#and then its worse right because then when I love someone I google the symptom of every fucking mental illness imaginable. bpd. bipolar.

[lemoncake438]

How do u know if its love or mental illness?

[inkdrinkerworld]

Remus and autistic!reader who’s dissociated and needs some sensory input so he has all sorts of fidget toys for them and one of those projector lights that have nice bright colors along with some fuzzy blankets and all sorts of cuddles and whatever else you might be able to come up with! Sorry if it’s oddly specific, but that sort of situation brings me so much comfort and I’d love to see your take on it 🥺

I googled some common symptoms and added in what happens when a family member of mine does it. I hope you like it <3

“Dove, do you want me to cut up some fruit for you?” Remus is in the kitchen while you lay on the sofa with your book held in front of you but you can’t focus on anything.

Your eyes are unfocused, your breathing is slow and long and you’re not sure what’s wrong or what’s triggered the dissociation, but that’s what you’re doing.

You can feel yourself out of your body a little and it scares you but you don’t know how to stop it.

You can barely hear, you feel like someone’s stuffed cotton in your ears and they’ve dulled the receptors on your skin cos you can’t feel anything.

“Dove?” Remus leaves the kitchen and stands by the archway to the living room. He can see it a little, having trained himself to look for all your typical signs of dissociation.

“Alright, baby.” He murmurs, toddling around the living room and bedroom to set it up just like you like.

Remus lays some of your toggles on the coffee table, he lets your favourite fluffy blanket-one with little hearts on it- at your feet, and turning on your projector to display aura colours you like on the wall.

“I know you’re feeling weird and out of it a little, but I promise you’re okay, dove.” Remus kisses your forehead and lifts you gently, rubbing your back as he waits it out.

It’s all he can do, or all he finds himself able to do because he’s still scared he can only make it worse. So he lets the dissociation take its course until you blink it away and the cotton falls from your ears.

All the sounds of your home creep back into your ears, and you feel the pressure of his hand on your back.

“Hey, precious girl,” he coos, kissing the crown of your head repeatedly as you move closer to him. “Here,” he hands you one of your toggle toys, watching your fingers twist and pull at it. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you whisper. “More like myself.” Remus nods, sitting with you till you feel like you can be alone for two minutes.

“I’ll be right back.” He comes back into the living room with two mugs of tea, yours is a chamomile lavender honey blend and his is just regular black with a little milk and sugar.

Remus also has a plate balanced on his forearm that’s loaded up with grapes, blackberries and a bit of watermelon.

“Thanks Remus,” you take a sip of your tea and allow your shoulders to drop. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

He shakes his head, admittedly he was a tiny bit worried, but not scared. He thinks you’ve both created a solid little routine to help them along. “You didn’t dove, how’re your ears feeling?”

“Fine, not like they’re plugged up,” you snatch a grape from the plate. “These are crunchy.” You say happily and Remus nods.

“We can just sit here like this for a while,” he says, kissing your shoulder as he sets the plate in your lap and holding your mug. The lights on the wall cast a glow all over your face, and Remus can’t help himself but get lost in looking at you while you eat, happy to see you perking up a little as you do.

[straycalamities]

Oh my okay I've got several... no I've got plenty of questions abt Truffula Flu lol

So... I'll ask all I remembered I wanted to ask, I hope it won't be too much..

1. Why guns aren't allowed in camp Entre? Maybe I skipped few posts, but I didn't see explanation for this one

2. About zombie mutations. Is they're really become stronger or is it just Rocky and Entre become weaker cuz of their illnesses?

3. Swags mod said that Swag would probably leave camp and die somewhere in quite place, while trying to survive. Why would he leave people that he cares about? Im a little bit dumb and don't exactly understand his planned ending 8(

4. There was a moment when One-ler tried to convince Bitter to put him out of his misery, but he escaped that. And I was curious, if he actually killed him then, would Entre blame himself for that? And if so, would it be worse then he blamed himself when he killed Bitter by his own hands?

5. After Rockys planned death, would Swag blame Entre for this? I mean, emotionally shocked, blame him again about this apocalypse stuff, that Rocky wouldn't die if he wasn't infected and etc.

I hope I made myself clear cuz I dunno how to put some questions ughh😭😭

And again Im sorry if its too much questions!

PHEW THAT IS A CHUNKY LIST. i love it

1. guns are loud and the infected are drawn to loud noises so if you shot a gun you’d be ringing the dinner bell basically. i feel like maybe we touched on it directly? but if i’m wrong it’s probably bc it’s a common thing brought up in zombie apocalypse stories so we might’ve assumed ppl just Knew why none of them used or wanted to use a gun

2. they do become stronger! i actually have a whole list of mutations (and more can be added as ppl come up with them! it’s open lore basically)

i made a whole google doc explaining the actual truffula flu and the symptoms, risks, etc (content warning for if you’re sensitive to medical discussion?? i don’t know how to word it but i wrote it like ur typical online disease info page. also content warning for zombies bc. it’s entirely abt zombification.)

rocky and entre being weakened definitely didn’t help their situation but yes. it’s mainly bc the spiky zombie is faster and stronger than ur typical sort

3. this is kinda hard for me to answer bc i’m not the one who originally wrote it. i don’t rly know why it was planned for it to go like that. i guess out of irony? i know the original plan was for swag to be the sole survivor at the end, but that kinda clashed w other plans so it was changed. so maybe this was the compromise to that

i will say tho that. things had been discussed since that post was made and his story goes differently than was broadcasted. howso? you’ll just have to see :)

4. yes, entre still would’ve blamed himself because ultimately: this is all his fault. regardless of who dies how or where. they wouldn’t be in that situation if it weren’t for him. especially if it’s connected directly with the infection. especially if it’s right in front of him where he can’t ignore it

he wouldn’t have been AS devastated by bitters death if he weren’t the one that had to kill him tho, because the thing is: that was the first time entre had directly killed someone who was still “alive” (unless i’m forgetting some obscure shit i did or said idk it’s been over a decade) and not only that, it was someone who was still his friend despite what he’d done? and even more layers: he had worked so hard to get bitter to come out of his shell prior to the infection and actually be his friend and then this happens. and he has to be the one to end it. bc he was pressured into it

so honestly entres descent into immense self-loathing and all that would have been Very different from how we saw it if someone else had taken care of bitter

5. nah i don’t think swag would’ve like actively started pointing fingers at entre again at that point. like deep deep down swag can’t ignore that this IS entre’s fault and this WOULDNT have happened if not for his mistake, but…swag realizes in the story that it’s not gonna get them anywhere if he keeps holding on so hard to those facts. like if he keeps berating and belittling entre as payback for everything what’s actually gonna get better for that? nothing. all it does is give him temporary catharsis and even that gets cheaper and lasts less time every time he does it

entre wants to fix things so earnestly and tries and swag sees that and wants to help because obviously he also would like this to be undone or at least, cured. and they can’t help each other if they’re at odds. and so even if it’s really hard on him to lose rocky like that, i think at that point it’s just chalked up to “this bitch of a situation” and not “entre did this”

not forgetting the fact that at that point, entre is going to mean a LOT to him because of how their relationship has deepened. so he’s not gonna turn on one of the only ppl he has left

thank you for the questions!! 😊

[bloodstuddedpearl]

Were you short on time? this is a horrible answer, dude please do not formally partake in debate. You didnt reply to half the shit I said and the arguments you did reply to, your responses were incredibly half assed and opinionated, not an educated contextual response.

"as for your question, i might. at some point, maybe. i wrote this because i hate jkr's hypocrisy and lies. if you didnt know, she has sided with people like matt walsh (famously misogynistic if you didn't know). do you wanna know why? because shes transphobic before anything. she is supporting known misogynistic people because they are against trans people too."

hey!! please site a source. a retweet isnt considered active support. its just a single isolated opinion one thought worthy to reshare. show me multiple accounts of common ground and then raise a statement.

And who said I uncritically worship rowling as my lord and savior? I agree with her opinions on trans ideology and essays on radical feminism. Please get a grip.

"i do get that there are asshole men out there, but those men you've listed? known assholes. their audiences are straight cis white men. i get it, you wanna frame me as a bad person for not writing about bad people. i am writing about a bad person. i do think those are bad people. but jkr's hypocrisy and general assholery makes me angry."

this is what i was talking about. lousy half assed response that uncritically approaches any claim made by me.

To explain you again, I disagree with dylan mulvaney. but you will never catch me creative writing about mauling dylan or raiding his funeral with an explosive. its immoral and cryptic. Are you actually tone deaf or just passive agressive?

"and jesus christ. why do you not understand that telling people they are murderers could hurt them? i have a lot of anxiety and a few symptoms of depression, along with having a long-standing obsession with life and death. maybe one day i'll prove you right, and you'll know."

And jesus christ do you not understand that fantasizing about raiding a living womans funeral and destroying her memoirs with your loser friends is sociopathic mentality and should be professionally inspected? And proving me right wont take shit from me dude, itll only get you locked up and this batshit post will resurface and frame your reputation. If you want to live under the spotlight as a known convicted murderer then sure, do yo thing.

"im british and its saturday and we are the same age. dont tell me to get back to school without doing the same thing. and i will keep thinking about destroying the memoirs of people i hate, because i could do a lot worse."

LMFAO yeah bet u could do a lot worse. sure dude. please your 14 writing murderous cryptic "creative writing" abt a woman u dont like. then u think people are wrong for calling you a potential school shooter. you glorify yourself as a killer and then get mad when people call you one. pathetic. lock tf in girl

"a serial killer mindset would be me describing how i would kill her. does this look like that to you? yes, im overwhelmed because she is alive and spreading hate and being a hypocrite and it hurt. seeing my trans friends, online and irl be shunned and hurt by her words, it makes me angry. so i wrote about it'. so does everyone else; write about things that make them angry."

Killing someone is an intention, mindset is another thing. heres how you possess a serial killer mindset-

"Rather, the most consistent psychological feature among serial killers appears to be extreme antisocial behavior—they tend to lack empathy, appear incapable of remorse, show no regard for laws or social norms, and have a strong desire to revenge themselves against individuals or society at large by carrying out violent ..." - from google

you show apathy, incapability of remorse, and no regard for social decency.

"here, let me use the toilet analogy that you guys love." girl why are u talking about toilets?? do you think radfems are out here licking toilet seats?

