#they might resent me for getting the diagnosis behind their back too

[measuredoutinyears]

How do you tell your own family that you're autistic

[therealteslathedog]

SPOILERS FOR SAM AND MAX: THE DEVIL’S PLAYHOUSE

(Also a rough personal vent based on how much this game resonated with me. Trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart. Warning: contains instances of childhood trauma and the many other mental health conditions it came with)

This game did so much justice for Sam and Max themselves, considering how this game is the first time anyone has seen these two in this multi-layered light since the original was released by Telltale back in 2010. I could go on about how this game has very much given me even more appreciation for Sam, because it has! But I really do want to talk about what was confirmed in this game about Max.

First of all, I love that when we’re in the Museum of Mostly Natural History in the episode They Stole Max’s Brain, we get an exhibit on how “the world will end” which shows a display of a giant monster destroying a city and the scene mechanically rotating into a desolate wasteland where the city used to stand. Mostly because of how well it works as foreshadowing for what was to come, (that foreshadowing also happened in The Penal Zone where Sam and Max first discover the Toybox) which ended up being Max turning into that giant monster that was predicted to bring the end of the world by the end of The Alley of the Dolls.

In the grand finale The City That Dares Not Sleep, when we’re literally inside Max himself, we end up learning his own Super Ego hates him and wants him to die. The Superego isn’t a separate entity, he is very much a part of Max’s own mind. I’m pretty sure every other Sam and Max fan who’s played this game has pointed out Max being as depressed and self-loathing as he is, and hiding it behind his sense of humor and his iconic smile. (He even brings up earlier in The Tomb of Sammun-Mak that he likes to fall asleep to the song “Tears of a Clown” which if you’ve heard of it, it’s 100% because he relates to that song. That’s just more good foreshadowing)

Honestly, I’m just going to say this, this 100% is something I deeply relate to. I’m probably going to vent a lot, but it’s important to understand where I’m coming from. During my childhood, I kept finding myself in these special Ed programs that I hated being in, they never truly felt like they were safe, but I had no choice but to put up with them since as far as my parents knew from the people who misinformed them, kids are completely incapable of truly understanding what is best for them. There were several times where I knew something was wrong with the way my life was, but I couldn’t put my finger on it since I was so young and constantly surrounded by people gaslighting me because I was that young. My autism diagnosis was something I deeply resented because it put me into these programs where I was objectified and told how the way I am and behave is wrong and should behave how THEY instruct me to. A lot of pressure was often put on me to behave with this standard of “perfection”, often leading me to be punished for not perfectly following that standard. I had no choice but to bottle up those imperfections because of the teachers of Special Ed that would constantly watch me like a hawk and sometimes even follow me around when I’m just trying to get on with my school day and get to my latest class in time. It didn’t help that I also kept getting prescriptions for medication that did more harm than good for me. One of the pills caused me to rapidly gain around 20 pounds in the span of a few weeks as a 9 year old, (making Sam pretty damn relatable in his own right too.) and another prescription REALLY messed with my brain. (If you want an example to how I acted on that awful drug, just think about how Lemongrab from Adventure Time was like) All this along with a few other reasons I might bring up someday ended up getting me to first develop suicidal thoughts at age 10. And as soon as that happened, I was taken to a children’s psych ward in a hospital where for some fucking reason, some “responsible adults” thought it would be a good idea to put the kid that thinks they’re a freak of nature that never should have existed in the first place in to a children’s psych ward made up mostly of kids that were surrendered from their parents for then being drug addicts and committing crimes they’re now in prison for. My much pickier childhood self when it came to the foods I ate (which is something a lot of autistic people are known for diagnosis wise) and the people running the ward didn’t give a damn and I spent my time malnourished lying in bed waiting for myself to starve to death and finally end everything I was going through up to that point. It took my mother INSISTING constantly that she bring food that I like so I could finally be more well nourished. But I can assure you it was hell, a hell I was stuck in for 11 days.

A bunch of other messed up stuff happened too, but I think this information has the gist of why I’m like this. It really wasn’t easy for me to type out, let alone have the nerve to publish on a public site. Honestly, I’d say Sam and Max: The Devil’s Playhouse resonated with me in a similar way Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 3 did. (If any of you have also seen that movie, you’d know EXACTLY what I mean. What I brought up also made Rocket Raccoon’s story resonate with me as much as it did.)

I’d like to thank the people of Skunkape for remastering this game so more people like me can have access and experience this masterpiece of a game. It was just what I needed now, and I couldn’t be more grateful of it happening!

[themidnightguardian]

Day 17: Reluctant Caretaker -- Sakura & Itachi

Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Itachi | Look, I don't know when in the timeline this is happening, I just thought it'd be neat | Content Warnings: imprisonment, Itachi's martyr complex, mentioned blindness, mentioned illness, choking on water

Whumptober Masterlist

---

It was a less than ideal situation.

Getting separated from the rest of her team hadn’t been part of the plan. Getting captured, even less so.

But as Sakura sat in the frigid basement cell she’d been dropped in, chakra sealed, ankles cuffed to a long chain that was firmly attached to the wall, she couldn’t help but be glad that at least the rest of her team was still out there, perfectly capable of eventually tracking her down and rescuing her. At least it was Sakura who had been captured and not someone more valuable, like Naruto was as the kyuubi-jinchuuriki.

Because seated across from her was Uchiha Itachi, one of the very people who’d like nothing more than to get their hands on Naruto.

And she had been tossed into the same cell as him, and sharply ordered to, “Keep him alive.”

Admittedly, he was looking rather worse for the wear, and he had a nasty cough that seemed to rattle his entire frame every time it came out. His chakra was sealed, too, which meant there would be no genjutsu torture, thank the stars, but it was slowly becoming apparent that without the sharingan, he was practically blind. Blind and sick enough to cough up blood.

Without access to her chakra, there was little she could do to fix anything, and the part of her that resented him—blamed him—for his part in traumatizing Sasuke, driving him away from the village, was viciously pleased about Itachi’s pathetic state.

The medic in her wanted to slap him upside the head, because she was pretty sure he was only in such shit condition out of neglect. Pneumonia—a guess, since she couldn’t do a proper diagnosis without a chakra scan—was easily treatable with the right medicine, and even if his blindness wasn’t entirely preventable, she would have put a lot of money on the theory that regular cleansing and healing of the chakra paths behind his eyes would have done wonders for prolonging his vision. And unlike Tsunade-shishou, Sakura rarely lost her bets.

Which begged the question: why was Itachi taking such poor care of himself?

She didn’t want to analyze it, didn’t want to pity him or try to figure him out beyond the cold, cruel exterior. But by the second day of her captivity, she had run out of ways to distract herself from the puzzle that was the eldest Uchiha brother, especially given the fact that her captors all but demanded she made sure he ate and drank and slept.

(As if she could Uchiha Itachi do anything he didn’t want to do, chakra sealed or otherwise.)

It didn’t fit. That was the main problem. Everything she knew about Uchiha Itachi suggested that the man was power hungry, arrogant but with the skill to back it up, incredibly smart and a tactical genius as well as a shinobi prodigy. Why would such a man allow himself to fall into such a state of disrepair? Why would someone who valued their own power over everything else fail to maintain that power, that strength?

That level of neglect was something Sakura would have expected from someone severely depressed, perhaps even suicidal.

She hadn’t talked to him at first—neither of them had spoken, aside from answering when their captors demanded a response, usually just an affirmation of being alive—but by the fourth day, the quiet was driving her up the wall and besides, she was curious.

Well, that, and the fact that when Itachi had gone to take a drink of water, he’d coughed just as he was trying to swallow and ended up choking on his drink. She was going to ignore it, but then the coughing had stopped, and Sakura realized he was properly struggling to breathe.

Fuck me, she thought angrily at the universe. Uchiha Itachi might well be dying in front of her, and she was going to have to help him or else her captors would probably be pissed off enough to kill her.

Unceremoniously, she stumbled over to him, braced one hand against his chest, tilting him forward slightly, and then gave three sharp palm strikes between his shoulder blades until the water was pushed from his mouth and he resumed coughing. At least that means he can breathe again.

“You know,” she said drily once he’d settled. “If you’re going to try to off yourself, you could at least wait until after I’ve escaped, since our lovely hosts seem to be pinning the responsibility of your continued breathing on me.”

Dark, blank eyes darted over in her general direction. “Perhaps they should be more concerned about your idea of medical care. I think your tender ministrations caused more damage than the choking.”

Sakura gaped at him. Was he seriously bitching about her saving him? Motherfucker.

“You’d be dead without my tender ministrations, you dumb fuck,” she snapped. “But since that seems to be your end goal given the shit state of your health, next time you’re choking, I’ll just leave you to it.”

His mouth twitched slightly at the corner, though with the utter blankness of his expression, it was hard to tell for certain whether that was amusement or annoyance. “I can tell you were trained by Lady Senju. No other medic would have so little bedside manner. Or such a filthy mouth.”It was better when we didn’t talk, Sakura thought to herself, fists clenching at her sides. But with the way Itachi tracked her movement even with his subpar vision, she got the impression he wasn’t going to return to their previous silence easily.

[meli-r]

This is a silly writing I felt inspired to write yesterday as part of a chapter I don't have time to continue. Sorry for the lack of descriptions, I know I'm bad with them and I do too much dialogue. I needed to get this out of my mind somehow xD

*****

Yashiro glided into Shima Seigen's office, the door sliding softly as it closed behind her. The room emanated tranquility, adorned with minimalist decor that seamlessly complemented the serene atmosphere. Shima, wearing a warm and inviting smile, gestured gracefully towards a pair of plush armchairs strategically positioned across a low coffee table.

"Welcome back, Takahashi-san," Shima greeted her with a slight nod of his head. Yashiro, embracing the cultural exchange, responded with a brief yet respectful bow before settling into a chair. The armchairs, adorned with plush cushions, offered an immediate sense of comfort and relaxation.

As they eased into their respective seats, a moment of silence enveloped the room. Yashiro, with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, exuded a poised demeanor. Shima mirrored her posture, conveying professional ease. Their eyes locked, exchanging unspoken understanding, while Yashiro's gaze subtly wandered, immersing itself in the intricacies of the room's architecture.

“My understanding, based on Chief Kasei's report, is that you might have experienced an anxiety attack. Difficulty breathing, is that correct?” Shima Seigen spoke in a calm, measured tone, his voice resonating with gentle assurance. They remained seated in their comfortable chairs, their focused gazes creating a connection within the tranquil space.

“She believes it was an anxiety attack. The recent case turned out negative, and she sent me to you.”

“You disagree with the diagnosis. How are you feeling now?”

“Fine. Back at work.”

“Any insights into why it happened?”

“Stress, maybe.”

“About what?”

“Work,” she said with a shrug.

“We all face work-related stress, but not everyone stops breathing. What did you see that triggered this reaction?”

“There was a woman. She reminded me of my mother.”

“The resemblance triggered that?”

“No. It comforted me.”

“So, what do you think caused that feeling?”

“Something I heard about her and myself. But I've been handling it well.”

“Handling it? So, it's not the first time? Could you share more about your past experiences? Have you identified any patterns or common triggers?”

“I'm not sure. It was different three years ago and certainly six years ago.”

“When your parents passed away. Can you elaborate on how your experiences three and six years ago differed? How did you cope back then compared to now?"

“I don't remember much. It was a long time ago. I was occupied with school, college…”

“Work. Staying busy is a way to distract oneself from distressing feelings.”

“What feelings?”

“Sadness.”

“Everything is a distraction until we die.”

“That sounds like depression talking.”

“This feels like a waste of time for both of us,” Yashiro sighed.

“I don't see it that way. Can you pinpoint when you first noticed these emotions resurfacing?"

“It's been lingering, but it intensifies during moments of silence.”

“How have you traditionally coped? Besides staying busy, have you explored other strategies? Talked to friends?”

“I have many friends and opportunities for friendships.”

“Did you share your feelings with them?”

“Of course not,” she chuckled.

“Do you feel like expressing your thoughts is burdensome or worthless?”

“Sometimes I resent being made a victim.”

“You don't like being called a victim?”

“I don't like victimizing myself or being treated as such. I don't believe problems are solved by playing the victim.”

“You think you're not worthy of attention?”

“I prefer to keep my problems to myself.”

“Did your parents teach you that?”

“What?”

“To belittle your own suffering. Don’t you think that line of thought could have led a young girl to embrace these ideas?"

“I bring this on myself, I know.”

"No. When people come to terms with the fact that they hold the reins to their choices, deeds, and beliefs, and that mortality lurks at every corner, it can be a tidal wave of apprehension. A muted frustration surfaces, steering them towards the conviction that the only undeniable truth is the inevitability of death."

Yashiro frowned and chuckled. “You're not angry with me for lying?”

“Everyone lies to some extent, especially patients.”

“You're not like Chief Kasei.”

“We don't agree on everything.”

“Did she force you to come here?”

“No. However, I'd like to refocus on our conversation. This change in direction doesn't address what's important right now—you.”

“But I have nothing to say about myself,” Yashiro opened her right palm beside her.

“Then tell me about your father.”

“He's dead,” Yashiro’s voice echoed.

Shima watched her in silence before asking, “And how has your family been handling it?”

“What? Him?”

“Your non-relationship with your father. How do they understand it?”

“Wherever they are, it's a mystery to me, and I doubt they're losing any sleep over trying to figure it out.”

“And your mother?”

“He ruled her life.”

“But she wasn't his daughter. What did he do to you?”

“He showed his true colors, that's all. I'm glad he's dead. Not even that. I wished he'd die. I dreamed about it for years. Is that right? Wishing him dead? Does that make me a good daughter?”

“A good daughter?”

“Yes, I mean, bad children…” she waved her hand.

“Bad children what?”

“They should die. It’s a miserable thing to be a bad son. We’re supposed to be better than our creators, not a disgrace,” Yashiro narrowed her eyes and looked away.

“Your parents made it impossible for you to experience joy,” Shima observed, making her frown. “Reflecting on your past experiences, we've discussed the events from six years ago when your parents passed. However, I'm curious about what happened three years ago. Is there a particular event or change in your life during that period that you believe might have contributed to your emotional state or influenced the way you handle stress and sadness?”

Yashiro subtly shifted her posture, adjusting in the seat with quiet grace, remaining silent and contemplative, offering no response.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Getaway

The trip to Scotland.

cw nausea and vomiting but no details I promise, fainting I think?  I don't really remember, dizziness, food mentions, let me know if I need to add something more I haven't looked at this chapter in a while and I a posting in a rush.

Martin’s hand is damp in his.  The same tacky, salty grit of the Lonely fog.  A little bit of fog trapped between their tangled fingers, or maybe just the anxious sweat of two people who don’t really know each other as well as they should.  

If Jon is being honest, it’s not a comfortable sort of hand holding, but he doesn’t care.  He will keep clinging to Martin’s hand as if that single point of contact can keep Martin weathered to the physical plane.  

It makes packing more difficult, but Jon doesn’t care.  Not as if he hasn’t been living out of a backpack for months, or anything.  (Longer still if you count living off a shelf before most of his belongings were ruined in the flesh attack).  Still, he stuffs in the few items not in his back, and takes a healthy stack of statements and shoves those in, too.  Probably depressing that he can fit those in a single bag with all his earthly belongings.  

Jon doesn’t feel well.  

He hasn’t felt well in a while.  But the exhaustion is getting to him.  Apparently shredding a person with his mind is a bit rough on the body.  Even if the supernatural hunger is more than sated.  

Heh.  The unnatural feeling of being content and full and powerful at the same time as hallow and shakes and weak.  It would be enough to make him dizzy, if he wasn’t already dizzy.  If he hasn’t been dizzy constantly since statements were limited to empty paper, as if he hasn’t been dizzy since his early 20s and his POTS diagnosis.  (And before, but that’s where he was still convinced it was nothing).  

Jon is loathed to let go of Martin’s hand when he starts Daisy’s ancient car.  It’s more than a little beat up.  Jon tries very hard not to remember Mike Crew’s blood in the back seat.  It’s clean now.  Mike’s blood and Jon’s vomit long since scrubbed away.  Nothing quite like being carsick at gunpoint.  

Jon shivers.  

He can’t let himself think about Daisy now.  Such a confusing jumble of anger and fear and sadness and regret and friendship and comradely and resentment.  It’s… it’s too much for him to take in.  

He hasn’t ever been able to reconcile his feelings about Daisy, and now it’s worse.  Worsened with his exhaustion.  They were friends, they were enemies, and he couldn’t give up on her because that would mean that he was also lost.  She hurt him and she loved him in a way.  He couldn’t forgive her and  she was his closest friend for a while.  She was terrible, is terrible, but she was all he had and he loved her for being there.  It’s too much to think about.  And Basira.  Christ, he feels terrible losing Daisy like that, and yes he loved her in a way, but he wasn’t in love with her like Basira is, and he knows the helplessness and emptiness of losing someone he’s in love with.  

