#there’s some kind of unmet need here

[wormtoxin]

updated personas/subroutines: (disclaimer: i still don’t think im plural, sorry)

Pepper/Clover: the main one, not even one of the subroutines really, just the blank slate object which all the others act upon. The physical body. The only persona recognized by society.

Autopilot: the regular forms and functions of being a human being. Wake up, brush teeth, go to class, come home, go to sleep. Sometimes one of the others sneaks in and replaces it without my notice, especially when I’m talking to other people, and I don’t care for that shit at all. Routine.

Rambles: Vile little subroutine that makes my mouth move well before my brain. Sometimes I feel like I’m going on and on and I can’t stop. I don’t like conversation much because having to talk necessitates Rambles and then I feel totally out of control and I hate it. Objectively this one has its uses but it’s also my least favorite.

The Wretch: Self-loathing subroutine. Convinced it’s a worthless fuckup and probably correct. Self-sacrificing while being selfish, apologetic while seeking sympathy, paradoxically victim and passive-aggressor. The worst of both worlds. I actually put a lot of time and effort into being properly accountable the way a human being should be, but sometimes i get overemotional and I spiral and that part’s The Wretch i think.

The Doll: Control, poise, perfection, submission, obedience. Maybe if it’s perfect we can get it right this time. If it’s just perfect then nobody can criticize it. Next time it’ll get it. Never does. Masking, I think? Maybe some kind of fucked up anti-masking? Can’t keep this one up for long. Wishes it could just be quiet for once and let our actions speak for themselves, but people keep trying to talk to it, and it inevitably slips away. Probably used it more when I was working.

The Dog: Playing, eating, sleeping, rolling, getting off, singing and drawing. Simple bodily expressions. Not so bright. This one doesn’t get much of an outlet. Kind of a lump, occasionally whipped into shape by expectation. I actually kinda like being this one but it’s impossible when being perceived by another human being. The most invisible persona of them all. Immoral (amoral?) and therefore unsustainable long-term

The Magician: Doing, studying, creating, dressing, presenting. A self-styled scholar. Flashy and stylish and confident. Would describe itself as “dark academia” or something similarly edgy-but-trendy. Work and school romanticized, transmogrified into an exciting fantasy. Useful for being productive.

The Witch: Free of responsibility to society or others or ethics. A heartbreaker maneater homewrecker bitch. A natural disaster. An expression not of individuality or self, but force and violence. Claiming anything it wants by any means necessary and destroying everything in its path. Selfish to the core. Chained up in a basement somewhere. It exists but it’s cruel and it sucks so I never ever let it out. But I like to remember it’s there. A trump card, a concealed weapon. Break glass in case of emergency. I feel the shape of its outline like a knife stashed in a boot and I know I could use it if I ever needed it.

Honorable Mentions:

Poetics: Playing with sounds, words, grammar, languages, ideas until they sound musical and pleasing. Etymology research, vocabulary buff, eidetic memory for certain words and phrases, but only when they sound “right”. Possibly used for all five senses, or possibly shares overlap with Composition (visual) and Kinesthetics (touch)

Faux Marxism: Self-righteous understanding of the dialectical materialist view of history. Used mostly for impassioned speeches at inopportune moments (Rambles) or in response to perceived political threats. Poetics and Faux Marxism are both very invested in learning as much vocabulary, history, languages, and multiculturalism as possible, but for very different reasons.

Horndog: you could take all of sexuality and sprinkle it across all the other different subroutines, OR you could concentrate it into one horrible little guy.

Puzzles: The subroutine that just will NOT let a problem go until it’s solved. Character designs, meaningless research inquiries, computer software. Very very very very rarely, actual assigned tasks. The Magician wants what Puzzles has.

Hibernation: Comfy cozy blanket pillow sweater cuddle nap pile. Memorized the rhythms of the winter hibernation episodes of Tanoshii Moomin Ikka and plays them in a loop continually year-round. This one might be straight-up biological. I think I might have a vitamin deficiency.

Fog: The squishy slouchy sweaty medium that fills up whatever psychic dream space all the other personas occupy. There used to be a sense of “me” but it got covered up by all the fog what seems like years ago. That sense of wholeness, control, totality, unification. It existed once. I like to think it’s still out there, somewhere, if I just get my meds right or get enough sleep and if I can just synthesize all the others maybe I can feel “like myself” again. But all the fog covers it up. Memory issues. Whenever I get a sudden moment of clarity, and I realize I’ve been one of the more loathsome subroutines, someone I don’t recognize, I’ll have just stumbled out of the fog. Always comes with a feeling of “Why did I just say that?” Or, “What did I just say?”. Dissociation, maybe???

????: see previous. The negative space that fills everything else in. I don’t even know whether to call this one “Selfhood” or “Synthesis” or “Control” or “Autonomy” or …”Me”. That’s probably most appropriate but it feels like too foreign a word to make sense of. Whatever was here once got swallowed up by the fog, and I don’t know what it is anymore. If it was here I think I could feel like a present sensor and agent in my own life again. This is probably what people expect out of “Pepper” or “Clover”, the flagship of the armada, the face and voice of the operation. I don’t know where that person is. All the subroutines (personas?) are trying to emulate her, stall for time until she comes back. She might not ever be coming back. We might be all we have.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.

I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.

This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.

Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.

The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.

I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”

“Why don’t you steal them?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.

“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.

After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.

Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.

“Is it about the frogs?”

“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”

I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”

She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”

“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”

The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.

I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.

I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.

[satellite-evans]

tolerate it

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: You know your love should be celebrated, but lewis just tolerates it.

Word count: 4.4k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

hello everyone, this is the second fic that I'm posting from the folkmore series, hope you guys like it, tell me what you think! xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was past midnight when you heard the door click open.

The sound was soft, almost hesitant, but it cut through the heavy silence like a blade. Your breath hitched as your eyes flickered toward the entrance, where the dim glow from the hallway outlined the silhouette you had been waiting for.

You had been waiting for him for hours, like you’re just a little kid.

You hated when he made you feel like that.

Vulnerable.

Curled up in the vast, impersonal hotel bed, the sheets cool against your skin, you had stared out at the glittering city beyond the window. The neon lights and distant hum of traffic had been your only companions, pulsing with a life that felt so far away from the hollow quiet of the room.

Lewis had promised he wouldn’t be late.

“Dinner, just us,” he had said, voice warm over the phone, brimming with the kind of reassurance that made you believe in him, in this. “I’ll be back after press.”

You had believed him.

But the plates on the small table remained untouched, the candles you had lit now melted into forgotten wax, their flames long extinguished. Hours had slipped through your fingers, and with them, the naive hope that maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.

The door shut with a muted click, and then he was there.

His posture was tired, his movements sluggish, weighed down by something unseen. The sharp lines of his suit were slightly rumpled, his tie loosened as if he had been pulling at it absently. Shadows clung to his features, exhaustion settling in the creases around his mouth, the faint furrow of his brow.

You knew better than to expect an apology.

Still, you tried.

“You’re late.”

Your voice was quiet, steady, but beneath it was the weight of hours spent in silence, of expectations left unmet, of love given and not quite returned in the way you needed.

Lewis sighed, setting his bag down with a dull thud. “Yeah. Sorry. Meetings ran over.”

A familiar script. The same words, the same excuse. You had heard it before, and yet, some foolish part of you had wanted to believe that this night, this promise, would matter enough for him to keep it.

You swallowed, shifting to sit up. “I waited.”

He glanced at you then, a brief flicker of acknowledgment, as if he was only just realizing that you had been here the whole time, waiting for him to come.

Something about that thought made your throat tighten.

You noticed everything.

The way his shoulders tensed. How he avoided your gaze. The way he kicked off his shoes without care, as if shedding the weight of the day, but not the weight of you. He hadn’t even asked if you had eaten, if you were okay, if you were lonely in the way that made silence unbearable.

“You should’ve eaten without me,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, his exhaustion evident, but it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that could excuse this.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you admitted, but what you meant was I wanted to eat with you.

Lewis didn’t respond. He just sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, scrolling through his phone. The light from the screen cast shadows over his face, sharp angles softened by fatigue, but his focus was elsewhere. Not here. Not on you.

You watched him, waiting, willing him to look at you, to see you.

He didn’t.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, the fabric cool beneath your fingertips. “Did you even think about me tonight?”

The question came out softer than you intended, almost fragile.

His thumbs hovered over the screen, a moment of hesitation before he let out a slow breath. “Of course I did.”

Automatic. Distant. A response without weight.

But you noticed.

You noticed everything he didn’t do.

How he didn’t ask how your day was. How he didn’t kiss your forehead. How he didn’t check to see if you were okay.

He had seen the world, built empires, conquered tracks and stadiums, his name spoken in stadiums filled with roaring crowds.

And yet, he couldn’t see you.

The realization lodged itself deep in your chest, an ache that settled between your ribs, suffocating in its quiet devastation. You blinked rapidly, turning away, as if looking at him any longer might shatter something within you.

You had waited by the door like a child waiting for love.

But it never came.

And you feared that it was just the beginning.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages as you sat curled up on the couch, the worn edges of your book comforting beneath your fingertips. The familiar weight of it grounded you, but the world beyond the pages seemed distant. You barely registered the words you read as your mind wandered. Your eyes flicked over the sentences, but your thoughts weren't really there, drifting elsewhere, like leaves caught in the breeze.

Across from you, Lewis sat at the other end of the couch, his posture slouched, one leg stretched out lazily, his fingers tapping away at his phone screen with a kind of detached urgency. He was completely engrossed, lost in whatever was filling the quiet. The room felt too small for both of you, the space between you stretching impossibly wide, even though you were physically close.

