#i am a lot more open about my learning disability with people i am familiar with

[detransdamnation]

My bad no not dysphoria i meant the learning disability part in the prev ask

Gotcha. My apologies. As is evident, my learning disability affects my reading comprehension lmao

Before I answer this, I think I should give some necessary context since I have never named my specific disability (and would prefer not to, at least publicly, for the sake of my privacy). My learning disability does not impact my cognition; in other words, it has no bearing on my IQ, my ability to communicate, my ability to take care of myself, and so on and so forth.

However, my learning disability does impact what I am able to do academically, which spills over into a myriad of everyday life skills. My learning disability is also very severe.

Now that that’s been said,

In a friend group or acquaintance circle, I don’t expect—or even necessarily want—for other people to help me with things, largely because they can’t. I honestly do think that that is the absolute best way for someone to be supportive of me, is to accept that they cannot help me, they cannot explain things to me, and they cannot help me understand anything that I do not already understand. I don’t mean that to be pessimistic. It’s just the reality of the situation.

This incessant want to help is a pattern that has expressed itself throughout my entire life and it is annoying for a couple different reasons, one of them being that “help” only ever centers my learning disability when it would otherwise exist in the background.

I can generally “hide” my learning disability throughout my everyday life, and even in areas where my struggles are more prominent, I can usually brush them off. As a result, people don’t tend to fully grasp just how severe my learning disability is until they try (unwarranted) to help me through something that I struggle with—because it is only then when they realize that I do not actually have any foundational understanding of any of the concepts that are involved. In the areas that my learning disability affects, I have the comprehension of a child.

So, they have two options. They can meet me at my level and attempt to explain something to me the same way they would explain it to a child—which, although probably objectively better than jumping straight into something I am completely clueless about, has also never been accomplished without my being infantilized, or talked down to, to some extent.

Alternatively, they can take my age into account and explain something to me the same way they would explain it to any other adult—but then that doesn’t generally take into account what I can and cannot comprehend. Sure, my feelings may be spared, and it’s arguably the more ethical approach in that I’m not being treated light years younger than I am—but then they’re not actually teaching me anything at all because the approach assumes that my understanding of the topic at hand is far more advanced than it actually is and is able to be.

Even if either of these approaches worked and the person was somehow able to explain something to me whilst still retaining my dignity, it still all comes down to the therapy-resistant part of my learning disability. I do not retain anything I learn in my problem areas. I cannot retain anything if my learning disability is involved. Even where there is a line of success, it is part of an unsuccessful cycle.

These efforts are also made when I never ask for them. The onus, then, is on me to either A) grin and bear it, or B) interrupt the person and tell them to stop. Once again, this is a lose-lose situation. The former makes me feel guilty because I know that their efforts are going to waste; the latter usually makes the person feel awkward, and then I’m made out to be an asshole because they were “just trying to help.”

Most everyone wants to be the person to give that one explanation to make it all “click,” yet for some reason, it is never considered that this made-it-make-sense explanation does not, in fact, exist. I believe the fact these explanations are attempted, anyway, speaks to an ignorance of the nature of learning disabilities in general, even if they are held subconsciously (i.e., “Sure, you have a learning disability... but it also depends on how you’re taught”).

In many cases, I also believe it speaks to a greater discomfort with how my normal differs from that of people who do not have learning disabilities (or even those who do, but do not have a case as severe as mine).

I have accepted where I am at and I have tailored my life to accommodate my deficits. This does mean that I walk through many areas of life, navigating them through pattern recognition and logical reasoning, but not really understanding what I’m doing. I will always be a bit clueless when it comes to many concepts and skills. I will never be able to do certain things without outside guidance, or even at all. None of this will ever change. I have made peace with that. I am content despite my challenges.

But there are very few people who are content with my contentedness. It is my own experience that people like to think that they are accepting of my disability right up until they come face-to-face with the fact that my disability results in inabilities and they do not like that. They can say they understand or that they sympathize to my face—but they do not truly understand and they absolutely do not sympathize because they still evaluate me as if I have a non-disabled brain and it shows in their constant attempts to help me “improve” or “understand” or “do better.” It all too often insinuates that my successes as a person can only be deemed successful if I achieve them in the same manner as a person without a learning disability.

Some alternative ways that a person could actually support me include (but are not necessarily limited to) asking if I would like something to be explained before explaining it and not offering up an explanation on an entire thing when I am only asking for clarification on a specific part. Respect my limitations, do not challenge them. Never assume that I can do something. Also never assume that I cannot. The most supportive people in my life are the patient ones who are unafraid to ask questions and actually listen to my answers.

Above all else, as previously stated, the best way that one can be supportive of me is to accept that they cannot help me—because through acceptance of my struggles, I stop being a poor thing that needs to be “taught” and am instead seen as a whole person who just happens to have a learning disability. This is all that I want and expect from my loved ones.

I hope this gave you some perspective, Anon. However, I can speak only for myself. Please remember that the best way to support someone with a disability is to ask the individual how you can do so.

[horce-divorce]

happy 1st anniversary @smeetlinglord 🥰💖🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🫀💘🏳️‍🌈🌈

I cant believe it's been just over 3 years since this man walked out of my dreams and into my campsite (or rather, I walked into his?), and 1 year to the day since we stood in the kitchen of his little green house-- the place it had called home for over 9 years, the place he was being evicted from, we had already begun to pack and there were open boxes on the floor-- and the whole room smelled like coffee, and he put his hands around my waist in the sunshine from the south-facing window, and he looked at me, really looked at me, and said, "I want you to be my boyfriend."

i couldn't even begin to tell you why this meant so much to me, here, now, coming from hymn, of all people... and i also couldn't stop once I started. so i wrote about 10k words on it and i'm gonna post that elsewhere :) <3

we've had a tumultuous year to say the least. beginning a new relationship right on the heels of becoming homeless is a high stakes choice, and one we talked about at length for weeks before we made it official. since last july, bel has gone through a series of some of the worst trauma he's ever endured, and having to watch hymn bear so much pain and be powerless to stop it has been maddening-- but the idea of hymn going through all of this alone is much, much worse. even on his worst days, there's nowhere on earth i'd rather be than by his side; even on his worst days, the world is still that much better of a place to be in, because he is still here.

his story is one that's played out, in some fashion, time and time again. his abusive, transphobic landlord/egg donor made hymn homeless, and his disabilities made work impossible, leaving hymn with nowhere else to go.

i also had nowhere else to go at that point, but I did have a car, and we already spent most of our time camping together. as mentioned, it's how we met. the national forests are one of the last places where it's truly free and legal(ish) to be homeless; as long as you move every 14 days you're in the clear-- and we were lucky enough to already be deeply familiar with one such area.

we got displaced from our campsite over the winter and wound up couch-surfing for a time. bel sought help at a hospital only to be further traumatized, enough to seek legal recourse in the future. then we got stuck at our friend's when our car/home needed multiple repairs, and the situation continued to be further retraumatizing for a number of reasons.

through it all, even with all the horrific things he's endured just in the past year, Bellamy has been the best partner and most stalwart friend i've ever had-- and we have the most solid foundation of any relationship i've ever been in. he makes me feel so secure and loved in a way i've never experienced before. it teaches me so much and actually pushes me to be better, and to make functional change, something past partners talked a lot about but never truly did.

before we even got together we talked a lot about what we both want in a partner, anyway, and the main thing we're both looking for is just... company. the buddy system, no matter what happens, good, bad, or indifferent. life never stops. we have to learn to roll with the punches. we have to learn and try to be who we want to be even under the worst stress, because we can't ever give up on ourselves, and we shouldn't ever give up on each other because of hardship, either. that's the times when we should be holding together even tighter.

there's plenty i wish i could change about the past year, but there isn't a single moment i regret or would change about us. there isn't a single second i've shared with hymn that i would trade away, for anything. any amount of material security i've ever briefly had pales in comparison to the way i feel when he looks at me. I am so proud of him and everything he's managed to accomplish and become in spite of how hard this world has tried to bring him down. And I have never been more proud to be someone's lover, partner, caretaker, and friend.

Bellamy is the most incredible, amazing, inspiring, loving, passionate, genuine, wholehearted, most alive person I have ever met. He has such a powerful sense of self, and justice, and wonder and curiosity. He is such a wonderfully skilled vocalist, and artist, and listener and friend. I've known hymn for 3 years now and every day i look at it and i still can't believe he's real. Not only does the perfect man exist, he's gay, he's t4t, he lived in the same hemisphere and even the same 50 mile radius as me, AND he chose ME to be HIS guy!!!!

queer love is sacred <3 T4T IS FIXING ME!!!!! I LOVE HYMN!!!!!!

[psychologeek]

Weapon (redux)

"Who am I? (to disapear)" - Chapter 1, Part 5  fic | Part 1 | index

@thepromptfoundry

Getting back to the explaining. This is for Pride 2 Disability Boogaloo, day 2: Growing up disabled. On so many levels, this part is about growth and disability (even if you don't know what this is).

more in A/N. If you haven't read the fic, I highly recommend to at least familiar yourself with the first chapter before continueing reading.

[TW: post-dehumanization (Weapon thinks of itself as "it"), mention/implied domestic violence. lmk if need more. my words are little hard now.]

Little ones and big ones. There are many. Learn.  Big ones and little ones.

Siri, how do you describe a family when your only model is abuse?

The uncovered Blades watch them. Dagger is a little blade, and it belongs to Weapon. Dagger doesn't need food, doesn't make noise, doesn't get hurt. The bigger Blade used to be a weapon, too. When it was Weapon, it didn't need food or make noise or get hurt.

"The uncovered blades" - Weapon (and the dagger) are uncovered (physically), but also mentally. Foe better and worse, they are on their own.

Little ones have big ones by their side, all the time. The bigger Blade used to think little ones belong to the big ones, like Weapon belong to Master. But the little ones make noise and big ones look at little ones with something that is soft and doesn't look like need don't look like belong to me .  It's - (It's new, and unsure, and something inside wants).

I'm dying here about the parallels. Please notice how they use "big ones and little ones" (related, possessive) and then almost the exact terminology about their relationship with their dagger. I'm very very normal about it.

Again, a lot about how people can only understand the world in terms they KNOW.

This pain when you start to realise things you considered as normal may not be so.

Not having words to know what you feel 😭😭😭

~

It watches.

There's a big one and a little one . Then there's another big one, much bigger, looking at them with body saying mine and power and little one is quiet and the other big one steps front, body scream worry-fear body goes prepare for lesson but big one still steps front, hides the little one behind.

(Is it their master?)

Explanation: Weapon (Cass) sees a child and their parent\older sibling. An older perxon, who's physically way bigger then them, enter the scene. Cass sees

 "prepare for lesson" - violence. Again, this is the only framing Cass have for this.

Weapon is there and on the big man, small hands touch make a harmless defeat weak prey .  

Random person: listen YOU LITTLE SHIT, DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD-?

Cass (the size of a cat, weights like an arm): HISSSSS

(It's not a weapon. It's not. It doesn't belong to Master anymore–

             it left

                       it–)

see –

[oh, tears again? yeah idec.]

Little ones and big ones look the same, sometimes. The way they move, and lean into each other, trust and warm and weak but not scared.

Yes, it's called genetics, baby. And family.

There's a big one on the ground, and another big one ( bruised scared hide little one behind like something important like hiding food ) and a little one ( behind,  big eyes open, scared but not from the big one, careful, weak-you-won't-hurt-me.)

"like hiding food" (oh hi, remember how in the last part the Man looked at them? compare.)

And the people are not afraid.

They make noises, and the not-weapon doesn't know anymore.

Not-Weapon

It doesn't understand.

On so many levels. NW doesn't understand so much in this situation, and more to come. They don't understand family and relationship and help and kindness, and so much more.

It goes back into the shadows on the big house. Many scary, big cold rocks on the house. They have faces, screaming but don't make a sound. They don't move. They just watch and watch and stay like all good weapons do.

Gargoyles. Those are GARGOYLES.

i'll never be normal about this. identify oneself with non-humans.

From the safety of  looking point up high It can see them, the big one takes something out of their bag and looks around in surprise. The little one is still behind their leg, surprised and curious and scared and excited.

The little one make many noises, but the big one doesn't hurt them

Yes, love. This is how it suppose to be. [CRYING]

They… touch the little one? Hold them? For some reason.

IT'S CALLED A HUG

Then the big one nod, and look around eyes searching

(They won't see It.)

Cass, I am BEGGING YOU

Their body is tense, but still calm-relive. They put something on the stairs and wave around, pointing at the stairs. 

Person: OUR SAVIOR! Here, let me show my thank-

P: where did they go?

Cass: I wonder what they are looking for. Do they need help?

It watches as they leave, staying away from the big one on the ground.

Abuser is still unconscious after several minutes, which is an indication for brain damage. Just a fun fact :)

It waits to be unnoticed before coming back down and looking down at the thing.

Oh, I wonder what is it?

The thing is food. Maybe. There's a picture of little ones holding something and putting it in their mouths and smiling. 

Random Snack TM - now with instructions!

instructions: open the bag. eat. good luck!

It opens and peels out the strong outer layer. The layer tastes bad, so it spits out what got in the mouth.

like bananas and oranges, most snacks' outer layer is unedible. For shame.

But the inside is –

It's GOOD. It's GOOD GOOD GOOD.

kid is eating candy for the first time #blessed

Not -Weapon wants more.

Not -Weapon (i won't stop being excited about it, no).

( This building doesn't have people inside. That's why it was such a good place to hide. It also doesn't have any of the green monsters to protect it.)

"he green monsters to protect it" - hi, remember Cass is a kid?

Yeah, this is my favorite part of this chapter. Honestly. Can't get enough of it. 

But maybe, maybe here, it can be Weapon again, but good?

It won't belong to Master.

[hugging you softly] no, you aren't belong to anyone, dear. anyone but yourself.

It would only belong to Building. It won't have to hurt won't need to make moving-people to stop won't make them into heavy-bags not moving and red-red-red stick to fingers.

crying harder

It can be dagger. It can be changed from hurt to finding food . A drawn blade to make little ones safe and not scared. To make people not go mine and belong and pain pain pain that never stops. 

