special day. Earlier that morning, he had invited his gorgeous hookup, Ethan, to join him at the resort. Ethan was a tall, muscular man with tousled dark hair and a mischievous grin that could make anyone weak in the knees.

Ethan, intrigued by Akash's proposition, accepted the invitation without hesitation. He arrived at the resort just as Akash was being prepped for the labor process. The sight of Akash, with his swollen belly and soft curves, made Ethan's heart race with desire. He couldn't resist the temptation to explore Akash's body in this vulnerable state.

As the contractions began, Akash's body tensed with each wave of pain. But Ethan, eager to pleasure his hookup in the midst of such an intimate moment, wasted no time. He gently caressed Akash's swollen breasts, feeling the warmth and softness beneath his fingertips. The sensation sent shivers of pleasure down Akash's spine, momentarily distracting him from the labor pains.

"You like that, don't you, Akash?" Ethan whispered seductively in his ear, his warm breath sending tingles down Akash's neck. "I love how your body reacts to my touch. You're so fucking sexy, even when you're giving birth."

Akash moaned softly, a mixture of pleasure and pain escaping from his lips. The combination of Ethan's skilled hands and the throbbing ache in his lower abdomen sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body. It was an intoxicating mix of sensations that merged pain and pleasure into a single, overwhelming experience.

As the labor intensified, Akash's body writhed with each contraction, but Ethan remained by his side, determined to provide him with pleasure amidst the pain. He positioned himself between Akash's spread legs, his own desire evident as his hardened member pressed against Akash's thigh.

With a primal hunger in his eyes, Ethan leaned forward, capturing Akash's lips in a passionate kiss. Their tongues danced together, their moans blending with the sounds of the labor room. Ethan's hands roamed Akash's body, squeezing his breasts and teasing his nipples, while Akash gasped and arched his back in pleasure.

As the intensity of both the labor and their sexual encounter reached its peak, Akash's body trembled with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The sensations intertwined, blurring the lines between Akash's physical and emotional experiences. With each thrust of Ethan's hips and each contraction of Akash's womb, their connection deepened, transcending the boundaries of mere pleasure.

Akash, his body pulsating with both the intensity of labor and the pleasure provided by Ethan, found himself on the precipice of an unforgettable climax. The sensations intertwined, driving him to the edge of ecstasy. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he arched his back, his moans filling the room.

Ethan, captivated by the raw beauty of the moment, continued to explore Akash's body with fervor. His hands roamed over Akash's curves, his fingers teasing and caressing every inch of skin. Akash's swollen breasts, heavy with milk, were the center of Ethan's attention. He squeezed gently, coaxing sweet drops of milk to trickle from Akash's eager nipples.

"Oh fuck, Ethan!" Akash cried out, his voice a mixture of pleasure and pain. "Keep going! Milk me, fuck me, make me cum!"

Ethan, fueled by Akash's explicit desires, didn't hold back. He buried himself deep within Akash, their bodies becoming one in a frenzy of passion. The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the room, mixing with Akash's moans and the rhythmic beeping of the monitoring equipment.

As Akash's labor progressed, his body quivered with each contraction. The pain and pleasure intensified, pushing him to the brink of release. Ethan, sensing Akash's impending climax, quickened his pace, thrusting into him with an urgency that matched the intensity of the moment.

Akash's body convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over him. The contractions of his womb synchronized with the throbbing of his cock, bringing him to the edge of blissful release. With one final, powerful thrust, his orgasm crashed over him, his body trembling with uncontrollable spasms.

As Akash rode the waves of pleasure, his labor reached its climax as well. With a primal roar, he felt the culmination of months of anticipation as his body pushed forth new life.

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffin

The Beginning of the Path Masterlist

A/N: The first chapter I put out was a feeler for the story. Since I had a good reception for the previous chapter(Link below), I am exploring the beginning of it all. This was revised on 9/7/24

If you want to be tagged leave a comment, DM, or reblog with an ask to be tagged.

Warnings: Mentions of death

Reblog and like if you enjoyed the chapter and comment with your thoughts!

Previous Chapter

Irene Atreides was not born a Bene Gesserit; she had been Irene, the beloved daughter of House Atreides before she was ever bound to sisterhood—a twist of fate that even the Reverend Mother had perhaps misjudged. The Atreides were a formidable house, their power rooted in loyalty and strength, and no decision made against them was ever made lightly. Alliances were forged and broken, destinies twisted by compromise, even when the path led only to destruction.

Now, Irene stood before a tall mirror in her dimly lit chamber, her swollen belly pressing against the soft fabric of her gown. Her hands ran over the curve, feeling the life that grew within her, a life she had never planned for but could no longer imagine living without. Dark clouds loomed beyond the window, the sky thick and brooding, promising a storm that would ravage everything in its path. The air was dense, laden with the electric charge of impending thunder, and Irene’s breath hitched as a familiar ache rippled through her. She clutched the windowsill, her reflection staring back at her—tired eyes, lined with the weight of secrets and regrets.

Plans within plans within plans. That’s what she had been taught. Irene had not expected her mission to unravel like this, to find herself on the brink of something she could neither control nor fully comprehend. She was sent to destroy the Targaryens, to finish the last of a line that had long been deemed too dangerous to endure. But here she was, far from her purpose, burdened by a love she never should have allowed.

She closed her eyes, memories flooding her—a violet-eyed lover who had captured her heart with a single glance, whose gentle hands had traced the paths of her scars, whose laugh had filled her nights with warmth. She could still feel his touch, his breath hot against her ear as they whispered in the darkness. “We mustn’t,” she’d murmured, but her resolve had been as fragile as glass. His scent—wild rain and mint—enveloped her, soothing her fears. “And deny ourselves?” he’d teased, his smile a promise of a fleeting peace she could never sustain.

A sharp pang shot through her abdomen, dragging her back to the present. She gritted her teeth, fighting against the pain that was both physical and deeply emotional. Irene wanted her daughter to be stronger, to have a heart fortified against the world’s cruelty—a heart that wouldn’t bleed as hers had. Another kick jolted her, and she managed a strained smile. “You fight me at every turn, little one,” Irene murmured, her voice a mix of pain and reluctant admiration. “Just like your father.”

Irene’s body felt heavy, every step dragging as she moved across the room. She gripped the rough bedpost, her knuckles white, her back arched with the strain of impending birth. “I NEED A MIDWIFE!” she screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls. Footsteps and hurried voices filled the chamber as three women rushed in, their expressions tight with urgency.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a brief, blinding light. Irene’s cries mingled with the storm outside, each bolt of thunder rattling the iron bars of the window. The midwife took charge, barking orders as Irene’s vision blurred with tears, her mind slipping between the searing agony and fleeting glimpses of the life she was about to bring forth. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t find the words, only the raw, primal instinct to push.

Irene’s vision blurred as the storm outside raged on, lightning splitting the sky in violent bursts of light, each crack of thunder reverberating through the stone walls of the castle. She clung to the bedpost, her body trembling with the strain of labor, every muscle taut and burning as she fought to bring her daughter into the world. The wind howled, its fierce cry finding its way through the cracks in the window, sending chills through the air and rattling the iron bars like a desperate prisoner seeking escape.

The room was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the faint, acrid smoke of burning candles. Irene’s breath hitched, each inhale a struggle against the weight pressing down on her chest. She could barely focus on the hurried voices of the midwife and nurses around her, their commands lost in the fog of her exhaustion. Everything felt distant and distorted, as if she were slipping between the seams of reality. And then, in the chaos, there was a sudden, eerie stillness. The storm quieted for the briefest moment, the thunder pausing as if the universe itself had drawn in a breath. Irene’s senses sharpened, the pain momentarily dulled as a presence filled the room—something ancient and unfamiliar, yet impossibly close.

A whisper cut through the silence, soft and resonant, like the low murmur of a long-forgotten voice. It wasn’t the midwife or the nurses. It wasn’t her own fractured thoughts. It was something else entirely, something that bypassed her mind and struck at the core of her soul.

"Nykeā zaldrīzes hen vestras." A lone dragon enters the world. The words, spoken in High Valyrian, flowed like a river of molten gold, carrying the weight of an ancient promise. It was the language of her husband’s ancestors, the tongue of the dragonlords whose blood now mixed with her daughter’s. Irene’s breath caught in her throat, the whisper reverberating inside her like the distant echo of a dragon’s roar.

The voice carried a certainty that transcended time, a declaration that pierced through the storm’s fury with the quiet force of fate. It was neither comforting nor condemning, but a statement of undeniable truth, laced with the power of a legacy that could not be denied. The words rippled through Irene’s body, wrapping around her heart like a protective shield, vibrating deep within her bones.

Irene’s eyes widened, tears welling as the full meaning sank in. This was no ordinary birth; this was the arrival of something rare and destined. Her daughter was not just an heir, not just a child, but a lone dragon—a force entering the world that would challenge and defy it at every turn.

Irene’s heart ached with both fear and pride, knowing that her daughter would be alone in ways she could never fully shield her from, but also knowing that Amina would carry the strength of her father’s bloodline, the fire of the Targaryens. “A lone dragon,” Irene whispered faintly, her voice barely audible above the faint rumble of the storm. She looked down at her swollen belly, feeling the tremors of life within, and she knew that her daughter was something far more dangerous and extraordinary than any simple heir. Amina would stand defiant in a world that sought to shape or destroy her, bound to a destiny Irene could only glimpse in her darkest dreams.

The whisper lingered, echoing softly in the charged air, even as the midwife’s voice broke through, urgent and commanding. “Push, my Lady!” The command jolted Irene back to the present, the pain crashing over her once more, but the whisper stayed with her, a haunting presence that refused to be silenced. Irene’s mind swam with images—dragons soaring through storm-ravaged skies, a lone figure standing unbroken amidst the chaos, violet eyes blazing with unspoken resolve. With one final, desperate push, Irene brought her daughter into the world. Amina’s wail pierced the air, sharp and unyielding, echoing against the storm like a defiant cry of existence. The midwife lifted the newborn, her tiny body slick with the blood of birth, her eyes wide and impossibly alive, reflecting the storm’s fury and the promise of the whisper.