Once, nights like this were your favorite—when the world outside felt like a distant hum, and the two of you could be alone in your own little bubble. You'd lie with your head resting in his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair, the soft rhythm of his touch calming your racing thoughts. The two of you would talk about everything and nothing—memories that didn't matter, dreams that didn’t make sense, moments that felt significant only because they were shared.

Sometimes, he'd ask about your book, his voice always genuinely curious, like he wanted to know what was going on in your world, in the spaces your mind occupied when it wandered from him. You'd talk about the characters, the plot twists, the themes. He’d listen—really listen—his full attention on you, his eyes never leaving your face. He’d smile at your excitement, never rushing you to finish your thoughts. He cared, you knew he cared.

But now, he barely looked up.

You glanced at him, hoping for something, anything—a sign that he saw you, that he remembered you sitting there, sharing the same space with him, even if you weren’t speaking. You shifted on the couch, a small movement, and waited. But the hum of his phone screen was louder than your quiet longing, the way it flickered in the dim light between you. He didn't even seem to hear the shift in the air, the unspoken distance growing between you both.

"Lewis," you said, your voice tentative, barely louder than a whisper. It felt like a plea, a fragile thread reaching out into the silence.

He didn’t look up, didn’t pause his scrolling. He just hummed, distracted, absorbed in whatever message or notification had taken his attention.

Your throat tightened. You swallowed, trying to push past the rising frustration, the feeling of being invisible. You turned your attention back to your book, but the words were blurry now, swimming on the page. The book’s comfort, its familiarity, was lost, just as everything else was.

Your grip on the book tightened, your knuckles white. The pages felt flimsy, like they might tear under the weight of your thoughts. You tried to read, tried to force the sentences into your mind, but they slipped away, like water through your fingers.

You waited for him to sense the shift. The silence had stretched so long, had settled so thick between you, surely it must have been noticeable. But he didn’t look at you—not once. Not like before.

And then, finally, a sigh. Lewis leaned back against the couch, stretching his long arms above his head, a groan escaping his lips as he relaxed, the tension in his body slowly unwinding. Only then did he lower his phone and glance over at you. "You're quiet," he said, his voice lazy and unbothered. His eyes lingered for a moment, but it wasn’t the kind of look you had hoped for. There was no searching there, no real curiosity. Just a passing observation.

A hollow smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Am I?” The question felt so small, so inconsequential. It barely mattered. Not anymore. It was as if you were asking him if you were still here, if he even noticed the emptiness that had begun to fill the spaces around you.

He frowned slightly, a tiny crease between his brows. He knew something was off—he had to. But instead of asking, instead of trying to understand, he just let the moment slip away. With a casual shrug, he picked up the remote and flicked on the TV, the soft hum of the screen suddenly taking over the room.

The moment passed. Just like that.

You turned another page, pretending to read, though the words no longer had meaning. Your fingers trembled slightly, the book suddenly feeling like an anchor dragging you further into the depths of a silence you didn’t know how to escape.

Lewis? He didn’t notice the way your hands shook as you held the pages. He didn’t notice that the sound of his voice, so dismissive, had rattled something inside you, that the lack of attention hurt in ways you couldn’t put into words. He didn’t see it—the slow, painful unraveling of everything you once had.

But you?

You noticed everything. Everything he does or doesn’t do.

Deep inside, you want to tell him, that he is slipping away. That he isn’t as affectionate as he was before, that his actions hurt more than his words.

But you don’t.

He’ll tell you that you’ve got it wrong somehow and that it’s all in you head.

After all, he so much older and wiser.

And you’re just a kid waiting by the door for him.

And as the hours slipped away, the room remained quiet, save for the dull hum of the television and the soft rustle of your book, neither of you reaching for each other.

Your birthday used to be something special. He always made it a point to do something thoughtful—small surprises that brought a smile to your face, handwritten letters tucked away in places you’d least expect them, flowers arriving at your doorstep, even when he was oceans away. His thoughtfulness had always been a quiet assurance that no matter the distance or how busy life got, you were his priority. He never let the day slip by unnoticed. Last year, he had even flown home in secret, pretending to be too swamped with work, only to surprise you with an intimate dinner on the rooftop, the glow of the city lights reflecting in his eyes as he held your hand and whispered how much you meant to him. You had laughed, a little in disbelief, as you realized what he’d done. It felt like a moment frozen in time, perfect in every way.

But this year… it was different.

You woke up alone. The room was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that made the space feel too large. You blinked into the early morning light, but his side of the bed remained untouched. The sheets were cold, the indentation where he’d lain barely visible. You reached over instinctively, but all that greeted your fingers was the emptiness of a space that should have been filled with warmth. A part of you had hoped that, even in this stillness, you’d find a glimmer of what you once shared. But there was nothing.

You grabbed your phone, half-expecting to see a message from him—a simple “Good morning,” a “Happy birthday,” maybe even an “I love you” to make up for the absence you felt so deeply. But the screen was blank. No notifications. No reminder that it was the day you both used to cherish. You refreshed it, as if somehow you’d missed it, but the silence persisted.

The hours seemed to drag on endlessly. The sun had moved across the sky, casting shadows on the walls of your apartment, and still, there was no word from him.

By the time evening arrived, and the darkness of the night crept into the corners of the room, you were still waiting. Again. You had convinced yourself that maybe there was a plan—maybe he was just waiting for the right moment to surprise you, to make up for the quiet morning. But as the clock ticked, hope started to wither, replaced by a quiet ache in the pit of your stomach.

Then, the door finally creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. But the man who walked through the door didn’t look like the one you had fallen in love with. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, the weight of the day pressing down on him in a way you’d never seen before. The usual spark in his eyes was gone, replaced with the dull haze of someone who had given everything to the outside world, leaving nothing for the person who mattered most.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, like a battle hero’s welcome, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, because you so desperately wanted him to be different than he was, you wanted the old Lewis that you missed so deeply.

He didn’t even look at you as he muttered a distracted, “Hey, love.” He leaned in and kissed your cheek absently, the gesture so distant that it felt more like a routine than an act of affection. He didn’t even stop to meet your gaze, already moving past you, his shoes scuffing against the floor, as though he was tired of the weight of the world and wanted nothing more than to escape the moment.

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say, but you couldn’t shake the tight knot forming in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal something to you—something big, something meaningful that would somehow make up for this strange, cold distance between you both.

“So…” You hesitated, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Do you know what today is?” Your words felt like they were slipping through your fingers as soon as you spoke them.

Lewis frowned, his eyes unfocused for a moment, as though he couldn’t place your question in the rush of his thoughts. Then, the realization hit him. His face softened for a split second, but the fleeting look of guilt that flashed across his features only made the ache in your chest grow. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting toward the floor in a mix of shame and frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh—one that came from somewhere deep within you, a laugh that held no humor, only the sting of hurt. You tried to mask it, but the hollow sound of it betrayed you.

“Sorry, babe,” he sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Meetings ran long. I completely lost track of the date.” His words were like a dull, apologetic hum in the air, as if they were meant to ease the tension, but instead, they only highlighted the distance between you.

You nodded, your lips twitching into a forced smile. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small box with a vague sense of urgency. It was wrapped in plain paper, and the moment he handed it to you, you already knew. It wasn’t the thoughtfulness that had once marked his gestures, the careful consideration he used to show. It was a generic bracelet, one that was so forgettable it could have been picked up last minute at an airport. You’d seen something just like it in the window of a chain store, the kind of thing you’d never wear, let alone want on a day like today.

You forced another smile, since nowadays you could only force a smile when you were with him. “It’s nice,” you managed to say, your voice distant, as though it wasn’t even yours. You held the bracelet in your hand, feeling the cold metal press against your skin, but it didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a placeholder—something to fill the space where something meaningful should have been.

Lewis exhaled in relief, completely oblivious to the storm that was rising within you. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.” He sat down beside you, but he was already pulling out his phone, his attention already slipping away from you, as though whatever had just happened didn’t matter. The reality of it settled over you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

You stared at him then, at the man you had once known so well, the one who had made you feel seen and cherished. You looked at him and wondered, not for the first time, when he had stopped knowing you. When had he stopped seeing you, truly seeing you, and started drifting through the motions of a relationship that was no longer alive with the passion it once had? Was it the work? The endless hours? The meetings, the obligations, the distractions that had become more important than you? Or had you just started fading into the background, little by little, until you were nothing but a shadow in the life he used to care about?

You wanted to reach out, to shake him, to demand something more—something real, something that would remind you both of what you once had. But instead, you remained silent, the quiet ache in your chest growing with each passing second. The man you had loved with everything you had was slipping away, and you simply had enough.

Everything had led to this moment. Every sigh, every unspoken word, every night you went to bed alone in the same bed you'd once shared with warmth and laughter. Everything had brought you to this painful, inevitable place.

The dinner table was set, every detail carefully arranged. Candles flickered, their soft, warm light casting shadows on the walls. But the warmth didn't reach your heart. It didn't even reach your soul. It was just light, a false promise of something that had long since faded.

Lewis walked in, the familiar sound of his keys hitting the countertop sharp against the heavy silence. He didn’t even take a moment to look at you. Just a glance over his shoulder as he dropped the keys with a slight clink. “Hey,” he said. No kiss. No hug. No warmth. Just that—like an empty word that hung in the air, too thin to mean anything.

You forced a smile, your lips trembling slightly at the edges, betraying the storm inside you. "I made dinner," you said, the words catching in your throat.

He nodded. Barely looked at you. Barely looked at the table. "Looks nice, babe." His eyes were already glued to his phone, the familiar, mindless scroll of distraction. Your heart sank, the sharp sting of his indifference slicing through the fragile walls you’d built around your vulnerability.

The little kid had enough. She was done waiting.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, but you kept your voice steady. You had to. You had to say it. "You’re distracted."

