#(or some disturbing combination thereof)

[leupagus]

Please enjoy this section of "A Song of Darkness and Dawn" that's at least three fics into the future (somewhere around season 8?) that I've had in my drafts for literally a year

Happy anniversary?

"Father never talked about the Rebellion," said Lady Stark after a long moment. "At least not with me. Our septa taught us about it, a bit. How King Robert made his claim to the Iron Throne in part through his grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen. She was the younger sister to King Jaehaerys and Queen Shaera."

"You believe Daenerys's claim to be stronger than mine?" He took a breath, wondering at himself even as he said, "It may well be."

Lady Stark gaped at him. "'It may well be'?" she echoed, incredulous. "Whatever happened to 'the Iron Throne is mine by right' and 'all those who deny my claim are my enemy' and 'I alone can unite the realm'?"

"I don't sound like that," he snapped, ignoring her badly-suppressed snort. "Robert won by right of conquest more than birth, and three dragons gives Daenerys Stormborn a better claim than any bloodline. But the more I think on it..." He sighed. "I suspect that there is no such thing as king — or queen — by right. It's simply a pretty phrase for those in power to pursue what they want, at the expense of their duty to their people." He glanced at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, though her expression was odd. "I just never expected to hear such things from you."

"It's your fault, if it's anyone's."

"Really." This expression was more familiar: a glower. "I'm sure this will be interesting."

"You took Winterfell back, despite having no real claim other than the..." He cast about for the right word, "sentiment, I suppose, of the Northern lords."

It wasn't the right word, he soon discovered. "I'm a Stark," she replied hotly. "My family's held the North for thousands of years!"

"But you're not the heir to Winterfell," he pointed out. ". Daughters can inherit — but they usualy don't, not if there's a son living. And your father had three."

"None of whom want to be Warden of the North!" She looked ready to kick him. "And you yourself granted Winterfell to me—"

"And I meant it," he said, stepping back a judicious pace. "You've rebuilt the Keep and brought order back to the North, made it safe for your people. Now you're preparing them for the Great War, and I'd ask for no one better. You're doing your duty. But it was a duty you sought, and a duty that rightly belongs to someone else."

"It's a duty I'm suited to," she countered. "Just as you were suited better to be Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships than to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

Stannis jabbed a finger at her. "That was completely different!"

"Only because King Robert gave Storm's End to Renly outright," she said, raising a finger in turn. "You're the one who considered it a slight, even though Dragonstone was the holdfast given to the heir to the Iron Throne, which you were, until Joffrey was born. Not only that, you were the only man Robert could have trusted to rebuild his fleet. And," she added, pushing his hand down when he tried to interject, "You would have hated being Lord of the Stormlands."

She said it with such triumphant confidence that he was left gaping at her for a moment, before hurredly pulling his hand away from hers. "I admire your confidence, my lady," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But bear in mind that I am Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

"Yes, and if you were there, you'd hate it," she said blithely. "You'd have to deal with people, throughout the day and every day — and not just people who do as you tell them. You'd have to listen to the complaints of smallfolk about their taxed grains, hear out disputes between two holdings that have been fighting over the same half-acre for three generations; you'd have to listen all the wheedling lords and the irascable septons and blustering tradesmen. You'd have to offer comfort to the sickly who come to you for the healing touch of their lord, attend feast days and wave and smile at the crowds, accept the flower crowns the children weave for you at the tourneys. You can't just shout. You have to care, and be shown to care. You—" Suddenly she stopped and laughed. "I wish I had a mirror right now, to show you your face."

"Flower crowns?" he asked, wincing. Shireen would look well in them, at least.

"Good thing I didn't bend the knee, Your Grace," she said, "if the mere thought of daisies wrapped around your head makes you rethink the entire enterprise. What did you think being king meant?"

[undercoverpan]

Coming home

Spider is dead.

Those are 3 words with a combined number of 12 letters. On average, each word has 4 letters, despite only 1 of them actually having 4 letters. This is the English spelling of it. In fact, when the boy had first been discovered–, sorry, when his body had first been discovered, Norm knelt down, pressed his hands to his neck and pulse and yelled out "Kerusey!" Which is Na'vi for dead. It's used as a one-word sentence here, like 'no' or 'yes'. He had declared Spider was dead with 1 very simple word, pronounced Kerr-oo-sey.

He thinks he recalls screaming after that. "Ma'itan! Ma'itan! Kerusey! Kehe, kehe, ke Ma'itan!" 

He found him rotting somewhere on the forest floor. All broken bones jutting out at odd angles and dried blood and dirt caking his body. He bore no mask and his skin was marred with thin lines across his stomach, arms, legs and back. Most disturbing was his hair, or in this case, the lack thereof. It had been as short as Jake's when he was in the military, with a long scar spanning the entirety of the back of his head. He was dressed in some flimsy medical gown, some parts already chewed up by the animals. His fingernails were bruised and dirty, and he was missing his right pinkie. He had a few missing teeth as well. Weirdly, his body was clean shaven, not a wisp of hair along his arms or legs or anywhere else.

Norm is a father scientist, he knows how you prep someone for surgery. Knows what surgical scars look like too. And once he had his fill of vomiting to the point of not being able to stand; staring dizzily at chunks of the yovo fruit he'd had moments prior; he carried his body to the lab. The human body loses 21 grams, or three-fourths of an ounce, when they die. Spider's body felt lighter than that. He could attribute it to the loss of hair. He knows that dreads, with products like gel or wax–, in Spider's case, oil–, can weigh a bit. Maybe 2 pounds; 3 if he's really pushing it. But no; he was lighter than even that.

He didn't pass anyone walking back to the lab, doing his level best to keep Spider from jostling too much. It was difficult when he had to start climbing back up. He found his legs stiffer than a board. He could barely feel the rocks and dirt beneath his feet, the scenery passing by mutely, melting away like it was never even there. Even sound could not reach him, it all seemed so far away; melting into something that was almost tranquil, like the world around him was nothing more than a sea of grey.

He reaches the lab, opens and closes the airlock and stumbles inside. The ground is cold. Spider is–, Spider is too cold. He has to warm up, and after that, maybe they can talk. He'd been gone for forever, somewhere he couldn't reach. His 'itan, cold and lonely without him. He should bring him to his room, he's tried cleaning it a little bit. Tried to preserve his scent on the blankets and pillows and clothes, keeping the door locked tight so it wouldn't be mixed in with the outside. His favourite was the bed, just laying in it like he used to with Spider when he was a baby, refusing to fall asleep unless someone was holding him. He'd sing little lullabies for him, except he only knew twinkle twinkle little star and he felt Spider deserved variety, so he sang washing machine heart and class of 2013 until he fell asleep.

He should wash Spider off before bed. Yeah, yeah, that'll help. He's going to clean him up and he thinks he'll stick him in one of his big shirts. It's easy, a mind numbing process. Dirt and blood washes away easily, but maybe that's thanks to the lack of body hair. He has Spider in his old Shakira El Dorado t-shirt, he remembers he liked their songs. As he puts Spider to bed, blue hands delicately tucking his blanket to his chin, he thought; why not relive old memories?

"Wherever, whenever, we're meant to be together.." he sings softly, recalling how Spider loved to sing along with him. "I'll be there and you'll be near, and that's the deal my dear."

______

It is not everyday that Max hears singing from Spider's room. He hears it often now, his colleague/husband often trying to reconnect to Spider that way. He always made sure to have a warm cup of tea ready for him when he did. He'd usually find him in Spider's room, clutching at some clothes or blanket, muttering desperate prayers to bring his son home, please, Eywa, let my son come home. 

Today was a surprise. Today Spider lays in his bed and Norm is singing for him. The boy is pale and unmoving, very clearly dead from where he's standing. He dropped to the floor, mug shattering and spilling tea and glass across the floor. 

"Max? Oh, be careful! Here, let me help you." He says, helping Max stand to his shaking legs. His eyes strayed to Spider's eerily still form. "Oh! Oh, Max, it's just wonderful, I found Spider! Eywa returned him to me, she let him come home!"

Max could only look at him with worry. He's dead. The boy is dead. His body is cold, stiff and pale. Their boy is dead. Kerusey. But looking at Norm's face, at the desperate and almost wild look in his eyes, as if begging for him to see what he saw. Their 'itan. Theirs, dead. 

"That's–, that's wonderful, Norm." He says tiredly. "Should I get us some food? Think we still have some episoth seeds left." Norm grins, something brighter than everything he's felt since Spider's kidnapping. 

____

Lil short babie post for u guys because ily <333 dug up an absolute banger from the drabbles and aus graveyard. P sure this is part of an au that's darker than even this lil thang.

Btw:

Ma'itan! Ma'itan! Kerusey! Kehe, kehe, ke Ma'itan! Means - My son! My son! Dead! No, no, not my son!

[barok-vanzieks]

When your apprentice was still amnesic, did he ever do anything dumb that took you completely by surprise, even though in hindsight it made complete sense given his amnesia?

I suppose that depends on your definition of "dumb". I will say that there were quite a few details which puzzled me until I learned of his origins.

I made it unequivocally clear to Stronghart when he appointed Asogi as my apprentice that I refused to take on anyone who could not aptly defend himself in combat. Stronghart assured me this wouldn't be an issue. Yet the first time that I handed Asogi a rapier, he gripped it in both hands, and proceeded to swing it with a rather large amount of force—even though a rapier is designed for precision thrusting rather than cutting. He took on a stance that revealed his experience in combat, yet his techniques with the rapier were... bemusing, to say the least. Although he quickly learned how to properly wield the weapon, I strongly suspected his previous experience had been with another kind of blade.

At one point, when I had tasked him with drafting a simple legal argument for an upcoming case, the document he produced was riddled with bizarre variants of various British legal terms, or in some cases, terms I had never even heard of. It was almost as if he had deliberately decided to redefine the entirety of British legal terminology on a whim. I was utterly perplexed at the time, but I have since realised that he unwittingly used English translations of Japanese terminology.

Then there was, of course, the time that I happened to overhear him mumbling rather confusedly in a garbled combination of British and Japanese. I could not discern much, but I do rather distinctly recall the word "bread pan" being repeated several times in both languages. Although I have never outright asked him whether he initially lost his mother tongue to the amnesia, I fail to think of a more logical explanation for his behavior.