[hi, remember that part? bc i do]

It puts another thing from the GOOD-inside-bad-out in mouth.

It can move and stab, not only stay in place like green ones. It would get more like this. It would make little ones safe.

cass: those green things get food and aren't hurt. don't have to move. they must be important!

also cass: this place doesn't have a green protecting thing. I guess the position is open!

Decision made, It goes back to the nest with the new food. It would stay here, with the building. It would protect and be a weapon again. It would be dagger, blade, stab to keep its property safe.

oh, hello being able to make your own choices and control your life.

[theexperienceofaging]

A WAY OF ENDING

Familiarity can be comforting and also imprisoning. During the three years of Covid isolation I had become used to mostly staying in my familiar home, my familiar living room, my familiar porch. Coming to a Continuing Care Community at age 88 upended all that. Now I was in a new space, much less space, new people—all old and lots of them—new routines. At first I felt quite lost. Where now was my “home?” I grieved my old life as thin as it had become in those three years and my beloved home with its view of an Audubon preserve. Would there ever be a home again? When I saw friends from the “outside”, I was so grateful for their familiarity. We knew each other. I knew what we loved to talk about, I knew what we found funny, I knew what activities we enjoyed together and most importantly, I knew they cared about me and I cared about them.

Here I walked down long halls, took elevators. Many people smiled and said hello and introduced themselves but I didn’t know any of them. The Staff were wonderful. Your light is broken? Someone comes and fixes it. You’ve lost weight and your pants need to be taken in? There’s a seamstress who comes every two weeks. And I didn’t have to cook, except for breakfast. I haven’t had that level of caretaking since my mother changed my diapers and put a bottle in my mouth when I cried. I appreciated all this but a deeper level of acceptance and knowing were still absent. It wasn’t “home.” This was the beginning of a kind of transition I had never experienced before. A few months passed. I was observing and learning about this new land and culture I had landed in. In looking back, I realized that after the years of Covid let up, I had little energy to create a new life and the comforting familiarity had become turgid and stagnant. But here, I simply have to walk down the hall and take an elevator to have a new life. There is a choice of activities. The poetry and writing class stir me to to think newer thoughts. The art class starts me on a new skill. Talking to so many new people is stimulating and exhausting. The game of “getting to know you” is often repetitive and superficial. Where did you come from? What did you do? Some political talk since the majority of residents are liberal and we sing in the same choir. Bad days consist of talk about the quality of the food, the usual weather comments, how the place used to be and other subjects of little interest. Good days -a lot of friendliness and feeling a part of a yet unknown community and beginning to feel sparks of connection. It begins to feel like a small town or village where spoken or unspoken there is the deeper knowledge that this is the final chapter. Physical disabilities are talked about in an open and accepting way; everyone has something wrong with them. “What did you say?” is the mantra. We are all in the anteroom of death and friendships literally die. There is some acknowledgment of this; it’s not deeply engaged but it is a constant silent knowing.

I begin to have a sense of who I connect more easily with, offering the possibility of a deeper friendship. And who I enjoy in limited but pleasurable ways and who I avoid. I realize how deeply I have wanted community. This might not be the utopia I would have wanted but I feel grateful that I have the means to be taken care of in a place that strives to make these last years safer, easier, stimulating. Isolation is the new plague and I have been granted the embrace of a community with all its gifts and flaws to continue my life, pursue meaning and pleasure and be surprised by what can arise from one day to the next. I am feeling that I have a place here; I am part of the community and that steadies me. Life now offers possibility. I had forgotten there was possibilty. It could be the end any day or any month or year but as long as it isn’t there’s more life to be lived.

[marylandlifecoaching]

This Is Going To Hurt

This is going to hurt. I remember thinking that when COVID hit 3 years ago. At first, everyone was happy to be getting a break from work. But I suspected that it was going to be bad. Having worked with HIV/AIDS in the early 90's {for 20 years}, I am quite familiar working with viruses. To top it off, I met Dr. Facui. We were both speaking to Congress for the local news. And while I was not a big fan, I thought that he was brilliant. COVID had most everyone shelter in place. I watched social media. The memes were all fun and games at first. I believed that it would be short lived, as most people need social interaction. And from a mental health standpoint, the longer the quarantine, the more destructive people would become. But what I didn't anticipate, was the floodgates to open up to my practice. I expected an uptick, but I could have never guessed what would happen... For 3 years, I worked 18 hour days. During the day, I work as an outreach worker for homeless veterans. I am often embedded with law enforcement. I would work 10 hours in case management, then another 8 hours in private practice. All of those people posting those funny memes, started posting some really dark shit. I witnessed the increase of alcohol consumption. What started out to be a glass or two a day, soon turned out to be a bottle plus. And then there were the domestic disputes. My God, the amount of people breaking up after being quarantined was unprecedented. All that online flirting lead to some really explosive breakups. By the time quarantine was lifted, there were a lot of single people.

In short, COVID led so many people to my practice, I could hardly keep up. I remember one day while in a case managers meeting, I literally fell asleep in mid sentence. It was bad. But still I persisted, because so many people were in need. Add to that, so many mental health practitioners were dealing with their own stuff, that they were unable to take on new clients. I literally had therapist from all over the country referring to me. Sure the money was nice. But it was brutal. Had it not been for the most patient and supportive wife in the world, along side my legendary self-care routine, I would not have made it. The only thing that really slowed me down was COVID itself. Damn near took both my wife and I out. Some were lucky. We were not.

So here we are post COVID. I still work long hours. I am only seeing a handful of private practice clients, I am doing more consulting at the moment. I feel that my body is just not the same. I don't believe I did permanent damage with 3 years of 18 hour days.  I just know that I feel it. That was a brutal run for a 57 year old man. And while I am slowly opening the door to more clients, my prayer is that everyone learned something about themselves from the isolation. For me personally, I learned a few things. I learned that when so many needed help, I did everything in my power to answer that call. I learned that my wife of 20 years, despite her own disability, dropped everything to support me, as I supported them. There was never any hesitation on her part. And while a life of service has always been a priority in our relationship, what we went through was a big ask. I am so blessed that I made the right choice, when I said I do.

I am ready to get back into practice. But I am not the man I was when we entered COVID. Those days were almost equaled to my years working with HIV. Yes, the need was different. But my response was not. I paid the price for both. And I am now a better man as well.

So I will end with this. There will be times when we know things are going to hurt. We can try to avoid them, suppress them or meet them head on. I find dealing with them head on, makes for a better nights sleep. It may not sound like much. But when you're sitting in silence and all those negative thoughts come to you, you realize that a clean heart and clean head, are a blessing that is beyond imaginable. And that, will never hurt.

[communityinclusion]

Living and Learning in Mississippi

Emebet G Lema is a 2022 Fellow in the Professional Fellows Program on Inclusive Civic Engagement. This program is sponsored by the U.S Department of State’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs, and is administered by the Institute for Community Inclusion (ICI) at the University of Massachusetts Boston in partnership with Humanity and Inclusion (HI). The following blog post was written by guest author Emebet Girma.

Emebet G Lema

I am Emebet Girma, a Disability Inclusion Officer in Ethiopia. I am working on promoting the inclusion of persons with disabilities in various development agendas and supporting mainstream organizations to become more inclusive of persons with disabilities.

I really feel lucky to have been selected for this eye-opening Professional Fellows Program, which focuses on building the capacity of disability rights leaders on inclusive civic engagement.

I have learned a lot since my arrival at the University of Southern Mississippi Institute for Disability Studies on October 1. Here I was hosted for a month to explore different ways of civic leadership and experiences of persons with disabilities.

I am posing in front of the Welcome to Mississippi sign.

I am thrilled by and thankful that my host mentor Dr. Jerry Alliston and his family warmly welcomed me into their home. Sharing the different cultural experiences of the USA and Ethiopia in our daily activities has been so wonderful. Their easygoing behavior made me feel at home.

My first engagement at the University of Southern Mississippi was with staff and self-advocates with disabilities at the Institute for Disability Studies. Through that, I became familiar with the different focus areas of the Institute, including education, capacity building, community life, and more. I have also been introduced to different approaches and strategies for career development to help for students with disabilities transition from education to work. This is very helpful for the project I plan to implement back in my country. My project is about helping university students with disabilities have a job and a career by providing them with employability and life skills training.

I (top left) am meeting with a group of Institute for Disability Studies staff in a conference room and am presenting my fellowship project to them.

I have attended different discussions, classes, and seminars on servant leadership and disability inclusion where I gained a thorough knowledge of how to be a good leader to bring about change in the field of disability inclusion.

I have also been honored to meet different professionals at the Institute and discuss their work and how it can influence my planned project. I participated in different courses focusing on social services for persons with and without disabilities. In these courses, I learned how the values, interests, skills, and experiences affect our future goals, and the possible ways to work on these values as leaders.

I presented my project to the staff at the Institute and received constructive feedback from them. One part of the feedback was about ensuring technology accessibility for students with disabilities in my project. I received an orientation on the types of accessible technologies students with disabilities should be acquainted with to gain employment and lead an independent life.

I have received tremendous support from my mentor to refine my project to a better, workable stage. The mentorship has helped me get new information and resources and enabled me to think of practical working methods for effective project plan development and implementation.

In Mississippi, I took part in different cultural events, including attending a volleyball game, Native American cultural events, and a tour of the local area. The tour included grocery stores and shops. The grocery stores and shopping area were accessible for people with and without disabilities.

I am attending a Native American cultural event at the University of Southern Mississippi.

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

[sitp-recs]

i saw your recent draco!pinning and oblivious!harry rec and wondered if you knew any either-pinning/other-oblivious rec with a lot of angst. buckets upon buckets of angst. thank you so much!!!!

Hello there! Oof this was hands down one of the hardest lists I’ve ever made. Angst can be so so subjective and I second guessed my picks for a long time, until I said “fuck it” and decided to include all stories that speak the most to me. I’ve read lots of angst over the years but these are the ones that come to mind when someone says “buckets of angst”.

I’m naming this list “angst with a (in 98% of the cases) happy ending” 😂 all of these hurt damn good and have lots of pining. I tried to include different flavors of angst too, so that everyone can find something for their tastes. And I left a few suggestions at the end - of fics that didn’t quite work for me but might be someone else’s jam. Hopefully I did a decent job. Enjoy!

Closure is a state of mind by @quicksilvermaid (2020, E, 12k) - bittersweet ending

After Harry's husband Charlie is killed, his Mind Healer recommends a Polyjuice therapy company, so Harry can see 'Charlie' again and find closure over his death.

Kissed by @potteresque-ire (2015, M, 12k)

Draco Malfoy was attacked by a rogue Dementor on the night of his Azkaban release. He self-exiled to Muggle London and opened a late-night chocolate shop called Kissed.

Voices From The Fog by @noeeon (2010, E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

And I Know the Spark by @firethesound (2014, E, 15k)

All Draco cares about is keeping Potter alive, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

I'll never be your chosen one by @andithiel (2019, E, 15k)

Draco doesn't know what exactly he’s doing with Potter, he doesn't know how their unspoken agreement even started, and doesn't know where it will end. The only thing he knows is: he's not in love.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (2018, M, 20k)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

In His Nature by create_serenity (2015, M, 20k)

Harry agreed to have sex with Draco once a month in order to keep him alive, what he didn’t agree to was Draco popping up all over the place and disrupting his life in more ways than one.

Tuxedo Angel by tryslora (2013, E, 25k)

Harry and Neville are looking for the infamous Dragon Lily, a Dark witch active throughout Europe and Asia. Instead, they find the Tuxedo Angel, a beautiful witch performing in Rome.

Exposure by GallaPlacidia (2020, M, 27k)

When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy's camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later.

Stain of Silence by brummell (2013, E, 28k)

After the war, Draco serves out his sentence in Harry Potter's house.

(The Piece) I was Missing All Along by lauren3210 (2014, E, 30k)

Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way.

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (2015, E, 31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

The Bucket List by GallaPlacidia (2020, NR, 32k)

Draco will die in six months if he can't get Harry Potter to fall in love with him. Since that's not going to happen, he might as well spend his last days working through his Bucket List.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (2008, E, 33k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils.

All Roads by @korlaena, Saulaie (2019, M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out.

He Who Must Not Be Normal by @letteredlettered (2013, E, 41k)

Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life.

As Souls From Bodies Steal by @femmequixotic (2012, E, 41k)

Hope may be found in the oddest of places, even in the bleakness of winter.

In The Red by @bixgirl1 (2018, E, 45k)

When Harry goes looking for a vampire at a Creature club, the second-to-last thing Harry expects is to find Malfoy working there.

Blood and Fire by @lqtraintracks (2017, E, 45k)

Harry has spent the last twelve years in Romania, not returning to England as often as he knows he should. It's complicated.

Of Fates Entwined: A Story of Love Lost and Found by taradiane (2014, E, 51k)

Harry Potter vanished without a trace from his home on a warm summer morning in June 2004.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (2012, E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him.

You open always (petal by petal) by birdsofshore (2017, E, 65k)

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by @femmequixotic (2012, E, 68k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends.

Super Rich Kids by trishjames (2020, E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (2013, E, 82k) - tw: major permanent disability, this one is sad af

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration.

Balance, Imperfect by bixgirl1 (2017, E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (2019, E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (2020, E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Grounds for Divorce by @tepre (2019, E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

Bonus 1: short fics!

Hourglass Heart @bixgirl1 (2019, E, 5k)

It only happened once — depending on how Harry counted.

Packing the Flat by marguerite_26 (2012, E, 6k)

Months after their explosive break-up, Draco insists Harry return to their flat to remove his belongings.

hear me (with your whole body) by @teacup-tai (2020, E, 9k) - bittersweet ending

He would give it a go. See what it was like. He could always say no, right?

Bonus 2: other fics that suit your requirements. Mind the tags!

Unhook the Stars by jad (2012, E, 70k)

Seventy-thousand words of pornographic discourse between two boys-turned-men that still haven't learned how to communicate like normal people – with words.

A Big Black Sky by AlexMeg (2019, M, 90k)

Draco leans his head closer, biting the quiver out of his lips before he breathes a laden and shuddering exhale, and he whispers, "You are my star in a big black sky."

