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reidslovely · 1 year ago

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How to Disappear: Life Unknown.

A/N: If you are reading this I finally decided to let this fic see the light of day. I wasn’t sure if this is something I wanted to post or not, seeing as Link is a very complex character. By that I mean he’s literally a walking piece of shit. But at the same time I’m constantly telling myself that it is normal to write fix it fics for awful characters, but like the whole Isabelle situation is very hard to write about. I wanted to see an ending for Link/Alex where he gets the help he deserves. He is severely mentally ill. But I also wanted to touch on Link’s past, and how this went on for as long as it did.I also selfishly wanted to see him have a love story and have human emotions sooo..

Please reblog and comment, pretty please.

Genre: Fix it Fic

Pairing: Link/Alex Goodrich x Fem! Reader/OC-ish

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicide, person talking about struggles of being on the ASPD spectrum, talks of psychiatric hospital stays, bodily harm, neglect of child’s mental health.

Alexander Goodrich

It glared back at him in dull blue ink.

It was an unfamiliar moniker scrawled at the top of the sign out sheet. The longer he stared the more alien it felt to him. Alex was a kid who burnt down a school, Alexander was the beloved son to a local politician who had to put on a good face for mommy and daddy.

Parents who deny their kid mental health assistance, create monsters. The Goodrich’s today would deny that the hot mess YouTuber, donning the name ‘No One Special’ or more simply Link, was not their estranged son. That their dear son, Alex, had run off two months into a psychiatric stay that never happened; never to be seen again. When in all reality he was shipped off to a boarding school he had run away from only days later. Since that day he was constantly ghosting about, avoiding the issues he had caused by running away. No amount of running could stop the issues he had for so long. He was not- is not a good person. But before facing that knowledge he knew he could always run away, try again- and if that didn’t work; he’d run away again.

Till he couldn’t run anymore.

Everywhere he ran cameras, girls, articles talking about no one special followed him. He had fucked up, worse than he had in a long time. A girl died because of him, because he let power get to his head. Not because of Frankie, Jake, or the internet.

Because of him. He was the reason a girl was dead.

“Alex.” A nurse's voice rang out through the white, cold halls of the hospital.

Evansport Long-Term Psychiatric Care Facility in LA was a cold place, even with its blue and yellow painted walls. This had been home for the last two years, and this time it was different. He swiped at his nose standing up nervously, shoving his sweaty hands into his pockets as he approached the older woman. Counting the tiles as he walked, this was it- he was finally getting to leave. He was ready, he was different- he hoped.

“Mr. Goodrich, can’t say I’m not sad to see you go.” Dorothy says, passing the bag of his belongings off to him. Alex nodded, giving her a grateful smile; he tucked the clear bag under his arm hugging the older woman. This was something he had been working on since his diagnosis. Alex had always known there was something going on with him, something much bigger than himself- that made him act how he did. It’s not that he didn’t want to be good, he did. Alex always wanted to be good, no matter what the child psychologists would say. He just didn’t know what exactly being good meant, he had always had these…urges. Whether it was to knock his peers off the swingset, beat that kid from gym classes head in if he stared for too long. Alex had no impulse control, he struggled to relate to his peers. But, mom and dad said he’d grow out of it; he never did. He tried, god he tried but he could never find a good way to help himself.

He was not a good person. But he was trying.

“Thank you Dottie.” Alex said, dropping his arms, patting his bag. “Do you think there will be people out there?” He asked after a minute, his head nodding towards the door. His voice flattered for a second, there were still people curious about him and it made him sick. Before it would have thrilled him, but now..he didn’t even want to see one camera in his face. The flash alone would send him into a spiral he feared.

“No, no they never guess dismissal right from those silly sources. Besides, you look a little different now huh? Wouldn’t notice you unless they stared at ya to hard.”

He did. Link, now Alex, had changed since his check in date. His blonde hair had grown out past his shoulders into his natural brown at one point. Dorothy took it upon herself to cut it for him when he’d max out on reward points. He now dawned a bit more stubble, and perfect brown hair, with a hat and sunglasses no one would notice him- hopefully.

Alex checked everything one last time, before giving Dorothy a tight-lipped smile and turned on his heel heading for the door. It felt like a threat, a gun pointed to his head. He always thought what this day would be like, what he would do when he got out. Link, that’s who he was when he checked in, thought he would be here two months before he got sick of it. He would check out, cut his hair and run away again, but then the therapy, the medication- it all started to help.

Admitting there was a problem, admitting that he was the problem and that a young girl had died because of what he did. Alex realized he had to change, that it was finally time to help himself.

No more lies.

He gave Isbelle’s family the requested money in court before there was even an opening testament, only requesting to return back to the psychiatric facility with what he had left to pay for it. Now here he was about to throw up, as he crossed the threshold into his new life.

His face flushed at the sunlight, he silently shut the door and started walking up the long driveway towards the gate. He sniffled and cleared his throat, sitting on a bench he’d claim as his own on his daily walks, he wasn’t quite ready to take those last few steps out of the gate. Digging in the bag, he pulled everything out: a black button up and slacks he had worn to court, a hoodie, his wallet, his phone.

His phone, he tossed it between his hands- the weight felt sickening in his hand.

“If it hadn’t been for the phone- no the phone didn’t cause this.” He reminded himself, he turned it on. Not knowing why, or what he thought he was gonna get out of it. The biggest part of him hoped it wouldn’t turn on, in the two years it had been shut off that it just magically died.

The ping of it turning on made him irrationally angry, wanting to just shut it off. Floods of text messages washed over his screen. No twitter, no instagram- he had deleted them on their way back from court.

For a minute everything stopped, no more text messages- till a final ding.

Frankie - Today 8:06 am.

“twitter source says your stay ends today. we should talk.”

His brother must have been paying on his phone bill somehow, he never mentioned it in their phone conversations. His thumbs danced over the keyboard, typing and erasing a replay- what did he say? Three dots popped up, soon replaced by a message.

Frankie - Today 8:15 am.

“you know where to find me.”

He closed his phone, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, finally standing and pushing the gate open.

The old magic bar was in the middle of town, it was a bit of a walk but it did him good. The sun felt nice, it was finally fall, which meant the wind blew through here and there. As he reached the now abandoned building he halted, looking around. What if this was some sort of ambush- and the minute he walked down that alley his face would be everywhere in the next couple hours. His heart-rate increased, it felt like it was stuck in his throat.

Alex’s feet carried him forward with hesitant, quiet steps. If someone was waiting for him they wouldn’t hear him coming.

“Frankie is good, too good. She wouldn’t do that. Even if that’s what you deserved.”

He thought to himself as he looked around. He shoved his hands into his sweatpants, picking at the lint twirling it around between his fingers. Footsteps carefully found their way up the steps, he turned his head automatically.

Frankie looked older now, more mature. Her hair was longer, tucked behind her ear showing her scar off proudly. He always liked when she was confident. Her clothes are no longer ill fitted, but tailored and comforting. She’s come into her own.

“Hope you’re not here to ambush me.” He says quietly, taking in the woman before him. Frankie shook her head, her fingers dancing on the metal railing.

“No, no. I should but-” She stopped herself, looking around. “I’ve gotten out of the habit of picking out others' to feel better about myself. You should try it.”

Alex laughed, well, he blew air out of his nostrils and let his lips curl up into a bitter smile. “Yeah, me too. Never made me feel better about myself.”

“Could have shocked me.”

It was a silence for a moment, it was an unpleasant memory sitting here with her like this. There was a unpleasant lingering in the air like a bomb was going to drop.

“Did you love me? Or even like me?”

There it was.

What a weighted question, he gripped the metal railing swaying back and forth on his feet. “No.” He admitted, looking Frankie in her eye. “I didn’t love you- I don’t love I haven’t since..well in a really long time. I think..” He stopped himself, thinking about his next few words carefully. “I was infatuated with you. I tricked myself into thinking I loved you. I hurt you and I’m sorry it had to happen for me to be here now.”

Frankie stared at Link, Alex- whoever this new man in front of her was. “So who was she? There’s always a ‘she’ in these situations isn’t there?”

Alex laughed, rolling a rock under the sole of his shoe. “Was she one of the girls who fooled around with while we-”

“No, no..no. She was a girl I had known a long time ago, in high school. I think she was the last person who had ever tried to understand me. She didn’t look at me like a project.”

Alex’s heart twisted into a knot thinking about the girl who had up and left him, their hometown, everything. It had been the catalyst- the incident that sent him over the edge. Where was she now?

It wasn’t a jab to Frankie, however the twitch of her nose let him know he had offended her. “Sorry, sorry I shouldn’t have said that” It was sincere, Frankie shrugged her shoulders.

“No it’s true. We just got caught up in each other, the game. We weren’t good people.”

“No we weren’t but, hey, I was worse. Clearly.”

Frankie laughed, then the silence grew again. His mind wondered before looking back at the blonde in front of him.

“You should find her again, when you leave LA.”

“How’d you know I’d leave?” He laughed, tilting his head back. “It’s what I do huh?”

“Kind of.” Frankie says resting her forearms on the railing. “But I’m serious. If you’re on this righteous road of washed up celebrity maybe you should find the one person who made you feel-”

“Like a human?”

“Your words not mine.” Frankie says, pointing a boney finger at him. Alex tilted his head forward and let out a sigh. It had been almost a decade since he had disappeared from his home state, was there any point in returning. He was dead to them, a ghost. Did (Y/N) think he was dead too?

“Yeah, yeah maybe I will.”

Frankie nodded at him, waiting for a minute before taking a step back. “You look good, Link. I am happy for you, but don't think I can forgive you though. Maybe in time.” The man nodded at her, he understood- he didn’t want her forgiveness he just wanted her to know.

“I respect that.” He started, pushing himself off the steel railing with his hands in his hoodie pocket. “It’s Alex now by the way.”

Frankie shoved her hands in her pockets looking at him, her eyes raked over his face trying to read him- it still wasn’t easy to manage. “Well, Alex, I hope to see you doing good in the future.”

“You won't see anything about me. I’m done gonna head back to Connecticut, disappear and become a hermit on the coast.”

“Well, maybe you could keep me updated.” She says as she walks away.

“Are you like my sponsor or something?” He laughs as he stands straight. Frankie shrugged, turning to face him stopping in her tracks.

“Maybe. Go find that girl..have a human experience. Leave everyone alone.”

Alex raised his eyebrows holding back a laugh, he wouldn’t know a human experience if it bit him in the ass. He watched her leave, the two raising their hands in an unspoken goodbye. Alex walked out of the alley and into the sun of Los Angeles, breathing in the toxins of the city one last time before heading towards the nearest city.

Come tomorrow, he would be gone again.

taglist: @helloheyhihowdyheya @tarzinnia @a-lumos-in-the-nox @sincericida @moonyslove78 @messymissy @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield again #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #link x reader #link mainstream #link mainstream x reader #alex goodrich x reader #andrew garfield fanfiction #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x reader

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fmpy3 · 27 days ago

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FMP Week 2

One of my friends has agreed to make me a song that i can use for my project!! so I think ill end up making sort of an AMV, with most of the audio coming from just that song.

Research into Idol culture

Notes on Idol Culture

1980's were the golden age of Idols in Japan.

Idol Characteristics:

Focus on image, attractiveness, and personality.

Primarily young girls (ages 16-18+).

Usually trained in singing, acting, dancing, and modelling.

Have a loyal customer base with a parasocial relationship.

Role Models:

Personal lives controlled by talent agencies (e.g., no smoking, drinking, or dating).

Often retire by age 25.

Costuming:

Elaborate, cute costumes for each promotion cycle.

School uniforms popularized by the Onyanko Club (debuted 1985).

Fan Culture:

Passionate male fans called "wota" (derived from "otaku").

Wota formed cheering groups (bodyguards) to support idols at events.

Perform "wotagei" (fan chants/dancing) to show appreciation.

Fan chants popularized by Mari Amachi's fans in the 1970s.