"terfs do not want trans men/trans women to be able to use the gendered toilet they identify with. okay.

so passing trans men have to use the women's toilets. passing trans women have to use the men's. okay.

so, terfs start seeing passing trans men in their bathrooms. how do they feel about that?"

hmm.. we dont like it bc TW literally assault women in girls washrooms

"but this is what you wanted, wasnt it? why are you complaining?

its because terfs don't care about feminism. not really, deep down. im sorry if you still think that. like i said earlier, your feminist icon JK Rowling supports misogynists because they are transphobic. i cant spell this out any clearer: radical feminism is not about feminsm. its about transphobia."

terfs like jk rowling have donated more money and time to womens shelters/activism/feminism related funding than anyone u can name. tell me what dylan mulveney did for feminism

Lumos: J.K. Rowling founded the charity Lumos in 2005, which aims to help vulnerable children around the world, particularly those living in orphanages. Lumos works to reunite children with their families, promote community-based care, and end the institutionalization of children.

Volant Charitable Trust: J.K. Rowling also founded the Volant Charitable Trust, which supports a wide range of charitable causes, including multiple sclerosis research, alleviating social deprivation, and supporting women and children at risk.

Multiple Sclerosis (MS) Research: Rowling has donated significant amounts to multiple sclerosis research, a cause that is close to her heart as her mother passed away from complications related to the disease.

Casual Vacancy Trust: In 2012, J.K. Rowling set up the Casual Vacancy Trust to support charitable causes related to social deprivation and other issues.

Other Charitable Contributions: J.K. Rowling has made substantial donations to various charities over the years, including the Children's High-Level Group (now known as Lumos), Comic Relief, and other organizations focused on alleviating poverty and promoting education and literacy.

JK Rowling has donated £15.3 million to a medical research facility, which she helped to set up. The facility is named after the Harry Potter author’s mother, who died at the age 45 from complications related to a condition called multiple sclerosis (MS). JK Rowling wants the money to support more research into conditions such as MS, motor neurone disease, Parkinson’s and dementia. It isn't her first charitable contribution though. She also founded a charity called Lumos after making it her mission to take children out of poorly-run orphanages by by 2050. Harry Potter fans will notice that the charity is named after the spell used by witches and wizards to bring light to dark places. In fact, in 2012, JK Rowling dropped off the Forbes billionaires list - a famous list of very rich people - partly due to the amount of her money which she donated to charities.

name 5 people who went from billionaire to millionaire because of the money they donated to charity

JK Rowling’s funeral will be beautiful.

The cameras, the faceless attendees, the press swarming outside the gates. The touching notes left by her followers, thanking her for building their childhoods. The radfems mourning the loss of their god.

The grey-faced family and friends, escorted out of the gates by countless bodyguards, hounded by journalists and flashing light that illuminates all of the little details in their hand-woven black clothes.

Every stitch, every seam, there on display. Every tear, every bloodshot eye for the world to see.

But then They come. After the last stragglers of the funeral have left, whether it be hours or days, We will arrive.

Black combat boots and worn Converse, crop tops and baggy jumpers, ripped jeans and tartan skirts.

We will find our way in, jumping fences and picking locks, weaving through the neglected stones of others until we reach the corner that she bought for herself.

Her gravestone is inscribed and decorated, at least twice as big as the others in the graveyard.

We read it aloud.

“Mr. and Mrs.Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Thank you Joanne, for making our childhoods.”

We laugh. The angel over the grave, hands clasped in prayer, neck and wings strung with scarves of red, yellow, green, blue seems to smile with us.

We take the books first. Most of them are signed copies. They will make our kindling. The scarves and cloaks are too polyester-stuffed and mass produced for that.

We burn the books, dancing and laughing in the dying light, mocking her denial of the burnings back in the 40s.

The pictures are next. Portraits of her, posing elegantly, smiling gracefully. The kind face that hides bigotry and disgust at fellow human beings.

We burn them. Their ashes fuel our crazed laughter.

We celebrate our childhoods. We celebrate the world, the magical, fantasy world she crafted for us. We do not celebrate her. We celebrate her soon to be deleted Twitter account, after one last mournful post about how incredible she was.

We shall mock it, tomorrow. But tonight we celebrate.

[weirdnaturalscience]

Well-Known and Obscure Toxins: How They Work

Well this is a morbid subject but HEY it’s almost Halloween baby!! I was super curious about what toxins actually do on a molecular level after reading about cone snails. Obviously toxins can kill you, but how?? I wanted to know the grisly details. This is not an exhaustive list, just some types of poison, venom, and other toxic substances I was curious about, so let’s get to it.

Deadly Nightshade

Where is it found? Atropa belladonna grows in Europe, North Africa and Western Asia.

How it works: speeds up your heart and generally fucks with your nervous system. Deadly nightshade contains tropane alkaloids atropine, hyoscine (scopolamine), and hyoscyamine which disrupt the nervous system’s ability to regulate activities such as heart rate, breathing and sweating. It can cause narcosis, paralysis and heart failure as a result. Yikes. But an antidote exists that can reverse these affects if administered in time.

Toxicity: the entire plant is toxic, with roots having the highest toxicity but berries posing the greatest threat to humans because of their appearance. 10-20 berries can kill an adult, and 2-4 can kill a child. Symptoms of mild poisoning include dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, loss of balance, confusion, hallucinations (wild) and convulsions. Doesn’t sound like a good time.

Do not eat the shiny attractive berries!!! (Cows and rabbits and other animals can eat it but humans, dogs and cats...NOT SO MUCH) You can also get toxins on your skin just by touching the plant but this will not kill you.

Totally fun and not morbid fact: during the Renaissance, belladonna was used by women in small quantities to dilate pupils and give a seductive appearance, and this is how it gets its name belladonna, or beautiful woman. Atropa comes from the Greek Fate Atropos who cuts the threads of mortal lives with her shears. Snip snip!

Hemlock

Where is it found? Conium maculatum grows naturally in Europe and North Africa, and has spread to North and South America, Australia and Western Asia.

How it works: stops your breathing. The flowers contain an alkaloid called coniine, which directly affects the nervous system and causes paralysis of respiratory muscles, leading to death from oxygen deprivation. Hemlock poisoning is treated by artificial ventilation for 48-72 hours until the effects wear off.

Toxicity: about 100 milligrams of coniine is fatal to an adult. That’s about 6-8 hemlock leaves, or a smaller dose of the seeds or root. Animals can also be poisoned and killed by hemlock, but luckily dangerous substances cannot be passed into the human food chain from milk or fowl. Similar to nightshade, you can get a non-lethal amount of the toxin on your skin simply from touching this plant.

Basically you’re only gonna get poisoned by this if someone puts it in your tea, because I assume you’re not gonna just go around just like...chomping on pretty flowers. Right? Right?? ok good.

Arsenic

Where is it found? arsenic is a metalloid that occurs often with sulfurs and metals. It can be present in volcanic ash and groundwater, and as a result can be found in low (acceptable) levels in plants and seafood. Good news: it is rare to find arsenic occurring at dangerous levels in nature.

How it works: in high levels, arsenic disrupts ATP production and causes organ failure due to necrotic cell death. This process can last between 2 hours to multiple days. It can also be fatal in lower doses administered over a period of time, and as such, was a popular murder weapon when it was readily available during the 1800s in England. Symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea don’t immediately alert someone that there has been an attempted murder unless maybe you’re Sherlock Holmes.

Toxicity: google probably thinks I’m a murderer and won’t tell me just how much arsenic will kill a person. COME ON, google!!! it’s for SCIENCE!

Arsenic is no longer readily available for people to just get in large quantities, so that’s a RELIEF.

Cyanide

Where is it found? cyanide is a chemical compound produced by certain algae, bacteria and fungi. It is also found in plants such as peaches, apples, apricots and bitter almonds. A type of bamboo that grows in Madagascar is so rich in cyanide that it would kill humans, but not the golden bamboo lemur for whom this bamboo is a primary source of food!!! You go girl, eat that cyanide bamboo.

How it works: for everyone who’s not a golden bamboo lemur, cyanide disrupts ATP production, affects the central nervous system and heart, and causes histotoxic hypoxia: the inability of cells to take up oxygen from the bloodstream. Antidotes can work if administered in time for lower doses of cyanide.

Toxicity: 200 milligrams of solid cyanide or a cyanide solution, or exposure to airborne cyanide of 270 parts per million is sufficient to cause death within minutes. Um, YIKES. Really, cyanide was already scary enough as a solid before nature went and made it into a gas that kills upon inhalation. DEEPLY uncool.

Murder mystery writers: slip belladona or arsenic into your literary victim’s tea. Belladonna is sweet, arsenic is tasteless, but cyanide has an acrid and bitter taste.

Fun (well, not fun) fact: if you eat 200 apple seeds (about 40 apple cores) you will receive a fatal dose of cyanide. So like, don’t do that. An apple a day keeps the doctor away and is completely safe, but 40 apples apple cores a day WILL KILL YOU

Vampire Bat Saliva

Where is it found? Vampire bats are found in the Americas.

How it works: a toxic substance called Draculin (I’m serious) in the saliva of vampire bats acts as an anticoagulant by inhibiting an enzyme involved in the coagulation pathway.

Toxicity: vampire bats are indeed venomous and toxic, but they are not at all lethal. It just sorta sucks if you’re being bitten by a vampire bat, but you’ll live. Unless that bat has rabies. Vampire bat saliva also contains an analgesic, meaning the bites are almost completely painless. SO THAT’S SOMETHING

Cobra Venom

“hello do you have a moment to hear about cell death?”

Where is it found? Many species of cobra are found throughout Africa, Southwest and Southeast Asia.

How it works: most cobra venom includes neurotoxins that cause paralysis as well as cytotoxins that cause necrosis and blood coagulation. blood coagulation can happen in minutes.

Toxicity: many types of cobra venom are treatable, but may leave disfigurement from necrosis. If this isn’t scary enough for you, just know that spitting cobras can reach 2.7 m (8.9 ft) in length and like to aim for the eyes.

But you’d still rather be bitten by a cobra than THIS deadly mofo:

Venom of the Inland Taipan

Where is it found? the inland taipan is the most venomous snake in the world and lives, YOU GUESSED IT, in Australia, ie the place where everything is designed to kill you. Evolution decided it can reach 1.8 meters (5.9 feet) with a maximum length of 2.5 meters (8.2 feet), which I think everyone can agree is a dick move on evolution’s part. Take it back, TAKE IT BACK!!!!!