“Please,” Irene gasped, reaching out with trembling hands. “Let me… let me see her.” The midwife hesitated but finally placed the baby in Irene’s arms. Irene’s breath hitched as she looked down at her daughter—those vivid, fierce violet eyes meeting hers. Amina’s eyes were a vibrant burst of color, a beacon of hope and fire against the bleakness of Irene’s final moments. Irene touched her daughter’s cheek, feeling the warmth and life beneath her fingers, and for that fleeting moment, the pain receded, replaced by a fierce, unbreakable love. “Amina Targaryen,” Irene whispered, her voice barely holding against the storm’s roar.

“A lone dragon, my sweet. You are born of fire, and you will not be consumed.” Irene’s vision blurred, her strength ebbing as she held her daughter close. The whisper echoed one last time, faint and distant, fading into the ether but lingering in Irene’s heart. She knew that Amina would not be her mother’s daughter; she would be something far more. And as Irene’s final breath left her, the storm outside began to wane, the winds dying down as if in acknowledgment of the new life that had just entered the fold—a dragon, alone but unyielding, ready to carve her path in a world that would never fully understand her.

Translations:

Nykeā lone zaldrīzes enters se lurugon.= A lone dragon enters the fold

____

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

[macravishedbymactavish]

Comforting Them Headcanons (TF141 + Alex x GN! Reader)

Can these even be considered headcanons when they're unorganized drabbles in a HC design? We're blurring the lines and inventing new things today apparently

TW: Lots of angst, the guys are dealing with a lot emotionally (very closed off about it though), suggestions of some depressive episode symptoms, some mentions of arguing and one injury while cooking.

| Blog HQ |

Captain John Price

Just a heads up, he's taking this one pretty hard the text from Kate read, a couple days before John would be returning home. Your heart sunk reading the words, mind immediately planning and preparing for when he arrived.

After so many years of marriage, homecomings following deployment went from a grand guesture (ie. Hugging you tight and spinning you softly as he whispered about how much he missed you) to more intimate moments hidden away from wandering eyes.

Maybe that was just the two of you getting older.

Ultimately you decided to play things by ear, follow his lead and love him a little more. Hold him a little tighter. Kiss him a little longer.

The first thing you noticed when he came home was the bags that formed under his eyes, and the pain hidden deep within. Despite the horrors he saw, the moments replaying in his mind, the decisions his soul screamed at him to change...

He still smiled at you, eyes lighting up as he pressed a loving, deep kiss to your lips. Pulling you tight into his chest, a small reminder of why he was fighting so hard to make the world a bit of a better place.

You noticed he was quieter over the next couple of days, wrapping up paperwork and administrative tasks before taking time for just you and him. This wouldn't normally be cause for alarm; he's done this every time since forming the task force. What really concerned you though?

How he holed himself in his office, spending most hours of the day hidden away.

You knew better than to be here. His office, his space. The threshold being the physical divide between head and heart. Work and play. Tactical and tactful.

Yet, there you stand. Watching him lean over his desk, worry lines creasing his forehead, shoulders shaking slightly.

The physical divide between past and present.

"Love..." You started softly, watching his muscles tense up immediately. "I'm coming in" you declared, feet moving a moment after when he didn't protest.

Soft footfalls and heavy breathing filled the room as you made your way over to what was currently the shell of a man. A hand resting softly between his shoulder blades, you felt the muscles tense, shake, release, then repeat. He was holding back.

Pulling in a shaky breath after a few moments of silence, he whispered: "thank you for the concern, darling. But don't stress yourself over me. I'll be fine"

Rubbing soft circles overtop his t-shirt, a silent check in. You're not okay, my sweet love. Are you?

You weren't convinced. Not in the slightest.

Continuing to rub your hand across the expanse of his back, you felt the shakiness return. You could see the storm waging behind his eyes. Hand sliding fully across his shoulder, dipping to wrap around his middle you held him; determined not to let him get lost at sea. Lips pressed against the top of his head as you felt his body shake with silent sobs.

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway" you whispered to him, voice breaking as you pressed a loving kiss to his hair.

Sobs now wracking his shoulders, you sat there silently. Holding tightly onto him as he felt every emotion he needed to, whispering soft details about what haunted him every so often.

Calming down, he moved from your embrace to stand up. Pulling you against his chest properly as he mumbled a soft I love you so much

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It was supposed to be a beautiful night, exploring his hometown. Wandering the streets, admiring how beautiful everything looked lit up under the street lights.

"This was my favourite resturaunt for so many years" he chuckled, eyes scanning over the menu. Giving you his recommendations at your request as you felt your heart fill. He had been smiling all day, excited to be showing you off to everyone he knows. To show you the people and places that made him who he is today.

The two of you fell into easy conversation throughout your meal. Discussing his favourite memories from eating here, to where he wanted to show you next.

Fingers intertwined, stomachs and hearts full, arms swinging obnoxiously as you walked down the street. Your eyes wide as he pointed out buildings, mentioning which shops used to be there. Or which shops he promised to show you in the morning.

His demeanor shifted entirely about halfway throughout your journey. Something, or somewhere leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Except, his body language didn't translate that very well. Leaving you confused and concerned as to why he was suddenly closed off and only speaking when you asked questions.

Even then his responses were short and seemingly disinterested.

You debated the entire walk back to his flat on whether you should mention it. The pain feeding on the unknown pushed you to gently ask:

"What's going on?" A few minutes after you two made it inside. He shrugged the question off, assuring you it was nothing as he went to the bedroom to change and likely shower.

One could argue that what you did next was selfish, un-needed. Pure unfiltered emotion that came out before your mind could filter the words.

"Are you sure? Because it doesn't seem like nothing" you intended for the sentence to portray your concern, not for frustration to take over and spark an argument.

He stopped, shoulders tensing before he turned his head. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"You'll never understand" he started with a sarcastic chuckle. You went to defend your point, admit you won't know unless he let's you in and tells you.

"You'll never fucking understand!" He snapped, turning to face you now. Angry tears streaking down his face as his lip quivered. Pain twisting into his features as he stood in front of you.

Guilty. Angry. Hurt. Helpless

"No, you're right" you were fighting tears of your own now. Partially due to the shock, and pain of his outburst; though you knew he wasn't doing this intentionally. "I'll never know the true extent of your work, Kyle. But fucking hell, give me a chance to help. Or at least try!"

Both of you standing, closed off as you processed your emotions. Chose your next words wisely before letting your high strung emotions make accusations and digs you'd never be able to take back.

Staring ahead, unfocused as tears ran down his face. Breathing heavily as the weight of his mind came crashing down. "Just go" he muttered, causing the reasonable side of you to falter. Being replaced by loving rage as you snapped:

"Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway!" The words were said through light sobs. Your heart ached for him, wishing to ease his mind of the darkness, to erase what broke his kind hearted soul.

"Let me love you" you whispered pathetically, a feeling of relief washing over you when he caught your mouth in a kiss.

A silent sign that he was willing to at least try.

John "Soap" Mactavish

For most people, it was tough to see past the positive, lighthearted exterior. Anything remotely negative being washed away with a smirk and joke. While an acquired taste, everyone had to admit he did boost morale.

You however, saw right through it. Having the privilege and luck of being loved by Johnny for the last 3 years gave you a different view. You had the privilege of seeing the raw and real sides of his soul.

You could tell the difference between when he was volunteering out of duty, or out of recklessness. The natural and artificial light that would shine behind his eyes. When he was truly happy vs when he put up a front to hide the barricades he built over his heart.

Your intuition when it came to his mind was never 100%, the only person (well, thing) that had clear insight to what was going through his mind was the journal he kept close by. You knew it held everything from doodles and drawings, to battle plans he was trying to memorize, all the way to pages he wouldn't show anyone. Filled with memories and screams that kept him awake at night.

Which is why you would willingly break the kneecaps of anyone who came remotely close to trying to sneak a peek.

Right as the team returned, you noticed he wasn't himself. Despite still smiling and taking the piss out of Simon, he was pulling back emotionally. Putting distance between himself and the world.

"You know, at some stage teasing Ghost like that is going to become more dangerous than the actual mission" you joked, holding your arms out to him for a hug when he was close enough.

Happily obliging, he pulled you tight. Rocking your bodies back and forth slightly as his eyes closed. Letting his muscles relax and mind shut off for a second.

He was home.

Walking out from your shower that night, your brows immediately furrowed when you noticed one very alarming detail:

The journal hadn't moved an inch.

As mentioned before, for anyone else this would have been normal. But for Johnny? It was an extension of his being. He'd normally sit for hours the first night after a mission, getting the stress and exhaustion out of his system. Translating everything he couldn't say into marks on a page.

You didn't mention it, but the concern kept growing when 3, 4 then 5 days passed and it still wasn't touched. There was no way he was using it and placing it delicately back into the exact position every time. Especially when he had a habit of tossing it gently to the side, or onto the nightstand the entire time you've known him.

It was at lunch a week after his return when the realization hit you, his sudden aversion to using his one tried and true coping mechanism. His free (well, cheap) therapy as he called it once.

He would have to face whatever happened on this mission every single time he opened the book. A journal filled with too many memories that he isn't willing to give up just yet.

You forgot your lunch and appetite quite quickly after putting things together in your head. Determined to quietly help your boyfriend through whatever he was trying to fight on his own. A fight without any weapons at that.

A new, cheap journal you bought from one of the stores 5 or so minutes from base. With a small note in your handwriting in the front cover:

Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

To anyone else, they wouldn't have noticed anything wrong. Just Ghost being....well, Ghost.

You, however started noticing the small details:

The way he got quieter, becoming more distanced from conversations and others. The way he would hold you, but not pull you as tight as he normally did. Sleeping for longer and longer.

The sleeping in during the day was the major giveaway that he was currently dealing with something below the surface.

Simon couldn't argue that sleeping until your body felt rested, and spending a lazy day in bed (especially with someone you love) wasn't a blessing all in its own. Life's simple pleasures he would whisper on these days, holding you tight as he pressed soft kisses across your face and lips.

Sleeping in hours past your normal almost every day off, however? Barely being able to wake up to your alarms? Red flag.

Despite your concern, and the heartache these episodes would bring; you knew better than to corner the man. Than to try and dissect what he was feeling before he was ready to. He's gotten a lot better at letting you in once he's on the other side of this. Especially in the last few years.

So you waited, you supported him from an arms length. Ensuring he ate, shifting your sleep schedule to spend a few minutes in the morning with him. Holding him a bit tighter at night and during hugs. Passively reminding him of all the things you love about him, about your relationship.