Influence of Fans:

Fans circulate under-reported news via social media due to media self-censorship.

Slang Terms:

DD: Stands for "daredemo daisuki" (no favourite member/group, generally negative connotation).

Oshimen (or oshi): Favourite member or group.

Bako oshi: Support for an idol group.

Fan-Idol Relationship:

Marketing emphasizes emotional connection.

Fans are actively involved in the idol's journey.

Some fans (usually men in their 30s-40s) seek long-term interactions without real-life complications.

Idol Interaction:

Talent agencies offer meet-and-greet events (handshake events) for fans.

Betrayal and Image:

Fans may feel "betrayed" if idols reveal personal issues or break the illusion of exclusivity.

Criticism of Idol System:

Strict rules and intense work schedules.

Little personal control for idols; likened to salarymen.

Idols often lack labour rights and receive little revenue.

Concerns about excessive work expectations and lack of mental health resources.

Young idols (even elementary school students) face exploitation.

Industry Issues:

No labour unions for idols; agencies treat idol activities like school extracurriculars.

Critics highlight the need for better mental health support and appropriate work conditions.

I think my story will delve into the bad parts of the idol industry, as well as show a fun crime fighting story.

Other Notes-

Setting

2049 LA - Blade runner

neon lights

tall city buildings/skyscrapers

dirty vibes

very crowded

very busy

lots of alleyways

Large stage for performance- lots of warm bright lights, pink/yellow/white

This is a 3D model i made to use as reference for backgrounds. it will also help with scaling.

Antagonists

gang based off poisonous flowers – Lilly of the valley, fox glove, hemlock – Cursed Garden

the idol industry as a whole/ her manager of her agency

Opening idea-

View character on the roof of a building, sirens fading in, and blue flashing lights appear, character looks over shoulder

Screen starts black sound of cheering fades in, Background moves like you’re going up (she’s going up a trapdoor in a tube) cheering gets louder, Reach the top cheering gets much louder

Walk to front of stage with microphone

Camera swaps to watching her

Takes deep breath and smiles Music starts

swap to other POV and she jumps off the roof spider man style into the flashing lights, uses stick to slide down wall closer to floor

swap POV to stage, dancing and singing, flip camera to crowd who are cheering and waving lights, then swap back to her and she winks at crowd

Scene ideas-

Runs past a billboard showing a news story of her preforming and speculating on her real identity.

Manager yelling at maya in his office

Alien creature friend :)

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panzerkatzee · 1 year ago

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Good day ya'll!

Its 11:30 and I just completed a small research session on fillipino martial arts and taking extensive notes on how my characters might move in the upcoming combat scenes. Funny enough, I always thought my larp experience would help in writing combat realistically… but oh boy… I WAS SO WRONG… its embarassing.

I am still no real expert, but maybe I can find someone to help with those scenes in particular down the line. For now I did watch some videos and read some instructions online and feel confident to get into the fight scene, I've been hyped for yesterday… but first… warm up time!!

by Electrum Photography

Then and again, he would get a flicker of red eyes, burning brightly with flashes of inert blood magic, his friend no doubt struggling to hold it back, hating crowds as it was. Dan… you are getting an ear full, for dragging her out here, he thought ruefully and picked up his pacing again. A few moments later, she stumbled free from the bodies swaying and squirming with the thrumming beats. "going to try smth new, winky face", had been the last text he received from her before getting on the tube and hot damn… she had. Only her hair was reminiscent of the timid mage, kept straight and falling down onto her shoulders, bangs freshly trimmed to end in a straight line above her brows. To cover her chest Lucille wore only a black pleather bra, the burning church tattooed across he abdomen, was on full display, showing its bell-tower ablaze, right between her breasts. She had paired it off with nothing more than a pair of latex gloves and a matching skirt, making Dan sweat just by looking at it. Clashing with the entire get up, the mad woman had forgone the use of shoes completely.

Not my best work… but after spending so much time on researching, I am a bit anxious to get writing. There is still some catching up with the long-term goal to do… soooo snaps fingers LET'S DO IT!

Okaaay… five hours later… didn't hit the word count… yet. But I am due for a food break, having ordered poké bowl from my fav restaurant.

I really underestimated how far fight scenes were out of my comfortzone… usually I am more for the whole emotional stuff… but as I am writing sci-fi about ppl doing sneaky shit and pissing off powerful other ppl, I don't think I will get away without it…

In the end… I went against the plan I had, and reshuffled my entire story a little bit.. soooo.. that just might turn into something interesting… who knows…

As of now I am at ~1400 words, so very close… aaaand the next scene coming up, will be snugly inside my comfort zone again, hence I am no tooo worried, I won't hit my mark for the day.This wraps up Chapter IV nice and neat~

I do a lot better at starting a chapter than ending it sooo...

But.. to learn from this, I will probably alter the daily warm up challenge a bit… by changing it to stuff I am not quite good at yet..

Maybe a paragraph of a battle scene or dialogue each day? Something like this.

As it stands now, I will wait for my food and write a bit more afterwards…

For now, lets continue with the Playlist, shall we?

Today's song: Faunts - M4 Pt.2

youtube

Why is this on my playlist? Those among you with an excellent taste in Video Games, might already know this one. If not by name, then from the Mass Effect I credits, as it is from the Game's OST. To be honest, it doesn't align at all with what I usually listen to, but then that's mostly everything that leads to the release of dopamine in my brain… so I can't claim any consistency there. Being a huuuuge fan of the Mass Effect Trilogy… and my alien waifu Garrus, connecting a very peaceful time in my life with these games… an age of innocence so to speak.. I have feelings about the song as well…

The lyrics just resonate with me… and I kinda always come back to it, when I have a hard time. Its not cheerful or anything.. but it holds this deepfelt wish for someone to heal… and struggling with mental illness, I just need it.

As my novel draws a lot from my personal experiences and how I see the world, this fits the story's playlist quite well… and its Mass Effect related… sooo doubly perfect~

Sooooo I will go wait for food now and play some Mahjong or whatever :D Have a lovely day~

#writing #creative writing #on writing #national novel writing mont #nanowrimo 2023 #nanowrimo #sci fi novel #science fiction #sci fi #writing challenge #writing journal #writing journey #faunts #mass effect #Youtube

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whatsupbabah · 2 years ago

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Poem: Mommy Dearest

My jaw tightens

I clench my teeth in internal conflict

Grinding down

My soul feels maimed

Life is pain

Life is despair in balance with joy

Yet it’s rare to experience balance between the two

Both joy and pain are necessary

Duality is how the universe and consciousness survives

But those who experience more joy than pain are the more fortunate ones

They are gods favorites

I on the other hand

Find beauty in the pain

In the addiction

Don’t underestimate the allure of darkness

Even the purest of hearts are drawn to it

It’s thick blood leeks into your mouth until you are drowning and know nothing else but it’s endless pungence

It never takes a night of rest

Rest is the equalizer

And I don’t have that peace or slack

I was born with this pain

My dna drowning in 40 proof

Or it may have been accumulated by life’s endless fuckery and sexual trauma

Either way

I always blame myself

My livelihood has been compromised by my own hands

People don’t understand and are not willing to understand mental illness and addiction.

They alienate our core and experience

Fuck you for judging what you do not know

Those who are lost in addiction,

We are warriors

Titans

The ones who truly survive against all odds

We are our worst enemies

And yet we still survive within our own minds our patterns gladly working for the devil (as they wish us to believe)

Fuck you you privileged prick

I’m still alive

Although I’ve gambled my 9 lives

Accompanied by my demons

I’m in a battle with the only person I want to fucking beat, which is me

The bitter liquid drains down my throat and fills me with the unprecedented joy i long for, yet tears fall from my eyes, i smile as i swallow

I look in the mirror and see my mother

And my stomach curdles

A glossy expression fading over my eyes as I try and maintain my balance

I hate her

And what she did to my childhood

Yet when I look at her I see me and the bile in my stomach starts to gather

I hate u

Yet I am you

You threw me into walls and slapped me across my face for my childlike inconveniences

The physical I can heal from

But the emotional, left an imprint that you will never remember

When the sun rises your mind is wiped clean you never remember the damage

The guilt I feel to overcome generational addiction

Yet here I am following in your footsteps mommy dearest

I hate you because I understand you

I’m ashamed to sympathize with your addiction because I’ve spent my whole life resenting you for it

The self loathing seeps in

So I take a drink

Another

And another

and then the smile appears on my face as the tears fall

Who knew devastation and joy could could coexist so beautifully

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the opposite of your character and demons yet

You are me

I am you

My hopes and dreams are just thoughts

Clouded by my unwillingness to change because I’m in love with my addiction

Just like you mommy dearest

I inherit the sin

And I become the monster I was born from

I wish I didn’t but I love you,

Mommy dearest

Because I understand you

But unlike you

I’m 7 days sober

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magic-is-something-we-create · 2 years ago

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The Millennium Saga Book Three: Goddess-Touched - a formal WIP intro

This is book three of the Millennium Saga! Intros for the first two can be found here: Firebreathers [x] and Echoseers [x].

The waves of the harbor glitter dark in the moonslight, still and quiet. A hum of something that tickles the edge between hearing and feeling thrums through the air, a constant warning. A threat.

I am not alone on the dock where I sit. A pair of wide, void-like eyes gazes up at me from the sallow face just beneath the water’s surface, watching. Waiting. Curiosity of a form alien and uncomfortable to that I’ve always known clouds their eyes like cataracts.

Shadows drip from the underside of my cloak, spilling onto the wood and mixing with the sea. Coating everything they touch with a thick layer of tar, and a thicker layer of intrigue to draw the creature closer.

It is not the first time I’ve met them here, and I know it won’t be the last.

Genre: High fantasy/Steampunk

Target Audience: New Adult/Adult

POV: First person present, Multi-POV

Themes: Anti-Imperialism, trauma and recovery, hope and hopelessness, the stigma surrounding mental illness, the differences between vengeance, atonement, and justice, the separation between faith, religion, and deities, death and life and which one defines humanity more, the effects of leaving the only home you’ve known behind, and the struggle to rebuild after disaster.

Currently drafting at about 16k words.

The ocean has run red.

Three months past, and still none dare to touch the sea where countless ships have been ripped apart by the legends only now rising from the depths. Still none dare to get too close to the blackening scar of Delya, where a hundred thousand souls have yet to find peace. Still none dare to acknowledge the empty dais where the Chosen once stood.

And still none dare to tell the world what happened.

The Archer cannot return home as the waves threaten to swallow them whole. The Wiremaster refuses to even think of it, once he sees the beauty of the desert. The Acrobat still can’t find his balance, and the Artist must face his own impermanence.

The Starsmith races to find a solution to the world’s isolation. The Survivor seeks answers from even the most dangerous of sources. The Detective alone remains in Impalfahr, and alone has the power to tell the world just how little time is left.

The King has disappeared. The Knight is broken. The Matriarch must watch her world crumble again.

The Fourth Eternal is risen.

The ocean has run red.

The ocean has run red, and the Deepfolk will never let the Goddesses forget their part in destruction.

The Millennium Saga Taglist is maintained below the cut here and on the intro for Echoseers!

Ask to be added or removed:

@ladywithalamp ; @lavenderrosewrites ; @47crayons ; @writeblrfantasy ; @ashen-crest ; @dragon-swords-prophecies ; @faithfire ; @midnight-and-his-melodiverse ; @lexiklecksi ; @writingrosesonneptune ; @ren-c-leyn ; @doriians

#I ONCE AGAIN APOLOGIZE IF THE EDIT TO THE POST TAGS Y'ALL ON THE LIST #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy fiction #original fiction #original writing #wip intro #the millennium saga #goddess touched #edit: added the update on drafting progress and the taglist!

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musical-chick-13 · 2 years ago

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The thing that really Gets To Me™ (derogatory) about Control Z is that they are SO CLOSE to doing a good job on the representation of Sofía's mental illness.