How it works: the venom contains neurotoxins, hemotoxins, and myotoxins AND an enzyme to increase absorption of the venom. Basically it causes paralysis, blood coagulation and muscle damage, because one of these things wasn’t enough apparently. Antivenoms against Australian venomous snakes exist but are least effective against the venom of the inland taipan.

Toxicity: the inland taipan’s venom has a murine LD50 value of 0.025m/kg. This means there is a 50% chance that .025 milligrams per kilogram of weight will cause death. It’s bite contains enough venom to kill at least 100 adult humans. But GOOD NEWS! the inland taipan lives in such remote places that it rarely comes in contact with people. Other slightly less venomous snakes are therefore responsible for more deaths. ....So that’s...still terrifying. just don’t go into the woods in Australia FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

What’s deadlier than the deadliest snake in the world, you ask?

Tetrodotoxin

Where is it found? tetrodotoxin is found in several animals such as pufferfish, moon snails and the small but deadly Australian blue ringed octopus (DAMMIT Australia)

How it works: blocks sodium channels. This prevents normal transmission of signals between the body and brain, causing loss of sensation, paralysis and inability to breathe. Fun!!! Don’t pick up the frickin evil little octopus

Toxicity: more powerful than cyanide, that’s for sure, about a thousand times more powerful in fact. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice as 334 micrograms per kilogram. Fatal pufferfish poisoning result in death in about 17 minutes. The blue-ringed octopus, however, carries enough venom to kill 26 adult humans within just a few minutes. There is no anti-venom.

What’s worse than that, you ask? Ah, you shouldn't have asked.

Conotoxin

Where is it found? Cone snails are found in the Indo-Pacific, the Cape of South Africa, the Mediterranean, and even southern California. Smaller species are not that dangerous. Larger species, however...

How it works: paralysis within minutes. cone snails have multiple harpoons to administer venom to prey (or unsuspecting humans). the harpoons deliver a venom that has HUNDREDS of different types of toxins, each targeting different nerve channels or receptors. Some cone snail venom even includes pain-reducing toxins. These pain reducing toxins can be 100 to 1,000 times more powerful than morphine. How THOUGHTFUL.

Toxicity: vastly more potent than tetrodotoxin. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice is is 10 to 100 micrograms/kilogram. So like, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT LOL

Ricin

Where is it found? Ricin is obtained from the beans of the castor oil plant.

How it works: inhibits protein production and results in organ failure, respiratory failure and circulatory shock.

Toxicity: The median lethal dose (LD50) of ricin is around 22 micrograms per kilogram of body weight. If that sounds bad just wait till you hear about poison dart frogs 😭

VX

Where is it found? Nowhere in nature. VX is synthetic. It is an oily amber colored liquid in its natural form, was first developed as a pesticide and later for chemical warfare. It is considered a weapon of mass destruction and is banned under the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993.

How it works: causes stimulation and fatigue of muscarinic and nicotinic ACh receptors, resulting in violent contractions followed by paralysis and death by asphyxiation.

Toxicity: 7 micrograms/kilogram. this is one of the most toxic synthetic substances on earth. Humans have got nothing on mother nature though...

Batrachotoxin

(This guy is called phyllobates TERRIBILIS. but is his cute little face terrible? noooo.)

Where is it found? in certain types of beetles, birds and poison dart frogs found in Central and South America.

How it works: similar to conotoxin, batrachotoxin interrupts sodium channels. The resulting migration of Na+ ions causes heart failure and paralysis.

Toxicity: The LD50 is around 2 micrograms per kilogram, meaning that an amount the size of two grains of table salt will kill you, and that this is even worse than a cone snail, Ricin, or VX. Batrachotoxin is one of the deadliest alkaloids known. No antidote exists.

Fun frog fact: this was the poison commonly used by the Embera-Wounaan for poison darts, and that’s where poison dart frogs get their name! How...cute.

Botulinum, most toxic substance in the world

Where is it found? made by the bacteria Clostridium botulinum and related species.

How it works: causes Botulism, which if untreated can result in paralysis and respiratory failure by preventing the release of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine. Botulinum is used in very very very VEEEEEEERY small amounts in Botox, in case you ever needed reasons NOT to do Botox lol.

Toxicity: the lethal dose of 1.3–2.1 nanograms per kilogram in humans. of any toxin natural or synthetic, this is the deadliest known. However!! Actual good news this time: treatments involving antitoxin therapy and intubation are very successful and mortality from Botulism is extremely low. Yay! 

More good news: toxins have been instrumental in medicinal breakthroughs throughout history and continue to be vital to modern medicine. A drug for diabetes was recently synthesized from Gila monster venom: it increases the production of insulin when blood sugar levels are high. A painkiller has been developed for chronic pain patients that is derived from a component of the venom of our friend, you guessed it, the cone snail! These are just two examples of toxins being used in medicine, and a lot of research is still being done because face it: we still don’t know a lot about how our bodies work. Paralyzing agents are extremely important to our understanding of the body and the development of non-opiate non-addictive painkillers because of how they disrupt signals between nerves and the brain.

Long story short: don’t eat nightshade and stay OFF AUSTRALIAN BEACHES and you should be just fine. 

Oh and your tea is getting cold ;)

[shattered-catalyst]

OCD Subtypes for the RPC

Part 1 is here

Well well well, we are back for Part 2 of the Roleplayer’s Guide to OCD.

Fellow Ocd Folks, I see you in those tags and I'm going to do my best to ensure those obsessions are represented here- BUT understand that physically it is not going to be possible to list every single one because I am one person.  Regardless its incredibly brave of you all to rb and add things in the tags, I know its hard to talk about this shit and I see you. I see you.

Resultantly I typed this out and posted it in formatting to assist with accessibility in mind; if you cannot read it still ( I tried Im sorry!) i recommend the copy and paste method or getting the chrome extension bee-line reader.

 There will be grammatical and spelling mistakes. Im sure spacing is odd some places, but you have to understand doing this is extremely anxiety provoking for me so Im just getting it done when I can.

Remember to use your critical thinking; not everyone has the same symptoms/compulsions/triggers and all that.

OCD is fluid. Its like liquid mercury. One day its a handful of subtypes another day its another different serving.

If you are in general squicked about certain topics even by mention read ahead with your own judgement. Remember us folks that have OCD have many disturbing and distressing experiences so if you are writing a character who has OCD and you can’t read about it just don’t give them that obsessive thought/ compulsion. Make sure writing is still a safe and enjoyable hobby for yourself first and foremost.

But ethically and morally I cannot and will not leave out the more disturbing bits. You have the ability to scroll by, I and many others do not get the chance to escape triggering content that our own mind creates.

So read ahead with your best judgement or at least skip around the squicky parts and educate yourself on what OCD is so people quite using it as a Obsessive Christmas/Corgi/Cat Disorder thing. Alright? Cool beans.

Okay so you made it passed post 1 and got under the read more. Give yourself a gold star for diving into this monster of a document.

Below is a crash course it is not meant to replace actual psychoeducation, personal research, or google. Honestly most of us do our research extensively but because OCD is treated so horribly by social media, media, and society in general.

I wasn’t sure where to throw these together because the education tools to learn fully about OCD are very specialized and thus very restricted. I found that many people DO have these experiences with OCD though so I will represent them throughout. I’ll also sprinkle some of my own experiences so you can get a good reference of a person who has the disorder and not just a randomly generated person.

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So OCD is made up of Obsessions, Trigger, Intrusive thought, Misinterpretation/feared consequence,Somatic and Psychological Anxiety, and Compulsions/Rituals.

Your character may not be able to list all of these. In fact if they aren't in ERP therapy they may not be able to puzzle these things out. But YOU as the writer should know them. Your character won’t be walking around talking to just ANYONE that they have OCD. Remember a huge aspect of OCD is it’s Shame.  The disorder makes us feel intense shame regarding our intrusive thoughts, as a result OCD goes undiagnosed for years especially if it has pediatric onset.

  We won’t tell anyone what we are experiencing or why we are doing x y or z. We act like nothing is wrong because to emotionally react is to admit to yourself- and therefore the world- that you have had this intrusive thought and are therefore by virtue a horrible person.[For further information I would suggest also researching PANDAS].

It may be noticeable if your character has an intrusive thought. They may wince or grimace or roll their eyes certainly, but they won’t open up to Joe at the cafe about how their brain is constantly torturing them. I apparently have a very noticeable eye twitch.

 Depending on the nature of the intrusive thought it will get more or less of a reaction out of me. Its usually dependent on how distressing the intrusive thought is and/or if its a new one.

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You see OCD doesn’t sit still. It never looks the same. You’ll have your long haul intrusive thoughts that are with you for years but then you’ll have weird ass ones that just appear and demand their voice be heard yelling about cars hitting people or squirrels getting eaten.

Some people have similar ones! So while everyone is different there will always be someone out there with an intrusive thought similar to yours.

 For instance; I bonded emotionally with a lady on reddit because we both have intrusive thoughts during storms that animals and the homeless are dying. We were both horribly relieved to find another person and also distressed that every snow or rain storm brings horrible images and whispers to your mind that while you are warm and snug in bed someone is freezing to death. And its all your fault.

Some days are better than others. As with all mental illnesses it isn’t CONSTANT ALARM BELLS. Some days it will be all alarms and other days it will be like a gentle whisper on the breeze. You can almost not notice it. Almost.

Obsessive thoughts run the gauntlet from ‘i will/could have/may/may accidentally harm etc’ something that you hold of value. This is any obsessive thought that you have: you think about repeatedly and not by choice, it is very anxiety provoking, it is unwanted, and unwelcome.

 Mine run the scale from ‘squirrel will be murdered’ to ‘being responsible for harm’.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object. In short, compulsions and rituals are not fun. they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder. 

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To emphasize from post 1: magical thinking and the faulty link between thoughts and actions are hallmarks of OCD.  Magical thinking can be anything from contamination to if I turn around three times or stare really hard at something the bad thing wont happen. Sounds weird and is weird and we know it is thats why its a disorder and not a delusion.

The faulty belief that thought=action is the biggest hurdle it is incredibly difficult to grasp, at least for me maybe some of you that have done further ERP can attest, that the mere concept of a thought not being the same as an action is completely and totally mind blowing.

