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aquilaofarkham · 3 years

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title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought.

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️ Thank you so much for commissioning me!

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There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity.

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.”

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician.

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

“I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough.

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

#castlevania #castlevania spoilers #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #greta danesti #trephacard #trevorcard #my writing #*cvfic

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babaleshy · 3 years

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I'm Autistic

Because this will likely be a lengthy, wordy post about my self-diagnosis as Autistic as well as all of my experiences regarding Autistic traits, I'm going to leave a "read more" link so that you're not scrolling for ages just to catch up on your feed.

Ah, I see you've clicked "keep reading" or "read more" or whatever this site has it labeled as, now. You don't get to be mad at how long this is or how much of a waste of time reading this may be to you because you consciously clicked on the link. Therefore, I am exempt from taking responsibilities of eating up any bit of your time, including the time you've wasted reading this disclaimer.

So... Yes. I am. And it's a self-diagnosis right now.

You're probably thinking that I saw a Tik Tok clip, checked out a page on WebMD, and decided that I'm Autistic (this is in reference to a Tik Tok I saw last night that nearly made me spit out my drink because of how painfully accurate the "what people think self-diagnosis is vs reality" clip was). That is, of course, not the case.

A few years ago (likely 2018), I don't recall what it was I read online, but it made me go, "Oh wow, that makes so much sense to me," in regards to a neurodivergent trait. However, this was then I thought I had ADHD. My husband has ADHD, was diagnosed with it as a child, and because his dad forced the doctor (this was like, in the late 90s, early 2000s I think) to put him on Adderall and Ritalin, my husband does not remember 3 years of his life because he was a drooling, zombified mess. Why did his dad do this? Because his grades were bad. Did this help with his grades? No. Did his dad take him off the meds because he didn't get the desired result? Also no. My husband wasn't even informed on what ADHD was. He was simply told he had it and to take these pills. It wasn't until he (my husband) read the label saying that it could increase the risk of heart issues that he cussed his dad out and flushed all the pills down the toilet. Up until very recently, he wasn't sure if he actually had ADHD until he saw a YouTuber who was actually diagnosed with it display the exact traits he had.

But he didn't see this YouTuber when I thought I had ADHD, so my husband couldn't exactly relate, plus I didn't want to trigger anything with him on the subject.

But the more I researched, the more I realized I could be on the spectrum. It wasn't until 2019 that I was printing out articles, trait lists, etc. to highlight and put into a folder (which is thick and nearly bursting with what I've printed out to have a hardcopy of records highlighting the traits that I have, including traits my husband and my mom see in me) that I realized "I could have Asperger's."

Of course, I no longer use that term after finding out it was named after a n*zi, and I began to embrace the term "Autistic" instead.

But the thing that triggered me into going, "Wait, so it's not ADHD that I think I have, it's Asperger's?" was, like my husband, seeing a YouTuber talk about their traits and experiences. I had identical struggles, myself. (Through this same YouTuber, I also found out I'm greysexual, too! There's a name to describe my experience with sexual attraction! Yay!)

There are a lot of VERY SPECIFIC TRAITS Autistic people experience that aren't mentioned by the YouTuber or in anything that I've printed out and highlighted that I have found through various Tik Toks that I have personally experienced that simply further solidifies the fact that I'm definitely on the spectrum. When I showed the Tik Tok I mentioned earlier (I don't remember their name) to my husband last night, he was wide-eyed because the description of how that individual self-diagnosed themselves WAS EXACTLY WHAT I DID WORD FOR WORD HOLY SHIT.

I was already convinced I am Autistic, but each time I read Twitter threads of people's experiences with their Autistic traits, each time I watch Tik Toks or certain YouTubers share their experiences, it further solidifies that yep, I'm Autistic.

What's amazing is that my husband is very supportive. I'm extremely lucky to have married him. I've been a terrible masker but he loves me anyways. He never gave me shit for my meltdowns and tried to help me out, thinking I was just horribly overly stressed. Now that he knows why I've had the few outwardly noticeable meltdowns that I've had throughout our years together, he knows how to help me more, now. And while he's figured out my traits and what issues I have, knowing that I'm on the spectrum helps him make sense of why I'm like this, and he can help me accordingly whether it's to prepare for something in advance, help me calm down, etc.

(I should also add here real quick that there's a high chance I have OCD as well, but less of the compulsive actions and more of the obsessive thoughts, but I'm not entirely sure just yet if this is the case. I'm actually hoping to see someone about this but with the pandemic, I don't know when that will be.)

Now... onto the traits and experiences.

My Traits (that stand out with neon lights)(Will copy word-for-word a trait my mom or husband see in me and it will be typed in a different color.)

Having a folder that has all of my research I've obsessively looked up, printed out, highlighted what I saw in myself with one color (yellow) while highlighting what my mom and my husband see with another color (pink). I'm also using this folder to make this list as a reference because I sometimes forget certain traits I do have are because I'm Autistic. (I'm 32 as I write this, so when so much of what you think, do, and experience that you see is normal for you turns out to be an Autistic trait, it takes a while to get used to it and thus remember that because you haven't had a label for it your whole life.)

Despite being goth/punk, I dress as comfortably as I can. Textures aren't a very big issue for me, but what feels like strangulation of my body tends to be a problem. I cannot handle having the cross seams of pants feeling like I have a chopstick slowly impaling my vulva, or I can't stand how tight some shorts are that they pinch my hip joints.

I've NEVER spent much time grooming my own hair. It's either tiring, I"m impatient and want it done NOW, or both. This is why I have a Tank Girl haircut (all buzzed except for bangs), where I can basically "wash and go." (Husband does my haircuts and dyes and he's kickass at it.)

Eccentric personality; may be reflected in appearance.

Is youthful for age, in looks, dress, behavior, and tastes.

Usually a little more expressive in the face and gesture than male counterparts.

"May not have strong sense of identity and can be very chameleon like before diagnosis." (This resonates with me in the form that I never saw myself in ANY fictional character other than Tank Girl. My husband agrees with this opinion, but he also says he also sees a lot of me in Caulifla from Dragonball Super.)

I enjoy reading and films as a retreat, often sci-fi, fantasy, children's (sometimes), can have favorites which are a refuge.

Uses control as a stress management (like routines, rules, rigid certain habits, etc.)

Usually happiest at home or in other controlled environment.

I've been seen as "sensitive" by some, and mocked for crying a lot by others.

I struggled with social aspects of college and have 2 partial degrees.

Often have trouble holding a job and finds employment very daunting.

Slow at comprehending at times due to sensory and cognitive processing issues.

DOES NOT DO WELL WITH VERBAL INSTRUCTIONS; MUST BE WRITTEN DOWN

Special interests (I'll get into these later).

Emotionally immature and emotionally sensitive.

Anxiety and fear are predominant emotions (some of which might be due to possible OCD).

I do have some sensory issues such as visual processing issues at times, certain sounds, certain smells, food I think, and issues with sunlight and my goddamn retinas.

Moody and prone to bouts of depression. Both of my parents as well as my husband have described my personality as reminding them of a cat.

Mild to severe gastro-intestinal difficulties (some of which could be due to endometriosis, btw).

I stim a little such as leg-bouncing, foot-waggling, some hand-flapping, some bouncing, the "spine-shimmy," joint-cracking, or playing with my ears.

Prone to temper or crying meltdowns, sometimes over seemingly small things due to sensory or emotional overload.

Hates injustice and hates being misunderstood, which incites anger and rage.

Prone to mutism when stressed or upset, especially after a meltdown, likely to stutter and may have a raspy voice.

Words and actions often misunderstood by others.

Perceived to be cold-natured and self-centered; unfriendly.

Very outspoken at times, may get very fired up when talking about passionate/obsessive interests.

Will shutdown in social situations once overloaded but generally better at socializing in small doses. May even give the appearance of skilled, but it is a "performance."

Doesn't go out much; will prefer to go out with partner only (aka my husband).

Will not do "girly" things like shopping.

Takes relationships seriously.

There's a bit on this chart (some of you probably already know by know what chart I'm using here) that says due to sensory issues, one would either really enjoy sex or strongly dislike it. I'm in the former camp complete with a pretty high libido.

Often prefers the company of animals.

So there are the traits that REALLY stick out like a sore thumb. These come from a site regarding female Asperger traits or however it's labeled as. I have plenty more from two other articles I printed out with lots of highlighting, but the chart actually sums a lot of the definitive shit quite nicely. At some point in this list, I could tell I went "fuck it" and copied many things word for word anyways since I'll be talking about experiences later in this post.

But it was this chart that I'd discovered that I started to realize that I really am on the spectrum, and to triple check, I asked my mom and my husband if they saw any of this in me. The traits typed in green are ones I wasn't sure of and had to ask them if they saw it. I'm not always aware of how I am, who I am at times, etc. I also didn't want to lie about it, so I had to get second and third opinions.

Despite all of this, only very few people that know me IRL know about me being Autistic. This is because I was heavily bullied growing up and since I haven't exactly left my hometown, I really don't want whoever stayed in the area as well to either have more fuel and re-enter my life that way, or try really hard to relieve their guilty conscience and demand that I forgive them or some shit. I also don't want "Autism Mommies" to come at my ass either asking that I help their kid (I'm not fond of children so that's not happening, plus ableism is what fucks a lot of Autistic people over regarding of age but they won't take that for an answer) or that because they---a neurotypical person---have a child who's Autistic, then that means they know all about it and because I'm not exactly like their child then I can't possibly be Autistic. It's just a whole mountain of shit I don't wanna get into.

This next bit will be split into 2 parts. One will be my special interests, and the other will be my experiences from my past that are prime examples of being Autistic long before anyone in the common public knew what Autism actually was.

My Special Interests (Both Forever & Temporary)

The following list will have my special interests but with indicators in parentheses as to whether they are forever-interests (as in, I never lost interest in the thing) or temporary (meaning, it was short-lived be it by weeks, months, or a few years). This will be in chronological order, meaning: the order of which these have appeared throughout my life.

Barney (temporary; helped me skip preschool and become honor roll student in kindergarten though)

Halloween (forever)

the color orange (forever)

dinosaurs (forever)

Donkey Kong Country esp. for SNES (forever)

animals (forever)

Godzilla movies (forever)

monster movies (forever)

Pokemon (temporary; I still like Pokemon, but it's not as hyperfocused as it used to be)

Digimon (temporary; same situation as with Pokemon)

Dragonball Z (forever)

Sailor Moon (on-and-off)

Ultimate Muscle (Kinnikuman Nisei) (forever)

Freddy vs Jason movie (still like, but the hyperfocus was temporary)

horror movies (forever)

Transformers (temporary)

Dark Knight movie (temporary)

Harley Quinn (temporary)

Lobo (temporary)

X-Men (forever, but only certain universes, mainly the 90s cartoon, and the character is always Hank McCoy)

neon-colored stuff (temporary; kind of some sort of semi-rave/techno phase)

books (forever; this was when I discovered it's "legal" to enjoy books if you "aren't smart"; I may explain this logic I had later in the post)

sex/sexuality/sexology (forever on the first two, temporary on the last one)

BDSM (on-and-off)

feminism (temporary in regards to doing research and educating myself; I still hold the views I've developed as a result, just not obsessively researching this topic anymore)

anarchism (forever)

ecology (forever)

Pleistocene epoch (forever)

goth and punk stuff (forever after discovering what these things are all about for real compared to when I was in high school and had no idea how to ask, who to ask, or where to look this stuff up at in rural Ohio)

Hellblazer (temporary)

Serbian heritage (on-and-off)

bats (temporary)

arachnids (forever)

teratophilia (forever; finally have a word to describe this damn kink)

gardening (current; unsure)

Russian language (current; unsure)

DIY things (forever)

Towards the end, it may not be in the proper order thanks to slowly losing my damn mind being cooped up mostly in my room on this farm since moving back here in 2014. The two that are "current;unsure" are ones I have a hyperfocus in right now, but I don't know if this will be temporary or not. I certainly hope not, especially considering how useful these things will be. And while I have gardening as one of them, I haven't properly begun yet because I get empty promises from my parents where they claim they'd help me, not to worry about it, then get irritated when I ask where the help is and they suddenly can't give me the help when I told them I needed it.

I should also note that I don't exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge in a whole lot of these interests that are forever-interests because I'm normally exhausted just trying to exist with minimal trouble from people. I'm hoping this will change. The things I know I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge in would be Dragonball Z, animals/ecology, and... a-and that's it. That's really it. That's all I've got because Dragonball Z was so profoundly different compared to other cartoons I've watched in the 90s that it was a wonderful escape, and I grew up around animals, taking care of animals, and watching nature documentaries. The stress I went through growing up has caused my memory of some of that wonderful animal knowledge to be lost and what could be re-gained may be easily forgotten again, hence why I need to narrow my focus for what I'd like to be an ecologist for. While I love paleontology, I want to help the living world's ecosystems and environments, too. I'd love to go back to school for this stuff now that I'm more informed of who I am and what I want in life (as opposed to being forced to pick a college major while still in high school while I'm just trying to survive the concept of existence).

In terms of collecting things pertaining to my interests, a common pattern you'll see me have is a very slowly growing Hank McCoy collection. This is largely because there isn't too much stuff made regarding this character. (There also isn't much stuff I can find that involves Piccolo, Cyndaquil, Donkey Kong, giant ground sloths, etc. that isn't already snatched up by other fans.)

Now, I'm going to get into the list of experiences. Some of which will talk about my special interests, but I also really want to talk about my struggles, too.

Experiences That Screamed "I'm Autistic"

In gradeschool, I was friends with someone who probably wasn't actually a friend and her mom made her hang out with me since I didn't really have any friends. She has told me several times that she didn't want to be my friend anymore with some kind of hostile catty smile, but I just.. I wasn't getting it. Because there was a smile. Why say that with a smile? After all we've been through? Then she's back to being my friend the next week. She really wanted to hang out with the popular girls (yes, there were cliques in 90s American gradeschool) and has done countless things to sabotage our friendship such as telling me Barney is a fake, Donkey Kong was a real gorilla who hung himself, etc. And I believed all this shit, too, in an attempt to still be an acceptable friend. She even told me that I couldn't be a witch because I liked toads so much (toads were the only wildlife I excitedly interacted with in my back yard on a regular basis).

I love Halloween for many reasons, but one of them (aside from my favorite color being involved) was the fact that it was acceptable to wear a mask. I love (and still do) the idea of covering my face because I feel less "naked" to the world. So this pandemic had a small plus for me in the form of mask-wearing outside of Halloween has become somewhat more acceptable.

In 5th grade, another classmate who had more obvious Autistic traits and was diagnosed with Asperger's at the time was an asshole to me. They would constantly give me shit and bully me for whatever reason. When I finally took a stand, the teachers on duty at recess called me to the bottom of the hill, forcing me to look at them WITHOUT allowing me to have my hands up to block the sunlight that hurt my eyes, and were able to manipulate me into "admitting picking on so-and-so for no reason" because I chased them around the playground where a group of girls (the same cliquey assholes the former "friend" wanted to mingle with) had to group-carry me away. They're the ones who snitched and they gave me those same hostile smiles. That's when I learned that not all smiles meant good things. I was 10.

I sometimes "lose the ability" to ask for help long before the "help" I ever got in any circumstance was just me being met with frustration by whoever is trying to "help" me or I'm met with "sorry, can't help you there. (The former being with homework or school work, the latter being with going to authorities about bullies.)

Growing up, I was never girly (or girly enough) and I've tried to, but I failed miserably. My special interests would roar through and because it was too odd or different or annoying, it gave other girls fuel for bullying me with.

Regarding the lack of being girly enough, I was at a pool party with the former "friend" mentioned earlier and she started this "game" where she and the other girls would leap into the pool saying, "I love you, Leonardo!" This was in 4th grade and in reference to the Titanic movie, which at that point, I'd never heard of, because I was too pumped for the latest Land Before Time sequel. So when I leapt into the pool, I said, "I love you, Raphael." All the girls were confused, asked who that was. I then asked, "Aren't we playing Ninja Turtles?" Because the only Leonardo I knew of was a fucking Ninja Turtle, goddamnit. Who let you brats watch that shitty romance film anyways? Boring as fuck.

Aside from the occasional weekend visits or sleepovers at the former "friend's" house, I didn't get to socialize much, so I would spend most of my days (especially in the summer) watching what was on TV or watching from our very large VHS collection. During which I would make mental notes on how certain characters acted or what they said and try to remember that to mimic them in a social setting, which would be out of place because I'd be so focused on mainly the dialogue that once it prompts me to say the thing, they don't respond how I expect them to and then I'm at a loss.

I was very ignorant of music and didn't even know the concept of independent or underground bands existed. Plus, rural Ohio is a cultural wasteland. Otherwise, I would've gotten into metal, goth, and punk way earlier in life. So I thought that bands that existed were because television said so.

Speaking of an odd logic... If it was taboo or bad to talk about, I thought it was illegal. Thus, I thought any knowledge about sex was illegal and that it was supposed to happen "naturally."

I also thought that, because I wasn't considered as smart by my peers, some teachers, and even as such in the form of an insult from my parents from time to time (despite what they claim NOW), that also meant I wasn't allowed to enjoy books, because only smart people are allowed to enjoy reading. So therefore, it would be illegal for me, a not-smart person, to enjoy reading a book. So I had to focus on the pictures because if I enjoyed reading, somehow everyone would know and then I'd get into trouble.

I also thought it was illegal to talk about periods.

I socially struggled BADLY when I got to middle school because my brain was like... 4 years behind? How the fuck do people know all these bigger words? Or complex issues? This was also when I had to start suppressing ALL urges to cry because at that age, I'm not "supposed" to cry over everything. So I still, to this day, suppress it to the point of guaranteeing inducing a headache. Because I've always caught shit for crying.

Middle school was when I met an oppressive "friend" who was obsessed with me because she had a crush on me and was rather controlling of who I could and couldn't talk to and got pissy if I got close to making a new friend. Because I was desperate for a friend that wasn't like the former "friend," I allowed this abuse into my life.

High school was me just trying to survive. By the time I got home, I was too mentally exhausted to enjoy anything short of watching TV or whatever was rented from Blockbuster.