Her mental breakdown in season 1 where she self-harms again while listening to a sad song, the ostracization she faces from her peers for being "crazy" and the feelings of alienation that come with it...and even smaller, isolated incidents: like being seen taking medication, knowing that medication so well from taking it so consistently that she can immediately tell when it's been tampered with, her being the one to say that Luis's drawing were just Catharsis Art and that artistically depicting something doesn't mean you actually want it to happen-that THINKING something doesn't mean you want it to happen, and INSTANTLY knowing that Natalia meant suicide when she said "something else" caused Maria's death-because she had made an attempt herself. (Whereas Javier had to have it said explicitly, because he's not used to thinking in vague "polite" language regarding suicide/mental illness the way Sofía is.) Even after Sofía has proven herself, when she tries to tell people what’s really going on at the end of season 3, people still accuse her of making things up and calling her “crazy,” because ableism is an ingrained prejudice that isn’t just going to go away because one mentally ill person did a cool thing.

Like, they genuinely do so many good things in depicting this, they just can't...fully...get there...

We have Sofía dealing with realistic levels of ableism from her classmates at school, but Raúl was one of the people participating in this and that just. Never gets mentioned. It’s not even just that she forgives him for that (though trust me, I hate that, too), it’s that no one brings it up at all! Mental illness has had a considerable, significant impact on Sofía’s life (as mental illness is wont to do), it is-as it stands right now in Sofía’s story-an inextricable part of her overall life experience. You’d think someone would at least acknowledge that Raúl was part of the problem and actively making her suffering through ableism worse (despite claiming to care about her). But straight up no one ever does.

And they also started off with an interesting angle with Sofía’s relationship to sex and romantic physicality. It’s not uncommon for people struggling with severe mental illness to have a complicated relationship with their sexuality, and Sofía’s experience at the party in season one, how uncomfortable she looked when told to kiss someone for fun, her awkward conversation with Javier after she chose him, all of this fed into that angle of the complex entanglement between sex, romance, and mental illness that can sometimes exist. I didn’t even have an issue with Sofía’s first hookup with Raúl, because it was obviously an impulsive decision born from her current state of crisis (fighting with her mom-specifically over being coddled and infantilized, which also can happen to mentally ill people-and having flashbacks to everything involving her dad), and the whole scene was darkly lit and frenetic. There was a weird red filter over everything, and the camera panning to Raúl’s hacker mask cast an ominous shadow over the whole thing. Sofía’s relationship with her sexuality was still complicated. She didn’t do this because she trusted him or because she’d gotten over her unsurety or other potential hang-ups. It was an impulsive decision to feel something other than what she was experiencing. This particular instance was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and considering what Raúl was doing at the time (i.e., being the worst boy alive), it proved to be the wrong decision.

Aaaaannd then they screw that all up in season 2. She immediately hooks up with Raúl again, after the smallest amount of an attempt at bonding time. There’s no further discussion at any point of Sofía’s hinted concerns and insecurities regarding sex. It’s like she had sex once (in a very unhealthy situation that was based on Raúl lying to her constantly) and then suddenly there were no issues any more. I could maybe chalk it up to a minor oversight, but when she gets together with Javier post-time-skip, she is completely fine with everything involving their sex life. She’s suddenly this sexually confident person, which as an arc (learning to separate her mental illness struggles and experiences with ableism from her ideas about sex) would have been really interesting! It’s a dimension we don’t often see in depictions of mental illness onscreen, but we are never shown how she got to this point. Sorry (I’m not), but if you have issues with something--anything (and especially if you are mentally ill)--you’re not just going to get over those issues by engaging with the thing you have a problem or insecurity with one time. That’s not how human beings work.

And it’s also...odd, that Sofía seems to lose all symptoms of mental illness when she’s around Raul-presumably because pairing them up would be impossible to make sense of otherwise. She (at least as far as I can remember), isn’t shown taking medication around him; she becomes more cavalier, making jokes/teasing comments in situations where doing so wouldn’t make sense; she starts brushing off pieces of conversations that should be red flags, especially for someone whose primary character trait is “observant”; and for someone who is characterized as being “in her head” all the time (EVEN AS PER RAÚL HIMSELF) because she is literally always observing and deducting--something very common among people who suffer from mental illness--her least thought-out, most rash actions all involve her relationship with Raúl. Which would be fine as a characterization choice if it were framed differently. But (ill-advised season 1 hook-up aside), nothing in her interactions with him: from responding to his aggressive advances in season 2 to her out-of-character teasing/borderline flirting that CONTINUES INTO WHEN SHE’S IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH JAVIER, to drinking more when she’s around him, is presented as impulsive or jarring or unhealthy. At best, you can argue it’s neutral. Mostly, it’s presented as “cute.” I’ve already talked about how Sofía’s personality and values have to change completely in order for this ship to have ANY believability, but probably what angers me the most is that any and all opportunities they had to discuss and depict Sofía’s mental illness get completely thrown aside the moment the narrative has her interact with Raúl.

(Addendum: many mentally ill people latch onto their personal morals/causes for fear of being a bad person. This interpretation (though I’m not sure it was intentional) makes sense for Sofía, whose primary trait-other than being observant-is that she is a nice person. But for someone so committed to her values, she’s willing to overlook Raúl’s faults (that he never tries to change or apologize for), which is especially egregious considering that she doesn’t forgive similar behavior from anyone else.)

It’s just so frustrating, because obviously they could fully commit to their choice to have their main character suffer from mental illness. They have enough good stuff and interesting characterization decisions that they are almost there in terms of this being well-represented. IF THEY TRIED A LITTLE HARDER, IT WOULD BE GREAT.

#control z #sofía herrera #anti raul leon #anti raul x sofia #meta #control z meta #behold! a creation!#mental illness in fiction #mc13 watches ctrlz

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crispyjenkins · 4 years ago

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hi! i am just very confused about one of ur posts with the mandalorians and cultural genocide and was wondering if maybe you can explain more? i thought mandalorian culture was about like family and arts with the colors and stuff? is it really just about war? i know a lot of people headcanon that the clones are mandalorian but now i feel uncomfy about putting a warrior culture on characters played by a maori actor, whose people still struggle with martial race stereotypes today :(

hello!! i am absolutely not an authority on this topic, so i’ve compiled a bunch of posts that explain it better than me, but short answer is: mandalorian culture is not all about war. there is a ton of intention put into mandalorians (specifcially not death watch, who literally fought in the civil war because the true mandalorians were like “maybe stop pillaging and killing people for no reason” and they didn’t want to stop; or the new mandalorians who threw out every god and myth important to the true mandalorians, as well as its language, cultural importance/sacredness of armor, religious customs, etc, because Satine interpreted true mandalorian culture as nothing but war, but that is extremely extremely not the point of the resol’nare or the codex) and how they draw on Māori culture and customs, because temuera morrison played jango fett in the prequels.

your concern is so so valid and absolutely something to keep in mind when interpreting “canon” and “legends canon”, but satine’s take on true mandalorians is inherently false.

links under the cut with a lil explanation for each! (edit: this is long as fuck, i’m so sorry 🥲)

we’ll start with this one which is from star wars insider issue 86, because it covers a lot of the basics of how eu and legends wrote mandalorians. HOWEVER, also keep in mind this groundwork was all laid by karen traviss who is a racist, sexist, classist, homophobic dirtbag, like i don’t even know where to begin with her, but her early work for jango fett in the republic commando novels is still important to understanding mandalorian culture in current continuities. (i also believe this issue was from before clone wars began airing)

this one goes more in depth than the post i recently reblogged which i think you’re referring to, about the imperialism of the new mandalorians and their cultural genocide of true mandalorians more or less based on satine kryze’s experience with death watch, a splinter cult off of the true mandalorians (i’m using cult intentionally here, btw) who literally just didn’t want their murdering and stealing to be regulated.

this post is about mental illness in true mandalorian society, which is intrinsically tied to the root of true mandalorian and early mandalorian religion and daily culture, and the concept of fighting stagnation and destruction/war against the things that are choking you and stopping self growth, it’s not about conquering people or planets, it’s about bettering oneself constantly, based on the mandalorian creation myth ( @izzyovercoffee goes more in depth with this in the post). death watch, and many fans, interpret this ideology as the right to violence and the destruction for destruction’s sake, which isn’t what it’s about at all.

alright this one is directly related to the concepts of the last one, and surmises a lot of the points, and is maybe the easiest post in my list for a quick understanding of mandalorian philosophy?

here’s a shorter post that gives a little more insight/reiterates new vs true mandalorian ideology, because lord knows my autism brain likes more than one way of explaining something.

this one is an interpretation of canon and new mandalorian imperialism, which is technically headcanon, but boy howdy does canon not disagree with it, and forms the basis of my own interpretation of mandalorians as a whole

here’s a cool post going into the language mando’a and how it cannot be separated from culture, which i think is incredibly important to keep in mind when looking at new mandalorians and how they don’t use mando’a.

more explanation and interpretation of new manadlorians and their portrayal in the clone wars, and why it’s important against all the canon content we got before clone wars aired

this one is from before boba’s return to “canon” material in season two of the mandalorian where he and jango were reconfirmed as mandalorians, but is still super, super, super important in relation to mandalorian diaspora, and the way writers cannot separate mandalorians from their roots in māori culture, when it was created because temuera morrison played jango fett and his clones. also goes into how important “family without blood” is as the basis of mandalorian family and cultural structure, which explains a lot about the show the mandalorian!

this one’s just a cool take on the parallels between mandalorians and jedi, who are also rather disgustingly misinterpreted by fans (interestingly as the opposite, as complacent and too bureaucratic vs the violent and imperialist take most have on mandalorians).

here’s a post going into how din djarin’s tribe/sect in the mandalorian tv isn’t a cult, and how that relates to bo-katan kryze, her position with death watch, and her connection to the new mandalorians because of it.

okie the next few are about how māori customs, things of cultural significance, etc are intentional in the portrayal of (true) mandalorians

this one is about the keldabe kiss or the kov’nyn, forehead-kiss, headbutt

this one is a video of boba fighting set to te reo māori thrash metal, and a short explanation of the importance of the battle its about, which i think is important in remembering that while the māori people today do suffer from awful marital stereotyping, you cannot divorce them from their own form of warrior culture without erasing that history or importance; there isn’t anything inherently wrong in warrior cultures, just how white people interpreted and appropriated it.

