#a secret third thing (under diagnosis)

[toasteaa]

Making a funkin,, blanket nest and letting the thoughts consume me

[spellscarred]

Self Dx are not real. Do not encourage this. Especially as a mental health professional you call yourself. Encourage people to go get a proper evaluation and diagnosis. Anyone can self Dx themselves with anything, it’s completely invalid to self dx and offensive to those who have been through the actual process of it.

Alright, as a mental health professional I completely disagree with you, for several reasons.

First of all, it's very classist of you to make this claim. Sincerely. There are plenty of people who can't get a professional diagnosis, because it costs a lot of money. It's great if you're in the position to get diagnosis or long-term therapy, but there's a lot of people who aren't financially capable of sustaining or affording this.

Second, professionals know near to nothing about autism in practice, and I was misdiagnosed for years, even after doing an "autism test" during my diagnostic evaluation, and I did CBT for a while before the psychologist concluded that it wasn't working, and then I finally got my autism diagnosis. After that, they dumped me because there was nothing more they could do for me aside from, "oh, I guess read some stuff about it?" In my professional life, this is a reoccurring theme, where I have to tell people what autism is and isn't. The DSM-V criteria is, while better than its previous iterations, incredibly flawed and stereotyped, and that's me being very generous — and this criteria is all most professionals know about autism.

Third, the only time an autism diagnosis will help you is for getting the accommodations you might need, such as additional help in school or disability welfare from the government. In all other instances it might actually harm you because we live in an incredibly ableist society that will punish you for not being productive to able-bodied or neurotypical standards. There's also the little fact that actual professionals won't give you a diagnosis, not because you might not have a neurodevelopmental "disorder" (see: autism or ADHD), but because the diagnosis in your situation will do you more harm than good! From this ask, I assume you don't even know that's a thing.

Fourth, please don't state your opinions as facts. You think it's invaliditing and offensive. I certainly don't. If viewing their experiences in an autistic light gets people to better balance and compassion towards themselves in their life, I'm all for it. Yes, even if it turns out, in the end, that it's not autism after all, but a secret third thing.

— Fun fact, back in ye olden days (70s and back), the autistic and psychotic communities were inextricably connected, because autistic kids weren't diagnosed as autistic, but as "childhood onset schizophrenic". To the professional mental health community, we were all considered schizophrenic, because of the lack of knowledge and understanding, and the big overlap between autistic symptoms and negative psychotic symptoms. Someone self-dxing (usually not in a whim either) as autistic might not be autistic, but they might be psychotic or another form of neurodivergent. I refuse to pull support for people who clearly need it just because they framed their experiences under a "wrong label". Psychology is fucking complex but people needing support really isn't.

Surprise surprise, it's so much more important to me that people get the help and support they need than the purity of labels, especially where something like autism is concerned. And I say this as a mental health professional professionally diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder for 13 years now. You know, since that is part of your validity criteria.

An autism diagnosis doesn't really do shit in practice. The community can help each other so much better than any mental health professional can, and I will help people, with everything I know and have learned and will continue to learn, with or without your approval.

[ironunderstands]

I made a bet with a couple of my friends that when I turn 18 I’m going to go to a doctor and try and get a diagnosis for autism because literally everyone close to me besides my parents (denial both my mother and my father have traits of it too 😭) think I have it. We’re each going to bet ~100, if I have it they earn 50 each if I don’t I earn 200. Or a secret third diagnosis. We shall see in 2 years.

Tbh the peace of mind from a confirmation (or lack of a one) means more than the actual diagnoses to me.

Either way I’m richer and I don’t have autism or I lost money but I can finally make the acoustic jokes without getting mobbed (which is deserved if you don’t have autism in my opinion as stereotypes are not fun 🤩).

I’m not gonna bother to convince my parents because once my dad believes something changing his mind is almost impossible (he’s usually right though so it’s not that frustrating). Annoyingly, my mom’s perception of autism seems to consist of Sheldon from big bang theory and people who aren’t that good at/don’t feel like it/ can’t mask their autistic traits. To be fair to her and my dad both, are doctors who work in intensive fields so they don’t have the time or energy to notice people who fly under the radar. I’d say I act a lot more like Donnie from the new TMNT with the crippling feeling of being constantly perceived by others. Also, I really don’t feel like making an entire PowerPoint presentation explaining to them more in depth what autism is or having this same frustrating and quite frankly embarrassing conversation again so it will happen on my own terms. The thing is even if I don’t end up having it I know I will still share a lot of traits with autistic people, and if I do it will help others understand me better which is nice . Sometimes I feel like the diagnoses that have to do with people’s mental state are more for the people in the patients lives than the patient themselves.

[morgansunflower]

Meddling Brothers & Pregnancy Test 1/2

Kon-El Kent X Batsis! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language.

Words:1265

Requested taglist @too-strong-to-lose

Arthur's notes! Third P. O. V!

Kon and Y/N try to hide their relationship but are unfortunately caught by her meddling brothers.

Alfred was tending to his daily routine of taking care of the Manor. He has full expectations other thing's will be added to such a beautiful day. He steps into the bathroom with gloves on his hands for cleaning. He opens the bottom cabinet and holds the trash can. The butler poured the contents into the larger trash bag. Something falls out of the trash bag. He picked it up feeling astonishment as he grabs it and nearly gasp.

"blimey" he mumbled with genuine happiness

A positive pregnancy test. Whomever is Alfred fully expects, Bruce will be in complete utter shock.

"OH SHIT there's tongue action! There's tongue!!" Dick frantically said under the night sky

"shut up they'll hear us!" Damian said elbowing Grayson

"Bruce is so gonna bust a blood vessel" Dick mumbled shocked his little sister could do something so.. Grown up.

"she will not be able to get out of this. I told you something was going on" Damian said pleased with himself.

"don't be mad but I'm afraid we have some unwanted visitors" Kon sighed as he told his fiancée. Well soon to be he still had to ask her father for permission.

"one second please.." Y/N requested

"go get 'em babe" he encourages kissing her

Y/N turns to dagger glare to Damian and Dick. Dick was panicking inside as she walked to them. Kon-El was half annoyed and half amused.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! She's going to kill me!!" Dick shouted, he was caught no running back now.

"tt never I have seen her that pissed off.. We'll were fucking dead" Damian sighed accepting his fate of no longer being the favorite brother.

"H-hi Y/N!!" Dick nervously said

"it was his idea he convinced me to come with him!" Damian said

"oh whatever!" Dick scoffed.

She opens her hand down to him "binoculars.. Now!"

Dick shamefully hands them to his little sister. She was absolutely pissed. She kicked Dick's head and then Damian's shoulder. She watches them stand to there feet with guilty faces. She continued to glare until they left. She turns back and walks to her boyfriend. They had been secretly dating for 3 years.. until now their secret was unfortunately revealed. She holds his face in her hands.

"please tell me were actually alone now" she pleaded.

"we are" he touches her hip his smile softening as his heart could barley handle the beautiful moment "because of that I can finally tell you, why you're sick"

"how'd you?.. Oh right, Kryptonian. Well what's my diagnosis Mr Kent"

Kon smiles and kisses her, he was so happy. He lifts her shirt halfway up touching her bare abdomen. He looked into her eyes, hearing that sweet little heartbeat. She then realized it was true, it wasn't a false positive. She deepens the kiss and hugs his neck. A baby.

"I heard the heartbeat last night and I couldn't wait to tell you"

After Alfred's morning duties he prepare to leave for the grocery store. He open his notes on his phone and reviews the grocery list. Damian requires food for his many animals. Tim desires yet again coffee strong brewed as well as those awful high-caffeine "monster" beverages. Jason is requesting cookies again.. Richard desires well everything. Cassandra requested Chinese noodles. Stephanie begged anything sweet please! Barbara requested anything easily portable. Bruce did not aquire Alfred anything already having full faith in his long trusted butler. Y/N requested unsalted crackers, and non-alcoholic sparkling juice with some chocolate. Then he realized. How was he was he so blind? She's been absent from patrol and missions. Though whom is the father? After returning from his outing. He prepared a platter for Y/N, with each thing she requested. Alfred was overwhelmed with joy. He takes the platter to her room. He gently knock on her door. No response came. Inside the room Y/N was laying in her bed ill from her morning sickness. Her body was sore in the worst places. She just wanted Kon to hold her. Unfortunately he was currently on patrol with his family.

"Ms Y/N, are you alright dear?" he softly asked through the door.

She was too tired to speak words "...mmmm...mmm" she replied weakly.

Alfred's heart went out to her. She must be exhausted.

"I assume you are suffering from your morning sickness. May I offer you the food and beverage you requested?"

"sure" she forces out with her voice still tired.

Alfred opens the door to see his granddaughter. She was now sitting upwards from having been laying down, with the blanket laid on her waist. Alfred placed the platter on her nightstand. He watched his granddaughter enjoy her snack along with her beverage. He can't help but be thrilled over the news.

"how far along are you?" Alfred asked calm but in truth he is quite anxious.

"9 weeks.. It's wrong of me to let you find out the way you did. I guess I'm still in shock.. And I am having trouble even saying it"

"who is the father?" Alfred asked curiously

"Kon-El.. Kent" she smiled, she genuinely loved him.

"our lives with the Kent family are continuing to intertwine" Alfred softly laughed. Bruce is going to panic.

"yeah, it's been really hard seeing everyone in my family and the Kent's... without just saying" she takes a deep breath nervously "those two words"

"try to say it.. Perhaps it would help you?" Alfred encouraged.

".. I'm pregnant" she smiled as if it truly dawned on her that she will have a baby. She began to cry. Alfred softly smiled in sympathy "sorry"

"no apologies needed dear.." then he realized, his girlfriend. "does Ms Leslie know?"

"uhh she has known since I went to my first doctors appointment... She really wanted to tell you, I made her promise to keep it between Dr and patient"

"I understand.. It does however explain why she has been avoiding me"

"want to keep me company. I could use some emotional support right now" she, pleaded, she knew he probably couldn't being such a busy man.

"of course" Alfred said delighted.

He sits on the chair Y/N takes a deep breath. This last time he sat in that chair she was only 4 years old as he rocked her to sleep.

"Kon said he wants to marry me"

His little girl is having a baby and she's getting married.. He feels old. Grateful but old.

"congratulations"

"thank you.. Do you.. Do you think Bruce will be mad at me? I have to leave for Argo before the baby is big enough to kick"

"not in the slightest. Above all he wishes for your safety and your happiness.. As I do.. And as for Argo I know you shall be dearly missed"

That week Kon asked Tim if he didn't mind him crashing at the Manor. So instead of going into a guest room. He sneaks into Y/N's room. He smiled sympathetically and crawls into the bed with her. She hugs his neck he wraps his strong arm's around her.

"bags packed?" he whispered

She nodded and then began to cry. She was terrified of telling her family. He softly smiled kissing her in random places.

"I know Hon but as long as you got me you'll be fine"

She snickered "so high and mighty"

"well I happen to think that of you. You're better than flying through the sky. In fact you're absolutely freakin amazing. So perfect. Just think of Argo as a pre-honeymoon"

"that mean I'm getting spoiled?"

"immensely Hon, so immensely"

[rackartyg]

my psych sent in a referral to the psychiatry services back in december and neither of us really thought it would go anywhere, but i was just checking my medical records just for a lark, because they're online and i've taken a blood test and the results were almost certainly not in but i might as well, right?

and there were two notes from the psychiatric unit at the hospital, one from when they first got the referral and then one from a couple of weeks ago, and the more recent one had two interesting things on it -- under 'issue' it said 'PTSD, on sick leave, depression' and then under 'action' it said 'waiting list for [four letter acronym i haven't seen before]'

the 'issue' field must be a summation of what my psych wrote in the referral and what they'd gotten out of it over at the psych unit, and the latter two entries are uninteresting, but the first one? PTSD? no one told me that. who gave me a secret PTSD diagnosis?? my psych or the hospital doctors who have never met me??? like. i am not surprised. i think it's my psych because i know she suspected it and lowkey evaluated me but i thought i like. failed to fully meet the criteria, as per usual. she has certainly never said it. though i guess she doesn't have the authority to hand out heavy diagnoses like that.

also the second one. firstly, would've loved for someone to tell me i was put on some waiting list. because if i hadn't just happened to take a look at my records, i almost certainly would not have answered when someone called me from a hidden or unknown number in a year/two years/however long the waiting list is.

secondly, i have no idea what i've been put on the waiting list for. the first two letters of the acronym, i can suss out -- they must mean "adult psychiatry". the third might be either "east" or "outpatient" (start with the same letter in swedish) so then the last one should indicate some sort of place name? but i can't for the life of me figure out what. though i suppose all outpatient offices might not be on google

anyway SDfhsdöklfhbskdölfjsadkfs ?=???????SDFSDFSDF???????

[mayuris-posts]

Congratulations as, you have crossed the 1st milestone, rather a last step of the IVF Cycle is the healthy eggs which are ready to be fused or fertilized with the most fortunate & competent chosen sperm, in the laboratory. This place under the able guidance of Embryologists & infrastructure in place is geared up to see the most beautiful event of creating an embryo. Let’s understand first, a few terms often used, that is, zygotes & embryos. The word Zygote is derived from the Greek word ‘zygotes’ which means yoked. Zygotes are nothing but fertilized eggs. The word Embryo is derived from the Latin word, embryum, which means, the thing that grows. The multiplication of the zygote results in the formation of the embryo. Zygotes are single-cell structures while embryos are multicellular. In natural processes, when the embryo is formed within the body, so the body is well adjusted to accept the zygote, and offer food, nutrition &shelter, so embryos are formed & get implanted in the womb. This seemingly simple process is high precision driven under laboratory conditions. In the laboratory, right from air flowing in, Petri plates along with media where the embryo will be formed & observed for its development. This entire process needs to be monitored while creating exact conditions as it for the human body. 24-30 hrs, this  Between 24 and 30 hours after fertilization, (Day 1) the embryo gets divided into 2 cells. By Day 2 the embryo is 4 cells and by the third day, the embryo is a 6-8 celled structure. Until this point, all the cells are identical and so, any single cell can be removed with minimal risk to the embryo, and if the need arises, can be screened for genetic diseases in a process known as pre-implantation genetic screening/diagnosis (PGS or PGD).