My brain was still feeling like it was years behind, and I struggled to keep up with whatever was supposed to be something I knew about, including the concept of masturbation.

Like I said earlier, anything sex-related might've been illegal to talk about, and because masturbation was still kinda taboo, I feared I'd get in trouble, but my teenage hormones compelled me to do it a LOT. It consumed my free time almost like an escape, a form of stimming, but I was shameful of it to the point of suicidal thoughts.

The former bullet was due to being raised in a christian household. My parents didn't have such views on sex like this, but I was afraid of being in trouble for asking, took to the internet, and caught some misinfo about how immoral it was. I mourned I'd be going to hell.

Speaking of religion, I thought it was illegal to change your religious beliefs, and there was only Judiasm, Muslim, and Buddhism outside of christianity (I'm Pagan, now).

While I was excited to get away from my parents presumably for good after high school, college was a new form of hell. The sudden, dramatic change in environment and lack of ANY preparation for living like an adult on my own caused me to mentally/socially/emotionally malfunction. I had outbursts I desperately tried to suppress, I felt stupid because everybody sounded smarter than me, I didn't actually want to go to art school but wasn't smart enough for anything else and never really bothered to better my artistic skills and thus felt like I shouldn't be there anyways, I struggled to fit in better, I had no idea how to function that certain habits such as neglect of my own dishes on my desk developed because I LITERALLY COULD NOT SEE MY OWN MESSES DUE TO THE STRESS I WAS EXPERIENCING. This was 3 or 4 long YEARS of this.

Attending art classes mostly run by very demanding (and demeaning) teachers while my art skills weren't up to par added to this stress on top of me not actually wanting to be THERE in the first place, just away from my parents.

I nearly ruined a friendship with a roommate because of my struggles. I'm not even sure if she is aware of my Autism because I'm afraid to approach her about it for some reason.

Plenty of times throughout my life where I'm loud and don't even realize it.

I've info-dumped on my parents, but right now they half or completely ignore me.

I've tried making eye contact, but it's like staring in the sun not in the sense of pain, but in the sense of by natural reaction looking away. When I force myself to make eye contact, I'm spending so much focus and effort into doing that to the point where I am unable to pay attention to what the person is saying. Instead, I stare at the mouth so I make sure I hear correctly the words they're telling me.

Each time someone is mad at me and gives me the silent treatment, and I inquire what I did to piss them off, they get madder because I'm somehow supposed to immediately know when I fucking don't. Then, half the time, they continue not telling me and I have to hear it from someone else. This further confuses me as to why they don't just simply fucking tell me.

I've annoyed people to listening to the same one or few songs over and over again. A lot (currently obsessed with the Sunset Overdrive and Tank Girl movie soundtracks).

I can "smell" the heat outside on a summer day.

I can smell other people's unique scents sometimes (especially when in someone's house; also experienced this in other people's dorms).

I can't remember what grade this was, but in high school, we went to some kind of space camp facility thing, and our class was split into two groups: one group was the group who was on Mars and ready to come home, the other was on Earth and can't wait to go to Mars. I was in the former group. My job in this little fun display interactive room thing was to examine the isotopes and report... uh.. I can't remember.. Report something that was off. Everyone else was dicking around with what they're supposed to do, and I was actually doing my job, and then said something, like I was supposed to, if I found something that was off (I don't remember the specifics). When the scientist who worked at the facility praised me on "saving the crew," I caught this look from the entire class a look I can't quite describe other than they didn't seem to like the fact that I did a good thing and was being praised for it instead of any of them (or they were shocked that a "dumb girl" like me could achieve this and get praise for it, I don't know.. hard to tell). This was a science class field trip, but despite this, I didn't have an interest in space, and still didn't feel I was smart. (Come to think of it, I think this was actually an 8th grade field trip, I can't remember.)

Just discovered this today: I'm actually very easily overwhelmed that could trigger a meltdown when I wake up. I don't know for how long until that point passes, either. But this could also be explained with how I've reacted to certain alarm clocks (the ones with the bells just induce pure rage in me). Either I will be on the verge of a meltdown or I'll have a fucking headache all day. Normally, I just wanna drink my coffee and either read or practice a little on Duolingo.

I don't always have enough room for a lot of info in my head for things that I like, so I have to carefully narrow shit down. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to do about my urge to get my hands on some monster movies while making sure nothing else I've retained info for wanes. Not sure if this is due to stress or what. But apparently I have designated compartments for certain categories in my brain. If I get into monster movies, continue to work on my knwoledge on ecology and paleontology, and gain more knowledge about arachnids, that shouldn't impede on the "language" category, so whatever I learn in Russian will remain safe.

Interest "Webs."

I have what I'd like to call an "interest web." My special interests in one thing can lead me to having an interest in another. I care about nature, and I also care about paleontology. Paleoecology is something I'd like to dip my toes into. But because this all involves nature, I have an interest in botany (though it's still intimidating so I'm sticking with local native trees) and arachnids (after conquering my fears and learning more about them). So the web stops at arachnids there (no pun intended).

Back to ecology and paleoecology...

I have a major interest in the Pleistocene because it was just before we humans started writing shit down. Hints of that era echoes within our current environment, from the pronghorn being "unnecessarily" fast (due to miracynonyx, the "American cheetah," which is now an extinct cat) to avocados not seeding like they should without human assistance as well as the yucca trees (Joshua trees) going into retreat thanks to the absence of giant ground sloths.

But the planet is warming, and we could use all the help from plants that we get, especially when it comes to making sure that permafrost stays frozen. So there's this "Pleistocene Park" project taking place in Russia, and one day, if I get into the field of paleontology, I may want to chat with those involved in that project, but one can't expect every other country to know English.

There's also FROZEN PLEISTOCENE MEGAFAUNA CARCASSES BEING FOUND IN PERMAFROST, too.

On top of all of this, Russia's northern lands will become habitable for humans if shit hits the fan and the planet's mostly fucked, so it's still nice to know the language.

See how all of these interests intertwine? (It also helps that since I am of Serbian heritage but can't find accessible resources to learn the language and I wanna know a Slavic language that Russian is kind of accessible. It also seems to be the only Slavic language "commonly" found in colleges when it comes to foreign language courses.) This is why I call them "interest webs." Not sure if other Autistic people have them, but it's something that I have.

The second one could simply involve Halloween, punk, goth, monsters, and teratophilia with Halloween being the gateway because my favorite color is orange.

Just thought this would be a fun thing to touch on real quick.

My Sensory Traits

I do experience some sensory traits, but they're not intense like some people would assume (unless I'm simply not noticing how intense they can be).

I can "smell" the summer heat, which was something I thought everybody else experienced but I'm wrong.

My retinas hurt in bright sunlight despite not looking anywhere near the sun, which I also thought everybody else experienced.

Drinks taste different or off in some way if they're not in a particular mug, glass, etc. that the drink is supposed to be in. (I have certain mugs that I enjoy my coffee in, but the other mugs? They taste off. I can't explain why. I have ONLY TWO acceptable little tumbler glasses for orange juice.)

Breakfast food does not taste like breakfast food unless it's on this one specific plate from my childhood.

Dinner can be iffy on certain plates, but the safest go-to is the knock-off blue willow plates.

Lunch is acceptable on anything, but if I'm having simply a sandwich, it must be on a small plate.

I have specific forks I'd prefer to use because of how they feel in my hand, how the food-part feels in my mouth, and how the fork itself tastes.

Gotta have cinnamon in my coffee. I just do. It's not coffee without it.

I cannot fucking handle hair snippets of any size for any reason on my body. This is why there is a rigid procedure to where my husband must buzz my hair over a paper-towel-covered sink (to avoid clogging the drain) while wearing a particular tanktop Harley Quinn night shirt, and then I must shower immediately afterwards. During the haircut, my skin itches like mad like I'm being poked by the hairs directly even in places where hair snippets have never, ever gone.

I'm overly sensitive to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes.

Also cannot brush teeth with cold water because it's so painful (this was LONG before I had dental issues and persists to this day). Even my tongue hurts from it.

I'm picky as fuck with candy. Trick-or-treating was sometimes difficult because all I cared about was either orange-flavored stuff, or chocolate. Only specific chocolates, too (Krackle, Mr. Goodbar, Crunch, Butterfinger, Reese's, that was it.) Skittles were okay, but a lot of the baggies I got had a LOT the red ones and the red ones suck. Can't stand the other candies. (But my tastes have changed since then, and I opt for European chocolate from Aldi's as they are far superior, especially Moser Roth's 70% dark chocolate and Choceur's coffee and cream chocolate.)

Speaking of candy, the Whopper's Robin's Eggs tasted better than regular Whoppers and I will never be able to explain why.

Despite loving orange flavored stuff, I have trust issues when I see an unlabeled orange candy because there's the dangerous chance it could be fucking peach flavored. *gag* (I like real peaches, but the artificial flavored ones suck balls.) Due to my dental situation, I cannot enjoy very much in a way of candy, and the only artificial orange flavoring I CAN enjoy is through Vitamin D gummies... And even then, EVEN THEN I have to worry about the fucking peach flavors if I have to go with a different brand because we can't get our hands on a bottle from Simple Truth.

Artificial cherry flavoring is death.

The ONLY flavored medicine that was acceptable to me was orange (of course) and those dissolving strips that were grape-flavored that they don't fucking make anymore because fuck me that's why. Everything else was peer-pressured to do shots kiddie edition.

The different colored coatings on M&M's taste different from one another and I cannot explain why. It's very subtle, hardly noticeable, BUT I CAN TELL.

Peanutbutter is fucking amazing.

The smell of peanutbutter is fucking not.

There are these frozen meals my husband gets for days he doesn't have energy to cook and one of them (all from the same brand) smells like fucking hell.

My husband's Nissan Cup Noodle ramen overpowers my incense despite what other household members say.

I love incense, especially dragonsblood, "coffee time," pumpkin spice, raven, and rain.

All of the autumn scents or scents associated with autumn are orgasmic to me.

The smell of artificial cherry is death.

I would love to have perfume or body spray of Play-Doh.

I can compare smells of some places to others, such as the library branch I frequent smells like my gradeschool, as do SOME of their books' pages, and when my husband and I walked through this hall-like tunnel-like storefront in downtown Pittsburgh, I said it smelled like my grandma's basement, and he thought the same, so we're in aggreeance that all grandma's basements smell the same. Except for my Baba and Deda's. Their basement smelled like they actually still enjoy life and had their shit together.

Speaking of gradeschool smells, my gradeschool had two directions of classrooms, one led towards the gym, but the hall off to the side was carpeted, had some nice colors, and held 2 kindergarten classes and 2 first grade classes. That section of the building had its distinctive smells. The other direction led to the office, the cafeteria, and the hall with the 2 classes of grades 2 through 5 plus the preschool and the art/music class was. The smell was different in all classes EXCEPT for the music/art class, and I never went to preschool so I wouldn't know what that smells like.

ALL PRINCIPLE OFFICES SMELL THE SAME. HOW.

I could smell when my husband accidentally put in cinnamon when he thought he grabbed paprika in a dish that I liked. He was terrified of telling me. That was a happy accident and it became a permanent ingredient. He was mortified and shocked that I could smell his whoopsie in my dinner he made me.

I can also smell the cinnamon they use in Little Caeser's pizza crust. Yes. They use cinnamon. But I was the only one to notice.

Honey is like peanutbutter: it tastes amazing. But holy shit fuck that smell.

Gas stations smell like death, sadness, and questioning life's choices.

No two people's car interiors smell alike.

I can smell when it will rain soon, especially if it's about to storm.

I'm the one who noticed that hairy white oldfield asters smell like cake batter.

Dominant yellow filling my entire vision can be sometimes painful.

I used to be able to "hear" the color yellow in my head so much I thought yellow actually made a noise. It was a particular shade of yellow, and it made this Playskool toy-like clicking bell ringing noise, but really obnoxiously, almost painfully. I don't know how to describe the shade other than "cloudy pastel lemon?" It looked like the fucking lemon-flavored medicine I had to take as a kid.

My parents tried mixing in this cherry flavored death medicine in with my orange soda thinking I wouldn't know the difference but I did, so I dumped it down the drain and opened a new can because that can of Big K orange was fucking ruined.

Orange is wonderful to my eyes. But it's a hard color for me to find when it comes to getting things in a particular color. My back-up colors are red, green, and purple.

The sunlight hurts my retinas, even when I'm not looking at the sky at all, but the pain intensity increases the further I look up on a sunny summer day. This has been like this since childhood. Prescriptive sunglasses shouldn't be fucking expensive and should be covered by healthcare insurance.

I have to try really FUCKING hard not to stare at someone's muscles in person because ugh... Good thing I rarely see anybody who's well-built. (No really, this isn't even really a sexual thing, I'm so fucking fascinated and once I realize "oh, so that particular muscle looks like that from that angle", I get a glimmer of hope that I MIGHT be able to draw something humanoid since I suck at drawing people.)

Orange trees as so pleasing to the eye, and these are much more socially acceptable to stare at, lest I'm in person and the property owner might think I'm plotting to steal some (luckily I've never been anywhere near a place that grows orange trees).

Neon lights are amazing and I want them to come the fuck back. I swear, stores were so much more enjoyable of an environment when they were common. Such lights improve my mood in a way I cannot describe. I'm no longer in a hurry to get home if I am in the presence of neon lights.

Sunny days during winter are painful because the sunlight reflects off the snow. I'm painfully blinded if I look outside or go anywhere.

I cannot handle the sight of someone having boogers/snot hanging from their nose, not the sight of someone vomiting, nor the sight of an syringe needle piercing flesh.

I cannot handle the sound of alarm clock bells. I have woken up in a rage and been in a bad mood I try so hard to suppress for a good portion of the day. If I hear an alarm clock bell now these days, I wanna take it and chuck it across the room regardless the time of day or if I'm already awake. It's not so bad if I hear it from a video. In person? That's starting a war with me.

Children crying or screaming (especially babies) are almost painful to me and triggers my fight-or-flight response.

The reason why I was the loudest mellophone player in marching band was to drown out hearing the fucking trumpets. And I did; I was louder than the trumpets. (I quit marching band my sophomore year but for different reasons.)

Much of the music from the 80s that gave it that sound that definitely said it's from the 80s is very pleasing to my ears.

I love punk music for its messages, lyrics, and energy, but goth always puts me into a headspace where I feel like I'm at home; I'm at peace and want to cuddle the monster under my bed.

However, some punk songs can hit deep or strong and live rent-free in my head, such as Anti-Flag's "Racist," Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl," and Skarpretter's "Nazi Scum."

One particular artist's voice I cannot get over because his is the first voice of any kind that makes me wanna fan myself is Peter Steele of Type O Negative. My favorite song, however, is "All Hallow's Eve" because his voice, the subject, and the lyrical content.

I'm able to hear something off in the oscillating fan my husband likes to use before he notices it.

I'm the one who can hear coyotes at night (doesn't help my mom wants to blast westerns to drown out the world and I'm back here in my room away from that shit though).

I can hear the branches scraping against the house, gently making creepy noises before I realize what the fuck it is, BUT NOBODY ELSE HEARS IT.

I can recognize the call of a robin because we had so many at the house I grew up in, and nobody else in this family fucking noticed.

I tend to notice the sound of the rain over all the house noise first.

I don't like tight clothing, which is why I prefer bralettes because my tits hurt.

If I could, I'd go without the bra because the band can sometimes suddenly feel tighter than it actually is, but because I have large nipples, I kinda need that bra for a bit of protection.

Shorts can be tight around the crotch, hip joins, and lower belly region, and that's a big no-no for me.

I'd prefer baggy pants, honestly.

Can't have tight footwear. No.

The seam at the top of socks or tights hurt my pinky toes if the whole sock/tights shift that way.

I already covered the hair snippet thing so since this is the sense of touch, another body hair thing is I kinda don't wanna shave my pits anymore because they are extremely itchy when they grow back. HAVE to shave my crotch because if I don't it gets horribly itchy, and my thick, fast-growing hair weaves into underwear, gets caught in pads, etc.

Ah yes. Pads. I hate them, but they're far more acceptable than a tampon or a cup because I have vaginismus.

Certain fabric textures are itchy as hell. There's a black shirt I have whose collar and cuffs are gorgeous but I have to wear something underneath to avoid feeling itchy.

Winter is hell for me here in the midwest, as I am very susceptible to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes. I become very slow, too. I feel like I can't get warm enough most of the time.

Air conditioned places in the summer feel almost similar, so I don't always wear shorts if I'm expected to go into, say, a Walmart with my husband to pick up everything. I'll shiver.

(We're gonna get into TMI territory here.) Can't masturbate by hand unless I've got a nitrile glove on because my brain only focuses on what my fingers are touching more than what my cunt feels.

Can't have any sex with my husband without anything brighter than low-light because things can be visually distracting in the room, or lights can suddenly feel way too bright to me. (Halloween string lights or those LED rope lights with adjustable brightness features and colors are excellent for this situation.)

In Conclusion

This is all that I've figured out so far. None of this hit me at once as a realization when I figured out that I'm Autistic. This took a while to realize it, and the realizations were mostly at random times through examples of other people experiencing it on the internet or through me going, "Huh, is that an Autistic trait?"

There may be even more that I'm currently unaware of or have forgotten to type here.

I apologize for how extremely lengthy this was. This took all day to type because of having to get up and do other things that needed to be done. One of the reasons why I really wanted to type this is because it's much easier to organize this on a computer, and I am absolutely shit at organizing files on my computer.

Unfortunately, while my husband is wonderful in supporting me, my parents aren't exactly all that great at it. Especially my dad, who is either vaguely dismissive or outright "forgets" that I'm Autistic (he honestly just... doesn't care, and tries to make things convenient for him at the expense of others most of the time). My mom... I'm not real sure. There are times where she seems to remember and others where she doesn't. I'm honestly wondering if they don't like knowing that I'm Autistic because that means my brother would have been as his traits were far more obvious than mine.

I hope that whoever is questioning whether or not they're Autistic has found this helpful at least in the sense that it would point you in the right direction on where to go next, but I would highly recommend checking out online Autistic communities, as that's where I've discovered that I'm on the spectrum.