He once told you the small things you did brought him back to the present. Reminded him that there were some good things in his life; even when his mind tried blinding him to this.

When all he could see was the failures, the losses, the obvious signs he missed in the moment.

This episode lasted longer than any before, causing your concern and his guilt to grow. Despite all the assurance from yourself and his friends -- he still beat himself up for closing off so badly. Everyone has their demons, don't need to be reminded of them every time I walk into a room.

He tried opening up a few times, to let you know what burdens he was carrying. None of these alleviated the heaviness on his heart -- if anything they caused his walls to thicken and rise.

It was one night, the two of you getting ready for bed. Rain pouring down against the roof as you slid under the covers.

He softly apologized again, promising that he was trying to open up to anyone. That he had a personal debrief about the last mission with John today. Eyes meeting yours, guilt finding forgiveness. Terror finding patience. Love finding love.

"When you're ready..." You started, shifting closer and cuddling into his side. Fingers intertwining with his over his chest. His heart beating below the skin. "Tell me every terrible thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway"

Alex Keller

He was laying on the bed, mindlessly scrolling his phone. One arm behind his head as he laid, staring at the screen with half lidded eyes.

"You look bored" you commented, busying yourself with putting clean laundry away. Glancing up when you didn't hear a response, watching him shrug at your comment.

It had been a little over 2 months since he returned from his latest mission; past the catching up phase, not quite in the savour every moment while we have it phase. There was a sense of normalcy for the last week, minus the subtle changes in his behaviour.

You've never seen him lay bored and occupy his thoughts with meaningless activities, at least not to this extent. All week if it wasn't his phone, it was a controller with a game he wasn't totally interested in. He would always write this off with this week just being "a lazy week"

For most people, this is a totally valid point. Lazy days, lazy weeks especially for someone with such a high stress lifestyle should be a godsend. A moment to be cherished.

Except Alex wasn't most people -- he would take a lazy day at most (which would still be filled with something remotely productive). He liked knowing his actions made some form of difference, he loved seeing progress.

So to spend the last week lounging on the couch or bed passing time with nothing to show for it was concerning at the least.

"We could repaint the cupboards later this afternoon, like we've been talking about forever" you offered, moving around the room.

"If you want to, sure. What are you thinking?" He responded half heartedly; causing your eyebrow to raise. Glancing up, watching him scroll for a couple more seconds before meeting your gaze. "What's going on?"

You dropped your eyes to avoid his gaze for a second, contemplating whether or not it was worth mentioning. Maybe you were in fact reading too far into this, and he was taking time to recoup before being sent out again. But it never hurts to ask...right?

"I could be asking you the same thing" You countered, moving to sit on the corner of the bed. Eyes scanning over his features -- feigned confusion glazing over what was really going on.

"If this is about the cupboards, we can do that today if you want. We'll go grab supplies, I'll drive" he shrugged with a light chuckle, phone still in hand.

"It's not about cupboards, or reno projects. You're not yourself lately" you whispered, watching some pain and guilt start to surface.

"It's...." he paused, hand rubbing over the lower half of his face before continuing "it's nothing you need to worry about. You'll be the first to know if there is" he crawled off the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head before leaving the room.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that the conversation came back up. He busied himself with cooking supper, while you sat atop the counter keeping him company. Debating the plot points to the movie you two had watched a few nights prior.

In the moment, you convinced yourself you read too far into his recent actions (or lack thereof). The current interaction was natural, normal for the two of you. Laughter filtering through your heated exclamations about how the other person was wrong.

Until a call came through on his phone, you caught a glance of the name before he grabbed the device. Quietly answering the call as he left the room; the concern creeping back into your chest as you picked up making supper.

You were focused in on the task at hand, not hearing him walk into the room a few minutes later.

"That's my job, you know" he teased, hands on your waist as you jumped in surprise. Somehow pressing your forearm into the edge of the hot pan.

Cursing, you jerked your arm back. Nerves screaming as you felt yourself being guided to the sink. Soft repeated apologies being whispered above you as his hands brought your arm under the lukewarm water.

Body relaxing from the initial shock, you listened as the apologies didn't stop. The guilt and pain in his words as he took the blame for the minor accident.

"Hey, hey" you cut in softly, turning to look up at him. "Stop, you don't need to apologize. These things happen, I wasn't paying attention. This is on me"

Despite your words, he was visibly distraught. Looking at you like he just drop kicked your puppy. This wasn't about the burn.

"Talk to me" you whispered, one hand sliding over his back as the other cupped his cheek. "What's going on in that mind of yours?"

Eyes shifting between your face as the floor, he shook his head. Far too much for him to dump onto you...

"You don't want to know. Lots of horrible things, but I'll get through it. I'll figure it out" he promised, pressing a shaky kiss to your hairline. Body shaking with silent sobs at your next words:

"What if I want to know?" Arms sliding fully around him, pulling him tight as you shifted to rest your forehead against his chest.

"Tell me every terrible thing you thing you've ever done, and let me love you anyway" you whispered, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he held you tightly against him.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @bowtruckleninja @v1naco

[ode2rin]

slowly yours

pairing. chigiri hyoma x gn!reader

content. 1.2k wc | part 2 of this one (it's chigiri's pov yey!) | idiot bffs finally into lovers | this is me trying to comfort chigiri lovers ;)

at the reckless age of 16, chigiri hyoma had come to understand that invisible lines existed. 

lines that, once crossed, could change everything. 

he had seen the consequences play out in novels, the heartache and longing that followed ill-fated confessions, imprinting upon him a cautiousness that would shape his actions. 

and usually, he loves lines that draw the thrill of victory. he relished the sensation of crossing finish lines with his unparalleled speed.

not this one, however. this one held stakes that were too high.

it was the line that separated friendship from something more, the delicate boundary that stood between him and the unspoken emotions that pulsed between you. 

would it upset you if he told you he knew?

he knew about all the times you stayed behind him, felt the weight of your quiet affections hanging in the air whenever you were together. your subtle gestures, stolen glances, and tender moments whispered of a connection that ran deeper than what you claim you two are. 

he knew about it. 

and yet, he hesitated. because he also knew what it meant to be in love with someone you call your best friend.

but as days turned into months and months into years, the line between friendship and something more blurred. chigiri couldn't help but wonder if his hesitation was costing him something greater. he yearned to bridge the gap, to pause for a moment and truly see you, to cross that line and explore the profound depths that lay beyond.

he had come so close, so very close.

until time stood still for chigiri hyoma, and everything went downhill from there.

“hyoma, please slow down. you will hurt yourself. the doctors said –”

“leave me alone,” chigiri's voice cut through the air, his stubbornness unwavering.

with every stride, his pace quickened, leaving you struggling to keep up. the worry in your voice went unheard as he pushed himself further.

“alright, i won't stop you,” you said, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation, “but let me be by your side. please, i need you to wait for me.”

the words left your lips in a pained and choked voice, as if you were begging him not just to slow down physically. 

for a brief moment, chigiri almost stopped in his own tracks, as if compelled to hold you, to acknowledge the depth of your plea, to hold your heart that has been breaking for him.

but he didn’t, not when he was drowning in his own sorrow from his now broken dreams. 

he can’t afford to cross no damn line, at that time. it wasn’t just right to be with you when he’s becoming half a soul.

he knew you’d understand; you always did. but he just can’t find the right words to articulate how hellish it felt to run faster than everyone else only to meet an edge of the cliff. his pain was his alone, something he couldn't burden you with.

and so, he looked away, even when he wanted nothing more than to let his eyes wander in yours. letting go of your hand that wasn’t even his to hold, yet.

it had been years since that aching chase, the echoes of your pleading voice still resonating in his memories. the image of you, determined and breathless, calling out his name with a mix of determination and yearning, remained etched in his mind.

but he couldn't help but think of himself as pathetic — for hoping that even after all those years, it would still be you and him in the end.

as the memories of that fateful chase played in chigiri's mind, he found himself transported to a different scene— the bustling stadium filled with cheering spectators. the air was electric with excitement, and the sound of the crowd echoed in his ears.

was he being greedy for wishing you were here?

it didn't matter if your cheers were swallowed by the surrounding multitude, drowning in the sea of sounds. you didn't even have to scream his name for your cheers to reach his heart. as long as you were there, watching him, nothing else mattered.

the stadium was filled with a frenzy of cheers and anticipation as chigiri stepped onto the field. his focus was on the game ahead, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, oblivious to the presence of a familiar figure in the crowd.

but fate, as it would have it, intervened.

chigiri's gaze met yours, and for a fleeting second, time seemed to stand still. in that instant, you could see a hint of recognition in his eyes—a spark of connection that transcended the noise and commotion around you.

it was as if the world fell away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent exchange. 

in that shared moment, words became unnecessary.

because to him, in that one single profound glance, he swears your eyes look like coming home. and it’s everything he needs to know. 

he was damn well going to cross that line.

minutes turned into hours, and as the final whistle blew, marking the end of the match, chigiri's gaze sought yours once more. amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, your familiar eyes were all that he could see.

and there you were, just as you had always been.

“hey there, striker.” 

“you came,” he whispered, surprise coloring his voice.

a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. “of course i did,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth and a hint of self-deprecation. “i’m a bit late, though. you know me, i'm always a bit slow.”

chigiri's lips formed a gentle smile, a silent acknowledgement of the parallels that danced between past and present. “i know,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

in the midst of victory and the deafening cheers, neither of you could bring yourselves to look away.

with a mixture of trepidation and determination, you asked, “is it okay?” if i was late? if i was slow? if it took me time? 

all of these questions hung on your lips, but there was no need to voice them. something in your eyes told him that you weren't just referring to your late arrival to his game.

your eyes have always been so damn expressive, it’s hard to not know what you were thinking. it was as if your eyes held a language of their own, one that he longed to learn.

“it never bothered me. i could wait, if it's you i’m waiting for.”

the years of pining and longing were encapsulated in those simple words, their double meanings understood by both of you. 

“we have a lot of lost time to make up for,” you said, searching for reluctance in his expression.

he didn’t respond right away, instead, he started making his way towards you. with each step, the invisible lines that had held him back faded into insignificance. 

and now, he’s standing in front of you. chigiri hyoma was finally in front of you, facing your heart laid before his eyes.

and in that single, profound moment where your eyes finally met, the weight of unspoken words melted away. the stadium faded into the background, and it was just the two of you, suspended in time.