He shakes his head roughly.  The bite of headache and way the world sickly twists in and out of focus for a moment distracts him enough to start the car.  He looks over at Martin, pale but solid.  He reaches for Martin’s hand as he drives them to Martin’s flat.  

Jon has to do most of the packing for Martin.  Martin more attached to him than free thinking individual.  Drifting after him, pulled taught by their tethered hands.  A balloon pulled along by the wrist of a small child on a rollercoaster.  Although Jon can’t fault him for that, he thinks that might be an apt description for how he’s feeling.  …Pulled along by unknowable forces beyond his control.  And he’s flapping helplessly in the breeze of a battle far bigger than him.  

No.  Focus.  

Martin.  

Shove clothes and toiletries and tea and books and a few items that Jon judges to look treasured.  A worn stuffed tiger, a few faded pictures, a deck of tarot cards, he even takes the ratty binder that are shoved under the other ones (the nicer ones that Jon has already packed with the essentials), a tattered notebook under a layer of dust, a well loved poetry book, a small box of earrings, and what looks to be Martin’s knitting.  

It’s still a pitifully small amount of luggage for an indefinitely long trip.  The large first aid kit that he found makes him feel a little better.  (Emotionally, but also physically after he downs some paracetamol.  He eyes the dramamine, but he’s going to be driving and he can’t risk getting drowsy.  It’s not like they have time to stop).   

Nausea twists down deep before Jon even starts the car.  Catching at his stomach as he settles Martin’s bags in the back seat.  Still trying to search out the stains that are long gone.  

And oh fuck he killed someone.  

And yeah the bastard deserved it, but Christ he feels sick.  Sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly ahead.  

Martin’s hand in his.  

Martin squeezes his hand.  

Jon squeezes back.  

It’s fine.  He’s fine.  Just… Just drive.  

It’s the next step, and he has always been good at pushing from one step to the next.  Don’t worry about what happens next, just drive.  

Martin is here and… not fine, but alive and whole, and slowly thawing next to him.  

“Hey…”  Jon forces his tight throat and tighter chest to allow the word past.  

They haven’t spoken since Basira told them where to go and gave them a ring of keys.  

This almost shakes Martin out of his stupor.  Almost.  “Hey,” he echos.  

Jon wants to pack so much into a question.  How do you ask everything?  Are you okay?  Do you love me?  Do you know I love you?  Do you need anything?  Are you sure you want to come all this way with me?  Are you okay with moving in with me?  Are you hungry?  If the fog comes for you, will you tell me?  But those are too many words.  Martin starts looking glazed over when there is too much going on.  Too much movement, too many people, too much sound, too many questions.  And Jon wonders if the Lonely only served to magnify this, and if so, did he notice?  Did Martin hide it well?  Did Jon make it worse?  What if he makes it worse now, but what if he makes it worse by not saying anything.  

“You ready?”  This will have to be enough.  

Martin nods, apparently not noticing the pause.  

Jon tries not to jump out of his skin when Martin starts rubbing circles on Jon’s hand.  It’s surprising, but it feels nice.  

More than nice.  

Jon starts the car.  

It’s chilly.  Late September.  And it’s getting dark.  Both in that the sun is going down, and in that storm clouds are gathering.  

Jon knows they can’t stop for the night.  

He just has to get them to Scotland.  Hopefully then it will all be okay.  

They stop at a service station just out of the city.  Jon gets a black coffee.  He buys Martin a tea and a sandwich.  

He knows the coffee won’t do his stomach any favors, and will more likely than not set his heart to hammering, but it will be worth it not to fall asleep at the wheel.  

He can’t let Martin drive until Martin looks like less like a space cadet.  

But Jon hopes the tea brings color back to Martin’s face, even if he can’t quite tell in the sickly light of the service station, or the dim light of the evening as Jon tops up the petrol.  

Highway before and behind, and Jon is throwing up.  Pulled to the wrong side of the road in the dark and the rain.  Trembling as Martin rubs his back and gently pulls back his hair.  

They aren’t even halfway there.  His heart is beating too quickly.  Anxiety?  Caffeine?  POTS?  Nausea?  Who’s to say.  But Jon is miserable, but there isn’t much choice, because being a passenger will make it worse, even if that would mean he could take some medicine.  But Martin is in not fit state to drive.  And Martin must know that, because for all his soothing, he doesn’t offer to drive.  Or he almost offers, but Jon can see the thought die on his lips.  Besides, Jon is fairly certain Martin can’t drive a manual transmission car.  Not that Jon is particularly good at it, and stalled the engine twice leaving London.  

The occasional car and lorry thunders past.  On the side of the road, Jon can feel their movement in his core.  He worries how he will get them safely back on the road, as he spits in the dirt.  

“Sorry.  Let’s go,” he mumbles his embarrassment to Martin.  

He tries to ignore the pitying look that Martin has fixed on him.  

“Sure we can’t stop?”  

Jon shakes his head, and the dizziness threatens to take him down.  He sags against Martin for a moment.  “Can’t risk it.  Perils of being on the run, I’m afraid.”  

Martin frowns at him.  

“I’m fine.  Just… tired and… well, carsick.  We’ll be there by morning.”

“Yeah and the fact that you basically collapsed against me is something I’m just supposed to ignore?”  

Jon waves him off.  

The brief conversation seems to have stolen all of Martin’s words.  He quietly gets back in the car, and Jon shudders and sways without Martin’s warm bulk holding him up.  

He starts the car, and takes Martin’s hand.  

Just a few more hours.  Then they can rest.  

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: something sad (Resentment)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him.  A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.

Characters:  Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence

Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad),  (Anger), (Grief) 

This is the direct sequel to (Implosion)

......

“Not many people get hit with a concussive blast of this strength and walk away will so few injuries.” Is what the paramedic that looks Katsuki over says, hand glowing a faint blue as he uses some sort of diagnostic quirk.

“It looks like you have a few cuts, bruising, strained muscles and sprained wrist from what I can see. I’d recommend getting a proper examination at the hospital but there’s nothing life-threatening here.” The medic continues.

The emergency doctor at the hospital confirms the diagnosis and shakes his head in disapproval, adding, “…bruising on your ribs and a fractured finger. No concussion, thankfully, but you’ll have a nasty bump on the back of your head. If your quirk didn’t make you naturally resistant to these sorts of shock-based blasts, you would be dead..”

…

After that, everyone is practically falling over each other to lecture him on how irresponsible and reckless he is.

..

His mum arrives and there is a lot of shouting which just pisses him off.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT WHEN I GET WOKEN UP AT ONE IN THE MORNING BY POLICE TELLING ME THAT MY IDIOT SON, WHO SHOULD BE ASLEEP, IS IN HOSPITAL!!”

 “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!

Then there is the quiet disappointment he gets from his father when his mum is done yelling which only fuels his resentment.  

“I don’t understand why you did it son. Did you want to get into that fight? Or was it a mistake? Please. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Eventually, he finally snaps, “I fucking felt like it! That’s why I did it! And you know what, I’d do it again.”

It wasn’t like he could or even wanted to explain that he’d jumped out his window to wander the streets at midnight because he had had a bad dream and his All Might poster had looked at him funny. That the rage and anger were preferable to that sinking empty feeling that had turned his every waking moment into a pointless repeat of everyday routines and useless interactions.  That every time he let himself pause and reflect, Deku’s stupid smiling face was mocking him from the afterlife.

Next, he spends an hour with Senior Officer Watanabe recounting every possible detail from his stroll through the streets to his climactic fight with Lanky, Tiny and Grease-Hair.

“Well, you definitely don’t do things in half measures kid. So far we have private and public property damage, unlicensed quirk usage, quirk usage with the intent to harm, vigilantly activity, assault...”

“Assault! Why the hell is that on the list. Those bastards started it.”

“You can’t go around beating people up no matter how good your intentions are!”

“So, you wanted me to just watch!”

“Yes!” A long breath, “I know it can be hard but you need to wait for the pros. You got lucky this time but what if things had been different? You had misread the situation. What if you had been badly injured? What if you had accidentally injured the victim or killed someone? There is a reason we make people get a license for Hero work. Seison Masuyama is a B-rank villain.”

“B rank? He wasn’t that strong.”

 “His quirk, Kinetic-Force, collects kinetic energy and releases it in one overpowered attack. It’s deadly to most people. You were lucky he had already used it once that day and that you were resilient enough to withstand it."

After multiple repeats of the ‘you’re lucky you’re not dead,’ with a side order of ‘it’s a good thing you’re still a minor because you could go to jail for this,’ he gets to go home.

It is three in the morning by the time he arrives back at the apartment, two exhausted parents in tow, having been issued an ‘official warning,’ an order to complete 100 hours of community service and instructions to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He has never felt angrier or more resentful.

A days later and he is back at school, wasting his time watching clocks and avoiding classmates. 

Nothing had changed.

…

…

…

The car screeches to a stop at the school gates, throwing Katsuki forward in his seat. His mum turns to fix him with a stern glare, eyes narrow.

“If you’re not waiting right here by the gate when I come to pick you up or so help me I’ll be escorting you to and from your classroom from the rest of your school life,” she threatens.

“Lay off you old bat,” Katsuki snaps as was becoming routine since his mum had started driving him the short distance to school, “I got it the first million times.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”  A finger is pointed at his nose, waving in an almost menacing fashion. “Remember. Here. School Gates. 4:00pm. Don’t you dare think about ditching again.”

 Katsuki sneers and kicks open the car door, turning to slams it shut with as much force as possible in retaliation. He stalks through the gates, shouldering his way through a group of loitering students.  They all scatter when they recognise him. In some ways, he prefers dealing with the anger and yelling of his mum than his father’s quiet disappointment. That doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.

A spike of pain runs through his hand from where he must have used a little too much force on the door. Maybe he should take his father up on those kickboxing classes. Sure, he had practised punching after reading a bunch of online guides, but reading and solo practice were completely different when compared with real actual fighting.  That was assuming he was going to be getting into more real fights.  He opens and closes his bandaged fist, feeling a slight sting in his wrist and fingers. He glares. Four days on and he can still feel the echo of adrenalin.  The thrill of righteous anger had been so much more satisfying than the directionless rage he was accustomed to. It had rekindled some of that fire that drove him to be the best, to win, chasing away the sickening emptiness which had been dogging his every waking step.

He wants to feel that again…He wants to do something other than listlessly go through the same daily motions as he drifts towards his now uncertain future. 

“Hey Bakugō!” 

He keeps walking, ignoring whatever loser classmates wanted to talk to him.

“HEY!”

A hand lands on his shoulder and Katsuki twitches, a hairs breath away from spinning and firing a blast point-blank into the pest’s face. Instead, he stops and deliberately turns to glower at the pathetic piece of trash behind him. Murata Taheiji from his homeroom is standing there, one hand on his hip, flanked by two other boys he doesn’t know the names of. Two more appear to stand in front of him, blocking his way. They are all puffed up like they think they’re hot shit. Katsuki scoffs. Are these failures really trying to bully him? HIM!? 

“How about you get the fuck out of my way and go find a first year to pick on. You know, someone more on your level.”

That gets him an irritated scowl that transforms into a patronising grin, “You were always such a stuck up prick Bakago…Acting so high and mighty all the time. Not anymore, I know the truth. You’re just like the rest of us.”

“Huh?” he drawls, dragging out the sound, turning so he is facing the boy, “What the fuck are you on about.”

“My dad works for Musutafu police dispatch and he told me something real interesting yesterday.” A dramatic pause, “He said that you got arrested a few nights ago.” There is a laugh that is echoed by the four surrounding him. By now the confrontation has garnered the attention of several onlookers, who are slowly drifting closer.

“All that shit about being a Hero and you got arrested. What’d you do? Steal some candy from a convenience store? We all know you don’t have money.”

Around them, the growing audience is eyeing him with varying levels of eager anticipation like they think he’ll break down and start crying because of some dumb-ass insults. Damn, if that doesn’t just piss him off. How dare these losers think him that weak.

“Don’t compare me to your loser selves,” he dismisses aggressively, making to turn and forcefully elbow his way past. He is stopped by Murata’s hand which is still on this shoulder.

“You know what I think. I think you’re all talk.”

Katsuki stills, letting the words sink and curdle in his stomach. In one short move, he turns and steps in close to Murata so they are almost nose to nose.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns.  The other boy tenses, looking like he wants to say something else equally stupid. If he remembers correctly Murata has some sort of muscle-enhancer, reflex quirk. One of the only worthwhile quirks in the school.

Katsuki jerks his elbow up and around in a quick jab. It smacks into the loser’s face. Crack. Guess having fast reflexes didn’t make a difference when you never saw the blow coming.

There is a cry of surprised pain and shouts of alarm from the peanut gallery. The other boy falls back, tripping over his own feet. It is ridiculously simple to lift a leg and deliver a kick to the stomach, not even a strong kick, so his failed bully thuds onto the ground, tossing up a small puff of sand. Unlike the fight in the ally, there is no rush of excitement, no spike of anger or adrenaline. No exhilaration. He is just irritated and maybe a bit disappointed. That’s what he gets for expecting anything out of the pathetic losers that went Aldera Middle School. They were more annoying than anything else.  

Murata rolls around in the dirt, wheezing, trying to draw breath. He can almost imagine Deku running up to complain about his violent tendencies or sprout some shit about Hero’s needing to protect people like Murata didn’t ask for it when he decided to try his luck bullying someone obviously stronger than him.

The reminder of Deku sours his already shitty mood.

“Ah…you broke my nose. YOU BOKE IT…ah…it hurts. Do something!” The idiot calls to his equally idiotic friends as he tries to stop blood from pouring down his face.

Katsuki gazes coolly at the boy before directing his attention at the four other ‘bullies’ standing frozen around him.

“You extras got something else to add to that?” With Murata out of the game, the rest of the pathetic group shuffles about uncertainly.

“Ah…we’re good,” The tallest one says nervously, “Sorry about that Bakugō. No hard feelings right?”

He scoffs.

One of the boys moves forward to pull Murata upright, kneeling and pulling out a tissue to help stem the flow of blood. “Crap. I…I think Murata needs to go to the nurse. This looks serious.” There are a few more apprehensive glances in his direction like the other boys think he’ll insist on continuing the ‘fight’-ha! like this has been anything near a fight- until they are all bloody messes on the ground. Kaksuki rolls his eyes. As if he has the patience to deal with any more of these losers.

“Cowards,” he mutters, shoving past. The crowd of students who had gathered to watch the failed confrontation, scramble to get out of his way. A strong breeze rushes through the school’s courtyard, drawing attention to how quiet it has suddenly gotten. Barely audible whispers follow in his wake and he can feel many sets of eyes on his back, watching.

“He always did have a bad attitude.” They murmur.

“Guess he’s a real delinquent now.”

“…did you hear what Murata said. Do you think Bakugō actually got arrested?”

“That’s got to be fake right? Murata is full of hot air.”

“No way. I believe it. You don’t have to share a class with him, I’m telling you, Bakugō’s gone nuts.”

“Kind of scary when you think about it. With a quirk like that...”

He doesn’t know why they’re all so shocked. This isn’t the first fight he has gotten into on school grounds. Okay, so maybe he’d held off doing any real harm before now, well aware that U.A. would probably check his school record. It had never mattered to him because there was no point in beating up weaklings when he was obviously superior. Except for Deku…the only person he had ever really hurt, the only person he could get away with hurting without repercussions. And now he feels like extra shit. God, what a huge farce it had all been. Kaksuki clenches his fist and growls, wondering if it isn’t too late to ditch and go find somewhere secluded to blow off steam. Anything to escape this feeling of frustration.

 He doesn’t have time to make a proper decision because news of his ‘fight’ had obviously spread to the staffroom. One of the second year homeroom teachers comes barrelling out of the school’s front entrance, eyes immediately landing on him.

“What happened!” Their eyes move past him to the bloody Murata, “Go wait in the principles office. Now.”

Well, he didn’t want to deal with his annoying classmates anyway. He stalks away, the sounds of the teacher fussing over Murata growing fainter behind him. When he arrives, the principal’s office is empty and he flings himself down into one of the comfy couches, irritated. The bell for homeroom goes off and Kaksuki remains sprawled across the couch, arm across his face to block out the light and his view of the clock slowly ticking away.  

Just as he begins to contemplate leaving, Principle Fukuhara comes strolling into the room. 

“ Bakugō,” the man lets out an exasperated sigh, “Sit up please.”

Katsuki moves his arm to peek out and glare at the man, deliberately ignoring the instruction.

“I just finished talking to Ms Yuki and the school’s nurse.  You broke Murata Taheiji’s nose. I hope you realise how serious this situation is and that there will be major consequences. Aldera Middle School does not tolerate this sort of violence on its grounds.”

Silence. That was a fucking lie. Slowly, Katsuki pulls himself upright, meeting the man’s hard stare with his own. 