#autism #asperger's #adhd #special interests #sensory traits #autistic traits #sorry for how long this is

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creacherkeeper · 3 years

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ooh if ur up for elaborating ur hcs would u be down to expand on kristen's 'unit of cptsd w freckles'? also in the neurodivergence sector she adaine and fig all give me major adhd energy 👀 the bad kids....adhd autistic solidarity incarnate

i LOVE neurodivergence headcanons!! for me personally i hc adaine, riz, and gorgug as autistic, and fig and fabian as adhd (a friend said she sees her tourettes in gorgug which i think is valid too!!!). might type all that up formally at some point

kristen is just ... like yes all the bad kids for sure have gone through trauma, but i think kristens is pretty different in how it took shape. like she does have shitty, unaccepting parents, and the whole queer realization in a homophobic environment, but she also has the religious trauma at having been raised as the chosen one of a cult?? and i think that all just adds up. so for me its hard to get a read on her as autistic or adhd or anything like that because i think the cptsd just really forms a lot of things. like not everyone would agree, but as a long-time disability advocate who literally does this for a living (as a disability coach) i COMPLETELY see cptsd as a form of neurodivergence and think it can be just as influential on someones personality and behavior as anything else

like a lot of things i think you can read in a meta way about how ally plays her in freshman vs sophomore year or dice rolls and things like that, but im trying to just look at what we get in the story

like just looking at some of the categories of diagnosis of cptsd (and keeping in mind that symptoms of trauma frequently show up AFTER the victim is in a safe space and not while theyre still experiencing it):

affect and emotional regulation - shes FAR more outwardly emotional in s2, but also isnt very consistent about how those emotions present. like compare her super chill calm and detached demeanor in the mirror!riz fight versus her completely flipping out and sobbing and needing comfort after seeing kalina for the first time. like they definitely know a lot more by then but i think kalina is way less scary than a literal horror monster demon version of your friend?? also compare her behavior in s1 (mostly controlled and thoughtful with some occasional emotional outbursts) vs her in s2 seeming to have a much harder time with words, organizing her thoughts, communicating, reading other peoples emotions, responding ‘appropriately’, etc (some of which you can read as cognitive/executive functioning issues too)

attachment - has to actively figure her way out around boundaries (with tracker, sandra lynn, jawbone, the other bad kids) in a way that is a little more intensive than a healthy 17 year old

behavioral control - swings from being VERY self controlled and regulated (more than is healthy) to VERY loose with sexual activity (to the point of being inappropriate around others, even adults) and uses drugs, alcohol, and gets tattoos. definitely has some problems with impulse control (like okay the ribbon dancing out of a building was FUNNY but also. kristen ....,, and there are a lot more examples of this too)

self concept - i mean her whole religious journey in s2 kind of reflects this, but i think the best example is her spirit guardians. like the spirit guardians are a reflection of HER OWN ideology and beliefs and yet like?? theyre very critical and dismissive, even of kristen’s own person and choices? and tend to be very emotionally checked out of everything and encourage her to be as well. like a lot of the “sitting back sipping a cortado” persona tends to be reflective of the spirit guardians, but also the “trust nothing believe in nothing” which is indicative of a lot of self doubt and trust issues. and then like, with cassandra, there’s the LITERAL embracing of a lack of identity, of undefined personhood, and a lot of very risky choices in order to embrace doubt and unknowing (i think cassandra’s whole thing is pretty cool but i think it can come from a healthy or unhealthy place depending on the person, not saying which it was for kristen)

i think her not being able to tell where her cleric powers come from, something that like ??? is VERY inherent in the basic basic concept of what clerics are, could definitely be put under the “self concept” category but also may point to some sort of dissociative or depersonalization tendencies

anyway 8) did anyone ask for me to ramble for this long?? is this what yall wanted? woe, cpstd headcanons be upon ye

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #kristen applebees #nd headcanons #HI I TALKED FOR A LONG TIME #sdggsdj yall cant just tell me to TALK about disability stuff because THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN #no i do love it though #i will talk about disability headcanons all day every day #as ...... evidenced here ......#i might have to type up other bad kid nd headcanons tomorrow #appleciders

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forbidding-souda · 3 years

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WAIT! I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT MORE SCHZOPHRENIC KAITO TOO! PLEASE SEND MOREEE PLEASE

Schizophrenic Kaito Momota HCs

I'M TURNING THIS INTO A REQUEST JUST SO I CAN WRITE A SHITLOAD ABOUT THIS OKAY THANK YOU MOD SOUDA CAN WRITE ABOUT THINGS HE'S INTERESTED IN

also amimds im schizophrenic - for anyone seeing this who isn't apart of the blog

i wrote this with my head spinning if this is like badly written that's on me

-Mod Souda

❤ His passions overfill his brain with so much joy. He can hardly keep track of all the things he's into - but most slowly fade over time. He can see himself dipping his toes into different things - but he'll be forever swimming in the depths of space.

❤ Dramatics are his thing. He can talk in a mangled speech when talking to his friends about day to day things. They don't know why his brain seems to mess up his words, but they don't point it out. They find it a quirk of his. Something "goofy."

❤ He dreams of being famous. Living a childhood filled with always feeling as if he's being watched made him always hold himself in a strong manner. In case the eyes were real, he'd want to be presentable. He'd carry around a mirror to check on his goattee and to make sure his hair was in place. The eyes never seemed to go away. It's an itching feeling, so he might as well give them a show.

❤ He's been to the moon plenty of times. He's felt the motion sickness - he's felt the vibrations and heard the roaring sounds of the rockets. It's played over and over and over in his surroundings until he memorized the feeling. He was about sixteen when he realized that none of it was real. All his adventures into space were just vivid sequences he couldn't escape out of.

❤ He thinks he's the protagonist in this story because in his world - he's the only thing that is real. Everybody else is a blur in his mind, and more often than not, the voices will try to lure him away from them. Everything around him is so much different than other people's visions - so he must be special. In his story, he's the hero. He won't succumb to the stereotype that all mentally ill people are villains. He'll use it to his advantage.

❤ When he saw Saihara breaking down after Kaede's death, he felt the need to reach out because he understood the feeling. He had developed so many friendships over the years only for them to disappear; his hallucinations moving forward. Though he can acknowledge that they aren't real, that doesn't mean the relationships he had with them were any different than the ones he has with his classmates.

❤ He's not too quick to hop on the boat about romance. Something about forcing another person to deal with the reality he's struggled with his entire life seems more like sadism. He wouldn't wish anyone the life he's had. And he doesn't want anyone to see him at his worst. He's better off being alone, distanced from his friends, holding them in at a distance in which he can control.

❤ He'd risk his life for his friends. It's something unique about him. All of his doctors had expected him to be closed off and introverted - which led to his diagnosis being delayed. He didn't fear what was inside of his head. He embraced it. Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars has a screw loose - then so be it! It won't stop him from being his truest, happiest self.

#kaito momota #danganronpa #drv3 #schizophrenia

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alwaysthinkingoutloud · 4 years

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Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 8, Season 1 (Fromage)

Will’s sense of stability is crushing down as he continues his work with the FBI and his familiarization to darkness increases by day. He starts hallucinating about hearing dogs in pain, being attacked or trapped. Dogs are his pack, his family. So, what he subconsciously feels is loneliness creeping in. His current company is not enough/compatible to make him feel content anymore and that feeling of completeness perishes in his mind, not on anyone else’s account but his. Something inside of him is trying to wipe his palate of belonging clean. He knows that something is getting unlocked in him and he feels the void it creates along the way. Whatever is coming; it craves a stronger, more real, more deserving company than the dogs. It wants to destroy what was there before and rebuild a worthy companionship from the ashes. What is happening is not a foreign threat, though. Will is an unaware self-arsonist, his own house being set on fire by his own devilish flame.

He invites Alana over to “look for the wounded animal”, while it actually is an attempt to fill that void he has found in himself. He playfully brings up the idea of if she thought this was a date, and although he makes her feel otherwise, I think deep down it was a date in his eyes. He says, “It’s hard for me to wrangle a wounded animal by myself.” and is not that why animals hunt in packs? It is almost as if he is looking for a new, maybe even upgraded, sidekick. Someone who can understand, protect, and assist what he is to become. Someone to go after wounded animals with. It is actually an invite that is as romantic as it can get for an animal. As he soon mentions, he does not see any tracks except the ones they have made. He is not tracking any animal going around on itself, but the animal that is getting unleashed inside. The tracks he sees are the tracks he is looking for.

Hannibal’s temporary tolerance for Franklyn’s blunt attitude seems to fade away as he refers psychoanalyzing his friends as becoming Hannibal. Surely Dr. Lecter would not like that kind of comparison. As Franklyn gets more specific saying it is Tobias that he is trying to analyze, we see a shade of familiarity passing on Hannibal’s face, indicating he already knows about what Franklyn has started to dig up. It is a bit of curious thing when Hannibal suggests that Franklyn may be attracted to psychopaths, since it takes more than one incident to make such a diagnosis. Well, Hannibal does know two since Franklyn is drawn to him as well as he is to Tobias, but Franklyn does not know what he is. So, Hannibal stops playing with caution. Another thing to suggest that he does not estimate a long lifespan for Franklyn.

As Jack also suggests, it does become easier for Will to look because he is acquiring a mental state -although unstable- similar to the killers he tries to understand. It draws him away from his relatively normal social ties and closer to whatever it is that is getting surfaced inside of him. But of course, for Jack, triggering Will’s devils is acceptable, even encouraged if it means it will be for Jack’s own benefit.

Bedelia keeps pointing out the similarities between Hannibal and Franklyn, trying to downgrade his position to just her patient. Hannibal, however, tries hard to gain the upper hand by suggesting equality between them. She does not allow that, though.

It is seen, Will’s experience this time is different than the ones before indeed. He sees Garrot Jacob Hobbs applauding on his design. He is not so uncomfortable with being comfortable with what he does anymore, he even accepts a praise.

Another different-than-before act of Will is, looking still in trance, shifting right back to his empathic session with the killer in an environment he is not expected to, almost uncontrollably. He seemingly is having trouble with his on/off switch, getting lost somewhere between who he is and whose mind he borrows. Will feels the clueless and odd glances he gets from the people around him and finds himself confiding in Hannibal, once again, who looks at him with nothing but acceptance. Hannibal is the only person with whom he can discuss the murders happening not only forensically but also aesthetically and philosophically without getting alienized. “What do you see behind closed eyes?” asks Hannibal and Will remembers seeing GJH, his own subconscious form of acceptance, and admits,

“I see myself.”

Franklyn figures out that the reason why Tobias would clue him in the murder he committed is because he wants Franklyn to tell it to Hannibal. Hannibal knows exactly why he would want that, and he retaliates by paying Tobias a visit. Franklyn, however, may attribute it to Tobias’s wish to be found out and discussed.

As the darkness inside of Will is trying to claw his way to surface, he feels the void it leaves behind and he tries to find someone help him fill it, someone to hold on to, that someone -at first- looking like Alana. After he kisses her, she tells him she does not think this is okay for either of them, leaving Will alone with the hole inside, just like the one he has on his wall. In her eyes; he is pierced with that hole, defective, flawed. After the rejection, he rushes to Hannibal’s. At first, it looks like it is not only to tell him about the kiss, but also to see if he can find the companionship he needs that he was just denied there. He surely thinks he would at least be a better companion than the person Hannibal just hosted, who did not even bother to finish his meal. However, as Hannibal also suggests, if Will always wanted to kiss Alana but only did it now, there must be another reason behind the timing. Will replies that notion with his thought that Alana knew there was no animal in the chimney and that he hallucinated it all. Considering Will did not even invite Alana up this time, it is questionable why Will really kissed her. Maybe after all, it was not due to his need of filling that hole with her friendship or romance, but it was a way to manipulate her away from what is happening inside his head. Maybe in his mind, Alana was never intended be befriended and after he fenced her out by making her uncomfortable; he came running to the man who does not think he is flawed. As Alana also suggested before, Hannibal and Will have that in common to flirtatiously change the subject. So, he does not come to Hannibal to say “Well, I’ve been rejected by Alana, hope you will take me.” but to say “She was this close to seeing me, look what a smart move I have made to divert her! Now, can we go back to discussing what is happening to me? Just the two of us?”

Will refers to the killer’s serenade as our song while talking to Hannibal and it is no surprise that Hannibal decides to lead Will to Tobias after that, moved by a little jealousy along with strategy. Afterall, Hannibal’s ultimate motive is to help Will embrace his darkness only to prepare him to see and accept what is behind Hannibal’s human veil. Will’s empathizing too much with another killer and understanding him well enough to be there a “we” is not tolerable. What is interesting is Hannibal’s doing that despite Tobias telling him he would kill whoever would come to interview him from the FBI. He may be okay with risking Will’s life like that because he thinks Tobias is too big of a threat to have around since he knows what Hannibal is, or because he got jealous of the way Will connected to this killer in a deeper, more different way than he did with the ones before. Probably both.

Right after that happening, while we are kept wondering why Hannibal would risk Will’s life like that, Hannibal confides in with Bedelia and tells her that he is considering a friendship with Will Graham. He mentions he finds Will’s empathic skills reassuring because he may understand him.

“You spend a lot of time building walls, Hannibal. It’s natural to want to see if someone is clever enough to climb over them.”

says Bedelia, making it clear that Hannibal’s leading Will to Tobias was about testing him, as well as it was about removing Tobias from the equation. If Will can see Tobias, he can see Hannibal too. And then if Will kills/can kill Tobias -getting rid of the person who Hannibal feels Will got too close to- and survive, he will be worthy of Hannibal’s friendship. So Will is not only on trial for his unconscious loyalty, but for the authenticity and might of his predatoriness as well. When Will is talking to Tobias, I think especially from the accurate comment of Tobias about a richer, darker sound, Will already figured out that he was the killer. It was no coincidence that the voices in his head, his destructive dark urges that are trying to surface, came right at that second to draw him out of the building. I believe it was subconsciously to empty the room for Tobias, flushing him out by letting him murder the two officers. And it was, again, no coincidence that Tobias was able to kill two trained FBI officers but not Will. Will survived, as Hannibal hoped he would.

After Hannibal fights off and kills Tobias -eventually and meaningfully with the stag sculpture-, we see him looking at the door hoping, as FBI agents fill the crime scene. His worry when he sees Jack walking in alone for a second washes away, and leaves its place to absolute relief when he sees Will following him. The way he looks at Will’s eyes, sincerely, with genuine happiness, gratefulness, hidden pudency that he had put him in harm’s way in the first place… Admitting he came here on his own, but he appreciates Will’s company, he means it from the bottom of his heart. Looks like Will is not the only one looking for companionship. Hannibal knows that he found the one he has been looking for. The one who is clever enough to climb over his walls and the one who is worthy of his friendship. Worthy of his tears. Maybe, even worthy of his affection.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will #will graham #hannibal loves will #will loves hannibal #hannigram #murder husbands #brian fuller #nbc hannibal #hannibal analysis #hannibal meta #bedelia du maurier #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #chesapeake ripper #alana bloom #garret jacob hobbs #fromage

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theratopia · 3 years

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Chronic defiance

Welcome back, Therapals,

Today I have to fully embrace anecdotal experience and take some pride in being able to share a part of my story with all of you. Please be kind as I indulge in this task.

It felt to me like episode 184 had an unintentional theme of life-long diagnosis from both the perspective of the patient and those who surround them. Through very specific and personal experiences we were invited to think about how living in sickness can affect one's behavior. It so happens that I am well versed in existing inside a defective body, I just have reached the point where I can wear a healthy disguise.

When I was 13 years old I realized that regular classes would cause me pain. At first, it seemed temporary, maybe I needed glasses or something. Maybe I was tired. At 16 I started avoiding going to the movies because two hours of enjoyment would bring another twelve of agony. By the time I was in college - the first time - I would schedule my day around how many times I was in pain. My backpack always had a supply of medication that needed to be refilled every week. I wouldn't go out much and all my close friends were somewhat accustomed to seeing me in pain. I even developed some signs to be able to communicate when I couldn’t speak - it's rare now, but extremely intense episodes will trap me inside, making me fully aware but unable to speak and/or move.

I went to several doctors, had years of exams done, got close to an addiction to painkillers, thought I was going blind. I also thought I was going to die, accidentally almost caused a fatal injury on myself, and very much wished I was dead.

It took me a few years to figure out I have chronic migraine, even though it runs in the family. It took me more than a decade to manage it successfully.

Looking back, I don't know how I did it, I just knew I had to do it. Daily life was miserable, limited and exhausting. The only way to adapt to it at first was to accept everything. I wasn't ashamed of my condition anymore, and that was who I had to be at that point. But that would not be what would define me for the rest of my life.

Years of treatment later, I say it is an everyday struggle. Today, for example, I woke up and there she was, weighing heavy over my right eye. But I won, I feel fine now. One day at a time, another lesson learnt on how to be the most comfortable me.

Chronic pain will often force you to learn how to live around it, and this is the only specific reality I have some familiarity with. It is an intrusive condition that will sit right in the middle of your existence, refusing to be ignored. And if you ever try to do so, it will just take more space until there is nothing left for you. More than half of my life has been defined by this battle of how to make myself exist around and larger than the pain I can feel at any moment. The triumph I seek is not absolute victory, but a peaceful cohabitation. On one side, my genetic blueprint lays down all the traps; on the other, my unshakable willpower finds its ways to navigate the treacherous terrain. There is no escaping how we were built, but humans are notoriously talented at adaption, the ultimate advantage that hardly ever fails us.

So, please, if you find yourself in similar conditions and your body seems to be actively working against you, be defiant, be courageous. Be stubborn for yourself. Use the survivor's bias to your own benefit. Think about how much you’ve done so far by being exactly who you have always been, how much you have overcome. I won't lie and say the journey is easy. You might not be able to do everything you dream of, sure - I can't wear anything on my head and face, for example. But it will be okay. You can adapt and find other ways of being fulfilled doing what you love. And you will do it your own way, which makes it unique. Perhaps you can pave the way for other people who also exist in a more challenging body.

This is how I like to see my unescapable neurological condition: a challenge that I am able to conquer. I do need a different set of tools, which I craft for myself with the help of those who understand my uncommon requirements.