Nevertheless, there remains one incident that could very well be crowned the most nonsensical. In his early days as my apprentice, his mastery of doors—or rather, the lack thereof—was profoundly perplexing. On multiple occasions, he treated hinged doors as if they were sliders, or jumped when they swung shut behind him. A particular instance of his struggles remains vivid: While collaborating on Albert's case in my office, I asked him to retrieve papers from another room. I had locked the door to assure no one would disturb us, and Asogi stood immobile before it for a painfully long moment, hand on the doorknob, examining the lock with a piercing gaze while his breath grew sharp with mounting frustration. Eventually, I interceded, elucidating the workings of the lock with what patience and grace I could muster. With a wordless nod, he unlocked the door and exited with haste, doubtless mortified. At that time, ignorant of his Japanese roots, I found his perplexity over such mundane tasks as opening a door most puzzling, given his profound grasp of the complexities of British law. Except on occasions when we are both absent, the lock to my office has not been engaged since that particular day.

[severinewrites]

All Things Bright & Beautiful

“The Heavens Are Thine, The Earth Is Also Thine—As For The World And The Fullness Thereof, Thou Hast Founded Them.” - Psalms 89:11

All things bright and beautiful, every time I see nature, my heart and soul spark—as it lifts my spirits. Every refreshing breeze that caressed my face—it feels all too dreamy, from what I can tell.

As a person who lives in an urban place, there’s pollution everywhere, and little to no trees around my area, which is upsetting. There is, but the more trees, the merrier. I do love to see trees around my area. I had once a vacation with my family to Baguio, known as the City of Pines, in shock, there’s no pollution but cold weather, and more trees, trees are everywhere which is what I like to see in my homeland but oh well. On that trip, I was able to focus on myself without any disturbances. With trees, I was able to admire God’s creation, and I now begin to understand why Christians admire God so much, his unwavering and unconditional love that is.

Every day, as I walked to school, I was greeted by the golden sunrise touching my face. It was so bright that I was indeed blinded by it, but it wasn’t that bad at all. I do love seeing the sunrise in the early mornings. I always picture it if I’m in a mood too; if I’m happy, then I take pictures of it. It is a breathtaking scenery to see every morning, the best way for nature to greet you.

Not only that but the birds too, greeted me, the singing of the golden-bellied birds is so wonderful to hear every morning, it soothes your ears as they sing in harmony. I adore birds that sing, and I do wish I had a garden of my own, I’ll be glad to open my garden for them to stay if ever pollution gets worse. Birds are one of the most important creatures, I could say that since they did play a significant role in the bible, but that’s all I know.

The clouds too are one of the mesmerizing things to see in the morning, as they pass you by. Clouds can change based coming from the light of the sun and time, skies may appear to be pink, orange, purple, or blue. It’s such an artistic combination of colors to see in the sky, just like a painting of The Starry Night by Van Gogh, one of the best times to take a picture before you start your day!

If you ask me, why is a young writer such as me writing about nature? Well, maybe I’m just a writer who adores nature so much, it has helped me cope when I’m in my darkest moments in life. I just want to share my thoughts, that’s all. If you ask me if I have some takeaways, I would simply encourage one of you to appreciate everyone to love nature, just pause and look at your surroundings.

We all know life is worse, it consumes our energy, making us depressed and hopeless. In my journey of battling depression, sometimes we take a step back and stop what we are doing, feeling unmotivated to do anything at all. I’ve always doubted myself, if I could look after myself, to pick myself up without any help. But then, I saw what was outside the window in my classroom, and wow… there was a lot of beauty, I said. Life is hell, I know, and finding one’s encouragement is hard to come by but all I could suggest is to look at the brighter things in life, like admiring the beauty of the earth, even if you find it boring. After all, it’s one of God’s creations.

12.15.2024

[gordontheengineswifenirmal]

More disturbing stuff - ok, to be fair, the age of consent in CANADA, where this person is from, is TECHNICALLY 16 for SEXUAL ACTIVITY. However, if u r NOT in Canada, this can be interpreted differently, if the legal age is older. General legal age is 18 or 19, depending on where in Canada u reside. This is still extremely creepy. The image itself out of context isn’t offensive. The fact that this person is so sex obsessed, and is older than 17 makes it even more disturbing. Knowing that this person is trying to portray this as animal sex as a fetish is even more cringe. (Yea yea I know ‘but u drool over machines who can’t consent’. They’re fictional sentient machines. They have no practical equivalent in the real world. These animals do. The sexual connections that some furries have is disturbing, but they are somewhat more fictional. The animals in the lion king are fictional in that they are more sentient, but are still being portrayed in a more realistically human nature, and things could be interpreted as such. The leap from cartoon to actual animals is also easier to be made.)

With that being said, convoluted as it may sound, there may be a psychological explanation or two at play here.

They stated that they hate men, despite identifying as non binary. (They were born biologically female.) They may associate procreation with being a a female act, as females are the ones who become pregnant and actually give birth, despite the fact that it does take sperm. (Remember that practical logic may have certain limitations in the mind if someone THIS mentally ill). It could be that the person equates asexual folks as a male (whether they are or not), because we are (often) not procreating.

Or, n this may be the more plausible theory - they may be envious because we (in general, there r asexuals who do have sex for whatever reasons) have a strength in not needing sex, or not having the unhealthy obsession they do with it. There’s a definite all or nothing mentality at play here. (Think: They don’t agree with me, so OBVIOUSLY THEY are the problem, I’m NEVER the problem! Thought process.) They see all asexuals as sad, lonely, sex starved losers. They want sex/attention/validation, and this is a weakness for them. This explains their needs to post porn, their attention seeking, LITERAL begging posts. They want and aren’t getting enough of what we don’t want or need. This frustrates them, and turns into envy. They lack self control n act out inappropriately, projecting their vitriol as a result.

Or, it could very well be some combination thereof.

They do exhibit narcissistic and bpd related traits, especially in their outbursts. Many narcissists and folks with bpd do have unhealthy relationships with sex. The narrow minded thinking (‘they don’t WANT sex. Of course, that’s the only way they could be’ mentality) and the whole give me this n then maybe I’ll be nicer ultimatum is an act of gaslighting/manipulation, also very typical.

The fact that they had the chutzpah to tag acephobic is a fun touch. Sometimes these kinds of folks will hide any indication that they have negative traits. Others are so out of touch with reality, they will flaunt them brazenly.

.

[flameswallower]

I'm genuinely very sad that twitter is slowly dying. There just aren't good alternatives for me-- this website and blue sky are the closest, but not only will trying to build a following be pretty exhausting, the culture on both sites is terminally square. Sorry, but it's true! In different ways; still, nevertheless.

The culture on twitter, conversely, was always a toxic waste pit, but in ways I generally found/find it easier to evade or ignore than most people seem to. Some of that is luck; some of it's that I'm white and not a woman or someone who reads to most people as a woman, and I don't get into direct arguments with transphobes, and so I evade the worst harassment brigades.

But I think a lot of it comes down to the same reason I prefer to hang out with overtly "mean" and "scary" people than with "nice" people sometimes. I would rather be in a situation where

1.) I know others can stand up to me and won't take any bullshit if I accidentally make them uncomfortable, overstep boundaries, etc.;

2.) conflict and disagreement will not be perceived as abusive or as The End Of the World, ditto if I have an Oops! It's the Autism/ADHD! moment and respond in a socially inappropriate way because I misunderstood a situation or couldn't control my impulse to say something/laugh at something I found funny;

3.) I need not fear that anybody will clutch their pearls and get on my case for being a little *~**edgy**~*, for existing as a sexual being, for using drugs, for describing things that have happened to me in the past, for writing horror fiction that sometimes deals with extreme or taboo subject matter, for not keeping myself scrupulously PG-rated the way I would around children when I'm with other adults, and/or for inadvertently saying something insensitive/ignorant that I later apologize for;

4.) my contrarianism gets to manifest as being kind and considerate and unusually patient/open/compassionate with people who are being jagoffs or are clearly disturbed or whatever, as opposed to manifesting in argumentative behavior, pushing boundaries, and telling people to go fuck themselves

Basically, I need to find the social media platform or subsection thereof that's equivalent to a group of goths and punks in a condemned building imbibing unwise chemical combinations and giving each other terrible stick-and-pokes of cartoon characters smoking weed or doing tijuana bible shit. One of the punks named himself a slur (it's okay, he can reclaim it). Several of the goths are sex workers. Practically everybody has been to the psych ward, jail, or both. A few people use it/its pronouns specifically as a fuck you to normies. One girl's clothes are filled with rats.

[akuma-homura]

64

oh fuck yes akuma kourin made it on here too

I desperately want to make a V3 cover of this song, but uh. I do not have the range to get near a lot of the notes for this song, and since it's so distorted, using a vocal remover to rip the vocals for a midi doesn't work either.

eyelash flutter at anyone who might be able to have have a better time doing midis so i can do the cover,,,,? >KICKED

also i'm gonna ramble about this song because... i have a history with it

but also I have a history with this song. Like. Okay, first off, fun fact, it-- or at least the video?? was apparently an april fools project! Like I'm pretty sure at least the video for it was definitely >lets push its dark and ~disturbing~ nature for the giggles-- some parts making this obvious tbh.

But as a kid like, I didn't know this. It struck a chord in me in actually horrifying me. Plus like, admittedly, I was still in my deeply christian raised mindset too, despite some of my likes, so seeing something translating to Devil Ascends or whatever, seeing a pic of baphomet, seeing KAITO on the cross was like. Felt very blasphemous and scared me in that way too wheezes

but I was also. deeply fascinated with it. like it genuinely piqued 14 y/o me's interest despite being scared of it. (this also isn't surprising, my interest and love for KAITO literally started from me actually being creeped out by Yandere KAITO stuff but... being fascinated. Then RP's started, and that sealed it.)

so eventually I, a 14 year old who only knew english despite living in an area and family where I should have also learned Spanish too but it didn't catch with me, wanted to translate it myself to see what the fuck was going on in the song.

Of course, I didn't know Japanese at all. I didn't know how the language worked at all, I didn't even know how sentence structure or word structures worked for it.

But what I did have?

.....2009 era online machine translators.