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself and your disgraceful behaviour..”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, “The idiot was asking for it.”

Obviously, it's the wrong response going by how the skin tightens around the man’s eyes, “I see...I’m sorry you feel that way. Up until now, our school has been more than lenient. We have overlooked your shameful behaviour these last few weeks because we wanted to give you time to settle after going through such as tragic incident. However, I am afraid that this time you have gone too far. Your parents will be notified. You’ll see the school councillor. You will be staying back for after school detention. Since this is your first major incident we…”

“First?” He cuts the man off. He is sick of hearing the moron’s voice. “Hahaha and people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” He laughs an unpleasant laugh which increases in volume until he is almost shouting.

 “What sort of shit hole are you running? Three years I’ve been beating up the dumb idiots that come here and now you decide to care. Why is that huh? Is it because I’m no longer going to put this shitty place on the map and become a famous hero! HA!”

He lets his voice quieten, sneering “I’ll never be a hero so you’re shit out of luck.” Finally saying it out loud is like throwing a bucket of water over the embers of an already struggling fire. It hurts deep in his chest. The expression of shocked disbelief is almost worth it.

“Thanks for proving what a worthless profession it is,” he finishes with another hash laugh, rage simmering under his skin. When he tries to stand and leave a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

The principal, who still looks somewhat stunned at his sudden outburst, orders, “Sit back down Bakugō! I am far from finished.”

Why do people always feel the need to grab him. He is so fucking sick of everyone pulling and tugging on him, trying to control him and hold him down. Katsuki turns slowly, that simmering rage pulsing, running down his limbs. Pop pop pop go his hands. He feels as explosive fire gathering in behind his eyes and in his shadowy stare. It is not the dramatic, adrenaline-induced anger he had felt when preparing for the ally fight. No, this is a dark burning rage, fuelled by his growing resentment.

“Touch me again,” he growls, low and intimidating, “and I’ll kill you.”

The principal snatches his hand back like he has just been burnt. A poignant silence follows in the wake of his threat.

“Suspension,” the man says, swallowing,  “You’re suspended. I’m calling your parents right now.” And is it just him or does he look genuinely worried? There is even a hint of fear in his wrinkled face. Katsuki takes vindictive joy in the achievement. Finally…finally the worthless morons are seeing him, truly seeing him and not whatever Bakugō -delusion they’d all cooked up in their heads.

[val-aquenta]

Wow her for angstpril prompt: “You Lied To Me.” Special post-Rako Hardeen mission fun :)

Here on ao3

Obi-Wan’s cough was rougher than usual, as though he was hoarse and his throat hurt. Anakin trembled with rage that never truly left since Naboo. The hurt and anger radiated off of him. Obi-Wan watched, nervously tracking his movements. “Sorry… I’ll just-” He moved to the side, dodging past Anakin and walking through the Temple hall. Anakin looked at him, noting the dark bruises under his eyes and the short stubbles of beard and hair. How dare he. Anakin thought with a scowl before moving on with his day. First he had gone and lied and then he wouldn’t even talk about it? 

They met again, right before Ahsoka and him were going to spar. Obi-Wan looked… worse? Anakin had attributed the rather pale complexion and tired look as results from his mission, but… perhaps it was not so. “What’s with the look?” He barked out. 

Obi-Wan turned large eyes at him, “Just… tired I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably, hands clinging to one another behind his back. Anakin, once more, noted the hoarseness of his voice, likely a result of his undercover mission. “I-” He began before cutting himself off. “Sorry.” He bowed his head and darted past, walking fast enough to avoid him. Anakin watched him go, confused. He shrugged and continued with his day. If it got worse, he’d… do something. 

Ahsoka remarked on it later that day. “Master Obi-Wan looks ill.” She seemed hesitant to breach the conversation, likely very worried about how Anakin would react. Anakin, contrary to her predictions, did not let out a wave of resentment and hate that he usually did when she mentioned him by name. “Did you notice?”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. He told me he was tired, but…” He trailed off. “I don’t think so.” He finally finished with a deep sigh.

“I guess I’m… worried. He doesn’t look well at all.” She said, relaxing as she noted he seemed quite concerned as well. At least he wasn’t so hostile to the topic of Obi-Wan anymore. “I mean… I haven’t really talked to him for a while, so-”

“C’mon Snips. More sparring, less chatting.” He grinned. “Don’t want you turning into Obi-Wan on the battlefield, huh?” The worry churned in his gut though. He lost himself in the high energy of the spar. 

Two days later, he saw Obi-Wan again, looking more akin to a ghost than a living human. “Are you alright?” He asked, somewhat curtly. The betrayal still hurt and he still thought Obi-Wan was rather stupid to not tell him. He could act; nobody knew about him and Padmè yet. “You look…” He gestured vaguely at Obi-Wan who blinked, seeming kind of confused.

Obi-Wan startled, shaking his head a bit before looking up, a false smile plastered on his face. “What? Oh, I’m fine.” Anakin’s face fell. He knew this smile. He knew how Obi-Wan flashed it at senatorial galas, or in the Senate, or whenever the chancellor was in his perimeter.

“You’re lying.” He cut in bluntly. “I can tell. Why do you keep lying?” His tone became more aggressive. Obi-Wan leaned back, frightened by the display, his hands met together, clutching each other under the long sleeves of his robe. 

“I’m not.” He stammered a bit, eyes looking at the wall behind Anakin. “I told you before, I’m just tired. It’s been difficult getting the GAR back on track after my mission…” He trailed off, expecting some kind of burst of anger, something. “On that note I have a meeting with Mace.” he said and quickly slipped from Anakin’s view, darting around the corner with a swish of his brown cloak. I’ll shove him in the medbay after. Ahsoka might be necessary. Everyone knew how Obi-Wan could not refuse Ahsoka’s wide eyes if she really put her back into it. 

Three days later, he finally got the chance. Ahsoka and him were walking, still on their free time period, when he spotted that familiar gingery blonde hair coming his way. “Up ahead Ahsoka. We just need to get him to the healers.” 

Ahsoka nodded seriously. “I know, Anakin. You already told me.”

“Just making sure…” He trailed off as Obi-Wan came closer. Force, he looked even worse. The concern he felt from Ahsoka told him he was not the only one thinking this. 

“Master!” Ahsoka said, running over to catch him. “Wow… you look er…” Obi-Wan lifted his brow. “Are you ok? Shouldn’t you go to the healers or something?” She asked rapidly, her eyes wide and roving across his face. 

“I don’t think-” 

“Please…” Ahsoka seemed to be laying it on rather thick, but Anakin knew he would not notice, or would not care. “I mean… I worry, Master. It would comfort me if I knew that you were ok.” There was the kicker. Obi-Wan turned to him, a plea for help before turning back to her. Ahsoka blinked innocently, a concerned frown on her face. 

“Perhaps… we should go to my rooms. I-” He cut himself off, hand rising to his forehead. “I actually have…” He trailed off, pitching forwards in a dead faint. Ahsoka yelped, calling on the Force by instinct as Anakin reached forwards. 

“Alright… to the healers.” Ahsoka nodded, concern evident as she pressed a hand onto the really warm forehead. “Good job Ahsoka. He caved in seconds.” 

Ahsoka smiled, a bit pleased with herself. If she was honest, she was a tad surprised that it had still worked. The last time she had tried, she had been much younger, but it appeared Obi-Wan was still the same. To be fair, he still caved easily if Anain tried hard enough, but perhaps that was more because he was simply annoyed by Anakin’s rather… annoying techniques. “It did go well.” She agreed easily. 

“Don’t get too comfy, he’ll probably be harsher on you when you get older and lose your chubby cheeks.” Somehow Anakin freed a hand enough to poke her cheeks. 

“Hey!” She cried indignantly, swatting the hand. “Oh look, Bant’s on duty.” She said eagerly, nodding in the direction of the Mon Calamari healer.

“Healer Bant!” Anakin waved down. “Obi-Wan’s just fainted.” Bant hurried forwards, pressing her cool hand against his forehead and flinching back.

“Hmm, this was bad before, but now…” Anakin startled. Bant signalled for a gurney. “Alright, lay him down. We’ll bring him to the rooms. Feel free to come.”

“Wait… Bant! What do you mean before?” He raced after, Ahsoka at his side as they followed her into a prepared room. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

He asked worriedly. Bant looked back, somewhat exasperated before her look softened. “He… hasn’t told you?” She asked in confusion, her hand gently pressing against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, a comfort for herself. She released the hand and lifted him from the gurney to the bed. It was more a recovery room more than anything.

“Hasn’t said what?” Ahsoka asked, breathless. Anakin blinked to Obi-Wan before looking back at Bant. “Master Bant, won’t you say?”

“I… I’m not really allowed.” Bant stammered nervously, looking down at Obi-Wan, taking a small moment to grip his hand. “If he didn’t tell you yet, he probably will soon. Just… be gentle with him. He’s been through a lot recently.” she looked up, silvery eyes pleading with Anakin. “He’ll wake soon, then you can ask questions, but please… be gentle. It’s been rough.” Bant spent a few more moments fluttering around Obi-Wan and administering some medicines. Anakin laid a hand on Ahsoka waiting until she was done before approaching the bed. 

In the end, it took about an hour which they spent seated by Obi-Wan’s bed, Anakin fiddling with his arm and Ahsoka typing away on a datapad, before Obi-Wan woke up. He blinked lazily, taking in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, a custom that Anakin had learned long ago. His gaze turned from the ceiling to the two at his bed. “Oh… hello there.” He offered lamely. “Oh no. Did I…?” He trailed off.

“Faint in the hallway, yeah.” Anakin offered, replacing his tools in his belt before leaning forwards. “So… what’s wrong?” There was no point beating around the bush. Ahsoka clicked off her datapad and crossed her arms. 

Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling rather nervous. He had known something was wrong at the tail-end of the mission, but he had chalked it up to the experimental tech. Turns out, that wasn’t it. “An illness, Firthopo. It’s been there a long time, but only now became aggressive.” He swallowed, his hands fiddling on the covers of his bed. “We didn’t know it was there until now.” 

“Master.” Anakin sighed out, a familiar spike of panic and fear rising. “You… you told me you were ok. Can it… will you get better?” Ahsoka moved her chair closer, hand reaching out to clasp his. The warmth she had loved so much was there still, a welcome feeling.

“They don’t know. The late diagnosis and the nature of the illness makes it… hard to tell.” Ahsoka leaned forwards, burying her head by his side as though in the dark she could hide from the pain. “I… was going to say, but-”

“You said you were fine. Did you know?” Anakin asked. “Did you know you were dying, and  did you lie?” He said, quickly wiping away a stray tear that managed to jerk it’s way down. 

Obi-Wan leaned his head back, breathing deeply. So close to him, Ahsoka could hear the gentle rattling of his breaths. She pressed even closer. Obi-Wan slipped an arm around her shoulder, gently rubbing it. “I… I knew, but I thought perhaps-”

“You lied, Master. I thought you were just tired.” There wasn’t anger, at least, not much. It was overshadowed by great sadness. “You told me…” He trailed off, his breath hitching in a soft sob. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Anakin asked, shifting a bit closer, his hands loose on his lap. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” Obi-Wan was quick to respond. “I trust you, Anakin, a lot more than you think.” He swallowed. “I suppose I thought I still had a chance. That it might get better quick enough so you wouldn’t notice.” He admitted, looking right at Anakin. “I don’t know if I still have that chance.”He leaned a little, trying to soothe Ahsoka, feeling the trembles under his hand. “I think… I think it’s probably getting worse. The fainting is more frequent now.”

Anakin shook his head in denial, helplessness crawling through his head. “Can I…?” He gestured at Obi-Wan. He wished… a part of him wished he was young enough so he could crawl into Obi-Wan’s side and pretend there was nothing wrong. He didn’t crawl into the bed, but he did reach forwards and pick up Obi-Wan’s hand, cradling it between his own as if it were precious. He noted the pale complexion, the strange cold in the fingertips. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

Obi-Wan shook his head a bit, “Not exactly. The disease is not well-documented because it’s so rare, but… if it’s too aggressive for medication, I might have a few months, perhaps even one? We don’t really know.”

“Months?” Anakin whispered, breathing shakily. “It’s not… Not nearly enough.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan said. “But that’s just how it is.” His voice was strangely garbled, in a way that only meant there were tears hidden. Sure enough, his eyes glimmered, water lining the bottom of his eyes. 

“Is that… is that why we’re on leave for so long?” Anakin asked hesitantly. “I want to be with you, please Master.” He pleaded. “I have to.”

“You know that isn’t possible. The war… it still goes on.” Obi-Wan said. “The people need your help, but I promise if it gets bad, you’ll be pulled back.” Anakin shook his head rather angrily. “It’s the best we can do. Already the Chancellor has a mission for you.” Obi-Wan struggled a grin. “You can rest here for now, though.”

[amelialincoln]

sentence prompt “i’m gonna throw up” said by amelia

if you ever see this thx!

“You ready?” Amelia called into the living room, her mouth full of apples. “Do you want me to grab you something for the road?”

“I’m good,” Link replied as he entered the kitchen.

“You’re nervous,” She stated, eyeing his unsettled demeanor.

“Am not.” He looked up at her with a teasing grin before swallowing worriedly. “Should I be?”

Amelia laughed, tossing him a protein bar. “You’ll be fine. The lecture rooms are always packed for me since I operated on Nicole. I doubt anyone will show up to yours,” she teased.

“It’s mandatory for interns and residents,” he grumbled, taking a bite out of the protein bar. “This whole presentation thing is dumb. If I was an intern or resident I wouldn’t want to sit through a presentation given by every attending in the hospital.” “Not every attending,” Amelia corrected with a smile.

“I don’t know how you got out of this!” Link’s exasperated tone made her laugh.

“I’ve done my time presenting. I have actual surgeries to perform.” She grinned at him jokingly before grabbing the car keys and turning the knob to their apartment.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?” Amelia turned to find him holding a small syringe with a sympathetic smile and groaned.

She felt bad for missing Link’s presentation, which had apparently gone well. He was grinning from ear to ear when he sat down at the table for lunch.

“Someone’s happy.”

“It went well,” he stated, his face flushed with pride. “Since Nico left I need more residents interested in ortho.”

“I have mine this afternoon.” Alex chimed in, biting into his sandwich with resentment. “Bailey finally forced me to do one. I could be doing a pancreatectomy with Mer today instead but no.”

“Just skip it, I doubt anyone will care.” Meredith shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she jots something down in a notebook.

“It’s not like you’ll be missing me,” Alex grinned. “You get to operate with your boyfriend now.”

“Alex.” Meredith warned, glancing up from what she was studying. “We’re not in highschool.”

“Then stop acting like it. You can’t keep your hands off eachoth--”

“That’s it I’m leaving.” She packs up her notes, trying to keep a smile off her face.

“Tell Cormac I say hi,” Alex calls, using his first name for extra impact. Meredith glares at him.

“Alex,” Jo scolds, grabbing a piece of his sandwich and popping it into her mouth. “Stop being a dick.

“She’s happy,” he grins. “She likes him.”

Jo lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. “Are you guys watching any of the presentations today?” Amelia and Link both shook their heads. “I didn’t plan on it but the rest of my day is free so I wouldn’t mind,” Amelia shrugs.

“I’m not operating until tonight,” Link agrees. “Do you know who’s presenting?” “Other than this idiot?” Jo teases. Alex throws bits of food in Jo’s direction. “You’re a child.”

“Am not,” Alex huffs.

“I know Carina’s in a half hour and Koracick is later tonight. Other than that I’m not sure,” Jo answers.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Carina’s, she usually has something interesting going on,” Link offers.

“Oh really?” Amelia taunts.

“You shouldn’t be the one to talk,” Alex coughs, receiving a glare from Amelia and a confused look from Link. “Sorry, I’m leaving,” He chuckles.

“Hey,” Jo greeted Amelia and Link as she and Alex took seats beside them. Carina was setting up her computer and the room was buzzing with interns and residents. “Not a lot of navy scrubs.”

“Nope,” Amelia shrugged. “I guess everyone else actually has stuff to do.”

“This is stuff,” Link argued. “We’re educating ourselves.” “Right,” Alex nodded sarcastically. “You guys wake me up when it's my turn.”

“Where’s your laptop?” Jo inquired.

“I’m taking the improvisation route,” he replied. “Hey, the interns love me.” He justified himself to Jo’s unimpressed expression. The lights dimmed and the buzz in the auditorium began to subside. Carina clicked her remote and the screen turned on. Amelia let out a tiny gasp of surprise and her hand suddenly gripped Link’s leg.

“Hey, babe,” Link whispered. “What’s up?” He turned to find her staring frozen at the screen.

