#and I know it helps my mental health as well

[softness-and-shattering]

Thats a good point, I see all kinds of neurodivergence in my family but only a couple of us in my generation, afaik, have a diagnosis.

However, my gp attended a recent talk about overlap of queer folk with neurodivergence and also a group of comorbid illnesses including, iirc, POTS/MCAS/EDS/CFS theres a couple others Im just blanking. Digestive issues? Things that we've broadly noticed as a community, and it seems like its starting to be studied.

And also, everyone has some kind of trauma, idk how many people if any have no kind of disability whatsoever, humanity is vast and diverse. And we're wired to look for patterns. Interpret this information how you will, I certainly cant say for sure if these patterns are broader than trans people, or are more people trans than we expect, are we seeing correlation or causation or is there a mechanism in common with all these labels thats the deeper cause, is queerness an interchangeable/'sometimes' factor or a central one, we are way too early to know that yet.

I think its probably not nothing. But we're also not uniquely fucked up. Maybe we're just sticking out, so to speak, so thats where the research is starting. Many people werent taking ME/CFS seriously until long covid prompted more research bc, iirc, there was now a lot more people affected who were harder to ignore. And who were seeking help. Like a lot of people have an allergy or a dodgy wrist or "that weird thing with my digestion" and they dont consider it a disability or seek treatment, yknow? And especially mental health and especially what runs in families, it looks normal to you so why would you ever bring it up to a dr? "Everyone struggles with these things. Everyone feels this way" well you do and your parents and aunts and uncles do and your siblings do, and maybe you told a dr forty years ago you were in pain and they brushed you off so you thought everyone was walking around in agony.

And that gets into an adjacent conversation about medicalising and diagnosing and when does that help and when is it like, making a negative thing of normal human experiences and variations, its not a disorder till its negatively impacting your life, if youre surviving but treatment could help you thrive is it worth the side effects etc etc plus the whole discussion of psychiatry in particular which can be an amount of guesswork and diagnostic labels are often just patterns of symptoms that we see oftrn go together and we dont always yet understand the underlying neurology. (One of my all time best therapists kept up with the latest neuroscience and always had very good and effective suggestions. I only stopped seeing her bc I moved away. If you can be seeing professionals who are keeping up with research, definitely prefer them over someone who hasnt learned anything since they completed training 50 years ago. Always.)

Tl;dr I agree with OP and also this stuff is extremely complex and we're always learning new things about us!

something that should be taken with a grain of salt are the statistics talking about the high rates of mental illness + neurodivergence among trans people (ocd, bpd, adhd, autism, etc)

I see both sides of the political spectrum taking these studies at face value - conservatives say we're broken, and trans people try to come up with reasons why for example autism + gender dysphoria makes sense and why one of them feeds into another

at the end of the day you have to remember that we're the one category of people on this planet who are legally required to go see a psychiatrist in order to receive non-psychiatric medication and surgeries.

more trans people are in therapy by law than any other demographic of people, and as a result, this captures more comorbidities.

if I had to look at my own family & rates of mental illness?

mom, dad, 2 maternal aunts, maternal grandmother, paternal grandmother, sister, sibling, and me all have OCD.

7/9 of them are cishet, never been to therapy, never diagnosed. 2/9 are trans, required therapy for hormone treatment, and were diagnosed.

you don't have to do any math to just see that the resulting statistics end up intensely skewed.

and we can think back to how autism was virtually never diagnosed more than 50 years ago - ruling out any grandparents being included in statistics - and even my parents' generation (they're in their 60s now) wouldn't have been included either.

I don't think it's to anyone's benefit to accept these studies uncritically. a lot of these things are hereditary and far more prevalent in the overall population than people realize

[spread-the-influence]

AITA for giving a [GIFT] to my (F30) adult friends?

I've been living in (well, trapped in, to be exact,) a circus for the past 7 years of my life. For reasons I don't want to delve into, it ruined my mental health to an irreparable degree. So when I was given a [GIFT] that cured me of all my pain, I wanted to give it to everyone else.

However, my friends weren't enthused about it. Particularly Z (NB22), who would always complain about how I 'trapped them in a box', even though they told me they wanted to feel whole when it comes to their body. And P (F25) keeps telling me that it's 'actually a virus' and that it's 'seriously hurting everyone' which is ridiculous. If it was a virus, I would know it's a virus by now.

But I'm starting to think that I might be in the wrong here. The [GIFT] is supposed to make them happy, so if it's doing the opposite, then there must be something wrong. AITA?

EDIT: I put Z in a box because I thought it would help them. Now that I read the replies, I realized it probably wasn't a good idea, but every time I tried to undo my mistake they would rip my stitches off. So they're residing in Boxland until further notice. Any suggestions to calm down an angsty triangle would be appreciated.

EDIT: Okay, I may or may not have left out that I gave the [GIFT] by mutilating them. But in my defense, none of them died, so does it matter that one of them can't use her legs anymore?

( if you think it'll be funny to respond for some reason , please do it in the replies or reblogs , not the ask box ! )

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Doctor, Doctor

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

Summary: The tide is pulling you in and you are getting to weak to stop it.

Warnings: bad mental health, implied suicidal thoughts, implied past abuse, therapy, Sam is a good guy, non-sexual nudity.

Relationships: Carol x Reader, Yelena x Natasha x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.6k

The pacing was the only thing keeping you grounded. So you paced: 5 steps in one direction, then five steps in the other. Everything around you turned to white noise. Not that there were many people in the Avenger’s compound. The world seemed to be holding on by a thread as fires spread across the globe. The only people that could put out those fires were the Avengers. The team was spread worldwide, and since you weren’t part of the team, you couldn’t know the specifics. You had half the mind to hack into FRIDAY to get updated everyone. With the stress of not knowing how the team was doing, combined with the sleepless nights due to nightmares, you were on edge.