Lewis glanced up at you, his gaze unfocused. "What?"

It was a simple question, a small moment. But to you, it felt like a slap in the face. A reminder that he wasn’t listening. A reminder that you had been shouting in silence for so long, only to hear nothing in return. "You don’t see me anymore, Lewis. Not really."

He sighed, his breath heavy with frustration, his eyes flicking back down to the phone screen. "That’s not fair."

"No," you said, your voice quivering with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. "It’s not fair. I pour my heart into everything I do for you, and all you can do is just tolerate it. Do you know what that makes me feel, huh? Do you?”

His jaw tightened. The subtle movement of his lips, the way his nostrils flared in exasperation—he didn’t want to hear this. But you needed him to. You needed him to understand. And maybe, just maybe, if you said it the right way, if you put it in words, he’d realize what he had been doing to you. To both of you.

"I made you my home, Lewis." You swallowed hard. "My world. I built my life around you—I made you my temple, my mural, my sky. And now?" You took a shaky breath, feeling the tremble in your voice, the crack threatening to split you open. "Now I’m begging just to be a footnote in the story of your life. You don’t care about me. It’s like I don’t even exist. And don’t tell my it’s because of work, don’t you dare because we both know that’s not true. You don’t want me, anymore. You can’t even look up if I ask you something, Lewis. While you’re out there, building other worlds and try to keep your fame, where was I? Huh? Why am I not in your life anymore Lewis? Where’s the man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? The one who used to soften the sharp edges, who used to make me feel seen, safe, wanted. Were you ever really here, or did I just imagine you because I desperately wanted it to b real Lewis?”

His face paled. You saw it—the way the blood drained from his features, the way your words cut through the surface of his indifference and reached something deeper. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make him move, to make him realize how far you’d fallen. The weight of your sacrifice was too much for him to carry.

You bit back the tears, desperate to keep them in check. "I gave you all my best colors," you whispered, almost to yourself. " I loved you so much, Lewis that my love for you should be celebrated. But you? You only tolerate it.”

It was too much to carry. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a deep, suffocating weight that filled every corner of the room. You turned away, feeling the cracks in your heart widen, spreading like a fracture in glass. But this time, Lewis didn’t stop you. This time, he let you walk away.

You could hear the sound of your own breathing, shallow and unsteady, as if the very air around you had thickened with sorrow. Something inside you cracked—small at first, a tiny fracture, but spreading rapidly, until the whole thing was about to shatter.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe—just maybe—he would realize it now. Maybe the weight of your words, the rawness in your voice, would finally settle in his chest and he would reach for you. Maybe he would stop you, pull you back from the edge, and say the things you’d needed to hear for so long.

But when you turned back, there he was—standing in the same spot, unmoving. Silent. His expression unreadable, like a wall had been erected between the two of you. And that silence—it was the loudest thing in the room. Louder than the flickering candles. Louder than the soft ticking of the clock in the background.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in your throat, threatening to choke you. "Say something," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, too soft to hold the weight of the pain, too fragile to withstand the truth. "Please, say something."

Lewis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub the weariness of life off. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh, hollow and broken. "You never do, do you?" Your words hung in the air between you, a delicate thread of hurt and frustration. "You never know what I need, what I want. And it’s killing me."

His brows furrowed, like he couldn’t understand the depth of what you were saying. "That’s not fair"

"Isn’t it?" You gestured between the two of you—at the untouched dinner, the still air, the dim candlelight flickering as though it, too, was struggling to stay alive. "Because I think it is. I think it’s perfectly fair to want the person I love to see me. To really see me."

Lewis ran a hand over his jaw, shaking his head, but it wasn’t a movement of remorse. It was the kind of denial you had seen so many times before, the kind of shrug that told you he didn’t want to acknowledge the weight of your pain. "You’re acting like I don’t care about you. Like I don’t—"

He stopped himself. The hesitation was there, sharp and telling. And you caught it. You always did.

"Like you don’t what, Lewis?" You stepped closer to him, heart pounding, every inch of your body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "Like you don’t love me?"

His silence was deafening. It wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket. No words. No comfort. Nothing to hold on to.

And there it was—the truth you had been avoiding for so long, the truth that had been hiding in the spaces between his hollow words, between the gaps in his touch. The truth that had been there all along, but you couldn’t see it until now.

Your throat tightened, and you fought to keep the tears at bay. You refused to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given you his answer without saying a word.

"You used to," you whispered, your voice cracking. "Didn’t you?"

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, but no words came. No apology. No explanation. He couldn’t give you that, because he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel you anymore.

And that was it.

The final fracture. The last piece of your heart crumbled away, slipping through your fingers like sand.

"I gave you everything," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile like glass. "I fought so hard for us. But I can’t be the only one fighting anymore."

Lewis’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came. He just stood there, silent, frozen, as though the weight of your confession had paralyzed him.

And then, you made the decision.

You grabbed your coat from the chair, your fingers trembling as you slipped it on. Each movement felt like it took everything out of you. Every step toward the door felt heavier than the last, like the universe itself was trying to hold you back, to keep you from walking away. But you didn’t stop.

Not even when you reached the door. You hesitated, your fingers curling around the handle, torn between the need to leave and the desperate wish that he would stop you. That he would say something. Anything.

Call out your name. Tell you that you mattered. That he loved you. That he wasn’t ready to lose you.

But the silence was louder than anything he could have said.

You opened the door, the cool air of the night pressing against your skin, and you stepped into it. And this time, you didn’t stop.

Not even when the door closed behind you, cutting off the final thread that had connected you to him.

You were done being tolerated.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

I feel like advice on loneliness comes in only three flavors:

"It's all mindset, learn to embrace being alone and you'll never feel lonely!"

"Your head is lying to you, you have friends and they love you!"

"Here's a list of places you can go to hang out with people and make new friends!"

Those are usually well-meant and I'm sure there are situations where they do help someone feel better - but they're definitely not universally applicable.

The first one is even plain wrong: connection is a basic human need. You can't just "change your mindset" and turn that off, the same way you can't turn off your need for food or air or mental stimulation. Humans are group animals. We absolutely need social interactions to stay healthy and sane. It is true that some people do not need a large number of friends and are happiest with just one or two close friends, and it is also true that some people prefer to fulfill their social needs in other ways than what's traditionally defined as friendship - but that's not something you can (or should) try to train yourself to do, that's just natural differences and preferences!

The only thing you could "train" yourself to do would be to learn to ignore your social needs and bury them deep down under layers of denial... and you don't need me to explain to you why that's a very unhealthy idea. It's sad enough that so many people have to do that to not lose their minds in loneliness, we certainly don't need to celebrate an unhealthy coping skill as a "superior mindset".

The other two at least get a bit closer to the truth: the solution for your unmet need is not to kill the need, but to fulfill it... but that's easier said than done, isn't it?

After all, "Don't worry, your friends love you!" doesn't help if you have no friends. Loneliness is not always "all in your head": Maybe you moved to a new place and don't know anyone there. Or you cut off contact with all your friends after a big fight. Or you grew up neurodivergent (or got mentally ill at a young age) and had no chance to learn how to make friends at the age most kids do, and by now you have been friendless for so long you don't even know where to start.

Same with "just go to a bar and talk to some new people" or "Take a pottery class and you'll meet some interesting people there" - that's not factually wrong, but also not helpful if the reason you feel lonely is that you struggle to make friends (or even struggle to just talk to people). Which can also be part of neurodivergence or mental illness, or just be a part of your personality (shyness), or be a result of isolating circumstances (like having spent a lot of time in a closed environment, for example a long hospital stay, and now feeling unsure how to connect with people outside of that environment). 

And those are just a few of the many, many possible explanations why someone may be lonely that require a more individualized approach - which is why we can’t solve loneliness with any one-size-fits-all solution.

That may be a somewhat disappointing-sounding conclusion in a letter on loneliness, so let me also tell you: hope and support are always within reach, even if it might take some time and patience to find them. The key is to remember that your feelings are valid and that you're not alone in your struggle.

First, recognize that admitting that you feel lonely, and wanting to take action based on that feeling, is a sign of strength, not weakness. You’re pretty insightful for recognizing your loneliness and super brave for wanting to reach out!

Secondly, be kind to yourself and allow yourself to take small steps. Small, actually manageable steps are crucial in any healing journey! If it’s not an option to just go to the bar or that pottery class, then it’s okay to start somewhere else. Maybe a therapist, a support group, or even online communities can be valuable “training sessions” for social connections. Even reaching out to one single person can make a significant difference over time. Your journey to finding companionship and connection might be different from someone else’s, but that doesn't make it any less valid (or achievable!).

Lastly, do consider embracing new activities that you may enjoy - but not just for the sake of meeting others. It’s important to nurture your own happiness and well-being when you’re feeling lonely. Those can be activities you can try out alone and even at home, for now! Anything that enriches your life is good. Long down the road, maybe it will lead to opportunities to connect with others, but even if it doesn’t: it’s important to incorporate new experiences into your life.

While there isn't a universal solution to loneliness, I truly believe there is a path forward for everyone. It's all about finding what works for you.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[cinnamonest]

Yan childe x teacher reader BUT the reader has a lover OMG I CAN'T-

//cucking + filming noncon, age gap, Ajax is an awful little bastard as usual

(also here's the original Delinquent!Childe x Teacher!Reader post, and the second sequel post)

Oh anon. Anon. I love this, but consider: take it a step further.

The poor boy finding out that his precious teacher he’s been fantasizing about fucking silly is MARRIED.

Typing away on her keyboard when his eyes drift and he stiffens up when he sees the ring he never noticed before. The pain. The horror. Devastated.

He’s never even met the guy, and yet he hates him so much. It’s not fair that he got to you first, just because he was born earlier than he was!