“Today I’m going to be talking about anencephaly in infants and how an earlier diagnosis of this birth defect can be achieved.” Carina stated proudly. Amelia couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. Every part of her wanted to cover her ears and block out what Carina was saying but she couldn’t. Instead she stayed frozen in her seat. She could feel Alex’s eyes on her. She knew if she turned to him he’d have that sick sympathetic look on his face that everyone she’d ever told about Christopher had given her. The auditorium was suddenly a hospital room and in her arms was a rounded, warm blanket. Little squeaks filled her ears, the same ones that had replayed in her mind a million times.

“Amelia?” Link’s hushed, worried voice brought her back to reality. He brushed his fingers over hers and she looked down to see her knuckles white, gripping into his thigh.

“I’m sorry, I…” she trailed off. Link could see panic in her eyes. Then something changed and she rocked forward slightly. “I’m going to throw up.” She pushed past Jo and Alex and quietly exited the auditorium. She barely made it to a waste bin before her entire breakfast spilled out. She felt Link’s hands pull back her hair as she spat the last couple of chunks into the bin, cringing at the acidic taste.

“Is she okay?” Jo’s voice entered the hallway.

“Jo,” Alex pulled back his girlfriend who’d followed the two surgeons out of the auditorium. “Don’t draw attention.”

“She’s sick, Alex.”

“She’ll be okay,” he winced as he took in Amelia’s panicked state. “Just give her space.” He tugged Jo back into the lecture room.

“Mia, talk to me,” Link pleaded before glancing at her abdomen. “Do you think you’re having morning sickness?” “I think I’m having a panic attack,” Amelia admitted through gasping, shaky breaths.

“Oh.” Link’s eyes flew open. “Come with me.” He guided her into and on call room before wrapping his arms around her and coaxing her into breathing regularly. “Feeling better?” “Mhmm,” Amelia replied shakily, trying not to spill the cup of water that Link had passed her. He helped her take two large gulps and then placed the cup on the ground.

“Lie down,” He ordered, wrapping her in the bed’s duvet. “You’re freezing.” Amelia nodded and curled up into the covers, relaxing into Link’s protective grasp. “Are you okay?” He finally allowed himself to show emotion and Amelia was surprised by the pain in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she confessed. “Can you just lie with me for a bit?”

“Of course,” he sighed, placing a careful kiss on her forehead and wrapping his arms around his trembling wife. “I love you.” “I love you too.”

Amelia awoke to the light peeking through the blinds of the on call room. Link lay soundlessly beside her, his brow furrowed in concern even in his sleep. “Link.” She shook him awake. “Your surgery.” “It got pushed,” he groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Come here babe.” He opened his arms wide and allowed Amelia to cuddle up to him.

“I had a baby,” Amelia stated.

Link’s eyes opened in confusion. “Pardon?”

“When I lived in LA.”

“With Addison and Charlotte?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “My fiancé,” she started, ignoring Link’s uncomfort, “the one who died. It was his baby.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. “Anyways, I didn’t want to get a scan cause I was high for the first month of my pregnancy. I thought there was no way that I could be carrying a healthy baby.” Her voice filled with pain as she continued. “And I was right because I found out five months in that my baby had no brain.”

“Anencephalic.”

“Yeah,” she swallowed back a sob. “And um, I was five months so I couldn’t really do anything about it at that point.”

“Oh Mia…”

“So I had the baby, Christopher, and he lived for forty three minutes and he was beautiful.” Tears were running down her face. “So I think that’s part of the reason why this IVF thing has been really hard. Cause I’m worried that even if I do get pregnant there’s going to be something wrong.”

“Amelia the chances of that happening again are so low.”

“But not zero,” She wiped her nose on her scrub top. “It’s just been a lot, Link.”

“If I’d known--”

“I didn’t want you to coddle me.” She turned to look at him. “And for you to give me the exact look you’re giving me right now. The look that everyone gives me when I tell them.”

Link looked away, “I’m sorry.” He brushed away a couple tears of his own, cursing under his breath that he should be stronger for her. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things. I want to be there for you no matter what. Nothing you could tell me is going to make me think that you are any less strong or capable than I know you are.”

“I think I might be, Link.” She finally admits, feeling the weight she’d been carrying for the last couple of days lifting off her chest. “I haven’t taken a test but the last couple of days have felt different.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve also been craving pepperoni which is the only thing I felt like eating when I was pregnant with Christopher.”

“Amelia.” Link was speechless.

“Link, if anything is wrong with our baby I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

“You won’t have to,” he puts simply. Suddenly he’s smiling and tears are falling down his cheeks. “We’re going to have a baby?”

“Possibly,” she nods, laughing as he throws his arms around her. “Careful.”

“Sorry, sorry!” He exclaims before pressing a feather light hand to Amelia’s stomach in awe.

“Link, baby steps.” Amelia winces.

“You’re kidding,” Link groans, before meeting Amelia’s worried blue eyes. “This is good?” He confirms.

“We need to get past the first trimester and then we can call it good,” she replies lightheartedly.

“You’re gonna have a baby bump,” he practically sings. “You’re gonna have my baby in your belly.”

“About that.” She bites her lip. Link looks up at her with shock. “I’m kidding!” She laughs.

“I hope he has my humour,” Link growls, mocking a hurt expression.

“He?” Amelia questioned.

Link nodded, “We’ve already agreed.” “We?”

“Me and baby,” Link explains.

“I still need to take a test.” Amelia shakes her head in amusement. Link was already running out the door. The test, taken in the attending lounge’s washroom, confirmed Amelia’s suspicion. Suddenly they were both crying and Link was wrapping his arms around her, taking extra special precaution around her midsection.

“I love you so much,” he kept whispering into her hair.

“I love you too,” Amelia whispered, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that a baby was growing inside of her for the second time.

[sneezehq]

Insidious

Ruby wakes up burning.

I am once again ignoring how implausible this actually is in canon because this idea won't leave me alone. This is set in the early part of volume 4. Content warning for mentions of hospitals. Enjoy!

It starts, innocently enough, with a scrape.

It's the end of a long day and Ruby's aura is running low after their latest set of fights. So, when she notices the scrape on her side she just sighs and makes sure to clean it out thoroughly before bandaging it and collapsing into her sleeping bag. It's been a series of exhausting days since they fought the geist and Ruby discovered what Jaune was doing at night. Her mind has been whirling with what she should say to Jaune about what she knows (or if she should say anything) and the worry and guilt about her sister that refuses to go away no matter how much time passes and how much she shoves it down.

Oh, and then there's the nightmares of the Fall of Beacon, of Penny and Pyrrha dying. So yeah, Ruby could really stand to catch a break.

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon. The next morning Ruby wakes up groggy and sore, and walking all day in the muggy heat only seems to make things worse. By the time they make camp for the night (half a day's walk from the nearest village, which is frustrating, but none of them want to risk making the journey in the dark) Ruby has barely enough energy to finish help setting up their arrangements before collapsing into bed.

Right before she's about to drift off, she belatedly realizes that she really should clean and redress the scrape on her side again. But she's so tired. Surely it can wait until morning, right?

Apparently not.

Ruby wakes up burning.

Gasping, she flings the top of her sleeping bag away from her, trying in vain to escape the overwhelming heat. When that has no effect, she pushes herself clumsily to her feet, staggering in the direction of the spring she remembers being nearby, with the hope of submerging herself in the water until she cools down some.

Her side throbs angrily as she moves, but she ignores it. The heat is unbearable.

"Ruby? What are you doing?"

Jaune is proud of himself for his reaction when he finds a delirious Ruby stumbling around the camp in the middle of the night: he takes a minute to panic, then forces himself to pull it together. He gently stops Ruby from wandering too far and wakes Ren and Nora, urging them to pack up camp and get a move on. Ruby is obviously sick, too sick for them to treat on their own, and the next village is large enough that it should have a doctor on site. It's their best chance.

He's proud of how quickly his team gets it together. Within minutes they've got everything packed up and they're on the move, Ren doing his best to mask their emotions and hide them from any Grimm that might be lurking nearby.

Team JNRR—no, team RNJR—has really come a long way.

The sun is rising on the horizon by the time they arrive in the village. Practically as soon as they set foot inside the town—and the few people that happen to be awake spot the obviously sick Ruby—their little group is ushered over to the building where the doctor works. Actually, this village is large enough that it's more like a proper hospital.

Ruby is whisked away from them and they're left to wait for what seems like an eternity in the small waiting room. Next to Jaune, Nora bounces anxiously, while on her other side Ren looks as stoic as ever. Jaune can feel the tension radiating off him, though.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Nora asks, uncharacteristically quiet, her green eyes wide with worry.

"I don't know," Jaune admits, not wanting to give her false hope. "I hope so. I'm sure that the doctors are doing everything they can." They've lost too many people already.

Just when Jaune is about to finally give in and ask if they can see their friend, a nurse appears at the door and gestures to him. He almost trips over his chair in his eagerness to comply, blushing as he rights himself before making his way over more cautiously.

"Your friend has an infected wound," the nurse tells him. "Her prognosis is looking good and she should recover fine with treatment, but at the moment she is refusing to calm down, which is putting unnecessary strain on her body. We don't want to sedate her, as that would also be too hard on her system while she is ill."

"I'll talk to her, try to get her to settle down somewhat," Jaune promises. Normally he would ask Ren to help him with Ruby, but his friend is already exhausted from shielding them from nocturnal Grimm. Jaune will have to take care of this one on his own.

He relays Ruby's diagnosis to Nora and Ren, asking them to try to find a place to stay while he goes to see Ruby, since the doctor is only allowing one visitor at a time right now. They agree, reluctantly exiting the clinic with only a few glances over their shoulders at him. Jaune sighs. The sun has only been up for an hour or so and he's already exhausted.

But there's no time to rest. With the rest of his team taken care of, he rolls his shoulders and goes to see Ruby. She looks too small against the stark white of her hospital bed, wrapped up in wires and tubes. Her face is pinched with pain and deathly pale under the flush from the fever. As soon as he steps into the room, glazed silver eyes lock onto his face.

"Jaune!" she mumbles urgently, slurring her words slightly. "You have to, have to warn Pyrrha! And Penny! They're, they're in danger!'

"I will," he promises quietly. He's not going to remind her of what actually happened when she's this out of it. "Why don't you get some rest? It'll make you feel better."

She shakes her head violently. "No, I can't," she insists weakly. "Yang. I have to—I need to tell her I'm sorry. For everything."

"Ruby, it's okay. I'm sure that Yang understands. Just please, get some sleep."

Again, she just shakes her head, mumbling incoherently under her breath about her sister. She's not settling down at all, and Jaune feels like a failure. How can he calm Ruby down when she's this worked up?

A sudden idea strikes him, and he digs through his pocket until he finds his scroll. Without thinking too much about what he's doing (because if he does, he'll realize that there's no way this could work), he scrolls through his contacts until he gets to Yang's number and dials it. Miraculously, the call connects and Yang's voice filters through the tinny speakers of his scroll. "Hello?"

Jaune quickly switches his scroll to speaker mode. "Hey, Ruby, it's Yang."

At the mention of his sister, Ruby goes rigid. "Yang?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah, it's me. What's going on, Ruby?"

"Yang, 'm so sorry," Ruby sobs. "For everything." She trails off, continuing to mumble about how sorry she is.

Yang sighs. "It's okay, Ruby. I forgive you. I'm sorry for what I said too. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ruby sniffles loudly, but already she's becoming calmer. "Thank'you, Yang."

"No problem, sis," Yang replies. "Now, Rubes, you're not sounding so good. Why don't you try to get some rest?"

Ruby's eyes are already half shut, but she still bobs her head in a tiny nod. "M'kay. Love you, Yang."

"I love you too."

By the time Yang finishes talking to Jaune, the sun is high in the sky. He tells her about what happened, about waking up in the middle of the night to find Ruby sick from an infected wound and rushing her to the hospital, how she'd been treated but wouldn't calm down, so he'd called her as a last resort and miraculously gotten through.

Or, more accurately, the hospital had a scroll signal extender that had allowed him to reach her. In the end, the result is the same. It's a relief to hear her sister's voice, but after the call Yang finds herself more worried than ever. Jaune promises to keep looking after her sister before he hangs up, leaving Yang alone in her room with just her thoughts for company.

She sighs heavily. So much for her seething jealousy and resentment at Ruby for going out on her adventures and leaving Yang behind. Her sister is out there risking her life, constantly in danger, and Yang isn't there to protect her and have her back.

Well. Yang looks over at the prosthetic arm that her father had presented to her so excitedly, waiting eagerly to be tried out. She can keep moving forwards. It's all up to her to decide what to do.

She's got work to do.

[gaiatheorist]

“50% Feminine.”

I’m going mad again, I’m listing probable reasons, but going mad isn’t reasonable, it’s something that just happens to me from time to time. This is one of the slow, creepy-uppy episodes, not one of the sudden, explosive ones, possibly less dangerous, but incredibly draining. It’ll pass, it always does, it had better do, it’s bloody horrible.

Standard disclaimer, I am at increased risk of harm, but I have no intent or ideation of deliberately harming myself, apart from drinking too much cheap-and-nasty wine, which is my standard maladaptive coping mechanism.

I woke up at 1.30am, and, after a brief discussion with my wonky brain, acknowledged that I was Awake-awake, and there was no chance of going back to sleep. This will have a knock-on effect for a few days, there’s a fair chance I’ll fall asleep in my dinner, but it’s mostly containable. (The madness, as well as the dinner.) Scrolling through Twitter, to see if I’d ‘missed anything’, I found a link to ‘My Gender Coordinates’, and decided to take the quiz, no better or worse use of my time than a Fakebook quiz to tell me what sort of sandwich, or shoe I am.

There are 35 questions, I can’t remember exactly how they’re worded, but it’s along the lines of “I am...” or “I consider myself...” about various character traits, or behaviours, you ‘answer’ on a sliding scale from double-thumbs-up to double-thumbs-down. There’s a ‘middle’ option, which, when I’m going mad, is always a bit tempting, I’m indifferent, I don’t care much about much when I’m in this state.(Until I do, and get all emotionally peaky, HATING an empty shampoo bottle on the bathroom floor, but refusing to move it, because it’s not mine, or finding myself close to tears because I think I’ve offended someone, and not quite knowing how to check.) 

The ‘results’ come out on a quadrant-graph thingy, Masculine/Androgynous/Undifferentiated/Feminine, I deliberately didn’t look at that first, because I would have skewed my answers, aiming for ‘undifferentiated’, I’m awkward like that. My results were that I ‘fall between quadrants’, no big surprise there, my dot was bang on the line between ‘masculine’ and ‘androgynous’, all in the top half of the square, ‘68.3% Masculine, 50% Feminine’, I don’t know how that works, it’s numbers, and maths and stuff, and my brain doesn’t work like that. (Haha, because I’m a girl, and girls are better at biology than physics. Bullshit.) 

What does it mean? In all likelihood, nothing, it does look kind-of scientific, which is why I answered all of the questions, instead of giving up at the first hint of a cartoon dinosaur, or a ‘pick which colour-scheme appeals to you’. (Cartoon dinosaurs are my new pet hate, I’ve recently had to wade back through the clip-art infested worksheets from the last mental health course, and I’m fairly certain I’ve imagined a cartoon dinosaur, but that’s a tangent I’ll try to avoid.) I have strong opinions on the concept of gender, for however-many years I’ve been writing on here, I’ve identified as ‘meat no-one eats’, my biological sex is female, and my uterus is certainly reminding me of that fact this week. My gender? Human. Probably. 

“Identified as”, how very modern, it’s not ‘really’ a new thing, to me, or the world, what I’m trying to do here is type out a safe-release, to vent, I suppose it all boils down to my resentment of being ‘told’. There are vague childhood memories of being told “Ladies do/don’t do...”, and I have a ridiculous rage-bubble of “Yes, and sloths poo once a week, what’s your point?”, too late one thinks of what one might have said. I’m no more a lady than I am a sloth, I’m probably leaning more towards sloth at the moment, I’m overdue a bath.

Working through the statement-ratings, I noticed I was pulling a face at some of them. All of them, to be honest, which surprised me, because, with a diagnosis of autism, there’s the preconception that my response would be binary-linear, black-or-white, always/never. It wasn’t, my response was invariably “That’s a stupid question.”, and they weren’t questions, for every single statement, I decided “Unable to answer without context.”, and had to imagine a scenario to contextualise “I am generous” or “I am decisive”, or whatever. ( I *am* decisive, given sufficient context.) I need to watch that I don’t fall into a psychopath/sociopath rabbit-hole here, my sometimes-linear approach could be viewed as psychopathic, and my bending/masking could fit a sociopathic profile. Too many personality quizzes in my teen-girl magazines, and an on-going desire to name and categorize things.