It seemed your mind and body had enough. You were at your wit’s end. Each night, your mind creates horrific scenarios of those you love. Your hands were covered with so much blood. Your mind was having a hard time separating your nightmare and reality.

Usually, you would ignore it, push through, and hope your mind would figure itself out. That was past you, and you were trying to be better. You wanted to enjoy the life you were living with the people in it, but you weren’t sure if you could do it on your own.

But admitting you needed help was a weakness, and a weakness meant death. Honestly, you were proud of yourself. The person you were now was leaps and bounds from who you were in the Red Room. Still, these habits were hard to break. His voice was still engraved in your head. “Hey,” you jumped at the sudden voice and the hand on your shoulder. You put your hands up, ready to fight. “Sorry,” it was Sam. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You seemed lost in your own head.”

“Yeah,” you put your hands down. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.” His eyes scanned you over.

“Do you want to get out of the compound?”

“Please,” you said. If you weren’t so desperate for a distraction, you would have hated how weak you sounded. Sam smiled, and you followed him to the garage. The silence was comforting. Sam was special. His presence was calming, like a lifeboat in a raging storm at sea.

As he drove away from the compound past the small nearby town, he turned down a nonpaved road. You raised a questioning eyebrow. “Are you taking me out here to kill me?” The man rolled his eyes.

“Please, like I could kill you,” he teased, sparing you a glance before focusing back on the road. “And if I managed to kill you. Natasha, Yelena, Alexei, Carol, and Melina would be on my ass. Nooo, thank you,” he paused. “I would never know peace.” You rolled your eyes.

Finally, he parked in a small lot. There was only one other car. You followed him out of the car and took a deep breath in. The air was crisp. It felt cleaner somehow. “Ready for a hike?”

“Are you going to be able to keep up?” The man glared at you.

“I don’t know why I try to be nice to you, Black Widows.” You chuckled.

“Come on, Sam,” you smiled. “I’m following your lead.” You followed him to the start of the trail. He filled the silence with stories from his childhood and his family in New Orleans. But most of the walk was spent in silence besides the crunch of the leaves and sticks at your feet. With each step you took, the weight on your shoulder seemed to disappear.

You smiled at the couple who walked past you on their way to the car. Soon enough, you reached the end of the trail and at the top of the mountain. The scenery around you felt otherworldly. The air was crisp and cool. In one direction, you could see the other mountains part of the range surrounded by green trees.

It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was a vast and brilliant blue. Birds were flying at your level. There was a beauty at the top that you forgot existed in this world. “So,” you looked at Sam. “Wanna talk about why you were pacing a hole in the ground?” You smiled and sat down on a rock.

“I don’t know, Sam,” you said. Some days, I feel like I have it together, like there isn’t this crushing weight, but recently, I feel like I can barely hold my head above the water. " You picked up a stone and threw it up and down. The tide keeps trying to drag me under, and I’m afraid. " You let the stone drop back to the ground. I might stop fighting so it can take me out to sea.”

There were so many dark thoughts that echoed inside your mind. On certain days, listening to those thoughts seemed easier than fighting them. “And I know,” you continued before Sam could speak. “That I have so many people on my side that support me and count on me, but I am so fucking tired,” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I just want it all to stop.” You admitted. “I mean, the world will keep spinning, right? Even if I’m no longer in it.”

You heard the man let out a low hiss. You weren’t suicidal, but it seemed easier. “Ours would stop,” Sam finally said. “Our world would stop spinning.” You reopened your eyes to see Sam walking towards the edge. “Have you ever been sky diving?” He looked over his shoulder as you shook your head. “I should take you,” he looked back at the view. “It is the most freeing and adrenaline-pumping thing a person could do. I love it.”

You stood up slowly and walked to stand next to the man. “I’ve been on a roller coaster, does that count?” He slapped you playfully. “Why did you ask me that?”

“In sky diving or even for us Fly Boys on the team, you have to have complete trust in the people that you don’t necessarily see,” you frowned, a little confused. You have to trust the pilot, trust the instructor leading the pilot, and trust the people who packed your gear that they did it correctly. Blind trust is terrifying,” he said and touched your shoulder.

Trust. So much of your trust has been broken. “Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yes,” you answered. The man smiled.

“Then trust me when I say this,” he took a few deep breaths. “I think you need to see a therapist, and I can find you a good one.”

“No,” you pushed his hand off your shoulder and headed back down the trail.

“Wait, ugh, hold on,” you heard him quicken his pace to catch up to you. “Look, I can’t imagine what that sick bastard put you and your sisters through, but I’ve lost someone because they couldn’t fight the tide. I will not stand by and watch it happen to you,” His confession stopped you and turned around to face him. “An old service buddy of mine,” he answered the question before you asked. “The weight of what happened over there got too much, and he let himself drown.” He took a few steps closer to you. “My mama said every soul that touches us leaves a mark - some as gentle whispers or bold strokes - but their imprints remain even when they’re gone. You’ve shaped our lives by being in it, and there is no going back.” You felt your chest tighten. Sighing, you placed your hands on your hips and looked at the ground.

“I trust you to find me a good one, Samuel,” the man laughed and put his arm around your shoulder.

“If I find you a good one, can I push you out of a plane?”

*

It was to disguise your trip to the city to check on a few Widows who had recently been exposed to the red dust. You felt bad about telling a white lie, so you visited a few of them; one was going to school, and another was starting a business. It made you happy that they were getting out of this life.

Now, you were sitting in Dr. Sabrina Hale’s lobby. Your leg was shaking, and you were gripping your jeans. You felt like you were going to be sick. Anxiety swirled in your stomach. Like Sam, you needed to believe in the blind trust of this stranger. “Hi,” you looked at the doctor. The woman was pite - her black hair was cut shoulder length, and her blue eyes seemed to have a caring presence. “My name is Sabrina. It is nice to meet a friend of Sam’s.” You introduced yourself and shook her hand. “Please come in.” You followed her into the office.