Another Mask Behind You by lettered (2014, E, 116k)

Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity. Harry unknowingly hires him.

[mistabullets]

Okay! Imagine! Mista with a S/o that IS Bruno's little sister

> As Bruno’s sister, you respect and appreciate your fratellone.

> He made sure to give you plenty attention when the two of you were younger and in a way, he’s very protective of you. When your father became disabled from the gunshot wounds, Bruno basically raised you and made sure you continue your education. Growing up, it eventually clicked that your older brother was working for the mafia. How else can such a young man his age able to afford your schooling, the nice apartment complex, and your father’s hefty medical bills?

> It made you worried. What if Bruno accidentally cross the wrong people? What if he never came home? You offered to find work, drop out of school, or just do something to ease the burden. You even offered to join Passione but your brother particularly seethed at the idea. “Under absolutely no circumstances will you be doing that, rella. Do me a favor - promise me you will not associate with anyone else in Passione. Am I clear?”

> Swallowing nervously, you promised. He even made you pinky promise.

> Life moved on. Your father passed and Bruno became more committed to his work as he rose through the ranks. Eventually, Bruno found you a nice place in town and paid for your tuition for school. Your essentials were covered. He even made you change your last name so you weren’t associate with him in anyway or form. Bruno always made sure to call you once in day and check in - he was such a mother hen. But you wanted to try to live independently! So you picked up a part time job, perhaps at some cafe, bakery, or restaurant. You didn’t tell your brother about it, since he would throw a fit and tell you to focus on your studies.

> That’s how you met him.

> He was a frequent customer and was quite the looker. A toned body, sun kissed skin, warm dark eyes, and curls peaking out of his hat. He always bought a lot of food - like he had a whole family to feed. But you never questioned it because he was so friendly, maybe a bit too eccentric but endearingly so - sometimes you would sneak him an extra of his favorites. You eventually became aware of his phobia of four and made sure not to give him four of anything. Weeks later, you were bold enough to write your number on a napkin when he made a passing comment how it sucked being single.

> He gave a lopsided smile and asked for your name. You kindly gave it to him and he told you his name. “Guido Mista. I’ll call ya later tonight, Y/N! Maybe we can set up a date or somethin’?”

> When you arrived him, you were eager to receive his call and was pleased when your heard your phone ringing. Eventually, you did set up the date. That date became multiple dates. He started coming over to your apartment and staying the night. It was safe to say the two of you were an item now. There were some questions you would like to ask; why did he have a gun? Why did he talk to himself a lot? How come sometimes he would smell like... iron and death? And god, how much could this man eat? But you assured yourself that it was nothing too serious to fret over. You were just over analyzing.

> Bruno figures out pretty quickly you had a boyfriend and wanted to meet him. But you were quite worried about introducing each other. Your brother was essentially your father figure; he will make it obvious if he approves of your boyfriend or not. You kept postponing dates to meet up - it’s not like you didn’t want Mista to meet Bruno but your brother could be nitpicky about if your lover was good enough for you or not. You didn’t want Guido to feel any pressure from your brother. He was already good enough for you and that’s what matters.

> However Mista is more than eager to introduce you to his familigia. “Well, it’s more like, me and five of dudes but they’re particularly like bros to me!”

> After hearing nothing but praise from your boyfriend, you were looking forward to meeting them as well. When approaching the villa, you wondered how six men in their late teens and early twenties can afford to board such an estate. You were greeted by four other men - a pretty blonde with curls and a braid greeted you, a studious young man in green teaching a messy haired with purple eyes, and a brooding man with long silver hair tuning out the world with his headphones.

> “Finally we can have dinner!” Narancia shouts.

> “Narancia, you dumbass, we have a guest here! And we need to finish this problem here!” Fugo exclaims, looking like he wants to stab the boy.

> “Will the two of you shut up? I can hear you through my headphones and our capo is still doing paperwork upstairs!” Abbacchio takes a glance up at you, “You look quite familiar...” he murmurs.

> Giorno leads you to the kitchen and it smells like your mother’s home meals. You settle in a seat right next to Mista and you can hear your stomach growl. “Our capo was expecting ya and took the time out of his day to make this dish! He’s honestly a really good cook when he wants to be. He’s honestly like, the big brother of this group, aside from Abba over there—“

> “Don’t call me that,” Abbacchio sighs, popping open a bottle of red wine. You giggle - despite the chaos and the energy strumming through the air, you can appreciate how homely it is. You’re growing comfortable already, Mista already has a hold of your hand under the table, happy that everyone so far has been welcoming in their own unique way. You’re growing used the all the noises and clattering of plates, you don’t hear the footsteps approaching. You raise your head up to greet the new presence, only to find a familiar face that looks much like your own. The rest of the gang noticed and perks up, wondering why the two of you look so taken aback.

> “B-Bruno?” you ask in disbelief

> “Huh? Ya know Bucciarati or somethin’, bambina?” your boyfriend ask, swallowing nervously.

> “We do. She’s my sister, after all,” Bruno responds, collecting his composure despite Narancia in the background saying “holy shit that’s your sister?” Even Abbacchio lets out a surprised gasp. Mista is glancing at the two of you, back and forth, the similarities of facial structures and eyes now dawning on the gunslinger. What a small world. And you, on the other hand, are now coming to realization that this must be Bruno’s team. So that means... you’ve been dating a mafioso for the past months now - the gun and the smell of iron (no, blood) made a sense now. And you inadvertently broke Bruno’s promise: to not associate with a gangster.

Perhaps after dinner, we can talk about this.” Oh no. Was he angry? Upset? There was something laced with his words. Dinner passed by with awkward silence, despite how delicious the food was. No wonder it smelled so much like home... You held onto to Mista’s hand, as if to reassure him. And while he couldn’t grasp the entirety of the situation, he tried to sympathize with his capo. He understood why you may have been kept a secret - Passione’s underbelly screamed dangerous and someone would definitely try to use you as bait for Bucciarati. After all, Polpo’s suicide was still being investigated and there have been rumors flying around about how suspicious it was that one of Bruno’s subordinates last saw him alive. This double your risk. Not only was your brother a capo for Passione but your boyfriend was gunslinger for mafia as well.

> After dinner, Bruno wants to talk to Mista alone. You dread whatever his verdict will be and wait outside silently, hoping your brother doesn’t force Mista to cut things off with you. To be frank, you didn’t mind Guido being part of the mafia - sure, it was scary to ponder if your loved one was okay and wonder if they’ll come home alive. But Bruno had survived for this long. Guido definitely had the will to do the same. And you doubt this man would wanna put you in active harm’s way! He cried one time for accidentally hitting your face during a tickle fight once so you knew his motives weren’t ulterior.

> Bruno questioned Mista like it was an interrogation. While he knew his underling was a good man at heart, Bruno couldn’t help but worry for his baby sister - that was his only family left. He was surprised to learn the two of you met at your part time job. Bruno specifically told you not to worry about finances! “Listen Bucciarati, ya sis loves ya. She talks ‘bout what a great guy ya are ‘nd how much you’ve done for her. But... you also been makin’ her feel sheltered. She was so nervous ‘bout us meeting. I... I know ya wanna protect her and so do I! But ya can’t be babyin’ her forever. Ya gotta let her make her own choices. So I ain’t gonna break up with her. That’s up to her, for her to decide, ya know?”

> After reflecting on the younger man’s words, he reluctantly agrees with him. Sure, you are his baby sister but you’re an adult and can make your own decision. You can distinguish what is and isn’t safe. Obviously, you’re not that naive. And perhaps with the gang knowing about your existence, that would grant you extra protection if anything were to happen. He sighs, “Fair enough. But if you break my sister’s heart, I will lock you up in Sticky Finger’s dimension. And make sure you protect her. Understood, Mista?”

> Mista particularly beams. “Understood, capo! Thank ya for blessin’, I promise I’ll take care of her.”

> In the end, you continue to date Mista. It definitely takes awhile to adjust - while your brother is understanding your relationship and respects it, he’ll glare daggers at Mista if he’s being a little too touchy during dinners and outings. You thank Bruno for allowing this relationship and apologize for accidentally breaking that one promise.

> He smiles at you softly, finding it endearing how you kept that to heart. “Well, promise me not to do anything stupid and keep up with your studies, alright?” he offers his pinky to you.

> “Alright, I promise!”

> “Oh, I don’t even think about marriage and kids until you’re done with your studies—“

> “Bruno, hush!”

[ganymedesclock]

Why do you think Ghost willing to kill the Maggots and the Menderbug? It really doesn't align with how I see them and it kind of bothers me.

When Ghost encounters the Hunter, he asks if they are like him, and feel the urge “to kill, to stalk, to understand.” Similarly, Nailmaster Sheo, when he teaches Ghost his technique, comments that swordsmanship and art are not so different. “We cut into the world to peer deeper inside.”

Ghost can attack harmless maskflies and aluba, the maggots, and the menderbug. The menderbug is not required for the completion of the hunter’s journal, but the others are, so the game expects you to try killing most things around you at least once.

Both the maggots and menderbug also call you to think about your actions. I think, anon, the reason why these actions bother you is it’s clear the game both expects you to do it, and expects you to have an unclear conscience afterwards. We kill the maggots before accessing the Failed Champion, who is failed precisely because Ghost killed his brethren. 

But as there’s no one else who names him ‘Failed Champion’ this more sympathetic shift from the accusatory ‘False Knight’ suggests that Ghost, when they realize what they’ve done, has changed their opinion. After all, they understand what it means to feel the strongest, but also, left alone, of your siblings- the one who has to carry forwards for the others. This literally haunts them in the Abyss to the tune of two masks of damage.

So, why, you say, do they kill the maggots in the first place? Why does canon imply this is the choice they take, as it’s the one tied to an achievement (the Hunter’s Mark) while sparing the maggots is not?

Ghost is curious. That is perhaps a delicate way to put it- Ghost is driven to understand. It is several times implied that there is a thread of anger that runs through Ghost- that they grapple with rage and a desire to prove themselves. To the Mantis Lords, to the Hunter, to the Colosseum. If they are challenged by someone in a way they deem serious they tend to answer that challenge, brandishing the nail, the one thing that is ‘truly theirs’ at the beginning of the game and the thing they refuse to discard or separate from at any moment, even when it is broken and better weapons are available. 

And this is my read- why should they not, as an individual who faced formative trauma at a very young age? As someone who felt their survival was senseless- their sibling being taken, other siblings perishing all around them- why did they survive? They have no good answer. They were explicitly not chosen. Discarded. 

I think that Ghost is someone who is in fact prone to tearing at the world, sometimes calmly, but other times with intense aggression- WHY AM I HERE? Why is anything what it is? They need answers! They need others to heed their presence! It’s tempered by the fact that they are an experienced explorer, they are used to being alone. They are not quite like Zote, who is needy in such a way that leaks into every single interaction- when Ghost is so illegible, and so self-determined, they can kind of ignore most people who don’t meaningfully stop them, or choose to listen in the hopes of answers.

The other thing is that it takes time and patience and effort to understand and process not wanting to hurt others. This isn’t a problem a lot of people run into because in general, the period while we’re learning how to not hurt other people, is also a period where we are kind of impotent. As someone whose day job is working with kids, I’ll say this: babies rip each other’s hair out and pinch and claw at each other. They are horrifyingly cruel to each other purely because they don’t understand.

There is no inherent understanding of kindness and gentleness. There are few situations you can be effectively merciful in a context where it is never modeled to you, where you struggle to understand.

For Ghost, being kind- instead of simply being patient or tolerant- is a skill they are learning, slowly. Comparatively, striking an enemy down is something they are extremely good at. Being lethal is something they understand. Keenly. Efficiently. It is a point their disability is of no consequence.

As a result I think in many situations- the maggots, the menderbug, the nailsmith- there are points in which it is very easy for Ghost to strike something down, it seems easy and intuitive and they put up very little fight- and it is only after the body stops moving that we, as the player, are led to what Ghost feels- approaching on quiet feet, thinking, that’s dead. I did that.

.....Should I have done that?

I think a lot of the fandom wants Ghost to be in a better situation than they were. We can pick up that Ghost was unloved, was isolated, has spent an uncertain but quite possibly long time wandering through the twilit and forlorn wastelands beyond Hallownest. If they found other places, and other people, those other people noticeably did not leave much of a mark on Ghost, so that suggests they spent most of this time alone. 

The reality is, while I think it is a noble goal to want Ghost to be able to be happy with others, that has to be tempered with the pragmatic awareness that who Ghost is now, is shaped by those things, for better and for worse, and not just in ways that mean they are sad. They are also confident, and self-sufficient, a warrior who sometimes lacks remorse and sometimes experiences it but too late.

In particular, with the menderbug, it’s an exciting insight into a mystery of the kingdom- why do the signposts repair themselves? and we see a new entity we haven’t before. We WANT TO INTERACT WITH THAT. So we run after, but we’re not fast enough, they fly away too quickly. What can we use to slow them down? We can stop them. We can stop them very well.

And, then we did. And we break them, and open their house, and read their diary, and it’s like...... oh. oh no. We just killed someone. We wanted to talk to them. We wanted them to stop. They didn’t stop and talk to us. 

Ghost wanted to understand. They grabbed a familiar tool, and then afterwards wondered if there was some other, more esoteric to them thing they should have tried to wield instead. But they for the most part don’t have those tools. Why is the delicate flower so important to them? Because Ze’mer, in her own grief, taught them how to express grief and love/pity(?) to other people. They struggle with the ability to do that. Most of their social skills requires other people to stop and initiate. Several times, it’s ‘canon’ or clearly asserted cinematically that we see someone running ahead of us (Hornet, Nosk) and Ghost chases after them desperately trying to reach a point that other entity will talk. 

Ghost’s tragedy is very overt to the audience, but, also, it’s left some complex facets running through their personality that are not just, sad. They’re a complicated person and being a silent protagonist doesn’t make them uncomplicated. 