I was pulling a face at the statements that are usually associated with the concept of femininity, there really isn’t a male-brain/female-brain. (All brains smell horrible, I have smelled my own brain, wasn’t pleasant.) There are some biological differences, most notably the reproductive bits, but not really a great deal else, the ex used to say that humans were evolving to be more androgynous, but I see now that he was trying to justify the societally-imposed feelings of inadequacy that I was as tall as him, with more body-hair. He ascribed to the concept of androgyny when it suited him, lauding Bowie in public, and insisting I was ‘better’ at housework in private. A product of his upbringing, but deeply coercive-toxic. He enjoyed my androgynous-atypical nature up to a point, I was a trophy in more ways than just my long legs and pretty mouth, I confused the hell out of his ‘traditional’ family, though. 

The statements that made me screw up my face could have been coloured pink, they were the ones that ‘ladies do’, some, I consciously, deliberately-don’t, and some are just a natural hard-no, nature vs nurture in evidence. I have learned behaviours, and innate, natural tendencies, there was a bit of a domestic issue the other day when I noted my son being manipulative, and destroyed-devastated myself wondering if he’d learned-observed that from me.  I don’t think so, my avoidance-behaviours are quite different. I was pulling faces at the stereotypical ‘female’ traits, initially an “Ew, no, I don’t do that!” response, but, as I realised I was doing it, I wondered WHY I was repulsed. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with being kind/sensitive/compassionate, they’re human responses, not ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, but even the quiz itself refers to them as  “Traits commonly found in people of the ... gender.” (Androgynous is referred to as high in male- and female-typical traits, undifferentiated as low in both.) Commonly, not exclusively.

Part of the issue is that I associate femininity with vulnerability and weakness. I choose not to ‘present as’ female most of the time, my sex usually isn’t obvious until people get close, and I don’t let many people get that close. (Even before the virus-distancing.) There are ‘historical and complicating factors’ behind some of that, but there’s also the gender-conditioning I grew up with, girls-should, and boys-should, I didn’t have particularly positive experiences or role-models, but, even aside from that, the general concensus was that male was stronger, better, more important, female was secondary and subservient. To do something ‘like a girl’ was an insult, but, by the same token, I was often criticised for not being ‘girly’, ever the outlier. I’m wondering how much of the non-femininity is reactive-protective, how much could be part of the autism, and how much is just ‘how I am’? 

Girly-females irritate me, vacuous conversations, hair-and-make-up, dependence on others, incessant diets and fads, I don’t ‘get’ any of it, and I don’t buy into it, I don’t see why I should, just because my genitals are in the more difficult-to-kick arrangement. (True to form, my son has more make-up and hair-stuff than I do, I can’t remember how he referred to my presentation a few weeks ago, but it might have involved goblins, and a bin.) Occasionally, people tell me I could be attractive if I made an effort, my go-to response is “What for?”, I do generally look as if I live in a tree, it doesn’t bother me. That’s not wholly a girl-thing or a boy-thing, I do know some very well-presented people of both flavours, but I’ve genuinely never overheard a group of men discussing razor-blades or underpants the way I’ve heard gaggles of women banging on about make-up and such. 

Women who talk in baby-voices, women who giggle and simper around men, women who don’t even try to pick things up themselves, I think what I’m saying is that I don’t like women who ‘act as’ women, and it is an act, my mother’s phone-laugh used to make me want to scream. 

Before I became annoyed at myself for placing more value on the traits more commonly associated with masculinity than femininity, I’d had a mini-argument with myself that it was impossible to rate any of the statements objectively. Am I kind? It depends on the situation, last week I helped a little old lady sort out a mis-delivered parcel, but the week before that, I’d sped up my walking pace, so I could get into the corner shop before the person behind me, it might have been the same little old lady, I wasn’t paying attention. I’d viewed the thumbs-rating as a never-always continuum, so, technically, all of the responses ‘should’ have been middle-option, for ‘sometimes’. (There might have been an explanation in the site somewhere, it was daft o’clock in the morning.) For each behaviour, I was thinking of a situation, which was wrong, I think I should have been rating least-likely to most-likely. The situation has an influence on the behaviour, if I had friends, I’d behave differently with them to the way I’d behave with a doctor, or a manager, or my son, and even that behaviour would depend on multiple external factors, it wouldn’t be static-consistent, it would be dynamic. We all do it, we’re socially conditioned to behave according to audience and environment.

I didn’t go to finishing school, I didn’t even go to university, there were no elocution or deportment classes at my rough-as-arseholes comprehensive school, and most of my childhood meals at home were eaten from a plate on my knee, on the sofa, in front of the TV. There were still expectations, though. Standing up if a teacher came into the classroom, not interrupting an adult speaking, letting elderly or otherwise infirm people on the bus first. I don’t remember my brother being given as many instructions as I was, though, and I think that was more to do with me being a girl than being two and a half years older, he did pretty much as he pleased, and was a ‘rascal’, or a ‘scamp’, whereas I was told to sit down (nicely), be quiet, smile, be helpful etc long before the wear a bra, brush your hair, show a bit of leg nonsense started. 

I’m fairly certain that the gender-specific conditioning is part of the reason my autism wasn’t diagnosed until I was 42. I’d had expectations drummed, and sometimes beaten into me all my life, everything was already an act, a performance, so I just assumed everyone else was ‘faking it’ all the time, over-riding gut-instinct on everything, and acting according to these confusing social scripts. The “What for?” streak in me is problematic for other people, I’m viewed as difficult, challenging, sometimes plain rude, and overly bold ‘for a woman’. I don’t speak much, but, when I do, I make it count, I’m tenacious and determined, and, most of the time, completely exhausted trying to remember and correctly apply rules and boundaries, scripts I don’t understand the reasoning behind, and constantly-consistently assess environments and audiences, to avoid ‘getting it wrong’. 

I am blunt at times. I can be articulate and eloquent, but sometimes a situation demands just-enough information to convey the salient point. I don’t tend to ‘waste words’, and am frustrated when people fanny about with “Does that make sense?” and “This might sound silly, but...” Anecdotally, I hear that from women more than men, we’re discouraged from being too much to-the-point, to go the long way around things, instead of straight at them, and to check for reassurance. I speak ‘like a man’, it’s more efficient. (”Does everyone understand what they are to do?” was my preferred meeting-closing-statement, I’m brutal.) 

I sometimes see the reverse-of-me in my son, he isn’t the least bit blunt or brutal most of the time. (He did shout “Stop it!” at me quite forcefully one day last week when I was having a meltdown after getting bin-juice on my face. He saves his command-voice for emergencies.) He ties himself in knots about communicating with people, and avoids most conversation, although he’ll babble incessantly to himself to process thoughts and ideas. (I have sores inside my ears that won’t heal, because I keep putting my earphones in to drown out his waffling about D&D plots and such.) He’s nervous-anxious where I’m bold, he’s scared of a million things that I’m not in the least bit concerned by, but then, I am an idiot. Biological sex is not gender, but neither of us are really binary-gendered. (I’m not going to suggest he does the quiz, he’s so incredibly indecisive it would melt his brain.) I never conditioned him ‘male’, he’s always just been another human to me, but he has had conflicting messages from his Dad’s side of the family, boys-don’t-cry, come-and-kick-this-ball, look-at-the-tits-on-that, and the girly-girl aunts and cousins. Confusing times, but he has referred to himself as a pan-sexual trans-humanist, and I don’t really know what that is. (He hasn’t asked me to use different pronouns, or a different name, so he’s still ‘him’.) 

I’m rambling. I’ve been pecking away at this for hours, but I do feel a little more settled for doing it. I didn’t go off on as many ranty tangents as I thought I might, which is reassuring, this episode of going mad has been mostly-irritable, and I don’t like it. Catch-22, there, as a female, I’m ‘supposed to’ be all pink and fluffy, and nice, but the lazy stereotype of a woman can also be a nagging old harridan, I’m straddling that line as well as the line between quadrants on the quiz. I bet you 10p that if I did the quiz again, I’d be able to skew the answers to place the dot dead-centre in the grid, but I might blow up the internet if I did that, and imagine the mess that would make.          

[megaderping]

Dealing with some anxiety over the past few weeks about some stuff I dealt with growing up that didn’t fully sink in until just now. It is very personal. It is also very heavy. If you decide to read, please keep in mind that this deals with some pretty heavy baggage, including... Trigger Warnings: CSA, Incest, Abuse, Bullying, Ableism, Trauma, Aphobia, Homophobia Because this is a personal rant, I’d rather avoid reblogs. Thank you for understanding.

So. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with one of my cousins. She was a good 6 - 8 years older than me. At the time, I looked up to her. I thought she was cool and smart. I trusted her. Because I was so young, I didn’t think it weird that she described french kissing to me in great detail. I never told an adult. I was too young to know that this was not okay. This wasn’t even the last time, though. When I was in first grade, she was so eager to show and describe matters related to being a teenage girl and the changes therein. I won’t go into great detail- but the way she demonstrated this... It was definitely hands on. What bothers me is that at the time, it didn’t hit me that THIS wasn’t okay either. I didn’t tell an adult because I didn’t know I was supposed to. That this was sexual abuse. She did some things with me that- it only happened once, but it REALLY, fundamentally bothers me that my longterm reaction to this was... desensitization. Maybe that’s a form of trauma in itself? I dunno. But I was able to move on eventually when she wasn’t in my life anymore. Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t hold it against her because she was a teenager at the time with her own issues, but... I dunno. I didn’t talk about this with anyone. I didn’t really think about it, save for once in a blue moon when I was in high school and I was like, “...maybe that was messed up.” But if you asked me at the time, I would’ve said I was okay. But I’m honestly not sure if I was. I was bullied throughout my entire public schooling. People would punch me. They’d call me names. They’d make fun of me for liking cartoons and video games and come up to me with the most ableistic voices demanding I “draw them pokaymanz”. I was the one who had to go to the school councilor for being a problem. They didn’t get in trouble. In high school, I would go out into the pod to try and study and work on assignments because the very same people who had bullied me in grade school would not SHUT UP when we were supposed to be doing assigned reading. They were not punished. Nobody stepped in when I raised concerns- the best I got was permission to distance myself. I remember sitting on the bus one day in high school, minding my own business when these girls in the seat in front of me started making fun of my name. They started making fun of my appearance. The bus driver never stepped in. I got off the bus in tears. And this was hardly the first time. This was a problem from grade school ‘til graduation. 12 - 13 years of this. Sometimes when I’m at work, trying to do my JOB, my mind will go back to something a classmate said, something a classmate DID, and I’ll lose my focus. It’ll bring me to tears even though I SHOULD be over it by now. And this has always happened to me. People talking behind my back. Spreading rumors. Going to OTHERS to deal with their problems with me instead of talking to me because apparently human decency is too much to ask. People would spread rumors that I “pooped on the playground”. They’d say I liked to sneak into the boys’ bathroom. When I was in first grade, someone shoved a leaf up my nose. I still remember that, too. I remember being told by people I considered friends that we couldn’t be friends anymore because they had new friends who didn’t like me. I remember people being cruel. A lack of understanding. It turned me into a wallflower over time because I was scared to make connections and for a time I dealt with it by being cold and abrasive because I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I remember being asked on a school trip, “Were you ever diagnosed with anything?” OUT OF NOWHERE. To this day, I wonder about that... And I don’t know if I should seek diagnosis. I probably should? I definitely need a therapist, that way I can talk this stuff out with a professional instead of rambling on a blog post just to try and calm down from a random anxiety attack. I remember classmates and chaperones resenting the fact that I got left behind on that trip because I didn’t want to jaywalk. So I had to get help from some local cops who set me up with a cab back to the hotel because I was lost and nobody thought to look if I was left behind. People would talk down to me all the time, too. Treat me like a child. And why? Because I liked cartoons? Because I’m asexual and aromantic? GOD. I remember classmates in middle school were SO OFFENDED by my asexuality, too. I recall this one girl being like, “you better get a boyfriend or people might think you’re a ~lesbian~”. ...okay, first of all. What if I was? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not- I don’t really feel that kinda attraction to anyone. But. There is NOTHING wrong with being gay, lesbian, bi, pan, trans, NB, etc, etc. THESE PEOPLE EXIST. People who are not straight and/or cis exist. And also, thirteen year olds acting like they NEED to rush into relationships... That’s. Extremely concerning to me. It always was. But I guess I was just... desensitized over time because of how sexualized the climate was during those days. And it wasn’t just at school.

I have a long history of RPing. When I was in middle school, I was basically pressured into RPing a nsfw situation by some castmates. I should have said no, but I was scared to. And I think, ultimately, that also led to me being desensitized. Because that stuff was everywhere. These were RPs with young teenagers AND adults as players and nobody put their foot down and said, “hey, maybe DON’T RP nsfw in a space with minors”. Nobody said LOCK those posts. Tag them nsfw. It was just there. Out in the open. I was fourteen. And I’m not here to say that all NSFW content is inherently bad or that every adult should constantly be monitoring every space. Internet strangers are not babysitters. I get that. But I do think it’s a problem when communities full of young teens AND adults are too lax on the former’s access to 18+ content. Because there’s a difference between someone ignoring age restrictions and warnings and accidentally coming across content or being pressured to participate in such content. Now. Over time, people wised up. Many of these communities DID eventually lock that stuff to 18+. But a lot of open meme and sandbox communities did not. There were posts that’d devolve into smut on a regular basis that weren’t tagged or properly warned. But because I’d been exposed to this kinda stuff for so many years- it didn’t hit me that there was a lack of moderation. I was taught that it just comes with the territory because “this is the internet.” So for a long time, I just... accepted that. “It’s the internet.” Even within the past few years, I held onto that mindset because... it was just. What I was used to. I didn’t like it, but I assumed that was just... how things go and to express otherwise was pointless. I still don’t condone online harassment and I do think people will take properly tagged fandom content way too far (even if I disagree WITH said content)- but this isn’t ABOUT that. Because properly tagged content establishes the boundaries that were so wholly lacking in these spaces. And the fact is, I don’t LIKE that I am/was desensitized. Because the truth is, I didn’t LIKE any of it. I didn’t like the scenario I was coerced into as a young teen through RP. I didn’t like how easy it was to just... stumble upon NSFW content on accident. It’s just... I dunno. I just don’t know, and I hate that I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t let it get to me. It’s just online stuff that happened ten to twelve years ago, right? It’s nowhere near as serious as the actual sexual abuse and the actual bullying... but I think it still affected me. And just like with my cousin before, I didn’t really... talk to anyone about it? It was a very different fandom climate. The early to late 2000′s were very different. And I think just... it bothers me. That it took this long for me to realize that maybe this stuff affected me after all. Like. I’m a CSA survivor and it only JUST now clicked that I am? What’s up with that? Like. I don’t know. I need a therapist. I think I’ve needed one for years given how often I fall victim to invasive thoughts, how often I get too scared to speak my mind, how eager I am to please EVERYONE and thus it is SO hard for me to confront people when I am upset or draw the line. I’m constantly worrying about hurting or upsetting people so sometimes I guess I’m cowardly. Because I guess it’s a coping mechanism I’ve developed? Just... avoiding. Turning a blind eye. That’s probably not okay either. But I think the root of it all really is just from my childhood. How going to adults when I was bullied or abused never seemed to DO anything. So maybe I just developed a worst case scenario mindset. I just don’t know, so that’s why I need some help. So I can just... work this all out. I guess a part of me is just a little scared. And that’s stupid. Why should I be scared of something that can only HELP me? Ranting on tumblr can only do so much. But for now, just getting it off my chest is the best I can do. It’s a start, anyway.

[dearholly]

Dear Me,

I know why you’re here and I’m not mad. I’m not disappointed. Read this and then go rest. And please be gentle on yourself. 

We met at Macy's and immediately hit it off. I think it was a dark sense of humor and a fluency in sarcasm that first bonded us. She was amused and seemingly rapt by everything I had to say. When I eventually left Macy's for a work-at-home job listening to sales calls, I brought her with me. And because he was unemployed, her ex-boyfriend/roommate came with us as well.

They had dated in high school but had long since broken up although hey were still living together in her parent's house after his parents moved to Hawaii without him. I got to know him more when we started at our new positions. As a telecommuting job, here were a lot of opportunities for us to bond over instant messenger. He had a raw, vulnerable quality that drew me to him and I enjoyed how open and free I could be with him. He didn't seem to mind the darker parts of my humor and we bonded over a love of cars and photography.

The first tear in the fabric of everything is, I think, when I admitted to to my husband that I thought I had feelings for Her. He sexualized this confession and internalized it as permission for himself to be attracted to her, which in short turn he started to act on. In some ways, I knew that would happen but but I was terrified of my feelings. I didn't know exactly what I wanted, just that I wanted something else. Something more than what I had. On some level, I believe that I wanted her. But I let my fear and submissiveness get the better of me and chose to put my needs aside for what my husband wanted, which at the time seemed more manageable for me than having to deal with my own inner turmoil.