Don't think you need to make yourself smaller to make others comfortable, no. Ask for what you need because that is what you deserve. There are no rules, you do things the way you need to do them. Somedays, I would wear sunglasses inside the office. Or take naps at a sitting position. Brush my hair for half an hour, brush my teeth for ten minutes, take a shower with a chair.

It is also important to note that it was never anyone's fault that I was suffering constantly, not even mine. The fact that I was in pain made me very irritable, of course, but that was not carte blanche to lash out at my family, for example. The migraine still affects my mood, my tolerance, my energy levels. However, my migraine cannot be used as a shield from criticism, as an excuse to hide from responsibility, or as a justification for recklessness. It is never acceptable to act like you are beyond reproach just because you are in pain. Everyone has their issues and should be held accountable for their shitty behavior.

After so many years of experience, if given the opportunity to tell my younger self anything, I would say it will get better. So that is what I would like to tell anyone facing a lifelong diagnosis. We mature, we adapt. The secret is to never stop, and never let yourself be stopped.

In the beginning, it feels overwhelming, but at some point, you will forget how bad it used to be. Finding balance won't feel so daunting. You will find the best possible version of yourself and feel proud.

Take good care of yourselves. You are worthy.

Triple hug,

The Mayor.

#podtherapy #podcast #chronic illness #chronic migraine #overcome #personal #letter

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ask-asexual-crystal-gems · 4 years

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“But why are aliens that appear at first glance to be more or less human being used here as a conduit to talk about real world problems and asexuality?”

Well, dear reader, there’s an answer for that.

Whether you’re aromantic/asexual and allistic, or autistic and alloromantic/allosexual, there’s a very common experience shared among both communities.

https://themighty.com/topic/autism-spectrum-disorder/feeling-alien-inner-space-autistic/

There appears to be also direct high overlap between ace spectrum and autism spectrum people.

I’m not diagnosed as autistic, mind you. And I dont claim self-dx either and don’t intend to get sucked into a big debate about that controversy. This space is about asexuality. (lack of official diagnosis is mainly due to some concerns about what happens afterwards) Maybe one day I’ll dedicate a different sideblog to study on that debate (I can almost hear Entrapta giggling in the corner) but today is not that day. You can refer to me as allistic or autist as you see fit. I’m not here to enforce anything. DM me if you want but I’m not posting Asks about it.

My only aim in putting that there is to draw a commonality between two things that seem to have a lot of statistical concurrence (also gender nonconformity does too). (I am thereby relating them to a trio of fictional aliens)

EDIT: I just realized that the abbreviation of this blog is AACG and that makes my biology brain happy. HeeHeeHee.

Very important note before proceeding to my blog: I understand some people may not be at a point in their mental health journey where they can shrug off what other people think. Feeling invalidated sucks, and I look forward to the day where I can just bounce along doing my own thing. I already have at least a couple days like that out of the week, thankfully.

I guess Asexuality and Aromanticism primes you for that mightily, given that 9 out of 10 people will attempt to invalidate you.

You learn that to get through life happy, you have to do the mind training to undo those reactions you have. People are gonna think what they think.

It’s especially rewarding to see people who have been beavering away at integrating body positivity into their minds, when they reach that point where someone can say something insensitive or outright ‘ur fat and ugly’ and they just blow a raspberry and get on with their day.

I understand that mental resilience is a difficult skill to master.

It takes a lot of time.

But that does not obligate me to bend my opinions to your will. If you are ticked off by anything I might say, I will apologize for offending you, especially if I’ve taken up an attitude (if we can then be polite to each other) but that doesn’t change my opinion.

Take time to examine where feelings of being invalidated might arise from.

(one example: as https://contentmint.tumblr.com/post/639060296158396417 )

(another example: https://ask-asexual-crystal-gems.tumblr.com/post/646220121610895360/kadywicker-listen-you-can-say-capitalism-makes

And I’m not trying to tone police either. You can post whatever you like to your own blog.

If you think that’s constructive.

There was one point in my character arc where I probably *would have engaged you at all times, and set all that aside.

But now?

I personally most of the time just don’t feel like interacting with you, especially if you’re cussing at me.

F*** in particular is a patriarchal term, unlike other curse words, and usually I want none of it.

#mental health #self care #self awareness #body positivity #self improvement #asexual #asexuality #aromantic #patriarchy #feminism

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violet-amet · 3 years

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jotting down something related to cancer and myself. something ive taken from a website somewhere, that may or may not be valid, but hits a lot of marks from what ive dealt with recently. here we go.

((With your treatment completed, you'll likely see your cancer care team less often. Though you, your friends and your family are all eager to return to a more normal life, it can be scary to leave the protective cocoon of doctors and nurses who supported you through treatment.

Everything you're feeling right now is normal for cancer survivors. Recovering from cancer treatment isn't just about your body — it's also about healing your mind.

Take time to acknowledge the fear, grief and loneliness you're feeling right now. Then take steps to understand why you feel these emotions and what you can do about them. -- taken from Mayo Clinic.))

My last chemotherapy session was around May 2018, so I’ll hit that third year mark very soon, which means I’m halfway through recovering. In a sense, I’m not a survivor yet, unless I hit that five year mark, but between now and then, I’m trying to adjust to a certain sense of normality that I’ve never felt before. In short, I’m a little uncertain, and very scared, of what could happen in the future to me.

((Stress in cancer survivors

When you were diagnosed with cancer, you might have focused completely on your treatment and getting healthy. Now that you've completed treatment, all those projects around the house and the things on your to-do list are competing for your attention. This can make you feel stressed and overwhelmed.

Don't feel you need to do everything at once. Take time for yourself as you establish a new daily routine. Try exercising, talking with other cancer survivors and taking time for activities you enjoy.

Depression and anxiety in cancer survivors

Lingering feelings of sadness and anger can interfere with your daily life. For many people these feelings will dissipate. But for others, these feelings can develop into depression.

Tell your doctor about your feelings. If needed, you can be referred to someone who can help you through talk therapy, medication or both. Early diagnosis and prompt treatment are keys to successfully overcoming depression.

Self-consciousness in cancer survivors

If surgery or other treatment changed your appearance, you might feel self-conscious about your body.

Changes in skin color, weight gain or loss, the loss of a limb, or the placement of an ostomy might make you feel like you'd rather stay home, away from other people. You might withdraw from friends and family. And self-consciousness can strain your relationship with your partner if you don't feel worthy of love or affection.

Take time to grieve. But also learn to focus on the ways cancer has made you a stronger person and realize that you're more than the scars that cancer has left behind. When you're more confident about your appearance, others will feel more comfortable around you.

Loneliness in cancer survivors

You might feel as if others can't understand what you've been through, which makes it hard to relate to other people and can lead to loneliness. Friends and family might be unsure of how to help you, and some people may even be afraid of you because you've had cancer.

Don't deal with loneliness on your own. Consider joining a support group with other cancer survivors who are having the same emotions you are. Contact your local chapter of the American Cancer Society for more information. Or try an online message board for cancer survivors, such as the American Cancer Society's Cancer Survivors Network.))

A lot of these hit the mark pretty close to me, which makes things difficult to manage, but I know I’m not alone.

But sometimes, I can’t help but feel that way.

All in all, I think taking my time to come to terms with what happened to me is the only thing I can do, while managing everything else in between, from finally getting support on finding a job to figuring myself out over time. I mean, the tumor was basically in my uterus, which is what killed it, so that definitely affected my identity and thoughts on my own gender. But, regardless, I’m still me, yknow? Nothing can change that.

Well, not entirely. I think, in a way, I see myself non-binary, but still prefer to use she/her pronouns, because I don’t want to erase something I’ve been embracing for a good portion of my life, which is my womanhood. I don’t have a uterus, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less than a woman, but the traumatic event really shook me up enough to have second thoughts, yknow? At the end of the day, I can only figure that out for myself.

Anyway, I’m getting off point. I just want to say, while I’m sure I’ll get better, the trauma is still difficult to deal with. And while I’m still scared of things, like a relapse or perhaps the disease spreading, given it’s sarcoma related, I pray, and want to work hard, on getting better more ways than one.

Thinking back on it, I remember what a doctor of mine told me, who was a Czech Republican, that if I continue thinking negative thoughts, I’ll only feel worse, and won’t recover well, which is what gave me the strength to power through those negative thoughts. He also mention that fear is a natural reaction, and it can help the body fight as well, but it’s also important to think positive and work on that, because I’ll heal better that way. I got to say, it was definitely helpful, and I don’t want to forget him and the others that worked on my case.

God, I’ve been through a lot, but I’m trying to sort out my feelings somehow, as I’m slowly but surely adjusting to the changes around me. It’s hard, but it’s not impossible.(But my depression will slow me down. Ugh.)

#blah blah blabbity blah #long post #health stuff #cancer warning #cancer mention warning #cancer tw #now i just need to rest.#or do something absolutely silly that may or may not get me banned from a game.#:}

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sabraeal · 4 years

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All That Remains, Chapter 6: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 3]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 2: Nobility Exhibit self discipline. Show respect to authority. Obey the law. Administer justice. Protect the innocent. Respect women.

Ah, but we have gotten ahead of ourselves once again, have we not? So wrapped up were we in lies and glamour that we have forgotten our girl on the shore, heart dripping in her hands.

It’s all right. She’ll forgive us. Little girls always do.

Let us not leave her waiting.

A girl stands on the shore, red shoes wet in her hands, with none of the answers she seeks. Or rather, none of the ones she was prepared to have.

Alive, the river had told her. Away, said the darkest fears of her heart.

Never had she thought that dead would seem the better option.

We are complex beings; animals with four-chambered hearts. We are meant to hold more than a single thought, a single emotion, a single wish. But still, still-- it is a poisoned gift when elation and desolation can exist beside one another, when they can be flavored by guilt and betrayal.

She is a just a child, and yet a storm brews in her chest, too large for to contain. Beneath it, she is but an island, alone at sea.

So when the boat comes, a humble thing with no explanation, no expectations, she steps on it. What else can she do, when there is no other way to leave the hurricane behind her?

Her rooms are dark when she returns to them.

Kiki moves, pale hair catching the last light of the hall. “Where are your matches? I can’t--”

“No.” Her voice feels wrong in her mouth, too sour and too low. For a moment, Shirayuki wonders if this is truly her body, or if she has stood in the shadows too long and becomes someone else.

“I mean,” she begins again, sounding more like herself with every word, “there’s no need. I’m going to bed.”

Kiki stills behind her. “Do you need help?”

Yes. “No.” Her fingers fumble at the clasps of her gown. “I wore one of my old dresses tonight. From when I...”

Still felt like myself. Her hands clench, cotton soft beneath her fingers, and for once she longs for something coarser, for a wool that might itch or a lace that might scratch. Anything that could ground her to this moment, this body.

“...before,” she manages, peeling the fabric off her. The night’s chill stings her skin. She nearly laughs-- in Lilias, this would a be a balmy night, and now she’s pimpled with goosebumps. “I haven’t forgotten how to undress myself.”

Stay here long enough and you’ll get the hang of it, Obi would be so quick to say. Or maybe, Master should be seeing to it that you do, Miss. But Kiki--

Kiki nods, skirting back to give her space she desperately doesn’t need. It’s strange how she can feel every inch of the gap between them, even though it is only empty air.

“Will you be coming tomorrow?” she asks, striving to keep her tone bright, buoyant. She may not feel like herself, but Shirayuki has made a career out of pushing forward, of persevering, and tonight is no different. “These other gowns are always a bit of a handful by myself.”

Kiki hums; it isn’t in agreement. “The consort will see to it.”

“Haki?” She tries to imagine that, the elegant queen of Clarines looping a hundred pearl buttons down her back.

Kiki’s lips cant into a soft smile, as if she knows just what Shirayuki must be thinking. “She’ll have women sent to you.”

“R-really?” She’s had maids before, lent to her when she traveled to Tanbarun, or sometimes for the night when Izana had deigned her appropriate company at one of Wistal’s balls, but for the queen to assign a pack of them herself, it seemed--

Official. A statement for other nobles to take notice of. Her stomach twists.

“She believes in you,” Kiki says quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

Her belly churns with a sickening flop. So did Obi.

Shirayuki shakes herself. It’s all going to be fine. Obi wouldn’t give up on her, and Zen wouldn’t give up on Obi either.

“R-right,” she manages, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’ll do my best.”

Is that not what we all want when we are lost? A way to leave the storm behind. A gentle guide to show us the way. An easy answer when none can be found.

It is said that lightning takes the path of least resistance; tree or pole or child-- all of them are the same in its eyes, so long as it meets the ground. And is that not what we are? Lightning in a bottle, a closed current seeking release. We hold a charge within ourselves and let it out when we touch metal. Sometimes even when we touch each other. No wonder we seize the easiest answer when we find it.

But, oh, how foolish we are to take it.

The covers surround her in a protective cocoon, warm and safe. Tonight’s turmoil has wrung her dry; she flops onto her mattress like a child who has run themselves to collapse. Dreams tantalize her from the corners of her vision, and she’s so ready to tip into their embrace, to take what oblivion they will give her with open arms.

There’s no reason to get so upset.

She jolts from the edge of sleep, fingers clenched. It’s a stray thought, an echo of Zen’s voice; no reason for her heart to race, not when it’s true. Not when everything is taken care of.

It’s not odd for Obi to disappear with no explanation.

A protest strains against her lips, even with no one to rail against. The boy who left Wistal swimming in the fur of his coat isn’t the man who returned. He hasn’t been, not for years now-- maybe not even then. Not since they stood beneath a tree in Tanbarun and she said, I told you we’d see the town next time, right? Not since he’d dragged her along the walls of Lilias and showed her a sunset.

We might as well try to keep a cat indoors.

She rolls, burying her face in the soft cage of her pillow. There’s no point in worrying, not when Zen has everything well in hand, not when there are men out looking for him--

My lady, I don’t know any that have.

Her heart stutters in her chest. Zen had told her-- had promised her that he would send men out, and he wouldn’t-- he couldn’t--

The boy must have been mistaken. Or the consort had the right of it, and Zen had passed over the royal guard, using the knights of the Royal Circle instead. It would make sense; it would take more than a usual guardsman to catch a man of Obi’s skills, if he didn’t mean to be caught.

Whichever direction you’re heading in, he’d said, words misting in the air between them, a promise. I’ll be sure to follow along by your side.

Which can’t be true. Obi couldn’t-- he wouldn’t leave, not without saying goodbye. Not when he had so many promises to keep.

He saw a man leaping over the walls the night Sir Obi went missing. The guilt in Kai’s expression haunts her even now. He was seen leaving with a woman, my lady.

Shirayuki has always prided herself on her cleverness, how she could unravel the most tangled symptoms into a diagnosis. But she holds this puzzle in her hand, and no matter how she tries, she cannot make the pieces fit, cannot make them into a whole.

Obi is a man of his word. He jokes, but he never lies, she told Ryuu once, though she can hardly remember why now. He wouldn’t leave her, not like this. Or Ryuu. Or Zen. But yet, yet--

Did you know he didn’t leave alone?

The sheets tear from her, and oh, the morning is blinding, leaving her cold and blinking on her bed. Her eyes adjust, and there, in the bright glow of the dawn, stands the consort.

“It is time to get up, Shirayuki.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “There is much work to be done.”

There are no oars in this little boat, the girl realizes too late. She has no sooner pushed off from the shore then the current grabs her, hurtling her toward the river’s end. Water sprays up from the rapids, and her little boat rocks perilously under her feet. The easy path this may be, but it is not safe either.

There is a part of her that is frightened, watching as the world moves by her, taking her toward places unknown; but there is another part as well, and it is relieved. She may no longer be in control, but oh, that means she is also no longer to blame.

“So few gowns,” the consort remarks as her women parade Shirayuki’s closet for her review. “And so many of them out of season. They’ll have to be replaced.”

Shirayuki offers a brittle smile in the mirror as one of the maids firmly drags a comb through her hair. “I don’t--” she hisses, teeth tangling in a knot-- “I have as many as I need. Long skirts and fine dresses were bound to get ruined in the pharmacy.”

“But at necessary at court.” Her mouth bows into a faint frown, displeasure weighing on her brow. “You must understand, this is not a simple undertaking. You cannot just...pass a test and become worthy of a crown.”

“That isn’t--”

The consort raises a hand, and her words stutter to a halt. “You have made your position clear, Shirayuki. It is not the title nor the trappings you want, but Zen himself, and I--” she hesitates, gaze distant-- “it is part of why I want to help you. Love is no little thing.”

She smiles, a shy, secret thing, as if they were alone and the room not teeming with her maids. “It is worth all the pain, if you can have love as well. But--” the consort’s gaze fixes on her in the mirror-- “it is not enough. The kings of Clarines once ruled by divine right, and the people-- they have not forgotten.” Her expression shadows when she adds, “they cannot be allowed to forget.”

Shirayuki stares at her hands, flushed. Tanbarun’s royal family had been a joke rather than an inspiration, a vestige of a bygone age that the country had never quite shucked. She’d never held much stock in divine rights, in the idea that someone could be her superior by nothing more than being birthed from the right womb, but--

But being with Zen would mean participating in that fiction, upholding that illusion to keep him safe. “I don’t see what my dresses have to do with that.”

“Everything,” the consort assures her. “You have read fairy stories, haven’t you? Princes cast away because they are dressed as paupers, princesses made by conjuring the right gown-- we think with our eyes first, and then our thoughts. Do you see what I mean?”

Her lip worries beneath her teeth. She’s read those stories, yes, a thousand times, and in each one, it is the clothes than make the man, that set designs on how he is treat but--

The prince is always betrayed by his courtly manors, the princess found by the softness of her skin or made by the contents of her heart.

But those are just stories. Here, in Izana’s court...

Shirayuki bows her head, allowing the maid to slip a pin tight against her skull. “I do.”

“Good. I’ll call for my dressmaker.” The consort slides up beside her, inspecting her maid’s handiwork. “Lovely. Where do you keep your ornaments?”

��Oh.” She nods her her chin toward the wooden box. “Over there.”