“no need to rush. we have all the time…” he reassured, his voice steady and brimming with a gentle warmth.

softly smiling at you, he continued, “we'll take it your way, we'll take it slow.”

note. maybe i got a bit carried away w these friends/bffs to lovers trope all around my fyp and decided to fool around to make this, it's not the best but i really love pinning :( and wanted to write something abt it :( this wasn't proofread at all pls tolerate my laziness (also also i was listening to gold rush and run by ts for thisss)

to that anon, here you go!

[flightfoot]

got any fic focusing on marinette's trauma? all i can find are adrien trama fics

That makes sense. All Hawk Moth related trauma is stuff that Adrien would also have, and who it would be ten times worse for. Still, I'll see what I can do. I'm gonna stick to ones where the trauma Marinette suffers is derived at least somewhat from canon, and not like, from being captured and tortured, or having a fatal illness, or her mom dying, or anything like that. I'm assuming you want ones that are at least close-ish to canon, instead of just "Marinette angst" fics.

---

A Small but Stubborn Fire by @cardiac-agreste

What if you were the parent of a teenage superhero, but didn't know they were? All you know is the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the bruises. She's missing school, she's disappearing on you, and she's not telling you anything. So you assume the worst: Assault. Depression. A permanent rift in the family. And what do you do when you realize you weren't thinking dark enough? Because your fourteen-year old daughter is the hero who flirts with death on the nightly news. -- Come inside and read about one mother's struggles to raise her daughter in a dangerous world while avoiding the mistakes her own mother made with her.

This is a more serious take on the consequences of Hawk Moth's war on Paris, with actual bloody, painful deaths as a consequence of many akumas, and Parisians developing PTSD because of what they've gone through. Ladybug can fix all the physical scars, but not the mental ones, including her own.

I love the focus on Sabine here. She's not just presented as being a mom - though of course that IS an important role she has. But she's explored as a character in her own right, one with a lot of emotional baggage as a result of her abusive mother, and trying to not fall into her mistakes, but sometimes doing so anyway out of fear for Marinette's safety. She's a really fleshed out, humanly flawed character, sometimes admitting that she would do something selfish if it means protecting the people she cares most about, like her daughter, even if its at others expense. She grows and changes a lot throughout the course of the story, her perspective on many matters changing multiple times as a result of getting new information or seeing the consequences of her previous approaches, and adjusting as a result.

If you want a fic that more realistically explores the dark consequences of Miraculous's setting, that fleshes out Sabine, or just develops a character in a complex way, then I highly recommend you check "A Small but Stubborn Fire" out!

---

In Pursuit of the Uneatable by @nemaliwrites

Who do you trust when your own reflection becomes a stranger? In a Paris where Lila weaves tales that blind the city, Marinette stands accused, isolated. Her parents' trust is shattered, her friends distant, and in battle, illusions blur the line between ally and enemy. As the shadows and uncertainty threaten to close in, Marinette finds herself turning to the last person who claims to be on her side: a boy in a white mask who calls himself a fox hunter.

THIS IS NOT A BASHING FIC. Well, Lila bashing, I guess, but even then she gets a lot more consideration than usual. Anyway, there's no animosity towards Marinette's friends and family here. Instead, the fic has more of this melancholy, contemplative tone, with Marinette feeling boxed in by Lila, and trying to figure out how to navigate her circumstances, especially being around Lila. Even when there isn't any particular threat against her, just having Lila around, knowing that she could pull something else to make Marinette's life worse, and thinking that there's no way to counter her, that she always wins... you can feel how suffocating it is. But she does have a way out, a mysterious boy who she's seen around, who completely has her back as far as Lila's concerned... but she might not want him to, to the extent that he goes.

By the way, this IS a Lovesquare fic, the thing with the boy... well, that'll make sense once you read the fic. But it's not romantic, I can tell you that.

Anyway, it's this interesting psychological, low-key sort of fic. If you want a look at the more emotional consequences of Lila's brand of bullying and isolation WITHOUT any sort of demonization or bashing towards anyone else, but just exploring the effects on Marinette and how to respond to it, then this fic is worth a look.

Oh, also, this is rated M, though I'm honestly not sure why. Marinette's not in the best headspace, but it's not a "this isn't appropriate for teens" headspace, there's nothing sexual, and the most that is present in the story as far as violence and gore goes are some bruises that were acquired under indeterminate (though probably abusive) circumstances, and the breaking of an arm and being bludgeoned in the head, and neither of them are described particularly graphically. So long as you're 13+, this fic's probably fine.

---

Stop Time by @liiinerle

— she put her hand on the page, blocking it so the words wouldn’t scream so loudly at her. They had screamed more than enough already. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her fingers together, crumpling the paper slightly — just enough that it didn’t look so pristine and mocking. It needed to be full of despair, in every possible way. “Marinette —” started Mullo. “No! Never again. Marinette is… gone, forever.” She let go of the paper. Now it lay alone in the light, as the last thing she could ever tell them. That she loved them, that she’d miss them, that she would never talk to them again. A suicide note. Of sorts. ----- Fu accidentally names Marinette as the new guardian, and not Ladybug. She's forced to fake her own death and go into hiding in order to get away from Hawk Moth. She finds a hiding spot in the Louvre, but there she's forced to face the effects of her going away by a very unexpected source: her friend Alix.

Definitely mind the tags on this one! But if it ain't triggering to you, then I highly recommend reading it. You can really feel Marinette's struggles here, with basically making herself homeless, unable to reach out to her friends and family, needing to steal just to feed herself and the kwamis, and then dealing with everyone in her life grieving... and then moving on. Except for a few people who don't...

It's just... it's really good, really heart-wrenching.

---

Bend the World Around It by @kasienda

“Tell me it was real." She can’t look at him. She can barely stand the pain in his voice. She definitely can’t face it. “It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, and turns to her - his eyes swirling in their intensity. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Tell me that you were there. We were there together, having the same dream.” She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to lie to him. She needs to lie to him. But she can’t. Lying would be like it never happened. But it did happen. And if it’s all they get to have, she wants him to know it. “I think we were having the same dream,” she whispers, unable to meet his eyes.

So this is an adorable Jubilation aftermath fic, with Ladybug and Chat Noir both mourning the loss of what only they remember, of a dream that never was. And them deciding that screw it, it may not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to them. They remember those years together, and they want to live together, if only during the times when they can afford to be missing from home. They remember being happily married, and crave that life.

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

Accidents Are Also Miracles by @liiinerle

After a few turbulent days where four new people discover her secret identity, Marinette loses faith in her ability to keep the secret hidden. Wracked with doubts and insecurities, she pleads with Alya to take over as Scarabella, but she still can't let those worries go. Especially not once Monarch starts taking a particular, and personal, interest in her.

Along the way, she also starts to date Kagami, and has to deal with changing feelings about herself, Adrien, Alya, Kagami, and the idea of being Ladybug. At the same time, Alya works to uncover Monarch's secret identity, while Kagami struggles against a controlling parent, and a girlfriend who seems bent on destroying herself - with or without Monarch's involvement.

Fantastic Marigami fic here! You’ve got three major POVs in this fic: Marinette, Kagami, and to my delight, Alya. I loved getting to see Alya cope with taking over as Scarabella especially.

But of course, this fic centers more around Marinette and Kagami, with Marinette struggling with Monarch targeting her, and Kagami struggling against her abusive parent, as well as both of them trying to navigate their relationship together when they know that not everyone will approve. 

There’s also some other plots going on in here, like Sabrina breaking away from Chloe and becoming more independent (and closer to Adrien in fact), as well as a Lila takedown plot, though thankfully not one that involves demonizing other characters. While there are conversations about people believing Lila and siding with her, no one’s actually attacked for it except for Lila herself.

Oh yeah, and while this fic may not have much focus on Adrien, he’s still treated fairly and with respect, even when he messes up. He can make mistakes, but people understand where he’s coming from, and are still kind to him and want things to be okay, and to help him escape his abusive circumstances.

[luffythinker]

SHIGAHAUL waking up together, Shig catching feelings and Overhaul being nonchalant about it but flirting Shig just sitting up in his bed like oh shit I think I like him?? And this repeatedly happening biweekly.

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

Shigaraki wakes up with a splitting headache in Overhaul's bed, or at least what he believes is Overhaul's bed. The room is dimly lit by the early morning light seeping through the heavy curtains. He groans as he shifts his position, feeling a jolt of pain shoot through his back and a dull ache in his ass.

Bits and pieces of the previous night start to float to the surface of his mind, but they're fragmented and unclear.

His face being pushed into the mattress, being told he was being so good, so very good...

Somebodies good boy..

His eyes scan the room, trying to make sense of where he is. The decor is minimalistic and sterile, very much like Overhaul’s style. Shigaraki's fingers twitch with irritation—annoyed at himself for ending up here without much memory of how or why. He pulls himself into a sitting position, wincing as discomfort flares in various parts of his body.

He can't even scratch his neck without finding new information. Bruises, bites all over his shoulder. Clothes scattered across the end of the bed including his underwear which he can see at the very edge.

The sound of someone stirring beside him catches His attention. Turning his head slowly, he sees Overhaul waking up, looking far too calm and collected for someone who he knows decides to be a morning person everyday of the week.

"What the hell happened last night?" Shigaraki rasps out, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and annoyance.

Overhaul stretches leisurely before meeting Shigaraki’s gaze. "Relax," he says in a soothing yet firm tone, which only irritates Shigaraki further.

"Relax? My head feels like it's been split open with a crowbar and—"

Overhaul raises a hand to stop him mid-sentence. "You were stressed," he explains simply. "So was I." He sits up fully now, propping himself against the headboard as if they’re having an everyday conversation.

Shigaraki narrows his eyes, clearly unsatisfied with such a vague explanation. He's not unsatisfied with how much of the man's lower mid section he sees underneath the covers. "And?"

"And we agreed on some unconventional methods for stress relief."

"Unconventional methods?" Shigaraki repeats incredulously. The fragmented memories begin to piece themselves together—a shared drink that led to shared frustrations being vented in increasingly physical ways until all lines blurred into something that neither had expected nor prepared for.

Eyeing the glass in his hand with skepticism, Tomura took a hesitant sip. The alcohol burned his throat on its way down, not an enjoyable sensation, but one he tolerated out of courtesy. His tongue loosened against his will as warmth spread through him; more relaxed than he ever allowed himself to be.