You can imagine the quality that was spit out by them.

I used multiple of them though, not just Google-- I don't remember the names now, but. I basically translated lines with what was at least 4 different machine translators, also cross referenced some kanji and words with... fuck, was it wikipedia at the time? other google sites? I don't remember, and like. Wrote down my best understanding of the combination thereof.

again. you can imagine the quality of the translation.

BUT. it did at least give me SOMEWHAT of an idea of what was going on in the song... somewhat. Honestly I still felt a bit confused, but there was the general gist of

>...possible demon possession? Demon possession from computer....??? mental breakdown. Trying not to hurt a loved one bc of it I guess???? are they fucking crucifying him. oh he's hoping for god to save him in the final days or something

Honestly. It's one of the 'founding' songs in my head for Proto(the KAITO muse that eventually became 'mansionKai' with retwrites which bacame Kai / Kadin), among other certain yandere KAITO songs.

...because that's the thing, it's also a yandere KAITO song! So that's also some context to think of it in!

I always hoped someone else would see the song and want to do a Proper translation of it, but like... that never happened. Over a decade passed and I never saw a proper, good english translation for it. It's a shame, honestly.

Nowadays, with machine translations, Google Translate has actually notably improved-- and we have the likes of DeepL, too-- but. That doesn't always take into account of context, and other little intricacies when it comes to language and lyrics and such.

And like, I have a cleaned up DeepL translation on the reupload for the song now-- and it IS better than the one I put on it with annotations over a decade ago. But...

It definitely feels like >man. I need someone who actually knows the language and could see things I'm definitely missing to give this song a proper english translation.

(also, I admit, I also sometimes have a hard time grasping even just. how things are said in english sometimes, and what could be better said in english, and such things, so like, that doesn't help)

Anyhow, I do legitimately like the song. The fear of it has obviously passed, and finding out it was an april fools project kind of also has me like >haha. wow. i sure Experienced over what was a joke.

but hey, that's just how art is, I guess.

Honestly, with the DeepL translation, I do feel it still fits as a founding song for Proto, hahaha.

[mdshow-me-your-moves]

Ok, so I'm certainly not going to moralize any of this, or say that this is the ultimate way to be that makes me better than other people, and works flawlessly all the time, but as an ex shithead who would like to see a world full of less shitheads, the thing that seems reliable to me is to treat shitheads to some percentage of empathy, but combine that with a percentage of distance and coldness. (Bonus if they can see you treating non shitheads with consistent empathy) and just like call them out when they act like a shithead, and don't let them into your personal life. You can then gauge them by their change in behavior/lack thereof if they're a person who's willing to change and worth some more effort. Obviously this takes a lot of energy that you don't owe shitheads, and not everybody has the right tools for every different kind of shithead. But I do get a little disturbed that often on this website people put like nazis in the same camp as just like an asshole coworker in terms of their ability to change. Sometimes, in fact, it turns out that you're being the shithead, and most people just want to be understood, and have a huge capacity for love and change if you give them the opportunity. To say that everyone who has shit opinions or like supports other shitheads is irredeemable and not worth anyone's time I think only succeeds in creating more shitheads. Because if nice people don't give everybody some space to be human, other shitheads are going to give select people opportunities to think that being a shithead is what it means to be human, and that can be an alluring trap.

I am aware that op is saying that it's the unrestrained empathy towards irredeemable people that's the problem, and I went on a diatribe about what that means to me, and to many have not added new information. But I think some people use the uncomplicated rhetoric to excuse being a shithead who creates more shitheads.

empathy is a tool. it’s up to you to use it or not, depending on the situation. TIP: you do not have to extend this tool to people who make the world a more dangerous, horrible place and who will never, ever, ever change. unrestrained empathy can be just as dangerous as a lack of it

[theminecraftbox]

no idea if ur still doing the top 5 thing and feel free to ignore this bc we haven't actually talked about four square like at all on our blogs asdlfjs but bc im genuinely curious - top 5 four square AU dynamic duos? 👀

:D

For those not in the know (which tbh is probably most everybody), the Foursquare AU is a thought experiment (and eventual fic? Someday) by me and Dr3 premised on… what if we DreamXD took JMAH!Dream and c!Dream, and forced them to sit in a box and ✨bond✨? Because, as we’ve established, they’d kinda hate each other.

But Kat, I hear you say, that’s only two people, and it’s called foursquare! An excellent point, which is why the Dreams receive sets of periodic visitors! So far, they’ve enjoyed the company of j!Techno and c!Techno, then j!Sam and c!Sam, then j!Quackity and c!Quackity, then combinations thereof… you get the picture.

Naturally some of these pairs are better disposed towards each other than others. This ranking was so hard because I LOVE THEM ALL, UGH. There is literally something fascinating about every duo.

Honorable Mention: c!Techno and j!Dream

j!Dream has spent ages without any sort of lighthearted company whatsoever. c!Techno is used to bringing a hostile and wounded Dream out of his shell. I’m soft about them; I’m soft about the ways in which the Technos, and c!Techno in particular due to his experience, are the only people here both willing and prepared to go to bat for either Dream. j!Dream is getting so damn invalidated by everyone and c!Techno stands up to that.

5. j!Sam and c!Quackity

This one kind of edges a lot into the c!Quackity and j!Dream dynamic, too, because it’s all about c!Quackity coming to terms with the idea of j!Sam as a calculated torturer. Not just an overseer of torture, not just someone violent—but someone who, for much longer than even c!Quackity had the patience and stomach for, tried to systematically destroy a man’s will using pain. c!Quackity is annoyed, and angry, and disturbed, and outraged by the hypocrisy (and he absolutely makes all of this the Dreams’ problem). And for j!Sam, c!Quackity is the specter of one of his greatest failures, someone he blames for the prison’s collapse and someone he holds up as a comforting standard to compare himself against: as long as he’s not c!Quackity, he’s not a torturer. It’s a delicious conflict.

4. c!Quackity and j!Quackity

COMEDY DUO! Everyone clap!! These guys are insta-bffsies, instant drinking buddies, and instantly make each other worse. They’re willing to egg each other on, they’re willing to encourage each other, and they’re ready to make everything into a game they’re both winning. They’re each other’s sympathetic audience, and they’re a reminder of their own humanity—not in a wholesome way, but in a grimy, laughing, down-to-earth way. They look at each other and they’re mildly afraid of what they see—and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s a great fucking thing, isn’t it! Also they spend hours gossiping about whatever the fuck is UP with Sam and Dream, so fucking weird right? So they get instant rights for that.

3. c!Dream and j!Sam

j!Dream buckles under the awful weight of j!Sam’s conditioning, and c!Dream sees the horrifying, inescapable extension of what he—and Sam—could have become. Consequently, he resists as strenuously as possible, even—and especially—when the smart move would be to give in. For j!Sam, c!Dream is his white whale, the one that got away. Drawing the differences between the two Dreams makes it more clear than ever to j!Sam that c!Dream was never actually his, not truly… and even j!Dream escaped him too, didn’t he? So much of what j!Sam did and does to j!Dream is actually aimed at or in payment for what c!Dream did or is. They have some Shit To Prove to each other.

2. c!Sam and j!Sam

Oh god there’s two of them. If you thought the Quackitys exacerbated each other’s worst tendencies, hoo boy, they’ve got NOTHING on these two. Sam is a people pleaser at heart; his rationale for whether or not a thing is Right is in large part whether or not he thinks that someone else in possession of the full facts and his perspective would agree with him. He martyrs himself to a lonely idea of justice because he’s quietly and terrifyingly afraid that he WON’T ever get this validation, and that no one will ever tell him “I understand what you’re doing and you’re right to do it.” Well. Guess who’s validating him now? His other self, who he confusingly regards as both literally, tangibly him (and unlike any of the other pairs, it’s true that j!Sam actually is just a future version of c!Sam), and as another sane and trustworthy perspective on this whole mess. Every time one of the Sams hesitates, he glances at his compatriot and feels heartened. They’re in the right. Plus there’s the strange sense of proprietary protection they feel over their respective Dreams. It makes for a nauseous, heady brew.

1. c!Dream and j!Dream

Oh. Oh. Them. They hate each other. And the awful poisonous terrible cruel thing is, self-hatred isn’t something particularly innate to Dream. (In fact, it’s not a major demon of any of the prison trio). The festering loathing he directs at his counterpart is a direct response to seeing his own trauma reflected in another (weaker? Stronger?) version of himself. He’s gone through fucking HELL and he’s still there, and the only target he’s free to rail against is this other self. This self whose flaws he can pick at in the same way his abusers do, and who he can viciously mock for being unable to stand up under the weight of that abuse. They each have a taste now of EXACTLY what each other has been through, and this weight of shared trauma has only made them more awful to each other, because what’s the damn alternative? What’s the alternative, is it to admit that they aren’t coping?

But they’re allies! Without thought and without question, they’re allies. They work together well. They nearly managed to win a fight against steep, steep odds with nothing but grit and desperation.

When they shared that one soft moment (you know the one, right when they surrendered, when j!Dream squeezed c!Dream’s wrist because they knew what was about to happen) I wanted to fucking cry.

[anonymousdandelion]

Sunny Side of Eden

Today’s @fluffbruary​ prompt fill ended up on the longer side!* I started writing for the prompt “Bright,” but snuck in a use of "Sharp" and "Tease" as well. Have some pre-canon first meeting fluff on the Wall of Eden!

*Footnotes included... and there are a lot of footnotes. ;)

Sunny Side of Eden, rated G, 1370 words

Aziraphale was retracing his steps along the wall around Eden for the five hundredth and thirty-second time[1] , munching on a pear he’d plucked from one of the upper branches of a tree at the edge of the Garden, when something near his feet moved and hissed.

Letting out a high-pitched yelping sound which was probably rather unbefitting of a guardian, Aziraphale stumbled a couple steps backwards, wings and arms careening wildly[2] to keep from losing his balance altogether. Once he’d regained his footing and averted the immediate catastrophe[3], he took a deep breath, ordered his heartbeat to settle, and looked down for the source of the disturbance.

The source of the disturbance was looking right back up at him: a large serpent, curled on the wall directly in its guardian’s path. Black and red scales glistening in the sunlight, forked tongue flicking in and out as the creature reared up, sharp yellow eyes staring piercingly at Aziraphale in what might have been alarm, annoyance, confusion, curiosity, or any combination thereof.