The consort lifts the lid with elegant fingers, taking in a breath as if she means to speak--

And stills. Her fingers splay in the air, and she-- she closes the box.

“Well.” Her mouth melts into a warm smile. “That will have to be taken care of as well. Don’t worry, Shirayuki, you’re in good hands now.” Her teeth flash white behind her lips. “Mine.”

Why must these things always happen to children, you wonder. Could this girl not be a woman? Could this boy not be a man? Must it always be that the smallest and most vulnerable that are asked to wander the roads we most fear?

Certainly, they could be. Stories are but lenses through which we see ourselves, made more palatable for the distance. On another page, in another life, they could be a man and a woman on the cusp of something greater, the distance only increasing their longing--

But in a fairy tales there are rules, and the foremost among them is: you must be able to see the magic for it to happen.

When the boat pulls up to the shore, you must not see the beautiful women waiting at its dock, but instead the woman who can conjure. And that, that--

That is the provenance of a child.

Shirayuki is an eternal well of optimism, a veritable font of good will, but when it came to her training--

It’s impossible, she’d told Obi, face buried in her pillow. There’s no way any one person can do all this and look like they’re not trying.

He’d only grinned, idling by her bedside with his usual insolent grin. Glad to see Princess Lessons are going so well.

She’s prepared for more of the same, for the familiar two-steps-forward, ten-steps-back dance she’s been doing for the last few months only now with the added humiliation of the consort beside her but--

It’s different, this time.

“Shirayuki.” Lady Mihoko is entrenched in the divan today, looming with dignity of a temple’s ruin. It’s only the consort’s presence that has excavated her from her favorite chair, but she bears it like an statue missing a limb. “Pour the tea.”

She knows this for what it is: a trap. Mihoko’s maids flank the door to the parlor, ready and entirely willing to pour endless cups of too-sweet tea for everyone seated. This isn’t about thirst, oh no, but that she’s doing entirely too well. Mihoko wants to see her falter and fail as a girl with so common a spine should.

Shirayuki leans forward, mouth thin with concentration, and--

“Keep your shoulders back.” The consort sips delicately at her cup, her words barely rippling its contents. “Don’t round over. Pretend you have a pencil between your shoulder blades.”

Her hand stutters over the salver. A pencil--?

Lady Mihoko watches from her perch; a vulture waiting for a limping animal to fall. Shirayuki has always been at the top of her class, her time at Lilias served with distinction, but yet in this her failure is not only assumed but assured.

Fine. She pushes her shoulders back until the blades kiss, imagining that pencil between them, holding it still as she bends. It’s-- different. Exposing, almost, though she’s wearing no less than she was before, and--

And Lady Mihoko makes no comment as she pours, filling her cup to within a finger’s width of the rim. Nor does she have any disparaging remarks for when she fills the consort’s cup, or her own.

“Sugar?” Shirayuki offers mildly. The corners of her lips twitch, and it takes every last crumb of control she has to keep from smiling. The last thing she needs is for this victory to be tarnished by a vulgar expression.

Mihoko’s lips thin into a forbidding wrinkle, but holds out her cup. “It seems you are much improved,” she allows, begrudgingly, less a compliment and more an accusation.

Shirayuki will take it. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

“Not that you could have sunk much further.” The lady takes a dainty sip before settling the cup onto its saucer. “But I suppose that would make any progress heartening.”

Her smile, carefully constructed to show no improprietous teeth, wavers. “You are...too kind.” The consort sends her a warning glance, and she adds, “My lady.”

“I know I am.” Mihoko glares down her nose, severe. “You should be grateful that Her Majesty has taken you under her wing. The queen of Clarines has much more pressing duties than to educate a--” she casts a disapproving look over her-- “hopeful.”

“Please, Lady Mihoko.” The consort’s mouth rounds into a pleasant curve, the perfect smile. “I am all too happy to fill my hours with such pleasant company as Lady Shirayuki’s. A lady may learn the right fork or the proper dance for an occasion, but one cannot teach a good heart or an interesting mind.”

Her ladyship harrumphs, a quake that shudders through her from slipper to veil, tenders no harsher reply than a sip from her cup. Some degree of royal relation she might be, but even Mihoko won’t quarrel with a queen.

“I’m very grateful!” Shirayuki assures her. “This whole, um, process has been quite challenging and, ah...”

Lonely, she doesn’t say. It nearly tips out all on its own before she even knows it is there, but now it catches in her teeth, sticky and unpleasant.

“It’s an honor,” she finishes, lamely. Mihoko only nods, propriety fulfilled, but the consort--

Haki stares at her, chin tilted, a finger laying thoughtfully along her jaw. She may not be Izana, but her gaze itches like his, as if she were a puzzle that needed solving, or even--

A bug under a glass.

It is not that the girl did not know the danger of sorceresses. Oh no, she had been warned about such women, had read of them in books and shivered at the sound of them in song. But standing as she is, shoes in hand, alone on a river too swift to swim and no oars with which to row--

She makes a choice.

The boat rocks as it comes to shore, so gentle under the sorceress’s guidance, and the little girl makes herself as placid, as docile. That has always been the way she fooled adults before; misbehavior is only assumed from unruly children, but an obedient one--

Well, she has only gotten this far because no one expects the obedient one to run.

It is a good plan, a clever plan, one any young child could be proud of, but--

She does not expect this sorceress.

It had never occurred to her how mortifying it would be to have someone to watch her fail lesson after lesson, to hear as her teachers passed along their lukewarm-- at best-- praise. Shirayuki had always been top of her class, her professors’ best student, and now--

Now she’s grateful Obi had to stand outside while she floundered. One day of the consort’s steady observation and she wants to lay down in her bed and never be seen again.

“You did well.”

Shirayuki turns, eyes wide, as the consort follows her into her room. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, head tilted. “I mean what I said: you did well.”

But I didn’t nearly tips right out, nearly falls straight on the carpet like an ink stain, but she catches it, just in time.

“You’re too kind,” she manages, because somehow implying a lie is more palatable than saying it outright. “I’m not sure my tutors would agree with you.”

The consort waves a hand, as if such worries were little more than smoke. “They are used to ladies. To breeding. When compared to a girl who has been training for this opportunity all her life...yes, you fall quite short. But that is not who you are.”

Haki steps forward, taking one of her hands in hers. “You are the woman who saved Lilias. That some believe a straight spine or a sprightly step could be worth more than that in a princess is--” she takes a breath, agitated-- “antiquated.”

Shirayuki stares, mouth slack, hand limp. “I thought you said--”

“It is important for the people to remember why kings are give the power they possess,” Haki tells her, her eyes so blue, so earnest. “But a good king earns the trust of his people by surrounding himself with the best minds his kingdom can offer. Anyone can learn to hold a fork, Shirayuki, but you--” she smiles-- “you cannot be replaced.“

Something in her chest squirms, but it’s not unpleasant. More like...a squirrel that’s made its next in a tree’s heart, finally waking after a long winter.”

“Oh,” she croaks past the lump in her throat. “Oh.”

In the stories, the sorceresses are old. Or failing that, they are seductresses, dark haired and pale-skinned, every word a twist of the knife.

But this one, oh-- this one is so beautiful and young, her hat so brightly painted with flowers. There is no danger etched on her face or molded in the curves of her body, no sharp teeth or crooked grin. Just a smile, so warm and so gentle.

The little girl is not foolish; she knows exactly how it is when you are not what you seem but--

She does not expect this.

Nor she does not expect to say, “I love roses,” the moment the woman touches her hand.

“You poor child.” When the woman speaks, every word is a song, “How did you come all this way on such a dangerous river? You must be very brave indeed.”

No one had ever called the little girl that before. Pretty, of course, and kind, and often gentle, but brave--

You must tell me who you are, the sorceress says, awe plain in her voice, and how you came here. I must know everything of such a clever little girl.

Her eyes prickle, and before she quite knows what to do, tears stream down her cheek.

Oh, my darling. Arms wrap around her, warm and soft, and oh, how long has it been since she has been held, just like this? So long, so long. No more worries. I have you. I will take care of you.

“Your Majesty, I must insist.” Arundo’s brow blisters with sweat, his dark eyes pleading. “Truly, it is my duty to instruct Mistress Shirayuki. I cannot possible ask you--”

“You are not asking,” the consort reminds him, her mouth hooked into a devious smile. “And I am the one insisting. I think a change of partners will do her ladyship a world of good.”

The dancing master pales. Shirayuki can’t blame him; if Izana was to find out she mangled his wife’s feet as she did Arundo’s...

“I’m not sure she’s ready for such a, ah...change.” He wrings his hands, mopping at his brow. “Surely a few more weeks, and perhaps--”

“I have been watching these lessons for quite some time, Master Arundo, would you not agree?” The man has no recourse but to nod, not with the way the consort pins him with her gaze, hedging him against the wall with her imposing posture. “I have noticed a few areas in which her understanding of the dance might be improved.”

All of them, probably. Despite years of tutors, Shirayuki has never quite grasped the finer areas of dance. Not that there hadn’t been some successes-- she never seemed to embarrass herself in Tanbarun when Raj insisted on a waltz, and Obi always managed to make her look capable, if not competent, but outside that--

Well, Her Majesty shouldn’t be wearing slippers facing off against her feet.

Arundo deflates in the face of her determination. “Ah, well...if you’re certain...Your Majesty...”

“I am.” The consort turns to her, skirts skimming the floor. Ah, it had been hard enough avoiding Arundo’s feet when she could see them; this hemline can only complicate matters. “Come, I’ll lead you through it. A waltz might seem hard to start, but there’s very little to remember.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s what they’d been trying to do before Arundo had decided that learning polka might behoove her more, if only because it put space between her partner and her feet. “Ah...if you think so.”

“I know so.” Haki tilts her a small, secretive smile. “Give me your hand.”

With one last helpless glance at Arundo, she does. The consort’s palm is cool against hers, like marble warming under her touch, and she slides into the circle of her arms with only a little finagling.

“I should be about the right height.” Her face is so close-- nearly too close, the her eyes so pale and so clear, so unlike the deep Wisteria blue. “Give or take an inch or two.”

That is all the warning she has; the accompanist starts a thoughtful piece, slow yet bright, and the consort sweeps her across the floor. She stumbles on the first step, but the music’s pace makes it easy to recover, to remember the simple rhythm of up, up, down; up-up-down--

She steps out into her turn, arm lifted, and--

Just barely misses Her Majesty’s slippered foot, slid to safety just in time.

Haki laughs, and it’s so different when it is not a disappointed tutor that looks back, but Her Majesty’s smiling face. As if she were not in a practice room, but a bed chamber, practicing on a lark instead of disastrously careening toward a deadline.

“Well then,” Haki breathes, holding her stomach as if it might cease her giggles. “Now we know what we need to work on.”

The girl is but a child, well-loved and then sent into the world alone, shell of determination over a soft body of longing. For how long has she been reaching out her hands only to come back empty? For how long has she been calling for help, only to go unheard?

And now a hand catches hers with warm smiles above it, with arms so ready to hold the burden she’s been carrying for far, far too long...

The little girl enters a garden, and oh, who are we to judge when she grasps with both hands.

“Well done, once again.” Haki slumps onto the divan beside her, flushed, eyes bright. “I think you’ve nearly gotten that waltz.”

Shirayuki delicately closes her jaw. “I’m...I don’t really think that’s true. I nearly stepped on you at least two dozen times.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Only because you’re much quicker than Arundo is,” she laughs. “Which is good, otherwise Izana would have--” she coughs, flustering under the consort’s bemused smile-- “I mean, His Majesty would have been quite upset if I’d broken your foot.”

Her Majesty hums, gaze measuring. “I see he was right.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re really not afraid of him.” Haki’s sweet smile sharpens into a grin. “Izana.”

“Hguk.” If only she knew how to answer questions like these-- or at least, how to answer them when someone with a His or Her poses them, looking for an answer that is not respect is earned, not given.

“I’m from Tanbarun,” Shirayuki settles on, since that seems...safe.

“Yes,” Haki hums, all too knowing. “I could see how a royal title might not impress you.”

She has the sudden, perverse urge to object. Raj might have once been a black mark on Tanbarun’s reputation, the prince no princess would deign to entertain as a prospect, but now-- now he was a prince the people could be proud of. That she could be proud of. Even if he was a little ridiculous.

But she doubts that consort would understand such a change. So she drowns the impulse in the tea a maid hands her.

Haki sips at her own with effortless elegance, measuring her with a glance. “I suppose that is part of your charm. That you don’t believe in this,” she explains, “the superiority of good breeding.”

Tea burns when she breathes it instead of swallowing, and well, a coughing fit is one way to get out of having to answer...any of that.

Haki pats her back, harder than Shirayuki would expect from a woman raised to be a king’s demure shadow. “There, there.” The words ripple with the undercurrent of a giggle. “Let us talk of something else instead. Perhaps the reason your mind wanders?”

The garden and its marvels lead to a cottage, its walls of wattle and its roof of thatch. The most delicious smells waft through the window-- fresh baked bread, hot fruit tart--

Come inside, the sorceress says, I have sweet berries, fresh picked, and cool cream with which to have it.

The little girl hesitates, red shoe hovering over the threshold. It was one thing to stand upon the dock with her, to be held and hold in return, to walk among her flowers and marvel at the sight, but it’s quite another to enter her home, the center of her power. Unless she wants to be sweet child stew--

You must tell me how you came to be here. The sorceress smiles, so warm. I will help you, if I am able.

The little girl steps inside.

The consort smiles in her silence, sweeping up across the room. “You have such pretty hair pieces,” she remarks brightly, “I must applaud your taste.”

“Oh I...I didn’t pick them,” she admits. “I don’t really have an eye for that sort of thing.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifts. “You don’t mean to say my good brother did. I never thought him the type.”

“Oh! No, it wasn’t him,” she laughs. “Obi...”

I’m looking for a boy, the little girl says, for despite all her cleverness, there are some tricks a child cannot see. He has dark hair. He is this tall. He gave me these shoes.

My oh my, the sorceress says, leading her to a chair. There are no other children in this house, but even still it is the right size, just large enough so that her toes brush at the floor when she kicks them. You describe him so well. He seems like he must be a very good boy.

He is, for he is, even if he’s strayed from her. But he is lost.

This is for you. The pin balances awkwardly behind her ear, hair entirely too short for something like it. He smiles at her, something lopsided and sharp. She hardly knows him then, only thinking that she must look ridiculous. Still, his eyes are the clearest she’s ever seen as he says, Part of my prize.

Is that so? the sorceress hums. Do you mind very much if I were to brush your hair? It is so disheveled from your travels, I would hate for it to get too tangled.

The girl hesitates, her hands in her lap. The berries and cream look very good indeed, and when the sorceress brings out her brush, it is mother of pearl, so pretty and so fine. She knows what they say about strange food, she knows what they say can be done with only a few strands of hair, but-- she is a small girl, so weary, so unused to kindness, and--

She nods.

Since there’s no martial arts match to win, he teases, so many years later, I thought we’d go choose another one for you.

It sits heavy in her hands as she stand in the hall, waiting.

Thank you, she says, meeting eyes that are still so clear all these years later, thank you so much for this

Have you seen him? she asks, watching the woman warily as she approaches. The little girl has heard of what conjurers might do, but she is a strong girl, a brave girl, a clever one. She would not be fooled by illusion. My boy?

Your boy? The sorceress sweeps close, the scent of flowers wafting on the air. I have not.

The brush is so soft in her hair, so lulling. She can feel her eyes drift to half mast. It has been so long since she rested.

But I’m sure he’ll come through. The sorceress’s mouth rounds into a dangerous curve. Everyone does, eventually.

You’re drunk, she decides, watching the way he sways on the balls of his feet, swaying like a sailor at sea. Still, he’s coiled tight, braced for an attack. Even soused, he’s vigilant Obi, I know that--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

His eyes have never been cloudier.

You have roses, the little girl slurs, so many of them, and so beautiful.

You like them? It’s hard to keep her eyes open now, her head nodding at the table.

They are my favorite, she says, my boy and I...we raised roses together.

The brush pauses, mid-stroke. You don’t say?

“It’s too bad you have so few.” The consort reaches out a hand, her fingers catching in her hair. The touch is so unexpected, Shirayuki forgets to flinch. “Your hair is so lovely.”

“Thank you,” she manages, which is better than saying, I hear that a lot.

It’s no use; Haki’s mouth lifts wryly, and even though she hasn’t said a word, Shirayuki knows she’s heard every one. “You’ll have to let me lend you one of mine.”

“Wha?” She blinks, staring as the consort rounds the divan, clasp in hand. “I couldn’t--”

“Put it in yourself? I know. Please,” the consort comes to sit beside her, pales eyes shining eagerly, “allow me to pin it for you.”

“I...” Shirayuki snaps her lips over her protest; Haki may only be the consort, but still, saying no to a queen was what Obi would call career limiting. “You’re too kind.”

Her hands are gentle as she removes the pins lying tight against Shirayuki’s scalp. “Oh no, not at all. It’s the least I could do for my sister.”

She says it so casually, as if this were all settled, as if Shirayuki’s success was already assured and not balanced on the head of a pin, and--

And for once, Shirayuki believes it.

You should stay, the sorceress says, and the little girl hardly hears it, her chin cradled on her arms.

I can’t, I can’t, she yawns, looking out on the world through the net of her lashes. I have to find my boy.

He’ll come, in time, the woman assures her. As I said, everyone does. Why not wait here?

With what she’d seen of Rona’s skills the last time she’d visited Tanbarun, Shirayuki expected to be left with a rat’s nest that would take three maids to untangle. But the consort’s hands are practiced, neatly twisting and lifting as she pins.

“Have you’ve done this before?” She grimaces; there was probably much more polite way to put that, one that didn’t call a queen’s qualifications into question. “I mean...there aren’t many ladies of the court that know how to, um, do this.”

“Take care of themselves? Yes,” she hums, too amused, “I know. I was one of the dowager’s handmaidens when she was queen. We didn’t need to do much, but, well...a girl like to distinguish herself, doesn’t she?”

“O-oh.” She bites her lip, thoughtful. “So...before you were the Mistress of Lilias? Is that how you met Izana?”

Her hands still, just for a moment, before twisting another piece. “No. We have known each other...far longer than that. Our fathers were...”