Throughout their entire flirtation in the beginning, she never came to me to tell me what was going on, or to question it. To this day, I don't even know if she asked my husband whether or not I knew. It might be the years that have since passed shading my opinions in this matter, but I don't believe she ever did ask him. I eventually did come to her to tell her what was going on, but I don't believe that I ever really trusted her again after that, despite our friendship continuing for another five years.

Years later, when I would say all of this out loud to a therapist, I would realize what a hard time I have accepting and advocating for my own feelings. Looking back now, I can tell you I was deeply hurt and extremely angry.

Which is probably what lead me to sleep with Him, her ex-boyfriend slash roommate, on the same night she first slept with my husband. And I did not afford her the same foreknowledge that I had.

But it wasn't all vindication. He and I had been getting very close. We worked together on a wedding I shot in Malibu. I'll never forget when we had some free time in between getting shots and we drove down to the beachier part of the beach to look for some locations to shoot the couple later. It was raining and the beach was empty, so he told me to take the car onto the sand, assuring me that it'd be fine. He was something of an expert on cars, after all. The front tires almost immediately sunk into the sand and we got stuck. As panic mounted in both of us, a friendly gentleman in a Nissan Xterra came by and offered assistance. With some pushing and revving, the car was unstuck. After our Samaritan drove off, He turned to me to apologize and wrapped his arms around me. There's something about being hugged by a person who is much taller than you. In that moment, I fell in love with him. His easy free affection was all it took.

And she had no clue about any of it because I did not do the courtesy of cluing her in. This is what is so dangerous about people who are not even aware of the emotions they're having.

Also, I knew that she would cock block. So the night that she came to my house to fuck my husband, I set up a little date with her ex boyfriend. I took him to a local bar, and explained what was happening with Her and my husband. And then I told him, "But I am here with you." Couldn't keep our hands off each other after that.

I didn't tell her until after the fact and I am positive that there was never a moment after that that she fully trusted me either. We cursed ourselves from the very beginning. And then made things truly awkward by attempting to have a four-way.

They say ignorance is bliss, but denial is true euphoria. And that is where we lived for the next 6 years. We changed our state abbreviation from CA to WA, but we lived in the same place, ignoring red flag after red flag. The chemistry was just bad. But we plundered ahead, all four of us. And when three of us lost our telecommuting jobs, it was Him that found us work again.

I hated the idea from the very beginning (red flag) but said nothing. I resented that he got her a job at the same place he'd gotten me a job and that she'd be starting the day after me, leaving me no time at all to have this one thing for myself. I knew even then that working and living with her would turn out to be a problem. And it did; when something bad happened at work, there was no escape from it at home. When something bad happened at home, there was no escape from it at work. Even though we were on opposite ends of the house, there was just no escaping it. When she was upset, there was a toxic cloud that hung over the whole house. It seeped into everything and was unescapable. It left no room for anyone else to take up any emotional space.

After a while, I stopped getting a period. But because I was living on Denial St, I ignored it for over a year. My doctors wholly admitted that they have no idea how this could have happened at such an early point in my life, but all of them speculated stress, both physical and mental. Prior to losing my period, I had lost a great deal of weight in a small time by over-exercising and under-eating. I was starving myself and then working myself to the point of exhaustion, and if this were the cause of my early menopause, I would not be surprised to find that out.

However, there was no space in my home to have any feelings about this. Because I was of a mind to never have children anyway, it was easy for most people to minimize how deeply it was affecting me, and ignore the active signs that it was doing so. And I never talked about. The feelings were too confusing, too mixed up, to talk about. I didn't understand them myself and there was no room to figure them out there.

A couple months after I got my menopause diagnosis, I started having regular panic attacks. She is the one who suggested I speak to a therapist. She's the one who recommended my first one, actually. And I am still glad that she did. My life really started to turn around at that point. I started in May of that year and by the end of the summer, I had finalized my divorce and moved into my own apartment. And later that year, I started anti depressants.

It is my belief that all of the improvements and growth in my life are what lead she and I to have our initial falling out that next Spring. Through therapy, and medication, and meditation, and all the other ways in which I was working on improving myself, I did eventually grow strong. And so did my boundaries. I started saying "No." more and "Sorry" less. And I stopped accepting unnecessary bullshit that was launched in my direction.

Especially when it is in a shared space in which professionalism is mandatory. After a five month hiatus from the office in which she recovered from an exploding kidney, I invited her to help me train a batch of new hires. During which, at some point, I explained something to one of them which was news to her. She started raising her voice in frustration, demanding to know why she was never told anything, and in general being extremely negative. To be clear, this type of behavior was just something she did. And it always bothered me - something that should be of little to no consequence to her personally, blown up in decibels and f-bombs. Like her brother dating someone she didn't approve of. Or her roommate's cousin marrying someone she didn't approve of. Or her cousin dating someone she didn't approve of. Or her aunts doing or saying something she didn't approve of. I often thought about buying her a robe and gavel for how judgmental and salty she could be to the people she supposedly loved. But I digress....

I am a deeply private person. So in that moment in our office, I was completely mortified. Here are these strangers I am trying to set a good example for, and here she comes with her Debbie Downer bullshit. I shut the conversation down as fast as I could by leaving it immediately. But later I sent a text explaining why that was over the line and why I was upset. A day later, I received some half assed apology about how she felt she was being left behind at work, and that somehow justified the disrespect. Like it was acceptable behavior because she was in pain.

I didn't respond. For one, because I was knee deep (literally) in dog fur, trying to shave my Maltese mutt. And for another, I thought that what needed to be said had been said. Her response didn't change mine. And so the next day, I went to her apartment as I did every Monday to do my laundry. As I was putting the laundry into the washing machine, I heard her bedroom door open. Before I could even look up from my dirty jeans and towels, I hear "Oh... Hi." and I turn just in time to see a flash of red hair whipping behind a slamming door.

At that point, I start to have a panic attack, assuming the slammed door was for me and my face. But I breathe through it and decide its best left aone. She's still upset and I don't have the bandwidth to find out why. I'm done volunteering for whatever that is. At work, I try to be cordial. With Him, I try to maintain boundaries and I tell him nothing that happens between she and I.

A few days go by. One night, I go pick him up and we have dinner at a diner down the street from his place. He's visibly upset, and he's using that soft whispery tone that usually precedes a fucking nightmare. Over my country fried chicken, I ask him what's wrong. He asks why I am ignoring her. I tell him I am not. And that after having a door slammed at me, I'm giving whatever she is dealing with a wide berth. He convinces me to reach out to her to try and resolve the issue.  

So I try to do that. But I'm annoyed and I say entirely the wrong thing, from the very start. I tell her "Stop telling people I'm ignoring you." Rather than "I am not ignoring you, Friend. Rather trying to give you space to deal with whatever it is you're dealing with because I don't understand it"... which eventually I do say, but it's too late. My tone is too incendiary. I'm too angry now. And I no longer feel as if this is anything worth saving anymore. She feels the same way. So she tells me we can no longer be friends. I'm hurt that she said that, but more disappointed that she said it first, and I accept that this is the way things will be. I block her on every social media platform we have in common.

Things are instantly strained between He and I. I ask him repeatedly not to get involved because I will be the one accused of it. But he can't help himself from being upset because she's upset. They have no boundaries at all between them. I tell him I need a break from him. He accuses me of "dropping him" the same way I "dropped Her" And so we break up.

For about 2 months. And then one night, I happen to get a late bus out of Seattle and sit across from him. He was coming from work. And I was coming from a bar. Were it not for the tequila, I probably would never have moved next to him. We made very little conversation all the way to our bus stop. I don't remember what I said. Probably just that I missed him and that I wish things had been different. We started talking again after that. And things were better, for a time. Between he and I, anyways.

What happened then between she and I is what sealed our friendship to the annals of history forever...

One night, while late in bed, I get an email notification from tumblr telling me I had a new follower. And its Her. Through several name/address changes, on the one platform I did not think to block her from, there she was following me. Looking down on that message as it glowed up at me from under the covers, witnessing the little smirk in her user avatar, I started to shake. The blog I thought I had made for myself, similar to this one, where I had the space to ruminate and collect thoughts, had been violated and invaded. Like every other aspect of my life, by her.

I did not react well to this discovery. At first, I made several passive aggressive posts directed at her and then deleted each one. And then I went directly to her, asking her to stop as I didn't think it was appropriate for her to be following me. Her response was to laugh at me, and mock something I had said in one of the passive aggressive and deleted posts I made. I'm not ashamed to admit that my reaction was explosive. I hurled every shitty thing I could think of to say inside one sentence and then deleted the entire messaging system we were using to communicate (which at the time was Slack). Later, when I apologized for my terrible reaction, she doubled down on the insults and called me a hypocrite for expecting that there be boundaries between myself and the person who said they never wanted to speak to me again. And so a final decision was made that this was not worth saving. So I blew it up over two lengthy emails.

I don't even remember what I said. And I don't want to. I suspect my brain is protecting me like a heat shield protects a satellite that is being hurled back to earth. I do remember what she said, which is that I proved her therapists right and that I had always been a bad person. I remember this because my therapist had lead me to the same conclusion about herself. Funny how even in our friendship death, we still have things in common.

A day or two after she followed me on tumblr, I updated the configuration of my blog that said no one could access via the app that wasn’t one of my followers, essentially ensuring that whoever was going to visit my site was going to do so in broad daylight. And then I installed a counter that tracked IP addresses of visitors who came to my blog. For months, she continued to check on it. It was like she couldn’t help it. She was clearly sick. So to test the lengths to which she would go to find it, I changed the name once again and sent Him a link to a post. Lo and behold one week later, there is the entry from his phone visiting. And then a few days later another, closely followed by Her IP again. Tumblr would be the first of many spaces that she colonized and evicted me from. It's not a coincidence that I struggled to find a voice after that or that I have not been able to write with anything approaching ease in the last few years.

I didn't see her or talk to her for months. She had stopped coming into the office. I stopped hearing sirens in my head when I saw her name, so I unblocked her on social media. After all, we still share friends and having gotten what I wanted all along (space), my anger had evaporated. 

But according to my boss, she still used the fact that we no longer got along as an excuse to work from home. As if I had been the one shouting at her in the office, as if I had caused a hostile work place. It's no small coincidence, in my mind, that I was let go by our boss very shortly after she returned to the office regularly. I can't prove it, but I believe she contributed to it. And unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last time she actively set out to hurt me.

When I lost my job, I lost my insurance and therefore, access to my therapist. And I had to start rationing my anti-depressants. I fell into the deepest darkest depression of my life. And it did not help that this was all in the dead of winter, when the sun barely came out long enough for me to see it and run outside. Through the rest of December and January, I submitted dozens of applications and copies of my resume. Finally, at the end of January when I had had to start cutting each of my Lexapro's in half to get by, I got a call for an interview for a company in New York. They hired me almost immediately, and before I knew it I was being sent to New York to be trained. It was right around the same time that I found out the remaining members of the team I had hired at my previous job, Her and several others had been let go unexpectedly. I'd love to say that there was no part of me that received any amount of pleasure upon hearing that, but I'd be lying. I definitely gloated. It felt good to know that things were going wrong for them, for her, when things had just started to go right for me after they messed them up so poorly. In all of my self righteousness I opined to a mutual friend about how bleak Her household must be because I believed it probably was. It sucks to lose one's job and I would know all about that. That mutual friend, knowing that I had a relationship with Him at this time, mistook my opinion as though I had heard it was bleak in the household directly from Him. So the next time our mutual friend spoke with Her, our mutual friend voiced some concerns about the state of how things were going for the two of them. Her spoke to Him later, demanding to know why He is telling me in particular that things in their house are not fine. Which leads him to send a group chat message...

It's 7AM EST early February and I'm in the Best Western of Troy, New York reading my text messages. He has sent one to our entire friend group, demanding that if any of us are speaking about him to stop it immediately; leave him out of all conversation - She is upset that there has been any talk at all. I tell him that request is impossible as we're all friends who care about each other and I refuse to be isolated in any way from any of them. Meanwhile, sirens are going off in my head. I hear my mother's voice, warning me about domestic abusers who isolate their victims from their friends to perpetuate their abuse. I silence it. After all, I still live on the corner of Denial St and The-Dick- Is-Big Ave.

Eventually, a one-on-one conversation is started between He and I. He insinuates that it is the group chat itself that is the issue, because she is not allowed to be in it. I tell him I think it's valid that she is not in it as I am, and I want her to remain firmly out of my space. Which is a mutual feeling between the two of us, or so I thought. And anyway, I tell him, it's her that has me blocked on every social media platform we had in common.

It's at this point he calls me a liar. And it's at this point the story should have ended but I still have a severe lack of love for myself, no therapeutic support, am low on my anti depressants, and completely isolated in New York for the next two weeks.

He tells me he has her search for me on Facebook and Instagram and she finds nothing, which proves that it is I that have her blocked therefore I it is me doing the lying. Which, anyone who knows anything about social media will tell you, this is expected behavior if you have someone blocked. But he hardly ever engages with social media, let alone take the time to understand it, so this is lost on him.

I'm immediately triggered. I have to leave the office where I'm being trained for my new job and walk back to my hotel to catch my breath before I vomit up the coffee and cake that our sales manager brought as a welcome gift. The words "At this point, yeah I do think you're lying." keep swimming back up to me from a little grey bubble. I call him and scream into his voicemail. "...I do think you're lying to me," ... My hands practically vibrating, I take a screen recording of all of my blocked lists and send it to him. "...you're lying to me..." I black out for a moment, thoughts of my mothers fists raining down on me as I'm being called a liar in the backseat of her car. I sob into my hotel pillow. I feel broken.

But it’s the middle of the day, I’ve had this job for all of two days and I cannot be having a massive freak out this early on. I take one of my precious remaining Ativan and try to breathe. Eventually, I calm myself. In a sick twist, I end up apologizing to him for screaming and overreacting. I open myself up further and explain to him why being called a liar is a trigger for me. This was a pattern with us; The only way he ever had compassion for me when we argued (and sometimes when we weren't) was when I spelled out exactly what I was going through. I thought if I was honest about my feelings with him, he would treat me with more dignity. But as a matter of fact, it turned out when I was crying on his shoulder, he felt as if I was manipulating him. He told me that once when I called him, sad because someone I had a crush on had started dating someone else. I was never sure what I was supposedly manipulating him to do. Spend time with me? Show concern for me? But despite that, I take a huge risk, expose my jugular to him again and beg for him to understand where I am coming from. 

He apologizes. He comes over and we have a quiet talk. For a very short time, things go back to whatever normal is to us. We're communicating a little more and I think we're being more honest. But things aren't the same. We're still very vulnerable. I never knew if he sensed that or not. I'd like to believe that if he did, his behavior would have been different. But his behavior remained rough, and careless. 

A little over a month after I returned from New York, he had invited me to his house while she was away. The entire experience was unnerving. For one, the apartment felt cold and dark. It was not very inviting. For another, He was relegated to sleeping on a roll up mat on the floor while She had a bed and a closing door with a closet and a window. This really bothered me. I thought there would be more of a separation, or a at least a clear division of space. A boundary. I look desperately for boundaries, but there were none. Her makeup vanity was directly behind his work desk and above the space he used to sleep in. And there was no trace of me there at all. But of course there wouldn't be. She wouldn't allow it. And he never cared enough about me to change that in any sense. So I started to really see for the first time that our relationship was just sex for him. I couldn't see clearly that we even had a friendship anymore and this really bothered me.

I wanted to talk to him about it, and I asked him if we could. I'm not even sure what I wanted to say, but I just needed reassurance that he was still friends with me. That he still liked me. That he was, even though he was far away, still somewhat in my corner. I was feeling anxious, I was low on my medicine, with no therapist, working 12 hour days and still broke from being unemployed for months. I just wanted to talk and have him reassure me that at the very least, he was there for me and would be there for me. He agreed to that and we scheduled a time to talk, because at that point he was extremely busy with work and trying to balance everything, as was I. The afternoon we had worked out to talk comes and goes, and I don't hear from him. I message him and I express annoyance because we had plans, but he tells me that he had an outing with Her, and it went long. And then he expresses annoyance at me for being annoyed at him. He goes on the defensive. I completely unravel over a string of messages, which of course are poorly timed and one right after the other, which I know he hates. He engages his favorite tactic which is to leave the conversation entirely, tell me he's not speaking to me for a while, and then come back at his whim. He does this over a few days. He responds to each of my texts individually, escalating in each response until he's screaming at me in all caps and has worked himself back into the rage which makes him walk away.

I'm at the point where I'm looking at this pile of garbage relationship which has twice in the past two months shoved me into two of the worst, most ill-timed panic attacks I've ever had - and finally I hear my therapist's voice ring back to me as clear as a bell: He will never leave her, and he will never choose you. Everything that my denial had been holding at bay like a sweet little naïve raincloud crashed down all at once around me with the force of a tornado. It was the way there was never any compassion or kindness shown to me at the worst time of my life. It was the way he called me a liar and a manipulator when I was trying to include him in my deepest most personal feelings and experiences. It was the way he never noticed that I was blowing up my life with alcohol or that I was deeply depressed. It was the way he lied over and over again, telling me that he cared about me and then turning around to demonstrate why that wasn't actually true. It was the way I had to bend over backwards to accommodate his feelings, while there was never any room for mine.