THIS ONE I LOVE and is mr morrison himself bringing the traditional māori dance the haka into boba’s fighting style in the mandalorian tv, as well as the use of māori-style weapons

which also relates to this post by @catboydindjarin

and sums up my feelings on associating mandalorians and the māori people, how important jango and boba fett have been to people like temuera morrison and daniel logan (who played lil boba in atoc) and bodie taylor (who played the mid-20s clones). as a white person, it’s incredibly important for me to remember the stereotyping and violence still being done to indigenous and first nations people, and to be aware of and respectful of how i use and take pieces of the those cultures in anything, but especially fictional aliens. but to pretend forms of battle, pretend weapons and songs and philosophies that do involve violence were not and are not still culturally important to those peoples is erasure, and is what satine kryze chose to do when faced with a completely different people’s violence. to separate (true) mandalorians from the māori people is to erase them from the narrative completely.

so!! on a lighter note, here’s a post with bodie taylor and captain typho’s actor jay laga’aia performing haka with mr morrison during an aotc press event

here’s an excerpt from one of the repcom novels about jango being a Dad and how important children are to the true mandalorians

it won’t let me upload gifs at the moment so here’s a post of several delightful gifs of mr morrison on set for aotc with a rainbow umbrella

here’s one that touches on the importance of armor color as you mentioned in your ask

this wonderfully funny textpost from @letitrainathousandflames that illustrates more of the mandalorian parental instinct (which is shown time and again in extended/legends canon to be more important than “war” or battle)

here’s some highlights from the eu about boba reconnecting with his mandalorian heritage after jango’s death

this one is a short post by @jester-mereel about what jango chooses to be jaster’s legacy, which is vital because jaster mereel the one who created the super commando codex and the true mandalorians, is the one who looked at how people like tor vizsla were using their heritage and thought “we can do and be better than this”

here’s the wookieepedia article on jaster mereel (all wookieepedia stuff should be taken with a grain of salt, of course, especially in regards to the jedi order but that’s another matter)

here’s the wookieepedia article on the supercommandos, which is what earlier material referred to the true mandalorians as, basically the commandos that followed jaster and the supercommando codex

here’s the one on the codex if you want to jump to that specifically

this is an actual copy of the basics of the codex as well as the resol’nare or six tenants, which existed far before jaster, but what jaster used as the ethical basis of the codex (the site is written from the point of view of a supercommando, just a heads up if that’s confusing)

here’s the wookiee article on death watch, i trust you to keep an open mind and don’t take anything said by the vizslas or bo-katan at face value, because, again, they splintered from the supercommandos because they wanted to keep stealing and killing people just because, and used the “savage warrior past” of mandalorians to excuse it

here’s the mando’a dictionary that’s most accessible, also remembering that translations are interpretations (specifically the discourse about “k’atini” comes to mind) and is constantly being revised

and then some of my favorite excerpts from it, in relation to what mandalorians actually find important:

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad” | adoption vow - lit. “I know your name as my child.” (meaning adoption is no less important than blood heritage, and in some interpretations is actually more important)

mandokar | the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life (and aggression does not always mean violence)

“Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.” | “Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.” (Lit: Bloodline is not important, but you as a father are the most valuable thing.) Mando saying emphasising the importance of a father's role, and that a man is judged more by that than his lineage. (this dictionary chooses to gender things unnecessarily, when words like “buir” are gender neutral, but you get the gist: parenthood is very important to mandalorians, which is of course the entire basis for the mandalorian tv plot)

demagolka | someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche (again, children being more important than violence)

bajur | education, the raising and nurturing of children - a wider meaning than just school work, includes preparation for life and survival Aliit ori'shya tal'din | Family is more than blood.

shereshoy | lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it. An understandable state of mind/ emotion for a warrior people. Closely related to the words for live, hunt and stay safe - and, of course *oya*. All from the same root.

and since you mentioned color, this post is so feckin cool as it talks about white =/= purity, and goes into quite a bit about the “destruction” in mandalorian culture being about the rebirth, not the violence

and then here’s a few links to content in the mandalorian tv

“the poc experience of keeping ur mouth shut bc ur too tired to argue w/ a white person“ about boba downplaying his mandalorian-ness to bo-katan, a known violent xenophobe

more on din’s sect the children of the watch not being a cult vs death watch

some cool thoughts on the differences in how boba and bo-katan interacted with din during season 2 which i think is important in terms of illustrating the differences between death watch and true mandalorians, again

a cool dialogue on din and removing his helmet in season 2 and his religious/cultural views in relation to being mandalorian

i spent like three hours on this and i definitely only meant to give you like. five links. but uhhh i hope this helps!! feel free to shoot me further questions, but just keeping in mind i am not māori and cannot speak to the māori experience in fandom or in regards to jango fett and the clones.

i hope you’re safe and well!! 🌻

#long post #anon #mando'ade #cj answers #if anyone wants to add anything #feel free!!#or correct me or provide more info or call me out on something

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spectrumed · 3 years ago

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7. identity

The aesthetic of suffering, the allure of victimhood, it’s important to acknowledge that to many people, the idea of struggling with mental illness is hot. A common trope in teen dramas is the existence of the sexy bad boy haunted by demons of depression or addiction or some other psychological malady. Women with mental illness tend to be sexualised, less, but then again, women are most typically always sexualised, no matter the state of their mental health. But it’s not just a case of some people finding mental illness to be attractive in others, many see mental illness in themselves as something to take pride in, to celebrate and nurture. To seek out a diagnosis, to infiltrate communities that exist to provide support to those in need, and to declare themselves as being special. Fakers, you could call them. Yes, we’re going to be entering into dangerous grounds here, talking about a potentially incendiary topic that might feed the flames of controversy, but it’s a topic worth discussing. Self-diagnosis. Is self-diagnosis valid or not? Should one self-diagnose? Is it ableism to be against self-diagnosis? Is it ableism to be for self-diagnosis? Is it ableism itself ableist? I don’t know, sweetheart, you are asking a whole bunch of questions and I am hungover… But let’s go on rambling about what it means to be labelled neurodivergent.

Do you have an identity? Do you root for a particular sports team? Do you like a particular kind of music? Do you dance a lot? Are you a dancer? What are you? Simply stating that you’re just “a human” probably won’t do. Sure, it’s correct, but I am also a human, and we could be two very different kinds of people. Your identity should be that certain something that makes you stand apart from the rest, that distinguishes you from the squirming mass of flesh that is the whole of humanity. There are plenty of things about you that do figure in your identity, even though you wish it didn’t. You’re black, you don’t wish to always be “that black guy over there,” but you’ve come to realise that’s just how society views you. Maybe you are a transwoman, and you very eagerly want your friend to stop introducing you as her “trans bestie.” You’re just a woman, you don’t need her to keep labelling you as trans, even though that's what you are. There are many ways we can change our identity through direct personal action. Maybe you could start wearing a hat, and be known as “that hat guy” to the people you work with. Maybe you could embrace a punk aesthetic, looking like young Johnny Rotten stepped into a time machine and got transported to the current day. Actions like these can have a big or small impact on how others see you, but it feels good to be able to make a decision like that and get a response. This is me, this is what I am. I’m the guy who wears bow-ties, don’t I look cool? If only shaping your sense of self always came down to personal decisions like that. You don’t always have a choice.

I’ve lately been watching some Conan O’Brien (American TV talk show host who’s recently decided not to be a TV talk show host) clips. I am sure I don’t need to explain who Conan O’Brien is to my readers, but just in case this is being read by aliens ten-thousand years from now, what I can tell you is that Conan O’Brien is well known for being freakishly tall. Like, really tall. He’s an elongated leprechaun. He’s turned being tall into one of his trademarks. Like many comedians, he’s come to use his corporeal form as a source for levity and fun. While, naturally, the man did not choose to grow as tall as he did, he’s come around to use his height not as a hindrance to success, but rather as an asset. He’s “that tall irish guy on the TV,” and he’s been that person for nearly thirty years. It pays to have some distinguishing feature if you wish to be distinguished. Mr. Joe Average might be perfectly funny and charming, but being an average-looking guy can be wholly detrimental in making a career for yourself as a funnyman. At least get yourself some weird voice, or something. Maybe pretend to be some foreigner and put on a fake accent. As a comedian your job is to be exploited, you wish to be made into a commodity to be sold. People will want to watch your special because of that funny face you pull in the thumbnail. To be different can be financially lucrative.

What’s the best approach in turning something that could be perceived as an abnormal feature into something that is beneficial to you? To make jokes about it? Certainly, if I were to meet a man with a heavily scarred face, I feel there’d likely be a tension between me and him that could be dispelled if that man with the heavily scarred face made some little joke about his appearance, some little quip. “I’m sorry, I cut myself shaving this morning,” would do. The person isn’t obliged to justify his existence to me, he does not have to go out of his way to make me feel less uncomfortable. I am the one in the wrong, certainly. I shouldn’t look at a person with a heavily scarred face and feel uncomfortable, that’s me letting prejudices get in the way, I know that. But, it is what it is. If you’re looking for a practical solution, telling people to simply get over themselves and learn to not be so awkward around folks with physical deformities won’t do. It may be the right thing, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I am sure that the man with the heavily scarred face isn’t interested in being defined by his heavily scarred face. He's probably sick and tired of that little joke, and wish he didn’t have to make it. But it does the job. Suddenly, you are not looking at something to be feared, the other, you are looking at a person, and someone with a sense of humour. The importance of humour in eradicating stigma, making it possible for the ostracised to enter in society, cannot be understated. Through humour, you can convince most everyone that you are someone worthy of inclusion, because… well, you’re just a funny guy, who doesn’t wanna hang out with you?

For those who have grown up not feeling normal, worrying that there are aspects of your character that others may perceive as unwanted, the yearning to be liked can at times become excruciating. I like to consider myself a funny person, while this blog isn’t intended to be a humorous one, occasionally small little jokes will squirm their way to the top, like worms coming up to the surface during a rainstorm. I am also a cartoonist, and produce a new cartoon every other day. My humour isn’t universal, no good humour ever is universal, but it’s done good in getting some folks to like me. Some people want to be admired, some people want to be feared. I only want to be liked. The one thing I absolutely do not want to be is pitied. I don’t want your pity, I fear your pity.

You’re probably familiar with The Sims, right? It’s a life simulation game, where you control a little digital human, known as a sim, and try to help them make the right decision through life. Each sim has a number of meters that measures their current needs. Hunger, hygiene, energy, if they need to urinate or defecate (though, frankly, the distinction between the two isn’t made in the game, so one can assume that sims are like birds and have just one cloaca that does both,) and so on. One of these meters is for social activities. If a sim hasn’t been social in a while, they go nutty. What’s interesting here, the reason why I bring it up, is that in real life, though we all (to a lesser or greater degree) crave to socialise with others, what kind of socialising you do is of a very big importance. There are a myriad of ways in which one can be social, and depending on your needs at the time, one kind of socialising may not do, whereas another kind of socialising may be just what you need. Do you want to hang out with your pals, cracking jokes and maybe drinking a couple of beers? Do you want to have a serious conversation with your partner about what you wish to accomplish together? Do you want to play with your dog? These different social situations scratch different parts of your mind, and you can’t just substitute one for the other and think that’s all alright. A person may have tonnes of friends, lots of buddies to spend their time with, but they may still desperately be yearning for another kind of social interaction, one that none of their friends can deliver. The human need for company is more complex than how it is depicted in The Sims… which, to be fair, probably shocks nobody. The Sims doesn’t pretend that it’s some highly realistic simulation of real life, it’s a game meant to be played for fun. But what’s important here is the fact that while humans do have a need to be social, how that need is fed changes dramatically on the person, and their conditions. Socialising that may bring comfort to one person, may bring discomfort to another person.

I don’t want you to pity me. I may list my diagnoses, I may tell you of the difficulties that I face in life, but I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to be entertained reading this, I don’t want to make you weep thinking about how cruel life can be. I don’t want you thinking I’m special, or different, because of my diagnoses. I want you to think I’m special and different because of my writing. Sure, this blog is about living with autism spectrum disorder, but I don’t want you reading this blog just because it’s about autism spectrum disorder. I want you to read this because, while it is about a diagnosis you are interested in learning more about, you also find what I write to be well-written and at times, mildly humorous. This blog isn’t my rabid manifesto detailing all the ways my life sucks, and what must be done by society to appease me. Nah, I’m doing relatively fine, don’t feel bad for me, please. I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want attention, I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t have an ego, or that I don’t get pleased seeing people like the things I put out there. I do have a social need, it’s just that being pitied does not do it for me. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It really makes me feel mad.

We’re finally getting around to the topic I promised I would discuss. Self-diagnosis. A principal concern people have with self-diagnosis is that people only self-diagnose in order to receive pity from others. The difference between someone like me, who’s got a proper official diagnosis, and someone who is self-diagnosed, is that I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to fetishise my diagnosis, this thing about me that I did not choose to be. I don’t want special favours just because of my diagnosis, I don’t want to be known as “that cartoonist with autism.” I am autistic, I’ve come to accept that, but I don’t want anyone to introduce me as “their friend who’s on the spectrum.” Some may accuse me of self-loathing, treating being autistic like some bad thing that I am ashamed of. But that’s not it. After all, I did start this blog to discuss what it is like. I just don’t want to be defined by this certain something that lies outside of my control. I don’t want it to be my “thing.” I don’t mind being referred to as a hairy cartoonist, because I am pretty hairy. I don’t want to cut my hair any time soon (especially with this plague going around.) No-one would pity me just because I am hairy. At most they may regard me as a good-for-nothing beatnik, and I’m okay with that. Ideally, I still want to be liked, but anything is better than being pitied. To be pitied is to be robbed of your own agency, your own potential. Sure, it gets you that attention you may be craving, but at the cost of infantilization. Autistic people often struggle with being infantilized by society, to the point where some folks don’t even realise that there are autistic grown-ups in the world. Anyone who would voluntarily seek out a diagnosis just to be pitied, well… it doesn’t sit right with me. It makes me, quite frankly, feel demoralised.