Aziraphale gathered his dignity and his thoughts. He was a guardian, after all. Perhaps now was finally going to be his opportunity to act like one.

Although… come to think of it, he realized, he wasn’t exactly certain what “acting like a guardian” was supposed to consist of, specifically. The briefing materials had been somewhat  vague on the matter. Which, presumably, meant he was expected to be able to figure it out on his own.

“What,” Aziraphale asked the serpent, tucking the flaming sword awkwardly away into his sash so he didn’t need to worry about hurting anyone with it if he lost his balance again, “are you doing up here?”

The serpent lifted its head higher, coiled form undulating in vivid contrast against grey stone. “What are you doing up here?” it countered.

“Well, I—” Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, to give his name and rank and assignment, then caught himself just in time and frowned instead. “No, wait, I asked you first.”

“And?” the serpent challenged. Its tongue flickered out again, as if testing something in the air. “Ssso what?”

Aziraphale blinked down at it[4] , feeling something at a loss as for what to do next. He’d thought all the animals were meant to stay in the Garden. He hadn’t been told how to deal with finding one on top of his wall, of all places. He could feel his hands beginning to wring at the waist of his robe. He wasn’t prepared. What should he… 

Fortunately, before Aziraphale’s worrying could spiral any further out of control, the serpent seemed for whatever reason to relent. It lowered its head — though with eyes still fixed on Aziraphale — and gave a long, hissing sigh. “I’m sssunbathing.”

Finish reading on AO3

(More of my Fluffbruary prompt fills here!)

[syn0vial]

i want to address the “boba fett is catholic” meme i’m seeing in the notes of my post, bc, while hilarious, it’s actually quite an interesting bit of expanded universe history!

from what i understand, the meme comes from someone quoting a snippet from the expanded universe in which boba fett says that he considers sex outside of marriage immoral. which, yeah, is a weirdly catholic thing for him to say. so let me provide some context.

this quote is taken from the short story “the last one standing” by daniel keys moran. daniel keys moran wrote probably some of the strangest prose about fett and was the first writer to really take a crack at his backstory (this was well before aotc when boba was revealed to be a clone), as well as his history with han solo. if you like, uh, smoother characterizations of boba fett, you might not like this version so much: some words to describe moran’s boba fett would be obsessive, paranoid, and disturbed. 

anyway, most of moran’s writing (aside from a few snippets that were expanded on but we’ll get to that later) was retconned after aotc, so if you just want to be like, “nope, boba fett never said that shit, never happened,” while still exploring other legends material, then absolutely feel free. but if you want several textually-supported reasons for why he’d say something like that that aren’t being space catholic, read on.

so, first of all, the immediate context: why tf is a bounty hunter talking about extramarital sex at all? well, the context is that boba fett is in jabba’s palace after leia has been captured. she has been sent to his room as a reward (ugh) and he’s trying to persuade her that 1. he doesn’t intend to assault her and 2. she really should just crash in his room for the night anyway bc if she goes back to jabba, it’ll be seen as a sign of disrespect and they’ll both get in trouble. leia is understandably on-edge and mistrusting of him and this is when he says the “sex between those not married is immoral” thing; he’s trying to convince leia that he really isn’t going to touch her.

(for those wondering, he doesn’t. he gives her some blankets to cover herself and lets her sleep in the bed while he spends the night sitting on the floor)

so! if you so wish, you could easily explain the whole thing as boba saying space catholic shit (whether he actually believes it or not) to reassure leia that she’s safe in his room for the night. he says himself that if she were to go back to jabba, jabba would likely take boba’s refusal to touch her as an insult and take retribution against him, so boba has plenty of incentive to try and convince leia to do otherwise.

but wait! what if you’re fine with boba having hang-ups about sex and relationships and just want a reason other than just “space catholicism?” well, friends, the good news is that that reading is even more supported by the text in a way that would later be expanded upon in post-aotc legends content.

though, before we proceed, lemme just slap down a content warning for discussion of drugs, sexual assault, and the intersection thereof.

now, back to “the last one standing.” leia eventually decides to trust fett and the two proceed to have a really awkward slumber party. leia, noting the lengths fett is going to in order to make her feel safe, begins to question what someone like him is doing working for jabba the hutt. they talk about morality for a bit and boba actually seems to enjoy talking to her--up to the point where she says he reminds her a bit of han. he reacts angrily, saying he and han are nothing alike. curious about his reaction, leia keeps pressing. why does he hate han so much? boba responds by saying it’s bc han smuggles spice. leia is like, “dude, seriously? you literally kill people for a living.” boba gets increasingly, uncharacteristically loud and agitated arguing with leia about why smuggling spice is worse than murder and is one of the worst things a criminal could sink to. and then, finally, at the crescendo of their argument, he snaps at her, “If I had been using spice tonight, Leia Organa, perhaps you would not be safe with me in this room.”

so, uh. what the fuck, right? apparently the reason boba hates han is bc han smuggles spice and spice... makes people more likely to be rapists, according to him??? what???

moran doesn’t fully answer these questions in the story, though he drops some major hints--the beginning few scenes show boba as a young man in jail for murdering a man named lenovar, his superior officer in the journeyman protectors, and staunchly refusing to say why other than that lenovar deserved it. this is followed by a scene maybe a couple of years later with boba literally burning a spice lord’s palace to the ground. this is all the context moran provides, but, the story doesn’t end there as later EU writers would keep this peculiar bit of characterization and expand upon its background.

which brings us to the backstory that post-aotc legends writers eventually settled on: when boba was 16, he began to feel dissatisfied with his life as a bounty hunter. he befriended another teenaged bounty hunter who felt the same way: sintas vel. the two of them ended up eloping to concord dawn, his father’s home-planet, and tried to live “normal” lives or as normal as two teenaged former bounty hunters could manage. boba got a job as a journeyman protector, where he was taken under the wing of a superior officer named lenovar; boba and sintas even had a daughter, named ailyn. 

for awhile, everything seemed fine, but, of course, this contentment was not to last. lenovar turned out to be a scumbag predator who, after gaining boba and sintas’s trust, sexually assaulted sintas. fearing what might happen to her young family if she tried to retaliate, sintas attempted to keep the whole thing a secret. however, boba eventually found out and immediately ran off to murder the shit out of lenovar. combined with the details from moran’s story, the implication is that lenovar was a spice-user and/or that he attempted to use spice as an excuse for his behavior when boba confronted him. either way, after murdering lenovar, boba was imprisoned for killing his superior officer. however, in an effort to protect sintas, he refused to say why he did it and instead just insisted to his interrogators that lenovar deserved what he got and that he felt no remorse for killing him (retroactively explaining the scene at the beginning of “the last one standing.”)

boba was subsequently exiled from concord dawn and his family, leaving him with bucketloads of unresolved issues regarding relationships, sex, and spice. i would say that it would be perfectly reasonable if not outright supported by legends material to view boba’s apparent disapproval of casual sex in moran’s short story as his own thin self-justification for deeper issues that have nothing to do with space catholicism and everything to do with All That Shit that happened to him and sintas when they were teenagers.

at the end of the day, technically all of legends/the expanded universe has been retconned, so feel free to take as much or as little of this as you’d like for your own personal boba fett canon. i just wanted to provide some alternative interpretations of that line other than just “boba fett happened to be space catholic, i guess”

[morganaux]

To Morganaux's relief— or disappointment? Or a most infuriating, baffling combination of the two— it would seem that Emelian had passed the first of the many tests he would make the man endure that day. Grasping at a handful of his exceptionally fluffy skirt, he moved it out of the way, being careful not to disturb the tray of sweets balanced upon his lap.

"You may," he responded, choosing to keep his words short and sweet for now. He would say just enough to get his point across, but not enough to display his interest, or lack thereof, until he had a better understanding of this man standing before him.

The second test, however, had Morganaux deeply grateful for the glamour he had slipped beneath, allowing the look of shock written upon his features to remain undetected, or so he thought. In truth, Emelian had managed to correctly interpret the message, but with a bit more accuracy than he had expected. His choice of flower had been a small act of rebellion against a choice that was made for him— a small act that only he would understand, and yet his betrothed managed to come dangerously close to figuring him out.

Plucking a macaron from his plate and popping it into his mouth, he would buy himself some time to calm down, for his glamours could do nothing to hide any nervousness slipping into his voice. Yet even after taking his sweet time chewing and swallowing, he still found himself unable to relax. Perhaps he could play off his discomfort as nothing more than being flustered. After all, this was his first meeting with someone who would likely be his future husband, so it was perfectly normal to be a bit shy, even if it wasn't the truth.

"You are correct on all accounts," he said after a while, pretending to adjust his glasses, while in reality, he was checking to make sure that his glamour had not slipped off. "Except for the part about being your captive. Though you seem to be a pleasant, good-looking gentleman, I think it is a bit too soon for me to make dramatic claims of being held captive by your charm, but I digress."

Feeling a bit more at ease now, he reached out to take the bouquet, holding it against his chest as he breathed in its sweet scent. "I appreciate that you too have refrained from making needlessly over the top statements with your choice of flowers. I much prefer curiosity and friendship over a declaration of true and eternal love at our first meeting. It's... Much more honest that way, isn't it?"

For the average individual, the glamoured smile would work flawlessly. Most did not look so closely, and even if they did, detection of the magic required a certain level of skill and magical sense. Unfortunately for Morganaux, Emet-Selch was no average individual. His soul sight could immediately spot the twist of aether, the dual expressions on display, and identify the reality of the situation. He made no comment, though, and focused on his mortal vision out of politeness, his own small smile remaining unchanging as he was observed in turn.

Idly, he realized that he had seen Morganaux before. Yes, the rumors returned in his memories, though he didn't remember the particulars having been uninterested at the time due to being caught up in his work. Morganaux had been spoken of, once upon a time, before he became the Warrior of Light. He'd have to look into that now that the vague half memory was no longer collecting dust in his head.

He remained in place until beckoned, at which point he approached, before stopping at a reasonable range within his intended seat and outside of Morganaux's personal space. It was a reasonable idea to be unthreatening and considerate. There, he gestured politely at the bench with his free hand, indicating the spot where he might comfortably sit were Morganaux to make room for him. "May I?"