And so, as anticlimactically as it began, our relationship finally ended. I don't even remember what the final blow was, or what I said in response. No doubt something shaky and angry and ugly. But I have never regretted it. For as ugly as I know it probably was, I do not regret it. My life, my health both mental and physical, has improved exponentially since that day in late April.

But if there is a hopeful epilogue to the story, it would pick up six months later when I had settled into my new place in the city, to be closer to work. I started to feel those pangs again. Those little flighty feathery feelings that can be so strong they echo across decades with such intensity that you can almost physically feel their presence inside your skin where they hibernate. It was the same feeling that made me sit down next to him on the bus all that time ago. I missed him. In spite of everything that happened, everything I learned, and went through, I did. But it wasn't until I started to feel as though I missed Her too that I knew I had to get back into therapy. A queer friend of mine who had been struggling through their own relationship issues, suggested a co-op place in Seattle they'd been using which was geared specifically to women and those who identify as such. Signing up with them was probably the best decision I'd end up making in my 30's. The therapist I was paired with was understanding, validating, and I never sensed once that she was bored with anything I had to say. She equipped me with the best tools to deal with my feelings, she taught that it's okay to love and protect myself through setting and maintaining healthy boundaries. And the best part about her is that she herself maintained extremely healthy boundaries. I never knew more about her than I needed to know. Yet I felt like I connected with her on a very deep level. And through talking to her, working with her, I was able to fully understand and appreciate what I had just been through, and how to exercise compassion for myself when I would find myself in situations where I would start reliving all of that trauma. Because of her, I found myself again. Or maybe I found myself for the first time. She helped me understand the feelings I'd been having for years but hadn't had the space or emotional support to explore. She helped me put a name to a feeling I’d had since childhood but never knew there was a word for. Not long after I started working with her, I came out as non-binary. Through our work, I found a deep well of love for myself that allows me to firmly (but with patience and love) define and protect my boundaries, and still have enough energy left over show interest, compassion and love for others in their journeys. And I stopped trying to avoid feeling like shit through drinking. Literally, everything became better a result of my therapist's influence on me.

But try as I might, there are some days in the year where my mind wanders back to the grey north where I tried to make a home. When I can almost hear the drizzle of rain in Occidental Park as I cried my eyes out there over something He said. In my mind's eye, I turn away, but the neighborhood is haunted with these types of traumas for me. Nowhere is safe, my mind panics, and I get turned around in the horrid memories; screaming at each other on 1st Avenue outside E Smith, sobbing so hard on 2nd that a stranger asked me if I was okay, countless arguments in the park that followed us to the bus stop and back to our home. Eventually, my mind grows desperate for answers, and it carries me back in time... all the way back to 2010 at Macy's when it began, and the loop starts again.

Which brings me to today. I've lost count of how many times we've been down this road. But I know grief is hard. And so is recovery. One of the ways in which I see to my recovery now is to write more. I don't usually publish what I write because it's just for me and I still have a lot of residual anxiety about posting anything personal online. Another reason is that my writing is so fluid that publishing it seems too final. Like... what if I change my mind about that way I've structured a sentence? What if I think of a better way to phrase that feeling? What if I change my mind entirely about the thing that I've written about? ...Why use a period if I could use a comma?

But I'm publishing this note anyway. For you, future Holly. Because you need this to be over. And because whenever we get into this rut, the only thing we seem to be able to do to stop ourselves from missing them and reminiscing about the good times is to walk ourselves through the trauma that they ended up causing. Which is effective in getting the sad feelings to stop, but you know is burning you alive on the inside. And so I'm writing this note to tell you (future me) that we don't have to do that anymore. You can set these thoughts and feelings down in language and writing, and be done. You can publish them, and move on. You can walk away. Put a period on the end of the sentence and close the book. 

But if you ever feel as though you need to mutilate yourself mentally by trying to list it all out again, so that you can poke it and dissect it and review it in triplicate... I will be here. Waiting to remind you that nothing you have ever done disqualifies you from being afforded compassion and kindness. Waiting to remind you that you deserve better friends, better love, than those that would afford you only scraps. Waiting to remind you that your anger is valid, along with your hurt and your sadness. And also waiting to remind you that this is temporary. These feelings are temporary. Give yourself the space today to feel what you are feeling. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be angry. And tomorrow when you wake up, let it all go.

I love you. -H

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Kicking back at a seaside resort

Feel the wind in your hair and bask in the warm sunlight. Dive into the crystal clear water and immerse yourself in the world below. Float as far as the waves will take you. 

I think Aqua Shores is becoming one of my favorite vacation spots. I’ve heard good things about the island for years but never got around to looking into it until a few months ago. It’s a bit hard to get there so that’s why it’s not overrun with tourists. Thanks to Isabelle and Tom Nook, we got a great vacation package deal that has made all the travel worth it!

While relaxing by the pool, I ran into two familiar faces - Dae and Marisol. They reside in Tokyo but visit Peace Coast Island once a year to host a big art exhibition at Seashore Path College. Dae Jeong is a big name in animation as she’s a producer, animator, writer, and founder of Sound Stories - an independent animation studio known for making strides in queer media. 

Her wife, Marisol Alon, is a storyboarder and producer who’s the showrunner of the award winning show Flames of Amber, a must watch if you’re interested in fantasy, drama, and comedy. It’s kinda like a mix between a magical girl kind of show but aimed towards an older audience and a sitcom that tends to lean on the serious side. It’s one of those shows where it’s a mix of self-contained episodes and season long overarching plots. Season three, which is airing now, has been knocking it out of the park so far and we’re only like eight episodes in so far. It’s got dark humor, touching moments, wholesome slice of life stuff, stunning animation, and well developed characters - I can’t recommend it enough!

Dae’s the kind of person who built her life from the ground up. Having grown up in a family that disapproved of her lifestyle - specifically her interest in art - Dae is also an advocate in making the arts more accessible as well as helping those who are discouraged from expressing themselves. She’s one of those big figures - celebrity doesn’t fit her, though she might be considered one - who’s not performative when it comes to social justice. Despite what her detractors say, her activism hasn’t ruined her career, it made her stronger and more vocal. She’s the reason why animation is able to make big strides in queer and Asian representation.

It’s no question that I’m a big fan of Dae and Marisol. They’re also very much down to earth, the kind of people who like to keep it real. They mean what they say and say what they mean - even if it means putting their careers on the line. Basically if they were straight white men they wouldn’t be getting as much unwarranted criticism or be picked apart by haters.

Dae’s not one to back down from her opponents. She grew up in a super conservative, predominantly white suburban town, which explains a lot. She was born in Seoul and adopted at the age of two by a white American couple, to which she became known as Dani. Her parents adopted her because they were unable to have another child so they opted for “a poor exotic orphan” to make themselves look good. As a result, Dae never felt like she fit in with her family because they forced her to be someone she’s not.

From mocking her interests to clearly favoring her brother, it’s no wonder Dae resents her foster parents. It’s a sore subject for her but one she feels like it’s important to talk about as there’s a lot of people who grew up in a similar upbringing. It wasn’t until she left for college when Dae finally began to embrace her Asian side after years of being ashamed of her heritage. 

Dae’s relationship with her foster brother is an interesting one. Jace was the golden child, the good looking athletic star who was popular and charismatic. Dae describes her relationship with him as complicated. While they weren’t exactly close, Jace was the only one who usually treated Dae like an actual person instead of a trophy or an emotional punching bag.

While things between Dae and her family were always strained, it reached a breaking point when Jace was diagnosed with cancer and lost his leg, ending a promising future as a basketball player. Her parents took their anger out on Dae while expecting her to act like a therapist as they cope badly with the circumstances. Jace also pushed Dae around but he would come to her defense at times if their parents go too far. While the parents were falling apart, the siblings came to a middle ground.

The years from Jace’s diagnosis to his death were the best in terms of their relationship, Dae once said. Maybe having cancer changed him as it knocked him off the impossibly high pedestal his parents put him on. With no one to turn to as their parents were too busy being shitty people, they reached an understanding over who their enemies were. They weren’t friends, but at least Jace admitted that the only reason why he stuck his neck out for Dae was because he found her “useful” in the war between their parents.

Jace was the reason why Dae was able to leave for good. Her parents were always against Dae pursuing art so they did everything they could to discourage her. Dae taught herself digital art so she won’t have to deal with her parents finding her art and destroying it. She worked hard to get scholarships since she’ll be paying every cent herself so she secretly joined competitions with Jace’s help. Eventually her effort paid off and she received an offer to study animation in Leeds. Knowing that it was her ticket out, Jace offered to help pay for her tuition as well as an apartment. He also made sure that their parents wouldn’t get in her way and for that, Dae is forever grateful.

In Leeds, it was like Dae was given a second lease on life. Free to be herself and pursue her dreams, she stopped being Dani and went back to her birth name. There, she met Marisol and they began dating a few years later. Jace checked in on her a few times over the next year before he died.

After graduating college, Dae and Marisol worked at a studio in London for a couple years before moving to Tokyo. Dae’s got an impressive array of works like Firefly Garden, Unknown Mysteries of the Seas, The Garden Palace, Neighbors, Northern Winters, and Carousel Dreams. Her whole career’s pretty much a middle finger to everyone who told her that she was destined to fail.

She's said that a part of her wants to go up to her foster parents and tell them to fuck off. But if they knew how successful she was - as in how much money she makes - they’d exploit her, bleed her dry, and destroy everything she worked hard for. Dae meant it when she said that she’s never going back.

It’s good to see Dae and Marisol kicking back at the pool. They’re here for their tenth wedding anniversary, taking a much needed vacation from their busy lives. It’s their first time at Aqua Shores too, having arrived a couple days before us. Both are trying not to do anything work related during their vacation, which is a bit of a challenge, especially for Marisol. The relaxing atmosphere does help a lot though.

After spending a good part of the day chilling by the pool, I invited Dae and Marisol to have dinner with us at the May Harbor Diner. So we enjoyed a beachside dinner while watching the waves and exchanging stories. I think Daisy Jane was a bit starstruck at first but by dinner she was comfortable enough to talk about art with Dae and Marisol. They both gave her a lot of helpful advice on getting her art out there, which was super nice. Dae later told me that she sees a lot of herself in Daisy Jane and I can see that too.

We stayed out until around eight and our group split up. Daisy Jane, Dae, Marisol, and I went on a ferry for an island tour that was about an hour long. At night it’s almost like Aqua Shores transforms into a different place. It’s a different kind of peaceful, like wandering the streets when most of the world is asleep so time moves differently in a way that makes you super aware of it. Too bad it’s hard to take decent pictures of the scenery - I tried and while the pics aren’t terrible, they really don’t do the island justice. 

The lights are so gorgeous to look at, like who would’ve thought that street lights can be so pretty?

Then we hung out at the pool until 1, where we talked about Flames of Amber and binged on a few episodes. It’s fascinating hearing behind the scenes stuff from Marisol, especially in a casual setting instead of like a convention or something. Dae talked about what it’s like running an animation studio, which was fun to learn about. She and Marisol are so passionate and honest about their work, it makes me appreciate and respect them even more.

Before heading out, we got the next two days planned out - scuba diving and riding a hot air balloon! Plus there’s a new episode of Flames of Amber tomorrow so that’s another thing to look forward to. 

[visceralcoma]

Aria Loiza De Sardet

Finally filled out my own questionnaire for my first De Sardet

What is De Sardet’s given name?

Aria Loiza De Sardet

What is the name Arelwin would have given De Sardet (assuming Petrus told them and its different than their given name)?

Arelwin never got to see her, much less name her. The Nauts named her instead. But in another life, Seren.

What was their relationship with Constantin like when they were teens?

Antagonistic. When they were kids they got along, but something changed in their teens when Loiza did exceptionally better than Constantin at everything. From academics to martial to politics and even social. Constantin withdrew from her, growing resentful that she was better than him at everything. Constantin’s resentment grew when he eavesdropped on his father and Sir De Courcillion and learned Loiza wasn’t even related to him and that his father was intending on wedding them together.

Did your De Sardet and Constantin ever have a fight? If so, about what?

When Constantin’s resentment of Loiza exploded, he shouted that she wasn’t even his real cousin. He said it to hurt her specifically. Unbeknownst to Constantin, she’d always suspected that she wasn’t really related to him given how much different she looked. And so she fled while crying and that’s when Constantin knew he’d went too far.

What is a special heartwarming memory of your De Sardet and Constantin?

Sir De Coucillion set Constantin to apologize to Loiza as she had locked herself away. It took much time but eventually when Loiza went a few days without eating or leaving the De Sardet apartments, he finally went to apologize for his words – now worried she was wasting away. He told her how he felt with her doing so much better than him, and his father preferring her over him. Stated how he was just another shadow he lived under. Only this one was a living one, as his brother was long dead. Loiza then revealed her own doubts about her place in the family. That even though she was the General De Sardet’s daughter, it was like she had no resemblance to her mother Princess Livie. And she suspected she was a bastard. With the air clear, Loiza promised to help Constantin with his studies and Constantin would stop resenting her.

What was the relationship like with Princess Livie (their adoptive mother)?

Very close. Even though Loiza felt like she might not actually be Livie’s daughter, she treasured her mother deeply and mourned with her when the diagnosis came back that she had the Malichor. Princess Livie view Loiza as the culmination of all the children she almost had but ultimately miscarried. A gift from her brother from the Island he had tried to colonize all those years ago.

Did De Sardet ever have a pet growing up? What happened to it?

There was a bird she inherited from General De Sardet. A Grey Al Saadian parrot. It was already forty years old when she took over care for it at the age of 8. Sadly it dies in her care but it lived a very long life and was her early exposure to losing a loved one. So when Livie was diagnosed, she was mentally prepared if anguished.

What was De Sardet’s relationship with their uncle (Constantin’s father)?

Close. Closer than Constantin and his father. Her uncle saw her like a pawn in his future plans and as a balm to Constantin’s rashness. He sought to marry her to Constantin, to temper him and reign him in. and also to be the driving force for the colonization of Tir Fradi. He had high expectations and so gave Sir Courcillion instruction to push her academically to reach her full potential. Loiza met each one head on. He often bought her gifts, commissioned swords and daggers for her use, and even had a custom gunsword made when she mastered both. He never pressured her to be like the other young ladies of court and indeed had her accompany him on many of his diplomatic and mercantile meetings when she grew older.

Did De Sardet ever get into trouble with their mother and uncle? Were they a frequent troublemaker?

She got into trouble once, when she broke under the pressures set before. It was revealed to her she would wed Constantin once colonization of the Island was underway. Though she didn’t hate her cousin – in fact she loved him. Loved him in the way they wished, but to be told she had to marry him as part of their plans, she revolted. Her sole act of rebellion and troublemaking was running away and finding the first brothel to deflower herself. But once there, she had no idea what she was doing and was nearly taken advantage of when mistaken for one of the working ladies.

For the first time since they were children, Constantin was the one to save her, revealing he was a frequent and high paying customer that he had a private room. There he sequestered her away. They spent the night and at her request he recommended one of the working gentlemen to her, someone he trusted.

Did De Sardet have many other friends?

Loiza had little friends given her schedule was packed most of the time. She had Constantin and a few acquaintances in court, no one else besides Constantin she would consider her friend.

How did they handle growing up with their mark? Did people mention it? Talk about? Treat them differently? How did De Sardet respond to them?

Poorly. As a kid, children called her mark a symptom of the Malichor and so they kept their distance from her. They neither wanted to be near her or play with her. As such she had a lonely childhood outside of her time with Constantin. Not that she had much time to play, for as soon as she was old enough her days were spend in study.

What are De Sardet’s favorite: food, color, music (genre/instrument), weather, season, and animal?

Food: A particular stone fruit from Al Saad, called a mango.

Color: Seagreen,

Music: Opera for the singing. She dreamed once of becoming a performer, but alas her uncle had other plans.

Weather: Rainy weather. It left the air cleaner back on the Continent, almost renewed and refreshed. On Tir Fradi, it was the same, but after each rain it was like she – herself – was rejuvenated. Like she’d taken a large drink of water.

Season: The end of winter. It feels like a fresh new beginning.

Animal: Birds. She has a liking to all the different sorts and has a collection of feathers from her uncle’s ‘friends’ who would try to win her favor, and thus her uncle’s ear, by giving her wild and exotic feathers from various birds.

What was their first thought of Vasco, Siora, Aphra, and Petrus when they met them?

Vasco: Capable, competent, if a little reserved. But beautiful.

Siora: She has a mark! Like me! Did father have an affair with someone from this island? Was father the first people to come to this island from the continent? Is this where I’m from?