But not all people self-diagnose just to get pity from others, right? For some it’s genuinely their only option, likely living in a barely-functioning country like the United States where receiving psychiatric care is expensive and it’s just not something they can afford. It’s unfair of me to phrase self-diagnosing as just a quest to receive pity, it’s way more complicated than that. And yes, I’d have to agree. To know all the reasons why a person may self-diagnose, you have to go personally ask them. Even if it is possible to highlight a few certain trends, things that they all have in common, it’s bound to be impossible to make this one sweeping generalisation to explain everything. All I am saying is that there absolutely are those people who do self-diagnose with the explicit goal of getting pitied. Whether they are knowingly faking their condition or not, to them, being pigeonholed as a person with autism isn’t at all a negative. It’s their identity. It is how they have chosen to let the world see them. They made a choice. They chose this label. This is why many people who have official diagnoses are sceptical of those who've only got a self-diagnosis. Whether your self-diagnosis is accurate or not, in the end, you chose to identify yourself with it. You made a decision, oblivious of the fact that many people don’t get to make that kind of a decision, and they may bear resentment for how you are turning something they’ve faced ostracization for, into what is potentially on the same level as listening to a certain kind of music, or being a supporter of a sports team. A diagnosis is not something you should choose to have.

There are other things to say about self-diagnosis. First of all, it can be dangerous. Some of the diagnoses I’ve seen people give themselves are really serious, things like personality disorders or psychosis. Psychiatrists are very careful when putting these kinds of labels on people, knowing the harm that it can do. A diagnosis is meant to only be given after careful deliberation, and after long conversations with the patient. Psychiatrists know that reducing a person to a set of symptoms can have detrimental effects to that person’s sense of self. If you’re trying to cling on to a diagnosis, seeing it as a major part of your identity, then that may hamper any attempts you make to become a better person, to improve your mental health. You will feel as if you need to correspond to the exact specifications of the disorder, and you will not allow yourself to grow naturally as a complicated human being, a human being whose internal life is far too vast to be fully rounded up with some psychiatric jargon. There are plenty of things about me that do not line up with the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, and guess what, that’s quite good actually. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have autism, I very much do, but I realise that as a person, I am more than just my diagnosis. The diagnosis does not define me, I define the diagnosis. If you self-diagnose, do you comprehend all that you are getting yourself into? Are you going to find yourself in psychological traps that will only serve to worsen your mental health? It’s hard to look at yourself objectively, you could easily be misrepresenting yourself inside your own mind. You may effectively be locking parts of yourself away, making it so you are no longer able to see the full you. You will no longer be all there, you will be segmented in favour of upholding the defining marks of a diagnosis that doesn’t suit you.

Instead of self-diagnosing, try doing a self-assessment. Keep in mind that, while you may have this diagnosis, it’s too early to say for sure. You’re going to need somebody else’s input. You’ll need to sit with it for a while to see if it sticks. Keep an open mind, realise that there’s no easy way to explain exactly who you are, or what you are like. It’s very possible that you will come to realise that you are in fact autistic, or have whatever other diagnosis you may suspect describes you. I, after all, came to the conclusion that I was autistic before I got the diagnosis (though, I was going to therapy at that point, and I was on the way to undergo a neuropsychiatric evaluation.) It’s not bad to try and get to understand yourself, don’t come out of this thinking that self-reflection is only possible with a psychiatrist looming over you, telling you how to think about things. We all need to come to certain conclusions over how we self-identify, and sometimes you need to take mental leaps to explain certain things. Just don’t feel as if your best option is to put a label on yourself that can potentially negatively affect your psychological well-being. If you are truly searching for understanding, if your goal is to find out more about yourself, you should act with caution and concern for what you are doing. If all you are looking for is to have people pity you, then… well… I don’t know what to say, really…

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health #diagnosis

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years ago

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The Mad Prince, Chapter 11 (sfw)

Chapter 10

“Are you sure?” You ask, gaping, and Clementine glares at you in response. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how she has dedicated her entire life to identifying, hunting down, and killing driders, all while on the bloodied front lines of a war, so she is currently an expert on such a topic.

“Am I sure that the front line footage that some soldiers died to send back to base is somehow fabricated?” She asks, testily.

Your brain is buzzing like a thousand fireflies have crawled into your ears. “But that doesn’t make any sense, Clem.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” she still sounds vaguely pissed, but that’s her default tone. “Which means that there’s more than meets the eye, and we now have to figure out what.”

The keias values honesty, Elias’ words come back, unbidden, if you ask, he will answer.

“We can’t go prodding around now, though, because that will throw a lot of weird suspicion on you.” You bite at the skin around your thumb, trying to figure out how to go about this in the most delicate way possible.

After a moment of hard silence where you are almost too aware of how loud your breathing is, Clementine prods, “you and the prince or whatever he actually is weren’t acting too couple-y.”

Annoyance starts dripping into the hollow of your chest, and you feel a build of angry pressure beginning to rise. “He- he didn’t tell me he was engaged.”

For the first time since her bubbly mask fell off, she shows some semblance of human emotion by almost choking on her spit. Quickly, she gets herself under control and shakes her head as though she might have expected such, then sighs.

“I mean, and his fiance was assassinated. Elias told me she died of sudden heart failure, but like she was a drow and-”

“A drow?” She turns to you again, her eyes narrowed until they were almost slits, “as in, two legs and walking upright? Are you sure?”

“Y-yes,” the indignancy of being lied to by omission is still thrumming through your chest, “and he apparently really loved her.”

“Obviously so, because it would have been rather illegal for him to marry outside of his species.” Clem sits back up from her lounging position, plucking a flower that grew right in front of her legs.

You don’t like all this new information being rained down upon so quickly, but you suck in your breath and try to take this one in stride. There’s a dull thudding in your head, like a distant drumbeat. “So there are race-based marriage laws?”

“Of course, didn’t you know?”

No, you’re suddenly acutely aware of how unprepared you are. “The matchmakers didn’t make me aware of that.” You suppose it does explains a lot, like how stressed the prince is at you meeting the rest of his family, or how he doesn’t seem to want you to go out and explore on your own, and such.

Clementine lets out a gruff sigh, you suppose from frustration at having to hold your hand like a toddler throughout a warzone. You try to not let that bother you. It’s… not really your fault, is it? You didn’t want this to happen, if you could go back to your completely shitfaced self as you were about to enter all pertinent information to Starward Matchmakers™ glowing neon booth, you would bludgeon the back of your head with a bat.

“Okay, so someone is trying to kill you,” she holds up one finger, “and we know from that assistant guy that they are very capable of doing so,” she adds another finger, “and you aren’t even in the good graces of your princely other half, assuming that drider is who he says he is.”

You swallow thickly, feeling positively ill, pressing your fingertips into the pressure points on your temples in the hopes your brain might untangle. “Clementine?”

“Yeah.”

“The Starward Matchmakers™ did match me with the prince, right? This isn’t some kind of weird mistake? Or like… or like what they were trying to do with you?”

“Do you know anyone with the budget of a large government’s military that can handle a bribe of such proportions who might think it’s funny to pull such a dangerously cosmic prank?”

“No.” You look down at your hands as the last bit of hope that this might all be a nightmarish misunderstanding slips through your fingers.

Clementine softens, though only slightly, letting out another sigh and very awkwardly giving you a pat on the back, which is about the most she’ll ever offer in the way of sympathy. “Tough it out. Paint a pretty smile on that face of yours and maybe make out with him a little.”

“Clementine!” You raise your voice, then look self consciously back at your guards as they assess whether or not you need their aid. “That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works, kid, even if he’s an alien spider, he’s still a male.” She rolls her eyes. “And stop acting like a prude.”

“Yeah, but he is,” another wave of frustration razes through your blood and right to your fingertips. “One time I kissed him, he thought it was essentially a marriage proposal.”

Her face wrinkles into a grimace, but she seems to take in marginal good humor. “Okay, so he’s a virgin. That makes things easier, maybe just show him your ankle or something, he’d drool all over it.”

You’re going to say something snippy in response, maybe tell her that she should do the ankle-showing, but the mental image of the fucking drider prince of Lolth freezing as he stares at a bare leg and foot does have a level of absurdity to it that makes you choke your words down into a wry laugh. “I don’t know, maybe it will give him brain damage.”

“All the better to finish this war finally,” Clem stretches out her arms, “Anything else you’d like to fill me in on?”

“Heikka Nisesh, you know, the famous war criminal? He was supposed to be my first physician, but I threw a big enough fit that I ended up with a basic drow doctor.”

She immediately tenses, her entire body going into an alert that is unique to a trained soldier. “Tell me you’re joking. Now.”

“I’m not.”

There’s another expression in her eyes, now, one that you’re not at all familiar with. Panic, of which she’s obviously trying to settle so the guards don’t become suspicious and approach to get within hearing range. With a shuddering, tense breath, she shakes her head and tries to orient herself back into reality. With no small amount of room in her tone to be anything more than a command, she says, “know that they and I mustn’t ever meet, do you understand? We can’t cross paths, or this whole thing is going to dissolve.”

“Do you want to talk-”

“No.” She stands, glancing over at the guards. “I’d like a tour now.”

Shakily, you agree, getting up so fast you almost faint. There’s a brief dizziness rattling around in your skull, but you manage to get everything under control enough to show her around.

Whenever you aren’t in the gardens, you have to be very, very careful of dancing around talking normally and not revealing too much. Because ‘girl talk’ is supposed to be about boy troubles and gossip, but having a whole conversation about the crown prince monarch’s shortcomings when there are an indeterminate amount of people listening and reporting back to him doesn’t hold any appeal.

So the present conversation immediately drops as you give her your very restricted-access tour, the long hallways of the floor she is on, all the while she disguises her memorization of all exits and entrances as admiration for the architecture and ornate doors. There’s an odd kind of pinch throbbing between your eyes, and you have to stop for a moment to give yourself a moment to breathe.

“Are you alright?” For once, Clementine drops a shred of her false personality, her hand grabbing onto your arm almost tightly to hold you up if you faint.

“I just- I think I need to sit down.” The edges of your eyes blur somewhat, the top of your brain fuzzing over like someone poured a soft drink into your skull.

“Can you walk?” She asks, glaring at the guards when one of them steps forward, probably to carry you.

“Yeah,” you lie, hoping that you can just will yourself to keep from passing out, “I think your room is close enough.”

When you wobble just a bit, Clementine wraps her arm around your waist and props you up with her hip, then quickly gives up the strain of one arm and trades it in to pick you up like a baby.

You protest, of course you do, but there’s little you can do to actually wriggle out of her grip. Shockingly, it’s not the first time she’s had to carry you because of an almost skull-splitting headache, though the last time it was because she side-swiped your legs out from under you and your forehead was the thing to take the brunt of the fall. She also wasn’t so nice about it, either, dragging you to the side of the room by the arm like a ragdoll to await a medic.

Now, you suppose with the guards eying you, she can’t yank your limp body back to her room, and you’d honestly rather let her carry you than one of the drow guards. Once you get inside her apartment, she almost unkindly tosses you onto the couch, mumbling something about an ice pack or blanket.

“Did you call for someone?” She asks, and it takes your brain a muddled moment to realize that she isn’t talking to you.

Quiet mumbling, all things you can’t catch.

Almost impatiently, she yells, “are you both fucking daft? Call the assistant, what’s his face. The one with the white hair! Yes I mean the prince’s first servant, who else did you think I’m talking about?” Her words shift into a language you don’t understand as she walks over to the kitchen, but you’ve heard enough foreign swear words to know that she’s probably cussing them out of a job.