Before this stage, the development of an embryo is driven by maternal genes from oocytes. Around 8 cell embryo, now, the development is governed by genes of the embryo itself. This is still the 3rd day. On the 4th day, the embryo cells are now fused, within 16-32 cell structures. This structure is now called a morula, which is fast developing stage. On day 5 of the embryo, the cells are specialized and carry out necessary functioning. The outer surface of the morula is the placenta in making & fluid secretions turning into the amniotic fluid. An embryo has a unique requirement for growth & survival. As fertilisation happens in fallopian tubes, where there is less oxygen & glucose as compared to the endometrial cavity. As the entire process is happening in the laboratory on the Petri plates, earlier simple media often failed to provide optimal growth so, the embryo could not survive into the next stage. A lot of research is been done in culture media, so the embryo develops healthily and can survive implantation. Now, the real challenge of additional 48 hrs (day 3 to 5), while, not-so-competent embryos will not survive this stage & leaving only the best to be selected for transfer. There are a few instances, where some women will not have any embryo left for transfer despite appearing good on day 3. It is very easy to say, such embryos which did not survive, eventually could not achieve pregnancy, even though transferred on day 3. Such embryos are chromosomally abnormal. Competent embryologists study pronuclear morphology, dividing speed of cells & their structure on day 3 & can certainly understand, which embryos are likely to survive until day 5. The real challenge is to achieve singleton pregnancy by competent embryo & avoid multiple pregnancies. The more advanced embryo grading and rate of the development stage, the better the chances of implantation in the uterine lining.

What to note on Embryo Transfer Day 1. on the day of ET, be calm, stress-free It’s a relatively simple & painless procedure of 3o min. 2. Ultrasound-guided Embryo Transfer ensure the best implantation of the embryos. 3. The day of ET requires no Anesthesia or sedation. 4. You can have a light delight meal before your Embryo transfer. 5. Transfer is done with a full bladder, so drink plenty of water. 6. Avoid makeup or perfume as embryos are sensitive to such objects. 7. After ET, please empty your bladder and rest for 15-20 mins. 8. Avoid hot baths, swimming or any intense activity for a minimum of 2 weeks. 9. Avoid having sex, long or bumpy trips right after embryo transfer. Because the embryo takes first 72 hours to implant itself.

We at pearl women’s hosp & Yash IVF, recommend day 5embryo transfer to almost all of the patients with a few exceptions if any. 1. Pearl women’s hosp &Yash IVF, have excellent IVF labs upgraded with the latest guidelines 2. In-house embryologist and team are the key assets for 24*7 services 3. Latest infrastructure & upgradation ensure embryo development 4. We offer maximum singleton healthy pregnancy to most of our happy couples 5. Day 5 Embryo transfer many centres do, we ensure happy pregnancy. 6. Committed to excellence in practice & compassion for all.

[silver-strands]

Silver & Golden | Chapter 1

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger

Genre: Angst, Smut, Post-War

Word count: 3373

Warnings: Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Eventual Explicit Smut, Forced Marriage, Dysfunctional Relationships, Possessive Draco Malfoy

Summary: Hermione Granger has Draco Malfoy figured out. She doesn't believe his carefully created façade of redemption and atonement that has the rest of the Wizarding society bewitched. After one reckless night ends up in her becoming the new Mrs. Malfoy, she's forced to reconsider everything she thought she knew about the enigmatic man who guards his secrets like a dragon guards its treasure.

Weekly Updates. 

When it rains, it pours.

Hermione should have been aware that things almost always never go the way she plans them to, what with all she’d been through in her teenage years. She’d finally started to believe that the post-war life she had carved out for herself might be different. A nice boyfriend, even nicer friends and a job at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures straight out of Hogwarts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years now. And it had. Her long-time boyfriend and life-long friend had broken up with her in a spectacularly humiliating and public manner. Ron’s tongue down Astoria Greengrass’s throat at a ministry gala last weekend celebrating the expansion of the DRCMC - Hermione’s department! - had been plastered over the gossip pages of all newspapers and society magazines. She’d thought nothing could be worse than enduring the pitying glances and whispered words wherever she went. Silly her, she thought public humiliation, her boyfriend’s betrayal and everyone being privy to her carefully constructed life imploding in her face would be all she would have to go through.  

Of course not.

Hermione glared at two matronly witches whispering behind their hands as they surreptitiously eyed her. When they noticed her scowl they scampered down the corridor, their old-fashioned robes swishing behind them. It had been close to two months and it seemed like Britain’s wizarding society was still not over the entertainment Hermione’s situation provided them.

She wondered what they would think if they knew what she had learned from Healer Abbott five minutes ago while expecting nothing more than a diagnosis of the common stomach bug. If they could only read the rolled up scroll she was gripping so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

This was different than the other hundred problems currently plaguing her. This was personal. Something that all the others witches and wizards, healers and staff currently milling about all around her in the lobby of St Mungo’s second floor would not have dared to imagine could happen to Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age, one-third of the Golden Trio, about to become head of Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, essentially the most driven and ambitious witch in all of Britain.

No, nobody would imagine that she was capable of jeopardising her entire career and future goals in such a clichéd manner, all by herself.

Wait, that wasn’t true. She scowled as memories of gossamer soft hair beneath her fingers, an icy grey gaze trained on her lips and a chiseled pale torso languidly moving above her assaulted her mind, crumbling her resolve to not think about a certain platinum blond who had tipped Hermione’s world on its axis that fateful night.

In more ways than one, she thought as blood rushed to her cheeks.

Not wanting to spend one minute more in the place which had delivered the news of her doom, she steadily moved towards the fire-places lined for floo-travel from St. Mungo’s, dreading going back to her corner office at the Ministry.

How was she supposed to meet the eyes of all her colleagues and friends knowing what she knew? How was she supposed to carry on like nothing had changed when her whole life had?

Green flames died down behind her as she stepped into the Ministry’s main atrium, keeping her head down and hoping no one would stop her. Quickly snagging a relatively empty lift, she almost breathed a sigh of relief as she arrived at her level without incident.

She just needed time to herself. Time to regroup and compartmentalise her thoughts, come up with the best solution to this new problem which eclipsed everything that had transpired with Ron a few months back.

With renewed resolve she stepped out of the lift and looked up.

Her heart seized in her chest, missing a very telling beat at the sight of the tall, platinum blond wizard silently nodding at whatever her mentor and DRCMC head Helena Hornby was enthusiastically gesticulating about.

His face was blank and impassive and if she didn’t know better she’d think he wasn’t paying a lick of attention to whatever Hornby was so excited about. But she knew better.

Nothing slipped his notice. He was the bane of the senior members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. She’d seen him throw their own words - said during tipsy socialising at various Ministry events - back at their faces with a barely suppressed air of haughtiness at various meetings and conferences where he lobbied for the Malfoy Estate and Holdings. He was a clever conversationalist. If he was listening to someone speak with a vacant expression, he was either cataloguing every word to memory or they were boring him to death. There was really no way to tell.

Hermione almost stumbled as she hurriedly hid behind a potted Flutterby Bush beside the lifts. Fortunately, it wasn’t in bloom, she didn’t need her newly sensitive nose assaulted with heady scents, no matter how pleasant.

She held her breath as Malfoy’s head briefly turned in her general direction as the plant shook and quivered at Hermione’s close proximity. Hornby clutched his forearm to get his attention back.

Malfoy stiffened and deftly shook off the tall woman’s hand with pursed lips. Hermione almost sniggered as he tried to suppress his annoyance. She would have rolled her eyes, but she had become entirely too familiar with the peacock dancing and preening many witches (and some wizards) attempted in Malfoy’s presence, trying to get his attention or start awkward conversation that always led to them asking him out and him turning them down.

Her mouth twisted in a grimace. Her Department head, who was happily married, was no exception to the charm of the deceptively pleasant and attractive persona her school bully now went about wearing. After the war, he had turned his public image around 180 degrees and many contributed it to his parents looming influence and legacy no longer shadowing him. Lucius Malfoy was serving life in Azkaban and Narcissa Malfoy had decided to shift to the Malfoy estate in France to get away from the shunning glances and vitriolic words of the rest of the Wizarding society.

Everyone had thought that the Malfoy heir would follow after his mother, but he hadn’t. He had defied everyone’s expectations with his actions.

Thoughts of Malfoy’s miraculous redemption fled her mind as she noticed a branch of the Flutterby nearing her stealthily. She shuffled back, inwardly cursing whoever thought putting a pot of the most unsuitable plant in the Ministry’s cold interiors would be a good idea.

Fortunately, it looked like Malfoy had finally had enough of whatever Hornby was talking about as he started to turn towards the row of lifts, probably making some excuse to leave. Hermione couldn’t hear much from her crouched position.

Let it be said that Hermione was afraid of no-one, she just did not want to deal with what she had learned that morning without forming a plan of action first.

She felt a slight tickle under her nose and she hastily slapped at the branch which had sneaked under face, but not before her nose twitched and a loud sneeze resounded throughout the lobby. She froze, her hands snapping up to cover her mouth.

She looked up, her eyes widening

Malfoy was watching her with bemusement, his head tilted to the side. “What are you doing Granger?”

Hermione scrambled to stand up with as much dignity she could muster after getting caught hiding behind a plant. She brushed off her sensible black skirt, her nose rising in the air as if nothing out of ordinary had happened.

She sniffed. “I was just checking if the Flutterby was in bloom.”  

“Right," drawled Malfoy, eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her stiffly walk towards Hornby. Her department head gave her a confused look.

“You were eavesdropping. Clearly something you’re not good at.” His tone turned mocking. “Who would’ve thought.”

Hermione whirled around to glare at him. “I wasn’t—“

Her words died in her throat. Malfoy was eyeing the scroll of parchment in her right hand which she hadn’t even realised she was crumpling under her tight grip.

The scroll bound by a lime green ribbon signature of all paperwork from St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.  

Hermione reflexively moved both her hands behind her back, her left hand clutching her right wrist in her best appropriation of a casual stance.

He glanced up impassively, giving her a terse nod before striding towards an open lift, not waiting to hear whatever explanation she might have come up with for eavesdropping on him and Hornby.

“What was that all about?” Hornby muttered, frowning at Hermione.

Her mentor was a tall woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair and kind brown eyes. Hermione liked her. Most of the time.

She shrugged, changing the subject smoothly. “What were you and Malfoy discussing? Anything important that I need to know about?”

Hornby smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I was just reminding him about the meeting scheduled before lunch today. His presence at a HEPA meeting is going to send a strong message to all the other departments. They’re gonna take our draft legislation seriously or risk getting on Malfoy’s bad side.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched as Hornby talked about her most ambitious project as some sort of joke which could only be legitimised through a rich lobbyist’s sponsorship. House Elves (Protection and Advocacy) Bill  or HEPA for short was the defining idea of Hermione’s short career, conceived when she was just a school girl shaking donation boxes under other students’ noses for S.P.E.W. After five years working at the ministry, her idea for Elfish reform was finally getting somewhere.

“Why do we need his sponsorship again?” she asked curtly. “It’s not like the bill is envisaging House Elf freedom. It’s simply outlawing Elf abuse and allowing them a chance to be represented by the ministry in legal disputes.”

Hornby gave her that patient look which always gave Hermione the impression that even though her mentor clearly admired her intellect, she thought Hermione was still a little wet behind the ears.

Usually Hermione didn’t mind it, always eager to learn more about the psyche of the upper echelons of the Wizarding society, but in this context, where her school nemesis was involved, it rankled.

“We are essentially asking for house elves to be categorised as legal entities capable of taking their masters to the Wizengamot through a Ministry representative in extreme cases. That is bound to cause an uproar, Miss Granger.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “Never mind the fact that we have had to limit this option to a few exceptional situations and House Elves are not likely to come forward and demand justice anyway, most witches and wizards will not see eye to eye with the DRCMC on this.”

Hermione sighed, reminded of the uphill battle in front of her. She had gotten a bit distracted with the recent developments in her personal life. Her desk was piling up with statistical reports and legal research she had to review and proposals she had to draft for the exact purpose of making witches and wizards see eye to eye with them on this bill.

Hornby continued. “Wealth matters, Miss Granger. No matter how much we want the system to work purely on the basis of good morals and righteousness, if people don’t see their own advantage in these kind of things, they don’t care much for it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And that’s where Malfoy comes in.”

They were familiar enough with each other that Hornby didn’t mind Hermione’s cheek. “He has the galleons.” She shrugged, folding her arms. “And the connections.”

Hermione scowled. “That itself is a travesty.” She shuffled her medical report from one hand to the other. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you at the meeting before lunch.”

With a nod of farewell, Hermione entered the archway that led to her department. The main hall contained the small cubicles for entry level workers and beyond that a series of equally sized boxed walls comprised the individual offices.

Hermione dodged interdepartmental memos as she made her way to the one north-east corner of the building. She loved her office. She only had one office neighbour directly to her left. An aged man who worked for the Office of Misinformation. She’d learned that he was long past his retirement age but still refused to actually retire. Hermione appreciated his hard work, as well as his penchant for being quiet and un-obtrusive.

As soon as Hermione entered she set about making some tea to calm her stomach. Waving her wand to start on boiling some water in the kettle kept on the side table, she took out her favourite green tea and a chipped mug Ginny had gifted her for Christmas two years ago which she only ever took out of its hiding place in the drawer when she was alone. The mug was a rather unfortunate consequence of Ginny’s lewd sense of humour and her awareness of Hermione’s aversion to Quidditch.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the looping picture of a broomstick flying on the porcelain surface before the spell “Reducio!” flashes in bold black letters and the broomstick shrinks, flying straight beneath the long skirts of an unsuspecting witch who widens her eyes.

If anyone other than Ginny had given it to Hermione, she would have clobbered them over the head with it.

Tea in hand she sat down behind her desk with a sigh, going over the  disastrous morning in her head like a movie reel.

Waking up tired and annoyed after a day of meetings and draft revisions of HEPA while avoiding inquisitive glances and words in the cafeteria and the corridors, finding out that Witch Weekly had published another piece about her and Ron in their “Trouble in Paradise” section of their society pages. Which also happened to have a picture of Draco Malfoy leaving an Opera House in Paris with a long legged blonde on his arm.

That had been enough to put Hermione in a foul mood but then her stomach had decided to act up again for the fifth time that week and because her own remedies had failed her she’d finally scheduled an appointment at St Mungo’s.

Then everything had crashed and burned around her.

Hermione burned holes in the crumpled parchment on her desk with her eyes.

She was pregnant. And she knew for a fact that it wasn’t Ron’s child, not that would have been any consolation. Her relationship with her school friend was also currently on the way down the drain if she didn’t do anything about it soon.

Her priorities had shifted though, and as her mind so helpfully supplied the image of Malfoy’s cold eyes just a few minutes ago, she began to comprehend the daunting task ahead of her.

That night had meant nothing, just a way to get back at Ron for kissing the younger Greengrass girl in front of half the British wizarding society. Malfoy had been the only one who had followed her after she left the ballroom with deadened eyes and her cheeks on fire, Harry had pulled Ron away to no doubt give him a piece of his mind and Ginny hadn’t been in attendance that night.