He glanced towards Overhaul and found his gaze locked in an appreciative stare for an extended moment longer than usual.

"You know," Tomura started, his voice softer under the influence of the drink, "you're pretty... pretty competent." He chuckled at his own awkward compliment before letting more slip. "Actually... you're just... pretty."

Tomura continued his candid praise, detailing with surprising eloquence how much he respected his "business partner's" methods and precision.

As the words flowed and space between them shrank, Overhaul could no longer ignore the tension building in this unguarded moment. With careful deliberation yet undeniable resolve, he closed the distance between them. When their lips finally met, it wasn't violent or rushed but a deliberate dance of exploration.

Tomura's faculties reeled from both alcohol and emotion. This wasn’t part of any strategy or plan; it felt wrong and right simultaneously. Nevertheless, he couldn't bring himself to pull away—Overhaul's steady determination anchoring him in that surreal moment.

"Careful now" Overhaul spoke between them. "Wouldn't want these hands to do any damage now would we?" he says holding Tomura by the wrist not aggressively either.

Tomura looked down at his wrist, where Overhaul's grip was firm yet gentle, grounding him. "No," he whispered, the word carrying more weight than he intended. He felt a strange comfort in Overhaul's touch, a contrast to the chaos he usually thrived in.

"Exactly," Overhaul confirms with an unruffled calmness. "It wasn't ideal, but it served its purpose."

Shigaraki shifts uncomfortably again, barely stifling another wince. "Stress relief," he mutters under his breath before lying back down against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling as if waiting for more answers to drop from it.

Overhaul’s voice cuts through his silent turmoil; it's softer now but still steady: "It was mutual consent, Shigaraki. I wouldn't touch you or anyone else like that if it wasn't. I'm not a vilian."

Something about those words eases some tension knotting up inside Shigaraki—not completely but enough so that he can breathe without feeling like each intake is adding another boulder on his chest... anyone else huh..

"Last night." Overhaul began casually but paused deliberately as if savoring Tomura's growing discomfort.

Tomura's eyes widened in alarm. "Don't."

"But why not? I rather enjoyed your little confession. Pretty competent? No... just pretty?"

Tomura wanted to disappear entirely. "I was drunk!"

"True," Overhaul conceded, still highly amused. "But they say drunken words are sober thoughts."

"Ugh," Tomura groaned again, this time out of sheer mortification. His pale skin flushed red as he tried to hide behind anything within reach—pillow, blanket—it didn't matter as long as it concealed him from Overhaul's amused gaze.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said finally, more sincere now. “You were honest."

Tomura peeked out cautiously, still flushed but less defensive for once. "Yeah... well... it's not like I can take it back now anyway."

" I wish you'd be honest with me all the time. And fortunately for you,” he added thoughtfully, “I find honesty quite endearing.”

Was he? Was he flirting?

There was an awkward silence where neither quite knew where to go from there until Tomura muttered beneath his breath when their eyes met again—flustered yet reluctantly. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re endearing,” Overhaul replied easily without missing a beat—a playful echo within layers. Slow beginnings. "Do try to be more honest with me or i'll have to keep getting you drunk wont i?" It's a terrible joke but it has Tomura blushing hard.

He doesn't reply immediately; instead lets silence stretch between them—shared vulnerabilities exposed under volatile circumstances though he can't fully remember he instinctively knows he might have needed this... even if just for one night.

Or so he thought waking up in the same bed a couple weeks later with more bruises he didn't make himself and body pain in his rear to his neck. This time cuddled up against the one he supposively hated most sharing saliva casually.

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

I DID THIS ON MY PHONE SO FAST THERES PROBABLY A LOT OF SPELLING ERORRS the switch of using Shigaraki and Tomura was not intentional

NAH THIS IS SO GOODKDFKJFDJKDFKLKFDLJVFLKSDVKMLSFKMLDFSJLLJDFLKMSDFLMSDFLSLMKFGKLSF I CANT EVENNJDFNDDF

"Wouldn't want these hands to do any damage now would we?"

GRGRHIKJRFJIPDFGPJIGJIJ FLKJSKLVFKFVKVFKLÇLSLÇS

feeling too much all at once, this is just too good!!!! I love the idea of them having a one-night stand and overhaul being chill about it but shigaraki is losing his mind over it . they keep hooking up and every time shigaraki swears it will be the last except every time he finds more feelings to deal with ughhhhh this was too good thank you for your service to the shigahaul community

[daydreamsthroughalens]

Photographer research post 4

Zara Carpenter channels her experiences of physical and psychological pain into delicate yet haunting Polaroid self-portraits. Carpenter’s imagery, created during moments of intense physical discomfort, captures a fragile, almost spectral quality as layers of chemistry and color obscure parts of her figure, leaving traces of her body to emerge and dissolve within each frame. The artist embraces the imperfections and ephemeral qualities of analog Polaroids, treating each photograph as a canvas for her physical distress, imbuing the work with an intimacy and vulnerability rarely seen in traditional self-portraiture.

Carpenter employs a unique, cathartic approach, manipulating each Polaroid at the time of exposure by layering, damaging, and distressing the surface. This intentional disruption creates abstract, almost ghostly forms within the image, blurring the line between figurative and abstract expression. As Carpenter manipulates the image’s chemistry, her touch leaves behind traces that evoke the sensation of raw emotion and trauma, with fractured shapes and splashes of unexpected color symbolizing the healing potential within acts of destruction.

Her work is an exploration of memento mori and the transient nature of physical and emotional pain, balancing themes of control and surrender. Carpenter describes this process as both cathartic and healing, allowing her to confront and release past trauma into each photograph. These images capture her deeply personal journey toward understanding and acceptance of chronic illness, finding beauty within vulnerability and strength in the fragility of each Polaroid frame.

As a multidisciplinary artist based in Rochester, UK, Carpenter’s practice spans analog photography, printmaking, sculptural assemblages, and performance. Her work has been exhibited internationally and is included in prominent collections like The Wellcome Collection. Through Echoes, Carpenter transforms pain into visual poetry, revealing an intimate space where control and chance merge, capturing moments of peace and resilience within ephemeral, tactile works.

As discussed, her preferred medium is polaroid self-portraits, with layered and distressed analog photography techniques and size varying. I cannot describe how haunting and gorgeous these pieces are and I am once again floored by the creativity exhibited by each artist. There is something that feels almost painterly about her works, and I believe this is mostly because of the fragility of the picture itself. The texture of each image and the way parts of the images are practically crumbling to pieces in addition to the vibrant colors popping out on each picture distinctly reminds me of old classical paintings with perhaps a mix of something abstract. I can't help but be reminded that we as humans are fragile. If you are interested in examining more of her work, she does have a website that I will link below that showcases all of her most recent projects.

[themovieblogonline]

Caddo Lake Review: A Haunting Dive into Time and Trauma

Caddo Lake is a thought-provoking thriller that weaves together mystery, supernatural elements, and deeply personal traumas in an atmospheric narrative. Directed by Celine Held and Logan George, the film deftly blends a story about family tension with a time-warping, psychological exploration of grief and loss. With M. Night Shyamalan producing, this movie contains the kind of emotional intensity and unexpected twists that fans of his work might anticipate. The strong performances by Dylan O’Brien and Eliza Scanlen further enhance the film’s haunting atmosphere, even as its intricate plot occasionally threatens to overwhelm its character-driven core. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rrx_lZxzjbQ An eerie central location: At the heart of Caddo Lake is its titular location, a sprawling, eerie body of water in Texas. The lake serves as both a physical and metaphysical presence, drawing the characters into its mysterious, time-bending pull. The setting, beautifully shot with murky, desaturated tones, feels almost like a character in its own right, embodying the layers of history and pain that ripple through the narrative. Premise: The film opens by focusing on Ellie (Eliza Scanlen), a rebellious teenager clashing with her family as she grapples with her place in a fractured household. Her step-sister Anna’s sudden disappearance near Caddo Lake marks the catalyst for the film’s central mystery. As Ellie embarks on a search to uncover what happened to Anna, she discovers that the lake holds the key to more than just the recent events—it also bridges past and present, unraveling a multigenerational web of trauma and connections she never anticipated. Parallel to this storyline is Paris (Dylan O’Brien), whose life is marked by tragedy when his mother drives their car off a bridge, leaving him to survive while she perishes. His investigation into the inexplicable event leads him back to Caddo Lake, where he too confronts the time-bending forces at play. As the stories of Ellie and Paris converge, the film builds tension while blurring the lines between reality and memory, grief and hope. Narrative structure: Caddo Lake’s narrative structure is both its strength and its potential pitfall. The film uses time manipulation as a central device, with different characters interacting with various time periods as they seek answers. Ellie’s discovery of her ability to travel through time when she walks across the receded lake bed adds layers of complexity, and the story grows increasingly convoluted as different time periods, characters, and plot threads intersect. There is something compelling about the way the film plays with the butterfly effect—the idea that small actions across time can have profound consequences on the present. For example, when Ellie encounters younger versions of people she knows in the future, the film challenges its characters to reckon with the weight of their actions and their family histories. The revelation that Ellie’s step-sister Anna is actually her grandmother creates a surprising and deeply personal twist that elevates the film’s emotional stakes. An ambitious story: However, the film’s ambition in weaving multiple timelines and mysteries together sometimes feels overly ambitious. While its core themes of trauma and familial connection are powerful, the plot occasionally loses focus in favor of intricate reveals and temporal disorientation. At times, it becomes difficult to keep track of how the various timelines align, which might frustrate viewers looking for a more streamlined narrative. Yet for those willing to embrace its intricacies, Caddo Lake offers a puzzle-like experience that challenges expectations and rewards close attention. Lead cast: What anchors Caddo Lake amidst its twisting, time-bending plot is the strength of its cast. Eliza Scanlen delivers a standout performance as Ellie, embodying the frustration, confusion, and determination of a teenager grappling with both typical adolescent angst and the extraordinary, supernatural mystery she finds herself entangled in. Her emotional range allows her to seamlessly shift between moments of deep vulnerability and fierce resilience, making Ellie a compelling character to root for. Dylan O’Brien as Paris brings a sense of quiet desperation to his role. His grief over his mother’s death and his search for answers about the circumstances of her crash add layers of pathos to his character. The scenes in which he tries to reconcile his experiences with the lake’s strange powers are some of the film’s most compelling, showcasing O’Brien’s ability to balance sorrow and determination. Supporting cast: Supporting performances, particularly from Lauren Ambrose as Ellie’s mother Celeste and Caroline Falk as Anna, add depth to the familial drama at the heart of the story. Ambrose portrays a mother trying to hold her fractured family together, while her past holds secrets that tie into the central mystery. Her scenes with Scanlen are emotionally charged, as their strained relationship becomes central to the film’s resolution. Eric Lange, as Ellie’s step-father Daniel, also adds complexity to the family dynamic, particularly as his connection to the past is revealed. Shyamalan's involvement and themes: With Shyamalan attached as a producer, Caddo Lake carries an air of suspense and psychological intrigue reminiscent of his work. While Held and George put their own distinct stamp on the film, Shyamalan’s influence is felt in the film’s focus on emotional undercurrents and the use of supernatural elements to explore deeper, more human fears. The film’s most powerful moments come not from the time-traveling revelations but from the characters’ emotional reckonings with their pasts and the impact their actions have on their loved ones. Caddo Lake also touches on themes of fate, legacy, and the cyclical nature of trauma. By using time displacement as a metaphor for how unresolved grief can haunt generations, the film delves into how past wounds shape the present. The final act, in particular, emphasizes the emotional weight of the film’s twists, as Ellie and Paris grapple with the revelation that their fates are intertwined in unexpected ways. Overall: Caddo Lake deserves praise for its ambitious storytelling, powerful performances, and atmospheric visuals. The film’s intricate plot may not always land as smoothly as intended, with certain narrative threads feeling overly complex or unresolved, but its emotional core keeps the viewer engaged. Eliza Scanlen and Dylan O’Brien bring vulnerability and depth to their roles, grounding the film’s supernatural elements in relatable, human struggles. For those who appreciate mysteries with a psychological edge and don’t mind a complex, time-bending narrative, Caddo Lake offers an engaging and suspenseful journey into the unknown depths of family, grief, and the passage of time. Read the full article