Aphra: I could take the gun right out of her hands, but something in her gaze said not to. Determined, calculating, but not a killer unless pushed.  

Petrus: Just like one of uncle’s acquaintances in court. He wants something I can tell but what. He could prove useful though.

If they had one, who was De Sardet’s first kiss and/or love?

Constantin was her first kiss. It was a few months after Constantin had apologized for their big fight when Loiza was re-teaching him what Sir De Courcillion had covered in their dance lessons.  He was following her instructions perfectly when he started doing poorly. His hands were sweaty, and he stumbled over his feet. She didn’t understand why until when he nearly crashed them into a wall during a spin. She was getting up when the next moment he had pressed her against the wall, lips to hers and then he was stumbling back apologizing. She didn’t know what to make of it, as she was only thirteen and he fourteen, she carried on with the lesson.

Did De Sardet have any childhood/teen crushes on anyone? Describe how they realized it and how they behaved.

De Sardet didn’t have any crushes. Though she admired Kurt’s skill and ability it was more akin to hero worship, and though her first kiss was stolen by Constantin. It wasn’t until they were older did she love Constantin and he knew it, but neither acted on it in a silent act of rebellion against their parents. They both denied themselves because this was the one area they wanted to be free from their intrigue.

What subjects were their favorite to learn while being taught by Sir De Courcillion?

Music lessons. Being taught to sing was a passion she rarely got to express and so for as long as De Courcillion taught her it, she enjoyed it, but she quickly surpassed the level they would teach her. And though she continued to practice, it went nowhere. Instead she was encouraged to take an interest in other singers, and thus her love of the Opera was born.

What was their relationship with Kurt initially like when he became their bodyguard and/or when he became their Master of Arms?

When he became their Master of Arms, there was a bit of hero worship on Loiza’s end. He could fight and fight well. Though when he became their bodyguard as well, she tried to engage with him in discussion and had to excuse himself. Later he found her describing him as boorish. A word she regretted using as he would hold it over her head from that moment on for talking behind his back. She still feels guilty for calling him that, but Kurt won’t let her forget it. Especially when she playfully flirts with him.

What was Kurt’s initial assessment of De Sardet when he began teaching them to fight?

Graceful, crafty, and potentially deadly if given the chance. She’d be good for close combat and quick fights, but dreadful for cover and protecting herself. I’d give her a shield, but that would only slow her down. She can move faster than those wielding heavier weapons. Still, she needs to learn to parry. A heavier longer blade but not a long sword would do her well, but nothing too cumbersome. She’s got an aim not to be trifled with but shies away from guns due to the loud noise. A pistol on hand if she needs it but nothing more.

What did De Sardet specialize into first and why?

De Sardet specialized into the more technical aspects of combat. Swords, daggers, traps, explosives, and grenades and the art of subterfuge and misdirection. It was useful for her Uncle as when he entertained, she’d slip out and find what her Uncle needed in court in other cities. Eventually it became her preference.

What did they feel when they learned they were adopted and the circumstances behind it?

She knew it was something like this but she had imagined at least her father was actually her father, but instead it was all a lie. She was heartbroken and yet resolute. It was almost a relief to know, until it really sunk in what her “uncle” had done. Stolen a child and raised away all to be a piece, a way to get the Natives to concede to the Congregation. And her mother…Princess Livie an unwilling participant to his schemes but no less responsible – yet Loiza couldn’t fault her. She did the best she could. Instead all her anger directed at her “Uncle”.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 17)

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

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

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

“She had a baby face.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess so.” Zuko replies. 

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

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

“You raised them and you broke them.” 

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

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

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

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

“They are staying with me, Ursa.”

“We shall see.” 

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

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

.oOo.

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

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

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

“I just want to help.” 

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

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

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

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

“Need a copy of the notes?”

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

It is so ordinary.

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jet hasn’t even seen my face yet.” 

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

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

She hears footsteps again. “Go, away.” 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I thought that you were Yue.” 

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

Azula rolls her eyes. 

“How are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to tell the truth.”

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

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

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

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

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

.oOo.

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

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

“Neither do I.” 

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

“Clownfish?” Mai questions.

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

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

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

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

“You’ll get over it.” Toph shrugs. 

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

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

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

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

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

Jet follows in suit. 

“Good morning, Jet.” TyLee greets.

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

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

“She was kinda pretty before.” Yue interjects.

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

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

Another relentless blow to her ego.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chan cringes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fierce-little-miana]

Double Sword

Fandom: Hakuouki

Setting: Canon compliant, takes place some time after Dr Matsumoto’s diagnosis of Souji’s tuberculosis but before it is cristal clear for everyone in the Shinsengumi that Souji is gravely ill. 

Pairing: BroTP Okisai, Angst

Dedicated to  @himiko-omikami who gave me the idea and must have been wondering what happen to the fanfic I told her about. Beta-read by the lovely @fleeting-blossom-of-the-dawn (who wants Hijikata to do WHAT to Souji???)

Something wasn’t right. Saito was sure of it. Sometimes too much silence around something just increased the concern about it. And Souji’s situation was starting to be very concerning.

 He had been ill for too long now. Saito suspected that Souji probably never actually recovered from what happened to him at Ikedaya, whatever that was. He had been back at his duties of course, it would have taken an event of cataclysmic proportion to prevent him from serving Kondo, but he had been resting more and more. Eventually he even started spending days bedridden, even if the word was not used.

 Souji needed to rest, that was all Hijikata said. The reason for which he needed to rest was never mentioned. Saito was not entirely sure Hijikata had a clear idea of it. What he was sure of however was that Souji knew fully well what was the issue since Doctor Matsumoto’s visit, and he resented it. More surprisingly, it seemed that someone else knew about this. Someone unexpected.

“ - He would make a faster recovery if he started listening to what he is told to do, said Yamazaki who had stayed to dine with them after making his report to Hijikata.”

 Saito’s eyes landed on Yukimura who twitched at the comment. No-one else seemed to have noticed her reaction but Saito had been watching her since the subject of Souji’s absence had been brought up. He wasn’t eating with them tonight and he hadn’t been for the two previous days, so someone ended up commenting on that. Yukimura had been uneasy since the beginning of the conversation but she looked a bit pained by the last comment.

“ - I have heard he is far from being a dutiful patient, isn’t he Chizuru-chan? asked Nagakura.”

 It seemed to bring Yukimura back to the present. She was one of the very few persons actively taking care of Souji during his recovery so it wasn’t strange that someone would eventually include her in the conversation. However, she looked startled by the question. Thankfully for her it was Harada, probably feeling her discomfort, who answered:

“ - And it surprises you? Frankly I would be more concerned if it was the opposite. A docile Souji is not something of this world.”

 Laughers followed this declaration but Hijikata, who hadn’t taken part in any of the conversation, kept having a bleak look. Yukimura was relieved not to be the center of attention anymore and she quickly lowered her gaze to her trail not to lift it again for the rest of the dinner.

 Yes, Yukimura knew and she seemed adamant not to share her knowledge with anyone else. He could not blame her. The fact that she was aware of something Souji didn’t want anyone else to know about was surprising enough. No matter how it came to be, it seemed to have created some sort of balance thanks to which he allowed her to tend to him. Saito was not about to take that from Souji by finding a way to make Yukimura talk. He would have to wait.

                                                          *  *  *

“ - I feel better! declared Souji for the second time of the meeting.”

 He did look better. His skin was less pale and his eyes less feverish. He even didn't cough once during the entirety of meeting. However, he had started to drop a bit of weight. It was barely visible, but it was there. Even the fact that Souji had spent the afternoon outside training for the first time in days could not distract Saito from this.

“ - Then why didn’t you start back training your unite today? replied Hijikata who was starting to get impatient.

- You are mean Hijikata-san. I haven’t done anything interesting in days and you would make me start by losing my time.

- Training our men isn’t a waste of time.

-When they are bad yes it is!”

 This was going to keep on going. Souji had been invited to a meeting between Hijikata and Saito about an operation that was supposed to take place this very night. Anti-Bakufu activities had been noticed around a shop. After further inquiry it had turned out that said shop was a front for a depot of weapons. It had been agreed that the Shinsengumi should make a raid on the shop and neutralize all men involved. According to their information the plotters were meeting tonight.

 Saito was in charge of the raid. They were determining the last details: how many men exactly he was going to take with him, or which road would they take. Saito would be leaving with a handful of men at midnight. But now that he had been made aware of the operation Souji was much more eager to take part in it than to help planning it. Of course, Hijikata would have none of it.

“ - The fact is you are still recuperating Souji. Having you out there is liability.”

 Souji’s pupils went hide with shock. Hijikata could not have achieved more if he had slapped him. Numerous emotions passed on his face, indignation, pain, fear, despair, but eventually his expression settled on pure fury:

“ - I am not a deadweight! The only person making me one is you! I am fully able to cut down Kondo-san’s enemies! Do you need someone else’s opinion on this? Someone’s opinion you might actually value? Well let’s ask Chizuru! I am sure she will tell you that I am more than able to do this.”

 What was absolutely certain is that Yukimura would have no choice than to agree with a Souji in that state if she valued her safety even just a little. And Hijikata’s tired expression showed Saito that he too realized that. Yet Souji was already on his feet ready to exit the room. Hijikata sighted. He was about to speak when Saito realized that nothing good would come from this conversation:

“ - I want Souji with me for this raid.”

It stopped Souji in his track. He turned toward Saito before bringing his attention back to Hijikata. There was a hint of despair on his face again. Hijikata wasn’t looking at Souji anymore, his eyes were on Saito. He was asking a question. Saito nodded.

“ - In this case fine. You can go.”

                                                          *  *  *

 Walking at Saito’s right, Souji managed to sulk and be immensely proud of his achievement at the same time. He sulked because Saito had to step in for him to be allowed to take part in the operation but the pride of being fighting again for the Shinsengumi prevailed. Saito could see a slight grin on his face despite the darkness of the night. Well as long as he was in a good mood everything would go just fine.

 They had taken eight men with them, all of them good fighters with strong nerves. Considering that Souji was here, Saito had no doubt that the operation was going to be a success. They were a bit out-numbered by the men they were supposed to neutralize but they had the surprise element and the superior talent on their side.

 Finally, the shop was in sight. They stopped one street away from it. There was a weak light coming from the first floor. It was only visible in one window. Someone must have been using a lantern covered with a piece of fabric to be more discreet. From time to time the light flickered as if someone was passing in front of it. As planned, there were people in there, people who didn’t want to be noticed.

 With a slight movement of his head Souji indicated a street closer to the shop. There was supposed to be another entrance there. Saito nodded and signaled to four men to follow him. Before leaving their first hiding spot Saito looked back at Souji one last time. He was not grinning anymore. He was out right smiling.

 In less than a minute Saito and his men were facing the back entrance. He gestured to give the signal. A man drew a small whistle from his sleeves and blew it. The sound was almost imperceptible for someone not expecting it. Saito waited a minute. Finally, he launched the assault.

 The door came down crumbling. Saito didn’t even bother announcing their intent. Indeed, there was no need. Realizing what was happening a man started screaming:

“ - Bakufu dogs!”

 He drew out his sword and was on Saito in an instant. He tried slashing him vertically, but Saito only had to move to his right to avoid the blow. The man lost his footing and it was only too easy to open his stomach with a well-placed stroke. Saito left him dead on the floor.

 The other ones had also stopped what they were doing and had their sword in hand. Three of them threw themselves on Saito and one of his man who had come to his side. Saito went under one’s guard and had slit his throat before the other two were even close enough to intervene. The man next to him struggled a bit with one of their opponents but he had him undone by the time Saito was sending the third one down.

 Now that all his men were in the shops with him some of their opponent were starting to retreat toward the main entrance of the shop, trying to flee no doubt. Saito was himself too busy with two swordsmen to do anything about it, but he wasn’t concerned. Before any of them could reach safety, the door flung open. Souji was of course the first one to enter. He slashed one of them open with a vicious blow before the man could even conceive a strike.

 With more rooms to move in and coming from both side preventing any coherent counter measure, the men from the Shinsengumi were quick to defeat their opponents. One man did manage to pass by one of their men on Souji’s side. He shoved him aside sending him on the ground but Souji was here to deal with it.

 He turned toward the runaway, blocked a blow with ease and send him back several steps behind in one single violent movement. He looked like he was having fun. Seeing how easily he could counteract even the more daring of their adversaries seemed to increase his good mood even more.

 Saito had to shift his attention back on his side of the fight. A man with a nearly severed right hand was coming at him with the energy of despair. Once again Saito preferred avoiding the blow and stroke back in a deadly swift motion. As his blade cut through the flesh, he heard what was for him a typical rough cough. He turned his head toward Souji at once.  

 He was coughing violently and forced to retreat. The sight seemed to startle even his opponents for a minute. At least up until Souji missed the entrance step and fell back. Thankfully his fall was stopped by the wall behind. His back collided with it violently, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He was still trying to stop coughing.

 There was a moment of hesitation in the shop. Then, the three men still left standing on Souji’s side threw themselves at him. Souji had stopped coughing but he was trying to find back his breath and looked disoriented.

 One man was on him and Souji’s face was still turned toward the floor. Saito was too far to do anything. He did hit someone with his shoulder to try reaching them anyway. In front of Souji the man raised his sword. No-one was fast enough to help him on his side either.

 Souji rose up. In one masterful stroke he hit the man before he could even drive down his sword. The blow was so violent that the man was nearly cut in half from his left side to his spine. Souji had to struggle to get his sword out of the body. The other two attackers stepped back. Souji followed them and slashed them mercilessly. He wasn’t having fun anymore he was exercising retribution. They quickly followed the first one in death.

 One of Saito’s men killed the last opponent on their side. Souji cleaned his sword on his sleeves, sheathed it, and sat down on the very step he had stumbled on. Saito saw him close his eyes and shiver. He let him there to rest and went with some of his men to retrieve the concealed weapons. When they would be back at the headquarter, they would have to send a messenger to inform the Aizu clan of the events of the night but, in the meantime, they couldn’t let the weapons disappear.

 They managed to find everything in a bit more than fifteen minutes. In the main room the remaining men had re-arranged the body of their opponents. There had been nineteen of them. Souji wasn’t seated anymore. He was leaning against the wall with a renewed composure. He was covered in blood, like all of them, but he had a weird spot at the corner of his mouth.

“ - Can we go now?”

 Saito nodded and they left in good order. Outside people, still in their night clothes, were waiting to see what happened. When they saw the men of the Shinsengumi they recoiled but none of them dared to make any sound. The patrol left them behind without a word. Only when they were out of sight did they hear the raising clamor of horrified chatter.

“ - They could show more gratitude considering all we do for them, declared Souji.

- I doubt they ever will, answered Saito.”

 Souji simply hummed back and the pair fell silent. It wasn’t the case of their men. Two of them were talking at mid-voice behind them.

“ - It was one hell of a master stroke from Okita-san! Did you see? The spine was nearly entirely severed.

- And he isn’t even at the top of his form. I can’t wait to see him fight once he has completely recovered.”

 Both Saito and Souji turned toward the men who went completely silent like children caught chatting during a lesson. The conversation seemed to have made Souji smile, a sad and bitter smile. Saito did not comment on it.

 They finally reached the compound. The men carrying the seized weapons went to store them directly. Saito and Souji were left with the two men who had chatted in their back earlier. One of them went to Souji and said:

“ - Okita-san, Abe-san and I just wanted to wish you a quick recovery before leaving.”

 The other man was vigorously nodding behind him. Souji sighted with amusement:

“ - You won’t be saying that when I will be in charge of practice again.”

 The pair burst out laughing and Abe answered in a jest:

“ - No, we certainly will not!”

 Then they both took their leave and left Saito and Souji alone. Souji looked confused:

“ - Were they laughing at me? he finally asked after a moment.

- No, I think they were laughing with you…”

 An air of shock appeared on Souji’s face and then it was his turn to laugh. Saito had to admit that the occurrence was indeed absolutely unheard of. Finally, Souji managed to muffle his laughter and he said:

“ - Well I will let you do the report to Hijikata-san. I don’t really want to see him again tonight even if gloating to his face about still being alive is tempting.”

 Saito merely nodded and Souji departed toward his room. He had only taken several steps when he turned back in Saito’s direction.

 He was already half eaten by darkness to such an extent that Saito wasn’t able to distinguish the color of his haori or the blood staining it. Yet he could still see his mouth, which had found back the sad and bitter smile from earlier, and the strange stain at its corner:

“ - You don’t wish me a quick recovery Hajime-kun?

- Should I?”

 Souji left a slight burst of laughter escape his mouth, something that sounded as much as a sob as it did a laugh. He turned his face toward the sky and stayed like that for a moment. Then, without adding anything else, he headed straight into the darkness letting it swallow him all.

 Saito did not move. He did not stop watching Souji up until he had completely vanished.