He’s probably not good enough for you. Some old guy who can’t rail you with the vigor and intensity that a young guy like himself can, probably can’t keep up with your drive either. You must be so frustrated and unsatisfied.

Now it feels so awful on his tongue to call you what he normally does. Miss _____, he says, and it feels like he’s spewing poison from his mouth, knowing it’s some other man’s name practically forced on you by dumb traditions and social standards (not that he wouldn’t do the same, but that’s different). It makes his chest hurt to hear it, the name feels like a constant reminder that some other man basically has laid claim to you, that the name marks you as belonging to someone who isn’t him.

He does some digging, finds everything he can on the guy, any online profiles or social accounts. Ugh. You deserve better. If it were him, he would just support you himself, you wouldn’t have to slave away doing paperwork all the time.

Even worse is the fact that the guy has a nice job — you know, the kind you need some higher degrees for, which he definitely won’t get seeing as his behavioral record is pretty much guaranteed to keep him out of any credible institution… still, you don’t need that much money to get by. Sure, he’ll never make that much (without getting into crime, at least, which isn’t an impossibility…), but still, he’s better for you.

It’s so much worse, though, when he stalks your accounts, sees pictures of the two of you together. Makes him feel sick to his stomach, you look happy and he doesn’t like that. He ends up having to close the window, unable to handle any further emotional damage.

He starts to pry, little by little. Can’t be too blatant, but he slips in a question every now and then — how you met, what you two do for fun, so on and so on. It makes his stomach churn to hear you talk about him, but he can’t refrain from continuing to ask, practically a compulsive urge.

God forbid you express any sort of discontentment. Even the slightest frustrated sigh, passive-aggressive comment in regards to the man, and so on, he perks up and zeros in. Oh, so you are unhappy. Typical unsatisfied wife that’s getting pent up from unmet needs and all that.

He’s very attentive to those complaints, the things you mutter under your breath and the implications of it all. He works too long and is never home (terrible, he would never leave you so lonely), he’s never helpful around the home (which wouldn’t be so much of an issue if you were home all the time and didn’t have work responsibilities), he suspiciously disappears sometimes for “work trips” or unexplained entirely (unforgiveable, your suspicions are well-founded, he’s definitely cheating and you shouldn’t forgive it).

Sometimes you sigh and shake your head — ah, sorry, I shouldn’t trouble someone your age with all this… but he assures you it’s fine… also he’s searched a list of local divorce attorneys, you know, if you consider that, which you should.

He’s not the best at being subtle or exercising restraint, so he can’t help but actually mention it out loud — life is short, better to divorce than stay in a miserable relationship! But you sigh and say it’s not that serious. He holds out on the hope that there’s an unspoken “yet” at the end of that, that eventually you’ll get fed up.

But you don’t. You keep tolerating it. It’s somewhat understandable, since divorces are difficult and messy, and you would need somewhere to stay and all that.

But getting one’s own place isn’t that hard. He would know, now — he’s actually been picking up odd jobs recently, all to get his own place. Hard to balance that with schoolwork, but he manages (and he’s in the absolute bottom-tier difficulty for courses anyway, with very little actual homework, and it’s not like he’s prepping for college like a lot of his peers). You’re very pleased with it, say you’re proud of him for being so dedicated and responsible, completely unaware that he only really has one intention for doing it all anyway.

He was planning to take that part slowly, ease his way there, but you push the limits of how much he can tolerate when he’s forced to meet the guy face-to-face. He’s just sitting there as per usual in your after-school sessions, talking a mile a minute as per usual, having a good day, completely unprepared for the psychological gut-punch he’s forced to experience when that same face he saw online comes walking right into your classroom. The sacred space that’s supposed to be just for you and him.

His soul is crushed when you get up to greet the guy all happily, practically ignoring him for several extended seconds before you gesture over to where he’s sitting and introduce each other — with himself as the student I’ve been tutoring, you know the one. The man nods, casts a single uncaring glance his direction.

Right. She mentioned you before.

The hell does that mean. He keeps the smile plastered to his face, but it’s twitchy. What did you say? Was it bad? No, you wouldn’t say anything bad about him… except maybe certain factual statements like the whole behavioral record thing, but he can accept that that’s his own fault.

Still, he doesn’t like the way the guy looks at him. A vague condescending, disdainful glance. Makes him curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw. If it weren’t for the whole “impulse management” thing you’ve been hammering into his head for months now, he might have outright attacked the guy.

It’s practically torture to sit there. You say something about how you’re going out for your anniversary, so he came to pick you up. Awful. Like you might as well have stabbed him. Not to mention it’s cutting into what’s supposed to be his time with you, and now he has to leave early.

So he’s forced to walk to the front doors with you both, listening to you talk all happily about where you’re going, while he’s forced to continue to pretend to be perfectly fine with it. Ugh.

You bid him goodbye, and he smiles and waves and walks the opposite way… and the moment you’re out of sight, he’s scowling and grinding his teeth and kicking rocks on the road all the way home, sulking like a petulant kid, imagining all the horrible ways he hopes your date goes terribly wrong.

It makes him seethe all night long, laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, nausea ruining any chance he had of sleeping. He can’t even go sulk around his parents with the hope of getting attention like he used to do when he was mad, now that he lives in this little apartment by himself.

How is he supposed to live under these conditions, no attention available on demand. You don’t even text him to see if he got home safe like you do sometimes. Probably too busy doing whatever with your husband who’s more important than he is. Hmph. His mind briefly flickers to wondering what you’re doing now that it’s later in the night, but the obvious realization only makes him feel ten times more sick. He doesn’t get any rest.

And the longer the night goes on, the more irritated he starts to feel, the misery and hurt begins to turn to bitterness and anger. He starts to feel like you probably know — no, you definitely do. And yet, you willingly tortured him like that. You've been so nice to him, giving him all that attention and affection, knowing you won't ever give him what he really wants and being totally fine with causing him so much pain. He's hurt, and more importantly, mad.

But he can't hate you… your husband, however, is a different story.

That guy kept his arm around your waist walking outside, rubbing it in his face like that. He’s certain that your husband must realize that he loves you (way more than said husband does, for the record), but that look of disdain — he doesn’t even see him as a threat, does he. Thinks that he’s not even proper competition. That much is painful. Bothersome. Annoying. Rage-inducing.

Well, he’s wrong.

That’s the thought that pushes him over the edge. He’s already had the idea in his head for a long time, he just kept bailing out every time he gathered the gall to go through with it, much to his own shame.

But clearly, continuing to be passive is not going to get him anywhere. Come to think of it, a few months ago, he would never have hesitated to go through with whatever impulse struck him, no matter how violent. It’s not like he hasn’t been expelled or arrested before.

He appreciates the time he’s spent with you, but he’s starting to think that all those little speeches about “self-control” and “thinking before you act” and all that have only really just made him docile and tame. How embarrassing.

A man should just take what he wants, right? Anything less is practically a blow to his pride.

He’s still not the brightest when it comes to formulating plans, but his rather straightforward plan ends up working. You actually agree to swing by when he says he has something to give you, something too big to carry to school himself, so he needs you to come pick it up with your car and all that. You must really trust him. Or you’re just naive, maybe, but he likes to think you trust him, however unwise that may be.

He worries that you might back out, but you show right up to his door. The motions from there are mechanical, putting his brain on a sort of autopilot mode in which he just goes through with it, without thinking too much, lest he hesitate, until you’re secured.

Grabbing you by the shoulder and jerking you inside, hand over your mouth, other arm around your waist and picking you up. It's a short distance to the bed (well, mattress on the floor), since it's just a studio apartment and all.

You being so weak makes it so much easier. He can technically tell you're struggling, but it barely feels like resistance, just weak squirming and thrashing that doesn't even loosen his grip in the slightest. You make cute little noises of surprise and confusion and fear, muffled by his hand over your mouth.

Sadly, he can't afford to have you attracting attention from the neighbors, so he's forced to keep you gagged, pulling your shirt over your head (to which your whimpers turn to full-fledged sounds of panic), and — after the brief moment where he has to detach his hand from your mouth, hearing you stammer out a wait, wait— balls it up and stuffs it into your mouth, quickly grabbing the duct tape (he, feeling very proud of himself for such clever forethought, thought to go ahead and tear some long strips off and stick the ends to the wall ahead of time), and placing it over your mouth, flipping you over onto your stomach.

You're so cute. You make the cutest little noises, your eyes get all teary, you squirm and whimper and try to pull yourself away, but he's got your wrists pinned behind your back with one hand, the other pulling your hips back. The cutest part by far has to be when you feel him jerk your skirt up, his cock pressing against your flesh and pushing inside of you, your squeals get louder and higher pitched and you struggle so hard, to no avail.

So mean, though, to pretend like you didn't see it coming. You know what you did. You led him on on purpose. Knowing full well the sort of things he's done to other people — beating his peers black and blue on impulsive whims, getting into fights because he felt like it, stealing stuff and vandalizing stuff and all those other things he knows you know he did, since it's all on his records… you willingly came all by yourself, in private, with someone like that, who you know full well is so much stronger than you are—

What did you fucking expect?

Up until then, the stream of words from his mouth are all amused and teasing and sadistic, but in those words, and the sharp jerking thrust accompanying them, you hear that underlying anger breaking through. You really hurt him, you know, by being married. He loves you so much, and you had to go and do that to me, he says, as if it was a retroactive choice, as if you should have predicted his presence in your life years in advance, as if you willfully did it to spite him years before you knew he existed.

Is it irrational? Sure… but it isn't going to change that he feels that way, and he’s mad and you can't do anything about it anyway, so he's going to keep blaming you for what you did wrong.