Her office was much bigger than you expected. It had a large window overlooking the city, and her wooden desk was in front of it. Next to it was a couch with a chair. In the corner, there was a small table with chairs covered with coloring pages and art supplies. The most striking detail about her office was how decorated it was. There were plants in every corner and pictures on the wall documenting her travels and her family.

“Sit where you are comfortable,” you sat on the couch. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she grabbed a travel mug from her desk and sat in the chair beside you.

“I will start off this session by saying that everything you say here is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality,” she said, crossing her left leg over her right.

“And if I don’t say anything?” Sabrina shrugged.

“Then we stare at each other for an hour in silence. Regardless, I still get paid,” you let out a dry laugh and stared out her window. “Sam told me you work with the Avengers, so I can guess whatever is haunting you isn’t pretty,” you scuffed, folded your hands, and rested your forearms on your thighs. “I tell my patients that you get out of therapy based on what you put into it. You need to want to be here. You want to get better.” Sighing, you stared at her.

She had a small smile on her face. Her eyes were so kind; they seemed to stare into your soul. “Do have any siblings? I have an older brother and a younger sister.” She was the middle child, and that made sense. Middle children were known to struggle with a sense of identity. Every piece of decoration showed you a piece of who Sabrina is. They also were known to rebel - her nose ring and sleeve of tattoos gave her away. But you snapped out of that. Sabrina was here to help you. She was not your target.

“Yeah, I have two younger sisters,” you smiled. “We aren’t related by blood.”

“Family is family,” she said. “Blood doesn’t matter.” You nodded and felt better that she had the same viewpoint as you. “Who annoys you the most?”

“Excuse me?” You were shocked by the question. Sabrina laughed.

“Come on. You are the older sister; your younger siblings must annoy you.” You chuckled and leaned back on the couch. She was right. It got on your nerves when Natasha left her pointee shoes lying around. Yelena had the annoying habit of putting her dirty laundry with yours so you would do it. You smiled again.

“They both do things that get on my nerves, but I love them.”

“I love mine too,” she said. “We got these tattoos together.” She turned her arm over to show you the artwork forever marked on her skin. It was like the work of three birds on a branch.

“Did it hurt?” You questioned. “The sleeve, I mean.” She watched as you looked over your sleeve.

“The first one did,” she answered. “After so many, you get numb to the pain.” Her blue eyes were watching you closely. Missing how your body tensed at the comment was not hard for her. “Are you numb to it all? After everything you’ve been through.”

You were unsure how to answer because you weren’t numb. You felt everything. Every hand that hurt you. Every bullet and knife slash that pierced your skin. That was why you wanted it all to stop. You shook your head. “I feel it all,” you whispered. “I wish I was numb to it all.”

“It’s good that you are feeling,” she told you. It means you can still be pulled back. You can be saved. The question is,” You watched her stand up and walk over to the mini-fridge. She grabbed out a small water bottle and walked back to you. “Do you want to be saved?” she asked while handing you the bottle.

She was extending an olive branch, waiting for you to take the first step—blind trust. Like sky diving, you needed to trust that everyone did their job to ensure you would survive. You wanted to be saved because there was so much life you wanted to see. You took the water bottle. Sabrina smiled and sat back down. “Good, the ball is in your court,” she said. “Lead me in whatever direction you want.”

*

“I’m going for a run,” you said while you entered the common area. Yelena watched you grab water from the fridge. “I’ll be back.”

“Do you want a running partner?” Natasha asked, but you quickly shook your head.

“It will be quick,” you smiled. “Figure out what you guys want to do for dinner.” You called out before putting on your headphones and left out the side door. Yelena frowned as you left. Twice a week, you leave the compound and go on a run. You went alone every time, no matter who asked you to join. Natasha walked over to the window, and Yelena got up from the couch to join her.

“She’s hiding something,” Natasha said. Yelena nodded in agreement.

“Do you think she’s cheating on Carol?”

“God no,” Natasha shot that idea down. “I just wish she trusted enough not to have to hide.” There was no way to hide the hurt in Natasha’s voice.

“She’ll come around,” Yelena smiled. “She always does.”

*

“Still hiding away, I see,” you rolled your eyes. You were video chatting with Sabrina for your weekly season. Your back rested on the tree trunk while you sat on the forest floor. There was a thin layer of sweat on your forehead from your run. “Why don’t you trust them with this?”

“I do trust them,” you defended. “I just-” you trailed off. It was one of the annoying things about Sabrina. She was patient - too patient for your fucked up mind. “I don’t want to seem weak.”

“Admitting you need someone to help you through your mind does not make you weak,” she told you. “I think it makes a person very strong.” You sighed and looked past your phone to the wilderness around you. “Trust is a thread that holds relationships together,” you looked back at Sabrina. The doctor was drawing in her sketchbook. It was something she always did during your sessions. You never asked what she was drawing, and she never showed it to you. She put the sketchbook down when she saw that you were looking at her. “When it frays, even those who care the most are left powerless to help. Doubting those who care for you builds walls, not of protection, and in the end, loneliness becomes your only certainty.”

“What are you getting at Hall?” You asked. The doctor was spinning a pencil in her hand.

“You are at a standstill,” she said. “You will not continue to heal unless you trust them with this side of you. But also trust yourself.”

“I do trust myself,” she looked at you like she did not believe you. The only way to survive in this world was to trust yourself.

“To an extent, yes, you had to trust yourself because who else would you trust? But I want you to trust yourself to be vulnerable and to feel weakness. You do not have to be the strong one all the time.”

*

Natasha’s door was open when you knocked on it. Yelena was on her bed while they were sharpening some of their knives. “Are you going to throw one of those at me?”

“Do you deserve to have a knife thrown at you?” Natasha questioned. You shrugged.

“Depends on who you ask,” you smiled and walked into her room. You found some space on her bed and sat down. Yelena handed you a knife and a sharpening tool.