[thebandcampdiaries]

Big Sexy Presents: "Swallow The Pain”

Big Sexy is a band with a truly distinctive sound, blurring the lines between folk and rock music. They just released a powerful new single titled "Swallow The Pain,” which tells the story of a professional boxer who returns from Korea after fighting for four years against the Chinese army. Upon returning home, the soldier faces the lasting impacts of war—specifically PTSD. The topic is very thought-provoking, and it is really important to talk about these kind of things openly, especially because many veterans affected by PTSD often struggle to talk about their issues publicly or to seek help. However, artists and bands like Big Sexy are doing something truly remarkable when it comes to creating music that’s more than just entertainment, but also socially conscious.

Musically, the song has a melodic pop-rock twist with a folk-inspired attitude. On one hand, it has a very fresh and crisp American flavor, while on the other, the arrangement and production style is also reminiscent of some Brit-Pop. Fans of artists such as Oasis or Turin Brakes will definitely connect with this release. The arrangement has a very balanced twist, which is really dynamic, but also polished and clean, perfectly matching the lyrics and making the song all the more relatable. "Swallow The Pain" explores the deep emotional wounds that extend beyond the battlefield. It illustrates how the trauma of war acts like a grenade in the family room, affecting everyone. Some feel the effects immediately, while others suffer later, symbolizing how psychological scars can be as damaging as physical ones. Musically, the track has a very organic sound, which highlights the band’s retro-inspired folk-rock aesthetics. Fans of artists such as Mumford And Sons, Burton Cummings, Shawn Mullins or legends like Fleetwood Mac should definitely check out “Swallow The Pain.” Find out more about Big Sexy, and check out “Swallow The Pain:”

[tsosbookstall]

The Door to December

"A Door to December" by Dean Koontz is physically available in my library. The novel is a gripping psychological thriller that delves into themes of trauma, parental responsibility, and the supernatural.

The novel follows Laura McCaffrey, a psychologist, who is thrust into a nightmarish scenario when her daughter, Melanie, is found in a catatonic state after being kidnapped by her father, Dylan. The plot thickens as Laura discovers that Dylan had been using Melanie in a series of horrific experiments involving both science and the occult. The narrative is structured to build suspense, with Koontz skillfully interweaving past and present events to gradually reveal the full extent of the trauma inflicted on Melanie.

The novel explores the deep psychological scars left by trauma. Melanie’s catatonic state and gradual recovery symbolize the long and painful process of healing from severe emotional and physical abuse.

Laura’s journey is not just about rescuing her daughter but also about confronting her own feelings of guilt and responsibility. The novel raises questions about the lengths to which a parent should go to protect their child. Koontz blurs the lines between scientific experimentation and supernatural phenomena, creating a chilling atmosphere where the boundaries of reality are constantly questioned.

Laura is portrayed as a strong yet vulnerable character. Her professional background as a psychologist adds depth to her character, as she uses her skills to understand and help her daughter. Melanie’s character is central to the novel’s emotional impact. Her transformation from a catatonic state to a more responsive one is a testament to her resilience. The police lieutenant who assists Laura is a well-rounded character who provides a grounded perspective amidst the novel’s more fantastical elements.

Koontz’s writing is characterized by its vivid descriptions and fast-paced narrative. He effectively uses suspense and horror elements to keep readers on edge. His ability to delve into the psychological aspects of his characters adds a layer of depth to the story.

While some critics have praised the novel for its intense and engaging storyline, others have noted that the blending of scientific and supernatural elements can sometimes feel forced. However, Koontz’s ability to create a compelling and emotionally charged narrative is widely acknowledged.

"A Door to December" is a thought-provoking novel that combines psychological depth with supernatural horror. It challenges readers to consider the impact of trauma and the complexities of parental love and responsibility. Koontz’s skillful storytelling and character development make it a memorable read for fans of the genre.

(This info has been provided by Co-Pilot)

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[markeduke]

Explore Diverse Massage Experiences Near You

In the bustling rhythm of modern life, moments of serenity become increasingly precious. Amidst the cacophony of daily stressors, the allure of therapeutic massages emerges as a beacon of relaxation and rejuvenation. From the ancient practices of Thai and Chinese massage to the soothing embrace of Swedish aroma massage, there exists a myriad of modalities awaiting exploration in massage shops near you.

The journey into the realm of massage therapy unveils a tapestry of techniques woven through centuries of tradition and cultural heritage. Originating in ancient India, Thai massage, also known as “lazy yoga,” is a holistic practice that combines acupressure, assisted yoga postures, and Ayurvedic principles. This therapeutic art aims to balance the body’s energy flow, fostering deep relaxation and enhancing flexibility.

Embark on a sensory voyage to Thailand within the confines of your local massage sanctuary, where skilled therapists employ ancient techniques to dissolve tension and restore harmony. Whether it’s the rhythmic compression of Sen energy lines or the gentle stretching of limbs, each movement in Thai massage resonates with the essence of mindfulness and healing.

Alternatively, delve into the rich tapestry of Chinese massage, deeply rooted in the principles of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). With a focus on stimulating specific acupressure points and meridians, Chinese massage, or Tui Na, aims to harmonize the body’s qi (life force) and alleviate ailments ranging from musculoskeletal pain to digestive disorders.

Step into a sanctuary infused with the wisdom of the Orient, where therapists adept in Tui Na techniques unravel the knots of tension with precision and care. Through rhythmic kneading, stretching, and targeted pressure, Chinese massage invites you to embark on a transformative journey towards holistic well-being.

For those seeking a harmonious fusion of relaxation and therapeutic benefits, Swedish aroma massage emerges as a quintessential choice. Born in the scenic landscapes of Sweden, this modality combines the gentle strokes of Swedish massage with the aromatic delights of essential oils, creating an immersive sensory experience.

Indulge in a sensorial symphony as skilled therapists infuse the air with the fragrant whispers of lavender, eucalyptus, or chamomile, transporting you to a state of blissful tranquility. With each stroke, tension melts away, and a profound sense of calm envelops both body and mind, leaving you refreshed and revitalized.

The quest for the perfect massage experience leads you to the doorstep of local massage shops, where a diverse array of modalities awaits exploration. Whether you seek the invigorating stretches of Thai massage, the therapeutic touch of Chinese massage, or the aromatic embrace of Swedish aroma massage, these sanctuaries of serenity beckon you to embark on a journey towards holistic well-being.

As you surrender to the skilled hands of experienced therapists, the boundaries between stress and serenity blur, and the rhythm of life finds its harmonious cadence once more. In the sanctuary of massage, time becomes fluid, and each moment unfolds with the gentle grace of a symphony, weaving a tapestry of relaxation and renewal.

Beyond the physical benefits lie the profound effects of massage on mental and emotional well-being, offering solace in times of turmoil and respite from the demands of everyday life. In the embrace of therapeutic touch, tensions dissolve, and the burdens of the mind are gently lifted, leaving behind a sense of clarity and inner peace.

In conclusion, the quest to discover the diverse array of massage experiences near you unveils a world of ancient wisdom and modern indulgence. Whether you embark on a journey through the ancient traditions of Thai and Chinese massage or surrender to the aromatic delights of Swedish aroma massage, these sanctuaries of serenity promise a respite from the chaos of the world—a momentary oasis where body, mind, and soul find harmony once more.

[Related site1] [Related site2]

[learnwithsonam]

Do therapists and psychologists get depressed from hearing everyone’s problem? Is it a depressing job?

Understanding the Emotional Impact on Therapists and Psychologists

Therapists and psychologists play a crucial role in mental health care by helping individuals navigate their emotional and psychological challenges. While the job can be incredibly rewarding, it can also be emotionally taxing, leading to feelings of depression and burnout among mental health professionals. This detailed exploration delves into the factors contributing to these emotional impacts and discusses strategies to mitigate them.

Empathy and Compassion Fatigue

Empathy and compassion are essential qualities for therapists and psychologists. They enable professionals to understand and connect with their clients on a deeper level. However, constantly engaging with clients' pain and suffering can lead to empathy fatigue or compassion fatigue. This phenomenon occurs when therapists become overwhelmed by the emotional demands of their work, leading to exhaustion and reduced ability to empathize with clients. Learn with Sonam Sharma.

Empathy fatigue can manifest in various ways, including physical exhaustion, emotional numbness, and a diminished sense of personal accomplishment. Therapists may find themselves feeling detached or disconnected from their clients, which can affect the quality of care they provide. Over time, this fatigue can contribute to feelings of depression and burnout.