The following words catch his attention. Another fluent in the language? He was lucky, then, that he'd chosen the flowers he did, and not something more indicative of his duplicitous intentions. Being careful never hurt.

"Peach blossoms. They symbolize femininity, elegance, and life. Or an alternative meaning that would indicate you are my captive, but I do hope that wasn't your chosen intent. I assume you correctly interpreted my own gift in turn." He holds the bouquet out for Morganaux to take if he wishes.

[vargaslovinghours]

“...pretty sure I’m most of the way out of Vargas brainspace...”

Well, huh. Second verse, same as the first!

Was thinking quite a lot about their “first kiss” from Parent-Teacher Night - I realized afterwards that Edgar would almost certainly be wearing something much more suited to the occasion! If it’s going to be perfect, it’s gotta be ✨Perfect✨ 

Oh yeah, he can just do that. I actually had a lot of Hunchback-themed doodles, spanning probably a full page between my main and alt. notebook. I only realized very very recently looking back that I initially set it up to be a movie they see After but then doodled a bunch of stuff as if they could still share dreams, that’s not how that works at all!

I’ve gotten surprisingly good at drawing him just with my index finger lol. Sometimes a bad mood is best channeled through a judgmental Scriabin

I wanted to try out a bunch of different sitting and laying poses on the couch and made this for a base. They’ve got such long legs, it’d be all too easy to squish the other if one of them decided to stretch out hehe

Another Pearlcatcher Scriabin, as a test for my new notebook. Notebook did not make the grade, but he did turn out cute ♥ What a polite sit, folded wings and all. Wonder what element he’d breathe, hmm

More paper testing, ended up with a couple Edgar comparisons. I miss my old paper!! It’s hard to tell since I drew in the upper margin for the tests lol, false unlined

I might finish the present exchange minicomic yet, but if I don’t I’d hate to just leave it hanging! This is how I make doodle notes lol, the order is a bit all over the place. Edgar’s gift was a double scarf! It actually unbuttons into two matching scarves but it’s not immediately obvious so it just looks like a super-long scarf, made to be shared whether separate or together :) Plus a couple bonuses of Scriabin wearing his very terrible mask and the two of them sharing the scarf :D

Ambidextrous practice and an older idea of Scriabin being able to pronounce keysmashes lol, it’s good letter practice! Edgar is very disturbed, how are you making those noises with your mouth

King Edgar! Was feeling a bit saccharine, but could just as easily be about competing royalty, guess he won the battle for the crown. For now...

Pot calling the kettle black, there. Unjustified egoism? Unheard of!

The original-original sketch of this WIP, I don’t need a lot to go on for my brain to remember what I meant lol. I actually still rather like how the skeleton of his fingers are shaped, it’s a nice wide, stressed expression

I edit out most of my notes ‘cause they’re either this or memery lol. Puffed out cheeks are too cute!

I like Lady!Edgar quite a lot, obviously lol. I wanted to draw her in the cardigan because Edgar was cute in it and wouldn’t you know, that carries over! Edgar’s cute throughout his iterations haha. I feel the same about Lady!Scriabin as well, in one of my sketches I described her as “puckish” lol

Playful closeness, Edgar is not interested lol. I was mostly thinking about hip posing at the time, like meeting at one point and separating out from there. Tied at the hip!

Back to what I was doing before, nbd. The amount of unfinished kiss doodles I have....look, okay- I also think it’s funny that with unfinished blushes their faces end up darker than their hair lol

Speaking of - back when I was first practicing drawing kisses, the alignment was probably the hardest part. Convincingly making it look like the lips meet is hard! But then the reality of the situation occurred to me, Edgar’s not particularly practiced at kissing so maybe the combination our inexperiences would result in such a situation lol

Probably my favourite frame from Where are you now, he looks so intense even though he’s immediately going to pop into panic, ahh the contrast. I also originally used hard-edge vectors at a much smaller scale, but I intended soft and shined eyes from the beginning

Just pick him up and carry him like a teddy bear lol. Just wait til he kicks out his leg and they fall on each other lol

Spacefiller fluffy Scriabin. I keep wanting to draw flowers but I keep forgetting about flower crowns! I just like pinned back hair too much I guess

Oh no not a hug trap! Insidious, however will he escape

Someone gently touching Edgar’s face - I ended up liking how the sketch looked too much to want to finish it lol. Who could it be?

Brief return to the TGWDLM crossover, it hits randomly. I never drew the Apotheosis meeting Edgar, and it’s still not exactly how I’d imagine it happening (or what I’ve written) but I thought it was interesting anyway. Edgar’s always gotta be crying, that’s a requirement

A!Edgar is so cloyingggg, it’s never not weird

Definitely not

Fighting over symbolism. It took me a while to think it over fully, but I think the scariest part about Apotheosized!Edgar is that he’s not afraid to hurt Scriabin at first. He’s much closer to a stranger with Edgar’s face, but that’s kind of a big deal lol

Finally a lack of glasses that makes sense lol. Easier to just grab his face than point him in the right direction and hope he sees

Some Convalescence Scriabin mouth shape practice for funsies. My mouth expressions tend to be rather subdued and since he was both already on my mind and more prone to big expressions, he seemed perfect for it. I really like “E” lol, he looks so proud

Eye, or lack thereof practice, a bit torn at the outer edge. Kinda reminds me of Invader ZiM in a bad way lol, I might return to the spiral-looking socket instead if I draw them again, I like the weird smooth texture but it’s hard for me to pin down with pencils

A silly little idea of Scriabin flying into him and falling over lol. “Hey Ron. Hey Billy” lol. Edgar’s just given up entirely

So that’s September through mid February! I honestly didn’t expect to still be doodling them so often lol

[wildlyglittering]

In the Gardens, Among the Flowers

It has been forever (two years) since I’ve written anything fanfiction-y so I’m trying to dip a toes back in. I have a few lined up but bear with me as I’m so totally rusty!

To a casual observer, Mor looked as fresh faced and glowing that morning as she did on every other.

If anyone heard about the events of the prior evening, and the levels of drinking, dancing and debauchery which had occurred, they would think it was the good fortune of Mor being high fae which kept her so bright.

Other's would think it the good fortune of being The Morrigan, a being whose vibrant personality and magic somehow exuded through her skin to wash away any trace of shadow or fatigue. At least, Mor thought to herself, that's what she believed others thought.

Those who loved her well would understand the glow she bathed in wasn't some higher fae power. They would work out what happened last night, note her satisfied smile and keep their comments to themselves.

Of course, life always contained an exception.

The prospect of early morning training must have beckoned him like a siren's call as that 'exception' had been absent from the house earlier than usual. Although Mor would roll her eyes at whatever spilled from Cassian's mouth, she welcomed his good-natured teasing.

The sun had barely risen when she bounded into his chambers as giddy as a small child, only to find them empty and his bed already made. Not wanting to disturb his training Mor decided to patiently wait in his rooms for his return.

While Mor never provided details to the rest of the Inner Circle she was nothing but honest with Cassian about when she took a lover. Her openness wasn't, as she once worried, done out of some strange obligation to their shared history but borne from a desperate need to share every element of her life with those she loved the most.

Despite his permanently laughing eyes and cocky grin, Mor trusted if she placed her very heart in Cassian's hands, he would shield it with his life.

Her plan had been to slide into his bed as she had done on many a morning and rest her head on the pillow beside his. The tradition was for Mor to wake him and tell the tales of her night-time escapades, their laughter filling the room as she relayed the expected nonsense.

Mor never worried about finding guests in his bed. Although the years had gifted her with the scent of other females on his sheets they were always gone by sunrise. Cassian made sure of it. The night may have been the dominion of nameless females she would never meet, but the mornings belonged to her.

It was more important than ever to find him this particular morning. Mor knew, as she would always know, Cassian above all others would share in her joy.

A fae named Aurielle had graced Mor's bed and it was as though the Mother herself had placed her in Mor's path.

Aurielle's eyes were bluer than any sky Mor had seen and the freckles which dusted the bridge of her nose were also painted across her shoulders. As the night progressed and the silks slid down, Mor discovered those glorious freckles in more places still.

Something of significance existed between them. Not Cauldron blessed but it felt sacred - a link which meant a promise and a promise Mor wanted to honour as it should be honoured.

Cassian had spent decades of time over the centuries reassuring Mor she was deserving of love, unwavering in his belief she would find someone. So it wasn't only excitement which made her want to tell Cassian before anyone else. In a way she wanted to reward his faith, to tell him the romance she'd hoped for had finally happened on an unexpected summer's night when the air was hot.

But there was another reason why she wanted to seek Cassian out and that was more complicated than any other. She couldn't shake the feeling something between them had shifted.

Now, when she teased him about his lack of romance and dearth of female company, his smile was subdued. When she pointed out females in Velaris, beauties who would normally catch his attention, it was as though they were invisible.

There were times now when she joked with him about his sex life, or lack thereof, where he couldn't meet her eye. Concern begun to burrow its way through her chest.

So that was the other reason Mor needed to seek Cassian out to perform their 'morning after' ritual. It was a way to reassure herself nothing between them had changed. She craved Cassian's reassurance that her world, the one which had been built on solid ground, was not breaking.

Recently it crossed her mind to be less forthcoming with Cassian about her romantic life in the same way she was with Az. The truth shrieking in her soul was that Cassian, her fierce yet tender-hearted friend, was pining.

Perhaps he was lonely and longing for the connection they all sought. Perhaps the longing had opened up old wounds and now part of him ached for Mor as he had once long ago. Perhaps her newfound openness with the full truth of her heart was now breaking his.

With Aurielle, Mor had met someone she hoped would be in her life on a permanent basis and so she needed to resolve whatever this situation was. If she was right and Cassian still held an ember of romantic flame for her then she would sooth his wounded ego and commit to finding him a welcome distraction.

Mor knew it wouldn't be hard to find someone interested in him, the issue would be to find someone who turned his head on such a scale. Despite countless lovers who previously caught his attention no one seemed to hold the ability to keep it.

Sat on his sofa, worn and scratched from weaponry and wings, she let thoughts of Cassian fill her mind. Ordinarily her magic would have given her an image of him in the training ring, his skin brown and glistening, but instead she uncovered a picture of a different kind.