It doesn’t take too long for Elias to arrive, or maybe it took a long time, and your brain is just so fried you didn’t notice.

“Why isn’t there any ice in the foodkeep?” Clementine’s already pounced, and you’re not sure if this is her ‘worried best friend’ character or her actual self about to dress someone down for putting one of her soldiers in danger.

“For what, exactly?” Elias sounds slightly taken aback by the show of aggression, something rattling in his hands.

“For her head, stupid, she’s almost burning up!” Again, her language dissolves into something unintelligible, though her tone gets the message across. Maybe she’s showing a bit of both sides for your sake.

“I have some pills,” he almost sounds defensive, now, “it will help with the pressure, her head should-”

”Give me that,” Clem snaps, and you hear even more rattling as she looks over whatever he was about to give you. “What the hell are these?”

“Painkillers,” Elias takes her fury in stride, probably having dealt with much more significant threats in his day, “the best and highest dose for her human body. They were just imported from one of your human pharmaceutical companies, Bionova™, it’s what the matchmaker files suggested we get her.”

There’s another round of rattling, but then footsteps as Clementine sits herself on the couch, just in front of where your legs tug under a blanket she absentmindedly threw onto you earlier, and hands you the bottle.

Now you manage to sit up, despite the angry tightening in your skull, like each individual blood vessel in your brain is squeezing the gray matter down a size. Holding the pill bottle in one hand while scratching your arm nervously in the other, you ask Elias one more time. “You say these were imported?”

“Straight over the border,” Elias promises, “no one would want anything to happen to you.”

I beg to differ, you think, but pop the lid open anyway. The dull thrumming in your head has you almost desperate to do anything to get yourself rid of it, so you put one of the pills on your tongue and swallow it dry. Clementine, at least, is already rummaging through her cabinets until she finds a glass to fill with water.

“The keias has been notified of her condition, and will come as soon as he is able.”

You try not to roll your eyes, to be entirely honest, even shifting your irises sends a sharp nail through your head. “Tell him not to rush on my behalf.”

Again, Clementine sits by your side, handing a glass of water over and watches you gulp it down like a dehydrated animal. Elias, also, seems to watch you with a nervous regard in his eyes and dismisses the soldiers with nothing more than a couple of words. When the extra ears are out of the suite, he turns back over to you.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” he starts, glaring over at Clementine, “but I want you to be aware that he can’t seem to have any weaknesses for you, which is why he isn’t rushing as quickly as I’m sure you’d like.”

Letting out a breath, the pain of the headache getting to you, you ask, “why are you telling me this?”

Elias looks at you, not with anger, with disappointment, and that’s the thing that makes you feel almost ashamed with how you have been treating the prince as of late. “So you do not feel abandoned, your grace.”

Oh, right, it’s back with your grace, Elias’ own way of giving you a super polite cold shoulder. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Also, just as a precaution, the prince will want your doctor to look over your state, but I believe that it would be pertinent to have a so-called house call instead of going down to the clinic in person.”

“Probably, yeah.” The aching throbbing between your eyes has reduced your language usage down to the basics, and it takes you a hot minute to process anything anyone else says. Clementine had been missing for a moment, but she suddenly returns with a damp cloth she places over your eyes.

There’s a tense, but calm conversation, and as much as you’d like to try paying attention, you can only focus on the dull throbbing in the rear of your head. More talking. You curl up into a ball, the couch large enough so that your knees don’t hand off the back, and you try to dig your fingers into any pressure points of your skull in the hopes it might ease the tension.

Suddenly, a hand comes to rub the side of your arm. “Hey, princess,” Clementine whispers almost soothingly, “you’re going to wait for the doctor and spend the night here, okay?”

You mumble something in affirmation.

The doctor comes, you hear her voice and feel her prodding touches, but you don’t feel like you’re capable of even offering a meager greeting. There’s a pinch of something in the crook of your elbow, and the feelings cease, slowly. You don’t remember the point in which you fell asleep. Only that you wake up with Clementine conked out in the chair opposite of the furniture arrangement.

When you wake back up, it’s because your head feels like someone took an ax to your skull, it almost causes you to faint from the pain itself. All you can do is lay on the couch, arms wrapped around your head. It feels like every bone in your body is bruised or fractured, but your head takes the brunt of the pain.

Someone is talking again. You don’t have the ability to focus on them.

You’re not sure if you can fucking survive this, but gentle hands help you sit up, and there’s yet another sharp, pinching pain in your arm. After a moment, there’s a softness washing over you, like a manifestation of light and comfort flows through your veins and eases the suffering.

You’ve felt this way before.

When you open your eyes, the room is washed in a kaleidoscope of colors you hadn’t noticed until now, and you’re surrounded by a bunch of people that you know, you think you know, but your brain takes its sweet time putting names to faces. “Oh. Hello.”

The big one puts a hand on your head, running it down the side of your face. You don’t think you mind so much, but the smaller one is watching him with the eyes of a predator. “How are you feeling?”

“Very fucking high.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, just to make a noise.

“That’s completely normal, keias.” There’s a taller woman, her robes a pleasantly warm gray. “The drugs have overwhelmed her system, she will be more lucid in a few minutes.”

“Of course.” The big one turns to you again, and you look at his face. He’s… angular, alien, but beautiful nonetheless. You don’t think you’re afraid of him.

“What does that mean?” You ask, your lips heavy and difficult to move.

“What?” It’s the smaller one that speaks.

“That word they just said. Keias.” You think you know what it means, but you want them to explain it to make sure.

“It’s a royal title?” The big one stares at you, quizzically, as though trying to figure out a puzzle in front of him.

“A royal title?” You don’t think you’ve ever met actual royalty before, at least, you don’t think you have. There’s a lot you don’t remember about yourself. “Are you like a king?”

The smaller one snickers at this, then says, “babe, no. He’s a prince.”

“A prince?” You look at him again, your eyes wide. “You’re a prince?”

He doesn’t seem flattered, only oddly concerned. Turning to the female in robes, he says, “she didn’t possess memory loss when she was last dosed.”

“I gave her a different, faster-acting painkiller.” The woman taps on the screen of a datapad. “It works to block out different parts of the brain, but she is lucid enough to get on a starship, memories, or not.”

“So it’s not actually dulling the pain, it’s just telling the brain not to process it?” The smaller woman asks arms crossed over her chest.

“Exactly, which is why it’s fast-acting and doesn’t lose effectiveness over time. The memories can be a side effect, but they should return when the drug filters out of her system.”

“You say ‘starship,’” the prince!!! observes, his many eyes narrowing slightly.

“I did indeed, your grace.” The female is not intimidated. “I think it would be best if my patient spent some time in lower gravity conditions, which can be best produced in a starship while in space.”

The prince stares at her for just a moment, as though he cannot believe she would suggest such a thing. “Nisesh says a drug can be produced to aid in here acclimation.”

The female scoffs. “Nisesh believes they might become a god with enough drugs at their disposal. I mean no disrespect towards you, your grace, but sometimes the best cure is the most obvious one.”

The prince is quiet for a long, tense moment, but the doctor doesn’t back down. It’s the smaller woman who speaks up, her voice almost laced with an underlying threat, “if that’s what’s best for her, then you need to get it done.”

His eyes snap up, and he assesses the woman with a critical eye. Then he nods sharply, once. Turning back to the doctor, he says, “how long do you suggest she stay?”

The doctor taps something onto her datapad. “I would have preferred she acclimate slowly, spending a longer time in orbit than she has, but since her body managed to stay together so well, I think you might find an improvement pain-wise within a day. So long as her body bounces back quickly, mind, because it might take longer for her to recover.”

“You will join us, then, so you may monitor her condition.” It’s not a request, but an order.

“Of course, keias,” the doctor bows at him, then steps away, tapping on the datapad.

“I’m coming, too.” The way the smaller woman speaks leaves little room for arguments. There’s something almost… admirable, you think, about the way she stands up to the bigger one, even though he looks very capable of snapping her human body in half.

“That is… acceptable,” the prince says.

Without much thought, you reach over and touch the end of his hair nearest to where you sit, the strands soft and silky as you pull them closer. “Has anyone told you that you have really nice hair?”

He stares. After a moment that consists of the woman snickering quietly, he says, “actually, yes. Yes, I have.”

You must have blacked out again because when you wake up, you are not in Clementine’s room. In fact, you’re no longer on Lolth, because the sleek, brilliance of the space is nothing like the solid, ancient architecture that you had grown accustomed to. And just beyond the edge of the large bed you’ve been placed in is a window.

There are no windows on Lolth, really, because there is nothing to gaze at when a society grows from the inside of their world, instead of the outside. As you sit up, you notice the echoes of a headache pulsing in the back of your skull, where the spine connects, and it feels like you had a rough fall. But when you place your feet onto the thickly threaded rug and stand, you find that you do it with some semblance of ease.

“You’re awake.”

You almost jump out of your skin, because the prince is hiding so efficiently in the shadows of the room that you didn’t notice him until he spoke. “Y-yes.”

A moment of awkward silence follows. You’re still wearing the same clothes as you were giving Clementine the tour- oh fuck, Clementine-

“You were asleep for a day and a half.” His voice interrupts your hazy anxiety. “I was… concerned, but the doctor said your body was repairing itself.”

“I suppose so.” You wrinkle your forehead, realizing there is dryness choking your mouth, tongue something like sandpaper against the inside of your cheek. With little ceremony, you strip out of your outer shirt, your skin singing with no longer being suffocated by cloth, your camisole much more sheer and thin. “I need some water.”

The prince rises to a stand, “allow me. Please.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but he opens one of the cabinets of what you’re now seeing is a starship cabin, then fills a glass to the brim with the tap. His movements are jerking, unfamiliar, as though he’s having his own issues with growing used to a different form of gravity. When he hands you the cup, you’re standing right by the window, staring out at the stars.

“God,” you say, after quietly thanking him, “I forgot how much I missed this view.”

“They are beautiful,” he says, “it’s difficult to believe that they are each suns of magnificent strength from this distance. They all seem so… small. Insignificant.”

There’s a moment of quiet contemplation as you down the whole glass of water with minimal effort, then you remember what you wanted to ask him before. Looking at his reflection instead of actually making eye contact, you question, “where’s Clementine?”

“In her own cabin, or perhaps roaming around.” He pauses, mulling something over in his head. “She is- has... character, isn’t she.”

“You’ve got that right, believe me.” You let out a sigh, vaguely remembering her wordless glares, her face fuzzy in the more recent ones. Then, just for the purpose of watching his face flush dark, you say, “she thinks we should just fuck and make up.”

“Is- is that how humans solve all their problems?” He asks, though you can see the question was a fight to release. There’s a tension in his shoulders when he talks about sex now, but thankfully, he is without the odd aversion he had before like he’s… like he’s trying.

Still, the way he says it… you burst out laughing. “Oh, if sex could solve all your problems, then-” you abruptly stop yourself, realizing that this might have been a step too far outside of his comfort zone.

There’s an awkward moment of silence shared as the both of you stare out into the void, then the prince turns around and stares at you, hard, and you feel a trickle of fear thrumming up your spine. Finally, he says, “don’t. Don’t do that.”

You swallow thickly. “Don’t do what?”

“Pull away.” He stares back out to the stars, sharply, all eyes narrowing. “You show me the smallest part of yourself, and then you refuse to give me anything more. I don’t like it when you do that.”

You’re quiet for another moment, then, “well… you didn’t really approve, before.”

“Didn’t… approve?” He echoes in the fashion of a question, glancing in your direction. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed uncomfortable when the subject of sex gets brought up.”

“Ah.” He leans back slightly, his facial features relaxing slightly. “I see.”

“So I stopped.”

“There’s more than that, though.” He turns back to face you, his expression softer. “It was worse when that abomination was present. You would hide parts of yourself from me, especially when it was here.”