“Friends?” Shirayuki supplies, when Haki does not.

“No, better-- allies. I was practically raised with the Wisterias.” She laughs. “No wonder I was always desperate for a sister. Good thing at least one of my brothers has decided to oblige me.”

The comb’s teeth skim against her scalp, and Shirayuki grimaces. “With someone no one expected.”

The consort drops down beside her, companionably close, closing a hand around hers. “Perhaps you did not realize, Shirayuki, how serious I was. I am as selfish as any of these men, though what I want from you is not feminine perfection.” She grins, and it’s not like Izana’s, a prelude to a challenge, but an invitation to mischief. “Don’t forget that before I was the queen of Clarines, I was the mistress of Lilias. If the woman who saved the North is an unorthodox choice to the relics of this court...then it is just the one I want. Do you understand?”

Stay, my precious girl, the sorceress whispered, I have long been waiting for a dear little maiden like you.

“I do.”

It is dark when one woman says to another, “There is a box in her room, on the dresser. Do you know it?”

The second bows her head. “I do.”

“Good.” The first worries a lip, hesitant. “See that it disappears.”

“I...” The second straightens, nods. “I will.”

A little girl sleep and a sorceress stands in her garden.

You must stay with me, she says as the roses seep beneath the ground, and see how happily we shall live together.

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #All That Remains #snow queen AU #ans #this was supposed to be twice as long #and go to the end of this section #but I very quickly realized that for pacing reasons it needed to be cut #so enjoy a slightly shorter interlude #a prelude to a storm one might say #continuing my 'every odd chapter knocks you on your ass' motif

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gameimagines · 5 years

Text

Unexpected Addition

Pairing: Seteth x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Notes: This is totally self indulgent. I wanted to write Seteth finding out his wife is pregnant. Spoilers about Seteth and Flayn’s uhhh “relationship”. Reader is not explicitly Byleth but could be interpreted as Byleth if you wanted. It’s really open ended who MC is.

Life with Seteth and Flayn had been nothing less than a dream. Seteth was a wise, loving husband. The green haired man put the needs of his family first; Seteth would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe and taken care of. Flayn was equally compassionate. Initially, you were concerned Flayn would find your relationship with her father intrusive, but that wasn’t the case. The small girl loved you as if you were her birth mother. And you, in turn, treated Flayn like she was your world.

Everything was picturesque, yet you worried your happy little home was going to crack under unsightly stress. You had felt sick recently and though you insisted it was just a bug, you weren’t quiet sure. You hated to assume the worst, er, the best? The best possible outcome at the worst possible time, you reasoned. However, symptoms persisted and you found yourself inside Manuela’s infirmary visiting the woman about your fears. You stood silent, eyes out of focus while Manuela gave you the diagnosis. “Congratulations,” she said with surprised enthusiasm, “your intuitions were right - you’re pregnant.”

Butterflies collected in your chest. What was Seteth going to stay? And Flayn? It was hardly an opportune time to be with child. Seteth was getting increasingly busy with the church’s affairs and Flayn was occupying all of your free time, persistent on bonding with her new mother. Manuela waved her hand in-front of your concerned face to pull you out of your trance. “Hello? You don’t look to pleased to have received news of every woman’s dream,” she raised a slim eyebrow.

You scoffed, “It’s hardly every woman’s dream. Go tell some of the female knights in the courtyard that they’re with child - it’ll ruin their day.” One of your shaky hands ran through your hair. Manuela did have somewhat of a point, you hoped to have a kid of your own one day. The day had just moved from an undisclosed future to the present. “Thank you for your help, Manuela.” You gave a small smile and a courteous nod, “I’d like to ask for your discretion, at least until I find the right way to relay the news to Seteth.”

The former songstress nodded but her smile did nothing to ease your nerves, you knew she could be, well, a bit of a gossip. But you couldn’t keep Manuela hostage in the infirmary till you told your husband. So you’d have to hurry to the advisory office. Hurry being a relative term, you planned to take a turtle’s pace to Seteth’s quarters so you could go over your speech.

If only it could have gone so smoothly. The moment you crossed passed the threshold of the infirmary you were greeted by an eagerly waiting Flayn. “Hello, mother,” the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at you. “I hope everything went well.”

Your smile did not reach your eyes. Hopefully, Flayn couldn’t tell it forced. “It did,” you quickly lied. Flayn walked with you down the old monastery halls. Oh, Flayn. Sweet Flayn. Would she feel replaced by her new sibling? Could she welcome your child as her own kin? Flayn welcomed you into her life before, but would she now feel replaced?

“Are you sure? You seem a bit uneasy.” Flayn looked over your face. Your anxiety was hardly veiled. You draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into a brief side hug.

“I’m okay,” you assured. “Can I assume Seteth is in his office?”

Flayn nodded, “Yes. But it’s time for him to take a break and eat with me. You should join us!” Oh dear, not only did Flayn plan on accompanying you all the way there, she would stay with you two for quite a while. You needed to tell Seteth immediately. Maybe the two of you could discuss how to tell Flayn? However, it looked as though you might just have to tell them together.

The two of you arrived at Seteth’s door sooner than you had hoped. As if he could sense your presence (or perhaps he heard Flayn’s chatter), your husband spoke from behind the door, “Enter.” Your hand twitched as it grasped the brass door handle and turned it open. Bright, early morning sunlight filtered in through the window. Sun rays hit the back of Seteth’s grassy hair. The sight of your ethereal looking husband helped soothe your rapid heartbeat.

Seteth’s emerald eyes softened when he saw his family in the doorway. His thin lips curled upwards. You couldn’t help but mirror his calm expression. “I trust your appointment with Manuela went well?” He inquired. Your smile faltered. Seteth must have noticed, his brown furrowed at the slight change. “Did it not go well, my love?”

Hearing the concern in her Father’s voice caused Flayn to frown. The petite girl turned towards you, “I thought you said everything was alright?”

“I-“ you fumbled over what to say. You took in a deep breath to steady yourself, before angling your body so you could face them both. “I waited more time to figure out how to say it. There was more to the news than just everything was normal.”

The duo looked more unsettled by your words. Seteth walked out from behind his desk and engulfed one of your comparatively smaller hands in his. “Whatever is the ailment, I will scour the region for masters in white magic. You will not suffer for long.” Despite Seteth’s assurance, he sounded very worried.

“Surely the goddess will heal you. I won’t stop praying for you, mother.” Flayn promised.

You nearly grimaced. They didn’t get it, you weren’t battling some mysterious sickness. “That’s not exactly it...this isn’t something you can cure with magic.”

For the second time that afternoon, you misspoke. Your small family paled. Seteth tightened his grip. “You aren’t saying you’ve been cursed, are you?” He searched your eyes for an answer.

“Oh, goddess forbid it! I can’t believe this happened to you, mother!” Flayn looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Seteth’s face contorted in anger. An anxious wrath set in. “The church will strike vengeance upon whoever afflicted you! I swear it,” your husband nearly barked out. Emotions were rapidly spiraling out of control. You needed to de-escalate the situation quickly.

“No, that’s not it! I’m only pregnant!” Your exclamation immediately silenced the room. “Please calm down. I didn’t mean to worry you two. I just didn’t know how to say it.” You cringed at the less than calculated reveal, but Seteth was about to send off the Knights of Serios on a fake mission.

Seteth’s eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them. Similarly, Flayn was flabbergasted by the news. The silence hung thick. “I apologize, I should’ve been more sensitive with the reveal. Especially for you, Flayn. I don’t want you to feel replaced by your new sibling.” You turned to face Flayn directly, hoping your face conveyed how sympathetic you felt.

In a moment of unforeseen enthusiasm, Flayn cut the tension. “This is fantastic news!” She squealed. Her eyes nearly sparkled as she looked at you. “I’ve wanted a sibling for so long! But I never thought I would get one!”

Relief washed over you. If Flayn was excited, surely Seteth would be too. You glanced over at your husband. He looked taken back, no doubt blindsided by the news. “Is everything alright?” You asked him.

Seteth let out a soft laugh. “Alright? My love, this is far better than ‘alright’ - I’m going to have a child with you.” Seteth placed a gentle hand on your cheek. “I am overjoyed,” he nearly whispered, his tone soft but delighted. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

You stretched your arms out, “Come here, you two.” The green haired duo moved to embrace you. You felt safe, warm, and happier than you’d been in a long time. The tender moment only lasted a few seconds, before your stomach rumbled. Oh right, it was lunch time. “I need to get food. After all, I’m eating for two now.”

Bonus:

“We ought to think of names,” Seteth said as you strode to the dinning halls.

“Oh, I’ve already got one picked out. It’ll be the name of someone we know, out of reference.” You responded.

Seteth cocked his head. “Oh? Were you thinking Jeralt? Or Rhea?”

“Sylvain.”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about Lorenz?”

“I am finding a name for our child by myself.”

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prideandpen · 4 years

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Can I please request the reading you are offering

Libra sun, Aries moon

Can I please know how my future spouse will be like

Thank you😊

First row. Light Seer’s Tarot 6 of Swords (R), Strength (R),8 of Pentacles (R), Ace of Swords (R) Second row. Rider-Waite Tarot: 3 if Pentacles, 6 of Cups (R), King of Pentacles Third row. Wisdom of the Oracle: Mending (R), Poised, All that Glitters Fourth row. Oracle of the 7 Energies Exposed and Revealed, A Grand Symphony Fifth row. Foxfire, The Kitsune Oracle: Hope, Beneath the Surface, The Garden of the Night

Hi kawaiimarshmallow! Here’s your reading for what your future spouse is like. The reading itself is kinda long so it’s below the cut.

In the Light Seer's tarot we start off with the 6 of Swords in reverse. Right away this tells me that we're looking at someone who struggles to accept other people's help. They have a very do-it-themselves type of personality. Now keep in mind that while they are your future spouse this could be their current energy and so it's entirely possible that this something they might grow out of, or something that through your relationship they might grow out of. However this could also just be something they'll always have to work on. With Strength reversed I think that despite their do-it-alone type personality they're probably someone who struggles to see their own value and doesn’t recognize their own strength, this energy in them comes from the 8 of Pentacles in reverse where they've likely been someone who has or has had trouble reaching their goals due to inexperience, lack of motivation, or lack of interest. The Ace of Swords reversed is where we start to expand on this because I'm seeing one of two possibilities here. Either your future spouse has tried to follow a path that was pre-determined for them (thus the lack of interest) and struggles or has struggled to accept that the path laidn out for them isn’t right and that they need to follow their own path. Or this is an explanation of why they have a hard time reaching their goals and tells us this person over analyzes themselves and their work. This person probably struggles with some sort of anxiety, adhd, or other mental health disorder (though please don't take this as a diagnosis or medical advice, it's not. Just the energy from the reading) and it affects their sense of self. There is the possibility that this card in reverse (paired with what we've looked at in the other cards so far) could be suggesting that your future spouse might be a part of the lgbtq+ community and has some challenges around accepting and embracing that.

With the Rider-Waite deck to clarify the Light Seer's deck we start with the 3 of Pentacles which tells me that although this person is someone who has a difficult time accepting help from others they're generous when it comes to offering help. I get the sense that they’re the type of person who will stop what they’re doing at the drop of a hat to help others whenever they can either with advice, working on something with someone, or financially.

The 6 of cups in reverse here makes me think of two things. One, this person is probably not someone who has already been in your life but someone new. And two, that this person has to work on forgiving themselves for the things they've struggled with. Be it work, hobbies, joy, their own identity, whatever. By working on forgiving themselves they'll reach a point where they can better maintain a healthy relationship with themselves, with their future spouse (that's you!), and with others.

The King of Pentacles here is a sign that something this person does not struggle with is their finances. This goes hand in hand with their generosity as I mentioned in the 3 of Pentacles. I get the sense that this person comes from a wealthy background, maybe not insanely wealthy, but their family has definitely been comfortable financially and that carries into their own life as an adult.

With Mending in reverse as our first of the Wisdom of the Oracle cards this repeats the theme of this person needing to forgive themselves for their past in order to have healthy relationships. Seeing as there are two people in the image of the card this could be something that either you encourage or inspire in them when you enter their life, or something that happens through the course of the natural ups and downs of your relationship with them.

In Poised I can see that through forgiving themselves, healing, and beginning to accept help offered to them as much as they offer it to others they'll begin to reach the best version of who they are. They'll start to be as confident as they pretend to be and that confidence and kindness will radiate from them. And I do think they're someone who appears to be more confident than they are. They wear a mask, often showing others what they think people want to see from them, hiding their struggles and their stress with a bit of charm, a bit of money, and a bit of kindness.

All that Glitters is another card that feels like it has a double meaning. First it's another card that suggests that this person comes from a well-off family background, and second it feels like it's confirming what I said about the previous card, and how their poise isn't as well balanced as it seems. Behind their charm and confident mask they're struggling too, they just don't want people to see it. This card could also suggest that while their family is well-off they might cut ties or be uncomfortable with their family money.

Exposed and Revealed, from the 7 Energies Oracle, is about mending that guilt and forgiving themselves - if, as I mentioned earlier, they are a part of the lgbtq+ communities this could be about them coming out, to you, to others, or in general and feeling the discomfort and relief that comes with that. If not, this could simply be about allowing you to see behind their mask and showing you their struggles. Ultimately it's about vulnerability, the kind that comes with either trust or necessity, and sometimes both.

It could also go along with the next card, A Grand Symphony, which brings me back to what I said earlier about how they've maybe tried to fit themselves into a pre-determined role that isnt right for them. I'm getting orchestral vibes from this card, particularly string instruments like the violin, so maybe your future spouse is a musician or involved with music in some way. This could also be another card about accepting help. In order to be a part of any type of team, including an orchestra, including a relationship, you have to be able to work with other people help them, and accept help in return. There has to be trust, and a willingness to allow others to see your struggles and a willingness to accept help in improving.

In the Foxfire Oracle we start with Hope. This card makes it abundantly clear to me that although your future spouse is someone who struggles initially, and maybe for awhile, with something as important as accepting help from others and letting people see beneath their mask they will let you in, in time. And not only that, but their struggles with finding their own way in life - be it with their identity, orientation, work, etc - are far from hopeless. They will find their way through to happiness, they'll find the things that really do glitter and enjoy that grand symphony of a life coming together beautifully.

Beneath the Surface is the first card here that makes me think that at first you might not be taken in by their charm and pretend confidence. You might not dislike them at first, but I feel like you wont be particularly fond of them. The word arrogant comes to mind. You might, at first, think them pretentious because of the confident way they act or even because of their money. You might even at first think it's their kindness that's fake and not their confidence. But once you get to know them you'll start to see what's beneath the surface; what's good, what's bad, and what's real.

The Garden of the Night repeats this, saying that what looks one way in one light might look another in a different light. Things, people, situations, challenges, are not always what they appear to be at first. Good things might not be so good. Things that bother you might come to delight you, challenges may actually be opportunities. One other thing I see in this card is a safe haven. A garden in the night, a refuge from the busy day to day life, some peace and quiet and a place to unwind. That's what your future spouse will be for you as time goes on and your relationship deepens, and what, in turn, I suspect you'll be for them.

To sum it up, your future spouse is someone who struggles to accept help from others, and to accept themselves, but they’re also someone who is kind and generous, and likely has an affinity for the arts. You might get off to a rocky start with them but in time you’ll be someone each other can lean and depend on, their vulnerability with you (and yours with them) will be an important factor in your relationship.

#Deanna reads tarot #kawaiimarshmallow

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voicesfromthelight · 5 years

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A Breakthrough in Evidential Mediumship, And Some Things I Learned On The Way There

Those of you who follow my posts on a regular basis may know that as a medium and psychic, my specialty is channeling readings through my spirit guides, who read my clients’ energy fields and communicate their insights to them through me. Though I’ve always held my work to a high standard of evidentiality, in the sense that I only consider my readings legitimate if I can intuitively communicate specific, verifiable details about my clients’ lives, more “mainstream” evidential mediumship (i.e. communicating with people who have passed on) has been more challenging for me. My theory is that the reason for this is that my guides dwell in a slightly different frequency band of the spirit world than the one from which the deceased tend to communicate. I attune myself energetically more easily to my guides.

Because of this lopsided affinity, in the interest of maintaining the best possible track record on accuracy, I have only offered human-to-deceased-human mediumship incidentally to my other readings. However, over the past couple of weeks, I have been led to clients who have had a very pressing need to communicate with the dead - in some cases, due to life-and-death situations at stake with those who have been left behind. As a result, I seem to have had a breakthrough in this area of my practice, with a personally unprecedented amount of specific evidence coming through. It has been an exciting, moving, and humbling experience. I have been astonished by some of the things that have been communicated. The fact that the need for it was especially urgent in these two cases supports my guides’ assertion that a strong motivation to establish contact, or “move the energy of information,” will contribute to mediumistic success.

The sessions have been fairly intense, since being a channeler, my most consistent method for connecting with Spirit involves a deeper, somewhat more physical state of trance mediumship than evidential mediums usually employ. I use similar states of consciousness for this work as I do when channeling Ves and listening for clairaudient dictation, in which the individual ego takes more of a back seat than, say, in psychically reading people’s energy. However, because recently incarnated souls communicating about their lives on earth will often use physical responses in the medium’s body to relay information about things such as health issues and emotions, channeling them can be a less comfortable experience than working with guides who have been blissfully floating in the ethereal realms for much of their existence. (It remains to be seen whether I develop past this method, and get similar results from light meditation, as most evidential mediums do, but this is it, for now. I am embracing the journey!)

As in my channeling work, reports on these readings are based on transcripts of the recorded sessions. Once the recorder is on, I set the intention for the reading, connect to my spirit guides, and have an initial conversation with them, until they tell me we are ready to go ahead and make contact with the deceased soul. Then, I greet the departed person, and wait for a clairaudient response, as well as a physical awareness of their energy (usually felt as a warmth.) When contact is established, I work to communicate and retrieve information by cycling through various lighter and deeper states of meditation, verbalizing what I hear, feel and see. It’s kind of like diving into deep, murky water (the unconscious), fishing for pearls (the information), and then coming up to the surface just long enough to collect them into a basket (describing or expressing what I am experiencing) before diving back in.