The repetitive action of sharpening a blade was calming. It was nice to spend time with them. “Do you have something on your mind, sestra?” Yelena asked. You smiled and looked over the knife. Flipping it over, you stared at your reflection.

“Sam helped me find a therapist,” you decided to rip off the band-aid. “I’ve been seeing her for a few weeks now.”

“That’s great,” Yelena said. “I’m so proud of you.” You looked down, embarrassed by the praise.

“Why did you wait this long to tell us?” Natasha asked. You sighed and, when you were done, handed the knife to Yelena.

“Million-dollar question, right?” Natasha chuckled. “I guess I didn’t want to seem weak to you guys. Hell, not even Carol knows.” You picked up another knife to begin the process again. “I trust the two of you with my life,” you began. “But I’ve learned that I don’t trust myself to be vulnerable or weak. If I’m not the strong one, then what is my role? What is my purpose.” Natasha took your hand to stop you from sharpening the knife.

“You just have to be our sister,” she said. “That’s all we want.” You smiled.

“Sometimes I wish life was kinder to us,” you admitted. “We were far too young to be subjected to the darkness.”

“We got each other out of it,” Yelena smiled.

“The best thing to come out of the Red Room,” you joked.

*

You stayed awake until Carol returned from space. “Jesus,” she jumped when she opened the door to her room. “You scared the shit out of me.” You giggled and stood up from her bed.

“Sorry,” you smiled and closed the distance. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised,” she said, wrapping one arm around your waist while closing the door with the other. She pulled you flushed to her chest. “Hi baby,” you felt the words rumble from her chest. I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you kissed her cheek. “How was space?”

“Good,” she sighed. “Tiring, but I kicked ass and looked good while doing it.” You shook your head with a laugh.

“You always look good,” she covered her mouth as she yawned. “Come on, my captain, let’s get you to bed.” Carol shook her head.

“Shower with me first, then bed,” she kissed you softly. “I promise to behave.”

That was hard to believe, but you followed her to the bathroom. This type of intimacy and trust was new to you. Showering with someone was never slow and sweet. It was usually against your will, dirty, and fast. Carol taught you differently.

You helped Carol out of her tactical suit and kissed the new bruises that decorated her skin. While the water was warming up, she helped you out of your sleeping clothes. You stood in front of her—naked like the day you were born. It took time for you to be like this with her. The dark thoughts that invaded your mind and the scars that covered your skin made you believe you were undeserving of this soft trust.

You helped Carol out of her tactical suit and kissed the new bruises that decorated her skin. While the water was warming up, she helped you out of your sleeping clothes. You stood in front of her - naked like the day you were born. It took time for you to be like this with her. The dark thoughts that invaded your mind and the scars that covered your skin made you believe you were undeserving of this soft trust.

“Krasivyy (beautiful),” Carol mumbled. The words she knew in Russian were few, but she knew the ones that made you smile.

“No funny business,” you warned, pulling the Avenger into the water. She insisted on washing your hair first. The way her fingers massaged into your scalp made your body feel boneless. Once your hair and body were clean, you returned to the favor.

Carol hummed. “You have magic fingers, baby girl.” You chuckled and kissed her shoulder.

Once the soap washed off Carol’s body, you turned off the water and dried yourself off. You took some of Carol’s clothes to change into and climbed into bed. Instantly, Carol pulled you into her arms. Like with your sisters, you decided to rip the band-aid off. “I’m seeing a therapist,” you said. Sam found me one based in the city.” She put her finger underneath your chin and forced you to look at her.

“Do you like her?” You nodded. You liked Sabrina. She was annoying and got underneath your skin, but she forced you to face the hard parts of your psyche. “Proud of you, baby,” she kissed your forehead and hugged you tighter. Her fingers ran through your hair, bringing you closer and closer to sleep.

Carol was proud of you, as were Natasha and Yelena. It felt good to hear. “I love you,” you mumbled against Carol’s chest. The tide was all-consuming. You felt breathless and weak, but you were working on fighting the waves. You were proud of yourself, too.

[guiltycorp]

Damn i really want to know tf happened in the writing room of arcane s2. Some of the downgrades were inevitable due to the show's corporate limitations (not being able to progress the class war story in a meaningful way, having to tie things back to league of legends in terms of making playable characters more appealing to well, play... rip Mel and Viktor in particular), sure. But i still feel like it's even worse than that? There are so many bad decisions that i couldn't even start listing them all... the characters, plot, pacing, themes, it's just such a mess? Even the dialogue writing, it feels much more mm Marvel at its worst i suppose. What i am most bothered by is probably just the straight up harmful messaging so um... Cycles of violence and abuse can be broken by individual decisions to become a better person! Got nothing to do with systemic oppression, living conditions, mental health issues, you can just conveniently ignore aaall the social context, live laugh love and then things get better automatically yep, oppressors famously stop oppressing you when you show them that you're harmless and won't put up a fight anymore. Literally three out of three suicidal characters dying to redeem themselves? Not even in a tragic/cathartic way but in a bittersweet 'they finally atoned for their mistakes' way? Groundbreaking lmao. Romantic relationship between Vi and Caitlyn including no communication about their biggest fight, just conveniently skipping to sex and getting back together - would have loved that if it was framed as the unhealthy fucked up thing that it is, skipping over Vi's hurt and her background to once again become a cop, her girlfriend's direct underling at that (!) due to her not having any other support systems... But nope that was our cute lesbian romance wrapped up, a good thing all around, not concerning at all. Jayce telling Viktor that what he 'always admired about him' was his disability and his deadly disease (??? from a character who spent the whole s1 and first act of s2 desperately trying to help Viktor find a cure? sure) and that those imperfections don't need fixing, just wtf truly. Magic bullshit was also weird, some implications of 'natural magic is ok, but achieving that power through other means corrupts you into a crazy robot bitch or just wilts your trees i guess', but tbh it was written in such a weird and inconsistent way that we can skip this one... Yeah actually a lot of things were just such a mess that I feel silly pointing to specific moments or lines I didn't like, I mean duh, it barely makes sense as a story at all... I am happy we have s1 which comparatively was a masterpiece, and i also really enjoyed s2 act1, i truly believed it would lead somewhere good at the time, my mind still kind of cuts off the story at that point when i think about it, that WAS the open ending of the show to me (is it possible that there were rewrites? targeting act 2 and 3? idk, wishful thinking perhaps). Despite my extremely negative feelings about this season's conclusion i remain glad that so many people appreciate the show regardless, it is clear that there was STILL a lot of love in the process of its creation (although i'd argue that even some of the visual aspects of the show suffered in quality, once again i have to wonder about behind the scenes mood of it all) and i get very upset when i see creatives online despairing over reception of their projects even when i'm absolutely in the disgruntled crowd hahaha... ...however yeah, this wasn't great In a world that increasingly grows more and more right-wing politically... we really needed something different i think.