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 19

First time reader click here

Summary+TWs: We're talking serious feelings here, okay? Reader, you're literally emotionally illiterate. You also have PTSD, which is finally addressed - kinda. Bruce does his best. And he also knows how to kiss... But y'all know that if you read my ramblings about lucid dreaming/shifting/whatever... Chile-, anyways...

My phone kept buzzing and I ignored it until Bruce declared it was time to take a break and review the results. Whilst the man was typing up the data on a nearby StarkPad, I fought the sudden influx of messages that I received from haters and supporters alike after Tony decided on tweeting a reply that could be interpreted in an alarming variety of ways. It was a smart move, I'll admit, but a fucking bother for me nonetheless.

Disabling my DMs and dealing with a follower increase in the thousands wasn't hard; I didn't consider myself a problematic asshole and didn't need to be afraid of "exposure". The parties I went to - I doubted there was any blackmail material in there and the few nudes I'd sent over the years were always face-less. As a gen Z, I knew my internet safety.

The trolls didn't bother me either. It was more sad than annoying, people shitting on others for clout. Iron Man stans were witty, at least, if jealous. I must admit I've never considered the influx of popularity I would experience should I publicly out myself as a friend of Tony's. Girlfriend? Intern? Science child? Whatever cover story he was going to feed the press worked for me, as long as I still got the hugs, the kisses, the dick and the attention.

"Tony..." Bruce groaned, evidently done with the data processing, had to have opened his social media to see his own skyrocketing popularity.

"Yeah, our Tony is being a Tony again," I chuckled, having reset my social media settings so my phone wouldn't constantly beep, vibrate and bother me. School was going to be fun.

Bruce shook his head, fond, coming over to my side of the lab after removing his own hazmat suit. His eyes shiny with newfound knowledge and hair turned adorably fluffy in the confines of the head covering. He was smiling softly. "Food?"

"Sure."

We chewed our sandwiches in silence for a moment, each of us lost in our thoughts.

"I still can't believe Tony told everyone on Twitter you're his girlfriend, usually he keeps this stuff private or schedules a fancy press conference," Bruce's tone was thoughtful.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what it was? Seemed ambiguous to me..." I trailed off, confused.

"He worded it like that on purpose, I mean, you're still in high school," The scientist was confident in his words. "But I know Tony. I'm a hundred percent sure that he meant exactly that. Aren't you?"

Shock flooded me. Suddenly, I understood I completely misread the situation. "Um, no? I thought we were, y'know, just fucking. We never defined our relationship and we're definitely not exclusive." I said, chewing on my lip. "You make a valid argument, I'm a high school student and he's a grown ass man that does grown man stuff. Putting aside the fact that he could have anybody in the world so why would he choose me?" I was rambling, thinking out loud. Discussing my feelings has never my strong forte. "It would be stupid to impose monogamy on such a complex man like Tony. Downright idiotic to expect a genius to confine to social norms just because it suits others." I finished with a wave of my hand. Another bubble of thought that had festered within me for the longest time. I felt relieved, finally voicing it out loud. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders, a weight I wasn't previously consciously aware of.

Bruce was watching me intently, with an unreadable expression that held the tiniest bit of awe, admiration perhaps. The silence that followed was unnerving. I fidgeted with my hands, not really knowing where to put them or where to look.

"You know," He took off his glasses, fiddling them in his hands. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. For the longest time, I thought you were going to inadvertently hurt him when you get bored with whatever you've got going on. I respect you, don't misunderstand me, but you are young. Now, I've changed my mind. You've changed my mind," He punctuated his statement with his hand on mine, grasping it. "I think you managed to understand him in a way most people can't. Or don't want to. Understand and accept him in a way that some of us can't even after years of working and living side by side with him." Bruce's gentle fingers skimmed along the top of my palm.

"I don't always understand Tony but I do accept him," I agreed. "Because Tony is a great man."

"I think you're in love with him," Bruce said, absolutely having ignored my previous statement. Just like that, point blank, he pushed to the surface the very feelings I got so good at ignoring. There was no rest for me in this place.

My heart fluttered, picking up the pace. I kept my mouth shut, not trusting it whatsoever. My thoughts became akin to panicked hares, jumping and zigzagging aimlessly in my skull. I didn't see the point in defending myself because the scientist had pointed out the obvious.

Bruce looked at me, softly, warmly. "And don't think we haven't noticed the rise in team morale. The improvement not only in communication, but on the battlefield, too. It's easier to entrust your back to someone with whom you've shared a laugh and a drink the previous night. You're the glue that keeps us together."

Something warm and wet was on my cheeks. I stared at our clasped hands, his words echoing in my head over and over and over. The moment I realized I was crying, I willed myself to stop and failed spectacularly - only more salty fluid streamed down, some of it getting in my nose, on my lips. The sleepless nights were making me unstable.

It took a single sniffle for Bruce to pick me up and wrap up in his kind embrace. I didn't resist, tucking my face into the crook of his neck, holding onto the back of his lab coat, inhaling the smell of his skin and chemicals. It was familiar, calming. Minutes ticked by with me slowly leaking the tension out of my body.

"He loves you, too, maybe he just doesn't realize it yet." Bruce whispered into my hair. "I've never seen Tony so happy, even with Pepper. You are special and you are loved."

There was something unsaid, I felt it. It hung in the ear, it burned the tips of my ears, stood sharp on the tip of my tongue. "I love you too, Bwucie-bear," I whispered into the space between his ear and his jaw. His arms tightened around me.

The man placed several chaste kisses in my hair, running a palm over my back. In moments like these, the crush for him, the very crush that got out of control, blossomed fully into a deep sense of respect and admiration. He made me feel safe. He said all the right words at the right time.

Drowsiness overtook me. As usual, any worries and anxieties I had evaporated, once Banner had his arms around me, shielding me from the world. I didn't forbid myself this time: delicately, my hand slipped through the man's soft messy curls, eliciting a contented sigh.

"You haven't been sleeping well," He more stated than asked.

I had no choice but to nod. "Clint keeps dying in my dreams. Or even worse, he doesn't, he just suffers, endlessly, painfully." I admitted.

Bruce flinched under me, tensing. My face was in between his hands in a second, the scientist sternly looking into my eyes. "Why didn't you say anything? All of us assumed you were okay after what happened." He looked - angry. Not Hulk-out pissed but Bruce-pissed, which equalled a kicked-puppy look seasoned with a great pinch of disappointment.

"I am okay." I lied, shamelessly. "It's getting better. That's why I want to have a party - relax a little, dance, socialize. I don't think Tony would let me go on my own so I figured I can convince him to throw one here." I looked away. It was better for everyone if I dealt with my own problems - they were superheroes, not babysitters.

Bruce frowned. "Why wouldn't Tony let you go?"

"Because of that one time I snorted coke," I rolled my eyes at Bruce's naiveté, leaving the less obvious parts unsaid. Tony knew exactly what I was going to do once I got free reign, he considered it destructive and told me so himself. Admittedly, he had a point but still... I wished I'd been given a choice.

"I'll talk to him," Bruce nodded firmly. "That's not acceptable. He can't forbid you from making mistakes and learning from them."

He was met with my shrug. No excitement came from me regarding this particular turn of conversation. I was drained, limbs like jello, thoughts sluggish. My face was drooping.

"Let's get you to bed," Banner stood up with me wrapped around him. "You need a nap."

"No," I protested. If I went to sleep now, only Satan knew at what ungodly hour I would wake up.

"Yes, Princess," Bruce smirked. I wiggled uncomfortably - when he went all caretaker like, my ovaries wreaked havoc on my body and brain. My thoughts weren't appropriate if Bruce wanted me to see him as a father figure. The signals he was sending were mixed. People around me did that a lot and I wasn't sure how to act so I usually just went with the flow. I decided to do the very same thing in that particular moment.

Curiosity sparked within me, tightly interwoven with the deep longing that settled below my collarbones whenever Tony or one of the others wasn't sitting next to me or talking my ear off. I've almost forgotten how it was to be alone with my thoughts. The maze of my very own self was becoming unfamiliar territory. Alarming.

I allowed Bruce to help me shed my shoes and outer layer of clothing, shivering in the coolness of my room. Despite being a frequent visitor, I still had a 'guest' room in the tower - I mostly stayed at Tony's or Wanda's anyways. During our sleepovers neither me nor the witch minded sharing her enormous bed, to be fair, we could have fit at least two more people in it besides us. Tony took care of his own - all the tower's residents had their apartments furnished with the best stuff.

"Sleep now, Princess," Bruce chastised, tucking a blanket around me, having noticed an earbud in my ear and my smartphone in my hand. I had hoped to kill some time online, damn well knowing sleep wouldn't come easy.

"I don't think I can fall asleep, Bruce," I admitted, looking away. There was just so much going on. My brain wouldn't shut up and if I couldn't drown out the cacophony by being productive, I'd troll the internet, as usual.

Banner sighed, coming to sit next to me, leaning against the headboard. Gently running his fingers through my hair, brushing the outside of his palm against my cheek. "How do you usually deal with this?"

Involuntarily, my eyelashes fluttered. "Tony does most of the work," I admitted coyly. The engineer had a whole arsenal of tricks up his sleeve - sexy and exhausting tricks.

"I see," Bruce muttered, thoughtfully.

I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me with a look I haven't seen before. The usual mildly absent, slightly anxious face he wore was replaced by something I could only describe as hurt envy, like a kid looking at their schoolmate who had all the newest, coolest toys. I used to be on the receiving end of that look far too often and I hated it.

I hid my face against his leg, rubbing my cheek on the raspy corduroy fabric of his pants. "Got any good ideas of your own?" I wondered lowly, thinking about what in the world possessed Bruce to wear corduroy trousers on a semi-casual day, in the twenty-first century.

"Only bad ideas," He replied in a matching low tone. His soft fingertips relocated to my nape, goosebumps rising down my back.

"Humour me," I grinned against his leg.

Bruce was quiet for a moment, the sound of his thinking screaming louder than any words could have done. Knowing the scientist so closely, I found out he was full of surprises - bolder than he appeared outwardly and competitive to a boot. He thought he had a lot to prove to himself and by extension, to others. The unknown, the mystery dangling in front of my nose was exhilarating, trepidation addictive. It took me away from the chaos in my mind.

A gentle grasp on my chin had me turning to look upwards, Bruce's face flushed and focused on my own, open and trusting. He needed to see the obvious, that I trusted him to take care of me. He pulled and I followed, sitting up on my elbows, coming up to his shoulder level, our faces inches apart, enveloped in the unique, intense scent of his herbal tea. It was a tart, strong smell and it suited his quiet but passionate character.

Once, twice, I caught my eyes sliding to his plump lips. They looked far too appealing in this position. I usually strategically stayed away from positions so compromising, fearing the very thing that I'd already let happen, however this time the atmosphere was different. We stood on ambiguous grounds, waiting for Bruce to make a decision.

The man wasn't stupid, he saw the way I looked at him. The nightmares and inability to take a break from life put a significant dent in my resolve to keep a distance between us, romantically - I could have settled even for a pity kiss, a pity fuck. Anything to put my brain on pause.

His lips were softer than I had imagined. Skilled, too, he easily steered the kiss into the shallow waters of our combined longing.

With Tony, it was like an avalanche. Tony ran hot like Peterbilt engines, hard and fast, almost angry in his race for satisfaction. Tony was a man that was used to getting whatever he wanted and it became plainly obvious when we fucked.

Bruce was the opposite. He savoured the kiss, losing himself in a way that could almost be described as delicate. Bruce was humming, softly, as we tasted each other, holding the left side of my face with careful fingertips. Almost as if he was afraid to break me. The feel of his skin on mine was soothing in a way that made me sigh and relax even further.

"Wanna make you feel good." His voice had dropped, gone husky, but his breathing held even. He must know all about self-control.

"Yeah," I was ready to agree with whatever the fuck he was offering. My eyelids remained shut.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

PS. Letsby, please don't combust. The underwear is coming off in the next chapter. 😶

[whentherewerebicycles]

hi! i wanted to say i love reading your reflections on teaching, and in general i really look up to/am inspired by your thoughts regarding education and academia. if it's not too much to ask (completely understandable if it is, in that case please disregard!) i would love to get your advice on college related things?

i had pretty significant academic struggles throughout grade school, and ended up dropping out of college after a year. i would've graduated this may, so lately i've been considering going back and finishing my bachelor's. but i've been waffling on this decision because of 1) anxiety about having to drop out again, and 2) some confusion about what i actually want to study. i guess i'm wondering, is it worth it to start from scratch? my struggles were mostly about mental health stuff & difficulty keeping up with coursework—i loved being in the classroom, working with professors, learning from other students. i like being challenged intellectually, but if i have issues with followthrough, is there a way to work on that??? i know these are Big Questions, lol--whether they are answerable or not, cheers and thank you and i hope you are doing well these days. <3

hey! happy to give my thoughts, for what they're worth. you know your situation better than i do so the specifics may or may not be relevant, but i can give some advice just based on seeing lots of students pass through four-year programs!

i've worked with a number of students who took time away from college and came back to finish later. i took a year off myself in the middle of college for mental health reasons, though my school allowed you to take a two-semester leave of absence for any reason (so i always had the safety net of knowing i could come back without having to reapply or start over). in my experience, time away is almost always a good thing. sometimes people just really need that break from the stressors of the college environment! but more importantly, i think people benefit from having a few years' experience living and working in the world.

even though it can be intimidating to come back to college as an older student, i think older students or nontraditional students who took time off and came back tend to underestimate how much more confident and assured in themselves they'll be once they're back in the classroom. working out in the world for a while, even if it's not a job that you especially love or feel is relevant to your long-term goals, tends to help you build more trust in your own ability to get stuff done, manage responsibilities, and be an adult person in the world. in your time away, you've probably grown more than you think, and you may find that some of the things you struggled with at 18 just don't feel as daunting anymore. or they might feel daunting, but you also have more experience talking and working with other people, and you may feel more confident in seeking out & using your college's various academic success resources.

have you considered a two-year college as a possible next step? one of my advisees this year was an adult student who went to college for a year, dropped out, served in the military for four years, came back to do an associate's degree, and decided he liked school enough that he wanted to transfer to our university and finish his degree. (now he's going on to do a phd next fall!!!!) he's one of the most passionate advocates for community colleges i've ever met, and he's stayed actively involved in our local CC community & now mentors recent transfer students at our university. he's talked at length about how CCs are this amazing way for students to explore their interests without having to take on the huge price tag of a four-year degree, within a learning community that's much warmer, more responsive to student needs, and more accepting of the diverse paths that lead people to & through higher education. i wonder if you might consider taking a semester or a year of courses at your local CC, to dip your toes back in and see if you're still feeling energized by the experience.

you might find that some of the courses aren't intellectually challenging enough, but this might also be a wonderful opportunity to create the kind of learning experience you want to have. i was a full-time community college student for a year during my year away from yale, and while i'm sure i was just INSUFFERABLE in many ways, i had a prof in my Western Civ course who was really generous with his time/energy and met with me outside of class to help me figure out how to make the papers into something that i found really exciting and challenging to write. so the class kind of became what i made of it, and i got to read some stuff (dostoevsky!!!) that sent me down all kinds of interesting unexpected rabbitholes. the former CC grad i mentioned above was an extraordinarily bright student who would always go to office hours and ask his profs for more recommended readings, and he ended up becoming a TA for one of his courses and helped them redesign basically their entire intro humanities curriculum as a student advisor. so your CC experience can absolutely be what you make of it. and even if your profs can't give you that kind of support, you could practice doing it for yourself, setting little challenges for yourself either focused on the intellectual aspects ('I'm going to read and cite two scholarly sources in this paper, even though it's not required') or on developing strategies for effectively managing the workload ('I'm going to schedule a writing center appointment on Thurs, so I have to finish this paper two days before the deadline—and then I can devote my weekend study time to practicing for my Spanish test').