The communications are a mix of directly channeled text, physical sensations, clairvoyant and claircognizant impressions, individual words clairaudiently introduced as evidence, and sometimes even words that seem to be channeled through an almost purely physical mediumship. Generally, the deeper the trance state, and the less I am consciously aware, the more specific and accurate the information. During the reading itself, the focus is less on understanding the information with the active mind, as it is on communicating the subtlest of details of the psychic impressions as they come in. The analysis is done later. The lovely thing about conducting mediumship in this way is that the directly channeled text offers a chance for the deceased loved one to communicate their personality, emotions, and signature expressions, which help the client recognize the spirit in question, whereas the more specific words and concepts provide concrete evidence that contact has been established, beyond the more subjective elements. This anchors the emotional healing of the communication in the reassurance offered by proof of continuity of consciousness after death. The results have been some of the best I have ever experienced in my work as a medium so far.

I do still want to build up my consistency in this practice, and am going to continue to wait a while longer before offering these services separately. My guides, Salvador and Natalie, assure me that it won’t be long before I am ready to do so. In the meantime, however, I thought I might share some tips on evidential mediumship that I either learned through experiencing these recent readings, or that were communicated to me by my guides while we were doing them.

First, some basic principles that bear repeating:

1. The most important thing to learn in evidential mediumship, or any kind of channeling, is how to quiet your mind and step out of the way. Meditate, meditate, meditate. Practice shifting your consciousness into an altered state on a regular basis, until you are able to do so at will. The more easily you can access a state of openly receptive relaxation, or even a hypnagogic half-dreaming state, the more easily you will be able to receive information. Personally, much of my best information comes through when I am in a semi-deep state of trance: deep enough to have very little awareness of self, but present enough to be able to verbally express what I am seeing, feeling and hearing.

2. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Soothe your inner critic into silence. Celebrate every small success. Surrender to the process. Give every subtle detail of what you are experiencing your full attention, and make a note of it. What I have found is that even little “throwaway” utterances can be crucial when putting together the complete picture of a reading. No impression is too big, no hunch or hint is too small. Make note of them, and worry about their meaning later.

3. If something you feel, hear or see repeats itself several times throughout a reading, it’s probably important. In my latest readings, for instance, I heard the words “Lazarus” and “Queensland” over and over. I even heard “Lazarus” as I was going to bed the night after the reading, before I had confirmed its significance with my client. These turned out to be some of the most specific pieces of evidence I was able to channel: “Lazarus” was a song that had been played for the deceased person’s loved one every morning for the past several weeks, and the person I was communicating with had spent years in that part of Australia.

4. If something you are being communicated in a reading strikes you as unusual, and repeats itself in slight variations, or through different clair-senses, pay attention. In one of my readings, the person coming through kept reiterating that speaking was difficult for him. At first, I thought he was simply referring to an introverted personality. However, as I was channeling him, I began to notice a physical sensation of having difficulty verbalizing what I was saying. This struck me as strange, because I could hear his clairaudient communication as easily as any other spirit I had worked with. Later in the session, the word “Huntington” jumped out of my mouth with quite a bit of urgency, and the difficulty with speech connected all the dots.** Upon looking up “Huntington,” I realized that the man was probably trying to tell us that he had undiagnosed Huntington’s chorea (which I couldn’t recall ever hearing of before): a hereditary illness that eventually leads to a loss of speech. In light of other details that were communicated to me after the reading itself, amazingly, it now looks like I may have actually hit on a correct diagnosis of this very rare condition. If this can be verified, it will be one of the most baffling examples of evidence I have been able to bring through so far.

5. If you can’t figure out exactly what you are seeing or hearing through your clair-senses, focus yourself, relax, feel around, breathe deeply, and keep describing verbally what you are experiencing. A general shape of a triangle might eventually reveal itself as a bale of hay, or a pyramid. If you are getting a snippet of a word, verbalize what you hear, then play around a bit with how it feels in your mouth, until it feels right. This is how I usually hit on exact names in readings. “Lazarus” repeated itself in my reading a few times in its correct form, but subsequently also came through as “Lazer” (the Yiddish version of the name) and at one point, what I thought was “lazy.”* (Ironically, the first attempt was the correct one. As my guides are fond of saying: “The first truth that comes to you, is the truth.”)

The last reading I did was especially interesting in that it was punctuated by shorthand conversations with my spirit guides, Salvador and Natalie, who not only encouraged me to trust what I was receiving, and gave me some context for what the person being channeled was communicating, but also offered suggestions on how to connect better with the subject of the session. A new concept Natalie introduced was that of connecting to the deceased through their emotional energy. Here is a passage from one of the sessions.

Natalie: “Try this: Call in his feelings - the energy of his emotions. Keep listening to what he says in full sentences - every word he says. Try, and you will be surprised! Raising your energy, and giving joyful greetings to Spirit, enable psychic knowing. Beautiful, clear information comes through in small details. Please smile, and focus your mind. Use your psychic protection to lift yourself out of negative emotions, exciting now the energy of the heart. Please allow a warm meeting of the minds. Let go of your nervousness. Hear the misaligned wrongs that happened being blessed. Feel the energy of joy, and let the guides speak. Trust in this wonderful discipline! Let go of your preconceptions of what you should be hearing. Please ask open-ended questions, and smile! Feel the energy of joy.”

Salvador: “Yes, dear wife. Look to a manifestation of greater joy than you expected in this predicament, being communicated here. Look ahead to the future easing of the situation. Trust the advice. Just try to believe the wonderful, unexpected developments that are happening. Understand that the events are in the process of transforming. Just expect the future with psychic openness.

Emily: “How did I connect to the departed gentleman, just now?”

Salvador: “Wonderfully! Just trust your intuition, and when you begin to feel doubt, smile! It is important to hear Spirit with pleasure, and speak together with confidence. This was a legitimate conversation. It’s time to find hope, and forgive everyone. Expect a clear change in the joylessness. Surprising manifestations. Believe it, and and expect happiness and love to win out. Speak great truth. Respond to this new gift of intelligence: The unexpected instructions you are receiving. Return your focus, and concentrate on the future trajectory. Just come to the conclusion, together, that positive success is definitely accessible again in this situation.”

Emily: “Should we try to channel him directly again?”

Salvador: “Yes, dear. Bless the trust. Thank him. He will now speak of future expectations. Bring in quickly the trajectory of future success.”

From this passage, you can see the guides once again emphasizing the importance of taking joy in communicating with Spirit, to strengthen the connection. They were also trying to draw my attention to the fact that even though the session was being conducted in hopes of helping a person linked to the deceased who seemed to be in a dire situation, I should come to the reading free of any preconceptions about their future. This was, in fact, quite important in helping to piece together the information, because much of it was coming through in purely visual impressions that were later confirmed to be describing the future plans of the person in question - none of which I had been informed about. My guides were extremely helpful in framing those plans in positive terms.

If you have studied mediumship, what are some of the most basic principles you use to help yourself connect? What would you add to my list? Let me know!

_____________________________________

*In yet another example of Spirit using synchronicity for reinforcement, right as I was reviewing this sentence in the post, in a cafe, mulling over this name, someone a few feet away from me uttered the words “Lazer vision!”

** And yet again, the word “Huntington” - in the form of a location - popped up during a completely unrelated work task, on the day that I confirmed that there was a possilibility that the deceased’s family had a history of this disease.

#psychic #psychic medium #mediumship #evidential mediumship #spirit communication #physical mediumship #spirit #spirit guides #life after death #trance #trance mediumship #channeled #channeled messages #psychic development

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

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Mutilated Mannequin (Part 17)

“I leave you alone with them and this is what you do to them!” Ursa’s voice is shriller than usual. “You couldn’t just leave them be? I almost didn’t recognize him without that scar. Making him get rid of that wasn’t enough for you?” Her voice carries loudly from two floors below.

“I was thinking of his future. I couldn’t send him off to high school with that kind of scarring.” Ozai insists. “They’d rip his self-esteem to shreds. He’s already a softie…”

“Zuko wasn’t enough for you.” Ursa repeats. “You had to do this to our beautiful girl too. She didn’t even have any scars.”

“She had a baby face.”

“She’s fifteen!” Azula doesn’t need to see her mother to know that the woman was throwing her hands up. “Of course she has a child’s face, she is a child.”

“You had a womanly face when we started dating.” Ozai argues.

“We’re not the same person! She’s a late bloomer, you can’t rush these things.”

At this Azula’s face flushes. Zuko slumps down against the wall next to her. “Just like old times, right?” He comments.

“They used to argue about jobs.” Azula shrugs. “Not about us.” She pauses, it is still a bit of a hassle to enunciate things clearly. She can’t wait for some feeling to return to the right side of her face. “Not about how to raise us, anyways.” Custody matters had been a common topic back then. Ultimately they were left with their father as his income is more stable. Ursa had taken a leap of faith in leaving them behind for her career. She said it was her best chance. Ozai refused to make the move with her because his career is where they are now.

She supposes that she still holds a little resentment at how Ursa had chosen her career over them. But she can’t say that her ambition wouldn’t carry her to make the same choice. It doesn’t matter anyhow, she doesn’t have the energy to cling to rivalries. Not when she could use her mother’s special brand of care.

“I guess so.” Zuko replies.

“I have a sturdy job now.” Ursa declares. “More than sturdy, I have nearly as much wealth as you do. If you think that I can’t get custody of my children after this, you’re mistaken.”

“You will not take my children. I raised them, I did the hard work.”

“You raised them and you broke them.”

“They’re fine. I taught them to be resilient.”

Azula finds herself lucky that he did. Part of her is inclined to say that she would have given up at the diagnosis if he hadn’t at least taught her to push through things. Not that she is anywhere near ready to embrace her situation. She has hardly accepted it yet.

The surgery is through with, to her surprise, and with a splinted arm, they had cleared her the very same day that they’d done the procedure. The splint is terribly uncomfortable and she has been fated to wear it for at least three weeks.

She tenderly cradles the splinted arm and listens for the conclusion of the argument below.

“They are staying with me, Ursa.”

“We shall see.”

Zuko seems to smile at this. “We might get to live with mom.”

Azula isn’t so sure that she shares his delight. She is wholly torn. “Maybe.” she mumbles in way of a response.

.oOo.

It seems like it has been ages since she has been in the halls of Agni High. “You can go to class, Zuzu. I can take care of myself.” She rolls her eyes and shoves a few textbooks into her shoulder bag. She picks it up off the floor with her good arm and hoists it on lets it rest on her uninjured shoulder.

“Are you sure that you don’t want help with those?”

“I can handle a few textbooks.” She closes her locker and gives him a shooing gesture.

“I just want to help.”

“And I don’t want people to treat me like I’m helpless just because my arm is in a sling.”

Zuko seems to hesitate. “Just don’t hurt yourself worse.

She rolls her eyes, and yet, she deep down she has to admit to herself that she appreciates the sentiment. She thinks that this might be the closest they have been since they were children. She can’t exactly place when they had grown apart, but she is sure that father had created the rift with his ridiculous expectations. She watches her brother make his way down the hall before slipping into her own classroom.

TyLee greets her with a warm smile. She slips into her desk and arranges her supplies upon it.

“Need a copy of the notes?”

Azula shakes her head. “Zuko’s been getting them for me.” She pulls out the worksheet she had finished the night before. She hands it to Kyoshi who replaces that one with a new assignment and a welcome back.

It is so ordinary.

The day is so mundane it is almost as though nothing has changed at all.

Almost.

TyLee and Mai walk with her as she makes her way to the gym. People murmur to themselves. She might be able to pretend like she isn’t the subject of the murmurs were they not looking at her just a little too long.

Pitying stares that make her both furious and uncomfortable, perhaps furiously uncomfortable.

“Do you want to stop by my house after school?” Azula offers, a small attempt to invest herself in a conversation that didn’t leave her feeling awkward. She almost wants to ask if the state of her face is as bad as their expressions suggest.

“I can stop by if you don’t mind Tom-Tom tagging along.”

“Does five o clock sound good? I’ll have some time after gymnastics.”

“Five sounds perfect and I’m sure mother would love to meet Tom-Tom.” Azula replies.

“You think that she’ll take him off my hands for a bit?”

“Probably.” Azula says. They reach the gymnasium door. “I’ll see you at lunch.” She enters the gym and scopes Kyoshi out. She refuses to sit on the sidelines again. “What are we doing today?”

“You’re sitting out and working on your lit assignment.” Kyoshi shrugs. “The rest of us will be playing soccer after a few warm up laps

"I can still use my legs, Kyoshi. And one arm.” Azula insists. “I can play soccer.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Kyoshi agrees to let her speed walk the track so long as she promises to either walk or stop entirely if she doesn’t feel well. She supposes that she shouldn’t push her luck and makes her way to the track.

She hears someone sprinting up behind her. Before she can turn around, Yue is standing in front of her, leaning in way too close for comfort. “I heard that your face is all messed up.”

“Keep talking and yours won’t be any better.” She replies dryly.

Yue takes a step back. “It isn’t as bad as Jet made it sound.”

“Jet hasn’t even seen my face yet.”

Yue taps her chin. “It’s still pretty awful.” She shrugs. At Azula’s scowl she adds a hasty, “no offense.”

Her frown only deepens as she stalks away from the other girl. It isn’t like she hadn’t been expecting Yue to make things more difficult. No, she had very much anticipated the girl making her feel worse about herself then she did already.

She hears footsteps again. “Go, away.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I thought that you were Yue.”

“She’s over there.” Katara pointed. “Pouting about something.”

Azula rolls her eyes.

“How are you doing?”

“Better, I suppose. I guess that I’m just going to have to get used to everyone looking at me like that.” She takes a deep breath. As things stand, she doesn’t feel as though such a feat is possible. They make her feel like some sort of creature. She casts her eyes to the floor.

“They’ll get used to it and stop staring.”

“There are more people than the ones in this school…” She doesn’t like thinking of being in a crowd, walking amid people who haven’t and won’t ever get the chance to get used to it… “this is going to be peoples’ first impression of me.”

“And you’ll know who’s worth talking to right away.” Katara replies. “If they’re rude then they aren’t worth talking to anyways.”

“I don’t even have a thrilling story to tell. At least Zuzu got to tell everyone that he got his scar saving the neighbor’s kid from a kitchen fire.” Azula slows her speedwalk to a halt. “I get to tell everyone that my plastic surgeon fucked up.”

“You don’t have to tell the truth.”

“Yes, Toph said the same. She suggested that I tell everyone that I was fighting an evil government agent who threw acid in my face. She also mentioned something about being attacked by a mutant.”

“You should hear her ‘how I went blind’ story.” Katara laughed.

“I’m sure that that’s entertaining.” Azula glances around the track. “Where’s the nimrod.”

“He got sent home for a dress code violation. I told him that he needed to stop sagging his pants. They already gave him several warnings.”

“They let him be the class president…” Azula grumbles. Regardless, she decides that it is doing her well to have more mundane conversations again.

.oOo.

Azula stares at her applesauce with annoyance. She still can’t eat solids and she is growing sick of oatmeal, apple sauce, and yogurt. She isn’t even sure that a healthy person can live on such a diet. She casts a longing look at Toph’s egg rolls and dumplings and an even more longing look at TyLee’s arrangement of cupcakes. Those are soft and fluffy, perhaps her doctor will approve of adding them to her meal plan.

Katara sits across from her and offers her a carton of orange juice. “I don’t really like oranges.”

“Neither do I.”

“Okay, one of you is going to have to move!” Yue stands before Mai and TyLee. “I am not sitting next to the clownfish.”

“Clownfish?” Mai questions.

“She’s been calling me that since...nevermind.”

“Since Katty accidentally swam diagonally while doing the backstroke and made our team look like a big joke.” Yue shrugged.

“And I call her, the eel because she’s a snake.”

Yue folds her arms and wedges herself between Azula and TyLee with a ‘hmph.’ “I don’t like our new table mates.”

“You’ll get over it.” Toph shrugs.

“This table is too crowded.” Yue eyes Suki.

“Well it’s about to get more crowded.” Chan declares.

“Move over a little Katara, make some space for Chan’s ego.” Azula remarks.

“Happy Monday to you too, Azula.” Chan greets.

It is nice to get back to the playful jesting. Though she still believes that they are due for a talk. The sooner the better, but she doesn’t want an audience. For the time being they will have to deal with the remaining threads of tension. That subtle spark of awkwardness that settles when he sits down.

Jet follows in suit.

“Good morning, Jet.” TyLee greets.

“It’s the afternoon.” He fixes his gaze on Azula. Judgement rolls off of him in waves.

“You look a lot worse than I thought you would.” He picks up a french fry and, before popping it into his mouth, says, “you weren’t pleasant to look at before. But this is awful.”

“She was kinda pretty before.” Yue interjects.

“She was really pretty, Yue.” Chan adds. Was, was, was. It only makes her feel that much worse for having lost whatever beauty she might have once had.

“Well she sure as hell isn’t now.” Jet replies. “And if she was such a looker before, why didn’t you take her to homecoming?”

Another relentless blow to her ego.

She braces herself for the next, it didn’t come in the way she had prepared for.

“Because she was changing things about her that I liked the way they were and it was frustrating to watch.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that before I got the first surgery?” She asks. “You know that I first thought of getting them because of you, right?”

This time it is Chan who looked as though he’d taken a physical hit. “Wh-when.”

“Can we talk about this later?” She sends a cutting state towards Jet. “Alone.”

Chan nods but she can tell by the way he pushes absently at his mashed potatoes that the rest of lunch will be heavy.

“You know what?” Azula asks prompting the whole of her posse to look up. “I think that I have a solution to our overcrowded table.”

Chan cringes.

Without a word, she picks up Jet’s lunch tray and moves it to the corner table. She gestures to it. “Go on, Jet.”

Yue holds a hand up to her mouth, “ooo, Jet, you’re in trouble.” She snickers, “even I haven’t gotten evicted from the table!”

Jet scowled. “That’s fine with me, I didn’t want to look at that anyways.” He motions to Azula. “It’s disgusting.”

Azula lets out a breath, a tickling sensation flutters up in her tummy.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Azula.” Katara mutters. But she thinks that he does. She can’t say that she disagrees with him, she has gone out of her way to cover and avoid mirrors.