He keeps muttering about how stupid you are — for coming here so naively, for choosing your dumb fucking husband over him when he's so much better and loves you so much more, for all the little things you did to lure him in and make him want you so badly, for being so nice to him and having a body you should have known would make him want this so badly.

It's all your fault.

The words get more and more muffled and slurred as the movements get faster, harsher, you squeal with each thrust that makes the springs creak and the whole mattress itself move back and forth against the floor. He points out that you're leaking all over him, fluid drooling out of your hole and spilling onto his hips and thighs, satisfied by the shameful little whimper you make and the way you hang your head. You must not get fucked good enough at home, huh.

And then, he starts to slow down. There's a pause. You see him reach over, to where he tossed a few things that were on you when you came in onto the floor. Fishes something out of your purse.

You made a confused, panicked little sound when you notice he's holding your phone. Easily unlocked, whatever method you use — he holds it up to your face or forces your thumb to press against it, or, most alarmingly, even if it's protected by password or pattern, he enters it with a single try. Shouldn't have opened your phone around him so much, of course he would pay attention to that.

You're flipped onto your back, reeling from the sudden harsh movement, grunting and squirming when your bra is pulled up to your collarbones and your skirt pulled up even further, exposing your body completely before shoving back inside of you, and oh, what a euphoric sound you make — and this time, you visibly clench down on him when he does. Perfectly timed, too.

Your stomach clenches in dread and panic as you see your phone’s front side facing you.

Smile.

You cry out louder than ever before, struggle so hard, so good. His hand latches onto your throat and squeezes hard, and your hands, now no longer in his grasp, reach up to claw at them, all entirely futile. The sound of skin slapping skin reverberates around the room, and you see him tilt the camera downward, ensuring he captures the sight of his cock pounding into you, stretching you apart, all the slick fluid now coating everything from your thighs to his hips, and the sweet, precious sounds you make for him.

He wonders if anyone has ever made you react like this before. If your husband is going to be torn apart by the realization that he's made you feel better than he ever has, that he's better and bigger than him. The sheer fear on your face would suggest that. The thought feels euphoric.

He re-angles himself, leaning forward a bit, ensuring his body presses against your clit — you start to tense up, push back, your heels dig into the mattress and your body writhes with greater force than ever before. Your eyes squeeze shut and you shake your head but he doesn't stop, and you hate yourself so much in the moment for the sensations your body feels, the guilt and despair overwhelm you, you feel a cold chill in your gut — but you finally spasm and shudder on his cock all the same, clearly trying so hard to minimize it and hold back the sounds and movements, but the involuntary shudders and soft little cries are unmistakable all the same.

Normally, he would want to stay inside you longer — but there will be plenty of chance for that later. This time, the prospect of pulling out and capturing it is too tempting, and God, is it satisfying when he does. The squelching sound, the way his cum starts to drool out of you onto the mattress, the way your hole twitches from the sudden absence, slightly agape from the intrusion. It's so, so perfect, better than he could have even imagined.

You rip the tape off your mouth, gagging and coughing from the strain on your throat, and the overwhelming sensation leaves you in a dazed stupor for a few moments… your head slowly drags over to him, and an ice-cold spike of fear strikes through your heart when you see that he's still on your phone.

Slight movement from you as you try to push yourself upright takes his attention away from it, eyes flickering over to you.

Ah, right.

You make a scared little sound and pull your hands close to your chest (very cute!) as he looms over you again, but you're helpless to do anything as he puts the phone down to flip you over again, this time taping your wrists behind your back, adding a new layer over your mouth, and finally one on your ankles. Your struggles barely faze him.

You see him zip his pants back up and pull his shirt back on, standing and making his way over to the door, shuffling his shoes back on before grabbing your car keys.

I'll bring these back. Your place is only five minutes away if I drive, you know. I won’t get into any wrecks this time.

It occurs to you that you've never told him where you live, but it's the least of your concerns then and there. Your heart sinks to your stomach as he takes your phone again, grinning as he types and, after a pause, makes one distinct, final tap that you know can only be hitting 'send.'

His head turns over to you, that same dopey, carefree smile on his face as always, that now seems so much more sinister than before.

Don't worry. He won't have enough time to call the cops.

Your muffled words don't stop him. You writhe pathetically on the ground as the door opens and closes before you, listening in dread and despair as his footsteps slowly fade away.

[astrolocherry]

Potential Mother/Daughter, Mother/Child Dynamics - Moon 7th House

This 7th house Moon mother archetype is so layered—it speaks to a mother-child relationship that is deeply entangled in themes of partnership, projection, and relational dynamics. The mother isn’t just a maternal figure; she is a mirror, a role model for the feminine archetype in relationships, shaping how the child perceives intimacy, fairness, and emotional reciprocity.

Her influence over the child’s romantic choices is profound. For a son, she may resist "sharing" him with another woman, subtly or overtly competing with his romantic partners. For a daughter, she may unconsciously push her to live out her own unfulfilled relationships, steering her toward the kind of partners she once desired or warning her against men who remind her of past failures. This mother often has a strong presence in the child's love life—whether through approval, disapproval, or emotional enmeshment.

The desire to impress or gain approval in relationships is key here. The person may seek a partner who will earn their mother's admiration, either through status, charm, or alignment with her values. This can create a dynamic where love becomes less about personal fulfillment and more about external validation. In some cases, the mother even creates unnecessary conflict to test loyalty, ensuring that the child remains emotionally tethered to her, even in adulthood.

The legal aspect is so interesting—whether directly involved in court battles with the mother or having her intervene in their relational disputes, this placement often brings formalized, structured conflicts into the family sphere. The mother may be a key figure in major relationship transitions, acting as a mediator, instigator, or even an enforcer in legal matters like divorce, custody, or financial disputes. This suggests a childhood where serious adult matters were inescapable, where the child was exposed to the complexities of adult relationships far earlier than they should have been.

The most profound piece here is the projection—the mother becomes a receptacle for the person’s own wounded inner child. They see her as the victim in spaces where they themselves were supposed to be nurtured. Instead of recognising their own childhood wounds, they unconsciously assign them to her, treating her as fragile, wronged, or in need of saving. This creates a deeply codependent cycle, where they may overprotect, justify, or even enable her behavior, unable to recognize where her struggles end and their own unmet emotional needs begin.

The lesson with a 7th house Moon is to learn to decipher emotions—what is truly theirs versus what has been absorbed, projected, or conditioned. They must unravel the ways their mother’s relationship patterns have shaped them, identifying where they have unconsciously sought to replicate or resolve her past through their own choices.

Cherry

[ryuseiired]

on mahiru's relationship

I wanted to write something up really quickly as to my opinions on Mahiru's relationship and what the dynamic there was like. I've seen a lot of people identify her behavior as "toxic", and some people even state that the relationship must have been toxic on both sides (often leaning heavily on the cake in I Love You as a metaphor), but I don't often see this stuff dived into deeper than either identifying Mahiru's bad behaviors or just saying they're both "toxic" without really talking about... why. Or what that means. Or how her boyfriend is toxic. I don't even really like the word toxic in this case because I feel like it's just being used without really delving into why or how in any real way, it's net zero information other than telling us it's bad. I want to step aside from the perpetrator-victim dynamic that MILGRAM puts things in the framework of. My key thesis is this: Their relationship is hurting them both in different ways. Both of their desires/needs are incompatible and going unmet. Neither of them are bad or wrong for wanting what they want, although Mahiru does display several behaviors that, while understandable, are ultimately harmful and unhealthy.

Let's look at the cake metaphor again. I see a lot of people say that the cake represents toxicity/bad behavior/unhealthiness in the relationship and that it's clearly both-sided because they're feeding it to each other. I don't... think this is a wrong interpretation, per se, but I think it misses an aspect that's kind of key to me?

In my opinion, the cake also majorly represents attention/love. Notice how the pieces Mahiru's boyfriend is feeding her are smaller than what she's feeding him?

When Mahiru is being fed the cake we never see it portrayed as anything but cake. She looks happy. She thrives off this attention. When her boyfriend is being fed the (larger piece of) cake... he sees it as a dead rat. We only see the rat transition when it's Mahiru feeding the cake, because he's the only one who is being smothered by the love/affection. She feeds her boyfriend more cake because that's what she thinks will make him happy- because love and attention are the things that make her happy. Because that's what she wants him to do. To put it another way: she's smothering him while he's not giving her enough.

Mahiru is clingy and overly-involved, this is no secret. She needs attention, thrives off it, and struggles with being alone or denied it. She wants to commit to each other and be married quickly after entering a relationship and believes the ultimate form of love is always being together.

I don't think she's getting what she wants from her boyfriend. Part of what I believe is going on here is that Mahiru convinces herself she's happy/convinces herself that she should be self-sacrificing for the relationship, then builds up resentment and gets upset when what she expects in return is still unmet, doing things like the scene in TIHTBILWY when she calls him in the middle of the night or even the subtler implications such as when, in the text from the MV, she mentions she "practically begged him" to come along to see a movie with her. This is where I think the fights she mentions come from, although she was "happy to get hurt." She pretends to be OK with how things are, but she doesn't really want to be and it spills out and she ends up being overly demanding. Mahiru wants more from him, and he can't give it to her.

Not to say Mahiru's high standards are easy to meet by any means, or that they're completely realistic- she clearly has a very idealized idea of how love and relationships should be- but if what you want/need out of a relationship isn't being met, I feel like it's not entirely the wrong response to be upset about that, you know? She clearly feels hurt by not receiving the same amount of love and attention she's putting in, though it's downplayed in both MVs either to idealize the relationship or to focus on her guilt. Where Mahiru's problem behavior comes in, in my opinion, isn't so much this desire for more attention from her partner, it's that she's then ignoring his equally valid needs in favor of her own.