He wasn't training as she had thought. While this meant she was able to speak with him sooner, it was still a surprise the magic called her to the gardens. However, she was unable to still her patience, and that's where she decided to go.

In truth, the Inner Circle had never really cared for the gardens. Their locations of choice involved places far more exciting than anywhere containing trees and plants. Still, the gardens had always been well tended, anything derelict and unkempt did not befit a High Lord of Rhys' standing.

So, although they had always been cared for by servants, they had never been loved.

Until now.

This was her first time on the grounds in a long time and rows of flowers stretched towards the sun, their petals as golden as Mor's hair, bobbing in the light breeze as she walked down the path they adorned.

The path routed her to a smaller garden, one filled with planters bursting with vegetables and leafy herbs before weaving its way through a miniature meadow filled with pink and purple wildflowers. It meandered again to another section, this one with boxed hedges and a manicured lawn set out with the human game she recognised as croquet.

None of this had existed before and it was almost appealing enough for Mor to spend time here. Almost. She would still prefer dusky evenings at Rita's with a glass in hand over bright mornings among weeds.

And, she thought, so would Cassian. But the magic called her and when she came upon a courtyard which splintered into multiple paths, she chose the one singing his name the loudest.

She found him in what had become a vast rose garden.

Mor stumbled to a halt. The magic had sung Cassian's name but hadn't added anyone else's to the tune.

The central path was covered by arches and numerous hanging boughs. Roses in a variety of colours weaved around trellis' and draped down to kiss her hair. A plethora of fragrances flooded the air around her and the combination acted as a blanket, hiding both her appearance and her scent.

Beyond the path and dotted on the luscious green grass were more rose bushes than could be counted and amongst their dark leaves bloomed soft creams, pastel pinks and vibrant reds. None however, were as vibrant as the siphons gleaming up ahead.

If she'd stumbled upon Cassian at any other time and in any other place Mor would have loudly called out his name but here and at this moment, she was too stunned at what she was seeing to alert him to her presence.

In the garden, among the flowers, stood the famed Lord of Bloodshed. His head was bowed in deep conversation with another, the expression on his face one of such intensity Mor hadn't even in battle.

The sheer hulk of him combined with wings, siphons and black training leathers made him appear grotesquely out of place with the setting but what was more jarring was his appearance against his companion.

Now her, Mor expected to see.

The love weaving its way around the garden had come from her fingers. Whether this was natural talent left over from her mortal days or something which bloomed, in every sense of the word, with her new fae blood Mor couldn't tell. There was no doubt however, the care for the gardens had come from the middle Archeron sister.

So no, it wasn't a surprise Elain was in what was considered 'Elain's gardens' but she never expected to see Elain and Cassian in them together. She also never expected to see them standing so close, speaking in tones so quiet even Mor's heightened hearing couldn't detect words.

Elain's golden-brown hair was tied loosely into a braid which draped down the front of her pale peach dress. Small white flowers had been strewn through adding to the innocent virgin look she continued to perpetuate.

A wretched unknown thing moved in Mor’s stomach.

This wasn't a pairing she'd ever considered, the one who brought death connected with the one who desperately maintained life. Mor never believed Cassian as wanting someone so gentle they were almost vacant.

In Mor's mind she expected Cassian would end up with someone like... well, someone like herself, with passion in their stomach and fight in their blood. But maybe she'd been wrong. Perhaps this was what he needed; someone soft and fragile to protect, someone pliable enough to exist with the Inner Circle without being intrusive.

Then, there was movement. Elain and Cassian were done with their conversation and Elain stood on her tip-toes, her face stretched up towards Cassian's before placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

The something wretched moving in Mor's stomach twisted again.

Mor waited. The moment that was the cusp of their kiss lingered onwards except the kiss never came. At least, not the way she thought.

Elain pressed her lips to his cheek before smiling at him, one of reassurance, and as she rested her feet back on the ground, she gave Cassian an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

Mor's mouth dropped open. Whether this was better or worse than her initial assumption she didn't know. If it was longing for tender comfort on Cassian's part and a need to feel protected on Elain's she might have understood, but this platonic, familial interaction confused her.

Elain paused momentarily as she crossed the grass, her head slightly tilted to the side before she continued walking while Cassian wandered towards an over-flowing rose arch, his fingers idly trailing across petals.

Mor steeled herself to march over to him, to get her answers about why he was in the garden and most importantly what in the name of the Mother was he doing speaking so intently with Elain Archeron of all fae.

But, she didn't. She couldn't.

Something heavy in the air compelled her to observe, almost imploring her to view Cassian with clear eyes.

Centuries of time and love existed between them. They had seen the other at their best and worst and though it was only the once, there had been a time when Cassian's weight had pressed down upon her and she had greedily welcomed him into her body.

Mor knew every twitch his body made. He stood underneath the arch, leaves and petals brushing his hair, and she noted his guarded stance, the tightly tucked wings and the muscle flexing in his jaw. In the calmness of the garden, Cassian was anything other.

If Mor didn't know better she would have thought he was priming for battle. If Mor didn't know better than she would also have thought him nervous.

A sudden rustle sounded from behind her, of delicate silk sliding over soft skin and she turned to see Elain, an empty trug now swinging from her hand.

"Hello, Morrigan," Elain said, addressing her with the sweetest of smiles.

How had Elain crept up on her? Only a few, namely Rhys and Az, could appear without Mor noticing and Elain was neither High Lord nor spy. Still, Mor's voice was calm. "Hello, Elain."

"Will you walk with me?"

At her question Mor's eyebrows shot up. Of all interactions she had anticipated, being asked to go for a stroll around the gardens hadn't been one of them. Despite the honeyed tone with which Elain spoke, this was a request which invited no declination and so she found herself agreeing.

"Lovely. I have some roses on the other side of the garden I need to tend. Shall we?"

Mor stepped in beside her and walked through the arches toward the grass the other side of the path. She had never been this close to Elain before and while she knew Elain and Feyre shared many physical similarities she hadn't realised Elain's eyes were a deep chestnut. She also hadn't realised that Elain's skin was decorated with freckles, more so then Aurielle.

As a human Elain would have been considered pretty, but as a fae there was something about her which had been made into the other. What was once fair was now luminous, as though light had been poured into the female and, not being able to contain itself, had started to shine out.

No wonder, Mor thought, Lucien wanted to claim Elain as his mate. It was also no secret Az held a burgeoning fascination and, despite the friendliness of the interaction, there was now a possibility Cassian harboured his own desires.

Best then, Mor considered, to befriend Elain even if solely to understand her motives towards Mor's boys.

"I can almost grab your thoughts," Elain interrupted. "If I listened very carefully, I think I could pick them out."

Mor narrowed her eyes. Rhys and Feyre alone held that power and though Elain had been gifted the abilities of a Seer it didn't mean she could actually dip into Mor's mind. Although, Mor countered, it was probably safer to bury them anyway.

"I don't think you'd want them."

"Perhaps not."

They ended up walking as far away from Cassian as possible, stopping only when they reached a collection of bushes with roses of gold and silver, a variety Mor had never seen.

"Here we are," Elain said, turning to her with another saccharine smile, "you can help if you'd like?"

There was nothing in the whole of Prythian she would rather do less but the thought lingering at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch away was that she wouldn't be allowed to leave. There is, it said, no escaping this one.

So, Mor found herself nodding along and Elain, placated by the response, set herself to her task.

The magic which had originally drawn Mor towards the garden, her own magic, had been muted, becoming as light and flimsy as a cloud. The opposite was happening to Mor and it was as though she had grown roots into the ground and would remain as immobile as the roses she stood beside.

Cassian, who she could still see across the garden, matched her. He was a rigid feature next to the rambling roses that couldn't quite hide him from her view.

Of the three fae in the garden Elain was the one who moved at pace.

Even though she had requested help, Mor was surplus to requirements. Elain hummed and cut her roses and with each snip, a brand-new golden rose, more fragrant than before, filled its space. The newly sliced stem was placed in the trug and Elain repeated this pattern.

The scent filling the air was heady. Elain didn't appear to be affected but Mor found the longer she breathed in the more her brain pounded like she'd spent a week drinking dark liquor.

The perfume stung her nose and it drifted into her lungs, sharp and piercing, like she'd inhaled thorns. Mor wanted to step away to breath in fresh air but her feet refused to move.

"Is something wrong?" Elain asked.

Mor shook her head, her tongue too swollen for her to speak. A lie to Elain and denial to herself. There was always a possibility the middle Archeron had found a way to use magic to twist nature to her ends but was it deliberate? That the sweetest of the sisters had enough guile to bring Mor to this section of the garden and mute her magic.

Duplicitous little... but the thought cut off. No. Mor refused to believe she'd been out manoeuvred and out magicked by what was in essence a new-born fae. And a fae who wore daisies in her hair and pastel coloured dresses no less.

Besides, she considered, there was no reason for Elain to behave this way and no reason for Mor to be dragged away from Cassian.

But there was movement then, from the same place Mor had entered the garden. A figure walked through the very spot where Mor had stood and first watched Elain and Cassian. A figure stepped between the rose arches and on the grass towards its intended target.

If Mor had still waited at that spot then she she would have startled them off. If Mor was able to shake off the nature magic and get closer then she could have done something, but here she was, helpless. And now, slithering over to Cassian like he was her prey, came the worst Archeron.

"Sweet Mother," she managed to breath out. If Elain heard she said nothing and gave no indication of surprise at her older sister's presence in the garden.

Nesta, her golden-brown hair braided and bound around her head like she was a queen wearing a crown, marched closer to Cassian, her body rigid and face neutral.

Cassian's wings shuddered.

"Cauldron," Mor muttered, louder this time and she pushed with all her might to take a step forward. It was no good. Whatever held her there held firm and the sound of a blade slicing through stalks grew.

Nesta had reached Cassian underneath the trellis and they stood like opponents on a battlefield, less than an arm's length apart, their bodies twin tense columns.

From her viewpoint, Mor saw Nesta's face clearly but not Cassian's and only the side of his clenched jaw was visible. She imagined his expression though; one of irritation that his peace had been broken by the viper.