Free will? Yeah thats terrifying. IDK about anyone else but free will is absolutely terrifying; what do you mean i could do anything i wanted?

Thats how you face OCD(WITH A TRAINED THERAPIST). You give in to ambiguity and the unknown. Its breaking that link between thought and action. Its incredibly difficult and draining. A five minute exposure leaves me in shatters for a week and two five minute ones had me ripping my nails past the nail beds with anxiety.

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Just a reminder: Do not have your character expose themself or expose folks with OCD to a trigger to “ help us get over with”. That is literally forcing someone with a mental illness into a break down and is not helpful. In fact its worse because a person knows about this intrusive thought and they tried to make it real. More shame and some trauma. 

If you have OCD, more likely than not a family member or significant other has tried this with the purest of intentions. But it never works like that. Theres a reason that therapists get special training for this. If people want a post on ERP I can make one at some point. 

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Actually let’s drag me with the squirrel thing as the example- fellow OCD Folks get out a pen and paper and try breaking down one of yours;

Obsession:Squirrel will be murdered

Trigger: seeing a squirrel

 Intrusive thought: Graphic images of a squirrel being murdered by a hawk/ impaling depending on the day

Misinterpretation/feared consequence: Squirrel will be killed and its all my fault

Somatic and Psychological Anxiety:intense anxiety, palms sweating, heart racing,

Compulsions/Rituals: Must stare at the squirrel to prevent bad things from happening, 

Now imagine if that is every time you see a fucking squirrel. You have somehow become completely and totally transfixed on a squirrel and nothing is going to pull your attention away or the squirrel dies- which your mind is giving you lovely images of btw.

Cute right?

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Below are the subtypes with general information/example thoughts/ and how some of these have impacted me socially because apparently some people dont understand that mental illnesses impact their social lives?? yall...

Social: This can range from ‘ i am constantly thinking i did something wrong so i have to ask for reassurance that we are still friends’ to completely unrealistic worries. Maybe its an intrusive thought that ‘ your voice is annoying them’ . There’s reassurance seeking, internal and external checking.

 It makes friendships extremely difficult and exhausting. You’re not trying to get to know someone with an annoying frat boy egging on anxiety in your brain. This can also manifest as having strict rules for yourself and ethical codes. 

My therapist likes to say she could give us (folks with OCD) a pile of hundred dollar bills and come back and they’d all be returned. Because OCD makes you so strict and morally confined. Which ISNT fun. Like I dont get pleasure over having to memorize the entire Code of Conduct!

Social Media: Its the bane of human existence some days and a lifeline the next. But what if everytime your follower count was an odd/even number it sent you into a panic attack. What if you spent all your time with intrusive thoughts that somehow someone misinterpreted a post or that someone is going to be harmed by a post you made about tapirs. 

You may be forced to block people to get your number down or keep pornbots on your blog to keep your number what you like (see there is a use for them! We sacrifice those before actual users!) You may be refreshing your page every second because ‘what if you miss a message’. It's going to look a lot like ‘check check check check reassure yourself double check your posts check check check reassure check check FALSE MEMORY check your post etc’

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Clothing/Body Image: When its not Body Dysmorphia it can be OCD. Sometimes this looks like I obsess about a body part and therefore I choose my clothes/hairstyles to hide those.  Some personal examples: as a kid I was sure that mind readers exist ( THIS IS AN OCD THING TOO I was so relieved to find that out) and that if i didnt wear  a particular hat they would see all these horrible thoughts and it would be revealed what an awful person I was. So I wore the same dumb ass bucket hat for a year (or more I cannot remember but it was a long ass time).

I was once so fixated on being given a compliment on my eye color that I wore sunglasses (even at night) to a summer camp. And if any of those teen girls in that cabin that stood up and mocked me in a crowded lunch hall by singing ‘i wear my sunglasses at night’ you all owe me 40$.

Even younger still I had intrusive thoughts. Like say, if anyone noticed I was female that i would be kidnapped so I chopped my hair very short. I altered my appearance to be very androgynous and even switched to walking more masculine. Because omg if your hips move someones going to kill you thats just how it works. ( It doesnt help I later figured out I was a lesbian)

Your wardrobe may be impacted by OCD and yes so can your body image.

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Also yes the fear of mind readers is also a thing; i always thought I was somehow faking OCD because yes that is also a…..

Faking: Do you value telling the truth? Do you detest lying ? Boy Howdy do I have some news for you. OCD is going to try and convince you that YOU LIED. Whether it was on a chastity pledge to get a free sandwich or in a conversation you just HAD. This links a lot with false memory OCD.

Another aspect is OCD makes us doubt we have OCD and tries to convince us we have any other diagnosis under the sun and we are obviously faking our OCD.

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Sexual Orientation OCD; It is as it is called. Sexual Orientation OCD is what happens when your brain goes ‘hold on what if you’re not this orientation what if you are THAT’. It doesn’t matter where on the LGBT umbrella you fall you will have OCD trying to convince you otherwise. From compulsive staring at members of the same/opposite gender to compulsively reassuring or checking with yourself to ensure that ‘ no no you are in fact THIS orientation.’ 

This can range in behavior from binge watching porn, staring compulsively to check that there is OR is NOT attraction,self checking past experiences and memories, analyzing your clothing and your lifestyle in painful and intricate methods.

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False Memory OCD; False memory OCD is basically your brain sitting you in a noir interrogation room, handcuffing you to a chair grilling you. It demands that you did *insert bad thing here*. This can range from anything from something Harm based to pretty much *anything* from other OCD subtypes. Which is quite delightful really.

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Sensorimotor OCD; Sensorimotor OCD is obsessive body responses. These can be ‘ I have to cough really hard and really feel it right in my chest and if I can’t get it right I have to cough until I do’. This can be counting your heartbeats. Trying to check yourself that you in fact have a heart and checking and reassuring that it is still beating. It can be hyper-awareness of swallowing or even swallowing repeatedly. It is anything with selective attention; ie its an automated process but your OCD is forcing you to be aware of it.

Your OCD makes you aware of the sensation of, say, breathing, and then it convinces you that if you stop paying attention to it you will stop breathing. So now you’re horribly aware and focused solely on breathing and breathing alone. It keeps me up most nights with the pounding anxiety fueled by the pressure of ‘if you stop focusing on breathing you will stop breathing completely’ or waiting to feel that last heartbeat in your chest. 

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Existential OCD; You ever feel existential ? Existential OCD is like having a very aggressive existential crisis that turns you into NEEDING answers IMMEDIATELY. This can look anything from hours panic scrolling the net to panic inducing anxiety because you don't know what happens after death. The thoughts are like foghorns on a misty sea.

This sounds basic and the only example i can give is as a teeny tiny 7 year old I had a panic attack in bed screaming that ‘ what if im a dinosaur and im asleep and i wake up and my whole family is GONE’.

To be fair I did like dinosaurs a lot.

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Harm OCD; This is pretty self explanatory but I will give more details. Harm OCD is OCD demanding that you will/could/can/may have/might harmed yourself/others/any living creature and that you alone are responsible. 

This means anything from getting anxious driving over crosswalks because ‘what if you dont see one and hit someone and its all your fault and you hit someone go back and make sure you havent hit anyone’ to ‘im holding a knife so im going to accidentally stab someone’ to ‘ i didnt see my cat this morning and now im at work and think she must be dead and i am responsible for her demise.’

 It can be as simple as ‘if i use a pencil i will stab myself in the eye’ or as complex as ‘ i may accidentally say a slur’/ ‘ i am going to say this horrible thing out loud if i cannot control myself.’ It can also be images of terror or racist/sexist/ableist jokes in your mind that repeat like a broken record.

(Please note from section 1 that this is extremely anxiety provoking and not something you would do. OCD preys on what we respect the most.)

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pOCD; Tumblr listen the fuck up because I am tired of seeing people get called shit on this website for having this mental illness. People who experience pOCD are not pedophiles, they do not get any pleasure or benefit. The thoughts and images are meant to induce harm to the person experiencing them. Children are normally the trigger for this and the resulting images can be very graphic. Again you aren’t attracted to children- thoughts of them getting harmed hurt you so your OCD makes you see them.

Know this so you can advocate for folks with pOCD in real life. Remember we are here. We are suffering and we are terrified of your children.

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Poisoning others/or in your food; Life isn’t medieval anymore but sometimes OCD demands we have a food taster or that we obsessively worry that we may kill someone with our cooking. Personally I struggle with colorblindness so I am constantly fretful over cooking any sort of meat so it’s difficult for me to cook it.

 However this also comes as; obsessive horrible thoughts of your cooking kill someone or that you have somehow/accidentally poisoned someone’s food (even if you haven’t touched it or been within a foot of it ) or that someone has poisoned YOUR food even if no one has touched it except you. You’re going to be picking apart your food or unable to eat out at all.

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Emotional Contamination: It’s similar to magical thinking and this terrifying prospect of mind readers. Emotional contamination can manifest as anything from intense worry over somehow gaining someone else’s negative personality traits.

 Or that somehow by interacting with any role of someone horrible will make YOU somehow also responsible for the horribleness.  There is usually a person or a type of person that is a trigger, but it can also be location based.

 This is one subtype where magical thinking and superstition are apparent.  

For instance; as a teen if a male was in my space or had physical contact;like shaking hands,giving a high five, being in my room etc. I would have to go around and physically touch all the objects that I perceive they may have also touched as a way to cancel out their presence. 

This includes wiping off myself to negate even the touch of family members. It really hurts peoples feelings, my father was especially hurt by this.

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Physical Contamination: This goes beyond physical dirt and grime. Most of us dont have spotless homes because if you’re having a fist fight with your brain everyday cleaning falls by the wayside just like it would for anyone else. Physical contamination holds 2 things: physical contamination obsessions AND compulsive cleaning behaviors/rituals. We believe that a small amount of a contaminate can cover large surfaces.

 Oh, and did I mention its not JUST dirt/germs/viruses. The list is expansive but heres a mixed bag of what they can be: sticky substances,dead animals,glitter (FUCKING GLITTER),negative words or language,colors, numbers, surfaces in general, food, people, and activities.  There is also a hyper responsibility to protect yourself and others from ‘contamination’.

Strangely there is a magical separation between the contaminated world and the ‘clean’ one. Spaces designated as clean would be a bedroom/bathroom/workspace where you are most active. That space is where the compulsions and intrusive thoughts occur. Its not I MUST CLEAN EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Otherwise I would be working cleaning houses because why the hell not amiright?