[victormcdicktor]

Only putting this in the reblogs because this is currently my pinned post and I don't want to unpin it. Please support Hilda, thank you.

Important announcement about my blog; please read.

I have been preparing for a bit to go on a break, and I have depleted my queue of posts to make; so, it's time.

I will make this brief because I don't want to turn this into a pity party; my mental health is currently extremely poor. My anxiety and my depression have flared up extremely bad recently and I am no longer in a state to maintain something this serious, sensitive, and mentally taxxing.

I know I've been going on and off with my maintenance of this blog and for that I apologize to all those who rely on me. Similar to last time, I am going to be going on an indefinite hiatus, although this one might be much longer than the last.

I will not be gone forever, but I will be gone for as long as it takes me to feel mentally stable again. Again, I am sorry to everyone who has been attempting to reach out to me for help; I will try to help everyone I can as soon as I'm well again.

In short;

I am not checking my DMs nor are they available to those who I'm not follow.

I will not be posting anything on this blog or renewing my queue once it's exhausted.

I will not be active on this blog until I feel mentally well and stable enough to help people again.

Please do everything you can to support people's campaigns in my absence. It genuinely is true that the smallest contributions can mean everything to someones survival and reblogging someone's post is truly not hard.

Also, regarding my fundraiser list, I may update it over the course of my break and if I do I will post about it on this blog. Besides that, don't expect any activity until I announce my return. Best wishes to all of you.

STOP!; Help Hilda and Her Family Survive!

Hilda and her husband Mohamed were newly-wed before the siege on Ghazzah began. They were displaced last October and now live in a little tent far away from their now destroyed home.

Around 10 people are sheltered in this one tent, 3 of them being children, and their conditions are absolutely horrible. They have very little to eat and are surrounded by pests and disease. They've even seen venomous snakes in their area!

Their tent has been flooding overnight and does absolutely nothing to protect them from extreme heat or cold.

Hilda is also pregnant with her first child, which has compounded much of the difficulty she's faced.

Still, she must constantly work to keep herself and her family alive, even while her pregnancy pains continue to get worse and worse.

She is deeply worried for her future child's safety and the world they're going to be born into. There is no medical aid for her pain.

In order for Hilda and her family to be able to eventually evacuate, they need to raise €50,000. So far, they've only raised €4,302 with their last donation being 2 hours ago.

Please donate if you can and share their campaign. Everything matters and this family desperately needs help.

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Thank you for reading! Please reblog! 🦑🩷

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[lyrakanefanatic]

i might be biased bc she’s my fav but i do think that the reason why people hate lyra for being “whiny” is because they genuinely don’t know what to do when they’re reading about a jlb character whose sadness is always a part of them

like with avery she had gone through so much but was always able to cope with how she felt, and she had a very good support system (after book 1 that is 😬😬) like the hawthornes and jameson to help her out whenever she was feeling upset

and with cassie she had gone through so much but could still put her emotions to the side when she noticed that other people were going through “harder” things, and when she needed to solve cases (poor girl was still sad a lot of the time though ☹️☹️)

but with lyra her sadness consumes her. usually we start jlbs books with just the characters living their normal lives, (well tig, tgg, and the naturals at least) before they get this big opportunity and events happen that progressively break them down and ruin their mental health before building them back up again stronger, but for lyra she’s sad at the beginning, she’s sad when she’s getting broken down, (finding more and more about her father in the game and all the flashbacks) and she’s sad at the end. this girl is literally just depressed and y’all are acting like she lit hawthorne house on fire and danced on hannah rooneys grave just cause she doesn’t know how to cope with her emotions yet 😭😭🙏

and in case you guys forgot, the only people who know what happened to her father and are capable of sympathizing with her for it in any way is a literal grandma who was involved with tobias, whose wife had a part in lyras fathers death, and an ACTUAL HAWTHORNE 😭😭

like yeah averys support system wasn’t that good either, and cassies could have been better, BUT AT LEAST THEY HAD SOME KIND OF FOUND FAMILY SHIT THAT THEY COULD SYMPATHIZE WITH?? jlb really said “yessss found family trope for you” to avery and “found family trope for you” to cassie and then looked at lyra like this:

this last part is a joke btw, but because you guys are prob going to say something, (or maybe not idk) she does have a family, but there’s a lot of struggles with her telling them her problems because its not really expected of her. idk how many of y’all are the eldest child but there’s that and also this shame that lyra feels with being upset all the time because its so unlike the old her and she feels she owes it to her family to be like her old self, happy and communicative

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Nine

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Violence, bloodshed, injuries, Premeditated murder on the brain (Female Reader), swearing.

Words: 756

Note: Sorry for a short one. Wanted to get this one out. Next one will be longer I promise.

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU — Poem

Credit for Dividers:@cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I the problem? Did I do something to make you hate me so much? 

Why didn’t you just leave me instead of lying so many times to my face?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? 