CC would be a slightly lower stakes environment for you to try out college again— lower-stakes both in the sense that it's cheaper (so if you decide you don't want to continue, you're not out as much money / don't feel compelled to go on to justify the debt you've taken on) and in the sense that the workload might be more manageable for you as you readjust to academic life and build systems & structures that work for you. as you probably have gathered from this blog, i am a HUGE believer in doing lower-stakes things many times over to build your own confidence and your trust in yourself, and then gradually scaling up the difficulty. by the time you reach the hard thing, you've already built up this strong image of yourself as a person who can handle challenges (and you've also had the chance to identify areas where you struggle & experiment with developing workable solutions).

if a two-year college isn't something you're especially interested in, i think it's definitely possible to start a four-year degree again. if that's the path you choose, i would strongly recommend reaching out to students in some of the degree programs you're tentatively interested in. people are almost always happy to share their ~wisdom~ (see: this ask response, lol) and most people love being asked for their thoughts on the pros and cons of something they know well. so you could get an honest sense from students of what the program is like, what the workload is like, and how useful or engaging people find the required courses for the degree. but also know that it's pretty normal to take courses all over in your first year or two (you have the advantage of having done a freshman year before, so you probably know this!), so you might just want to plan to try out a bunch of different things, with the goal of narrowing your focus by the end of your first year, or midway through your second.

i would also HIGHLY recommend spending lots of time familiarizing yourself with the resources your university has to offer. learn everything you can about the kind of mental health counseling and support they offer to students, and see if there are things you can set up in advance for yourself before you even step foot on campus. for instance, our university offers individual counseling, but they also have free groups that meet every week or two around different topics (coping with stress, students in recovery, etc) that are led by a counselor. check out your university's writing center or peer tutoring centers, too, and set up a standing appointment once a month or once a week or whatever, to bring in something you're working on—so that you know that every week, you're going to talk with someone about what's going well and what you're struggling with in your assignments.

you might also want to look into your university's services for students with disabilities office, as they can help you figure out if you are eligible for various kinds of accommodations or additional support (extra time on exams, notetaking services, recorded lectures, etc). i know you mentioned that you've dealt with academic struggles in grade school, too. if you think it's possible that there may be underlying learning differences that are affecting your academic work, it might be worth seeing if they can help you find lower-cost testing, so you can get a diagnosis that qualifies you for additional accommodations and university support.

many schools, esp large public universities, also have resource centers and mentoring programs for students from specific demographics who may benefit from additional structure and support in their early years of college. my university has a variety of resource centers and programs for students from low-income backgrounds, first-gen students, students who transferred from community college, etc. you don't have to take advantage of ALL of these resources, but proactively establishing a support network long before you need it is a really good way to set yourself up for success. and even just doing the research will probably help you feel more confident in your capacity to 'follow through', since you'll know that you're going into this with your eyes wide open AND with a detailed plan for what to do if you run into some of the same obstacles you encountered the first time around.

speaking of detailed plans: i find it helpful sometimes to do IF-THEN exercises with students when they're stressed about something on the horizon or unsure about whether they can handle some new challenge. IF-THEN is just what it sounds like: 'IF this thing I'm nervous about happens, THEN I'm going to do X, Y, or Z.' what i like about this exercise (i use it with myself too aha) is that it acknowledges that sometimes the thing you're dreading DOES happen. sometimes the professor you emailed for an extension says no. sometimes the TA doesn't understand why you're confused about the assignment. sometimes you don't have time to finish the reading before class. sometimes you overschedule yourself and you have to pull an all-nighter to finish two papers on the same night. scary things, confidence-shaking things, happen all the time, but they are rarely fatal! and there can be something really powerful about acknowledging and naming the thing you're concerned about, and then generating a few next steps you could take, should the thing you're dreading come to pass. i could see you doing something like this as you start thinking about the things that tripped you up last time, or made it difficult for you to balance the workload. if X happens, then what could you try next? giving yourself a few options means that you already have backup plans, too, which can make the whole situation less terrifying. if this happens, i might have to try this, or this, or this, and those things might not be the most fun or the easiest to do or the 'best' thing academically, but they'll get me through this difficult moment mostly in one piece, and once i'm through it i can look back on it and learn from it, or adjust the structures i've built for myself moving forward, to reduce the chance that X happens again.

PHEW!!! sorry this got so long but that is just the RISK YOU TAKE when sending me anons 😅 i hope that some of this is helpful to you, or at least sparks some useful thinking for you, even if it's not all directly applicable to your situation. i would say that if you love learning and find being in the classroom exhilarating, then you should absolutely go back to college! but that doesn't mean you have to go back right away, or that you have to go back and do it exactly the same way you did the first time. there are lots of possible paths to higher ed, and there's no particular rush—college will always be there, if it's something you decide you want now or at some future point in your life. i would also just reiterate again one of the core Themes of This Blog, which is that the brain is NEUROPLASTIC, and that humans have a truly astounding amazing capacity to change, grow, and learn new things (including new ways of getting around old obstacles or working through old challenges). just because you struggled the first time doesn't mean you are doomed to repeat that pattern. if you can spend some time thoughtfully reflecting on what you found most difficult to manage the first time through, you are better equipped to make plans, design new structures for yourself, and build the support networks that will help you thrive in college.

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 11: Bonding

A/N Eight days until doomsday for me. Enjoy this. Mostly character building. Probably longer than it should be, but I think this is the most time they spend together the whole story. It had to happen somewhere. 

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 11: Bonding

 Kendra woke to someone picking her up gently.

“Shh, you fell asleep. I’m just taking you to your bed so you don’t wake up sore.” Ronodin said as she blinked her eyes open. She was cradled securely in his arms. 

“No, I can walk,” Kendra insisted, starting to wiggle free.

“You’re so stubborn, just go back to sleep,” he encouraged gripping her tighter.

“Put me down,” she demanded.

Ronodin smiled cheekily, “What if I like holding my fiancée? Putting her down sounds like a favor.”

Kendra flushed and folded her arms, looking away from him. As much as she didn’t want to be carried, she didn’t want any part of Ronodin’s favors either. She wanted to protest more, but there wasn’t a point, he was too strong and wasn’t letting go of her.

Unless…Kendra rapidly unclenched the mental fist she had over her brightness. Ronodin stumbled and dropped her on her rump.

“You did that to yourself,” Ronodin said.

“I would have been standing on my own if someone had let me go when I asked,” she said, standing up and stretching. “Good thing I put carpets in this place.” Because it was impolite to blind people, she dimmed her light once again, pulling back the showcase of her magic. She felt a pang inside, like a muscle that didn’t want to flex, but she did it anyway, and the feeling disappeared.

“I’m guessing you don’t feel tired anymore?”

Kendra shook her head, “That was a good wakeup call. How did your errand go?”

“It went —what is that thing you’re wearing?” he asked. The look of horror she had been imagining was better than she imagined. His nose scrunched!

“I don’t like my wardrobe,” she declared, “I wanted to be more covered up and add a bit of color. Do you like it?”

He went deadpan, “So, I’m guessing your sewing skills were forgotten along with everything else.”

“Yep,” she said, leading the way to the kitchen, “So now you have to take me shopping. In fact, I’ve decided you aren’t leaving again without me. I tried to draw the outside today, and I couldn’t. I haven’t seen the sky, or the sun, or the ocean, or the stars in my entire life. That needs to change, now.”

“All I hear is another favor,” he teased.

“Ronodin,” she warned, looking over her shoulder.

“Then I guess we’re just going to have to stay put a little longer.”

Kendra turned at the kitchen doorway and folded her arms, “Leaving this place is only a favor if I’m a prisoner. I know you’re trying to protect me, but I refuse to believe that out of everywhere in the world I could have hidden, I chose the one place that I would never breath fresh air.”

Ronodin studied her before sighing and massaging his forehead, “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I couldn’t do what our host wanted. Your brother got in the way. He’s tracking me, trying to find you. I must have let too much of our relationship slip after you lost your memory. Out of everyone in your family, he’s the only one blaming me for your kidnapping. The rest are blaming your family’s usual enemies: dragons, sphinxes, and demons. It’s not only dangerous for you to go out, but I’m going to have to lay low for a while as well.”

“I’m not budging on this,” Kendra said forcing her chin up. “You will not leave me trapped in here again. It’s a prison cell, a nice one, but you said we bonded over the fact that my family was imprisoning innocent creatures. Why am I different than them?”

“It isn’t a prison,” Ronodin said, “For two reasons. One, you volunteered to come here. Two, it’s temporary. Like…quarantine. You just need to be kept apart from the world for a little while, and then you’ll get released and everything will be fine.”

“And when will the quarantine be over?” she asked.

“I’m working on faking your death,” Ronodin admitted, “Once we’re sure everyone believes you’re dead, we’ll be able to get out of here,” he snapped his fingers, “An idea. I’ll negotiate with you. We can also go out, once you craft an item strong enough to protect yourself.”

That reminded her. Her hand went to her neck, but she only felt the ruby pendant. She pulled the amulet forward, where it had fallen down her back.

“Like this?” Kendra asked. “I looked through the books for something protection based, but the closest thing was making your enemies weaken so you can escape.”

Ronodin took it into his hand, “Hmm, it’s very beginner. You really are back to the start. It’s a good start, certainly better than that nonsense sweater you’re wearing. Make something with this effect, but a hundred times stronger, and we can go anywhere you like.”

“Great,” she grumbled, taking the amulet back, then taking it off and tossing it on the counter. “It’s not doing anything, why bother?”

“It’s not doing anything because I’m not your enemy,” Ronodin teased. “You keyed it into those who wish to harm you in the immediate vicinity. That’s an extremely vague idea of enemies.”

“How should I define enemies?” Kendra asked.

Ronodin smiled, “Anyone who prevents you from achieving your goal.”

“And if my goal is to go outside?”

His smiled turned sharper, somehow more genuine and far more dangerous, “Make something you can wear that will disable me, then we can talk.”

“Break the kneecaps, got it.”

Ronodin laughed. Kendra glared.

“Keep laughing like that and I won’t wait to create a magical object to do it for me,” she threatened. “You literally asked for it.”

“No, it’s nothing,” Ronodin gave a half smile, “But we really are back to square one. It seems you really do use threats of violence as flirting at the start of every courtship.”

“Must be difficult for you, since as far as I know, that’s also how I start off all relationships with my mortal enemies,” she said, getting up and making tea. He was being ridiculous again, the only thing to do was walk away.

“You are quite the trial,” Ronodin said, quietly, and her ears strained to pick it up, “But worth every second of it.”

When the kettle rang, he got up and made his own tea. On the one hand, she was glad he didn’t expect her to serve him, on the other hand, the kitchen was small. They kept brushing hands and sides, and there wasn’t really anything Kendra could do. His hands settled on her hips to move her aside, and she jumped.

“Just getting the honey,” he said innocently. She glared, and he held up his hands, “I’m done messing with you for now. I saw you were reading a different book in the library, what was this one about?”

“Well, the library is rather limited,” Kendra said, settling back with her tea. “I can’t read most of the books. But while the first one was about the Fair Folk, this one is an autobiography of a woman hiding her life as a shadow charmer from her husband and children. I only got through the first couple of chapters, where she destroys wraiths with sea salt, removes the cursed talisman poisoning their village’s water, and a demon inducts her as a shadow charmer.”

“Lady Kuychia,” Ronodin said, nodding, “She convinced a High Fairy to enchant that amulet you’re wearing so that her husband could have protection while she was still learning her skills.”

“Shhush!” she said, “Don’t spoil anything.”

He then talked to her about some of her old favorite books she had forgotten to pack, and pointed out that it was Lady Kuychia’s family portrait that hung over the library fireplace.

Despite enjoying the company, she started to grow tired again.

“You better head to your room if you really don’t want me to carry you,” Ronodin said, picking up her teacup and taking it to the sink.

Kendra nodded and went to her room, motioning for Mendigo to follow her.

“Mendigo,” Kendra said, once she was in the silk robe she apparently liked to sleep in, “Don’t let Ronodin leave out the front door. Stop him and hold him until I get there. I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to be part of a cage anymore.”

Mendigo nodded.

“Go stand guard by the front door, the one I tried to have you open earlier today.”

Mendigo left, and Kendra sighed into her pillow. It wasn’t hard to understand what Old Kendra liked about Ronodin. Absolutely gorgeous, an edge of excitement, intelligence, and he’s crazy about her. But he was missing a lot of things too, respect for personal boundaries being the top of the list. Did she keep trying to find what Old Kendra had loved about him? Reclaim that part of her life that Old Kendra had valued beyond even her family?