A real world example from a colleague would be a young man with physical contamination OCD is struck with such intrusive thoughts about cleaning that they refuse to allow anyone in their room or any animals in their home. But they are not able to even flush the toilet, take out the trash, wash dishes, or do garbage because of their intrusive thoughts.

The most famous would be compulsive hand washing but I feel it is important to also note OTHER aspects of physical contamination because everyone sees the hand scrubbing stereotype. 

Other compulsions include intricate rituals, not touching the floor (i played X-treme the floor is lava during college. I couldnt let my feet touch the floor because it was ‘dirty’),excessive showering (2-8+ hour showers guys, 8 hour showers. Thats what we’re talking about.)

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Relationship OCD: This comes as no surprise that yes you will have intrusive thoughts that you are somehow harming/ will harm/ may accidentally harm your significant other. Whether that be by physical or emotional means. It can look like ‘ I may have lied to her about how much I love her’, ‘ i may not actually love her and I may be leading her on’, and ‘ I must be corrupting her’. These can extend to certain physical activities with false memory OCD as a cherry on top. A great finishing garnish to leave you feeling absolutely dismayed and unable to trust your own perception.

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Scrupulosity: Religion! Whatever that may be! Its a thing with OCD.  With Scrupulosity obsessive thoughts run all over the board from; you committed a sin and forgot about it you monster to having to pray continuously/ a certain time/ until its right. What is right?Ask OCD that’s the only person who knows. 

We are fairly certain my grandfather had OCD because he went to church for every single Catholic Mass. Every single day. Every. Single. Day.  That’s not a healthy amount of attendance(I'm calling you out posthumously because I care Robert!). This can also look like: praying a certain amount of times. Praying until you do it ‘right’. Confessing every single potential sin. Cataloguing and dwelling over ‘sinful’ things. 

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Symmetry or Just Right OCD: Symmetry OCD is the runner up for ‘most likely recognized on tv shows’ award.

Symmetry OCD convinces you that if *insert thing here* isnt symmetrical or ‘just right’ (a magical position or number of objects that makes 0 logical sense) that something bad will happen.

This can range from the known; rearranging things. But it also looks like buying more objects until you reach the right amount and even throwing out objects if theres ‘too many’.

It can range from ‘the walls are percievably not straight so now i avoid that room at all costs otherwise i will be trapped traveling the edges of the wall with my eyes otherwise it will fall in and murder us ALL.’ to ‘ this historical bust is one inch off to the left and now all i see is visions of it breaking against the ground.’

So that is what I have time for. 9 pages on subtypes and basic information. If you find yourself wanting me information all of this is easily accessible online. So go, be free and dont ever compare people to Monk again. Write Batman and Scott Summers with OCD. Give us ACTUAL representation and not throw away joke lines. We are here. Our suffering isnt funny. We deserve representation too.

[but-when-is-theend]

May 10th. A day that changed my life

Last week was period week, hell week. This period, and the last three months, have KICKED my ass… I didn’t think much of it at the time. May 4th, I had a couple of strange clots. Concerning enough for me to finally call a doctor. Two “fleshy” clots, one inch long and a couple centimeters wide. Weird bleeding all week long, cramping but not the normal cramping. Middle of my lower abdomen, so bad it took my breath away. Called the doctor and was seen in the office, by an amazing PA who was so reassuring, explained everything, and took her time.

“Run a pregnancy test, pelvic exam, referral to OB GYN and an ultrasound.”

Pelvic was painful, oh yeah I forgot to mention the pain with sex. This has been an issue for months, 7 or 8 maybe. And I was embarrassed. I would cry, and tense up, which made it worse. And if you know me, I use to love it like multiple times per day! And now its weeks to months in between. I cried during the pelvic exam, it hurt so badly. But nothing too concerning was noticed.

The time it took for the provider to come back with my pregnancy results felt like forever. My heart was beating out of my chest. Because I knew if it was positive, and the clots I had been having, it would not be a good moment. She finally came back. She handed me the test and said “what do you see” and there they were…the two little pink lines… It was positive, but the machine was not in agreement. The doc sent me for a blood test, and now it’s a waiting game.

That blood work came back, the level wasn’t high enough to be an active pregnancy and was trending down.. but it wasn’t at the level to say I wasn’t pregnant to begin with. Waiting to hear when I can get in with a GYN to figure out what my symptoms are from.. let me tell you, Google doesn’t help🤦🏻‍♀️

Now, we aren’t trying to have a baby right now. And I did not think I was pregnant so I was not attached to whatever had been inside of me. But I feel this emptiness in my stomach now. The last 4 weeks, I have had dreams at night time that I was pregnant… Maybe that was my brain telling me, take a test and smarten up… But I didn’t take it serious. Now everywhere I turn, someone new is posting about being pregnant, or I see one of my pregnant friends and I can’t help but feel my heart sink. I am so ready to be a mom, and it was taken away from me before I even knew it.

I hate going to the doctors, but when Alex told me I needed to call because he was concerned, I did it. The pain with sex has been going on for so long, I should have just pushed it off even longer. If I had, I would never have peed on that stick, and saw the two lines, and thought “oh its time”. The blood test resulted with numbers that proved no active pregnancy. And I know things happen for a reason.

I’m now a number, I am now with all the other mommas who have suffered this loss, I have had a miscarriage. I can’t say the word out loud, I can barely type it… I can’t process it. And every time I read the word, I feel like I can’t breathe. I feel as though I can’t mourn, because I didn’t know I was even pregnant and I haven’t been trying to have a baby. I feel so different from the other mommas who did know, who have been trying, and who were attached.

But now I feel attached to something that I never even knew was there, how can that even be??

[mftillerman]

99 Problems...But A Ghost Ain’t One || Miles Solo

TIMING: Current  Location: The Tillerman Residence  SUMMARY: Miles tries to find figure out why he’s been hearing his fathers voice in his head.  TRIGGERS: emotional abuse tw, mental illness tw, mental health tw, parental death tw (just to be careful), 

The words were typed into the search engine. All Miles had to do was press a button. 

‘Symptoms of schizophrenia’

He hardly had a clue how long ago he had typed them or how long he had been sitting in front of his laptop staring at the screen. While he obviously wanted to get to the bottom of what had been happening to him, the fear of his suspicions being right was almost too much for him to handle. But he’d seen A Beautiful Mind just about a hundred times, he knew that he was experiencing at least some of the well-known symptoms. 

Hearing his father’s voice had been concerning from the very beginning. But in that first month Miles just kept convincing himself that this was just an extreme coping mechanism. He had just lost his last family member and was being thrust into a management role where he immediately began to un-do certain stylistic choices his father had made over the years. It was grief and self-doubt. Had to be. But how long could he keep telling himself that? It’s been two months now, and if anything … things were getting worse. 

“Boy’s too much of a damned pussy to even press Google.” There it was, clear as when he had been alive; David Tillerman swooping in to make Miles feel insignificant. He had always been an expert at that. You’d think the patriarch of a publishing company would be thrilled when his only child had a genuine passion for the family business. But nothing Miles ever did was enough for him.

“Oh, shut the fuck up old man.” Yeah, he was talking back to the voices now. Or, voice. At least he was only hearing one voice. That was… better, wasn’t it?

“How many times do I gotta tell you? I’m not a figment of your imagination. I’m not some symptom of a mental illness. I’m a fucking ghost.” 

“Then go haunt some other poor unfortunate person.” When the voice started to tell Miles that it was a ghost a few weeks ago was when he knew for sure something stranger than grief was going on. Neither Miles nor his father ever believed in the supernatural. Sure, the senior Tillerman had been getting a bit … creative in the stories he decided to publish. Ghosts, werewolves, witches. Entertaining the unreal for a boost in sales. But he never actually believed in any of that hogwash as far as Miles could tell. And while neither man was very devout, their religion didn’t even truly entertain the concept of an afterlife - especially not one where people came back as ghosts. 

“Nobody else in this damn town is as big a disappointment. Why would I waste my good haunting years on them?” 

“Lucky fucking me, huh?”  

“If your mother was here you wouldn’t be treating her like this. You should be honored that I’m haunting you. Cause seeing what you’ve done to my fucking paper you clearly need more mentorship.” If Miles could choose which parent’s voice he could hear, he’d easily choose his mother’s. But you don’t often get to pick how you have a mental breakdown - it just happens to you. 

“Sorry, I refuse to let bullshit stories about fairy tales be published in our family paper. If you wanted that shit to keep on going, you should have tried harder to stay alive.” Miles stood up from the computer without bothering to actually make his search. He didn’t need google to know something was seriously wrong. “Here’s a headline we could go with,” he shouted out to the room, “Local editor loses his mind because his father was a perpetual dick who never showed him an ounce of respect, love, compassion, or dignity! They’ll be flying off the shelves!”

The room was silent, as it should be. Miles was left standing there, looking around as if he was expecting someone to come out from around the corner. But there was nothing other than the uneasy feeling that whatever was happening was unlikely to go away on its own.

[moonvains]

How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!Reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but that’s up to you

Nagito x Fem! Reader - Hanahaki Disease

‘How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but thats up to you’

Hello Anon !! I absolutely love this request, I feel like theres so much I can do with it y’know? I added my own twist that is very, very angsty, and made me cry once or twice. but hopefully, this happy ending will work in some ways - Mod Mikan

Italics = Flashbacks/Past

Standard = Present Tense

TW for accidental overdose scene and seizures

TW for emetophobia, goes without saying since I’m writing a hanahaki plot!

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It started with the hiccups, small breathy hitches in his chest, that felt like collapsed buildings and porcelain shards, it stung his throat. Nagito, most very naive, thought almost nothing of it at first. That changed, when he sat heaving and coughing over the fancy porcelain toilet at hopes peak.

As he sat there on his knees, sweat dripping from his head, a pain in his cheek and sticky palms wiped onto his dress pants, he cursed himself with his luck.

It could be worse, just a stomach bug, my luck has obviously changed..

That is what he thought, or maybe wanted to think. A thought deeply embedded into his frail mind every time there is a mild convenience burdening his way. Its just my luck.

Though, as he looked up, green eyes glossing over what would usually be a nasty sight of a quick snack.