From what we see of Mahiru's flaws, which are clearly causing conflict and upsetting him, if I had to guess as to his behavior I'd assume he's probably the type of person who needs more space in a relationship which he evidently isn't getting. Mahiru's enthusiasm and passion for him that he once loved becomes overbearing and cuts into his ability to spend some much-needed time alone, he tries to pull away further to assert himself, Mahiru tries even harder to pull him closer because she wants him closer and makes it worse... until it ends up all going irreversibly wrong.

I think part of Mahiru's character is built on contradictory traits that are both true at the same time. She's very selfless and believes in sacrificing and doing things for her partner, having a tendency to copy other people and do what she thinks she should be doing (note the text in TIHTBILWY where she mentions impulsively buying the same bread as him or saying her hobby is running, even though these things aren't true to herself, or interrogation answer where she says she'd try smoking if her partner did). She wants to fulfil the service-oriented role of being a traditional wife and even mentions having trained for it. She offers immediately for Es to come to her for advice in the first voice drama, and selflessly states she doesn't resent either their or Kotoko's judgement in the second voice drama.

And yet she ignores their discomfort with the topic of romance in the same conversation where she offers herself as a support to them, continuing to poke and prod about how surely they'll like someone someday. She disregards her boyfriend's feelings when they contradict with her own. She puts her own self-interests above others' discomfort. She's just as selfish as she is selfless.

But I don't think Mahiru meant to hurt anyone, nor do I think she fully comprehended the severity of her behaviors in her relationship at first. Do I think she understands now? Do I think she feels bad about it? Partially, but I also understand where people are coming from when they assume she doesn't at all, even though I disagree with that assessment of things. Part of this issue is that it seems to me that Mahiru (at least in some instances) thinks of her problem behaviors which hurt her boyfriend and loving someone/being in a relationship at all as inseparable and the same thing.

Mahiru as portrayed in the I Love You MV feels bad about hurting her boyfriend. She acknowledges she's hurt him and that she was doing it wrong in the lyrics of the MV. She states in her voice dramas that she never wanted to kill or hurt anyone. The imagery even shows her being the one at fault for his death in the opening scene.

But this is where the contradictions come back in. At the same time, she struggles with believing she's done something wrong because the idea of finding love is her life's purpose. Her reason for living. She says she doesn't think she's done anything wrong in the voice drama, but I don't think that's fully true, given the lyrics above as well as the imagery throughout I Love You- she literally portrays herself holding his noose, that's not the sort of imagery something canonically stated to be taken from the prisoners' minds would conjure up if there wasn't any guilt or feeling of responsibility for his death there.

One way to resolve this is the idea that Mahiru just says she believes she's done nothing wrong because she wants to believe it. Because she doesn't know how to love the right way without falling into her problem behaviors, and she feels she can't live without love. Because she knows she's done something wrong, and that she smothered and hurt him, but she doesn't know what else love is and she desperately wants to love and be loved.

This got long and I don't really have a good conclusion to it, I just wanted to talk a bit about my interpretation. Obviously nobody has to see this the way I do and you're welcome to disagree, I just thought it'd be worth writing something up about my perception of her relationship and how I think she feels about her actions.

Thank you if you've read this far!

[neptunes-sol-angel]

What's the 2024 canon event in your universe?

Paid Readings | Patreon | Tip Jar

Pile One 🕷

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with: There's going to be a tremendous amount of movement for you in 2024. This could look like traveling, ascending in your endeavors, plans playing into motion, but the main thing that's standing out to me is that you won't be doing this alone. There's a lot of group activity here with friends, family, or co workers who you have a healthy relationship with. This could also indicate a lot of celebrations or ceremonies regarding success in what you accomplish next year. I keep getting this image of gears moving non-stop, which to me it looks like you're pushing through anything physically and mentally. Some of you could be start working out as a new hobby or something else that requires you to uncover barriers within yourself that you never thought you could exceed. Maybe this is inspiration to pull yourself out of something in the past that has been making you feel like you should just lay in stagnation, or maybe you're tirelessly moving because you have to, but either way, you're making moves that you should see positive results in the year of 2024.

Pile Two

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with : You are going to learn either from circumstances that corner them or through self-reflection (can even be both) that will make you learn how to take more accountability. This is about making changes in the way that you have been reacting to stuff that boils down to the multiple ways that you have been self-sabotaging. Knowing when to walk away when you've put your all into a person that isn't doing the work to meet you half-way. Withdrawing your energy from situations that seek to get you out of character. Understanding the value in your emotions instead of pushing them aside or allowing other people to invalidate them. 2024 is the year for your voice to be heard. You'll improve in how you communicate with others, especially amongst conflict, discovering your unmet needs that you didn't even know were needs, solitude that will bring you more peace that'll draw away from the loneliness you may feel in working on yourself. You could even be finding out what spirituality actually means to you as well. Overall, I'm getting the feeling that you're walking away from the noise that's discrediting your discernment, you're going to find out that you aren't crazy as some people tried to make you ought to be.

Pile Three

Your Canon event that cannot be interfered with : 2024 for you is going to be about uncovering a lot of secrets and I'm not talking about anxiety inducing kind. This year is going to be exciting for you and about revealing what your self-concept is. Tapping into your sexuality, finding the things that compliment your beauty, or your "recipe" that just makes life work for you, having more freedom financially, romantically, or other areas that you may have felt restricted in. I feel like most of your months are going to be eventful to the point where you may pause temporarily throughout the year because you may feel like you need to chill out, or life just feels "too" good. This could be related to certain indulgences or this could be some fear creeping on you that'll make you doubt the positive things going on with you in life. Other people could find you impulsive, but that's really none of their business, a lot of the blessing that you receive in 2024 comes from taking leaps of faith and being assertive in searching for things that you want to take a chance on.

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 28: "Heater/Sunrise/Sleepover" Fandom: The Boys Pairing: Homelander x Hughie

The room was heavy with a silence that pressed in, punctuated only by the low, persistent hum of the aging heater working tirelessly against the pre-dawn chill. It was a familiar sound, yet tonight, it felt amplified, a stark backdrop to the quiet breathing beside him. The breaths were shallow and even, the slow rhythm of someone just beginning to surface from sleep. Beside him, Homelander stirred, a subtle shift in the space that sent a jolt of awareness through Hughie. He hadn't planned this, hadn't intended to be here, curled up on his worn couch with the world's most powerful and terrifying man. Yet, here he was, limbs tangled in a borrowed blanket, a heavy exhaustion pinning him to the cushions.

The weight of the night was more than just the physical fatigue; it was the realization that he was sharing this intimate space with Homelander, someone who had always seemed untouchable, almost mythical in his twisted heroism. Now, stripped of his power suit and public persona, he was just a man, slowly waking up beside him. This wasn't how things were meant to be. They were supposed to be enemies, or at the very least, exist in completely separate spheres. Yet, the events of the past few days had thrown them together, and now, as the first rays of dawn began to paint the room in soft hues of orange and pink, the absurdity of it all hit him.

Last night had been a blur, a strange symphony of unspoken tension and awkward silences. The only sounds had been the white noise of the heater struggling against the cold and the occasional rustle of fabric as Hughie shifted, trying to find a sliver of comfort within the cramped confines of the couch. Homelander, for his part, had been uncharacteristically quiet, though not the comforting kind of quiet. He had been still, almost unnervingly so, as if holding himself back from something.

Hughie wasn't accustomed to this kind of proximity, this strange limbo between animosity and something else he couldn't quite name. This feeling of being physically close to someone so powerful, someone who had always seemed invincible, was both intoxicating and terrifying. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice, daring to look down. Homelander, the man who always demanded attention, who was always on top, was surprisingly... touch starved. He'd seen those cracks, those fleeting moments of vulnerability that shimmered when the lights grew dim. Little glimpses behind the carefully crafted mask that sent shivers down his spine. A hint of a broken child hiding beneath the facade of an invincible god.

Homelander shifted again, rolling slightly closer, his hand brushing against Hughie's leg through the thin fabric of his pants. The contact was brief, a feather-light touch, but it sent a jolt through Hughie's system. It wasn’t just Homelander’s power that caused that reaction; it was something far more intimate, a dangerous current flowing between them that he couldn't just ignore. He wasn't sure what this was, what this strange pull meant, but it was undeniable.

"I don't think you get it," Homelander's voice was a low, ragged whisper, barely audible above the hum of the heater. He turned his head, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. His eyes, usually cold and piercing, held a strange, almost pleading quality. "I'm... used to being alone." The confession hung in the air, a fragile thing revealed just as the first strands of sunlight illuminated the floor. It wasn't a plea for sympathy, though; it was more like a warning, a cage being built with words. He craved to be seen, to be acknowledged in a way that satisfied some deep, unmet need, but it wasn't the kind of connection Hughie yearned for. It was about power, a need to control and dominate, to have someone submit to his desires, making him feel even more powerful.

"I don't know how to be... normal." There was something darker now in Homelander’s voice, a chilling undertone that sent a shiver down Hughie’s spine. The vulnerability was still there, but it was tainted by a twisted undercurrent. He’d never spoken like this, never revealed this side of himself to anyone. “I don't know how to care about someone without wanting to break them." The words were delivered with such a quiet, terrifying sincerity, his internal conflict laid bare for a brief, unguarded moment.

Hughie was momentarily frozen, his mind struggling to process the complex, fractured nature of this man. Homelander was a labyrinth of hidden desires and buried traumas, a far cry from the cartoon villain he often portrayed to the world. And yet, within the shadows of this quiet, uncomfortable space, something else was emerging; a strange mix of pity and a dangerous pull, an overwhelming urge to fix what was broken in the man next to him, a man who had caused him so much pain.