There was a shout and some grumbling from Ronodin’s room. Wrapping herself tightly in her blanket, she pulled it free and went to her door, opening it and grinning at the irritated unicorn outside her door.

“Really hilarious,” Ronodin grumbled. He relaxed at her grin, “aside from the surprise psychic insanity attack, this was actually really well made. And pretty powerful. You might be closer to creating something to protect yourself than I thought.”

“I was pretty angry at everything when I painted it,” Kendra said, “Like I said, you aren’t allowed to leave me alone here again. I thought having this in your room would be a good reminder.”

“Not if I want to sleep without having an existential crisis and accompanying panic attack,” he said drily. “It’s covered now, and hidden. I wish you wouldn’t take it out on me when you’re the one that set it up this way.”

Kendra felt the familiar pang of guilt. She hadn’t thought the painting was that powerful. Ronodin seemed so good at magic, and she wasn’t even sure it worked. Panic attacks were serious and something she shouldn’t wish on anyone, much less her former fiancée trying to make the best of a terrible situation.

“Sorry,” she said, “I guess that was a little uncalled for. It didn’t seem that powerful to me. Why do you think I’m so much better at painting than the other things I used to craft?”

Ronodin shrugged, “Painting is a little more straightforward. You don’t have to worry about needles or knives, you were probably just able to focus better on the magic aspect than you were on your other projects. We’ll paint something together tomorrow. And you can give sewing and whittling another shot. Is there a reason Mendigo is at the front door?”

“Um, I told him to make sure no one bothered me in the night,” Kendra lied, “I guess he took that to mean guard the front door.”

“You’re lying,” Ronodin stated. “Want to try again?”

Kendra huffed, “Fine, I meant it when I said you aren’t leaving here without me again. He won’t let you leave without me, so don’t bother thinking about it.”

“Kendra,” Ronodin said, groaning, “If our host calls for me, I have to go.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Ronodin shot back.

“Why not? I was fine when we negotiated this place, right?”

Ronodin shook his head, “Even when you dim yourself, your light is way to bright for him. He will either swallow your light, or you’ll make him angry. Call your puppet off.”

“No,” she said. “If I’m going to be a prisoner, so are you. I’ll wait outside the door or whatever, but I’m sick of being trapped.”

Ronodin’s face went blank, there was nothing in his eyes as he looked at her, mouth still, and Kendra drew back half a step. Ronodin took a deep breath and motion returned to his face, leaving Kendra unsure what she had just seen. “We’re both tired, and I don’t plan on being called away for a while yet. We will talk about this more later. Goodnight.”

Ronodin leaned forward, and Kendra hiked her blankets up over her mouth, glaring.

His lips pressed gently to her forehead, lingering, as she glared at him. Ronodin stepped back.

“Goodnight, my little caterpillar,” he teased, then walked back to his room.

Did other people with amnesia have this confusing a time with their boyfriends? How long before Ronodin gave up on her? Looking in the mirror, even with the sexy clothes, Kendra knew she wasn’t anywhere near the same league as Ronodin in the looks department. Did she want Ronodin to give up on her? From the sound of it, her family wanted her back, and her brother seemed like a pretty cool kid.

What did she owe a past she couldn’t remember?

The questions circled her mind like fluttering butterflies until she fell asleep.

 “Okay, so what do you want to paint?” Ronodin asked.

“We can’t peek outside so I can figure out what the sky looks like?” Kendra checked. They were standing in front of their easels in the craft room.

Ronodin shook his head, “We’re laying low for the moment. We can visit a grotto after lunch, but that’s still enclosed in a cave.”

“Wait, really?” Kendra asked, beaming.

Ronodin nodded, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I can convince our host to let us out that far, and we’ll still be on their property, so your family won’t find us. If that’s what it takes for you to get your puppet to stand down, then we’ll do it.”

Kendra pounced on him with a hug, surprising both of them. She let go just as quickly, blushing, “Uh, thanks. Don’t read into that. I just really want to get out of here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ronodin said with a smirk, “How about I paint an outside landscape? I remember what your home looks like. Then at least it will be a full picture for you to put together for your next painting.”

“I’d really like that,” Kendra said. “If you’re painting something for me, how about I paint something for you? An apology for the panic attack.”

“You are being quite generous this morning, dream of anything good?” Ronodin asked, getting in her face again. “Because if we’re taking requests, and you’re firm on only being able to paint things you’ve already seen. I want you to paint us.”

“Us?” Kendra asked, eyebrows drawing together.

Ronodin nodded, taking her hand still holding the pencil. Kendra tried not to wince. Even through her protective amulet, his hands still felt cold. She wanted to pull it back, but she was trying to be nice.

“How you see me, how you see yourself,” Ronodin said, “Paint it.”

“I’ll try,” she said doubtfully. She tried to tug her hand free, but he wouldn’t let it go, “Any requests on what effect or emotion I should try to work into it?” If she had to be able to create something strong enough to protect herself, it looked like her best bet would be painting the biggest ‘do not bother me’ spell she could on the back of a jacket. Which meant she had to get good.

He pulled her hand towards his mouth, and when he spoke, his lips brushed the backs of her fingers. “Uncontrollable lust.”

“What!” she yelled, yanking her hand back.

He laughed, “Poor, innocent caterpillar.”

“That’s it, you missed your chance,” Kendra said, turning her back on him, “I’m painting Mendigo, and this painting is going to fill the viewer with the insatiable desire to strangle unicorns named Ronodin.”

She already had her magic flowing into her pencil. Threading? It was kind of like threading a needle, and drawing it through the work, and she could thicken the thread with concentration.

“Can’t wait,” Ronodin said, putting his own pencil to canvas. It didn’t feel as satisfying, knowing he approved of her project. The desire to kill seemed a little extreme anyway, and she flinched away from it remembering her actual almost murder of her kinda boyfriend. Irritation with Ronodin it was then.

She started to sketch Mendigo, but ran into the issue of creation/affect dichotomy that the book warned her about. Looking at Mendigo wouldn’t inspire anyone to be irritated with Ronodin. Glancing sideways, she decided to stick to irritation, but she would have to paint him. Half body, because with the robe it was just more interesting to be able to focus on his face and torso. Arms folded, because hands were hard to draw.

“How about some music?” Ronodin offered. “Anything you’d like?”

She focused on her canvas, “I have literally never heard music before. Play anything.”

“Very well,” he said, pulling out a cell phone. Kendra first heard the click of a camera going off, and decided against saying something. If he wanted a picture, maybe they could print it out and hang it, add a little more personality to the room. A moment later, piano notes filled the air, something a little frenzied, and the violin joined in. She didn’t dislike it, but as the first song she ever heard, she didn’t have much to compare it to.

Threading her magic through her pencil, she drew the outlines she wanted. His know-it-all smirk, perfect hair, eyes. Was it weird to use unicorn blood for the eyes and teeth? It might be his own.

No, she had to focus, she had to get good at this. The black of his robe was the hardest part, and she ended up mixing it with reds and blues to get the full effect of how Kendra saw him. His skin tone was also difficult to mix with the limited colors, but she did it. Using one of her whittling knives, she made a pretty cool effect for the scar over his eyebrow.

Surprisingly, Ronodin stayed quiet the whole time. He didn’t tease her or try to mess with her. When she had to step back to let a layer dry, or go to the bathroom, he just smirked at her. Her eyes would drift to him for reference, and he would occasionally strike a pose, but he never said anything.

Maybe this was how they had bonded the first time, painting quietly to music. It didn’t help too much in this case because she painted with a thousand irritations in her brush, but if they were ever able to do this outside her prison cell, in the open air, it would probably be a different experience. Maybe next time she could try for companionship when she painted.

She thought she’d like that painting a lot more. Luckily, irritation with her lack of skill and being stuck with only negative emotions helped feed into the current project.

By the end, it wasn’t perfect, or even particularly good. People were hard, but she liked it.  His smug smile said ‘kill me’, enough for her.

“You ready for the great reveal?” Ronodin asked, turning off the music.

“Sure,” Kendra said, “You probably figured it out, but it’s a lot easier to want to kill you while looking at your stupid face.” She took her canvas and showed it to him.

Ronodin scrutinized himself through her painting. “My ears look a little misshapen, and all I’m sensing is vague irritation with myself. Have a problem with killing intent?”

“Despite various actions to the contrary,” Kendra said, “I don’t actually want to kill you. So yeah, irritation. Can I see yours now?”

“It’s not my best work,” he said, picking up his own canvas, “You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I painted,” so that means they didn’t bond over painting, “but I hope this helps you put together what outside looks like.”

He turned it over and showed her a castle rising above a forest. The sky was a heart wrenching blue, and there had to be forty different shades of green in the trees. A couple of deer with wings glided over the treetops, beneath a sun that was paler than she imagined, its light fell gently. Two clouds gave variety to the sky, and the castle was done in blacks and grays that blended so well together, she couldn’t begin figuring out the shades. The stones and towers, the gate, and just barely she could make out a road that vanished under distant trees, horses racing across it. Two mountains rose in the distance, and a ravine far to the right.

“It’s beautiful,” she said reverently, going closer to the picture. “It’s absolutely beautiful. You’re amazing.”

“Yes, well, I try,” he said. Kendra looked, and he seemed flustered for a moment, then smirked, “I take it you like my gift?”

“A real gift this time?” Kendra asked dubiously.

She was expecting it, and was able to turn her cheek at the last moment as he pulled her close.

He pulled back, “Never.” And let her go.

“Try again after I’m out of this prison.”

“Quarantine,” he corrected.

“What am I infected with?” Kendra countered.

He shook his head, “We’re doing this so you don’t loose the self you found and were so proud of.”

Kendra didn’t know what to say to that.

Sorry I’m not me enough for you at the moment?

I’m sure I’ll be myself again eventually, don’t give up.

The only version of me I care about is the one that gets to sit in the sunlight.

She kept staring at the castle instead, her former home. The place where the other Kendra first became the person Ronodin loved.

Quietly, she asked, “I can really keep this?”

“Of course, Love,” Ronodin said, “I even left out the caged dragons for you, so you can remember the good parts more than the bad.”

Her head swiveled towards him, “This isn’t what it actually looks like?”

He blinked, “No, that’s what it looks like. But Dragons are a pain to draw, and most of them stay out of that particular direction anyway. They generally don’t like to be near the keep, nor the giant’s mountain behind it. I was just joking.”

“Oh,” she said, “That��s…okay. Mind if I take it to my room?”

“Be sure to let it finish drying,” Ronodin said, stepping aside.

Kendra hesitated at the door, “I’m not the Kendra you know. I don’t know how to be that Kendra. Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to just drop me off back home so I can figure things out from the beginning?”

“This is a beginning of sorts,” Ronodin mused. “But I know the truth of you. I know how confused you are right now, and how much trust you are putting in me. I am deeply aware of that.” He said. The sheer intensity of his gaze made her blush. “The day you understand truth of who you are in your bones, and who I am, that day will change everything. That day is worth waiting for. You are worth waiting for, whether you become exactly the woman I remember or not.”

Kendra blushed and fled. She went to her room, put the landscape against the wall, and put her hands over her flushing cheeks. Smoldering intensity was not a fair superpower! Did all unicorns have that? No, she didn’t really love him yet; he was just distracting! This was desperation, and loneliness, and—and she didn’t even know the names of her parents! She didn’t know what love was. Had she ever been in love before? When you loved someone, was Ronodin what it looked like?

They still had to go the grotto that afternoon.

She pulled back on the clothes she had arrived in, jeans, shirt, and added her poorly made cardigan. Feeling nice and covered up, she made her way to the kitchen for lunch.

“I changed my mind, let’s have lunch in the grotto,” Ronodin said, waving a basket full of sandwiches and chips in her direction as he filled up water bottles, “Remember to keep your light dim.”

Kendra frowned, but it wasn’t like she was going to complain about leaving this place.

He frowned at her, “Those clothes again?”

“You could always take me shopping,” she said, folding her arms. “Or let me use your phone for some online shopping.”

Ronodin chuckled, walking up to her, “Our host doesn’t exactly have a listed address. Come on,” he held out an arm, and Kendra weighed the pros and cons of accepting it. Pro: get out of here faster. Con: Ronodin being a jerk and violating her personal space.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Ronodin said, rolling his eyes.

Kendra took his arm, and watched him carefully as they approached the door. Mendigo moved to stop him, but Kendra said, “It’s alright. He’s allowed to leave with me. Watch our stuff, kay.” The puppet snapped back into guard position.

Ronodin took out a key from his pocket. A big, rusty thing, and fit it into the lock at the same time that he said something in language she didn’t understand.

“That’s not fair,” Kendra said as he turned the key. He didn’t respond, just opened the door and led her out into a hallway.

This part of the property was much less polished than her apartment. The stone was rougher, smoothed by time rather than professionally. She also knew instinctively that she would be frozen if it wasn’t for the ruby necklace.  The corridor narrowed and widened randomly, and it was dark.

Of course, she probably could have brightened things by letting her own light shine, but out here it wouldn’t only be rude to Ronodin, it would also be rude to anyone else in the hallway. They passed by one person, who looked extremely gaunt and old, and he still flinched a little at her dim shining.

Ronodin led her up through twisty corridors with lots of forks. She tried to keep track, but would undoubtably be lost within minutes if Ronodin wasn’t here. Kendra started to smell saltwater, and pulled Ronodin along faster.

It was strange. If ten minutes ago you had asked her to describe and know the smell of saltwater, she wouldn’t have been able to. As soon as she smelled it though, it was like that synapse reconnected. Of course that was what saltwater smelled like.

“Watch the brightness,” Ronodin warned, but sped up with her. In her excitement, she had let her control slip. Kendra forced herself to slow down and keep her magic to herself.

They reached a rocky shore, the tide lapping in tiny waves. There was seaweed scattered below the waterline, a drum in the corner, and a bunch of random animal bones.

She put her hand into the water and sighed. Feeling it push and pull against her hand was amazing. Ronodin set up lunch behind her, but she focused on the sensations of right now. The feel of water, the look of the rounded grotto, the…dead fish. And now she had memorized what rotting fish smelled like.