“The- oh.” You remember the Starward Matchmaker™ representative’s oppressive presence, and how you walked on eggshells around her. “Right. Yes. The company doesn’t want me to fuck anything up.”

“A bit hypocritical of them, then,” the prince’s gaze goes back out towards the stars, “as their formula is supposedly infallible. If all parts of us are compatible with each other, then there should be no reason for you to keep some pieces of yourself hidden.”

You stop staring at his almost translucent reflection in the window and look at his face, his profile washed in the smattering of light easing in from billions of lightyears away. More to yourself than to him, you say, “I guess that’s true.”

“So you will stop trying to keep yourself from me?” He asks, firmly, looking over at you, too.

“I-” you swallow thickly, looking at the fingerprints you left on the otherwise flawless glass in your hands, “okay. Yes.”

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#exophilia #drider/reader #drider #male drider #monster lovers #monster/reader

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pendragaryen · 4 years ago

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The things that stay with us...

This was supposed to be my last BFSN-post while the show is still airing - the last BFSN-entry right before the series finale. But now it’s just... a FSN-post? Call it a Big-Hug-post. A Hug-Gratitude-post. Or whatever you prefer. Though in my heart Bellarke will ALWAYS be canon (and nothing can ever change that): They didn’t give it to us in the actual show (a show, whose narrative clearly told us otherwise all this time, but well.. whatever...). It’s too much honour to grace such a disappointing last season with a BFSN, dearies. (Or... even more so now? ;P ) So, call it what you like i guess! ;). Honestly, i didn’t want it to end.. just like that... without any last words to you, the kindest, most tolerant and beautiful minded fandom i’ve ever been (proudly!) a part of since 2016. (The selfie lies. It’s not current. I’m sorry, i can’t show you my face these days.. This is from the day just before it all went inevitably down with this season: BB’s death. So... enjoy: That smile’s for you, fam! ;) 2nd pic: The tattoo i got almost two years ago now, on Sept. 22nd 2018, and that never fails to remind me of my emotional support person and the fact, that after every “down” in life there will come an “up” again <3<3<3 )

What makes the whole experience of this last ever season of The 1OO for me so incredibly sad is.... Well, please bear with me if you will... My english STILL isn’t the very best... But i’m trying to put my feelings into words:

Last year, when we got the news that S7 would be the final season, i DREADED this moment. I was AFRAID of this last day (and the hours) before the actual finale. And why so? Bc I am a person, who’s an incredible loser when it comes to let go of the things i love so dearly. Like The 1OO. I... in times i was OBSESSED with it, with the story, with the chacracters and the way they’ve been written, so credible, so tangible in their actions, nothing was just bad or good and even the villains actions had been understandable to some extend. It was amazing! I felt with almost every character! I LOVED it. (And to be very clear here: I’ll never STOP loving The 100′s 6 seasons, that are still existing for me!)

But what i wanted to say is: I dreaded the moment when l would have to let it go. THat inevitable moment, when this show with all its storylines and characters, that have been a part of my life for the last years and that i love so dearly, really ends. Forever. It would end and i wouldn’t be ready to let go, bc it means the world to me. Bc it changed me in more than just one way - no, even better, bc it made me want to change myself! “To do better...” *ugly crying...* THis show SAVED me in a way and in a time, where i was in a very dark place in life, in a very dark mind space (constant illnesses, termination of my job due to these illnesses, an ugly lawsuit etc. pp) , this show and its actors, especially one Robert Alfred Morley (yes), who helped me to look at myself and my mental insecurities and illness from a whole new point of view. I wasn’t ashamed of myself anymore. I felt... relieved. Understood. I even felt kind of loved for what i am, even with my anxieties. (There may or may not come a point or even a person in everyones life, that helps to develop this new kind of view on themselves. And for me this person was and always will be Bob Morley. And whatever happens, i’ll always love him for his open- and kindness and be thankful for his inspiration. I still call myself lucky to have talked with him a couple of times. I treasure these moments. Always.)

So, i was AFRAID of this day, when this all would come to an end. I KNEW it would wreck me, i would be devestated, i would be so incredibly sad, that i won’t be able to put it into words.

And here i am now. I AM sad. I AM devestated. But for so very different reasons that i could never imagine in my wildest nightmares... This last season... Season 7--- no i won’t start again. Not AGAIN. But... just that: What they’ve been creating for us here... it really overshadowed my joy of watching this show throughout this last season, yes even BEFORE that horrible murder of my all time fave and comfort character. I take back whatever i said about S6 or even S5. THIS... S7 was the season, that didn’t feel like the show i fell in love with anymore. Though changes CAN be refreshing and exciting... these changes haven’t been that for me.

Look. The thing is: Even WITH Bob’s request for time off and everything... There would’ve been PLENTY options for the writers to actually make it all make kind of sense! THEY COULD’VE DONE IT BETTER! If they’d really wanted to, that is... And here’s the point: I think they didn’t WANT it. For whatever reasons, whatever happened bts, they decided to do it like they did. And no-one’s able to understand their choices or the characters anymore - those characters we used to know so well, these characters i felt with over the course of so many seasons - who i could understand! EVEN THE VILLAINS! And now... look at the thanks we got. I can’t understand shit anymore when it comes to S7. Bc nothing makes sense. When i see even the GREATEST meta-writers among us surrender in their posts - than it’s really sad times for this fandom...

It’s not even just about Bellarke anymore. Sure, i AM disappointed that they’re not canon now. But then they shouldn’t have arranged the whole story around these two! “The backbone of the whole story”!!! I am laughing. In that case S7 was SPINELESS! Let me tell you. Everyone’s just... flailing around... great little side storylines, but somehow... disconnected from each other and all over the place. That’s how it felt for me to watch this season. And i’m feeling so exhausted by now... I never stopped hoping... I always thought, at some point it would make sense. I’ve read all your great metas AND I WANTED TO BELIEVE! It made perfect sense! (I seriously felt like Fox Mulder from time to time this season... and the lack of sense in the storyline as well as the complete absence of my personal faves (yes i include Clarke (Eliza) here, bc heck, she was so sidelined this season too, self inflicted or not) - all these things had been the “UFO’s or aliens i was hoping to see” one day... Guess i was wrong.)

I’m babbling... Sorry. But it will be for the last time in that kind of form. Promise.

At the end of the day (at the end of all things.. sigh, Frodo... i see you... *blinks back tears*) I am so glad that you’re all here with me, in the same boat. That I’m not alone feeling this kind of lost and baited and betrayed. Bc whatever you like to call it: The narrative promised us otherwise. Did JRott OWE us canon Bellarke? NO. Of course not. But HIS STORY did. The story he’d been telling us for SIX GD YEARS! THAT is what makes me so mad. But most of the time (and despite the selfie above) i’m just sad. Sad and disappointed. I know it will pass one day. And that i’ll find joy in watching S1-4, even S5 except for a couple of scenes, and certain episodes of S6 again. But now is not the day. Even IF they’ll give these characters a “happy ending” in some transcended form or whatever, in the afterlife maybe,... S7 is ruined for me. It wasn’t even a bliss for me before, but it was certainly ruined after they killed “The Heart” - pointlessly (THIS is what will haunt me even years from now..).

Today is the day for saying goodbye. It aches my heart, that we’ll have to do it the way we have to now. But at least we are together. So let’s raise a glass in honour of all the hours of joy and excitement this show brought us over the years, maybe even the tears and laughter, let’s raise a glass for the outstanding performances of the cast and the great storylines some writers developed for us. I am thankful beyond words. Let’s raise a glass to this awesome, talented fandom! I’ve met and talked to dozens of you guys througout the years, and it had always been a pleasure! I hope we’ll stay in touch! <3<3<3 And last but not least: Let’s raise a glass for Kass Morgan. This is HER baby in more than just one way. Without her vision... there wouldn’t have been a show. Or even Bellarke. CANON Bellarke, that is! ;) And i LOVE it!

These are the things that stay with us, these are the things we will remember.

So, have fun with the finale tonight guys! Or should i say: Good luck? ;) I won’t watch now. I haven’t watched since 7x13, and i won’t start again tonight. Not even for the finale. BUT... i’ll probably do it some day in the future. I’m still kind of curious after all. And there are still some characters i want to know how it ends for them. It‘s just... i don’t want to support any ratings. I don’t want to support JRott anymore. But i’ll probably get back to it - if what y’all will write about it afterwards looks promising or not... ;)

See you on the other side!

(Tags under the cut)

Hugs and love to you, dear fam! Tagging @together-is-my-favourite-place @natassakar @geekyogicheese @immortalpramheda @carrieeve @bellamyblake @angelbellamy @burninghoneyatdusk @iwearplaids @wankadi @katersann @nvermindiseeyou @ruggedmurphy @clarkgriffon @poppykru @broashwhat @malclmbright @kizo2703 @cominguproses13x @clarkeindra @tenmonologues @shialablunt @sometimesrosy @zavens @wonderingwhyy @charmainediyoza @the-suns-also-rise @lee-em-dee @bellamynochillblake @junebugninja @songhyeri @underbellamy @talistheintrovert @jeanie205 @bellamys11thfreckle @doontpanic @clarkegriffinblake @goddess-clarke @eyessharpweaponshot @hostagetakerandhistraitor @infp-with-all-the-feelings @theatre-steph @historyofbellarke @as-inevitable-as-morning @bisexualbellamyblake @little-oxford-st @delicatebluebirdruins in no particular order (i am so sorry in advance, if i should’ve forgotten someone... >.<), and yes, i include you too @merlination my Danny, bc without you, i wouldn’t have started watching The 1OO in the first place... ;)

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rextasywrites · 4 years ago

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Little Darling 4 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”"

what awaits Mia in the basement of Lady Dimitrescu's castle? how is the mold connected to both survivour, even if their trauma was 500 years apart?

ohhh boy i am SO happy with this fic yall have no idea. big thanks to everyone who has commeted on my fics so far, you make writing a fun process. i hope you enjoy the new chapter! !!!flashbacks are written in cursive!!! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: mention of child death, various mental illnesses

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

During the night, the snowfall in the valley had increased, snowing most of the village in. Lady Dimitrescu stood on the balcony, taking a drag from her smoke, blowing out smoke that nearly froze in the cold air. Mia was still fast asleep, the exhaustion caught up on her once the nightmares vanished. Lady Dimiterescu didn’t get any sleep during this very night - sleep was barely needed for her anyways, but she had ignored her own tiredness in favour of making sure Mia was okay. Guess the ‘human’ touch worked wonders on the traumatized.

“Lady Dimitrescu?”, Mia’s tired voice ripped her out of her thoughts and she turned around to face the young woman, standing in the doorway to the balcony, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Can you close the door? I am freezing.”

“Oh right, you humans and your temperature problems.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stepped back into the bedroom, “and please, call me Alcina.”

“Alright, Alcina.”, Mia chuckled, sitting back on the bed she had just emerged from, stretching her body from this good night’s sleep. “What is the plan for today? Will you show me where Rosy is?”

“Not yet. Before, you have to understand a few things. A few things about us. You worked with bio weapons before, so you will understand quickly enough…”

The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”

“Exactly. I spent hundreds of years dissecting my own blood to find out what was the trigger in this very mold, turning me into...this.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as she took a seat in the very same place the plague doctor had been on. “What I have come to realize - the plague doctors and fuck knows who else worked on the mold...they created an early version of the mold you were infected with. Of course, early and very simple, but you can see what it did to me.”

Mia nodded as she listened to Alcina talk, taking in the surrounding. It all reminded her so much of the basement she was locked in for three years, she could even feel the hard mattress under her spine. Something she never told Ethan was that she spent most of these years either trying to escape or sleep her injuries off. Eveline didn’t let her go. “How did they manage this back in...1500-something?”

“You are asking good questions, dear. I suppose the mold had a spontaneous mutation which caused its effects on me. I saw the dead bodies of previous victims. They died of mold poisoning or its effects on their lungs. Was lucky there, ‘suppose. And now I am immortal and could take over the world if I wanted to. Do I want to? Fuck no.”