Nagito saw flowers, ethereal, magenta roses, dainty petunias and elegant dandelions, floating in the water below him, almost as if they were dancing.

Once again, his breath hitched, though he wasn’t sure if it was from whatever this was. This wasn’t his luck, this wasn’t despair, this wasn’t hope. This was plain, lonely, one sided symptoms of something so delicate, something so sad.

Nagito met you on a summer day, a cool breeze blowing, his hair stuck to his lips like glue. Ultimate luck he guessed. The rest wasn’t important, it was forgotten, and it was irrelevant and it was stupid.

stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid

Nagito was stupid from the moment he ran into you, from the moment he brushed his lips against yours, and from the moment he looked into your eyes. he was stupid.

Stupid to think he, a disappointment, a burden, would ever be graced with something as angelic, gentle and kindhearted as you. He was right, he was really stupid.

It all made sense after you were taken away. The words still rang in his head, quite frequently

Nagito yawned, for a day where he had almost nothing to do, he was quite sleepy. He sat in class 1-A, it was Friday “study” period for class 77-B. Usually you would sit next to him or sleep on his shoulder, or maybe play video games with Chiaki. Though this time you were sick with a bad case of the flu, and he was bored shitless. He blew his hair off his face, only to watch it float back down, then he’d blow it up again.

This went on for about 15 minutes until he got a call, he wishes he didn’t get it, though knows if he didn’t pick up, it would’ve been worse.

“Nagito.. I think I messed up”, your words were slurred, hiccuping and teary.

He knew immediately something bad had happened, he would tell in the way his stomach dropped, and the uneasy anxiousness took over his body.

“Can you please come back to my house, its only me here, I need help”.

Nagito didn’t have to think twice, he ran to your house in a sprint. he didn’t know what was going on, nor what had taken place. Though with the urgency in your house, and the way you sounded off the edge of reality, he knew it was bad.

He didn’t think it would be this bad, he didn’t think it would be his fault, But it was, thats how luck works.

He walked into your house, door unlocked, the air smelt musty and there was silence apart from a dripping tap and muffled crying, it’s not hard to guess which one he went running too.

He ran into the living room to find you on the floor in a ball, your lips were blue, skin pale and eyes wider than they’d ever been before.

“Please just help me”, you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do this”

Nagito clenched his fists while he sat, flashbacks of what happened circled through his mind. the bathroom floor was cold but his hands felt hot. He didn’t want to admit it, but this was a long time coming.

Hanahaki disease, one sided love huh? I guess it is one sided to love someone nonexistent. What hurt the most is that there was no recovering, the cure stems from the love being returned. There is no love from six feet underground, only worms, maggots and empty promises.

Eyes clenched shut, Nagito held your hair back as you expelled whatever was left in your stomach, he hated that you were in pain, there was yet to be an explanation of what was happening. Walking in only to find his lover sprawled out of the floor, crying slurred nothings before vomiting all over the carpet.

“I..I”

“Speak slowly my love, whats happened?’

“I took a handful of those herbal flu pills you left out on the counter this morning, I figured because they were plant based ”

Thats right, Nagito thought, he left his medication on the counter this morning after staying the night.

his medication on the counter

not herbal pills

a handful of Prozac 50mg capsules

he felt his heart stop

his mind searched for the side affect panel on the pamphlet when he first started taking them

strange dreams, dry mouth, decreased appetite

he remembered the second page

signs of overdose:

dilated pupils, seizures, nausea and vomiting, respiratory issues, fast heart rate and oh my god what the fuck have I done

Mind racing, hands trembling, Nagito held you close, there wasn’t time to explain, thats it, there wasn't time. His hands fumbled for his phone, holding sobs back listening to the operator instruct him to position your barely conscious body into a position seizure friendly.

Cries and mumbled words of “what have i done” escaped from his mouth as he laid you on your side, his school bag under your head and floor cleared from anything potentially dangerous. He sat there, on the floor, holding his chest sobbing, waiting for the ambulance

(Authors note ! DONT use this as a guide to help someone having a seizure or overdose, this is simply from some googling and own personal experiences, if you suspect someone you know is in danger, get a trsuted adult or medical professional)

Luck is a tricky thing, bad luck, good luck, there is a spectrum. Usually someone lives out their life on a scaled ratio of luck, some have unfortunate luck, some have spectacular luck. Though there are the unfortunate few that lie on the sidelines. Their luck a forceful rollercoaster of up and downs, tragedies and utter miracles.

The past couple of months in Nagitos life was a tragedy, who knew the dip of the rollercoaster could cost him so very much of what made him whole.  

As he sat there, the cold tile floor providing comfort for his aching palms, he remembered the paramedics, pathetically inserting a needle in your arm and calling it a day.

“We couldn’t save her, our deepest apologies”

He was angry, he knew you were gone from the moment your eyes rolled back and you lost control of your muscles, he could only sit there and scream.

But if they tried? At least do you decency? Not just act like you were another statistic is their salary, a teenager making a stupid decision.

Your parents were called, the room cleaned, and you were gone, that was it. The relationship you and Nagito held for two years crumbled. gone, as simple as that.

The white haired boy turned up to school the next day, face hollowed out with utter despair, eyes puffy and hair matted. He simply couldn’t deal with being alone, god knows what would’ve happened.

He reluctantly walked into homeroom, Miss Yukizome stationed at her desk with her almost programmed smile “Goodmorning Komaeda! I’m so glad youre joining us for another wonderful day!”

Another wonderful day? Another wonderful day watching the love of your life dying on her living room floor, loosing all control of her body and all you can do is sit there and tell her you love her, praying to all gods above she can hear it? Or Another wonderful day of crying and screaming yourself to sleep? ripping and smashing all the memories you have together in a pile because thats better than sleeping in a comfortable bed knowing she is on a plate of steel in the morgue?

Nagito kept his thoughts to himself, god knows he would probably get sent to a psychiatry institution if he spoke what was really on his mind.

With that, he sat down, eyes at the blank blackboard, fingers tapping at his desk, holding back tears that were already cried.

“Komaeda, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Teruteru exclaimed as he entered the classroom

“I wish I had”

He put his head on his desk, talking he couldn’t make out among his classmates filled his ears, he wanted quiet, ‘I wonder if she got quiet?’

Was there an afterlife? Or just a void of empty words and unfinished business. he wouldn’t know unless he experiences it himself, sooner or later.

“Okay class, try and get in some work today okay! I know you can do it” Miss Yukizome sung.

“Komaeda, can you get out of y/n’s seat, she should be coming in soon, hm?”

He didn’t even realise he was sitting in her seat, he was used to sitting at her desk with her, helping her with her work, playing with her hair and just enjoying the company of each other.

“No”, Nagito replied, fast and cold. It was strange for him to act this way, sure, he had a very valid excuse. Though it was unknown territory for the rest of the class.

“Oh no, has she still got that nasty flu? I hope you don’t catch it my dear boy”.

“No”, again, the same, the class had quieted down, he was usually so cheery, so full of hope and adoration for every single one of them.

“Well send my love to her, It’ll be great to see her again when I can” She smiled, completely oblivious.

“You can, the 18th, its an open casket’, Nagito grinned at her, a grin of something so far away from happiness, it reminded Yukizome of a clown, so creepy, yet so theoretically happy.

Everyones faces dropped

Nagito got up from the bathroom floor, this had happened weeks ago, but felt like minutes ago. He waited, and eventually, it stopped.

He walked back to class, the heels of his shoes tapping the hardwood floor of the hall leading up to his classroom. he entered solemnly, like he has every day since then.

Everyones faces dropped

Yet again.

Nagito knew what they were staring at, he didn’t want to address it, but he knew.

On his cheek grew a rose, sprouting at the top of his lip to the bottom of his cheekbone. For such a tragic disease, it was quite beautiful.

For such a tragic event, it felt so beautiful

God okay this was sad and a bit quick, I really did try to do a happy ending, though sometimes, for stories like this, I think it is a little to cliché, Stay safe everyone ! I hope you like this <3

[tangled23works]

No Time To Die

My @olicitytropes story continues. Hope you guys enjoy this update and if you’re fic writers yourselves, they have some wonderful Halloween prompts on their account that you can check out.

Read on Ao3

Or keep reading here

“Do you see them?” Sin whispered close to his ear.

 Oliver didn’t pay much attention to her question but he noticed her tone. Sin was afraid and trying to hide it.

 He was lying down on a filthy roof stalking the man rumored to have created the new drug that plagued the Glades. Sin had provided the information and insisted on accompanying him. Ever since her friend Max had died, she had been determined to bring down the man responsible for the whole operation.

 Count Vertigo was what they called him. A ridiculous name if Oliver had ever heard one.

 “Is there a way in?” Sin asked.

 “There’s always a way,” he replied, thinking once more of the island and his mentor’s teachings.

 There was only one problem. The ‘way’ was a narrow entrance on the right side. There was no cover and if the police entered, the armed men the Count had inside could take them out easily, one by one. Like the Battle of Thermopylae. Of course, since Oliver planned to crash this place alone the point was moot.

 Sin had tried to persuade him to call someone for help but he had refused with a grunt and a shake of his head. Another thing he had learned on the island; fighting alone meant no one could fail you. Relying on yourself, being the weapon was the best option.

 Even if you were facing a crazy drug lord and his minions.

 “I counted five guards while I was waiting for you,” Sin said.

 “Six,” he corrected. “There’s one on the roof.”

 Sin stared at him with admiration. The night was pitch black and the guard was barely visible. “What are you gonna do, Boss?”

 “Don’t call me that. And don’t interfere. Just stay out of my way.” His gruff order sounded harsh but the young girl must have realized that he was worried about her.

 “Head on a swivel,” Sin promised.

 Oliver gave her a short nod and started running in a low crouch across the roof. He had no intention of entering the warehouse through the front door. Ancient Greeks were masters of military tactics but they knew nothing about modern architecture. Reaching the end of the roof, he leaped across the gap and landed on the other building silently. 

 He approached the guard with stealth and precision. Snapping his neck was not difficult; making sure that the other man didn’t make any noise was the challenge. When he was certain that the guy was dead, he laid him down carefully and located the hidden skylight.

 Oliver knew that the moment he broke the glass he would bring a lot of unwanted attention to himself. And possibly Sin. That would not do.