But he's been waiting for someone. The thought stole into her mind unwanted and once again, she shut it down. Yes, she countered, and now Nesta's presence will deter them.

The morning breeze picked up past Mor and though gentle was effective in blowing the fragrance away. It was though the fog filling her brain had cleared.

The grip around her had loosened enough for Mor to take a lightened half step forward.

The snipping stopped.

"Where are you going?"

Mor turned her head. Despite the wholesome innocence on her face with those delicate freckles and warm brown eyes Mor considered if she was a fool thinking Elain was harmless. The magic enveloping her been called forward and it felt like it had been summoned with intent.

"I think," Mor said, "you know where."

"Are you wanting to interrupt Cassian and Nesta?" Elain said with wide eyes and a tilt to her head, her tone conveying nothing but virtuous concern.

Mor frowned. The obliviousness to what Cassian was due to suffer in the next moments must have been fabricated. The level of vitriol that seeped from Nesta couldn't have bypassed Elain for the entirety of her life but those fawn eyes didn't convey anything other than curiosity.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

The laugh barked from Mor's mouth before she stopped it. Human's and fae alike had sheltered Elain from the truth and ultimately this had enabled her naivety as to what her oldest sister was truly like. This was an illusion Mor had no joy in shattering but shatter it she must.

"Why?" Mor repeated. "Why? It's Nesta." Perhaps saying her name with rancour would convey to Elain her outrage at being kept back from helping her dearest friend. "I can't leave poor Cassian with her."

It was so quick that had Mor not been looking directly at Elain she would have doubted she ever saw it occur. Gone in a flash but in that flash, the warm chestnut of Elain's eyes turned hard and any trace of gentleness perished leaving behind something more familiar with Nesta herself.

When Elain spoke next, her tone was as sweet as the Night Lilies which bloomed outside Velaris but possibly just as poisonous. She'd turned her back to Mor, resuming her small precise cuts along the stems, the thick unrelenting scent wafting anew.

Mor's head began to hurt again, the fragrance choking down her throat. It was so hard to move in this garden, to think, to breathe.

"Yes, poor Cassian," Elain trilled. "The vicious General of the Night Court armies and renowned Lord of Bloodshed. He who has completed the Blood Rite of the Illyrian mountains, burnt villages to the ground and massacred hundreds, if not thousands, of males in the name of Rhys' wars."

Snip.

"My heart goes to him. He only has wings, leathers, knives, centuries of training and seven siphons. How can such a male be expected to survive my weapon-less sister."

Slice.

Mor struggled to force the words out as they twisted inside her mind like vines. "She carries a weapon with her," Mor retorted, "it just sits in her mouth."

" I'm sure Cassian is used to her tongue by now."

Well, that gave her pause.

Not only the words but the way they were said. Sweet, gentle Elain who had led her away from Cassian, Elain who had taken her to the roses where she worked magic so strong Mor struggled in its depths. Elain who said things in such a way which meant Mor hadn't known she'd been stung until she had to pull the stinger out.

The unsaid truth had been trying to creep its way in. Mor had tried to wave them away but truth was Mor's gift and these had always been Mor's own thoughts. She just didn't want to believe them.

She looked back towards Cassian but immediately regretted it. Perhaps Elain, sweet, manipulative Elain who Mor had always thought too soft, had led her away for Nesta's benefit or perhaps it had always been for Mor's.

Even if the magic lifted, Mor wouldn't have moved, too horrifically eager to watch the scene unfurl in front of her.

Cassian and Nesta had shifted and now she saw both their faces.

They were talking, if it could be called that. Scowls lined their faces and their hands gestured wildly. If it was an argument, it was an impassioned one and Mor fought the compulsion to ask Elain if she knew what they were fighting about.

The breeze which carried Elain's magic away for the briefest of moments had drifted across to the pair and a strand of Nesta's hair was freed from its coronet to dance about her face.

It seemed an automatic move on Cassian's part. He reached out and tucked the strand behind Nesta's ear, his fingers lingering on the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone before pulling away.

The earlier expression on Elain's face, the one that appeared like lighting and disappeared, the one which reminded Mor of Nesta now happened in reverse.

In the seconds following Cassian's touch, Nesta's face softened into something fragile. Mor understood from his face that instead of shock at such a tender look, Cassian hungered for it.

"Elain," Mor spoke quietly, "release me."

"If I do, you can't go over." Elain held a golden rose to her freckled nose and took an exalted inhale. "It's unfortunate you found out like this; Cassian wouldn't have wanted it this way." A long sigh left Elain's lips, "No one comes into the garden."

The suspicion had turned itself into certainty at Elain's statement. This meeting between Cassian and Nesta was no anomaly.

The tightening in her chest, unrelated to the roses whose fragrance now dissipated, showed her fear. There was the possibility she was no longer the dearest thing to Cassian.

Shame burnt in her cheeks. She'd been certain his strangeness was because he'd fallen back in love with her, that he pined for her and the humiliation she'd considered that an option made her skin hot.

Elain scrutinised Mor's face. Mor could pretend she was concerned for her best friend's emotional welfare, that he would be left to romance a female who gave out cutting remarks and acid glances as easily as she breathed. Mor's magic whispered to her again; liar.

And here was Elain, looking at her as though she could see right through.

"You love him," Elain said.

"Of course, I do," she replied.

"But you aren't in love with him, you never have been. You don't love him like a lover would, like a mate." The golden rose twirled in Elain's fingertips and with the motion the thickness of the flowers, of Elain's magic, drift off. Finally.

The love Cassian and her had for each other was never a love blessed by the Cauldron and neither of them wanted it to be. However, it didn't mean she wasn't shaken by seeing Cassian and Nesta together, that despite the virulence of their argument there were sweeter moments between.

She thought back to all the times she'd pointed out females he would then ignore. He wouldn't glance at them, couldn't glance at them. Mor and Cassian were cut from the same cloth, if a link existed between him and another then Cassian would want to honour it as it should be honoured.

The solid ground on which Mor had built her world was shifting.

Mor didn't move.

She could have marched over to the secret lovers and demand her answers. She could play her hand, give Cassian his choice and, as he always chose her, win the deck. Cassian's eyes would fill with panic as she begged him to choose between a potential future and a confirmed past.

Part of her wanted to do all those things, there was a chance she may yet.

Still, she didn't move.

"He doesn't want me to know," she said, her voice quiet, "at least not at the moment. If he did, he would have told me."

Elain's voice was kind when she spoke. "He'll tell you when he thinks you're ready to hear it."

Mor could have tried to convince Elain she was ready but instead found herself saying something different.

"I just don't understand it."

Elain glanced in the direction of Cassian and Nesta, a smile lingering on her lips. "Because you don't see them."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Mor looked over at them again. Loose petals floated down upon their heads from the earlier breeze and it almost softened Nesta's appearance. Almost.

Mor saw Nesta reach up towards Cassian's face and she braced herself for the crack of the slap. But of course, that wasn't what happened. Nesta's fingers began to sweep the petals caught on his hair and as she pulled her hand away Cassian grasped it, turning it over to press his mouth on Nesta's palm.

The blush blooming on Nesta's cheeks made Mor think she was looking at another female entirely. The angles and ridges of Nesta's hard face softened and the nervous energy rippling through Cassian's frame disappared leaving behind a male radiating ease.

They were still talking but their words were too quiet for her to hear. Whatever they discussed must have ended in agreement as they turned and walked together down a different path, one Mor hadn't seen.

"If you're wanting to follow them," Elain said, "I would really suggest you don't. There's a hidden cottage in the garden. I was so pleased when I was the first to have found it." Elain pulled a face reminiscent of the expression on Feyre's when she ate something unpleasant. "Then I realised I wasn't the first to have found it at all."

"I don't follow."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean I don't understand."

Elain looked at her with a smile closer to a smirk. "I share a room with Nesta," she said, "and you're always skipping off into Cassian's in the morning so where do you think they cemented things."

Mor's stomach coiled, "Ugh, yes fine. I understand."

Elain let out a giggle. "They hadn't intended for me to find out either but I love Nesta and I won't judge her choices." Elain let out a sigh. "I know she can be sharp but it doesn't mean she deserves her heart to be broken. But I do trust Cassian, I made him promise the roses."

Mor watched Elain stretch out her hand, splashed with tawny freckles, and caress the petals of a rose before plucking it. She eyed Elain with caution.

Elain turned to her, the rose in hand. "You'll do the right thing," she said and held out the flower. "When I was human, I was a gardener. The Cauldron couldn't take that - I wouldn't let it. I'm not sorry for keeping you here but I'm sorry for how the magic made you feel - like you couldn't breathe. It was like that in the Cauldron."

A stillness crept onto Elain's face and all expression melted away. "It still feels like that for the both of us sometimes," Elain continued, "that we can't breathe. That we're still floating in the dark waiting to drown."

There was nothing. Elain slipped into the blankness with ease the same way Nesta slid into her rage. She wondered if her anger was what Cassian helped her with, if he also held Nesta's heart securely in his hands and guarded it with his life.

Mor reached out for the rose, lightly touching Elain's fingers with her own. Elain shook herself from her own mind and smiled at her, the first genuine one Mor had seen all morning.

"It will have to be another day when you can have an honest conversation with Cassian." Elain's reached with soft fingertips and glided them delicately over Mor's cheek. "You can talk to him about Nesta and perhaps tell him about Aurielle too?"

It took her a moment until the realisation hit her but while Mor blinked in shock, Elain had already walked off, far from the path Cassian and Nesta had taken.

Mor traced Elain's touch with her own fingers trying to be just as gentle. She thought of how the magic had led her to the garden, how she wanted to share blossoming love with someone.

Maybe, she thought, she shouldn't covet those she loved so selfishly. There was enough love to share between more than one.

With a promise to herself she would address all this another day, Mor tucked the flower behind her ear and walked back here she came from, wondering to herself whether she now liked roses.

[unillustratedadventures]

Bipolar Disorders

Bipolar disorders are the diagnosable mental disorders in which, among other things, mania or hypomania is centrally involved. Put simply, one has a bipolar disorder just in case one has been impaired or dysfunctional due to an elevated or irritable mood that involved increased energy or activity, together with sufficiently many symptoms of excess in relation to such a mood (i.e. symptoms of mania/hypomania). Typically, individuals who have had such manic/hypomanic symptoms have also had symptoms of excessively negative or anhedonic mood (or, in other words, symptoms of major depression). For this reason, bipolar disorders used to be collectively referred to as ‘manic depression’.