I hope you rot in this hell you have made yourself. It’s my last gift I will give to you.

You knew how my life was before I met you. Yet you still did this to me. 

Cold. Calculated. That is all you will ever be.

If I had the power to curse you. I would have done it long ago. 

Once I leave this house, this country all over again. Do yourself a favour. Stay away from me.

Stay far, far away from me.

Otherwise, I can and most absolutely will kill you myself.

If you wish to keep your life.

Stay in your country and I will stay in mine.

I don’t want to be pushed into a corner. But you keep being adamant on doing so.

Don’t blame me when I bite you. Blame yourself for ignoring the warning signs.

You are the reason we are no longer married. Take accountability for your actions and shut the fuck up. 

König. You still don’t know if that’s his actual name or just simply a call sign. He never told you either way. 

But what does it matter? 

The man who had once been the epitome of comfort and support in your life had become a shadow of his former self. The trust that had once been as solid as steel between you had been shattered into a million pieces.

Leaving a gaping chasm of doubt and anger in its place. 

The coldness in his eyes, the way he looked at you now, it was like you were nothing but a stranger to him. 

Someone who had merely crossed his path at the wrong time.

"I will leave, and you won't see me again." you snarl, getting up to get your things.

König remains seated, his expression unreadable. "Reaper, I know you're upset, but we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You chose to cheat. You made that choice. Suffer the consequences. I'm not the one who needs to explain anything. You're the one who broke our vows.” 

“My life is in my hands. I will not become who you are.” You told him. Your knuckles turning white from the way you turned your hands into fists. You were so tired of the kind of excuses coming from the mouths of men who neither cared nor wanted you around. 

You weren’t going to let König know you again. To choose death than suffer through his presence a second time. It made so much sense to you. You do enough talk. What did you learn from your mistakes? Did you even learn from them at all? 

If he can’t see it. May he drown inside his endless well of pitiful tears. 

You are not his wife, his friend, his punching bag. The call sign ‘Grim Reaper’? You earned it for a reason. Too bad he’s too blind to see it. 

What has eyes but cannot see? 

Escape.

Escape and run faster than he can hope to catch up. 

If he can’t take the hint, then…..you would have to kill him yourself.

Can’t be too hard to kill a six-foot ten adult man, right?

You can hear the shouting between him and his girlfriend. A sickening, twisted grin spreads across your face. Sweet revenge for the child you lost years ago.  Weight began to lift from your shoulders. It wasn’t over by a long shot. But now you know how to twist the knife to get what you wanted in order to leave. 

To head back home where you felt like you belonged completely. 

Home. Your home. 

The one where you don’t have to hide from broken bottles, yelling, shouting, endless need to feel like you have to explain yourself. 

Could it still be there when you go back? Will it still be there now?

[waitmyturtles]

I stopped writing about Kidnap the Series about a quarter into the series because it was clearly designed to deliver the memeable romantic moments that GMMTV prioritizes these days for its number one goal, social media engagement. [And the series did this so well that many Kidnap-related social media accounts on Twitter got either banned or shadowbanned for explicit (??? get outta here, Elon) content, so the series actually did its damn thing.]

There wasn't enough plot material to actually criticize, which is my priority on this blog, so I gave my writing a rest. But: I did give the series a full watch out of deference to my insatiable stanning of the Series Y king, Ohm Pawat, and...

I'm here to say that I am not complaining about that final episode at all. I'm actually, surprisingly, happy with it!

Before I get into this, let me just first say that Kidnap didn't do something that many of the very big GMMTV series have done lately: it did not tread into disingenuous narrative waters. It didn't make thematic contradictions or leave open plot holes (Wandee Goodday), it didn't punish characters for real-life moral or ethical slips (Only Friends), it didn't jump story beats to design questionable moments without prior established emotional context (Last Twilight, 23.5).

Kidnap was sappy, very often repetitive and boring, but it wasn't offensively disingenuous, and it didn't ask its audience to hold back its understanding and expectations of how humanity generally functions. (Expect for the fact that the series had a very loose grip on the exact definition of "kidnapping," BUT ANYWAY.)

But anyway: I didn't expect the final episode to be rooted in Q's and Mhen's recoveries. And I loved that. The show didn't forget the framework in which it set up its main romance. Min is and was always a caretaker. He allowed that caretaking to obstruct his progress forward in life, whether vis à vis Nong Mhen or his Q. Both Mhen and Q asked Min to move forward from them, by the both of them taking accountability for their health, in part to allow Min to loosen his shackles (heh) on his perceived responsibilities to them.

I liked that! That was a responsible move by the show to not tilt the emotional scales in a direction that would have Min continue to take on a burden of taking care of people who, with a little help, could learn to take care of themselves.

And I'm a sucker for a therapeutic process. I'll take a quibble at the suggestion that Q "throw away" memories (since, cough cough, it could be about re-contextualizing the literal time spent and the value that an individual places on certain memories cough cough, but different strokes for different therapists), but honestly, having the entire episode framed on Q's mental health progress warmed my cockles. More mental health discussions in dramas!

I was baseline hoping for a potentially more campy or comedic take on crime and kidnapping when this show started, a kind of ironic approach that I know the acting of Ohm Pawat could take on, but that's asking a lot from a studio that's pumping out quantity over quality at the moment. I'm just very glad this show didn't end with me tilting my head to the side with question marks flying out in a thought cloud. It was, overall, a pleasant and warm watch, something worth fast-forwarding through during the holidays for the smoochy moments after one too many glasses of wine (heh heh).

And it looks like the branded pair of OhmLeng is permanent now, so I hope for a better script for these guys in the near future. Leng needs a LOT more acting classes -- but these two have chemistry in spades, and that chemistry could be used well in a better script.