 Thank God for ARGUS and their little tricks. Taking things from them was fun and his way of saying a big ‘Fuck you’ to Amanda Waller who had stolen a year of his life and put him back on goddamn purgatory. He pulled the round, unassuming device from his inside pocket and placed it on the glass. A strong laser beam cut through a circle just wide enough for a grown man to enter. Once it was finished, the glass didn’t fall down and make a ruckus but remained stuck on the device. You just had to hold it carefully and avoid dropping it yourself.

 Removing the glass and securing the device, he was now ready to enter. He paused only for a moment to make sure that no one was standing beneath him and then jumped into the hole.

 He landed softly and pulled his bow in one move. Someone came rushing at him in the dark but Oliver was ready. He used his shoulder to deflect and then his right fist to punch the man. His opponent fell but didn’t stay down. 

 Oliver nocked an arrow and growled, “Where’s the Count?”

 “I’m more afraid of him, than I am of you!”

 “Wrong answer.”

 Without further discussion, he shot him through the heart and sidestepped the dead body.

 Another guard heard the commotion and ran towards him, ready to shoot. This time he didn’t stop for questions. He took care of the problem quickly and reached the corridor.

 These men obviously knew who he was. And they weren’t afraid of him. Which only meant one thing. The Count was more dangerous than he had thought.

 No matter. The Hood had survived a lot worse.

 There! A door at the far wall. 

 Well, no point in trying to conceal his presence anymore. Oliver kicked it hard and calmly walked through.

 The sight he encountered was straight out of a nightmare. People were naked, dressed only in medical robes and chained together, working on a substance that he identified as the green drug both junkies and cops called Vertigo.

 “The Starling City vigilante? In my home?” The man that spoke had the gaunt look and crazy eyes he had once seen on patients in Arkham Asylum. “You humble me with your presence, you mighty avenger. Please allow me to welcome you. No need for arrows. We fight on the same side.”

 “Your side is money. We are nothing alike.” He knew better than to respond. But just the idea that he had something in common with that lunatic made bile rise in his throat.

 “You care for the Glades. You want the best for its people. You hate the rich as much as we do. We are not that different you and I.”

 “I don’t poison this city,” Oliver growled.

 The Count laughed. “Oh, Green One, the poison is just the symptom. You have no idea about the disease that is slowly killing Starling. But you’ll soon learn. When he’s ready.”

 “When who’s ready?”

 But the discussion was apparently over because the Count fired three times. Oliver shot an arrow towards the chain holding people, breaking it and jumped behind a leather couch. The men and women didn’t try to escape but moved all together like headless chickens getting in the middle of the bullets and arrows with no care in the world.

 It was horrible and as the sound of sirens signaled the police’s arrival, it only got worse. Oliver’s final coherent thought was of Sin waiting alone on that rooftop. He hoped she stayed out of trouble. And then there was no more thinking.

 Only fighting and surviving.

Felicity was pretending to sleep when her phone started ringing. Ever since she had discovered that her best friend’s brother was this city’s guardian angel, sleep had become a rarity. Needless to say, her job and nonexistent social life were suffering. She sighed and decided to ignore the call. It would probably be her mother who had no concept of the time difference between Starling and Vegas.

 The annoying ringing stopped. Promising herself to call her mother tomorrow night, Felicity punched her pillow into submission and wondered what Oliver was doing at that moment. Probably having fun kicking bad guys, jumping from buildings and shooting arrows left and right. Growling in frustration she kicked the sheets away. Would this torment never end?

 The phone rang again. Felicity gave a small scream and reached for her glasses. It was too late in the evening (or too early in the morning to be exact) to deal with her Mom’s stories about rich customers and semi-famous celebrities or - she shuddered - questions about her dating life.

 Great, now she was rambling in her head.

 She picked up without looking at the screen. “Mom I love you but 4 o’clock is not the time to discuss potential boyfriends or-”

 “Felicity Smoak?” a deep, male voice asked.

 “Who’s this? How did you get this number?” She knew she sounded angry but if there was one thing that Felicity was paranoid about, was her identity. Very few people had her phone number and even fewer would dare to call her at this hour.

 “We have a mutual friend.”

 “Are you calling from SCPD? Because I thought that Roy’s thieving days were over. Oh Google, don’t tell me you’re calling from the hospital? Who’s dying? Is it my Mom? Thea? O-” She stopped herself before uttering that last name.

 The man on the other end of the line chuckled. “Sounds like our friend was right to ask me to contact you. You’re worried about him.”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, even though her nerves were shot and she was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

 “Do you know the Queen Steel Factory in the Glades?”

 “If it’s on a map, I can find it.”

 “Good. Come as fast as you can. Try the back entrance. The code is 1141.”

 “That’s a lousy password. I could break that in my sleep,” she said and realized that the man had already hung up.

 It took her brain a few moments to freak out about everything. Possible scenario number 1: he was injured, dying on a table, hidden in an old steel factory. The agony that pierced her heart was short but hurt like the devil. Possibility number 2: the man that called was an ally and Oliver had made him call her for help. But what kind of help was she? She was not a doctor and she was definitely not a fan of pointy things. The only skills she had were her smarts and her computer knowledge. What good would that do if he was dying, dammit? 

 She didn’t know but she got dressed as fast as possible. 

 Felicity didn’t have any trouble locating the old Queen steel factory. It was deep in the Glades, on the other side of her home which was located in the gentrified part of the neighborhood. She turned right and parked as close to the back entrance as possible. Taking out her pepper spray, just in case, she pushed the buttons and the heavy metallic door opened easily.

 “Hello?” Her voice echoed in an empty stairwell.

 Pepper spray in hand, she got down the stairs carefully. Somewhere in the back there was water dripping and some kind of machine making a beeping noise. If he was actually hurt, a hospital would be a much better choice than this damp, unsafe environment.

 “You must be Felicity,” a voice said as soon as she reached the bottom. Jumping a mile high, she nearly got scared out of her skin but she was proud that she managed to swallow her instinctive scream.

 The man, staring at her with open curiosity, was built like a mountain.

 “I’m John Diggle. You can call me Dig.”

 She nodded even though she didn’t care much for introductions at the moment. 

 “Where is he?”

 Dig pointed towards the middle of the room where a long, metal table was located. A young girl, no more than 25 years old was lying on it.

 Felicity tilted her head. She had no idea who the girl was but she appeared to be seriously injured.

 “That’s Sin,” Dig explained. “She was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

 Curiosity appeased for the moment, Felicity repeated her earlier question. “Where is he?” It was irrational but she wanted to see him with her own eyes. Only then she would be satisfied.

 Dig sighed and led her towards the back where a half-naked Oliver Queen was performing upside down crunches. His torso was glistening with sweat, his back muscles were straining but he didn’t stop. Not even for a second. 

 “She’s here,” Dig said but Felicity would bet her new TX processor that the warning was unnecessary. Oliver had a sixth sense where she was concerned. He had probably known she was there way before Dig did. He did a hundred more repetitions without pause before acknowledging her presence.

 “Why am I here, Oliver?” she asked, deliberately using his name.

 For the first time, since she had arrived at this lonely basement he turned and looked at her.

 “The police are on my tail. Constantly. I want to know why.”

 “Can you elaborate?”

 “Did you see any patrols when you drove here?”

 “Well yes, but Lance is obsessed with the Arrow and it’s not weird that-”

 “Arrow?” Dig asked, raising both eyebrows.

 “Not the time,” Oliver snarled and grabbed a towel. Rubbing his body, he focused on Felicity. “The night of the party…”

 A sudden roaring in her ears made her miss a little bit of his speech. That night was engraved onto her memory. It was both terrible and hauntingly beautiful.

 “...Lance always seems to know where I am. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to catch a break. If I lay low, he lays low. If I’m dressed in green, he’s always behind me, nipping at my heels.” He threw the towel on the ground, viciously. “Walter always said that you’re the best. That you could hack the FBI if you wanted to. I know I’m asking a lot but today they came this close to catching me and now, someone else is paying the price.”

 His voice had dropped several octaves as he looked at the sleeping girl. And Felicity saw clearly what he had been doing earlier, hanging from the ceiling like a bat. Not exercising or trying to calm down as she had originally thought but punishing himself.

 She put her bag down and turned towards the computers.

 “Hacking the SCPD is a serious waste of my talents, Oliver. I’m not thrilled. I don’t think Batman is asking Oracle to hack GCPD, is he? She’s probably looking into the freaking NSA while I’m here-”

 She stopped suddenly and whirled around to glare at him.

 “Oliver Queen what have you done to these poor babies? This system looks like it came from the 80’s! And not the good part of the 80’s like leg warmers and Madonna… No, it looks like-”

 Placing a hand on her shoulder, he cut her before she could continue. Felicity fixed her glasses. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. Why did she have to go on a tangent? She had been doing so great so far! Being invited into his secret lair in the middle of the night, she had one zillion questions about him and the young girl and Dig and she had managed to keep her mouth shut and not ask anything. Then, just a look at this horrible abuse of technology and she couldn’t help herself.

 “I’ll get on it,” she whispered and focused on the task ahead.

Thirty minutes later and after the men indulged in a sparring session that provided the background music to her work, she jumped and yelled, “Yes!” so loudly that both of them came running.

 “What did you find?”

 Oliver’s voice reached her first.

 “Lance has a spy.”

 He shook his head.

 “Not possible. No one knows about this.”

 Felicity scoffed. “Your friends know. I know.”

 “I don’t have friends.”

 She threw her hands in the air. What a stubborn, stubborn man! She justified using two ‘stubborns’ because one wasn’t enough to describe him.

 Dig didn’t comment but made a motion with his hands to show that she should ignore him.

 “You said that Lance’s pursuit became worse after the mansion, right?”

 “Yeah,” he confirmed.

 “Did you happen to have any run ins with the law before the party?”

 He narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I had one just before I arrived at the mansion.”

 “Show me what you were wearing.”

 Oliver cocked his head, clearly confused.

 “You want answers? Show me what you were wearing.”

 Oh, she was enjoying this so much! It was so much better than de-spamming email addresses and pretending she was a blonde bimbo so that her stupid boss wouldn’t be offended by her intelligence.

 Oliver brought his green suit and gave it to her, albeit a bit gingerly. She patted it down and discovered several hidden pockets that held all kinds of things but not the thing she was looking for.

 “Is that all?” she asked. Frustration colored her voice but she was sure her instincts were right. She just had to prove it.