Grossed out, she went back to Ronodin who offered her a napkin to dry her hands and some hand sanitizer. Then he snapped another photo of them on their picnic blanket.

“Why didn’t you set up closer to the drum?” Kendra asked. It looked much flatter and less rocky over there.

“Didn’t want to risk accidentally sounding it,” he said simply. He handed her a sandwich.

“What happens?”

“The sound would summon a dragon that would more than love to eat you.”

“Romantic.”

Ronodin looked amused. “You wanted elsewhere, I got you elsewhere. You’re going to have to be a little clearer when you want me to court you and when you don’t.”

Kendra blushed, “It’s complicated. I don’t know when I want you to court me either. I don’t think I want to be courted right now. There’s still so much I don’t know about myself.”

“Well, let’s find out a little more,” Ronodin said “What would make this romantic?”

Kendra blushed and looked at her food, “I don’t know, I’ve never been courted before. That’s the problem.” She took a bite.

“You knew enough to know that this place isn’t romantic, give it a try,” Ronodin encouraged.

“Give me a second to think then,” she said, then took another bite.

She finished her sandwich half, took a drink, and said. “Well, the rotting fish in the water wasn’t pleasant, that would need to go. So would the animal bones, and the threat of a deadly sea dragon eating me. Umm, fairy lights I guess? Something soft to help light this place. This blanket is okay, but having some pillows set up too would help.”

“Music?” Ronodin asked.

Kendra shook her head, “Not necessarily, the sound of the waves is calming and new. I’d be a little sad to have that drowned out by music. Of course, this place would be immediately topped by anyplace with sunlight. Like a mall.”

“A mall,” Ronodin deadpanned. “Do you even remember what a mall looks like? Secluded grotto beats mall every time, even with dragons and dead fish.”

“But we could buy clothes,” Kendra emphasized. “And knowing what I want and need, and spending time with me? Most romantic thing ever.” She had agreed with Lady Kuychia in that aspect. She thought she did, at least. Everything Kendra agreed with currently was subject to change.

“Noted,” Ronodin said drily. “A bit contradictory, but noted.”

“Prison cells make everything unromantic,” she declared.

“On that,” Ronodin said, “We agree completely. I’m glad that viewpoint hasn’t changed with your memory loss.”

Kendra hesitated, “Was my family really a bunch of jailers?”

Ronodin nodded, “They thought they had their reasons, but the reasons were nonsense and broke down once a reasonably intelligent teenager looked at them. They justified them by saying that the inhabitants were happier in cages than in the mortal world, while the continuous, active rebellion suggested that they aren’t. The prisons protected mortals from dangerous creatures. But mortals have their own protections, and who said that humans should be the ones in charge of everything? They’re doing a terrible job of it.

“And my favorite: keep them locked up because their nature is to harm. Humans have killed more things than all the dragons combined since the prisons were put up. You don’t hate the wolf for eating the deer. You don’t hate the ocean for crumbling the shore. Is the day better than the night? For somethings, like sunbathing and growing plants, but the night is better for seeing stars and sleeping. Not only is it morally wrong to keep sentient things in prison without hope of freedom, it throws the world out of balance.”

Kendra was quiet.

Ronodin looked at her, “Oh, your family isn’t terrible. Your brother is a nuisance, as most brothers are, but he believes he is doing the right thing and goes out of his way to cause as little harm as possible. They all do. It’s what their parents did, and their parents, for a very long time. They are wrong, not bad. Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t have turned out the way you did.”

“What happens when you open all the prison cells?” Kendra asked. “You said the dragon here would love to eat me. I haven’t done anything at all to it. Could I convince the dragon not to eat me?”

“If you were skilled, and you were clever,” Ronodin said. “And by the Jirbarro’s standards, we did do something wrong: we entered his territory. By entering the hunting ground of a bear, you invite the bear to attack.”

“How many jails are there? Would the whole world become a hunting ground?”

Ronodin shrugged, “Don’t know. But I think it would be interesting and fair to find out.”

Kendra frowned, and was about to say something else, when the water in the grotto started splashing.

“Ah,” Ronodin said. He glanced at Kendra. “Be ready to be skilled and clever.”

“What!”

A dragon rose out of the water. Huge. Impossibly huge. Ridiculously large. Things that size shouldn’t be allowed, some law of biology had to be crying over this creature’s existence. Kendra’s muscles locked into place with fear.

“Ah, Ronodin, have you brought me a snack?” asked the dragon. It was like Kendra was hearing three voices, the dragon’s main voice, a voice that came as though from underwater, and its echo.

“No, just enjoying the scenery,” Ronodin said.

“Oh my,” Jirbarro said, completely ignoring Ronodin, “And such a unique snack too! Slayer of the Demon King, caretaker of wyrmroost, and handmaiden to the fairy queen herself. Rumor has it that she sent Celebrant back to his hole like wyrmling.” The dragon lowered its head to better look at her. “Tell me child, can you speak?”

Kendra focused on the ground infront of the dragon, “Please…back away.” It took will power, but she was able to grind out a single sentence. She was rather proud of it.

Jibarro shook his head, “Barely, and your reputation was growing so well. Eating you will be doing you a service. You can die with your legends, and no one has to know you were speechless.”

“I need her, our host has a special task for her,” Ronodin lied, “No feasting now.”

Kendra tried to pull her magic forward, massage it through her muscles, anything, but nothing worked. Ronodin needed her, he loved her, she wouldn’t make him watch her get eaten by a dragon.

Still her muscles refused to move.

Kendra thought about the picture Ronodin had painted of her childhood home. Thought of her brother. But it was remembering that pale orb that stuck in in her mind. She was not going to die without feeling sunlight.

There was a snap, and all the bindings holding her in place fell apart.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I am nobody’s dinner.”

Their attention riveted on her again.

“Does the kelp speak?” Jibarro asked.

“The human does,” Kendra said, and she let go of the hold she had on her light. She felt better as the grotto brightened to a dim room. “And I would like to request the curtesy of asking me to leave before eating for an imagined slight or because you think it would make yourself more important. We are both intelligent, let’s respect that.”

This time Ronodin’s mouth really did drop open, but she didn’t need to laugh at it, Jibarro was doing it for her.

“Such an entertaining mouse!” Jibarro said. He looked down at Ronodin, “Very well, now that her fear is gone, humans make far too paltry a snack. And as the mouse demands, you should leave before I change my mind. I can’t wait to see what insults she and her brother serve the mighty Celebrant next.”

Ronodin nodded, “We will accept your offer of leave.” Ronodin rolled up everything into the blanket he brought and together they left, hearing the splash of water behind them of Jibarro leaving as well.

Once they were back in the corridor, Kendra collapsed against the wall.

“I see your point,” Ronodin said casually, “The threat of being eaten by a dragon is a downer.”

“What was that?” Kendra asked.

“Dragon fear,” Ronodin said, “All dragons exude it, though some don’t by choice. It gets paired with their general mesmerizing ability, but your status as Fairy Kind protects your mind from that part. The resistance to fear seems to be something you needed to overcome on your own. Congrats are in order, I suppose.”

“He called me a lot of titles,” Kendra said. “How did he know? I don’t even know most of those.”

Ronodin shrugged, “Certain experiences and acts leave marks that those with eyes to see can perceive. You read about the Thrones of Power right?” Kendra nodded, “One of the prisons your family supported was the greater demon prison, Zzyzx. With a powerful sword and a hefty bit of absolute rage, you slew the previous holder of the Demon Crown. I wasn’t invited to that party, my family likely concerned I would side with the demons, but even I can see the mark on you from the experience.”

“I did that?” she asked, standing up. A whole four pages of the book had been devoted to the crowns as the pillars of magic that are virtually unlimited, held in check only by each other. “Wait, would you have sided with the demons?”

Ronodin shrugged, “I would have heard them out, I suppose. I didn’t have a preference one way or another how it turned out. I would have been fine.”

But would the rest of humanity? She didn’t know much about demons, but they seemed worse than the undead. The destruction of the undead seemed predicated on their nature, they have nothing but wanting, so even a sliver of life seems the greatest feast. Created by the weakness of living beings. Demons did it because it was fun, they wanted to, and because of a personal conviction that everyone is terrible and deserves to die if they aren’t strong enough to live. That’s why demons were on the morality triangle, and the undead on the creature triangle.

It was a silent walk back to her apartment.

They entered and Ronodin looked at her. “See what I mean about this place being dangerous? I have connections and favors down here that let me go without harm, but you don’t.” Mendigo was standing beside him.

Kendra thought about it, but that orb of sun stuck fast in her mind. “Yes, it is dangerous, but even with the danger and dead things, it was more than I’ve gotten in my life. Mendigo? My orders stand. Ronodin isn’t allowed to leave without me.”

Ronodin was livid. “Rather than let me go out and secure your freedom, you would trap us both here? Foolish doesn’t begin to cover you. Insane? Senile? Self-destructive? Call off your puppet.”

“No,” Kendra said, raising her chin, “You leave, you take me with you. I’ll do what I have to to stay alive. You said that everyone who got in the way of my goals was my enemy. Being faced with Dragon fear taught me that seeing the sunlight is a more important goal to me than just about anything else.”

The ‘even you’ went unsaid, and she wondered if Ronodin heard it as clearly as she meant it.

Ronodin closed his eyes and breathed. He seemed to be counting, and Kendra waited. He opened his eyes and was much calmer, “You have no idea what it means to have a goal more important than anything else,” he said, “You are acting like a child, but I am going to give us both one more chance to act reasonably. For every time you come with me, I obtain the right to leave by myself twice. Considering how infuriating you are making everything, this is an extremely generous offer.”

Kendra thought it over, “A one to one ratio, and you don’t have to take me above ground. A two-to-one ratio, and you have to take me above ground for it to count.”

“Fine,” he said, “One to one. But I’m tired after dealing with you, so please entertain yourself.”

“Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Ronodin may leave once without me. Come, we’re going to the library.”

She took five steps away, then stopped, “I’m sorry, but while I’m negotiating with the power to stop you from leaving, you’re negotiating with the power to leave me here forever. I can’t risk that.”

“Then maybe you should stop being such a brat, and I’d more inclined not to leave you here forever,” Ronodin said.

Kendra glanced back at him, but he wasn’t looking at her, instead doing something on his phone.

He doesn’t mean that. She made herself think, over and over. If only she believed it. 

[gaymerborealis]

your response was so great to hear & i'm glad it could make you feel like what you're doing is worthwhile - because it absolutely is!! as for the stims, if I may recommend an existing animation - a stim I did a lot when I was younger looked a lot like the animation when sims agree to woohoo lol. like how they raise their arms and shake them excitedly. another possible one could be the CAS animation for outgoing where they jump in the air to the side sorta. let me know if you would be open to any more suggestions i just am very excited about the idea of this mod & now i'm happy stimming thinking about it!! :D

Thanks <3 And I mean I knew I could hardly be the only one out there who wanted a proper neurodiversity mod, but still it's pretty cool to see enthusiasm for my little mod 😅

Also you're right that pre-woohoo animation could totally work haha, The outgoing animation I thiink I've got on my list already (the CAS animations where among the first I looked through :p).

And yes, please send me any suggestions you can think of! :D

Actually this is a good moment to let everyone following this blog know that I'm totally open to ideas, suggestions and general feedback on the mod. Obviously I can't guarantee anything, but I do really want this mod to be as inclusive to as many neurodivergent people (and not just autistic and adhd people, either, I've already got a couple learning disabilities in the mod and am open to adding other neurotypes too) as possible, and of course, I'm only person and there's probably tons of things I haven't thought of, and many ND experiences I'm less familiar with.

[petewentzisblack1312]

Hi… I wanted to ask this on anon so I didn’t ask on your personal, idk if this is too personal or anything to ask but

Do you have a problem with people saying they have a mental disorder if they don’t have a diagnosis? Like for me so… I have been diagnosed with anxiety but I am like 99% sure I have bipolar disorder. And like I know you can’t diagnose me so I’m not going to go into depth with my symptoms but ever since I was like, 11, I used to get very depressed to the point where I contemplated ending it but then i would snap out of it and I think for me my manic phase are hypomanic bc ive never experienced like the full range of those symptoms but my depressive phases get very rough esp if I have external stressors but it will go through what I assume to be these phases like sometimes within the day esp if I have a stressor.