In DSM (e.g. in DSM-IV), bipolar disorders had been grouped with major depressive disorder under the heading ‘mood disorders’. This certainly makes sense, since disordered mood is an important factor in all of these disorders. Furthermore, major depressive episodes, which of course are centrally involved in major depressive disorder, are common in bipolar I and diagnostically required for bipolar II. Such connections between bipolar and depressive disorders are sometimes acknowledged, to a degree, with the use of the term ‘unipolar depression’ to refer to major depression.

However, in the newest edition of DSM (DSM-5), bipolar disorders are given their own separate chapter, so that the chapter Bipolar and Related Disorders occurs right after the chapter Schizophrenia Spectrum and Other Psychotic Disorders, and right before the chapter Depressive Disorders. This reflects the fact that bipolar disorders have important things in common with the disorders in both of these adjacent chapters. In particular, bipolar disorders act as something of a bridge between schizophrenia-related and psychotic disorders and depressive disorders—in terms of symptoms, but also in terms of heritability factors (i.e. family history and genetics).

Regarding heritability factors, there is substantial sharing of such factors between all of these disorders, with sharing at its highest between schizophrenia-related disorders and bipolar disorders, and between bipolar disorders and depressive disorders.

Regarding symptomatology, the connections among the disorders are largely straightforward. I have already touched on symptom-based connections between bipolar and depressive disorders. Specifically, I mentioned that both bipolar and depressive disorders involve disordered mood as a primary feature, and that major depression is clearly involved in the symptomatology of major depressive disorder (by definition), bipolar II (also by definition), and bipolar I (by observed correlation).

Bipolar disorders also have symptom-based connections to schizophrenia-related and psychotic disorders. In many respects, the schizophrenia-related disorder to which they have the strongest connections is schizoaffective disorder. This makes sense, of course, given that schizoaffective disorder basically combines schizophrenia with a mood disorder—bipolar or depressive—in such a way that the mood component and the schizophrenic-psychotic component are sufficiently independent. More generally, the connections between bipolar and schizophrenia-related disorders boil down to:

abnormalities in systems of emotion and/or motivation (which is necessarily diagnostic in bipolar and potentially diagnostic in schizophrenia)

disordering of cognition and/or speech (which is a diagnostic symptom of most presentations of schizophrenia, and potentially diagnostic in bipolar during mood episodes, particularly mania/hypomania)

psychotic symptoms, i.e. delusions or hallucinations (which are necessarily diagnostic in schizophrenia and potentially diagnostic in bipolar)

In relation to psychosis as it occurs in bipolar disorders: per my post on mania and hypomania, psychosis is often involved in manic episodes, and is one of the ways in which a manic/hypomanic episode qualifies more specifically as manic. However, psychotic symptoms are also occasionally involved in major depressive episodes. Psychotic depression happens to be more common in the course of bipolar disorders than in the course of major depressive disorder. Accordingly, even the nature of depressive episodes suggests a closer link between bipolar disorders and schizophrenia-related disorders, by way of psychosis and the potential thereof. (Interestingly, psychotic depression also seems to be more common in bipolar I, for which major depressive episodes are not diagnostically required but mania is diagnostically required, than in bipolar II, for which major depressive episodes are diagnostically required but mania is diagnostically precluded.)

In this post, I shall only be covering bipolar I, bipolar II, and cyclothymic disorders. DSM-5 (p. 123–9) defines these disorders as follows.

Bipolar I Disorder

An individual has bipolar I just in case:

She/he has had at least one episode of mania (as defined here), a period of excessively elevated or irritable mood that lasts at least one week or requires hospitalisation, pervasively involves increased energy or activity, has psychotic features or leads to hospitalisation or marked functional impairment, and pervasively involves at least three symptoms from among inflated self-esteem, decreased need for sleep, increased speech, racing thoughts, distractibility, increased outward activity, and recklessness.

This episode is not better explained by a schizophrenia-related or psychotic disorder.

Bipolar II Disorder

An individual has bipolar II just in case:

She/he has never had an episode of mania.

She/he has had at least one episode of hypomania (as defined here), a period of excessively elevated or irritable mood that lasts at least four days, pervasively involves increased energy or activity, does not have psychotic features or lead to hospitalisation or marked functional impairment, and pervasively involves at least three symptoms from among inflated self-esteem, decreased need for sleep, increased speech, racing thoughts, distractibility, increased outward activity, and recklessness.

She/he has had at least one episode of major depression (as defined here), a period of mood-related distress or impairment that lasts at least two weeks, and pervasively involves at least five symptoms that must include persisting negative mood or loss of interest or pleasure (or both), together with some combination of appetite disturbance, sleep disturbance, psychomotor disturbance, fatigue, negative self-appraisal, cognitive-executive disturbance, and suicidal ideation.

Significant distress or impairment were caused by these episodes of hypomania and major depression (due to the major depressive symptoms or the unpredictability of frequent alternation between major depression and hypomania).

These episodes are not better explained by a schizophrenia-related or psychotic disorder.

Cyclothymic Disorder

An individual has cyclothymic disorder just in case:

She/he has never had a full episode of mania, hypomania, or major depression (i.e. she/he has never met the full criteria for any such episode).

She/he has frequently had hypomanic and major depressive symptoms: during a continuous period lasting two years (or one year in children and adolescents), there have been numerous distinct manifestations of hypomanic symptoms (without meeting full criteria for hypomania) as well as numerous distinct manifestations of major depressive symptoms (without meeting full criteria for major depression).

During this period, hypomanic or major depressive symptoms have been present at least half the time, and the individual has not been without hypomanic or depressive symptoms for more than two months at a time.

These symptoms have caused clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

They are not better explained by a schizophrenia-related or psychotic disorder.

They are not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another medical condition.

___

Next: diagnostic and associated features, development and course, risk factors, etc., of bipolar disorders

[gordontheengineswifenirmal]

Yes! This is me, except i wish it WAS second hand embarrassment that i felt. I feel more of an unearthly dread mixed with overwhelming cringe and disgust when im forced to see sex or romantic scenes in films. In real life, it’s the same.

Folks engaging in PDA gives me this feeling. One of me schoolmates got engaged years ago n offered me to stay at her place. She lives with the fiancé. I can’t, even if they don’t do anything, because I get this feeling. The longer I’m forced to feel this feeling, it quickly turns into a very bad panic attack. I had crushes grinding up, but even the idea of having a crush made me feel like this over time. I felt like I was a voyeur, and violating something I shouldn’t. It didn’t feel fun n exciting. It felt disgusting.

Ive had relationships in the past. I never felt the attraction I was supposed to. If I did, it was temporary. I’ve had to fake attraction. It felt disgusting. I felt like I was lying to them - and to meself. In a way, I was. I was looking for something, but it wasn’t so much about ‘the right msn’, as it was more about trying your understand who I was. I thought I was straight, but was always pickier. I wanted a partner who was mature, but also virgin, who had not seen porn, who hadn’t been exposed to certain social media, because of attention seekers who easily take advantage of others.

I liked older men. Or the concept thereof. I wasn’t really into younger lads, n the few I was around were only a few years younger. I didn’t like the idea of being a ‘cougar’. Vastly younger men are like dating ur son. (This goes for vastly younger women too, admittedly). That disturbs me greatly. The only reason why I liked older men, was because I was used to being patronised, not treated like I was a child, when secretly, I had to be very mature. I wanted to be treated maturely by someone. I wanted THAT to be validated. I wanted to not deal demeaned for once. Also, I’ve never been into partying, rap, n a lot of the stuff that younger folks r often into. I never felt I could relate to younger lads. That made them even more awkward n off putting. I was more looking for the attention n validation meself n finding out id looked in the wrong place. I was neglected and seen as an outcast growing up, so I wasn’t used to this stuff. I wanted to feel something and be acknowledged for something I rarely got. Instead, I got more pain. I was also raised in an era where sexuality wasn’t talked about as much.

I don’t mind the concept of sex, I can even read about it (although I prefer not to most of of the time.) I’m ok with gay male anime, and stuff written with gay blokes (I’m a woman. I’m the woman in me profile pic in fact). I make sex jokes, some sex jokes r funny, but I do get touchy with others. It depends. Things with other females especially effects me negatively, especially when they are showing their bits.

At first, I thought given up trying to have someone would be terrifying. What was terrifying was the cycle I’d put meself into. Once I finally mustered the strength to stop looking, it was still awkward for awhile. It was like pulling a tooth and having that gap - except it was emotional. I felt completely lost. In time though, I made sense of it. It began to feel better, and exploring bring me own validation has been wonderful. Drooling over fictional m trains and Kirby the vacuum have also been. They allow me to laugh n not take meself so seriously. I can also explore my feelings in a way that’s safe. They won’t hurt me. They’re not real. They’re also not portrayed as romantic. They’re a safe space. They’re a blank canvas, ready for me emotional masterpieces lol

To be fair, these reactions could be a combination of things.

1. Is my asexuality.

2. I was molested by an old lady in our neighbourhood who used to babysit me. I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember some disturbing parts. She used to pull me knickers down n watch me use the loo in a ballpark. The parts I don’t remember r her bathing me. It’s possible, n there was evidence that u came home with wet hair from a session with her. I’ve also been sexually abused by many of the blokes I trued to be with n verbally harassed by other females.

Let me be clear that although these things can overlap in terms of how they affect a person, they are two very different things.

To the last re blogger, n to all who blogged/faved this - thank you! I hope I’m helping you discover yourself. I hope I’m also helping those who may not understand so easily n think that we r making things up that this is very real.

For those who think asexuality isn’t real,

Why am I having NOT having something then? And if you think it’s for attention, why am I happy

NOT getting attention? Stop your ignorance, you make no sense.

“This person is not like me! They don’t like what I like, or what makes sense to me! They must be bullshitting!” You sound like ur doing straight people logic. Or lack thereof. Be BETTER.

Also, I did not create the flag image. I only did the bit in black. Please Google search to find more, and explore your identity further. I may try to edit this to include more in the future