Secondary Traumatic Stress

Secondary traumatic stress (STS) is another significant risk for therapists and psychologists. STS occurs when mental health professionals are indirectly exposed to trauma through their clients' stories and experiences. This exposure can lead to symptoms similar to those of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), including intrusive thoughts, hypervigilance, and emotional distress.

For therapists who work with clients dealing with severe trauma, such as survivors of abuse, violence, or natural disasters, the risk of STS is particularly high. The constant exposure to traumatic narratives can take a toll on their mental health, leading to anxiety, depression, and emotional exhaustion. It's essential for therapists to recognize the signs of STS and seek support when needed.

Work Environment and Isolation

The work environment of therapists and psychologists can also contribute to feelings of depression and burnout. Many mental health professionals work in private practice, where they may spend much of their time alone, seeing clients individually. This isolation can lead to a lack of peer support and professional camaraderie, making it challenging to process and manage the emotional demands of the job.

In addition to isolation, the high workload and administrative tasks associated with the profession can add to the stress. Therapists often juggle multiple clients, documentation, insurance claims, and other administrative duties. The pressure to manage these tasks efficiently while providing quality care can be overwhelming, leading to burnout and emotional exhaustion.

Personal Factors and Boundaries with Learn with Sonam Sharma

Maintaining professional boundaries is crucial for therapists and psychologists to protect their own mental health. However, some professionals may struggle with this aspect of their work, leading to an increased risk of emotional distress. Difficulty in setting boundaries can result in therapists taking on their clients' problems personally, blurring the lines between their professional and personal lives.

For example, a therapist who receives frequent calls or messages from clients outside of session hours may find it challenging to disconnect from work. This constant engagement can lead to a sense of being "on-call" all the time, preventing therapists from adequately attending to their own needs and well-being.

The Importance of Self-Care

Self-care is a fundamental aspect of maintaining mental health for therapists and psychologists. Engaging in activities that promote well-being, such as exercise, hobbies, and spending time with loved ones, can help mental health professionals manage stress levels and prevent burnout. However, therapists may sometimes neglect self-care due to the demands of their work or the misconception that prioritizing their own needs is selfish.

Incorporating self-care practices into daily routines can significantly improve therapists' mental health and overall job satisfaction. Regular exercise, mindfulness meditation, and hobbies that bring joy and relaxation can provide much-needed relief from the emotional demands of the profession.

Supervision and Peer Support

Regular supervision and peer support are essential for therapists and psychologists to process their own feelings and receive professional guidance. Supervision involves meeting with a more experienced mental health professional to discuss cases, explore personal reactions, and gain insights into effective therapeutic interventions.

Peer support groups offer a safe space for therapists to share their experiences, challenges, and successes with colleagues who understand the unique demands of the profession. These groups can provide emotional support, reduce feelings of isolation, and foster a sense of community among mental health professionals.

Training and Education

Ongoing professional development is crucial for therapists and psychologists to handle the emotional demands of their work effectively. Continuing education courses, workshops, and seminars can equip mental health professionals with new skills and strategies for managing stress, preventing burnout, and providing high-quality care to their clients.

Training in self-care, stress management, and resilience-building techniques can help therapists develop a toolkit for maintaining their mental health. Additionally, specialized training in trauma-informed care can enhance their ability to work with clients who have experienced trauma while protecting their own well-being.

The Role of Organizational Support

Organizations that employ therapists and psychologists have a responsibility to support their staff's mental health and well-being. Providing access to resources such as Employee Assistance Programs (EAPs), mental health days, and wellness initiatives can help create a supportive work environment.

Promoting a culture of self-care and work-life balance within the organization can also reduce the risk of burnout among mental health professionals. Encouraging staff to take breaks, seek supervision, and engage in self-care practices can foster a healthier and more sustainable work environment.

Personal Stories and Anecdotes

To illustrate the emotional impact on therapists and psychologists, consider the story of Dr. Sarah, a clinical psychologist specializing in trauma therapy. Dr. Sarah works with survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault, providing them with a safe space to process their experiences and heal.

Over time, Dr. Sarah began to notice signs of empathy fatigue. She felt emotionally drained after sessions and found it challenging to leave her clients' stories at work. Recognizing the impact on her mental health, she sought supervision and joined a peer support group for trauma therapists. Through these resources, Dr. Sarah learned strategies for managing empathy fatigue, setting boundaries, and prioritizing self-care.

Similarly, consider the story of John, a therapist working in a high-demand private practice. John often saw ten clients a day and struggled to keep up with the administrative tasks associated with his practice. The constant pressure led to feelings of burnout and depression. After attending a professional development workshop on stress management, John implemented new practices such as time-blocking, delegating administrative tasks, and scheduling regular self-care activities. These changes significantly improved his mental health and job satisfaction.

Conclusion

While the job of a therapist or psychologist can be emotionally taxing and potentially lead to feelings of depression or burnout, many in the profession find it fulfilling and manage the challenges through support systems, self-care, and professional strategies. It's essential for those in the field to be aware of the risks and proactively take steps to maintain their mental health.

Understanding the emotional impact on therapists and psychologists highlights the importance of empathy, self-care, supervision, peer support, and ongoing professional development. By addressing these factors, mental health professionals can continue to provide high-quality care to their clients while safeguarding their own well-being. Through a combination of personal and organizational support, therapists can navigate the emotional demands of their work and find balance in their professional lives.

[buyofficialpainting]

Unraveling the Threads of Memory in Frida Kahlo's 'My Grandparents, My Parents and Me

Mexican painter Frida Kahlo is renowned for her strikingly personal and symbolic artworks, which often provide profound insight into her emotional state and experiences. Her 1936 painting "My Grandparents, My Parents and Me" is a fascinating exploration of lineage, identity, and memory that provides a deeply personal look into the roots of this extraordinary artist.

"My Grandparents, My Parents and Me" is a depiction of Frida's family tree, a pictorial narrative that explores the connections between her, her parents, and her grandparents. It is an exploration of her genealogy, not just in the physical sense, but also in terms of emotional and psychological influences.

The painting itself is divided into two primary sections. The top portion of the canvas displays sepia-tone portraits of Kahlo's maternal and paternal grandparents, based on family photographs. The bottom half of the painting shows Kahlo's parents on their wedding day, depicted in a vibrant color palette typical of Kahlo's style.

Kahlo is portrayed twice in the painting. Firstly, as a fetus inside her pregnant mother's womb, represented by a delicate red flower. Secondly, she appears as a naked child in the courtyard of the Blue House, her childhood home in Coyoacán, Mexico. In her hand, she holds a red ribbon that runs through all the portraits, symbolizing the bloodline connecting the generations.

Kahlo's painting is more than a traditional family tree—it is a commentary on her sense of self, her roots, and the factors that have shaped her identity. Through the piece, she acknowledges the impact of her ancestors, both genetically and culturally, on her own life.

"My Grandparents, My Parents and Me" is also a testament to Kahlo's fascination with duality. This is represented through the contrasting use of color (sepia for the past, vibrant hues for the present) and the dual portrayal of herself. Furthermore, the painting reflects her interest in the interplay between memory and the present, personal and collective histories, and the physical and psychological self.

While the painting offers a deeply personal narrative, it also addresses universal themes of identity, heritage, and the passage of time. Kahlo invites viewers to ponder their own roots and influences, inspiring introspection and a deeper understanding of the self.

The painting serves as a testament to Kahlo's skill in using symbolism to communicate complex ideas and emotions. Through the vivid details and personal symbols in "My Grandparents, My Parents and Me," Kahlo communicates a sense of vulnerability, introspection, and connection that resonates deeply with viewers.

In conclusion, "My Grandparents, My Parents and Me" is an exquisite visual autobiography. It captures Frida Kahlo's nuanced understanding of her familial roots and the influence they had on her identity, cementing her legacy as an artist who deftly blurred the lines between the personal and the universal, reality and symbolism, pain and beauty.

[attemptsonherlifepdf]

bojack horseman and bo burnham: the art of acting like you’re acting and the comedy of misery

at the core of bojack horseman, raphael bob-waksberg’s 2014 comedy, is a story about the relationship between performance and depression. the protagonist of this renowned tragicomedy is best described as a sympathetic villain; he is shown to clearly be in the wrong across various events of the show, and is explicitly referred to as a bad person, but the audience is granted deep access to his personal struggles, resulting in some portions of the audience finding themselves on bojack’s side. the duality of his character is complex, but can be broken down into some core components, that all stem from the impacts of stardom and performance. the standup comedy of bo burnham arguably echoes this sentiment in real time. having been a performer from a young age, burnham creates work that serves as a satirical commentary on the life of entertainers. he uses original songs to explore the reliance upon and resentment for his performative nature both onstage and within his personal life. both the comedian and the netflix show are widely understood to be thinly veiling their critiques of the entertainment industry behind a particular brand of witty and absurd humour.

both bojack and burnham’s content openly criticises their audiences and explicitly states the manufactured nature of the narrative the audience is fed. in the fifth season of bojack horseman, the show satirises itself by having bojack star in a police procedural drama, parts of which are actively written by other characters to reflect events of bojack’s life. the titular character he plays, philbert, is the epitome of selfish male angst, and an example of what bob-waksberg’s show could have been; another story about a sad and angry man whose guilt supposedly makes up for the people he has hurt. according to bojack, philbert teaches us ‘we’re all terrible, so we’re all okay’, an interpretation that is harshly disputed by diane: ‘that’s not the point of philbert, for guys to watch it and feel okay. i dont want you, or anyone else, justifying their shitty behaviour because of the show.’ this moment is a direct reaction to some of the online reception bojack horseman has received. various circles of the show’s fanbase have found themselves relating to the protagonist to the point of defending his untoward behaviour, a response not intentioned by the show’s creators. this is not the only example of bob-waksberg’s ability to make his work self-evaluative. in season six’s exposure of bojack and sarah lynn’s problematic relationship, characters question their sexual encounter from the first season. the writers use this as a way of examining their own choices, and the harmful tropes they played into when using this exploitative sexual encounter as a gag. this self-evaluative quality is what sets bojack apart as a show that assesses the performance it participates in, much like the comedy of bo burnham.

bo burnham is known for directly addressing his audience, particularly in terms of discouraging idolisation and parasocial relationships. some examples of this manifest as responses to hecklers rather than a planned bit in the show, for instance:

heckler: i love you!