Afterwards she had wondered if Malfoy had only followed her because he didn’t trust her wandering by herself in his manor. He hadn’t been sympathetic or pitying when he found her in an empty study, just asked her if she’d like something stronger than the glass of champagne she’d been clutching in her hand. She’d agreed and as they shared a bottle of the finest firewhiskey in front of the fireplace in silence, something reckless took over her. She’d reached across the couch and grabbed his shirt to pull his mouth down to hers.

Later she’d convince herself that it had been the firewhiskey, but she knew better, she’d been entirely too sober when she kissed him. Too sober to blame it on anything else but her need to feel those full lips on hers, to run her fingers through silver strands that created a halo around his head in the moonlight filtering in from the tall window, and to finally satisfy a forbidden curiosity that she’d kept close to her heart since fourth year at Hogwarts.

A curiosity that had strayed too far from innocent teenage musings over the years.

But the worst part was, even now that she was facing the consequences of acting on her forbidden desires, she knew that that one night had done nothing to douse the fire of the depraved thoughts that came to her deep in the night, when she was all alone.

No, that one night had only served to add fuel to the flame.

Putting her mug down with a thunk on the desk, she reached up to massage her temples as she felt the familiar pressure of a stress headache beginning to form.

When she had rejected Ron’s marriage proposal at their favourite restaurant close to three months ago, she hadn’t known that one refusal would snowball into events that would forever change her life. She berated herself for telling him no in front of the whole restaurant, she should have accepted and then gently let him down in private. Then Ron wouldn’t have felt vindictive enough to return the favour and she wouldn’t have ended up in Draco Malfoy’s arms of all people.

Then she wouldn’t be carrying the baby of her school bully.

She didn’t know where it had all gone wrong. She vaguely remembered casting a contraceptive charm after they’d hurriedly divested their clothes just enough to allow him to thrust into her and erase all thoughts of precautions from her mind. Maybe she hadn’t been precise enough. Contraceptive charms weren’t always foolproof anyway.

She’d been uncharacteristically careless and now she was paying the price.

A thought popped into her head, replacing despair with anger.

She wasn’t the only person responsible for this, Malfoy could also have been more careful that night.

He could have refused her advances.

For all that he went about displaying his superiority and for all his vows in school that she was filthy, he hadn’t objected once to sex with her. Where was all his pure-blood nonsense when it was needed. Short term embarrassment at his rejection would have been better than this.

Apart from her, Harry and Ron, everyone else believed that he had changed for the better. His countless charity drives, reparation efforts and ministry donations, as well as his tendency to be behind all the post-war reconstruction efforts as a sponsor aided that public perception. He made frequent appearances at society events and funnelled galleons where they were required in the Ministry to clear the negative reputation his father had acquired for the Malfoy name.  

She didn’t buy that he had genuinely changed. Even though she had testified for him, believing that he didn’t deserve an Azkaban sentence was different from believing that he would shed his blood supremacist prejudices that easily.

Malfoys gravitated towards power, they didn’t rest until they got what they wanted. She wouldn’t put it past him to adopt a pleasant, progressive veneer to do exactly that.

Hermione got up as her stomach twisted for the second time that day. She didn’t have any of the nausea calming potions listed in the parchment atop her desk so she settled for taking deep breaths till the sensation passed.

No matter what she thought about Malfoy, she needed to tell him. Although her Gryffindor morals and passionate self-righteousness had evened out as she’d aged, she still had some tenets she stuck by. The thought of keeping the information that she was pregnant with his child from Malfoy didn’t sit right with her. No matter what she decided in the end, as the father he deserved to know about it.

As she took another deep breath her resolve hardened. She would tell him. Today. After the meeting. She would ask him to lunch and she would tell him.

[max-xy]

MBAV script

Me + face claim:

Name: Max Marie Becerra

Species: Human but is the reincarnation of a witch that was killed in the 1600s. Also a “healer”

Aesthetic: kidcore, clowncore, grunge fairycore, y2k, 80’s, etc..

Age: 15 (May 1st, 1995)

Gender: non-binary (he/they/it/she/void/moth)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair: green

Eyes: Hazel

Height: 5’2

Teeth: straight, sharp canines

Diagnosis: ADHD, depression, and GAD(again I have these diagnosis irl)

Personality:

•Same as CR

•Goofy

•Compassionate

•Great at comforting others

•Funny

•Lovable

•sarcastic but doesn’t understand sarcasm

•Adorable

•Sassy

•Kinda oblivious

•Awkward in a cute way

•Easily flustered

•Sometimes a flirt

•Easy to get along with

•Able to stand up for others but not myself

•Tends to put my problems aside for others

•No one really knows about my problems unless they pry it out of me

•Strong Empath

•Hates crying in front of others(it makes me feel weak)

•Not quick to anger

•Will start singing randomly

•Stims a lot

•Tics

•hums a lot

•Able to react fast and is agile

•Can fight and improvise very easily

•Very strong (physically) even though I don’t look like it

•I know how to use a wide variety of weapons

•I can get information out of people easily

•I can be very stealthy when I want too

•Great at picking up others conscious and subconscious behaviors

•I pick up things easily

•Most people like me even if they just met me

•Knows a lot about mythology, philosophy, psychology, sociology, and ethics.

School: good grades, school comes easy to me, and staff likes me

Friends:

Ethan- met in 1st grade when a bully pushed him off the swing and I went to help him. Didn’t like me much because “I could defend myself”. Warmed up to me after I befriended Rory and Benny. He/him, unlabeled and definitely not straight. Acts like the tired friend but is as much to blame for the dumbassery and chaos.

Benny- Met in 1st. Non-binary, He/they, disaster bisexual. Doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t a dumbass at this point. I confide in him the most.

Rory- Met in 1st. Non-binary, they/he/she/vam/vamp/vamps/vampself, and Panromantic/asexual disaster. If left alone together chaos will strike. Actually some what good at keeping a secret but don’t trust them with everything. Good with pep talks and advice.

Sarah- met in a Dusk fan club meeting in 8th grade. Kinda became friends and exchanged numbers. We later became friends through Ethan. Mom friend. Dating Erica. She/her Bisexual

Erica- met at the same meeting. Exchanged numbers. She tolerates me more than Benny, Ethan, or Rory. Pretends like she doesn’t. Dating Sarah. She/they, trans, lesbian. Will fight someone for you.

Jane- acts as my little sister. She/her, straight?.

All- We do movie nights at least once a month at Ethans house. Erica complains most of the time saying that Sarah dragged her along but she secretly likes going. We switch off on who picks the movie. Erica always picks a Dusk film. Tons of snacks for everyone. We let Jane stay up with us during movie nights.

Love life-

Ethan & Benny- we all have crushes on each other but scared to admit it because we don’t wanna mess up our friendship.

Oh yeah no one is Neurotypical(did I spell that right?)

Family:

Older sister(left)- Bones Becerra, she/they/xe, 19 years old, trans, lesbian. Lives at home while attending a public college for art studies, history, and literature. Small group of friends. Personality: chill, ADHD, doesn’t do good under pressure, tries to understand your situation, sleeps for 4 hours everyday, loves 70s and 80s movies, That 70’s Show and Sailor Moon are comfort shows, bites her lips a lot, bad with comforting people, that drunk girl that will help you in the bathroom and told your hair back while you puke, shows love by doing things for you or picking on you, and loves playing cards.

younger brother (right)- William Becerra, he/him, 10 years old, questioning. Personality: ADHD, loves video games, very hyperactive, has many fursonas, dresses up as animals, wears makeup and stickers, has vitiligo, has a Dino mask, loves dresses and skirts, raised on Disney, FNAF, Good Mythical Morning, and Discord, extroverted, big friend group but 2 close friends, good at public speaking, hates pizza, has a pet hamster and a lizard. Stims a lot.

Mother(left)- Elizabeth Becerra, she/her, 39 years old, lesbian. Married at 19 years old to high school sweetheart, first child(age 20, in 1991) second child(age 24, in 1995) third child(age 29, in 2000). Later figured out she was lesbian so filed for divorce and got full custody of all children. Has been dating Jessica for two years. Personality: Full on Disney adult, plans two or three trips to Disneyland a year, makes you comfort food when your sick, took parenting courses, always there to listen or offer support, you have friends? Great she adopted them, works as a children therapist, lets you take mental health days, helps with projects, loves watching crime documentaries and shows, will rant about her childhood, ADHD, will tell you how dispose of a body and hide evidence, believes in the supernatural, does tarot readings, and practices witch craft.

Moms girlfriend(right)- Jessica Miller, they/she, 37, non-binary, lesbian. They have no biological children but has adopted Lizzie’s children as their own. Runs their own online business were they sell their art, deco adult pacifiers, and old things they find while thrifting or dumpster diving. They have a studio set up in the house. Personality: they loves cooking, ASD, doing art, they don’t exactly know how to respond to emotions, their special interest is art and collecting stuffed animals, she is an age regressor, will rant about their favorite show or what new piece they’re working on, projects onto fictional characters(same), watches anime and cartoons, and recently got into FNAF because of William. Has a pet cat named Luz after Luz from The Owl House.

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 81

Dervish (Dervish)

Dervish is a word that means poor, destitute one. Even though it is used for the poor and helpless in worldly terms, in Sufi terminology it is used for those who are aware of their poverty and helplessness before God. Although poverty and helplessness in worldly terms are associated with beggary, travelers to God are not poor and helpless in that they do not ask anyone for anything. Heroes of truth, who have dedicated themselves to God, are content with what He has given them and are indifferent to all other things. Even in hunger and thirst they unburden themselves to God, without revealing their need to others. A dervish is also regarded as being the threshold to a door. This does not mean that dervishes humiliate themselves before people; rather, it means that they are humble and in their awareness of their nothingness before God attribute to Him whatever they may possess that is worthy of appreciation. They are also humble among people because of the Creator and always aware that they are a precious work of God’s art with all the Divine gems inherent in their nature.

Sometimes perfect people are mentioned as being the dervishes of a certain guide. This is because it is important to stress the place of a dervish, both in the sight of God and of people. Besides, sometimes simple, humble, content, and lenient people are called dervishes, while there are some great, sagacious persons with a deep knowledge of God who are known as “a poor one with the heart of sultan,” in that they are magnanimous even though poor.

The leading scholars of Sufism describe a true dervish as one who is abstinent, pious, righteous, patient, loving, tolerant, and steadfast, severing relations with all else save God from the heart, and devoted to His service with the intention and effort of reaching Him.

A dervish takes his or her first step by holding back from sins and by fulfilling obligatory and supererogatory religious duties. The second step is to be loving and tolerant toward everyone, to see the universe as a cradle of brotherhood/sisterhood, and to try to represent the nature and morals of Muhammad, and the truth of his being Ahmad, upon him be peace and blessings. The third step is to reach the horizon of sincerity and perfect goodness and to develop the theoretical knowledge and belief based on imitation into experience and verified truths.

At the first stage, dervishes are at the beginning of piety, and demonstrate that they are ready to understand the Qur’an and to start the journey to meet with the Almighty. They are awarded in proportion to their sincerity and purity of intention and advance toward piety and the summits of being pleased with God and finally into the Gardens of Paradise.

God Almighty says: The great among you are those who are pious. The last abode of the pious will be Paradise and their drink will be kawthar.[1]

In the second stage, they build relations with all existence, living or non-living, (without, however, assigning their heart to any other than the Almighty) and appreciate each according to its position. They love and embrace everything, repel hostilities with love, and evil with good. Thinking that the road that they are to follow is the road of not showing resentment, but rather that of patience and tolerance, they run toward the rank of being pleased with God, and whisper like Yunus:

You should be voiceless to one who curses, and handless to one who beats; A dervish should have no heart to resent, so you cannot be a dervish.

In the third stage, dervishes are persons of peace and spiritual vision, having entered the way of seeing, feeling, and knowing only Him, and being faithful friends of Him. It makes no difference to them whether good comes from friends or evil from enemies. This is even more so if they have heard the voice of the Friend, then they will no longer feel breaths other than His, and will be freed from interest in and worries about any other than Him, acquiring a second nature that is determined by “secret.” They know what they really should know and are freed from bearing a burden of unnecessary information.

Everyone can enter the way of being a dervish. No one who has taken a step on this way is denied. However, entering such a way has some requirements which one who is ready to take the first step on this way is expected to fulfill. Tokadizade Sekip[2] states that the door to being a dervish is open for everybody, but warns that this is the way of offering the soul to the Beloved and therefore requires sincerity and perfect goodness:

The door to the Truth is open to a wakeful person, But those who know how to sacrifice their souls can reach God. I have seen many who have come to this dervish convent, Willing and ready to sacrifice themselves on the way of truth.

The Prophet Abraham is an excellent example to remind one that reaching God is possible by sacrificing one’s soul in His way. He breasted the fire of Nimrod[3] in this way and, leaving his home and native land, set up his home in the desert. In utter submission to God, he took his wife and son and left them in a desolate valley. He offered the “fruit of his heart”-his son who had been bestowed on him in return for many years of desiring a son-to the Truth, as a sacrifice.[4] In short, he showed such resolution, power of will, and determination at every step, that except for the pride of humankind, he has no equal in human history. It is as if Sayyid Nigari[5] uttered the following couplet about him:

Does one who seeks the Beloved struggle for his own life? And can another who seeks his own life be in quest of the Beloved?

So, being a dervish means aspiring to be a hero of meeting with the Beloved, which signifies devoting one’s life to acquiring God’s good pleasure and approval in the consciousness of the meaning and purpose of the religious commandments. It has also been described as being in quest of the Truth under the guidance of love and zeal and by dominating one’s voice, heart, and carnal soul. This description is also significant. Riza Tevfik, a late Turkish poet and philosopher, presenting the characteristics of being a dervish, enlightens this point as follows:

Being a dervish means dominating one’s essence; One who is a captive of his ego is not a dervish. It is adopting love as a guide and finding God; It is not sweets, an axe, a staff, a needle or a skewer.

Do not sit absentminded in the name of devotion; Do not shout, nor dance violently, nor beat your breast! Nor foam by crying “O He, O All-Living!” Mentioning God is not a part of digestion.

Learn the secret about God from your heart; It is the heart which sees the Beloved through love. What causes a wakeful one with knowledge of God to feel that pleasure, Is not henbane, nor wine, nor opium, nor anything else.

Do not expect wonder from the stone of Najaf,[6] Nor separate from human beings, your brethren. You cannot see the Truth from graves or tombs; A true man of God is a sultan, not a hermit.