She feels TyLee wrap her arms around her and snuggle her cheek against Azula’s.

Azula signed and gives him one final glance. She sees him making his way to Smellerbee’s table. He may be tables away but the damage has been done. Chan has his head propped up by his arm and dismally stares at his still untouched meal. And Azula herself feels numb.

#Avatar #Azula #Katara #Zuko #TyLee #Mai #Toph #Suki #Jet #Yue #Fanfiction

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cannabisrefugee-esq · 5 years

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WWNRD? Or, What Would Nurse Ratched Do? Ft. Nurse Ratched

Cannabis Refugee, Esq. Advertising / Media / Cultural Conversation, Alternative Treatment, Capitalistic Patriarchal Medicine, Family / Friends, Marijuana / Cannabis, Other Autoimmune Diseases, Radical Feminism

October 31, 2019

Nurse Ratched was a sadistic, evil bitch at the time and would be that and a dangerously out of touch political dinosaur now. Please do not do what she would do. If anything, ask yourself WWNRD and then do the opposite.

Speaking with my mother recently made me sympathize with young smartasses and activists who are just waiting for the elder generation — the out of touch Baby Boomers and the Baby Boomers’ parents and kids by this point — to give up the ghost and die. A “dinosaur” or political dinosaur is someone whose philosophy and worldview are obsolete and rooted in problematic values and circumstances of the distant past. For example, as a young activist in my teens and 20s I remember thinking and saying that the world would be a better place once those who grew up with unregulated environmental pollution and legal institutionalized racism, sexism etc. died off because their environmental unconcern, racism and sexism were so entrenched that they either didn’t realize, agree or care what they were doing and being was wrong.

Welp. After being sick my entire fucking life with an undiagnosed autoimmune disease, and going on 8 years with a diagnosed one, I am having these same thoughts now about the older generation of Western medical practitioners and others who were born, grew up and/or progenated in a low-population, relatively unpolluted pre-nuclear world where lifelong serious, untreatable, incurable and progressive disease existed only in very small numbers and therefore where older people seem to believe and act as if chronic illness did not and does not exist at all.

To be clear, chronic illness obviously did exist in our recent and distant past, for example, natural uranium deposits are known to cause acute and chronic radiation sickness to those who spend time around it. And humans have likely always been struck down with genetic and congenital maladies that might not have outright killed them. But old/er people seem to have lived their entire lives without chronic illness, including autoimmune and immune-mediated disease, front and center in their consciousness or as a part of their lived experience and this does make sense: before, say, the 1940s and 50s the worst industrial (man-made ionizing nuclear) pollutants had yet to be widely dispersed and contemporary Western medicine did not, because it could not, routinely pluck seriously ill and/or nonviable neonates, infants and others from the brink of merciful, natural deaths. Today, seriously ill children and others are rather forced to live for years, decades and lifetimes with serious illnesses that do not outright kill them, because Western medicine will not allow it, but which Western medicine has yet to figure out how to treat, relieve, or cure.

Having researched chronic illness, primarily autoimmune and immune-mediated disease for going on 8 years now, it seems to me that, in stark contrast to the life experience and worldview of older people, young people today generally are very aware that incurable and progressive chronic illness exists. Over and over I see that young people today, at least young Western people, well understand and accept the reality of chronic illness much more freely than older people, and the implications of that are extremely dark. From what I can discern, this difference in worldview likely exists because young people are increasingly becoming seriously chronically ill themselves. Young people understand and accept the material reality of chronic illness because experiencing it personally as individuals and in their peer group they have no choice but to accept it.

And over and over I see that older people are generally ignorant about issues of chronic illness and that they have not experienced it either individually or in their peer group. Frighteningly, instead of recognizing their blessed ignorance and trying to remedy it, older people think that their personal opinion based on outdated and second- and third-hand pseudo-knowledge about chronic illness matters or affects the outcome. It doesn’t, but unfortunately many medical professionals, healthcare policymakers, paid and unpaid caretakers and the like embrace an outdated worldview that no longer applies in our post-nuclear, Western world, and thus do not or cannot fully believe the self-reports of, or even contemporary peer-reviewed medical research addressing, the experiences and needs of seriously chronically ill.

A few weeks ago, a day and a half into a migraine (I’m getting 4 day migraines now, yay!) I panicked over my migraine-related inability to work on my small business, pursue benefits, or do virtually anything as I was completely and totally incapacitated. In what I can only describe as a misguided and ultimately futile cry for help, bedridden, I called my mother to update her about the situation, whereupon she made some statements of position that were so ignorant they verily shocked me. Laying in the dark with a sleep mask over my eyes, and a puke bucket near my bed, what I heard uttered from my mother’s lips was so egregiously out of touch with accepted thinking that it frankly terrified me.

Attempting to explain to her how and why she was wrong exhausted me. Knowing that she was moved not an inch by my description of my plight — instead smugly maintaining her “position” throughout as if she were engaging in a political debate rather than considering an emergency communique — enraged me.

For example, when I told my mom that I had a new diagnosis of High Functioning Autism, or HFA, she seemed unsurprised but said I wasn’t autistic as a child because I was always “bright.” Okay. In her mind, my HFA-consistent and completely obvious lifelong deficits in executive function — think literal and figurative “housekeeping” — and social competency (including feminine roleplaying which also includes both literal and figurative housekeeping, fuck me sideways) had nothing to do with autism and instead were just me being a lifelong asshole, lazy, and a bitch. She always believed that about me and she never hesitated to tell me about it. But at least I was bright. But now, because I’m no longer a practicing attorney and a “success” and instead am struggling to maintain any quality of life as a seriously ill person with limitations, and I can’t maintain an illusion of physical health anymore if I ever could, I’m a lifelong lazy asshole bitch and a freshly minted unbright/retard on top of it. Also, there is apparently such a thing as adult-onset autism. Because she says so.

Of course, my mother’s opinion about HFA is irrelevant and obsolete where HFA-literate people today know that high-functioning autism — the bright, non-retarded kind — is a bona fide thing, that particularly HFA females are often not diagnosed until late/r in life, and that “brightness” or intelligence is often a symptom/feature of HFA and not the antithesis of it. Autistic Tumblr — or any young autism or chronic illness related social media site — would tear that political dinosaur a new egg-hole if she dared say something so ignorant patently false about autistics on that platform. And so they probably should if they wanted to expend the energy and if they thought it would help.

Yes, I recently discovered the dark corner of the internet known as Autistic Tumblr: young people creating content, commentary and community from the shared perspective and lived experience that autism and autism spectrum disorders (ASD) including HFA is real and has real, material effects on people’s lives. Often, those effects have nothing to do with being low-functioning, or unbright. Which is not to say that I find Autistic or Chronic Illness Tumblr a particularly sane or comforting place to be. As I recently learned myself, Autistic Tumblr is an upsetting, dystopian place where young autistics put great effort into and emphasis on “normalizing” and “validating” terrible things that rightfully should never exist at all: autistic and chronic illness related things like melting down, stimming and managing chronic fatigue, chronic pain, chronic gut issues and the like, because although most of them are much younger than me, due to their autism and (likely) related physical and mental issues they are extremely ill and can barely get through their day.

In fact, upon hearing and considering these self-reports, one might even speculate that physical and mental pain is what likely drives autistics’ trademark weird, antisocial and self-absorbed behavior, where they are in fact “bright” enough to communicate online at the very least (and often have work, school and social commitments) but are exhausted from insomnia, chronic pain and ME/CFS; anorexic because they can’t eat anything; are having infantile hand-flapping meltdowns in public or breaking into inopportune episodes of “stimming” behavior to soothe themselves and they can’t deal with people giving them the side-eye at school and work on top of it. Autistic young people are living in hell, utter hell, judging from their self-reports. Considering that vast and increasing numbers of young people are autistic, it seems likely that extreme physical and mental distress is normal for many young people now. Young people much more than old people seem to know this. People who care to put in a modicum of research know this.

To further illustrate, when I was attempting to describe my current limitations to my mother she completely dismissed me and said that when it comes to disability, one is either totally disabled or not disabled at all. Lest I misunderstand what she meant by that, she spontaneously clarified her statement to mean that if I have limitations I should be in a “home” and if I don’t need to be in a “home” then there is no reason I can’t act as if I’m not disabled at all. In other words, despite being demonstrably, seriously ill, I “should” be able to act/function as if I’m perfectly fine. Because she says so.

Of course, as I understand it, invalid “homes” are largely a thing of the past, at least in this country, having literally gone the way of the dinosaur. And many sick and injured people are, in fact, demonstrably partially disabled, where they are able to perform some activities of daily living and perhaps some higher level activities like bookkeeping and such but not all; accessing “services” to help partially and even very disabled people to live as independently as possible — and not institutionalized — is the way it works now. Partially disabled does not equal totally disabled, you sadistic Nurse Ratched, you decrepit fossil, nor does partially disabled mean not disabled at all. She then proceeded to disagree with me — and contemporary peer reviewed medical research corroborating thousands of years of human history and shared experience — that cannabis is an effective anti-inflammatory and is particularly useful in inflammatory bowel disease including Crohn’s. According to her, and based on nothing, pot isn’t an effective or necessary medicine for any condition, and it’s “merely” an effective pain reliever (!) and therefore is not actually medicine at all. Because she said so.

This ignorant, sadistic ideological fossil maintains her nursing license and continues to “care for” actual patients including sick infants and children. Whatever “caring” means to her, and people like her: assholes who rely on frighteningly outdated material on which to form and support their opinions on contemporary medical and social issues, including contemporary chronic illness that for whatever reason is increasing in incidence and prevalence. And particularly in our post-nuclear, radioactively contaminated environment, including the toxic, autoimmune uterine environment in which many of us spend our first 3/4 of a year and which is known to cause autism. While information on Crohn’s, HFA, medical marijuana etc. is easily Googleable, and appears to be widely known by young people, apparently my 67 year old nurse mother is waiting for the news to break via Teletype or otherwise didn’t get the memo.

Of course, if I was a partially disabled man and had a wife (or mother) to perform all my executive function tasks (including bookkeeping services for my small business) for me, no one would even notice I was disabled. If I were male instead of female perhaps my life wouldn’t be falling apart at all, and certainly the prospect of committing me to a nonexistent/extinct 1940s era invalid home because I can’t wait in line or consistently do my business and personal taxes anymore would have never been raised at all.

Comments Open.

#marriage #female labor #nurse ratched #autism #being autistic #disability #medical #medicine #420 #me/cfs #gen z #millenials #baby boomer bullshit

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colitisandme · 5 years

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There seems to be some kind of misconception, that having an invisible illness makes you invisible. It does not. Although it certainly can make you feel like you are. An invisible illness, by its very nature may present no visible symptoms, may appear like nothing is wrong. You may look perfectly ‘normal’, you may sound ‘normal’ but an invisible illness is sneaky and disguises itself so it can surreptitiously slink it’s way into situations, circumstances, meetings or gatherings undetected and rip apart your body from the inside, cause chaos and general destruction in every part of your being whilst leaving no trace on the outside. Much like a spy, a ninja or an assassin. And yet whilst silent and unassuming on the outside, on the inside this invisible illness is violent, loud, angry, suffocating, deadly and consuming. It can consume your whole world and just because it’s not seen, it doesn’t mean it can’t devour everything in its path.

My first invisible illness of glandular fever was met with raised eyebrows and suspicious glances. “You don’t look ill” my teachers would say. What the hell does that mean? Don’t look ill? If they meant my leg wasn’t hanging off then no I didn’t look ill. If they meant I wasn’t vomiting on my fellow classmates then no I didn’t appear ill. If they assumed because I wasn’t standing in the middle of R.E wailing and clutching my stomach whilst turning a lovely shade of puce, foaming at the mouth and gnashing my teeth I wasn’t ill, then no, obviously I wasn’t ill. Not at all. Sure. On the outside my body was playing tricks with people. I may have looked okay. I may have been able to speak in coherent sentances, bid hello to my fellow man, and go through a whole day without turning yellow, develop cold sweats and break out into a pox. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t ill. I was ill. I assure my bullies who liked to debate if I was ill or not whilst verbally and physically pummelling the crap out of me, that every day my body and mind felt like I had run a marathon wearing a space suit, weights and flippers, that to concentrate on the joys of Physics, I had to harness every ounce of concentration I could possess, not to curl up on the floor and go to sleep because the tiredness was enveloping me coaxing me to give in and take a nap on my study book. That the shaking in my right arm was not there for shits and giggles, nor was it because I woke up and decided that a fun way to spice up my English lesson was to become a human vibrator. Funnily enough it wasn’t on my agenda.

Why does an invisible illness have to have a face? Why, because you can’t understand it does it make it, any the less real or any the less life changing? It’s ironic that the more invisible the illness made me feel, the more I wanted to scream out “I’m here” so people would see me, understand my illness, accept my illness and as a result would treat me like I was visible. But the more visible the symptoms were, the worse treatment I would get, so I tried to make myself just as invisible as the illness and hide the symptoms as much as I could to stay safe and in control.

An invisible illness doesn’t have to be a physical illness. Depression, anxiety, MH difficulties, Chronic fatigue syndrome, self harm, ME, IBD - there are so many numerous invisible illnesses. Although different in their make up., The results of having an invisible illness can be very similar. Isolation, loneliness, lack of finances, sadness and frustration can all be bi-products of an invisible illness, and several of these made me feel worse than the diagnosis itself.

When I became diagnosed with IBD, My life changed over night. I have always been incredibly sociable. My whole world revolved around people and making others happy. Because I couldn’t fix myself I would help others. I guess I wasn’t comfortable being around my own self nor listening to my own thoughts, which to me sounded like a very loud, very enthusiastic, one man band, playing the one tune he knows over and over again, and even though the audience has gone home, he yells the lyrics anyway, screeching over the symbols and accordion hoping to get some attention and maybe applause, but instead he gets shouted at to ‘shut the hell up,’ and ends up with fruit thrown at him by angry neighbours trying to sleep. But when I imploded in spectacular fashion, I was forced to spend huge amounts of time on my own. I had no choice. My husband worked, my friends were busy, my family doesn’t live near me. I couldn’t get out of the house because I was physically and also mentally too unwell.

At the beginning, just walking to the bus stop felt like I was drowning in quicksand. Being in a crowd used to make my heart race, eating out used to cause me distress and anxiety. Because my body and mind simultaneously waved the white flag at the same time I had no reserves. I was signed off sick, so was let go from work, I couldn’t pop out to see my friends so I spent days by myself. I was stuck. I couldn’t fight. Whereas before I would stubbornly kick and scream and drag myself through what ever I was thinking or feeling until I saw light on the other side, I couldn’t do that. I had to ask for help (which I hate doing) but even when I did, help didn’t come. I waited 3 months to get mental health support for depression and anxiety and I have so far had zero help, support or guidance from conventional doctors since being diagnosed. I became incredibly lonely, isolated and invisible again. All those feelings I dealt with when I was in Secondary School came flooding back. It was an effort to get myself out of bed in the beginning. It was hard to eat, I looked like a ghost but because my body likes to deceive others, especially my doctors, my blood work, my temperature my SATS were all okay and so I remained invisible. Even though I was admitted to hospital because I felt like my insides were being torn apart by wild horses, I remained invisible. Every time my surgeon came round to my bed he genuinely looked like he might cry, because he couldn’t patch me up, take something out or put something in to ‘fix’ me. At this point I felt like I was being held together with blue tac and sticky backed plastic, but still remained invisible. I left hospital with 9 boxes of drugs, still in pain and feeling like I might turn into a human sprinkler due to all the holes they put in me, not fixed, not better and still very invisible. Apparently looking like the Crypt keeper was not enough to make me less see-through, and because my illness was invisible I was thrown to the back of the line.

I am not going to lie, spending every day by yourself bar a couple is hard. Evenings were better because I had company, but the days were hard. I spent huge amounts of time by myself and I was very scared, as I only had myself for physical company and I didn’t like myself. I was worried how myself and I would get along in confined spaces, and I had genuine concern we would tear each other apart like savage dogs. But then a wierd thing happened. Because I was so physically ill, I had no room to deal with my mind. The physical symptoms took over my body with such force, I had no time to think. I had no mind space to worry about anything other than my body and getting through the next moment. And so all those worries and anxieties and pressure I piled on myself that seemed so important before, pailed into insignificance. So strangely little by little, I started to get along with myself. I tried crafts for the first time (my friends got me a care package when I first became ill and one of many items was a make your own felt sloth) and when I finished him I was truly proud. I got a happy diary and wrote in that, every single thing I accomplished, be it walking to the bus stop by myself, chasing up an appointment, cooking dinner, having a shower, getting dressed etc took on such huge significance, I truly became proud of myself, because of the monumental effort it took to complete each task, every little thing I did was a victory. Every step I took in the right direction I congratulated myself, and so the negative thoughts I had about myself faded and I started to live for myself. Which was a novelty.

As my confidence grew, I began speaking to inspiring, beautiful people. I nourished my soul by meditating, practicing mindfulness and gratitude as well as working on healing my body and as I did I realised, that my whole life I hadn’t just been living with an illness without visible symptoms, and wasn’t just invisible to others, I was invisible to my self. And now slowly, I was beginning to see myself without the criticism and self hatred and it was eye opening.

Even though IBD is still invisible to others, to me, it’s visible. It raises holy hell in my body and makes me look like a bum with eyes. I hate that there is such a stigmatism and lack of awareness and understanding surrounding invisible illness. I despair that professionals and the community close their eyes because it’s easier to do that then look at the bigger picture. And I am sad that there is not the same help and services around for those living with invisible illness than other illnesses. And I guess that even though others may not see, understand or accept us and the illnesses we present, the most important thing is we make ourselves visible. That we see, love and accept ourselves and not let our invisible illnesses control us, govern our lives with fear or isolate ourselves. By loving ourselves. By celebrating our achievements and our victories and by embracing ourselves, illness and all, We come out of the shadows, push through loneliness and isolation these illnesses bring, and with a little bit of self love, and self kindness, we cease to be invisible to others but most importantly, we cease to be invisible to ourselves anymore.

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