[daddywright]

Hey there Jazz. I'm such a big fan. Pressure verse remains one of my fave fics ever. I've always been curious about how you portray and see Phoenix. Is it something unique on Pressure verse that Phoenix lies so bad that anyone close to him can read him easily? Versus Canon that many people either have him that he's just good at hiding his thoughts because the game just expresses to players his thoughts? Or he is still the same emotional man but is so awkward and his acting in theater makes him good at pretending? Because he's so evasive about anything himself. Pssst. Any also any hint of next update? Hehehe.

Hi hi!

Wow, so I had to take a second to think about this question. In its DNA, Pressureverse is a 'In Want of a Nail' story - the joke of 'what if Phoenix got therapy post-Dahlia' explored with narrative consequences. As a result, the Phoenix that takes shape over the course of the adjusted plot is one that-- while certainly not smoothed of character flaw or mentally prime lol-- has learned that even if he doesn't believe that his troubles or concerns should be shared (for arrogant or trauma-related reasons), he has learned that he likes and needs the support he receives from other people who take notice. In a way, the joke about his being a bad liar is evidence to progress in his relationships that diverges meaningfully from canon. He's a character that's not capable or willing to ask for help in many ways, but in Pressureverse, at least, he's begun to "telegraph" through chosen lies when he has needs. It's a changed indicator of his mental health, but it's a character flaw I gave him intentionally, because to make Phoenix a "bad liar" was an indirect way of writing the other characters-- particularly female characters-- as BETTER listeners. A lot of characters in Ace Attorney often share one major trait, and that's perception/emotional sensitivity, but only when narratively convenient for a video game sometimes. But in writing, or in Pressure at least, the key relationship is Phoenix and Maya's. Phoenix is a frequent liar who IS capable of lying well, but to people who know him, even when he's not half-assing it, they would learn to pick up on it. Why wouldn't Maya be sensitive over time to who he is, and when he's struggling?

Basically, Phoenix being a "bad liar" is a trait that is altogether a bit, intentional character development/canon divergence, and biased based on the POV character of the chapter. (Ex. Characters like Edgeworth and Klavier wouldn't describe him as a bad liar, but a lot of the other more sensitive characters in his life would!)

Sorry for how lengthy this was! As for an update, I'd cross my fingers for after the holidays... right now, I'm working on a Metal Gear Solid fic ;)

[mysterious-dark-shadow]

I sometimes re-read posts from "The Before Times": from before the Sewage Flood of '22, before we discovered the Slow Methane Leak that had been gassing the house for YEARS, before Felix was officially diagnosed with HOLE IN THE BRAIN.

This specific post was during a time when we were desperately trying to figure out why things were getting better in some ways and so much worse in others. Felix especially was dealing with mental and physical issues that should have gotten better after he quit his super stressful job.

The information we have now doesn't invalidate the conclusions Felix came to in the original post: his hormones were all over the place & his diet needed changing. And responding to those issues helped eliminate some symptoms that were specifically related to those problems. The changes helped him have a clearer head a year later when I ended up going crazy* from methane overexposure.

The fact that we had been working with doctors for several years actually helped us out a lot when it came to Felix's migraines. When we finally got to a neurologist, he could see that we weren't chasing painkillers. He ordered the MRI for Felix's head that we had been trying to get for soo long. And fought insurance to give us the prescription that actually made a difference in the severity of the migraines Felix suffers from.

And today we have a much better handle on our physical and mental health. We learned how to talk to each other about what's going on in our heads. We learned so much about how to help each other physically. We know what it looks like when one/both of us are suffering from methane exposure, and how to get the gas out of our living environment, so we can actually unpack boxes of stuff that we haven't touched since early 2022.

We are literally getting our past back. There are art projects that Felix was in the middle of that were boxed up alongside the reference books that were sitting on the same table. Trinkets and keepsakes that were on the shelves of bookcases and cabinets from our adventures, separately & together, are finding new spaces in our apartment. Our dried boutonnieres from our wedding day were briefly on display and then quickly put in a cabinet because our cats are rose-eating monsters.

Sometimes I wish I could reach back in time to 2020-2021 us, but I don't know what I'd say. What we went through in 2022 was horrific. We are still picking up the pieces. What kind of warning could prepare past-us for what was to come?

And then I remember a strange encounter we had early in 2021. We were in the beginning stages of our channeling experiments. I was the channeler for a specific entity that had previously given us advice that had turned out to be prophetic, so Felix at some point asked them, "What is the most important thing we should know for our future?" The entity made a painful grimace that made my face ache for a few hours afterwards, then said, "Keep going. No matter what happens, just... Keep. Going." They refused to elaborate, and Felix dismissed the entity soon afterwards. We were puzzled by the cryptic nature of the message and the swirling mass of negative emotions - anguish, fear, anger, regret - that my body felt at the moment the entity grimaced. But we followed the advice, reminding each other that we should "keep going" when times were difficult and situations seemed impossible to overcome.

I now realize that I don't have to reach back in time to warn anyone. Someone else already did. And now I pass on that advice to you in hopes that it helps you as it has helped us so many times:

Keep going. No matter what happens, just... Keep. Going. _____________

*I'm not using that phrase lightly. I completely lost touch with reality and ended up in a hospital psych ward for 12 hours. The hospital didn't handle me well (symptoms hand-waved as "THC overdose" with no tests confirming that diagnosis...), but the event did shock me back into reconnecting with reality again.

Having Mental Illness

It’s hard to talk about my experience with mental illness sometimes because I’m not diagnosed by a professional for “everything I have.” For instance, in my household we all know that I have depression and anxiety, but it’s not really nailed down on my medical chart whether I have Generalized Anxiety or Major Depression. I’ve talked to my doctor about my anxiety, my “moods” as it is usually termed in the doctor’s office, and had my spouse at my side during the discussions, and been prescribed Zoloft for my symptoms even, and the takeaway has been:

My doctor doesn’t want to diagnose me with a mental illness, because no one wants to figure out what the insurance will do. Or what the protocols for it are. Or what the exact diagnosis should be. My therapist had further insight there: finding someone who can make the right diagnosis for me is one thing. But there could be several different diagnoses for what I could have, depending on what treatment plan they wanted to bill for, or what my insurance covers, WHICH CAN CHANGE.