Everywhere are heaps of crude souls, What is your relation with them? Take refuge in your heart that tends to seclusion! The world is not as spacious as the heart.

In the beginning, a dervish is a student who studies theoretical knowledge; his or her practicing what is learned is representation; then, feeling and experiencing more deeply what is known and practiced-by each according to his or her capacity-is certainty. The first stage can also be regarded as theoretical Shari’a, the second as practical Shari’a, and the third as Shari’a experienced in truth. A traveler is a dervish during the whole of the journeying, through all of its stations, from the beginning to the end.

Some exacting scholars of Sufism regard being a dervish as an essential condition on the way to meet with God. According to them, being a dervish has the same meaning and importance for the cleansing of the carnal self, the refinement of heart, and the purification of spirit and its acquiring transcendence as treatment, diet and abstention from harmful habits, food and drink do for health. As a doctor’s advice is essential for the cure of diseases, spiritual diseases also require the advice and direction of a spiritual guide. The character of an individual is important in the diagnosis and treatment of bodily diseases, which is why modern medicine advises that every patient requires individual attention. This is also true for spiritual diseases and treatment. Each disease may require a treatment which is different, at least, in its details.

For example, for an initiate who cannot be saved from the pressure of corporeality or bodily desires, or reach the level of life lived in the heart and the spirit, austerity is essential. A guide who knows the person and can diagnose his or her disease well, will advise renunciation of the world and whatever in it relates to the pleasures of the worldly life. If the initiate has fully concentrated on the pleasures of the other world without considering the Truly Desired and Eternally-Besought One, the guide will urge renunciation of the other world with its pleasures and concentration on the Truth. If, on the other hand, neither the world nor the hereafter can keep an initiate from the main goal of the journeying, if both serve to improve concentration on eternity, the guide will open the doors on the world and the hereafter wide for the initiate. Concerning this, Jalal al-Din al-Rumi says:

The world means heedlessness of God; it does not mean possessing silver coins, clothes, or a family. Our Prophet praised wealth earned in lawful ways and used for the revival and uplifting of Islam, and said: “How good is any wealth earned in lawful ways for a righteous one!” If enough water finds its way into a ship, it causes it to sink, but if it is under the ship, it causes it to float. If you do not put the love of wealth in your heart, then you can swim safely in the ocean of spiritual journeying and initiation. True dervishes, from the time of Adam until today, have thought and acted in such a way. Even though they were not called dervishes, we can regard the People of the Suffa-the poor Companions who stayed in the antechamber adjacent to the Prophet’s Mosque in Madina-as the first dervishes of the Muslim Umma. They observed both the balance between the world and the hereafter and the Divine rights to a degree that no one else has been able to, and they became heroes of resignation (to God’s will).

After the Companions, all the people of journeying and initiation who have journeyed on the way to God under different titles, such as asceticism or Sufism or being a dervish, have performed great tasks, as if they were the soul and blood in the veins of the society, so long as they have had no interest in politics and concentrated all their efforts for belief in God’s Unity and maintaining the Islamic life in this belief. When they have acted to the contrary, they have both harmed society and ruined themselves.

Using being a dervish, which, in fact, is a state based on humility and a feeling of nothingness, for worldly benefits is such a means of contamination of the spirit that nothing other than a special Divine grace can clean it.

Let Mawlana Jalal al-Din al-Rumi have the last word:

A luxurious life is a shame on dervishes; a burden in their hearts. How nice is feeling destitute before Him; And being in need of Him on His way. For pomp and luxury on the way to the Beloved Are like thorns; they hurt the feet of dervishes.

O God! Make full of blessings my religious life, which is the guarantee of my innocence, and my other life, to which I am bound to go, and my world, in which I can be perfected.

And bestow Your blessings and peace on our master Muhammad, and on his family and the Companions altogether.

[1] Kawthar is the name of a river in Paradise. (Trans.) [2] Tokadizade Sekip was one of the Turkish poets and writers who lived in Izmir in the first half of the 20th century. He wrote in favor of freedom during the reign of the Ottoman Sultan Abdulhamid II, and was one of the founders of the Association of Defending the Basic Rights in Izmir. (Trans.) [3] Nimrod was the that was given to the Chaldaean kings in Iraq. (Trans.) [4] Prophet Abraham, upon God’s command, left his elder son Ishmael in the valley of Makkah together with her mother Hagar. (Trans.) [5] Seyyid Mir Hamza Nigari was a Sufi poet from Azerbaijan. He wrote lyrical poems to express God’s love. (Trans.) [6] Najaf is a city in the southern Iraq, which bears holiness for the Shi’te Muslims. (Trans.)

[medisinals]

there are actually (at least?) three statements in the Archives about Blackwell.

        one is the statement he gave himself in 1919, under the name Edgar Tullis.  this one offers the most internal clarity as to what the fuck his deal is, but is also the most outdated.  he made it before he had any understanding of the world of the fears- if he’d known what the Institute really served, you wouldn’t have seen him there for dust.

        the second statement is from 1950.  statement of Nelson Whelk, regarding... a sense of foreboding?  in all honesty, there’s not much substance to this statement, and it would be quite easy to dismiss as nonsense if it weren’t for the fact that it’s one of those statements that refuses to be archived digitally, meaning something about it is fucky.

        Nelson describes a feeling of doom that’s dogged him ever since a car crash he was involved in.  the crash was very nearly fatal for him, but he survived after a period of intensive care at a public hospital.  he describes the surgeon leading his care team as a short, thin, dark-haired man who walked with a cane, and recollects the surgeon telling him to ‘enjoy it’ as he was released from the hospital.  he says that ever since, he’s felt death creeping up on him, like ropes getting tighter and tighter around his chest.  again, this would all be very easy to dismiss as irrational thinking in the wake of a serious trauma, if it weren’t for the odd nature of the statement itself.

        Nelson died about a month after giving this statement.  his death was recorded as a result of catastrophic stroke, but the documentation that would ordinarily support such a diagnosis doesn’t seem to exist.

        the third statement comes from 2003.  statement of Nadia Malouf, regarding the death of her sister, Asha.  bullet point format again here we go

About two years prior to the statement, Asha was involved in a serious bicycle accident.  As Nadia came to the hospital to see her, she was struck by a sudden, bone-deep certainty- though she stresses that she doesn’t usually believe in such things- that Asha was about to die.

But after hours of operation, Asha’s condition stabilised.  As Asha slept, Nadia spoke with her care team, including the trauma surgeon, Dr. Blackwell.

She mentions getting weird vibes from Dr. Blackwell, mainly based on how unhealthy he looked (rail-thin, pale as old milk, eye bags for days, walking with a cane), then feeling guilty for making such superficial judgements.  In any case, she says that all her trepidation melted away when she heard him speak.  He told her, very calmly, that her sister was in very serious condition but would survive.

Before heading off, the surgeon told Nadia to “enjoy it,” a phrase that stuck with her oddly.

Asha lived through the accident and even began to make serious strides towards full recovery, with months of physical therapy and care.  During this time, Asha and Nadia grew even closer as siblings, each feeling that they'd been given a second chance.  About a year after the accident, Asha was walking and talking almost as if she’d never been hit, and preparing to go back to work as usual.

And then Asha just... died.  Out of nowhere.  Her autopsy explained absolutely nothing; it seemed like she was in essentially perfect health, except for the fact that she was dead.

Nadia was, understandably, upset by this.  In her grief and confusion, she latched on to trying to understand why and how her sister had died, but nothing about it made sense.  Asha’s death was ruled as natural - even though there was no cause of death that could be pinpointed, it certainly didn’t make any sense to suspect foul play or suicide.  But Nadia wasn’t satisfied.

She spent a lot of time researching any conditions that could cause sudden death, even hiring a med student to tutor her, but there were still no answers.  At some point, she got the idea to go back to the trauma surgeon who’d treated Asha after the accident.  Even if he didn’t have any answers, either, she remembered how calming it had been to talk to him the first time.  She admits she may have latched on to the idea that somehow, he might be able to make things make sense, or at least make things less frightening.

It took her a while to get to him, given how busy he was at his job, but she eventually caught him on a smoke break.  He recognized her, greeted her by name, and asked how she was doing.  She told him about Asha’s recovery and death.  He was silent for a while, then asked “did you enjoy it?”

Whereupon she physically attacked him, something she admits she didn’t have a clear reason for doing.  At the time, it seemed like he was mocking her loss, or lording some secret over her, but she still can’t explain her actions except to say that she was unstable.  She feels guilty about her actions, but she feels even guiltier about the fact that every time she remembers the assault, it comes with a feeling almost like satisfaction.

In any case, the surgeon received only minor injuries, and declined to press charges.

Nadia is in therapy now, and says she’s doing better about fixating less on Asha’s death, though it still haunts her enough to bring her to the Magnus Institute to make a statement... but maybe now she’ll be able to move on.

        Digging into Nadia’s statement does turn up exactly which hospital Asha stayed at, and exactly which surgeon was working her trauma case- one Dr. T. E. Blackwell, who declined to be reached for comment.

[afibrunner]

How It All Began

For more, visit my blog at 1080Park.com . . . 

My story leading up to the catheter ablation procedure went something like this:  

- I was in pretty good physical shape.  I was in my mid-30s.

- One night my heartbeat went crazy. 

- I freaked out a bit, but calmly went to my personal doctor: Google.

- It took me all of 20 minutes to diagnose myself with Atrial Fibrillation (AF).

- I decided to sleep on it, and the next day my symptoms were gone.

- I was living overseas at the time, so I was a bit untrusting of the foreign medical system.

- Despite knowing the risks associated with AF, I stupidly decided to just live with it rather than treat it.

My AF symptoms came and went over the years, often brought on by a few distinct things: Adrenaline or quickly-induced stress, certain types of alcohol, strangely enough, laying back in a very distinct position on the couch, and (I think but not certain on this one) a large intake of sugar like eating a big desert at a restaurant.  My irregular heartbeat did not seem to be triggered by caffeine as far as I could tell.  

If I went into AF at any point, it would automatically go away on its own.  Usually overnight, but almost always within 48 hours.  At first I would have instances of it once a week or so, but over the years it began happening more often. Sometimes every other day.  I continued my misguided approach of ignoring it because I didn’t ever really feel very poorly during the times I was in AF .  I don’t remember ever feeling tired, fatigued, dizzy or short of breath.  Sometimes I wouldn’t know I had it until I put my finger on my wrist to check my heart rate.  If it was steady, I was good to go.  If it was beating randomly, I knew I was in AF.  I could run normally, and although my times weren’t super fast I don’t remember every missing a run or a strength workout because I was in AF. 

I returned to live in the United States about three years after first realizing I had AF.  During a routine annual physical with my primary care physician, he picked up on my AF and freaked out.  I wanted to say, “Yo Doc, simmer down now.  I’ve been living with this for a long time, and it’s not even bad right now.  No need to panic.  But panic he did.  He acted like he found something that was found something that was an immediate threat to my life.  He mentioned a few things I already knew like AF puts someone at an increased risk of stroke, etc.  He ordered an EKG that confirmed what he heard through his stethoscope.  I had AF.  My secret was now out.  He made such a big deal of it that I was too embarrassed to admit I already knew I had it. He had me follow him out of the exam room into his office where he proceeded to make a call to a cardiologist he knew and recommended. Using first names, he called in an obvious favor and got me a same-day visit with this specialist in AF. My PCP bid me farewell in a somewhat dramatic fashion, proud of his accomplishment in finding the AF and saving my life.  (He really is a great PCP, and although I was certain he was overreacting he my have indeed ultimately saved me from a stroke by scaring me and highlighting that AF is something that should be dealt with sooner than later.)    

The new cardiologist was awesome as well.  He looked at the EKG I had taken an hour before and said, “Yep, you’ve got Atrial Fibrillation.”  He was awesome.  He stepped me through what was happening in my heart, and then helped me feel like a bit less of an invalid.  He explained that it isn’t uncommon for long distance runners to develop AF.  He had a very technical reason for why you can be in great  physical shape with a very strong heart, but that extreme endurance training can sometimes trigger AF.  He was very positive and went through the equation cardiologists use to assess the risk of stroke to patients with AF:  CHA₂DS₂-VASc.  (See my resources page for more information on this risk score and how it is used.)  He basically “white boarded” out an equation to assign points to certain conditions.  He explained each risk factor and why they were important. I was under 65 years old, male, no history of congestive heart failure, no hypertension, no history of stroke, no vascular disease history and no diabetes.  Compared to someone with no diagnosis of AF, I was still at an increased risk for stroke, but I was on the lower end of the spectrum for those diagnosed with AF.  He was awesome in that he made me feel good about the fact that I was in great shape and that this definitely made me healthier than most AF patients.  But he stopped just short of making me feel like I had nothing to be concerned about. He thought I would be a perfect candidate for a cardiac catheter ablation, and explained the procedure in very basic terms.  He referred me to another physician who does the ablation procedures, and said he wanted me to get started on the blood thinner Xarelto, and gave me a sample pack of the drug.  In his notes on this visit, the doctor wrote the following: “Patient has asymptomatic atrial fibrillation of unclear duration. His atrial fibrillation is probably related to his high vagal tone as he is a marathon runner and quite athletic. His CHADS VAS score is 0 and aspirin should be sufficient. However, I have explained to him that personally, I prefer Xeralto or Eliquis. Furthermore, I anticipate eventual cardioversion or ablation and therefore, I will start patient on Xeralto 20 mg dally at bedtime.”

I didn’t see that third physician on the same day, but his staff helped me get scheduled for a stress echo to “rule out inducible ischemia or structural heart disease.”  

Approximately two weeks later I reported to the third physician for the stress echo using the “Bruce (Accelerated)” protocol.  (I’m not sure what that is, but I wrote it down.)  I got wired up with a bunch of cables attached to my chest and ran on a treadmill for about 13 minutes.  I wasn’t in AF at the time of the test, so I felt really strong and I think I did well in the stress test.  The doctor commended me for reaching stage 7 of the protocol, but I’m not sure if he was being sincere or just knew I was competitive with running and wanted me to feel better about myself.  From the Doctor’s notes: “Conclusions: 1. Excellent exercise  tolerance. 2. Normal blood pressure and heart rate response to exercise. 3. Negative exercise echo tor Inducible ischemia or arrhythmia.”

So that was it.  I went home feeling like I had killed the test.  From this point on I continued to make bad decisions.  I continued to blow off my new AF diagnosis because 1. I didn’t want to be on medications or blood thinners, and 2. the thought of having surgery on my heart when three weeks earlier I had run a half marathon averaging under 8 minute miles sounded crazy to me.  So I decided to do some research on ablation to figure out if I’d still be able to be a runner after the procedure.