I am in nursing school and I work at a psych hospital so like this isn’t coming out of nowhere, I am very familiar with all mental disorders and it was actually during my psych nursing class and learning about bipolar disorder that I was like… hm… why does this feel like a mirror right now. I am aware I should get to a therapist and get an actual diagnosis (if I had money I would lol) but like idk. Idk if it’s worth going to my doctor at my physical and being like “hey I think I have this” I am lucky enough now that I am in a good place and can manage my symptoms but I am terrified I will go through a stressor again and lose it so idk. I mean I feel like I already know the answer but I wanted to ask anyway to see your take :/

Anyway idk as a future medical professional I think self diagnosis got a bad rep and it’s like idk I think for mental disorders esp you can tell if you have anxiety and it’s a persistent problem. You can tell if you have depression. I know bipolar disorder is harder to diagnose but idk I think since I’m in the field it’s easier? Idk I felt like a sense of relief with learning about it and finding similarities and being like “well maybe that’s why I’m like that”. But idk now I’m feeling uneasy bc I don’t have a diagnosis and I don’t want to be like, stepping over people who were diagnosed. Thank you in advance if you read all this and yeah I’m sorry I know it’s a lot and this is controversial

ok this is a long post so im putting it under a cut but tldr, no i dont have a problem with it. it doesnt matter if you actually have an illness, it matters if you find a solution to your problem. if treating yourself like you have a certain condition makes it easier to go through life, then keep doing what works for you, you are doing nothing wrong. this all goes for physical and mental illnesses.

im a firm proponent of self diagnosis. i wouldnt be here if i didnt have the confidence to research mental illnesses and advocate for myself. as someone who is extremely familiar with the medical profession on account of being the daughter of a doctor and a nurse and spending my childhood running around a hospital, im extremely privileged to even have the knowledge and ability to do so, and i try to bear in mind the understandable hesitancy of people without this advantage. i know that you are well within your right to refuse medication that makes you sick, i know that you can complain about a doctor that isnt listening to you, i know that you are allowed and encouraged to be adamant about things you are told dont matter, and in addition to that, i have a VERY well known doctor and a nurse in my corner, and i am STILL treated as though i do not understand my own experiences enough to have any authority more often than i am not.

the reason self diagnosis gets a bad rep imo is because people have constructed this boogeyman of the worst case scenario, people collecting mental illnesses they dont have for attention as opposed to what it is, people doing research into their experiences and making theories on what they have so they can manage it. youll often see the take of "i dont hate self dxd i just hate people who do it for attention" and i think thats very irresponsible considering a symptom of many mental illnesses is thinking youre faking it and doing it for attention, nevermind the fact that attention seeking behaviour is literally a symptom of many mental illnesses people often dont want to empathize with. gatekeeping whos illness is real just keeps people who need help out. i could go into an anarchist screed about democratizing health, but basically, as someone whos life has been saved by my insistence on self diagnosis, and whos life has been made significantly easier by treating myself as though i have the conditions that i theorize i have, self diagnosis saves lives, and i, as an advocate for disabled people of all kinds on my island, will never put any conditionals on self diagnosis. it doesnt matter if you find the right name for your problem, it matters if you find a solution that works. i have yet to meet any of these fabled people who never try to receive a professional opinion, only people who literally cant.

as for feeling guilty, ill repeat how i opened this answer: it does not matter what exactly your problem is, it matters that you find a solution that works. in medicine generally, there will be a wide spectrum of problems with overlapping treatments, things which are similar but distinct, things which look identical but are completely different and at different levels of concern. it doesnt really matter which grab bag of bullshit your brain is reaching from, it matters that you know how to deal with what it throws at you, whatever that may be. dont worry about getting it right, worry about getting it working. okay?

for advice on how to deal with doctors, its helpful to pose it as a hypothetical as opposed to an absolute. when i bring up things im dealing with that i have a theory about i say "i think i have x" or "i think i might have x" or "i have a lot of symptoms of x". doctors are often egotistical and are easily challenged so it helps to pose it at a problem they can solve as opposed to one youve solved for them otherwise they get spooked. in my experience posing it this way leads them to actually interrogate this line of symptoms, and theyll ask you why you think that, and you can bring up symptoms that led you to that conclusion, and ones that give you trouble especially. for example, ive said "i think i may have autism or adhd? or both" to several doctors, and they either agree with me (i believe its been put in my file as a possibility now although i cant get an official test done due to financial and resource restrictions) or they ask why i think so, and i detail what i believe is due to my autism. its small, but this reframing helps a lot.

i think this covers all you said but my head is empty as hell.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 21

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Calypso and Annabeth have an important encounter

A/N: Sorry for the lateness! It’s time for some Annabeth action. Just a fair warning, since next Friday is the Christmas day and the Friday after that the New Year, I am not sure when I'm going to be able to post again. Be prepared for at least one week's break, possibly even two. But don't worry because more is definitely coming.

I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!!

Calypso is the bolded text and Hazel the regular in the texting part.

Words: 2300+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

Getting Leo to talk to her again was a huge weight off of Calypso’s shoulders, but there was still more to be done. Annabeth still kept to herself during the history lectures and Calypso didn’t want to force her to talk; she felt Annabeth should be the one to initiate it. From what Calypso had heard, Piper had tried to talk to her earlier, but so far Calypso hadn’t noticed any significant changes in Annabeth’s behavior. When she walked into the lecture hall that day, she noticed the blonde girl on the opposite side of the room, focused on her book. Letting a small sigh out of her mouth, she went to her usual seat pretty far from Annabeth.

Since the lecture wouldn’t start for a few more minutes, Calypso decided to use the time by checking her phone. When she opened her WhatsApp, she considered for a moment to whom she should text. Her first instinct told her she should contact Leo, but she imagined he was probably busy going to his own lecture at that moment, so she ended up scrolling through her other contacts instead. Noticing that Hazel seemed to be online, she started typing to her.

10:05: Hi, Hazel

10:05: Hi there! Was just thinking about you!

10:06: You were? How come?

10:06: Frank just texted me that on his morning jog near the campus today he had run into someone he had apparently recently met somewhere (he didn’t tell me where exactly).

10:07: and they had talked for a while.

10:07: At some point Frank mentioned the guy’s first name was Leo. I’m pretty sure it was /the/ Leo!!

10:08: How can you be so sure? I’m sure there are plenty of Leos around this campus. It’s not a rare name.

10:09: no but hear me out. The description matches with what you’ve told me. He said he’s a mechanic with a dog and when I asked Frank what he looked like, he said ‘dark hair, scrawny, eyes look like there’s some mischief going on in that head of his all the time but he’s not actually that bad when you talk to him’

10:09: I admit that does sound like the Leo I know

10:09: I told you! What a small world it is, apparently the boys we’re interested in know each other!

10:10: Still feels so weird when you put it that directly. You’re the only one who knows so far. So please, if you somehow happen to see him as well, don’t say anything.

10:10: Alright, I won’t. But what are /you/ waiting for? If he’s anything like the boys in our art class I’m sure he’s all over you by now.

10:10: Hazel!

10:11: Sorry, sorry. But you did talk to him after that… situation you had?

10:11: I did. We’re good now. Thanks for the advice the other day, by the way. It did help.

10:12: Ha, so you’re saying I gave you good advice. Could that mean that maybe you should also reread what I just said a moment ago?

10:12: Sorry, I gotta go. Something came up. TTYL!

10:13: Calypso!!

10:13: That’s so rude :P

Calypso hadn’t lied, though. She had noticed someone sneaking from the other side of the hall to the seat behind her, and that someone happened to be her friend to whom she hadn’t properly spoken for several weeks now. Trying to stay on her seat as neutrally as possible, still watching her now dark phone screen, she waited for Annabeth to start the conversation.

There was a tap on her shoulder. “Cal…” she finally heard Annabeth’s familiar voice say.

“Yeah?” Calypso asked tentatively, slowly turning on her seat to see the speaker.

“I think we should talk,” Annabeth stated, sounding more like her usual self.

“Um, sure,” Calypso answered but didn’t have time to say more when the professor stopped her, starting the lecture. “After this class, OK?”

“Right.” Annabeth nodded. Then she turned her focus to the professor, but Calypso noticed that not for long. She started doodling something into her notebook and was tapping on the floor with her foot, a habit that Calypso had noticed was very familiar to Leo, especially when he was nervous. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that Annabeth also had dyslexia and ADHD like him. The information seemed to come to her so naturally… but before the Percy incident, Annabeth had revealed that especially when she had been younger she usually had had to read the textbooks at least 5 times before she had finally absorbed what she had read. Later on, with the help of a teacher that actually understood her learning disability, she had learned some other methods that seemed to help her. One side of Calypso thought that it was relieving to see Annabeth show signs of weakness because usually she seemed so good at everything she did that it was mildly intimidating.

Soon Calypso realized that she herself had trouble focusing on what the professor was explaining while thinking about what she should tell Annabeth after the class. What could she say that she already hadn’t in the previous time? That she absolutely hated Annabeth’s boyfriend’s guts? That her flatmate made her feel weird things when they were in the same room so there was absolutely no need to be jealous?

Once the lecture was over, Calypso packed her things and gestured to Annabeth that they should have their conversation outside the lecture hall. They were walking silently until most of their fellow students had split into their own directions and found a quiet spot by the windows. There were some armchairs spread around the corridor to make it seem more comfortable and the girls sat down on two of them.

“I take it you may have changed your mind about me,” Calypso said directly once she had settled on her seat, feeling there was no need to tiptoe around the topic.

“I… yeah,” Annabeth started, and for a brief moment Calypso thought she showed a tiny bit of fragility. Suddenly she realized that maybe Annabeth wasn’t being her usual confident self, because she wasn’t that great at dealing with her feelings. Things like maths, chemistry and physics were simple to her because there were certain rules that needed to be applied. But the human mind was harder to read, Calypso knew that much. “Sometimes I think there are two different Annabeths: one that is very protective and jealous when it comes to the people she cares about, and then there’s the rational Annabeth who tries to yell to the other one that she is being ridiculous. I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

Calypso shook her head. “No, I think I can understand why it bothered you. I hate keeping things from you, but I promised to myself… I mean, it is safer to not get you guys involved.”

“But… why? What could happen?” Annabeth asked, folding her arms.

“I’m not going to go to details but my father… I’m sure you have figured out by now that he is not a nice guy. When he doesn’t like someone, or someone tries to get into his way… Good things don’t usually follow that. And I mean it. There is a very good reason why I moved this far from my previous home. To be honest, I would have liked to go all the way to Greece but that just wasn’t possible.”

“So you’re saying that your father is what you’re afraid of? And he could get us - I mean your friends - into trouble if you shared too much information with us?” Annabeth collected the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Basically, yes. But please, don’t ask more. I may already have said too much,” Calypso said worriedly.

“Don’t worry. My lips are definitely sealed,” Annabeth reassured her.

“Thanks.” Calypso hesitated a bit. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” Annabeth nodded.

Calypso shifted a bit on her seat, trying to get more comfortable. “If I’m honest, I was not expecting you to forgive me that whole Percy thing that easily. What changed your mind?”

“Well, let me just tell you that you have some very good friends who managed to persuade me.” Annabeth gave her a playful smile.

“Huh? Who?” Calypso knew that Piper had talked to Annabeth but she didn’t know there were others as well.

“First of all, Percy convinced me that there was absolutely no reason to be jealous. I’m not going to tell you how he did it, but he can be pretty sweet when he wants to. Besides, between you and me: Seaweed Brain just can’t lie to me. I can read him like a book.” Annabeth’s smile only widened as she said that.

“OK.” Calypso didn’t think she wanted to hear more about that topic.

“But that wasn’t all. Piper also talked to me,” Annabeth added.

“What did she say?” Calypso asked curiously.

Annabeth’s eyes started sparkling mischievously. “A lot of things,” she started, “but she reminded me of some events that happened before Percy’s arrival that evening.”

“I don’t understand you now,” Calypso pretended to be stupid even though she was already guessing where Annabeth was going with her statement. “What events?”

“I don’t know…” Annabeth tapped her fingers against her forehead. “I think hugging, cupcake sharing and flirty bickering was involved. Keyword: think. I guess the people involved know more about that than I do.”

“That was… that was just us being friendly!” Calypso rushed to deny. “And what was so flirty about our bickering? We do that all the time and I’m not trying to…”

“Relax, Cal,” Annabeth stopped her. “It just kind of reminded me of me and Percy. But if you say so…”

Calypso groaned slightly. “Fine, you won. Again. Maybe… I may be starting to like him. But that doesn’t mean anything. He probably doesn’t like me back. And it wouldn’t work out for various reasons. I… When I moved here, I really thought I could just forget about everything that happened in my past and start to live my life. But it turns out that my past is still following me and stopping me from forming functional relationships. Besides… none of my former relationships worked. I may have been a kid back then but I made some bad decisions and it wrecked my self confidence. I don’t want to get hurt again and I also don’t want to hurt Leo. He has a very good heart, despite his weirdnesses…”

“Calypso, I know from my own experiences that ghosts of your past can be hard to fight. I have had plenty of family issues of my own in the past and they have probably influenced my later decisions, I admit that. But you seem to have taken an attitude that you have to deal with it alone. But you don’t. Let us help you. Maybe I can’t speak for all of us but I know I’m not afraid of your father. It is always possible to fight if you just come up with a good strategy.”

“This is probably a weird comment but that sounded like something I’d imagine the goddess Athena say. Are you sure you’re not her? Or related?” Calypso attempted to joke.

“Last time I checked, all of us were regular people,” Annabeth chuckled. “I admit I’m probably not quite as advanced in the greek mythology as you are although I have studied some of it, of course. But your question reminded me of this book series I read as a kid: Peter Johnson and the Olympians. The characters in it were children of Greek gods and I always wished that I’d be like one of the main characters who was a daughter of Athena.”

“Ooh, I read that series too!” Calypso said enthusiastically. “It was kind of cute although now that I know more about history and Greek mythology, not all the characters are quite like I picture them in my head. But I appreciate the effort to make the mythology more known to young readers.”

“Right! I agree.” Annabeth nodded before realizing they had gotten pretty far from the original topic.  “Sorry, we got a bit sidetracked here. I seriously do hope that you’ll let us help if needed. I myself am gonna try to be more patient and let you do it on your own terms, though.”

“Thanks, Annabeth. Um, about that Leo part, though…” Calypso felt her cheeks heat again and she wanted to curse her silly mind for reacting like that every time she thought about her flatmate. “Would you please be kind and keep it between us? I just really am not ready to deal with that yet…”

“Fine. I’ll let it be. For now. But maybe think about it. Who knows, you could be surprised by what might happen…” Annabeth said mysteriously.

“What do you mean?” Calypso frowned.

“Like I said, there are people who are ready to help you carry your burden even though you’re too absorbed by your issues to notice that. That’s all.”

“O-kay,” Calypso said suspiciously, wondering what Annabeth’s statement implied.

“You should know that one of the people who talked with me was Leo. He said he had noticed that you were feeling pretty down since the… incident and that you seemed to blame yourself for everything. And that you also felt very bad about not being honest. That’s what really opened my eyes and made me decide that I need to get over my grudge that doesn’t even make sense. I got what I wanted, didn’t I? Logically thinking, you should be the one who’s mad at me.”

“That Leo…” Calypso was so focused on that part for a moment that it took her a while to register what else Annabeth had said. “Um, sorry. To be honest, I think the Calypso from a couple of years ago would have been mad. But my priorities have changed and I also realized that Percy is way happier with you.”

“I’m glad you’re not holding a grudge, though,” Annabeth said.

“Life’s too short for that,” Calypso shrugged.

“I guess so. So, we’re friends, right?”

“Right,” Calypso confirmed, giving Annabeth a genuine smile. Some hope had risen in her heart again and she made a mental note to thank a certain mechanic later at home.