The silence stretched between them, a weighty thing, as the sun continued its slow ascent, casting long, hazy shadows across the room. The world outside remained dark and still, but within the confines of this small space, boundaries were shifting. Hughie could feel it, a magnetic pull born from Homelander's desperate need for affection, for genuine human connection, and his own naïve, burning desire to somehow heal the unhealable.

But would that ever be enough? Could any amount of kindness, of understanding, ever truly penetrate the layers of damage and self-loathing that surrounded Homelander like a fortress? Could he fix a man who seemed to be actively trying to destroy himself?

Without thinking, driven by a force he couldn’t explain, Hughie reached out, placing his hand gently on Homelander’s shoulder. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, like a fragile offering, but it was enough to ignite a spark, sending a shockwave of raw sensation through both of them. It was a bridge built on a thin foundation, but it was there.

Homelander's eyes fluttered shut as he let himself lean into the touch, his breath catching in his throat. It was a brief moment, a fragile connection, but it felt like an eternity, a single point in time stretching out into boundless space. A moment that felt like it could tip him over some invisible edge.

"You're not as alone as you think you are," Hughie whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, the words carrying a weight far beyond their simple meaning. He hoped, with a naivete born from the late hours, that they might, somehow, reach this broken man.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for systems who are currently experiencing burnout!

Burnout is a real, often serious problems that can affect many folks, especially those of us who are plural and/or neurodiverse! Whatever burnout looks like for your system, you deserve rest, comfort, and rejuvenation in your life. So here’s to all the systems and headmasters who are currently experiencing or who are trying to recover from burnout!

Is your system dealing with burnout due to masking plural, neurodivergent, or other kinds of traits? Our hearts go out to you, and we are wishing you the chance to recover and regain your strength and energy at your own pace. If you want to stop masking, we truly hope that you will be able to live your lives authentically one day. And if you feel safest and most comfortable when masking, know that there is nothing wrong with hiding your plurality or neurodivergence in order to keep yourselves safe and happy!

Is your system feeling burnt out from work, school, or other responsibilities? Trying to juggle all sorts of responsibilities and essential life tasks can certainly be overwhelming! We hope you’ll be able to find the chance to take a break and breathe. Maybe you can ask for help from a headmate or loved one, try to cut back on your duties temporarily, or even take a few days off!

Are you as a headmate dealing with burnout due to pressures to keep yourself and your system safe, healthy, and functioning? Keeping your system and body in a healthy, positive place requires a lot of maintenance and is easier said than done! We hope that you can find ways to collaborate with your headmates in order to make life a bit easier for you and help relieve some of that strain. Remember that existing in a system is a team effort, and everyone can learn how to help out and get involved, even if only a little bit!

Is your system feeling burnt out and exhausted, but don’t know what caused it? It’s okay to know know or understand why you feel the way you do. Even if you don’t know why you or your system is experiencing burnout, we hope you can still find ways to show yourselves some compassion and gentleness. Remember to take breaks if you need to, and to do your best to make sure your needs are being met! Having unmet needs can often lead to burnout in systems of all sorts.

Regardless of why you or your system is experiencing burnout or what burnout looks for you, we truly hope that you can find the time and resources in order to replenish your energy and start feeling refreshed. If you for any reason experience perpetual burnout, know that we are wishing you the very best and hope that there are at least some easy days in your future! Please do your best to take care of yourselves and each other, and have a lovely, restful day!

[elwenyere]

*chin hands*

Tell me about TASHI DUNCAN

TASHI DUNCAN a character of all time!!! Thank you so much for this ask, Anon. Here is a non-exhaustive list of things I love about Tashi:

How canny she is, so young, about the racism and misogynoir of the world she moves through. She knows how angry white women are to lose to her, and she knows how prone the men and boys around her are to projecting their unmet needs onto her (savior, mommy, trophy, etc.). That's all part of why her career-ending injury is so thoroughly unmaking, because losing tennis makes her touchable again. There's a section in Claudia Rankine's Citizen about Serena Williams reacting to an unjust fault call, and I think about that section when I think about Tashi.

The unhinged lengths she will go to in order to avoid any repeat experience of vulnerability. On the worst day of her life, Patrick wasn't there, and Art was, and I really think a not-insignificant part of the rest of film for Tashi is driven by her need to avoid betraying any hint of disappointment or regret or doubt or hurt in front of either of them ever again. She's built so much of her life around never letting anyone see her as injured or defeated that she cannot accommodate Art's ennui or forgive Patrick's dilettantism.

Speaking of which, I've seen posts that suggest Tashi is angry at Patrick and cold toward Art, and I don't think either of those things is incorrect, but I also think stopping there would mean drawing a very incomplete portrait of a character who has just as much skin in the emotional game as the boys. It's true that she has a kind of ruthlessness both Art and Patrick lack early on - an intense self-competitiveness that allows her to disappear inside tennis - but at the root her drive is toward connection, not self-aggrandizement. Adding the "s" to revise "Game Changer" to "Game Changers" is about insisting on her place in Art's career, sure, but it's also about recognizing the collective nature of tennis's battle with the self. "It's like we were in love," she says of her juniors win. "Or like we didn't exist. We went somewhere really beautiful together": Tashi understands that self-transcendence is not a solo act.

To wit: Tashi's day-to-day is continuously shaped by family ties, while both Patrick and Art are conspicuously unparented and largely unparenting. Again, it could be easy to read Tashi as the most self-interested or self-contained of the three, but I think the film uses family (her nods to what her parents wanted for her, her sharing of care duties with her mother, her rituals with Lily) to show that in many ways Tashi's life actually involves more mutuality, on a structural level, than either Art or Patrick.

Which reminds me of Tashi's LILY bracelet: one of the pieces of jewelry she gradually acquires in the course of the film (including the crucifix necklace she starts with, the Cartier trinity pendant she adds later, and Art's grandmother's ring). I think Tashi's accessories offer a very interesting way of reading her orientation toward the sedimentary, sometimes competing attachments she's formed - especially when compared to Art's name-brand-corporate-sponsored everything and Patrick's affectedly dirtbag aesthetic. They're all trying to understand the relationship between who they are and who they were when they met, and the costuming telegraphs their different strategies.

Thank you again for this ask, Anon!!! I have a lot of feels about Tashi, and I wrote some of them into a little character study, Rally Point (1.7k, E).

[calico-constellation]

Systems, be kind to your “problematic” alters. No, I don’t mean don’t give them consequences for their actions, and no, I don’t mean just let them wreak havoc on your life. But I do mean try to work with them instead of against them.

We have one of these problematic alters. Her name is Nyx. She holds a lot of the trauma and holds a lot of mental illness symptoms and addiction problems. She embodies some of the worst parts of our abusers. Nyx has intense emotions that she can’t always control, she can be manipulative, nasty, mean, she takes front and suddenly we’ve been on a bender for four days and she’s been a total bitch to everyone who loves us and who we love. She self-harms, she’s the reason for a lot of our near misses with suicide. When we say she can be problematic, we MEAN IT.

We’ve spent years fighting with her, trying to keep her in headspace, treating her coldly. She always breaks out of containment. She’s weirdly good at it. But recently we’ve started thinking that Nyx’s propensity for breaking out is, in part, our brain trying to tell us something. Because after years of fighting against her, we decided to try something new. We saw her being angry and bitchy about a particular guy our partner was talking to, and instead of condemning her and locking her up, we asked her why.

Nyx didn’t know the answer at first, so we waited with her until she figured it out. She then explained that she feels like expressing her needs makes her a bad person (which is almost definitely an internalized message from our abuser), but circumstances around this particular guy were making her feel really insecure, and in the absence of being able to talk about what her actual feelings are, she tried to get rid of the threat by being overall angry and negative about him. In essence? Nyx feels like she can’t express needs because she feels like she should be able to meet them independently. So, the needs go unmet, and she ends up resorting to underhanded tactics to meet them, which doesn’t always work because people can’t read her mind, and then it builds up into a much bigger problem than it was originally.

And you know what? That’s something we can work with.

In one of our first acts of real system cooperation, we coaxed her into talking to our partner about how she felt, and she did, and she even wound up apologizing for her behaviour, on her own, without any of us making her. 

We decided that instead of locking her back up, we’d give her the grace of letting her have a little freedom, and asked her not to go on a bender or self sabotage relationships. And you know what she did with front the next day?

She put on a cute outfit, put temporary pink hair dye in our hair, had a drink and a smoke at dinner with our parents and brother, and went to see the Barbie movie with our mom and nana. Not exactly the unhinged behaviour we’ve come to expect from her. The most unhinged thing she did was the hair dye, and honestly? The colour is temporary and it looks good on us. She showed off the outfit to anyone who would give her the time of day, and it was honestly adorable. She was so happy and excited to feel like a cute girl! It’s a very different side of her, but one that’s been here the whole time.

And all it took was offering her some understanding, teamwork and trust. She hasn’t gotten better overnight. She still has a lot of problems. There is still work to be done with her. But you know what did happen overnight? She’s agreed to work with us at all.

So yeah. Be kind to your problematic alters, because that’s the first step of cooperation.

[earlofbats]

Okay so because this post about Harry being a bottom I'm going to give a genuine dissertation on the thematic relevance of sub Harry and maybe a little bit about dom Kim.

First I wanna establish the "Harry is definitely a subby little bottom boy" and is also definitely Bi and probably has some sorta fucking complex about it.

Evidence A. Contact Mike, Guillaume Le Million, Measurehead (when fascist).

Harry tends to idolize and gravitate towards extremely masculine figures.

This is probably due to a reflexive need to feel masculine and have masculine role models in the face of elements of identity that are seen as unmasculine by society and have become exacerbated by the breakup which had to be pretty emasculating for Harry.

Also :

Imma start a Harry's Kink counter here +1 light bondage.