And two weeks later the entire country went on lockdown for COVID-19. 

Most elective procedures were cancelled as we all tried to figure out how we were going to get through the pandemic.  I was ok with that because I felt healthy.  After all, I had been living with AF for a few years already.  I saw no need to panic.  I just continued running . . . 

On many occasions I would begin a run knowing I was in AF, and then the irregular heartbeat would be snapped back to normal at some point during the run.  This happened quite often with tempo runs. I wasn’t overly concerned about it because at first I didn’t recognize a decrease in performance.  Later it became a bit more noticeable, and my Garmin Forerunner 945 had a problem with my AF.  

There is a feature in the Forerunner to help you watch for abnormal heart rates.  You can have the watch alert you if it detects an abnormally high or low heart rate.  I left this feature on.  Every so often, when I was in AF after a run it would trigger the alarm.  Not during the run, mind you.  For some reason it only triggered the alarm after I was cooling down. Maybe it was because the watch knew I was no longer running and was worried that my heart rate was still high when I should be recovering.  Keep in mind my resting heart rate was around 42 bpm at that time.  

I remember being angry following a run when I was in AF because my Garmin 945 got so confused.  My VO₂ Max was 54 according to my Garmin, but after a run wherein my watch got super confused, it dropped my VO₂ Max down two points to a 52.  I was mad!  I had a particularly bad bought of AF and ran through it.  Normally during a tempo run my heart rate would take a while to increase, and then would top out at around 150 when I was running at a perceived exertion rate of about 7 on a scale of 1 to 10.  

During this run my heart rate was through the roof because of the AF.  I might be making this up, but I’m pretty sure my Garmin watch sent me an alert during the run saying, “Did you give your watch to someone who isn’t in very good running condition by any chance?”  (I hit the back key on my watch to blow off the notification.)  

Later while still in AF during that same run:  

Garmin: “Are you in imminent danger or running for your life?”  Me: No. Shut up Garmin, it’s just my AF making you think my HR is way high.

5 minutes later.  Garmin: “Need me to call 911 for you?”  No, damnit, now leave me alone so I can complete this tempo run.  It’s just AF and I’ll have a much lower heart rate the day after tomorrow when I try this again.  

As I mentioned, my Garmin punished me after that run by dropping my VO₂ Max by two points.  I was mad, and that was the point where I decided to have the ablation procedure.  All because my watch downgraded what it assessed as my VO₂ Max following one time I ran during AF.  Crazy right?

Next up: Choosing my surgeon. . . 

[intersex-ionality]

Normally I'd just go to google but I haven't been able to really find anything other than vague references to it, but is there someplace to go for about information on PCOS being an intersex condition? Or a tag that you or someone else has on it? I just got diagnosed and the idea that I could be considered intersex because of it is weirdly relieving and reassuring to me? But I feel awkward about just claiming it bc i don't have a lot of the more obvious visual stuff like hair growth.

PCOS is recognized on a research level as being in the same category as all other DSDs, regularly appearing in research about any and all hyperandrogenic disorders. However, there is a vested societal interest in limiting the number of “intersex people” to an absolute minimum.

This means taking people who are demonstrably intersex–that is to say, people whose anatomy, including their internal anatomy like hormone balances, does not match the traditional expectations of their assigned gender–and telling them that they are not intersex. This is explicitly because it benefits particular classing systems in our culture.

One common example of this fuckery is the constant debate about who gets to participate in women’s athletics. Because the population of people with PCOS is so massive, acknowledging PCOS as intersex–which it is–would mean acknowledging all intersex variations as welcome in women’s sports. This would make it more difficult to gatekeep exceptional athletes who are disliked by their supervisory bodies, such as black and brown women like Caster Semenya and Dutee Chand or trans women like Tia Thomson and Tiffany Abreu.

In short, people don’t want to admit PCOS is intersex, because it would mean weakening the overall hold the gender binary has on a lot of systems. The current definition of a woman for a great many classifications, for example, is “someone with free testosterone of below 3.0ng/dl.” About a third of people with PCOS fit that limit.

Roughly 3% of the human population has PCOS. Roughly 2% of all human beings on earth have a hormonal condition that plants them firmly outside the current definition of perisex women. Admitting that PCOS is (usually, at least) an intersex condition means admitting that the intersex population isn’t 2% of the world, it’s actually 4%.

That’s a massive increase. And that kind of massive increase in a population of marginalized people recognizing their marginalization is a risk. Even if only a minute fraction of them decide to revolt, to demand better rights and better treatment, that’s a fucking threat.

This sounds very conspiratorial, so let me just ease it up a little.

There’s no secret organization trying to hold down intersex people.

But there is a persistent desire from medical and political groups to gatekeep the definition of intersex or to eliminate the intersex identity entirely. To get rid of a unifying term for us all, and treat us instead as a fractured, disparate collection of unrelated diagnoses who just so ~happen~ to have eerily similar political and social experiences by coincidence.

The primary way this is done is by treating “intersex” as a disgusting or archaic term that should be removed from the popular consciousness. If that disgust cannot be instilled, then the backup methodology is to make intersex a dangerous term that only people who have sufficiently proven their worthiness can approach.

But there is no proof, there’s no way to show that you “count.”

In the words of ISNA, “nature doesn’t decide where the category of “male” ends and the category of “intersex” begins, or where the category of “intersex” ends and the category of “female” begins. Humans decide.”

And it benefits the structural inequalities we all operate under, for humans to decide that PCOS doesn’t count, even while deciding that numerically it must. Socially it must. But if we just say, over and over, “but it doesn’t count, though” then that will make it rational.

Of course, there is also the fact that most people with PCOS are women, and there’s a persistent problem with recognizing women’s identities, particularly when there’s a medical tie-in.

But it’s not a problem unique to things associated with women. For example, getting hypospadias recognized as an intersex variation has been a similar uphill battle.

It’s actually interesting to compare these two most common intersex variations–hypospadias and PCOS–because they are in many ways inverse.

Hypospadias is usually limited to genital development, whereas PCOS usually impacts only hormone and gonadal development. Yet, people will say hypospadies isn’t intersex because there’s no hormonal or secondary sexual element, and that PCOS is not intersex because there is “only” a hormonal and secondary sexual element.

In comparison, my diagnosis of OT-DSD/”true hermaphroditism” can quite easily present with neither genital nor hormonal differences, only gonadal. The same can be said of a great many intersex variations.

The only reason it’s hard to find data about PCOS’s patently obvious state as an intersex variation is because there is a political agenda preventing such. However, if you set aside the specific term “intersex” and instead focus on less politically charged terms like “hyperandrogenism,” you can find a fair bit of academic research into the fact that PCOS has all the same social and physical hallmarks in common with other conditions recognized as intersex.

God, this really didn’t answer your question at all, and I’m very sorry about that.

Also, please don’t google “is pcos intersex” or anything like that, because literally all you will get is TERFs. They’ve latched onto that line of thought and are using it to prove that trans people are delusional. The popularized it a couple of years ago, and now searching “intersex” and “PCOS” in combination just absolutely buries you in TERF shit.

[ofmargos]

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue , with a striking semblance to camila mendes ! you may know them as @margo or hitting the front page of tmz as margo rosas is making her comeback on broadway ! according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re overdramatic , but being passionate might help you . things that would paint a better picture of you would be the sound of stilettos hitting the pavement , the thunderous sound of applause , and having the poise of a well-mannered lady but the mouth of a sailor . ( cis female + she / her )

omg hey y’all it’s ya girl lia back at it again with the broadway b*tch herself , margo ! fun fact : i’ve been writing for margo off n on for THREE years ?? that’s wild . no matter what i do i cannot get rid of this muse akjsdnk but i love her and i hope y’all do too ! under the cut is far too much info on her ( i’m sorry it’s long !! ) pls go ahead and give this post a like if you give me consent to come bug you in the im’s / discord ! <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 ｡.｡:+*

–;; 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: Margaret Lucia Rosas – ;; 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬): Margo ( preferred name ), Mars, Mar, Pain in the Ass, Drama Queen – ;; 𝐀𝐠𝐞: Twenty-Three – ;; 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁: 31 October 1997 – ;; 𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜: Scorpio sun, scorpio moon,  leo asc ( yikes ) – ;; 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Cis Female – ;; 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Bisexual Biromantic – ;; 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 5ft 2 – ;; 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞: Chicago, IL – ;; 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Luxurious apartment in Manhattan – ;; 𝐎𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Singer / Songwriter + Broadway Performer ( Julia Michaels VC ) – ;; 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: Passionate, creative, dramatic, distrusting, outgoing, ambitious, fun-loving, loyal, daring, sarcastic, stubborn, overconfident, impulsive, hard-working, petty, secretive, short-tempered, vindictive

*+:｡.｡ 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ｡.｡:+*

*TW: undiagnosed illness, death

grew up as an only child in chicago, illinois. her family was definitely in the middle class but her parents both worked hard to provide their pride and joy with everything she could’ve wanted out of life

and it became apparent early on that what margo wanted was to perform. she was always singing around the house, putting on one-woman shows for her parents, and following along to the choreography of her favorite DCOM on tv. and in order to keep her satisfied, and also out of the house while they were both working, her parents threw her into an abundance of performing arts classes: ballet, tap, and jazz classes + singing lessons + acting workshops-- you name it. it was a very expensive hobby but her parents were willing to put in the extra work hours to fund her passions

she honestly grew up blissfully unaware of the sacrifices her parents were making on her behalf. they just never made her feel like she was inconveniencing them in any way. if she wanted to spend her day turn acting, singing, and dancing then so be it. they supported her emotionally and financially 100%

*ILLNESS TW* but the rose-tinted glasses were ripped from her eyes around the age of fourteen / fifteen. her mom had always had a weak immune system-- the first one to catch a cold or the flu, knocking her on her ass and leaving her bedridden for days at a time. it only got worse as years went on and she avoided doctor appointments out of fear of being charged unnecessary costly fees. she downplayed her compromising situation for as long as she could until she physically couldn’t carry on any more and had to stop going to work

margo and her father urged the stubborn woman to seek medical attention for any sort of relief for months until she finally conceded. soon it became the new norm for her mother to be in and out of hospitals, getting tests done, trying various medications. but nothing helped in the long-term and they were unable to come to a strict diagnosis *ILLNESS TW END*

and she had been right, it was terribly expensive. their funds were short considering the family was down to one income. so margo took on more responsibilities by working part-time jobs as well as going to school. she was sixteen and teaching dance lessons at her childhood studio in exchange for a small amount of pay + free lessons as well as working at a local movie theatre 6 days a week. she cut back on extracurricular lessons to save some money, instead pouring all her creative energy into only school related clubs such as choir, theatre, and so on

honestly, if you knew margo in high school you’d likely not even know about her familial situation. she liked to keep her cards close to her chest and portrayed herself as this larger than life character that no one would believe had experienced any hardships. she distracted from her own worries by playing the role of ‘queen bee’ or more accurately rachael berry from glee ( a cursed character at this point but it’s true unfortunately )

margo had big dreams of making it to broadway one day and had planned to get there by going to college in new york and make a name for herself. but with her mother’s healthy declining the closer margo got to graduation, the more put off she was by the idea of moving away from home. she was willing to put all plans for her future on hold and take care of her mother but her parents wouldn’t let her. being as encouraging as ever, they convinced her that she needed to follow her dreams. she had already given up a majority of her teenage years to help them out when they needed it most. they wouldn’t let her miss out on anything else

so with a heavy heart but on a good scholarship, she left for columbia university without any idea of what to expect. new york was a whole new world for her and she was thrown off by how talented, beautiful, and wealthy her peers were. she had felt like a big fish in a really small pond during her high school days. but for once she was a tiny fish in the big wide ocean

her larger than life persona came back into play-- masking her worries and insecurities with a version of herself that was so confident that she even began to fool herself. she got a bit lost in the fantasy. her true self-slipping away. she almost had this alter ego ??? ( come thru hannah montana moment okay ) wannabe starlet rubbing elbows with the future CEOs and celebrities of the world by day and local pizza parlor waitress by the night, working to make a decent living while also sending money back home when she could

she also had to maintain good grades to keep her scholarship and participate in performances that her department put on in order to rise in the ranks

honestly the only time she got a little peace was when she was hanging out with her few GOOD friends. like the people that actually got to know her past her fake personality. they were also music people so they spent a lot of time together just messing around with instruments and vocals and writing songs in their own little makeshift studio / hangout spot

it started off as just fun and games, but with their help margo created some original songs and released them as an indie artist. she put herself out there on her social media profiles like “hey stream my new single!!!!!!” and people ate it up. after releasing a few tracks and establishing her own following, her music eventually got to the right people and she was given the opportunity to sign to an actual label which was wild ???

and while it was an amazing opportunity, releasing music under the label was also very demanding. when she was releasing music from the comfort of her friend’s studio it was purely a fun creative outlet and done on her own time. it was just... rough. but how could she complain when she was making a name for herself in the music industry + making bank from royalties + getting to meet all these cool famous people and go to parties with them and y’know ... spiral and slack off on other responsibilities

*DEATH TW* it was around her junior year that things started to go from bad to worse. she remembers exactly where she was and what she was doing when she got the call from her dad informing her of her mom’s extended stay in the hospital. things weren’t looking too good. there wasn’t anything they could do for the older lady and honestly she was done fighting. margo flew back home to chicago immediately and stayed at her childhood home for the following weeks until her mother passed. it was absolutely devastating. she stayed in chicago with her dad for months as they worked through their grief together *DEATH TW END*

columbia was pretty understanding of her situation and was willing to be accommodating so she could finish her degree plan, but margo put things off for so long that she eventually just withdrew from the university and was dead set on just living in chicago forever

i’m not gonna lie, margo was down and out for a little while. didn’t talk to anyone really, rarely left the house, stopped making music, and just sorta fell off completely. the only good thing that came out of the year or so that she spent back home was she stepped away from the false reality she created for herself in new york, which helped her realize that she didn’t love the person she was becoming or the things she was doing. she wasn’t even really involved with her one true passion which was theatre / acting

it was with a little boost from her dad ( literally her biggest fan , i love this man okay ) that she started acting like herself again. he told her that her mom wouldn’t want her to give up on everything and neither would he. so with a new found determination ( and a pretty exciting career opportunity ), margo put on her big girl pants and moved her ass back to new york to finally do what she loves to do

and here we are now ! she’s stepping into her break-out role onto broadway as lydia deetz in bettlejuice the musical

she’s only been back in new york for a few months at this point i’d say ??? and i can’t wait to see her come into her own and grow into the margo i know and love ... but also hate because she’s so so dumb :-) <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘  &  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒｡.｡:+*

she has no chill, probably will never have any chill, and i am sorry for that ASJNDLK she’s just overdramatic as hell !!! she’s a theatre kid at heart and i would expect absolutely nothing less from her

generally good-natured though and has good intentions. just simply has piss-poor execution sometimes

down to clown and ready to have a good time all the time all in the name of enjoying life to its fullest while we all have a chance

the only thing she takes seriously is her work life. she’s on her grind okay, it took a lot for her to get to where she is today and she’s not going to just let it slip away that easily. she’s doing everything she can to make not only herself proud but her parents :’-)

still releases her own music under the label but her primarily focus is on her budding broadway career and the label is understanding of that ... mostly because she called an executive meeting ( against her manager’s better judgement ) and was super up front and threatened to walk out if they didn’t see reason ... but at least things worked out well !!!