And all this time, we’re just trying to live this and figure out how to do right by me and the body and brain I have.

It’s why I keep thinking I need to explain myself here. There’s no catch-all term for whatever it is that I have. There’s a lot of medical interactions between my hormones, my mood, my sleep cycle, and my information processing ability. Sometimes at 2AM I decide it’s time to read a paranormal encyclopedia, and that’s just because my body is not going to be good at doing anything else at that time, because that’s what the chemicals in my body say to do.

So, I mentioned my hormones–one reason I’ve been quiet is because I don’t want people to think that transitioning will cause you harm or that transitioning people are “crazy.” But I’ve had some severe mental health effects from my hormones being way off-balance at times, and I’m finally able to talk about it. One reason I’m able to talk about it again? I’m finally GETTING my hormones.

Last year when I switched to topical rub-on testosterone instead of intramuscular injection, it was because I was unable to do the shots anymore. My needle fears ramped up and I had to switch over. Well, turns out the absorption was never working right for me because I was getting allergy injections in the same area as I was rubbing the cream on, and apparently the testosterone got into my bloodstream instead of the lymph system, and made my levels seem incorrect? Gods it was nuts. Anyway my insurance cancelled rub-on hormones on January 1 with no warning anyway, so it’s a good thing I was planning to switch to subcutaneous injection. Which I did yesterday after being without my rub-on hormones for 3 days.

My body feels like a submarine that goes up to get air and down to dive below at times completely dependent on my hormone levels and nothing else, and my hormone levels basically all last year were bonkers. It destroyed my sense of time right as I and everyone else were all locked in our homes. My stress has ramped with the news cycles, making me unable to sleep some nights until my body finally exits hypervigilance.

There’s not a cure for this, or any single diagnosis, or a treatment other than to take care of myself and keep going.

I’ll keep going.

I want to open up more about my mental illness experience, and what it does and how I get through it, but I’m going to warn you that my mental illness doesn’t follow the discourse. It fucks the discourse. I’m a person who has decided to stop driving because I don’t like how I might react to the unexpected behind the wheel, and I still vote, I make big financial decisions, heck I make winning investment picks. Sometimes I can’t walk out my front door, and it’s not for any logical reason, and I even know logically with my brain at the time that nothing bad will happen if I go outside. Still, sometimes I can’t walk out my front door, and in those times I realize that I don’t actually have to. Because last year we as a household realized that I could no longer do the things I’d done all the previous years before, that something in my mind and body had drawn a line and said I couldn’t go ignore those boundaries anymore.

I can’t watch TV like a “normal person.” Ads really mess with me and so I often avoid commercial television, for instance. But I also have trouble sitting down and absorbing something on a screen, I’ll often have to walk around, or I’ll need to watch the show out of order, or see it “filtered” through commentary or memes, because that’s how my brain decided I was processing that day. But the conversation I have with my spouse about the subject at the end of the day is still rich and fulfilling, because I’m still having an experience of the subject, be it a show or a video game or a news event. I just take it in in a very particular way, and sometimes that way changes depending on my mood and a bunch of other factors.

Heck, my diet changes how much I can focus and think. We’re still figuring out what does what. There’s a lot of rabbit holes to chase down. At some point we discuss what’s worth putting up with versus what actually needs treatment, because when things aren’t very clear-cut you need to prioritize. Also, having a lot of different medical issues at once means that you sometimes get overwhelmed and don’t know what order to address it all in.

I communicate in GIF and youtube format on here sometimes because I don’t really have a way to articulate the feeling or thought I have other than to show something that seems to encompass it all in an abstract or more psyche-oriented way. I really enjoy being able to do that here, and to get out the things I really want to express in an environment where people let me experiment with communication. Thanks to all of you for that. Except the bots. You’re not sentient, and that’s kind of weird.

Oh yeah. Mental illness and its interaction with hormones. Are completely ruining my ability to plan things and have been for like half a year now. So thank. For your pati. Ence.

[angelnumber27]

been doin a little 30 min skin care routine every day and working out every day again and I feel good :)

[moeblob]

North and Simon: (shaking hands on killing Simon potentially)

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[leastinsanesscpilot]

>It's good to hear from some of Z's friends, I was a bit worried about this account as a socialization aid but it seems like it was working as intended for a little while.< >To shed some light on the situation, I'm only briefly taking over this account due to a recent decline of Z's mental and physical health leading to a couple of hostile interactions, as well as some concerning news about some of his affiliations. We're not trying to isolate him or accuse him of anything, we're just worried about him being taken advantage of again.< >Z is a very pleasant person to work with, he can be very sweet when he's given the opportunity to be, but he's also very stuck in his ways. From what I can gather, he didn't tell us about APMS because he didn't feel comfortable seeking help and didn't want to be obtrusive, which is a pretty common theme with him. I've also gotten a bit concerned about some of his maladaptive behaviors and values being somewhat encouraged by some people, which we're looking into. We highly value Z's ability to freely associate with whoever he wants, but his safety comes first over that, which is the reasoning behind this little break. I know it can be hard to trust me as a Union agent, but please do know that I have Z's best interests at heart and my main job is making sure he's healthy, safe, and happy.< -Dr. Milo Wells

>Hello, everyone! My name is Dr. Milo Wells, and I'm the Union DoJ/HR agent in charge of Z's case. In light of recent events, I'm gonna be taking over this account for a little while, just until we get everything sorted out over on our end.< >Feel free to direct any questions and comments to me and my department. If it's immediately pressing then I'll pass the message along to Z, but otherwise he's taking a break for a little while. I'll be here to provide updates to whoever wants them.< -Dr. Milo Wells, DoJ/HR

[moonkhao]

hi.