+1 auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Uhm +1 uhh,Spanking? Additional +1 for being what I think is most possibly the horniest thought you have in the game also:

+1 Kim is a Dom.

I think Harry has kept his attraction to men or his desires about men fairly low key for his entire life. The way he conceptualizes Homosexuality in general as an "underground" society filled with whispering rooms and forbidden secrets is likely more of a reflection of how Harry views his own sexuality than how Queer culture is manifest in Revachol. (In reference to the way both Kim and The Smoker kinda laugh Harry about it)

The organizational element of the idea being likely reflective of the way internalization is akin to paranoia.

Harry is also extremely intimacy starved and I think part of that is due to an unmet need for affection and the desire to be taken care of. That masculinity and status as both a survivor and an oppressor was sorta thrust onto Harry, he was born the last year of the war on a hospital floor, given a name associated with war time and survival, grew up probably in a little street urchin gang, got into *Disco* (man I'm sure Harry brushed elbows with the underground then.) Was a gym teacher a good balance between masculinity and caretaker and guardian something that harry clearly excels at and enjoys. Then Dora encouraged him to be a cop for unknown reasons perhaps prestige, money, because Harry has a bleeding heart.

Engage Heterosexual Cop hell for 12 years then an additional 6 single Cop hell years.

And now you're like :

Another element is Harry's tendency to worship and diefy his partners which like man that's gotta be the subbiest fucking thing you can do. I honestly can't articulate all of the reasons why that's just extreme bottom behavior.

Harry is an empathic jelly creature who is forced to handle a job with dead people in it all day and has created this reflexive hyper masculine obsession to compensate for his perceived inadequacy in not living up to the patriarchal capitalist ideal of what's supposed to be his birthright as a well off, able bodied, 'straight', occidental, man.

Except the actual issue is that Harry is mostly perceived or perceiving himself as that, when in reality he's in clear conflict with his actual identity as a Poor, mentally Ill, bisexual, occidental, man.

And it's those last two that end up kind of making this smoke screen to Harrys deficiency in privilege. He can mask or hide behind being an Occidental Man.

Can buddy buddy with patriarchy and take up the idea of a Big Strong Manly Cop.

Something that Kim also seems to be doing by seeking out positions of authority he can compensate for the disrespect he gets as a Poor, blind, gay, seolite, man.

Last of which probably won't get him far because of how "juvenile" his body type is.

Kim can't really coast on patriarchy much the way Harry can. He has to work twice as hard cuz there's not a lot he can hide behind.

Pursuit for control in the face of denial

Vs

Shielding ones self behind control as a means of denial.

Dom/Sub dichotomy.

[your-fave-has-munchausen]

I wish Munchausen was recognized as a trauma disorder. I'm sure there are some out there who don't have childhood trauma, but it seems to be a common theme. Especially because it often starts younger than most people would think. I've been fantasizing about getting hurt or sick so someone would care about me since I was 3 or 4 years old, and I actually started faking by the time I was 5.

- 🛸

PLEASE you have no idea how weird it is to me that it's not even considered in the Associated Features or anything, Abduction! Like man somewhere along the line something had to put this disordered thinking in our head, y'know? But it's like. I feel like there's so little research on it because of this perceived expectation of conflict between patient and care provider where Munchausen is concerned?

Like, it feels like they assume we'll just lie about anything so they preemptively throw up their hands and don't even bother. Even the DSM talks about how much of a headache we are on account of our tendency to lie and it's like... yeah, but the fact your write us off entirely because of that is kind of perpetuating our urge to lie to you in the first place bro! I dunno what to tell ya! If you don't trust us enough to listen when we try to articulate our vulnerabilities, then why the fuck would we trust you with those vulnerabilities in the first place, man?

There's just... truly so much focus on the deception aspect in the DSM and it kinda rubs me the wrong way. That and the "for no external reward" part. That's kind of the end of it and they don't really even try to examine any deeper reasoning. I don't like that. "No external reward" in that context seems almost analogous with "for no reason" when that is simply not true. That's not how any mental illness works. Whatever's going on in our heads may not make sense to them, but I think it's crucial to acknowledge that it makes sense to us for one reason or another, and they just. Don't acknowledge it. It feels like they see us as little more than lie factories that cannot be reasoned with. It's kind of dehumanizing. I hate it.

In that sense, I really only treat the DSM as a guideline at best for most things. It has a nasty habit of ignoring a patient's internal distress in favor of putting the spotlight on their external behavior, and that's just something I don't subscribe to when it comes to mental illness. That's not helpful and, like I mentioned before on the topic of medical abuse, it facilitates a dangerous predisposition to conflate mental illness with abusive patterns of behavior.

Typically manifests in early adulthood, huh? Gee I wonder if that's less an issue of it manifesting then and more an issue of how people don't see children as people and therefore don't really think much about what goes on in their heads vis a vis illness and injury because it's the parents that facilitate such discussions with physicians and whatnot. Maybe you've got some confirmation bias going on here assuming that it's manifests in early adulthood when people finally have the agency to have their ailments, real or otherwise, taken seriously.

There's little to no record of prevalence? Gee I wonder if that's less an issue of us hiding from you and more you not looking at all or looking exclusively in places where we might already be lying (hospitals and the like) rather than backdooring your way through by considering possible reasoning for such behavior and examining populations that might facilitate that manner of thinking (people with histories of neglect and childhood trauma surrounding unmet needs).

Like I dunno man maybe if you actually treated us like people and try to meet us where we're at and understand where we're coming from instead of looking at us as a problem to be fixed then you'd have a much easier time working with us but maybe that's just me.

[lovelyzzzz777]

Hi there! Could you please drop some knowledge of Lilith in Cancer in the 7th house in the 9th degree please??

hey!!!💕💕

Absolutely! Let’s break down Lilith in Cancer in the 7th house at 9° — keeping it real with the wounds, power, and how it might show up in daily life. 🖤

Lilith in Cancer (7H) This is deep emotional territory. Lilith here tends to carry wounds around emotional vulnerability, nurturing, and relationships. In the 7th house, it plays out through intimacy, partnerships, and how you’re mirrored by others. You may have felt like you had to suppress your emotional needs or that your care wasn’t reciprocated. Maybe you've been taken for granted when you showed softness — or punished when you didn’t. You might attract partners who project their own emotional chaos onto you. There's a tendency to either over-give or totally shut down in order to protect yourself.

The wound: Feeling unsafe to be soft. Having to mother others in relationships while your own needs go unmet. A fear that closeness = loss of self. The power: Once healed, you’re a powerful emotional alchemist. You bring depth, loyalty, and fierce love. Your boundaries become healing tools. You become someone who teaches others how to love better — not by shrinking, but by honoring your emotions unapologetically.

9° Cancer is ruled by the Moon and Jupiter — this adds a philosophical, almost spiritually emotional vibe. You’re meant to grow through emotional awareness, and you likely feel things on a cosmic scale. You’re not here for shallow love. You want the kind of connection that feels like soul recognition.

In practice:

You might crave deep commitment, but need independence within it.

You could be deeply intuitive in relationships — knowing when someone’s off before they even speak.

Watch out for giving more than you get — reciprocity is your love language now.

This Lilith placement is like the dark mother archetype: fierce, protective, emotionally raw, and ultimately liberating. Let your feelings be sacred — not a weakness

[madamejadex]

My girlfriend and I have been together for nearly 1 & 1/2 years now and I’ve been thinking about how to find the right words for this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to make a decision or give advice. I really need to speak this out and I feel safe enough to do so here. It’s a difficult situation and I feel like I’m overthinking everything. I may be in the wrong here. If I am pls call me out.

Before I tell you I want to let you know I have talked to her about this and she doesn’t have any input.

I had been part of the bdsm community for a while now. But my girlfriend is not apart of the community. She likes the idea of it but we learned she doesn’t enjoy participating. I 100% respect that decision and support her all the way. I love her to death but it’s not as deep of a connection as I’m used to. Over the last couple years I’ve always had a domme or someone who was naturally more dominant. I feel there is a different level of connection and communication I’m used to. It’s gotten to a point where I feel I’m asexual. I don’t know how to feel about it. I’ve grown to really love her but I don’t feel safe to be vulnerable without feeling like I will get teased for how deeply I submit.

I’m open to hearing anyone’s opinions and experiences

~a person (I’m an anon but I don’t want to semi out myself)

Hi there, my tender one. First, thank you for trusting me enough to speak your heart here. You’ve written with so much self-awareness and care, and I want to say this clearly: you are not in the wrong for feeling what you feel. There’s nothing shameful about wanting depth, alignment, or a specific kind of emotional connection in your intimacy.

You’ve already done something incredibly loving by respecting your partner’s boundaries and honoring her experience. That’s a beautiful thing. It’s also clear how deeply you care for her. But love as you already know, doesn’t cancel out the pain and feel of loss at unmet needs.

And here’s the truth: submission and dominance isn’t just a kink for some of us. It’s a language. A way we connect. A way we feel seen. And when you’re used to intimacy built through dominance and surrender, it makes perfect sense that the absence of that can feel like something vital is missing… even if the love is still present.

You’re not broken for noticing that difference. You’re not selfish for needing more. And you’re certainly not “too much” for wanting a place where you can be vulnerable without fear, without judgment, without being teased for what makes you feel alive.

Feeling disconnected sexually doesn’t automatically mean you’re asexual but it does mean your intimacy needs aren’t being nourished in the way your body and spirit may be craving. And I'm sorry you're going through this and that you don’t feel you can submit in the ways that matter to you most.

And I can hear in your words the yearning to be seen in the ways that matter most to you. And you deserve that, not just in scenes, but in life.

You're not alone. You're not too much. And you’re not selfish for longing for a deeper kind of surrender.

You’re simply someone who’s longing to be held differently.

xo Miss Jade