she mostly writes songs for other people at this point in her career. some big names too ( just like ... google julia michael’s career and apply it to margo okay thank u )

honestly her management teams worst nightmare simply because she does not listen and will do whatever she wants and post whatever she wants and will not apologize for being her authentic self in media

like, she’s just starting to figure out who she is again and they want her to stop and act fake because she’s not being very “family-friendly” or because it doesn’t make her “look good to the public” ??? nah f*ck that !

while she is sociable and fun-loving, she’s also hard to seriously get to know sometimes because of all those years of putting up a front. like sometimes she doesn’t even realize that she’s not being 100% genuine ??? so you could be hanging out with her every single day and still not know her completely and she might not open up and that’s okay, she’s working on it

she is a pretty good friend tho ! super loyal, a true ride or die, will want to fight anyone that you have a problem with, showers you in compliments and gifts, truly 10 / 10

but if she doesn’t like you or if you’ve mistreated her in any way at all she will in fact hold it against you for the rest of her life. just petty as a mf and i hate her for it like sis pls leT SH*T GO !!!!

didn’t grow up rich so now that she’s making bank she’s one of those people that just buys dumb things just because she can ??? the size of her closet is absolutely ridiculous, just overflowing with clothes and accessories, and the amount of random packages that get delivered to her apartment that she doesn’t even remember ordering is even more so ... just ... irresponsible spender

stubborn ?? what is compromising ??? doesn’t know her but will try ( begrudgingly ) if she really likes you

hates being bored. can and will go to excessive lengths to avoid boredom

partygirl margo has not stopped, will not stop, and cannot be stopped much to my own disappointment

self-proclaimed dancing queen. really puts all those years of classical dance training to good use by hopping on top of tables / countertops at parties to shake some ass

surprisingly a responsible adult that can cook and clean and get shit done when she really puts her mind to it ??? this developed over the years that her mom was sick and bedridden and she stepped up to take care of household chores while her dad worked doubles

very family-oriented and talks to her dad all the time. like, calls him daily for really dumb reasons. any time she feels down the first person she wants to talk to is him ( well it’s actually her mom, who was her best friend in the whole world, but since she’s not here anymore they make do as just the two of them )

her ego is LARGE. GRANDE. thinks very highly of herself as a result of being praised too much as a child probably. not to mention she is very very good at what she does, has more talent in her little pinky then i do in my whole body. she’s secretly insecure on the inside but she presents as an overconfident bad bitch

a staple to her character that i wish she would shake is her inability to handle her own feelings in a healthy way ... she just sorta ... shuts down ?? runs away ?? acts like nothing is happening ?? it’s bad. would rather leave than get left and bottle up all her feelings and kick them under the bed then ever open up

has a terrible sleeping pattern and cannot stay on a solid sleep schedule to save her life. undiagnosed insomniac. when her mind just won’t calm down she often goes out to keep her occupied and avoid any overthinking that might occur when she’s in her own company

her life motto is #YOLO and does a lot of stupid sh*t because of it

probably uses tiktok too much both as a consumer and a content creator. vlogs her backstage experiences and also just posts dumb, amusing things

this is so long i’m sorry if you read this whole thing i just have a lot of feelings about her after writing her for so many years AKJSDK i’ll shut up now BYE

i have margo’s wc page HERE but just some ideas are best friends, frenemies, confidants, fellow music people, party friends, pr friends or pr rivals, crushes, on and off again, exes, roommate, childhood friends, family friends, good influence, bad influence, honestly truly anything and everything PLS i love to plot and write w/ all of you ! <3

[bramble-rose]

ABOUT REN SOHMA

(spoilers ahead)

Okay…. So take a deep breath.

I think Ren and Akira were really in love with each other and I think Ren is suffering from a form of postnatal depression.

In the manga it is often hinted that Ren had seduced Akira and would be a slut who was not worthy of him and had exploited his situation ...

After reading the story again, I do not think that was the case.

Akira was very ill and his diagnosis was that he was going to die very young. As the head of the family, he stood above everybody - which separated him from the other family members. Added to this was his illness, which further isolated him. The family had been urgently looking for a wife for him to bring an heir onto the scene, but no one was good enough. And I think this is where it started.

Ren was one of the many housekeepers of the Soma clan and was responsible for Akira. She cared for him, was always near him and noticed his emotional state, his loneliness. At least that is how it is told. She fell in love with him over time, but remained silent for a long time until she finally confessed her feelings to him.

It is also said that Akira had chosen her, among all the other women ... But Ren, as a simple maid, did not meet the level of esteem intended for Akira's future wife. There was much contradiction. Ren was insulted and not considered good enough. She was told to be a dirty witch, who was far below Akira and got his affection with tricks. It is implied that she simply seduced him. Ren is beautiful, you have to leave that to her.

However, both professed their love for each other, Akira also said that Ren alone recognized his loneliness and he married her in spite of all.

From this marriage, none other than Akito emerged - the reborn God of the Junnishi.

However, it were the already born Junnichi who knew about the pregnancy before Ren and Akira, because in a vision Akito appeared before them and announced that another banquet would be forthcoming. Ren was raided by the Junnichi one morning out of the blue .… And voila! All at once Ren's presence was no longer a thorn in the side of anyone. God would be born! Everyone was very happy - and everything was just about the kid. About Akito. About God.

And here is another important point.

Ren is disregarded as a person. Nobody cared about her anymore. Akira was also incredibly happy about the pregnancy. Through the vision everyone knew that Akito would become a girl and out of fear and jealousy that everyone would only love this girl, Ren threatened to abort Akito if she wasn‘t raised as a man ...

At this point you should think, why thought Ren that way? Even to the fact that only the baby mattered anymore and that she was just a vessel to everybody ... would it have been different if Akito had been a boy? Yes, I think so.

It is said that Ren was ashamed that the God she was going to give birth to was female. I think that's not the case. I think it's actually a messed-up jealousy for 'Daddy's Little Girl'. Ren was afraid that this child would drive a wedge between Akira and her, as Akito would be the God of the Junnishi. She would be all over the place. Ren saw Akito as another woman not as her daughter. She was a Rival (which is a trope that is often used in manga and anime… and it is really strange)

Well, Akira, of course, agreed to Ren's threat but was still happy about the birth.

Ren did not even want to hold the child.

This fight and all this points are important to understand why Ren has lost her mind. At first she was not good enough, she was insulted over and over again, even her family's home offended. Then she became pregnant and suddently everyone only loved the child, everyone was waiting for God. For the special Entity ... She was just their birth machine and the man she loved thought only of the divine child.

So as a toddler Akito had a hard time suffering under Ren. She physically and verbally abused Akito and raised her as a boy. Ren constantly blamed her, no matter what, that she would be useless and that Akira and Ren would not need her, Akira and Ren as a couple would be the only special onces because their connection had produced a special child.

From this time on it's always about who Akira loves more. His daughter or his wife?

A strange question since there are so many different varieties of love, but Ren's psyche and self-perception were already disturbed at the time. Otherwise she would have noticed that there is no reason for jealousy.

When Akira finally died, the secret is revealed ... Akira loved Akito. Of course, she was his daughter. But he said he wished that Ren could have loved her, too. He was sad that the two didn‘t got along and especially noted that Ren should have been happy about the birth of her child.

While he is dying he told Akito that she was special. She was God, she didn‘t need him or Ren. She was the God of the Junnichi and would be able to move on because everyone else has been waiting for her. She was born to be loved. After that he only talked about Ren, who was not called, even though her husband was dying.

He said that Ren and he had experienced true love and that their love was so special that they have begotten Akito, the God. That this would prove how special their love was.

So yes, Akira loved Ren deeply. Of course he did, she was his wife. Even though her outbursts made him unhappy, he always wanted the best for her. His last word was even 'Ren', as far as I can remember.

So what can you read from it? Akito was present during her father's monologue and as a small child she might thought that her father did not love her as much as she believed ... Akito's eyes are drawn throughout the scene without light effects. Actually a stylistic choice to describe the absence of emotions: Her father died ... she is traumatized.

When Ren stormed in she claimed Akito would not be needed anymore now that Akira was dead, Akitos supposed divinity would not be real and that the invisible bond between Akito and the Junnishi wasn‘t real (btw, it actually exists, Ren was wrong).

Ren felt helpless and was angry and sad that her husband died before she could said goodbye and blamed Akito.

Later that day Akito got a secret box from one of the housekeeper (she has no name). Supposedly it was a last gift from Akira to Akito to show how great their love for each other was. In the box was supposedly Akira's soul ....

Everything that happend to this point has made Akito extremly insecure and years later she stil believed that her father's soul is in that box.

Years later Ren learned about that box and wanted it for herself since everything that belonged to Akira belonged to her. She didn‘t know what was in it but that didn‘t matter. Ren even used Rin to get that box… and that ended badly.

But what does all this say about Ren?

I think through all the things that happened before and during and after the pregnancy Ren suffered from some kind of postnatal depression and never got over it. And after Akira died things got worse.

Akito is not directly one of the Junnichi, but she is obsessed with the spirit of God. And like almost all other parents in Fruits Basket, Akito's mother has been influenced by the curse.

Most parents in the story are violent, neglect their children, mock them, terrorize and abuse them and have no direct connection with them. Especially the mothers are greatly affected. So is Ren.

Ren thinks of Akito as the one who took Akira away from her. Emotional and physical. The loss has driven her crazy and the bond and the curse are something she can not grasp and understand, and so she loathes it. Because with the curse her and Akiras love started to fall apart. She does everything to torment Akito, insulting her, unsettling her and tries everything to destroy her identity. Both as God as well as a woman.

She even goes so far as to sleep with the man Akito loves the most.

( I can not help thinking, that Shiguri, as the mastermind he is, didn‘t just do that because he was so keen on her, he even said he just got into Ren because he thought Akito would look like Ren if she was raised as a woman ... So Shigure took advantage of Ren to imagen he has sex with Akito? That's weird … but that's Shigure, you never know what he's really thinking. And then there is the whole Kureno thing going on... But when Ren found out about this she was furious. Akito again took her place.)

All this does not make Ren's deeds better or excuses them, but it sheds another light on Ren, who is being vilified by everyone. And it absolutely explains why Akito is the way she is. The abused abuses ... but Akito is a different topic.

In the end, however, both were victims of a third person involved, beginning from the marriage of Ren and Akira, to his death and the question of who loved whom, and who would be the right heir as head of the familiy. This person was respinsible for and kept fireing on the hatred between mother and daughter. She had her fingers in the whole game: The housemaid without a name.

She insulted Ren for years.

She questioned everything Ren did.

She kept her away when Akira died.

She spur the hate/war between Akito and Ren… using the box/Akiras Souls and both their feelings.

She claimed Ren was insane.

She blindly obeys to the old family rules without thinking.

And… she, as one of those who raised Akito, let her do whatever she wanted and never taught her morals or boundaries.

She let both run amok and called it disgrace in secret….

And after Akito had seen her mistakes and wanted to change, the maid refused to change, claiming she was too old...

[mldrgrl]

Last First Kiss

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Summary: This is for all the Ed Jerse Anons sitting in my inbox who all want a variation on the theme of Scully not being satisfied that Ed would be the last man she was with.

The appointments were on the calendar for the third Thursday on the month for six months, not a secret, but they were simply marked “Scully - doctor,” like they were run of the mill check-ups and not aggressive chemotherapy.  Every third Friday was marked “Scully - out of office.”

Mulder did his best not to be too solicitous, wished her well when she packed up her things before lunch, made lame jokes about how much he’d get done without her ripping apart his theories for a day.  He didn’t know how she spent her weekends after those appointments, she could be intensely private about certain aspects of herself, her health being one of them, but it was obvious from the paleness of her cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, and the constant tremor her body seemed to have come Monday, that she suffered.

He wished she wouldn’t push herself so hard, but then again, she was a fighter.  He had to admit he was a bit in awe of her determination not to let such a grim diagnosis stop her from doing anything.  It had certainly stopped him.  Though she didn’t know it, his free time was mostly devoted to finding answers.  He didn’t care who he had to go through to find the men who gave her this disease.  If they knew how to give it to her, they knew how to take it back.

As the months went by though, the nosebleeds only got worse and at a certain point, she’d even stopped demanding that he not look at her when she did her best to clean herself up or given him dirty, ungrateful glares when he brought out the packet of tissues he’d started carrying around in his breast pocket and slipped them into her hand.  She’d stopped locking the connecting doors of their motel rooms or trying to disguise the sound of her retching in the middle of the night by running the sink at full blast.  The last two times, she’d even let him kneel beside her and dab her cheeks and the back of her neck with a cool washcloth as she limply clung to the side of the toilet.  

If he wasn’t scared before, he was now.  He could persevere as long as she was, but the moment she looked up at him with a tired, resigned gaze that told him he was finally allowed to see her like this because it didn’t matter anymore, he knew she had given up.  And now, he was desperate for those answers.

Appointment number five loomed like a thundercloud.  Mulder was tense all week and Scully was quiet.  Time moved like molasses Thursday morning.  He tried to focus on the expense report for their last case, but his mind kept wandering to ways he might offer his services to help her through the weekend.  Even with the minutes dragging by, suddenly she was shutting her computer down and he hadn’t come up with anything better than, “if you need anything, you know you can call me.”

Scully left with a murmured “see you Monday,” and he chickened out on saying anything more than a soft goodbye.  He bit his lip and as soon as he heard the elevator ding and the doors close, he choked on a quiet sob he’d been reigning in.  As quickly as he let his emotions overtake him, he pulled himself back together and pounded a fist against the top of his desk.  Scully was out there bravely fighting a losing battle alone and he wasn’t helping her by crying at his desk.  It was time for his check-in with the Gunmen, who were following up on leads in his stead.