bo: no you don’t

heckler: i love the IDEA of you!

bo: stop participating!

he actively addresses the issues posed by being an entertainer, and encourages the audience to understand and recognise that his onstage persona is just that: an exaggerated persona. not once does burnham claim to be fully authentic onstage, and even moments of authenticity we see in his latest special, inside, are staged. we make the assumption that having the physical setting of a stage stripped away grants us a more personal look at the entertainer’s life, but he makes it clear that even in his own home we still see the aspects he has carefully constructed rather than the full truth. arguably though, parts of the show really are authentic; in his monologue during make happy, bo deconstructs his own show in a way that is similar to bojack horseman’s later seasons, admitting that all he knows is performing and thus making a show about the more mundane and relatable aspects of life would feel ‘incredibly disingenuous.’ in his attempts to separate himself from this onstage persona he actually manages to blur the lines between what is acting and what is now part of his nature as a result of his job. this notion is echoed in bojack horseman as bojack’s attention seeking nature is attributed to his years acting in front of a camera every day.

bo suggests that the era of social media has created a space in which children’s identities mimic that of an entertainer like himself, describing the phenomenon as ‘performer and audience melded together.’ in this observation he criticises the phenomenon. bo attempts to force the audience to recognise the ways in which their lives are becoming shaped by the presence of an audience and to some extent uses his own life as a warning tale against this. he points out the way in which the ‘tortured artist trope’ means that your cries for help or roundabout attempts of addressing mature themes such as substance abuse, mental illness and trauma become part of that on stage persona and therefore become part of the joke. both bo and bojack address these topics in more discrete manners earlier in their careers, but this eventually becomes expected, and thus they are forced to explicitly detail their struggles with these topics in order to be taken seriously. even then, portions of the audience are inclined to see it as part of the persona or as something that fuels the creators creativity and thus does not need to be addressed as a legitimate issue. the emphasis on creating a character or persona promotes the commodification of mental illness: any struggle must be made into a song or a joke or a bit, must be turned into part of the act in order to have value. this actually serves to delegitimise these emotions and create a disconnect between the feeling and the person, as it becomes near impossible to exist without feeling as though you are acting. even when an artist’s cries for help become blatant, they continue to go ignored because now they serve the purpose of creating content that criticises the industry they stem from. online audiences can be seen as treating bo burnham and his insightful work as existing to demonstrate the negative effects entertaining can have, and because this insight is useful or thought-provoking to audiences, he is almost demanded to keep entertaining and creating. in response to this demand, his work becomes more meta and his messages become clearer, and the more obvious his messages, the more people he reaches. this increases audience demands and traps entertainers in a cycle fraught with internal conflict.

during bojack’s second season, bojack’s date asks him, ‘come on, do that bojack thing where you make a big deal and everyone laughs, but at the same time we relate, because you're saying the things polite society won't.’ this moment exemplifies how aspects of his genuine personality have now become a part of his persona and this is demanded of him in genuine and serious situations, undermining the validity of his emotional reactions. he immediately makes a rude comment to the waitress at the restaurant they’re in and satisfies his date by performing that character he has set himself out to be. some circles of the fan base have argued that bojack is written as a depiction of somebody with borderline personality disorder, offering a psychoanalytical lens through which to view this notion of performance. a defining symptom of borderline personality disorder is a fluctuating sense of self; having grown up on camera, being demanded to perform to others as young as six years old, bojack’s sense of self will have been primarily dictated by the need to act.  whether this acting is for the sake of comedy, or as a representation of masking his mental illness, when they need to act is taken away bojack entirely loses his sense of self and relapses into his addictions: ‘i felt like a xerox of a xerox of a person.’ burnham’s depictions of depression run along a similar vein; in his new special he poses the idea that his comedy no longer serves the same personal purpose it once did for him. he questions ‘shit should I be joking at a time like this?’ and satirises the idea that arts have enough value to change or impact the current global issues that we are facing. burnham’s ‘possible ending song’ to his latest special, he asks ‘does anybody want to joke when no-one’s laughing in the background? so this is how it is.’ implicit in this question is the idea that when the audience is taken away and there is nobody to perform his pain to, he is left with his pain. instead of being able to turn his musings and thoughts into a product to sell to the public, he is forced to just think about them in isolation and actually face them, an abrupt and distressing experience.

the value of performance and art is questioned by both bojack and burnham, particularly during the later years of their respective content. burnham’s infamous song, art is dead, appears to be a direct response to the question ‘what is the worth of art?’ he posits that performing is the result of a need for attention (‘my drug’s attention, i am an addict, but i get paid to indulge in my habit’) and repeatedly jokes throughout his career that the entertainment industry receives more respect that it deserves (‘i’m the same as you, im still doing a job or a service, i’m just massively overpaid’). his revelations regarding the inherent desire for attention that runs through all entertainers is frequently satirised in bojack horseman. bojack is comically, hyperbolically attention hungry and self-obsessed, and the show has a running gag in which he uses phrases along the lines of ‘hello, why is nobody paying attention to me, the famous movie star, instead of these other boring people.’ his constant attempts to direct the focus of others towards himself result in bojack feeling like ‘everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.’ his peers buy into his act and adore the comical, exaggerated, laughable aspects of his character, but find very little room to respond to him on a genuinely personal level because of this. interestingly, bojack appears to enjoy catering to his audience and the instant gratification it produces, whereas bo burnham becomes increasingly candid about his mixed feeling towards his audience. ‘i wanna please you, but i wanna stay true to myself, i wanna give you the night out that you deserve, but i wanna say what i think and not care what you think about it.’ he admits to catering to what audiences want from him, but resents both the audience and himself in the process as it reveals to himself which parts of his character are solely for the sake of people watching him.

within bojack horseman, this concept is applicable not only to the protagonist, but to the various forms of performer demonstrated in the plot. towards the show’s end, sarah lynn asks ‘what does being authentic have to do with anything?’ to which herb kazzaz responds, ‘when i finally stopped hiding behind a facade i could be at peace.’ this highlights the fact that because entertainers are demanded to continue the facade, they do not receive the opportunity to find ‘peace.’ this sentiment is scattered throughout the show, through a musical motif, the song ‘don’t stop dancing.’ the song stems from a life lesson bojack imparted to sarah lynn at a young age, and becomes more frequently used as the show progresses and bojack’s situation worsens.

sarah lynn is also used to explore the value of entertainers; in the show’s penultimate episode, she directly compares her work as a pop icon to the charity work of herb, arguing that if she suffered in order to produce her work. it has to mean something. she lists the struggles she faced when on tour: ‘i gave my whole life...my manager leaked my nudes to get more tour dates added, my mom pointed out every carb i ate, it was hell. but it gave millions of fans a show they will never forget and that has to mean something.’ implicit in this notion is the idea that entertainment is the epitome of self-sacrifice. there is a surplus of mentally ill individuals within the industry, largely due to the nature of the industry itself, but some may argue that the cultural grip the industry has, and the vast amounts of respect and money it generates annually, gives the suffering of these prolific individuals meaning.

the juxtaposing responses entertainers feel towards their audiences manifest as two forms of desperation: the desperation to be an individual who is held accountable, and the desperation to be loved and validated. we see both bojack and bo depict how they oscillate between  ‘this is all a lie’ and ‘my affection for my audience is genuine’, or between ‘do not become infatuated with me im a character’ and ‘please fucking love my character i do not know how to be loved on a personal level.’ bojack explicitly asks diane to write a slam piece on him and ‘hold him accountable’, similar to bo’s song ‘problematic’ in which the hook includes the phrase ‘isn’t anybody gonna hold me accountable?’ for his insensitive jokes as a late teenager. their self-awareness is what enables their self-evaluative qualities, but self-awareness is its own issue. bojack grapples with a narcissistic view of his own recognition of his behaviour before settling on a more nuanced, albeit depressing take. originally he makes the assumption that in recognising the negative aspects of himself, he is superior to those who behave similarly: ‘but i know im a piece of shit. that makes me better than all the pieces of shit that don’t know theyre pieces of shit.’ eventually, during his time at rehab he is forced to reconcile with the fact that self awareness does not, to put it bluntly, make you the superior asshole, it just makes you the more miserable one. the show does, however, make a point to recognise how the entertainment industry protects ‘pieces of shit’, prioritising their productive value over how much they deserve to be held accountable, demonstrated using characters like hank hippopoalus. the show itself obviously stems from the entertainment industry, as it is a form of media produced by netflix, one of the most popular streaming platforms available. bojack horseman and bo burnham represent the small corner of the industry that is reflective enough to showcase the damage it inflicts. this is powerful in terms of education and awareness, and urges audiences to question their own motives and versions of performance, but the reflection alone is not powerful enough to help the artists in question. burnham’s candid conversations surrounding his mental health continue to reveal a plethora of issues somewhat caused or sustained by the nature of his career. within bojack horseman, bojack is only able to stop hurting other characters when those characters construct a situation that forces him to face consequence, his introspection alone is not enough. while bojack ends on a message of hope, suggesting to the audience that reverting back to the status quo is not the only acceptable way for events to end, it leaves stinging lessons and social commentary with the audience regarding the unnatural and damaging narrative that performers live through. on a similar but markedly different note, bo burnham’s work and personal progression is playing out in real time, and not in a way that is as raw and genuine as it appears. each bit is planned, even the most vulnerable moments that appear unplanned and painful. his latest special is not entirely devoid of hope, but does translate to audiences as a somewhat exaggerated look around the era of social media and the development of performance, using himself as an example.

the absurdist humour that often acts as a vehicle for poignant statements or emotionally provocative questions is very specific to each media creator. bob-waksberg’s use of puns, tongue twisters and entirely ridiculous circumstances served to simultaneously characterise his points as an expected part of the show’s style of humour, similar to bojack’s emotional instability, but also to make them appear gut-punching in comparison to the humour. burnham’s work is similar in that poignant but blunt statements are often sandwiched between absurd and exaggerated jokes, making them stand out via contrast but not giving the audience too much time to dwell upon them as they are said. performance art is second nature to entertainers, and is presented a an issue that is infiltrating the general population via social media rather than solely affecting the ‘elites’. bojack horseman and bo burnham present the duality of artists simultaneously attempting to level the playing field and increase their chances of survival in the industry, and encourage audiences to know that everyone is bluffing and you’ll never have the right cards anyway.

i.k.b