“Why not?”, Mia chuckled at the thought of a vampire lady ruling over the world. What would the aliens say that watch us all day long? “Nothing could stop you. Not even any kind of bio weapons so far.”

“That’s the thing! Redfield and his team are developing a cure to the mold as we speak, with Rosy’s blood. The mold we were infected with is dangerously similar. Since no D-series exists anymore, they had to work with what they get. Ever since I got word of the D-series and the mold, I kept my eyes on your team and you. Because you would be the key to our deaths.”

“But why are they after you and your daughters? You haven’t caused any significant troubles, like turning a whole city into zombies…”

“Because we are mutants in the end. We shouldn’t exist in a perfect world with all sunshines and rainbow pooping unicorns. Too bad the world is a cruel place. Helping Redfield with the resurrection of Jill Valentine was the worst mistake I have made in over 500 years of living.”, Lady Dimitrescu explained, trailing over her exposed arm. Her veins were visible, but it was clear the mold had taken over her bloodstream judging by the colour alone. “The mold feeds off human blood. Once my blood was out, I started to thirst for whatever blood I could find. Most of the time I settled for homeless or old people - you know, the kind of people no one would miss.”

“...that makes sense, and that’s something rare to say in a situation like this.”, Mia said, earning a smile from Lady Dim- Alcina. “And why...don’t you just surrender and die? You have lived for over 500 years?”

“Oh Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stood up, cupping Mia’s cheeks, “Death is something so personal, trust me. It’s about the choice. If I want to kill myself, I’d just turn the mold into a vaccine. But being killed by a big mouthed assface who thinks the world belongs to him? I won’t give up without a fight. My daughters won’t give up without a fight. Suicide is something so personal.”

“Here.”, Carlos placed the newspaper article in front of Chris. Several homeless people had been found dead, drained of their blood. Chris read it with great interest, even though his Romanian was rusty. “Drained of their blood in Romania? This is either some sick dracula cosplayer or we have our eyes on vampires. Maybe they are the key to life!”

Chris raised an eyebrow at Carlos, “You really are into the thought of bringing her back to life, aren’t you?”

“Chris, look”, Carlos sighed, frustration and anger present in his mimic, “This is not the death Jill deserves. She deserves a second chance! Without the blood and pain and bio weapons. Fuck, let her adopt five cats and a llama if it makes her happy. But this is not the death she deserves”, and he pointed towards the cold camber her lifeless body was resting in. She looked so peaceful, as if she was just sleeping. Her blonde hair had fallen over her face, as if she was a fallen angel, ready to spread her wings at any given second. Chris might have given up on her, but not Carlos.

“Send out Kennedy then. He knows how to deal with the dirty work.”

The reports from Leon were clear. Mutants had infested the castle, but they weren’t much of a threat while Leon had been in there. It actually seemed as if they were avoiding him. But the key was a moment he accidentally witnessed.

“Lady Dimitrescu!”, a cry broke through the quietness of the castle. Leon had heard this sort of cry before - a mother who had just lost her child. A cry he never wanted to hear again. “Please help me! My daughter, my little baby…!”, she wailed as the three daughters surrounded her, taking the dead body of the toddler from her. The blonde daughter ran to where Lady Dimitrescu was staying while the two others comforted the hysteric mother. The child was pale and stiff, and must have been dead for quite a while. Leon swallowed dry at the view. He could deal with zombies and mutants in the weirdest ways, but dead children...he could never get used to this.

About an hour later, Lady Dimitrescu walked out of her study with the little girl, who was looking at least more alive. The colour had returned to her face and her chest was moving a little bit. “Here.”, she smiled as she handed the lady her daughter, “She needs rest for a few more days. Keep her warm and secure, bedrest is the best idea there. Also, she will be very thirsty once she wakes up. Let her drink all the water she needs, her body is severely dehydrated.”

Because of this, Leon decided to stay a few days more. He followed the mother to her home and stayed hidded. About a week later, he knocked on the door of the woman, asking for her help, if she had seen his dog ‘Rex’.

“Sadly, I have not.”, the woman said, and from the corner of his eyes, Leon was able to spot the once dead daughter, playing with some barbies. “But if I see him, I will let you know.” This was all the confirmation he needed. Leon headed back to the USA the following day to report from what he witnessed, and how they could be the key to saving Jill.

#lady dimitrescu #mia winters #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #jill valentine #carlos oliveira #chris redfield #leon kennedy

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alwaysthinkingoutloud · 4 years ago

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Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 2, Season 1 (Amuse-Bouche)

Episode starts with Will dreaming about practice-shooting in a range, a place where he is actually allowed to shoot guilt-free. Where shooting is justified, just like the field. He seems to miss his shots though, resulting in shooting again and again. Just like he shot Garret Jacob Hobbs again and again, but was it because he missed his shot then too? It looks like he is trying to convince himself so, since the shooting target turns into Hobbs in the dream. And if he truly felt bad about shooting Hobbs and regrets doing so, why keep shooting him repeatedly even after hitting him in the dream too? Since he goes to the shooting range after the dream for real too, all of this has little to do with his being traumatized and a lot to do with him missing that feeling.

When in the Hobbs’ cabin, the first thing that comes out of Will’s mouth after seeing tens of antlers all over the room is a comment about how well this would fit in Evil Minds Research Museum. Despite being sarcastic, seeing a crime scene where teenage girls have been mounted on antlers and swiftly thinking that kind of thing to say may suggest that he deep down considers it as a precious and beautiful piece of art that belongs in a museum. Short after, we hear about the possibility that Abigail might be a suspect. For the first time, Will rules out that possibility and defends her blindly.

As soon as Will enters the classroom to give a lecture, the students start applauding. First, he says “thank you” and right after that, “stop that”. He does not know how to react but I do not think that’s because he does not know how he feels about it. It is normal to be applauded for saving someone’s life. So why to accept the compliment and then feel not comfortable about it? Maybe it is because, his initial thought was that the applause was not for saving a life but for taking one. And he gave in quickly and said thank you. Then he noticed this was not appropriate at all so he decided to tell them to stop.

When Alana and Jack comes to talk to Will, he states that he found the students’ applause for his ‘success’ inappropriate. Although he saved the life of Hobbs girl and many that could follow, he does not deem killing someone a success under any circumstances. Later in the conversation, we also learn that Will used to work homicide and the reason why he no longer does is that he was never comfortable pulling the trigger. No law enforcement agent is ever comfortable with it though, killing is killing. But sometimes the end justifies the means. So maybe he could never pull the trigger because he knew that if he did, it would lead him in a path that he could not come back from for many different reasons other than a normal person would have. But that is in the past now, he did pull the trigger. So for stabilizing this change, he is unknowingly pushed into the den of the lion: Hannibal’s couch.

The first thing Hannibal does is to rule out the formalities and responsibilities that having Will officially as a patient would bring along. He rubber stamps Will to keep his days full of crime scenes, ensuring the trigger for his instability as well as his requirement to come and see Hannibal. He wants to play Will’s friend more than he wants to play his therapist. So he does that by alienating Jack and making use of their now common denominator, Abigail. He uses the phrase “surrogate daughter”, reinstating the thought of Will’s responsibility of Abigail. A responsibility that may weigh as heavy as a father’s. By telling Will how he feels obligated against the girl, Hannibal hopes his declared feelings about Abigail to awaken the ones in Will. While doing that, Hannibal is not exactly trying to paint a spotless, pretty picture. He is combining what he wants Will to think and what Will wants to hear. While talking about feeling responsible for the girl, Will suddenly brings out the fact that Jack has doubts about the girl’s involvement in her dad’s crimes. Hannibal not wanting Will to embrace Abigail only under the assumption of her total innocence, he is telling Will that he does feel responsible for Abigail and that it is also possible that she took part in her dad’s murders, implying he can be protective of Abigail and not be so sure about her involvement in the crimes at the same time. Almost to suggest that regardless of Abigail’s innocence or otherwise, she deserves to be protected. To be cared for. To be loved. If Will can protect and embrace a killer now, why could not he do the same again for somebody else?

“The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.”

I listened to, read and repeated this quote of Hannibal tens of times until it lost all its meaning. What I think he is saying is that empathizing is about the empathetic as much as it is about the person being empathized. That, Will’s mind’s reflections of someone else’s cannot be truly detached from his own. That, Will’s own not-that-bad mind’s mental limits make it not possible to comprehend the worst of someone else to his limits. Because his identity is restrictive about what it is not familiar or comfortable with. But whatever he empathizes, it will be the best version there is for him. Because that will be within his mind’s limits and not restricted by anyone else’s.

Hannibal, in a conversation, suggests that Hobbs is Will’s victim. The use of the word ‘victim’ here is so deliberate since it brings a sense of guilt together, a sense of wrongdoing, an ill-intent. If there is a victim, there is a question of the justness of the act. But to kill a serial killer attempting to murder someone is not that kind of an act. There is no need of questioning the motive because it is so out there and it is okay. But Hannibal needs Will to question. He wants Will to think there may be an another reason or angle to what happened. Then he drops the bomb by asking Will if putting himself in the killers’ shoes and imagining their thrill is now harder, since he is now a way too familiar to the feeling and has very little space to estrange himself from it?

During the dinner of Jack and Hannibal, we learn that Jack is doubting the purity of Will’s mind. Hannibal, in return, calls the way Jack treats Will “delicate” while he is well-aware that it is not, encouraging it with an understatement. He does that while asking Jack if his doubts are about Will’s trustworthiness or the risk of Will breaking in the field, also insinuating that he finds Jack’s doubts unnecessary, but any answer Jack may give to that would promote either distrust against Will or would give Jack the idea that there is still more room to push Will.

Alana and Will meet each other in the hospital room of Abigail. Will suggests that Alana may be reading to a killer, while he is sleeping on the couch and practically in the same position as her. So if he is accepting the possibility but still is here, he may be submitting to that possibility too. Will is obviously trying to flirt with Alana and she kind of reciprocates it with trying to comfort him. She tells him that Abigail is a success for him. He replies saying that she does not look like a success. That, he does not feel sorry but good. He does not feel good because he saved her life, if that was the case he would call it a success. So there must be another reason to why he feels good. And the torment he goes through is of feeling good, not of feeling sorry. Good about a surrogate daughter who he orphaned in the first place and maybe good about killing her father too.

In the last scene of the episode, we see Hannibal playing his card open for the first time. He starts off by justifying feeling good about killing if the person being killed is bad enough. Will differentiating between good and just, Hannibal draws Will’s attention to that his coming to therapy is an attempt to convince himself that he feels good about only saving Abigail and not killing her father as well. Will objects saying if this was true, he would feel the same way about shooting Stammets too. Hannibal reminds him that he did not kill Stammets, so he cannot compare. Then, Will spills out that he is not even sure if he was not trying to shoot Stammets to kill. Hannibal pealing his person mask a little off, tells Will even if he wanted to kill Stammets, that would be understandable since he would do it anticipating the killer’s capabilities, boldly calling it “beautiful” even. Hearing his darkest fantasies he did not even admit to himself spoken out loud, almost with vanity, Will freaks out a little and changes the topic. However, Hannibal does not let him out that easy, not when he got Will right where he wanted him. He speaks clearly now, asks him if the reason he has been feeling down is that he killed a man, or that he killed a man and liked it. Finally, Will breaks and admits to feeling good about killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal, then, swifts in with the simplest yet greatest justification of killing: that God does it all the time. That it is not about feeling good but about feeling powerful.

It is thought-provoking to consider how early in the series Hannibal actually reveals his tainted mind to Will, but it takes him a whole season and a too high of a number of obvious moves to see Hannibal’s real face that, it makes one wonder if he actually did see Hannibal’s face around this time, but his subconscious longing to be understood chose to sweep it all under the rug.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will #will graham #hannibal and will #hannigram #brian fuller #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #hannibal analysis #will and hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #murder husbands #abigail hobbs #garret jacob hobbs #hannibal loves will #will loves hannibal #amuse-bouche

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