But, the boys had nothing for him.  Nothing new, anyway.  Mulder cursed.  He was pretty sure his best bet was the black-lunged sonofabitch that seemed to pull all the strings from every direction and he’d been trying to lure the old man out of hiding for weeks to no avail.  There had to be something he could do.

He stayed at the office well into the evening, poring over his files for some connection he might have missed.  There was so much there and yet nothing at all.  He was just digging deeper rabbit holes with every file.  He finally went home when he felt like his vision was becoming too blurry to ready anything further, but he was back at it again before the sun even came up.  Strewn across his desk and the floor was Scully’s abduction file, the files on Max Fenig, Duane Barry, the women in Allentown, the personnel file he’d poached on Alex Krycek, and others bearing the slightest hint of alien activity.

Halfway through the day, it dawned on him that maybe he should change his tactic.  He wasn’t a religious man, but Scully was a religious woman, and there were examples of miraculous recoveries all over the world.  He gathered up the mess he’d made and made another printing out reams of research on holy sites and unexplained recoveries from illnesses.  Amongst them all, he found one that appealed.  In fact, it excited him so much that he found himself grabbing he jacket and driving to Scully’s apartment with a hopeful flutter in his chest.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking though, knocking on her door that Friday evening.  He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her before he was asking her if she’d ever heard about the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes.  She answered his knock in a pair of snow-white flannel pajamas that were rolled up at the sleeves and ankles.  Her face was almost as white as her sleepwear, aside from the hollow grey smudges under her eyes.  Her eyes themselves were so thoroughly bloodshot it looked like it might be painful just to keep them open.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, taking her in.  “I didn’t mean to...to…”

She blinked slowly at him, like a sleepwalker still in a dream.  “Our Lady of Lourdes,” she repeated in a quiet slur.  “In France.”

“Yeah.  Yes, France.”

“What about it?”

“Um…”  

“Sorry, I need to sit down.”

“Don’t apologize,” he answered, following her to the couch.  

He glanced around.  There was a blanket waterfalling off the couch, crumbled tissues scattered across the coffee table, and a basin strategically placed on the floor beside the couch, just below the spot where the impression of her head still lingered on a pillow.  Scully pushed the blanket out of the way and folded herself up like a sheet of origami into the empty corner of the couch.

“I should go,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me the story of Saint Bernadette?” she mumbled.

“You know it?”

“Of course I know it, Mulder.”

“Oh.”

“You can tell it to me anyway.  I like your stories.”

“You do?”

“Sit down.”

Tentatively, Mulder took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.  He surreptitiously slid the basin away from his feet and picked up a closed photo album that was wedged beneath the back cushion.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Photo album.”

“Well, yeah.  Are they of you?”

She nodded.

“May I?”

She nodded again.  He opened the book and on the first page was a black and white mugshot of a swaddled newborn with a pinched face.  Next to it was the classic, naked baby on a bearskin rug photo that every parent seemed to think was necessary.  He had one of his own somewhere.  He chuckled to himself.

The next pages were a hodgepodge of Scully family photos.  There was a pensive looking toddler Scully on the lap of her smiling sister, both with loose red curls and matching baby blue dresses.  There was all four Scully children, the boys in sailor suits, the girls in navy blue pinafore dresses standing in front of a docked ship.  There was Scully blowing out eight candles on a birthday cake.  There was a professional photo of Scully from the waist up in a white lace dress and a white veil, looking upwards with gloved hands clasped in prayer.  

He turned to a page of school photos, all eerily similar, the progression of time marked only by the changes in Scully’s face and the length of hair, but the constant being the dark blazer and plaid skirt of a Catholic schoolgirl.  She only smiled in one, which he guessed to be about third grade, the rest a study in concentrated seriousness.

And then there was a photo that made him stop and bring the album closer to his face.  “Scully,” he said, squinting.  “Was your mom a triplet?”

“No,” she said, with a quiet laugh.  “She was the middle of three girls.  All a year apart.”

“I mean, they look...identical.”  And they really did.  He saw three Margaret’s in a line with their arms around each other, same dark curls, same shape of the jaw and brow, same red lipstick, even.

“The one on the right is Aunt Kate, the one on the left is Mary Pat.”

“Kate.  Katherine?  Is that where your middle name cames from?”

“Nope.  Mary Kate, Mary Margaret, Mary Pat.  Only Aunt Mary Pat uses the Mary.”

“Wait, so your mom and her sisters are all named Mary?”

“Technically, sort of.”

“What was your grandmother’s name?  Mary Magdalene?”

“Angela.”

“Oh.”

“Mary Angela.”

Mulder chuckled.

There were a few more pages of family photos and then they changed into pictures of places and people who he assumed were friends from high school or college.  There was a photo of Scully with long wavy hair holding a sleeping baby as a priest touched its little bald head.

“Your godson?” he asked.

“Mmhm.”

He flipped a few more pages.  There was photos of a cabin in the snow, of Scully in cold weather gear holding a string of fish, of a silver Volkswagen Rabbit, and a slew of photos of a beach and a lighthouse.

“Where’s this?” he asked.

“Point Loma.  It was one of my favorite places as a kid.”

“And who is this?”  He turned the photo on the next page towards Scully, of her pressed cheek to cheek with a fair-haired man with freckles across his nose and forehead.

“His name is Ethan.”  She sat up a little reached out to touch the photo with her fingertips for a few moments and then she curled back into the corner and made a small noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

“Ethan was the last relationship I was in.”

“Oh.”

“It didn’t last long.  Three months, I think.  I don’t know, it just occurred to me that...I guess I always thought I’d have more time to…”

“To what?”

“I don’t know.”  She shook her head.  “Nothing.  Ethan will have been the last man to love me, even for a short time.”

A protest formed on Mulder’s tongue, but he held it back and looked at the picture of Scully and her ex-boyfriend again.  Maybe if things had worked out with this Ethan character, they never would’ve even met.  Or with that other guy, that Jack Willis guy from that case a few years ago.  Maybe if it had worked out between them, she wouldn’t be here now, though he can’t imagine Scully and Jack as having ever been very good together.  He really didn’t want to think about it, either.

“And Ed Jerse,” she said.

Mulder snapped to attention at the mention of that name and looked over at her.  “What about Ed Jerse?”

“Ed will be my last first kiss.”  She snorted softly and closed her eyes, brows knitting together slightly.  He took a glance at her mouth, at the dry, cracked lips that bastard had been lucky enough to touch.  It made him sad and angry.

“You do have time, Scully,” he said, emphatically.

“No, I don’t, Mulder.”

“Yes, you-”

“I don’t.”  She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze at him.  “Mulder, I’m dying.  You know it as well as I do, you just don’t want to face the truth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.  I’m not getting better, I’m getting worse.  The tumor hasn’t changed and the chemo has just made me sick.  There isn’t anything left to do.  I know this is hard for you, but it’s just a matter of time.  And I won’t be making a pilgrimage to France to pray to the Virgin Mary and drink from healing waters, if that was your bright idea.”

“Why not?  Why not try everything we can?”

“I would rather spend the time that I have left doing the things I love.  I love my job and that’s what I want to do for as long as I’m able.”

“I can’t accept that this is the end, Scully.”

“You’re going to have to.”  Her eyes welled with tears, but didn’t spill over.

Mulder looked away and closed the photo album.  Scully slumped against the couch and shivered.  She hugged her arms across her chest and curled up even tighter.  If she got any smaller, she’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder whispered, slipping off the couch to his knees.  He shuffled over to Scully’s side of the couch and put a hand on her arm, leaning close.  “It’s not over until it’s over.  Ethan isn’t the last man to love you, I am.  Maybe you don’t think it’s the same, but I do.”

“Mulder…”  She unraveled enough to put a hand on his cheek.  “You don’t have to.”

“I love you.”

“I know.  I...I know.”

He leaned into the palm of her hand for a moment and then reached up to cup her face with both hands.  “You’re not dying,” he whispered, just before bringing his lips to hers.  “There’s time,” he said, pulling back before moving in again.  “Don’t give up.”

The three kisses he pressed to her mouth were soft and chaste, but they’re the most heartfelt and tender kisses he’s ever shared with anyone.  He felt her tears running down between the webbing of his fingers and he brushed them away with his thumbs.  She held his wrists as he placed whispersoft kisses against her closed eyes and wet cheeks.

“I’m going to do everything I can for you,” he said.  “Everything.”

“I know.”

“Fight.”

She nodded.  He stroked the back of her head once and kissed her temple before rising.  As much as he wanted to stay, he had work to do and he needed to get to it as quickly as possible.  Maybe he could get her to hold on a little longer, but in his heart he knew he was running out of time.

The End

[rulesofthebeneath]

tagging: @lookslikezombiesatbest, @awkwardalbatros, @uzukamis, @lilmissperfectlyimperfect, @oops-metoo

Chapter 4

Saturday mornings were Grace’s sacred time. It was the only time of the week that the house was quiet. Even though there were only four of them, the amount of noise that came from the Lee’s kitchen was insane sometimes. And Grace’s door was thin, and right next to it.

She had woken up with a headache, but that wasn’t altogether uncommon for her. She worried about the tumors having spread, though. What if her miracle stopped working?

She shook the worries away as she took off the BiPap and slowly sat up, scooting back against the mattress to lean against her headboard. She had a scan scheduled in a few weeks, and anyway, it’s not like the headaches were horrible. She had become a bit of a hypochondriac ever since her condition became stable. There was always something to worry about.

Grace set her feet gingerly on the ground, her arms and legs waking up less quickly than the rest of her body. It took a few seconds, but the buzzing finally subsided and she stood up. She plugged her cannula into the huge, bulky oxygen machine that she used when she was just chilling around the house. It was easier than lugging the oxygen cart around with her, and tripping James with her cannula was a bonus.

She shuffled into the kitchen on socked feet, the thick fluffy ones the only way to guard from how cold the floor got even in the heat of summer. She stood on her toes to retrieve a plastic container of leftover pancakes from the top shelf of the fridge. Being five foot one made her the shortest person in her family by six full inches, even though she and James allegedly shared DNA. He teased her about getting the ‘short’ gene from their biological parents all the time.

Anytime her thoughts went down that route, she always wondered if her parents regretted adopting her. She knew they’d never say it, but her medical costs were a huge burden for their family. She’d noticed her father coming home from long shifts sore all over, and her mother trying to hide the medical bills from Grace when they came in the mail. Her mother didn’t have a good poker face at all, though, so Grace knew from one look at her that the bill was almost more than they could afford.

She couldn’t even begin to list the ways her sickness affected James. He hadn’t been able to go on field trips, get new sports equipment, or even go to team banquets because her parents had needed someone to stay home or at the hospital with Grace to make sure she was still breathing. Things were less chaotic now that she was stable, but she was still acutely aware of how much her family had suffered for her. Wouldn’t it just be easier if she didn’t exist?

Not bothering to warm up the pancakes in the microwave, she sat in one of the chairs at the dining table, picking at the cold food with a plastic fork. She didn’t want to exist. 

In all the stories about cancer, nobody wrote about how boring it was. There were so many things she wasn’t allowed to do, food she wasn’t allowed to eat, places she wasn’t allowed to go. It was just hours and hours of sitting around. For all the good it did, there was no difference between sitting in a treatment center or sitting in front of her TV. 

She found herself missing the play, because it had given her something to do. And curiously, she found herself missing Ajay and Skye, the two people in the whole world that she felt like she belonged with.

Is this what having friends is like? she asked herself, already knowing the answer. She’d never been very popular in school, and she’d basically lived a life of isolation ever since her diagnosis. But the memories she had of friends, of playing hide-and-seek with James and Rory and forcing them to act during her childhood playwriting phase, she’d felt that same kind of warmth that she felt when she thought about Ajay and Skye.

She wasn’t hopeful that it would work out, though. Sure, they liked her now, but once school started back they’d both undoubtedly get busy with one thing or another and forget about her.

Maybe that was for the best. She didn’t want to hurt them when the cancer eventually drowned her completely.

Unable to even look at the pancakes, she packed them back up in their container and returned them to the fridge, grabbing an orange instead. She peeled it carefully and chewed on the slices, just about to head to the couch for yet another AME marathon when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Suspicious, she picked it up and read the text on the screen.

Ajay: Hey, are you awake?

She sat on the couch, losing her will to stand, and bit into another orange slice as she responded.

Grace: Yeah

Ajay: How do you feel about pastries?

Grace: Um, neutral to positive?

Ajay: Excellent. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Grace blinked. That had all happened so fast. But she couldn’t stop the smile from growing on her face. She had just been thinking about him.

Twenty minutes and a hasty fashion crisis later, Grace greeted Ajay at her front door. He was dressed to the nines, which she expected, and was carrying a glass pan full of little choux pastries, which she didn’t.

“Come in,” she said, trying to keep herself from smiling.

“No hair today,” he said, observing the scarf she’d wrapped around her head in an attempt to tame her unkempt hair.

“You already know my secret,” she replied, leading the way into the kitchen. “What’s in the pan?”

“A deconstructed croquembouche,” he said.

“A deconstructed what?”

“Croquembouche. It’s a really elaborate French dessert, a big tower built with these things,” he explained, picking up one of the pastries and handing it to Grace. She took it and examined it carefully.

“It’s got custard in the middle and caramel on top,” he said when she didn’t immediately take a bite. “It’s all homemade.”

“It looks delicate,” Grace said finally, still eyeing the little pastry. “Do you make pastries a lot?”

“Yes,” Ajay admitted. “I have a habit of stress-baking.”

“I could use a hobby like that,” Grace mused, just before taking a bite of the pastry. Her eyes widened as she tasted the custard in the middle, and how it perfectly complemented the caramel on the outside. The pastry itself nearly dissolved on her tongue.

Ajay smirked as she picked up another one, clearly enjoying seeing how much she liked them.

“Hungry?” he asked after she started on a third.

“Starving!”

Grace had rarely seen this side of herself in the last few years. A hint of the lighthearted optimist she used to be, the goofball that her friends and family loved to laugh with. Someone far more vulnerable than she could afford to be now.

She decided to let it stay. It was way too early in the morning for her to suppress anything. She caught Ajay’s eye and shot him a little grin, surprising him into a smile himself.

“You seem happy today,” he noted.

“It’s the pastries,” Grace said, biting back the words she really wanted to say.

“They’re good, aren’t they?”

“Hmmm,” Grace hummed, examining another puff. “Do I feed his ego… or lie?”

Ajay rolled his eyes, and Grace let out an accidental giggle. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but he had already noticed.

“Cute,” Ajay said, and then shook his head. “Dorky, but cute.”

Grace’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you just call me a dork?”

“Yes, because you’re a dork.”

“Take that back!” Grace said, shoving him lightly. Oh my god, was this flirting?

Unfortunately, she didn’t get to explore that thought any further before her mother’s footsteps echoed from the stairs.

“Grace, honey? Who’s here?”

“Just Ajay,” Grace called back. “He brought pastries. They’re okay.”

“Okay?” Ajay mouthed, his eyes shining and his grin wide.

“Shut up,” Grace mouthed back, before turning to smile angelically at her mother. 

“How nice,” her mother said, unfazed by Ajay’s presence. He handed her a puff in return.

“Choux pastries,” he explained. Grace’s mom bit into it, and she smiled once she’d swallowed.

“This is lovely,” she said. “Where did you learn to make these?”

“I had a phase in middle school where I wanted to be a chef,” he explained. “I made my parents sign me up for a youth summer camp at the Culinary Institute in California when I was fourteen.”

“And you were calling me a dork?” Grace cut in, snagging another puff.

“I never said I wasn’t just as much of a dork. But you’re a math dork, and that’s much dorkier than being a food dork.”

“And you like me anyways?” Grace asked, a tentative, impulsive question. It was a test, but she didn’t know what it was for.

Ajay didn’t reply immediately. Grace wondered if he could hear the way her heart was pounding out of her chest. She knew they were both acutely aware of her mother moving around the kitchen, of the floorboards settling under her father’s feet as he made his way down the upstairs hallway, of the shuffling from her brother’s bedroom as he stumbled around in his morning daze, trying to get dressed.

“Do I feed her ego?” he finally said, quietly so her mother wouldn’t hear, a smirk curling at the corner of his lip, “Or lie?”

This time she couldn’t hold back a smile, but she disguised it by biting into another pastry. His eyes didn’t leave hers until James sat down next to Grace, startling both of them.

“Good morning,” James said to Ajay, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his tone teasing.

“Good morning,” Ajay replied in kind. “Want a choux pastry?”

James took it and popped it into his mouth.

“Wow, this is really good. It must’ve taken you a long time to make all these.”

“Mmm,” Ajay hummed in agreement. “Yes, but I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Just then, his phone started to ring. He glanced at Grace apologetically.

“Sorry, I have to take this.”

“No problem, you can go out to the porch if you want privacy,” Grace said, pointing towards the door. Ajay nodded gratefully, and left. The second the door closed, James rounded on Grace, both eyebrows raised. He didn’t even have to say anything.

“Shut up,” Grace said, her smile gone but a light blush covering her cheeks.

“He just showed up with a pan full of pastries? Randomly?”

“He probably made extra, or something…” Grace said, trying to talk about something else, anything else.

James snorted. “I doubt that. It’s pretty clear he’s into you.”

Grace rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny that her heart got a little bit lighter after she heard him say that. She tried to shut it down.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said unconvincingly.

“Well, there’s something,” James said, his eyes on Grace even though she was staring at the floor. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Grace said slowly, still not making eye contact with her brother. “Even if there is something, it doesn’t matter, because I’m still dying and he’s still not.” She felt like she was forcing the words out, not truly meaning them.

Grace lifted her head to meet his eyes then, and she saw his face soften into something sad.

“Grace…” he said, evidently unsure how to finish the sentence. Grace didn’t know what she wanted from him, but it wasn’t that. She turned away, and at that moment Ajay came back through the door, finished with his phone call.

“Everything okay?” Grace asked, glad to have an interruption to the awkward silence.

“Oh, yeah. Erin just called. Any chance you want to join a bunch of us for a picnic in the orchestra pit? It’s a bit of a tradition.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Erin? The girl who plays Sarah?”

Ajay nodded. “She’s an actress at Berry, too.”

“Oh, Erin Ward? I’ve seen her around school,” James said. “She’s on my baseball team for the summer league, too. I didn’t realize she was doing a show.”

“You’re more than welcome to come with us,” Ajay offered. “It’s not a theatre thing, it’s more of a friend thing.”

“Will Skye be there?” Grace asked, not sure why she asked. Something in her chest wanted to see the redhead again.

“Of course,” Ajay said. “We always force her to come to this stuff.”

James shot her a side-eye glance, mouthing “Skye?”. Grace just shook her head, even more unwilling to have that particular conversation.

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“No wig?” Ajay asked as Grace unhooked her cannula from the machine and plugged it into the canister in the cart she’d left in the kitchen last night.

“Not if they want to be friends,” Grace said. “I’m not interested in lying to people that I’m gonna have to get close to.”

“Touché,” Ajay responded, then held the front door open for her and James.

“Bye, Mom,” James called into the kitchen. “We’re going to lunch with some theatre nerds.”

Ajay caught Grace’s eye, and they both laughed.

The orchestra pit was a strange place to have a picnic, but once they arrived and Ajay turned on all the stand lights so that the small cave-like area was lit by an eerie blue glow, Grace understood why they liked it here.

Erin arrived shortly after Grace, James and Ajay, toting a stack of pizza boxes that she nearly dropped upon seeing James.

“James, oh my god! What are you doing here?”

“I’m your lighting tech’s twin brother,” James said, a bit of a puppy-dog look on his face as he looked at Erin. It was Grace’s turn to raise her eyebrows at her twin, who completely ignored her.

“Erin, you’re the lead?”

“Yup,” she said proudly. “Me and Rory, that is.”

“Yes, yes, I couldn’t have asked for two better leads,” Ajay said, sounding exasperated. Grace could tell he wasn’t from his smile. If anything, he seemed exactly in his element as he relieved Erin of the pizza boxes. 

“So, how’s baseball?” Grace asked both Erin and James, trying to keep her mind off of Ajay’s grin.

“We’re miserably losing, but it’s going well other than that!”

Bemused, Grace had to match Erin’s smile. They talked about summer league, Ajay doling out slices of pizza and staying out of the conversation about sports, until Rory and Skye arrived.

Even from a few feet away, Grace could see the darkness behind Skye’s neutral expression. She didn’t dare mention it, but scooted closer to the redhead once she sat at Grace’s side, trying to let her know she was there for her.

“Good to see you guys,” Ajay said. James offered Rory a fist bump, to which everyone else in the pit rolled their eyes.

“So, interesting place for a picnic,” James piped up after swallowing his first piece of pizza whole like a vacuum cleaner. 

“It’s dark in here,” Skye offered. “Quiet. Not many places like that in a theatre.”

“A good place to think,” Ajay added.

“And to run lines,” said Rory. “Not many others know about it, so it’s perfect.”

“Well now you’ve let me in. Won’t that disturb your haven?”

Ajay and Skye both opened their mouths, possibly to refuse, but Rory piped up before either of them could say anything.

“No way, Gracie,” they said, lightly punching her shoulder. “You’re welcome anywhere around here.”

Ajay let his mouth close, refocusing on his pizza slice. Skye’s pizza remained untouched as she examined the nearest music stand.

“James, have you ever seen Ragtime?” Erin asked, trying to defuse some of the tension.

“No, actually, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t? I’d have thought, with a twin like Grace, that you’d be well-versed in musical theatre,” Ajay asked, looking surprised.

“Ha, not so much. She and Rory would make me watch The Sound of Music and Hello, Dolly with them when we were kids, and I was forced to play background characters in their plays, but that’s it.”

“Come on, you know you loved acting in The Snail That Lived Forever,” Grace refuted.

“You think I liked having salt dumped on my head?” James retorted, and Grace pushed him.

Skye watched them, her blue gaze switching between them. 

“What about you, Skye? Any childhood tech shenanigans?” Grace asked, hoping to include the girl in the conversation and get rid of the lost look in her eyes.

To her surprise, Skye smiled a little bit and nodded. “Actually, when I was five, I liked to draw. Just… not on paper.”

The six of them traded stories well into the afternoon, including an animated recount of Rory’s sabotaged flash mob by Ajay. Skye added stories about previous shows at Berry and from the summer, vividly illustrating disastrous missed cues and the antics of a boy named Trevor, someone who seemed like a wholly unpleasant person to Grace.

The more she laughed, the more something settled in Grace’s chest. It felt like a puzzle piece, a part of her settling back where it belonged. She wondered how long it had been gone.

Too long, she concluded as she traded bitten-lip smiles with Ajay and good-natured eye rolls with Skye. Way, way too long, she added when she saw the way her twin’s face lit up when Erin set her eyes on him, how his breathing stopped when she put a hand on his shoulder.

She was definitely going to tease him about that later.

Rory said they’d drive Grace and James home, but not before Ajay pulled Grace aside.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Sure,” Grace replied. “Sorry we didn’t get to talk more, just us.”

Ajay shook his head. “Nevermind about that.”

Grace nodded, feeling brushed off by his curt phrase. “Um… have a good evening, Ajay.”

“Thanks, Grace. You too.”

After saying quick goodbyes to Skye and Erin, the twins followed Rory out to their car. 

After they’d been driving for about five minutes, Rory turned the radio down.

“Grace, James, maybe you guys can help me with something,” they said, their eyes focused on the road.

“Yeah, what’s up?” James asked. From the passenger seat, Grace just angled herself to face them.

“It’s… these other actors. Clint and Natalie. They play Younger Brother and Evelyn Nesbit, Grace.”

She’d seen them before. They seemed almost glued to Rory’s side.

“What about them?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of embarrassing to say,” they hedged.

“They seem kind of… desperate,” Grace said, trying to be kind but also trying to make it easier for Rory to talk about.

“Yeah,” they said, grabbing onto the lifeline. “I’m starting to think they’re obsessed with me.”

“They probably just both have a big crush on you,” James interjected. “It’s happened to some of my teammates. Probably just because you’re a big-shot actor.”

“Maybe,” Rory said, but they still looked troubled. “I don’t feel that way about them, though.”

“Maybe you need to tell them that. They could think it’s mutual, or maybe they’re enjoying flirting with you. Thrill of the chase, yknow.”

“Like you and Ajay,” James added from the backseat, entirely unhelpfully. If her cannula wasn’t in the way, Grace would’ve turned to glare at him. As it was, she was sure he had an impish grin on his face. Grace resolved to strangle him with her cannula as soon as they got home.

“Ajay?” Rory asked Grace. Grace just hid her face in her hands, too tired and too embarrassed to face her childhood best friend’s judgement about the crush that she’d tried her hardest to stamp out.

“You know what, I could see that,” Rory said after a long silence. Grace didn’t take her face out of her hands, but her heart started pounding again. They could see that?

“He brought her pastries this morning,” James said. “And I definitely caught them flirting.”

“Shut up!” Grace hissed at her twin, deciding that strangulation by cannula was too merciful. Instead, she’d steal her parents’ knife block in the middle of the knight and slice him up before anyone knew what had happened.

“Damn,” said Rory, whistling low through their teeth. “That’s practically a confession of love in Ajay-ese.” Grace’s mind went blank, either too full or too empty to process anything. Possibly both too full and too empty, all overwhelming her at the same time.

“I knew it!” James crowed. He was just starting to say something else, but Rory’s car came to a stop between the two houses.

“You’d better run, James,” Rory advised, seeing Grace’s death glare pointed at her twin. As James took off, Rory turned to Grace and laid a hand on her arm.

“I won’t say anything,” they said. “Not to Ajay, or anyone else. And anyways, it sounds like he feels the same way.”

Grace didn’t acknowledge the last part of what they said. “You’d better not tell anyone. I’m going to kill James as it is, I’d rather not kill you too.”

“I promise,” Rory said, grinning. “Now, if you’re trying to kill James, you’d better get inside.”

The next few weeks passed in kind. Grace got to hang out with Skye in the booth more often, which was a relief. She was able to escape the chaos of the stage and the house, and watching the colors reflect off Skye’s pale cheeks and nose could only be another benefit. She wasn’t sure if Skye noticed her watching.

Their masterpiece continued to take shape. Ajay’s masterful and admittedly irritating changes, edits and tweaks evolved the show from a passably entertaining show to a true work of art. So much so that although the entire cast and crew groaned when he yelled “Hold!” for the fiftieth time in a single scene, they all still got caught up in the emotion of it all. 

The whole group of them-- Grace, Ajay, Skye, Rory, Erin and James-- occupied the city with their mischief on their off time. Skye tore through department stores, folding up shirts and correcting displays before the workers could even find the mess that previous customers had created. Rory raided the food court, bestowing the title of the worst place they’d ever eaten at upon the Sbarro on the far end of the Cedar Cove Mall, and the title of the best on the hibachi place they’d quickly gotten addicted to.

Erin and James often disappeared into the sportswear and team logo shops, and one Friday after rehearsal, James emerged from a Nike store with a huge grin on his face and Erin’s hand in his. Grace stared, and James reluctantly let go of Erin’s hand and pulled his twin aside.

“I asked her out,” he said.

Grace’s eyes went big. “Wow, good for you!”

“We’re going to see the Portland Timbers this weekend. I was so surprised when she said she had tickets, I haven’t seen them play in a while.”

“Yeah, not since we were little,” Grace remembered. “I’m starting to think jocks are just a different type of nerd. Sports nerds.”

“Hmm,” James hummed. “Oh, speaking of nerds, do you have any plans this weekend?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe with a certain someone?”

Grace sighed. “Rory’s asked me to help run lines, so that’s what I’m doing Saturday. Nothing to do on Sunday.” She cast a look towards Ajay, who was huddled in a corner with Erin.

“Look, I think they’re talking about you,” Grace said, drawing James’ attention towards the gossiping friends. Erin was talking animatedly, a huge smile on her face. James blushed.

“She’ll be better for me than Amber was, at least,” James said. Grace pursed her lips. That was another thing she didn’t like to think about. James’ relationship with Amber got really intense really quickly, which was mostly because of the chaotic energy the small cheerleader had. But Grace still couldn’t help but wonder if James would have handled that whole thing better if she’d been there for him. If he would’ve recovered from the heartbreak more quickly. But she’d mostly been in the hospital, and the effect that had on her brother didn’t escape her notice.

Grace gently punched her twin’s arm. “I hope so too,” she said, hoping he hadn’t caught on to any of her internal struggle.

“You should go ask Ajay if he wants to do anything this weekend,” James said after a bit of silence.

“He sees me enough already,” Grace said. “He’ll get tired of me.”

“I really don’t think he could,” James replied. “Things like that don’t apply when you have a crush.”

“I don’t really know how he feels about me,” Grace said. “And even if he did like me, I’m not sure what I would do about it.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like it’s hard. Just go ask him out, I promise it’s really just that easy.”

Grace shook her head. “No, no. I shouldn’t even like him. I’ll just end up hurting him.”

James sighed, but didn’t say anything else because Erin was heading towards the twins. Ajay fell back a little bit, obviously meaning for Grace to come join him, but she told herself not to. She smiled at him, thinking she probably owed him that much, and then walked faster to catch up with Rory