 “What about the quiver?” Dig chimed. “Didn’t you have it with you?”

 “Quiver?” Excitement returned with a vengeance.

 Oliver turned towards a glass case. Felicity rolled her eyes and whispered to Dig, “Is the glass case really practical or is it a necessary accessory to the vigilante lifestyle?”

 Oliver didn’t respond but the slight upturn of his lips indicated that he had heard her. He gave her the quiver but removed the arrows explaining that some of them were so dangerous that they could set off a minor explosion and seriously injure her.

 Felicity nodded but didn’t pay much attention. Her hands patted down the leather and admired the practical design. Whoever had built that was obviously a master of his craft.

 “His name was Yao Fei.”

 “Who?”

 “You were mumbling about the man who made this. The quiver was his. So was the bow.”

 She was staring at him in complete surprise when Dig’s forced cough pulled her out of her reverie. Yao Fei? It was the first time she had ever heard of him. Could Oliver have met him on the island or in a totally different place? And what possessed Oliver to actually tell her about him?

 Obviously, she was not the only one surprised. Dig was looking at his friend as if he had never seen him before.

 “Yes!” she shouted and pumped her fist in the air.

 While her brain had been focusing on the riddle that was Oliver Queen, her hands had found what she had been looking for.

 “You don’t happen to have a Faraday cage in this establishment, do you?”

 “A what?” Dig asked.

 “It’s a literal cage that can block electromagnetic fields,” Oliver answered before she could. “Which means that… You found a bug?”

 The last word was said so calmly that it scared her. Growly Oliver was a sight to behold but it didn’t faze her. Calm Oliver was terrifying.

 “They must have planted it on you during the fight.”

 Dig crossed his arms and looked skeptical. “If that thing is a bug then why hasn’t Lance swarmed this place?”

 Felicity examined the small device. It gleamed in her hand.

 “This is the Sniffer 2000. It’s an old version of a very dangerous tracker that the military uses often. This baby shows a general location but not exactly where you are so after a while it became obsolete. Of course, the Starling police department is so underfunded that there’s no way Lance could get something more expensive. Or reliable. That’s probably the only reason why you aren’t wearing cuffs now.”

 “Okay,” Dig said. “I’ve heard enough. Let me get the hammer and-”

 “No. Give it to me.”

 Felicity closed her hand. “Listen, Oliver. If you’re going to do something stupid then we should discuss it first, don’t you think? The three of us might come up with a better plan.”

 He took a step forward.

 “There’s no ‘three of us’. I work alone. And my plans are never stupid.”

 Dig fake-coughed to show his disagreement.

 “Fe-li-ci-ty. Give me the bug.” 

 He was still speaking in the same self-possessed tone that was freaking her out. They were standing too close, almost touching and she could feel him. A serene front but underneath there was anger. The Hood was fighting the city’s worst criminals while the police were chasing their tails. A young girl had gotten hurt because of a man’s personal vendetta. A girl under Oliver’s watch. No. Anger was too small a word. 

 Rage fit better.

 “Promise me,” she said before she could stop herself.

 He narrowed his eyes.

 “Promise me you’ll come back.”

 Before she could berate herself for the utter stupidity of trying to exact this type of promise from him, he nodded slightly and took her hand. His gloved fingers caressed her skin, pushing her fingers open, making the hair on her arms stand up. His movements were so gentle that she felt like crying. Again.

 Watching him take the bug, put on the suit, place the arrows back in the quiver and grab his bow without speaking was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

 He walked towards the metal staircase but turned back at the last minute.

 “Dig. Take care of her.”

 Dig didn’t argue and took a step towards Felicity.

 They watched him leave, both standing in an uncomfortable silence full of tension that Felicity would have normally tried to break with a thousand-word babble. 

 Turning towards Dig, she clutched his arm harder than she meant to.

 “He’s gonna do something stupid, isn’t he?”

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

She has never known pain like this in her life, pure agony just running constantly through her arm. Rooms flash by as she nearly spasms in pain, needing to be held to stay on the table. She buries her head against Yancy, desperate, mindless for relief. She ignores the bickering between Dark and Doc completely, trying to focus on Yancy holding and comforting her. God she wants to cut off her arm, anything to make it stop, heat pulsing through it. She can barely see the bag through her tears.(1)

Needing help to prop up the bag, she bites down, pushing down nausea as she desperately gulps it down. The bag is empty before she knows it, and she pulls away, burying her head back against Yancy, whimpering and hiccuping. The pain is slightly better, but its still agonising. Focusing on his comforting voice and humming, she eventually lets herself pass out, fitful shudders running through her body, her minds attempt at protecting itself, small motes of fire hovering protectively (2)(final)

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

Bing races into the room right after she passes out. Yancy moves her over to one of the cots, and sits on it with her, humming tunes to try and soothe her in her sleep.

“Is she okay? What happened.”

“She’s fine,” Doc assures him. “What the hell did that to her?”

Dark glares at Doc, as he was about to ask Bing the same thing.

“There was some magic surrounding it, and the thing itself was made of nothing but pure iron,” Bing says, pulling a screen of his scans. “Don’t know what kind of magic though, never scanned it before. But it’s not aimed at vampires, that’s for sure.”

Dark runs a hand through his hair. “Google,” he says, voice sounding strained and tired. 

Doc looks at him in shock. He didn’t realize Dark could sound so human when he wasn’t trying to manipulate someone. 

“What has your research come up with?” he asks.

Google opens up a report. “Common mythologies with themes and traits relating to Sia’s symptoms suggest some sort of relation to the mythical creature The Phoenix.”

Bing looks up. “Like Harry Potter?”

Google rolls his eyes, a feature which Bing immediately regrets installing. “Phoenix’s do not originate from the book series Harry Potter,” the android says, in a tone that makes Bing feel like an idiot.

Man, he needs to stop upgrading their personality software. They’re turning into dicks.

“In many mythologies, iron is harmful to fae, fae-like creatures, and magical creatures. It is also possible that the amulet had an enchantment meant to worsen the natural effects, which according to our research, should typically be no worse than the effect of silver on vampires.”

“So hopefully we won’t have a repeat of this situation,” Doc mutters, looking at Sia. 

Dark looks at her as well. “A Phoenix?”

“Yes, that appears to be at least somewhat related to, if not the exact match for, what she is.”

“... So that’s why she was normal until she died. Phoenix rising from the ashes,” Dark says thoughtfully, staring at Sia slumped against Yancy.

Doc looks at Dark. “No, no. You will not be staring at my patient like that,” he growls. “Out. All of you, out. You too, Yancy. I’m sorry but it would be best if when she wakes up there’s less to overwhelm her.”

“You just want a chance to poison her against me,” Dark growls. “You’re hardly smooth, Doctor.”

“And you’re an asshole, now let’s stop stating the obvious and you all get the hell out so I can treat my patient!”

Yancy sighs, gently moves and places Sia’s head on the pillow, and leaves the room with Bing. “I hate when he’s grumpy, stressed, and fed,” Yancy mutters to Bing.

“It’s nice when he’s got energy and is in a good mood, though.”

“Yeah, but he’s not right now, is he?”

“Don’t worry about him bruh, he’s just ticked at Dark like usual. How about we go record another musical critiques video?”

“... I’d like that.”

They go to Bing’s room, and Dark stays behind. 

“She’s happy here,” Dark growls. “Unlike some people, she sees the worth in this gift.”

“Gift!” Doc spits. “If she is a phoenix of some kind then she wouldn’t have died anyways. All you’ve done is make it so that now she’s a monster along with that!”

“I’ve given her family and a loving home!”

“A home run by you is hardly loving!”

“You only say that because you still won’t accept-”

“No, I won’t!” Doc snaps, stepping closer. “You sent me out into the city where I had to stick to the shadows or risk being burnt to ashes by the sun, where I then had to kill an innocent person just so I wouldn’t die or go crazy, and then you dragged me by the arm through a forest while using super speed to bring me back to the house you keep me captive in that I never wanted to be part of in the first place, so I can treat someone who’s been brainwashed and tricked by you just like everyone else here!”

His chest heaves by the end of his rant, his eyes glowing bright red and his fangs fully extended, his face so close to Dark’s that their noses are almost touching.

Dark scowls at him. “You’re an ungrateful, shortsighted, disrespectful fool. I’m patient with you, and I do nothing but try to care for you-”

“You made me into a MONSTER!”

“I MADE YOU INTO WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO BE!” 

Sia whimpers, and they both look at her.

“Get out,” Doc demands, voice as cold as his skin. “Now.”

Dark’s expression softens when he sees that their shouting has upset Sia, even if it’s just while she’s asleep. “Fine,” he says quietly. He looks back at Doc. “But if I find out you’ve even tried to lie to her and make her think I’m a villain and terrible man, I’m going to take you out with me for every hunt for the next month.”

He leaves, and Doc’s shoulders slump. He rubs his eyes, already feeling tired again. 

He goes to Sia’s bedside and checks on her arm. Good healing progress, the stitches should be able to come out in a couple minutes, and so far it seems there won’t be any scarring left behind.

He looks at her, asleep and innocent.

She doesn’t deserve a fate like this. To be a monster dependent on death, on the blood of others, forever.

[cupidoargiades]

interrupted questions (part one)

A/N - @reallyfancytrash asked: i NEED interrupted questions to be a full fic pls its too good - and guess what? i kinda wanted it to be a full one as well :) i wanted to make the first part a bit quick, so it wouldn't become boring from the get go but just ignore that ok pls thank u :') love yall

TW: angst, (future) grim backstory, mental illness

summary: one of kihyun's bad habits is talking over you when he gets anxious. usually you don't mind; it lets you know when he needs comfort, but when he starts doing it more often than usual you can't help but feel like something really bad is continiously bugging him. you decide to investigate, but you end up accidentally exposing his longest held secret to his family and friends. now that he's closed the chapter of you and won't talk to you out of embarrassment, can you still find a way to get him back in your life?

-

"when will you be h-"

"5 o'clock, on the dot." he immediatly responds, looking up from the kitchen counter he was making his breakfast on. he looks around, catching your gaze and flashing you a smile, before getting back to his breakfast.

"why so nervous?" you ask.

"felt like someone was staring at me, sorry" he said, a slight shiver in his voice. he smiled again and shook his head. "but it was just you! can you maybe- tell me when you enter the room next time?"

you nodded and smiled, bumping his hip with yours so he would scoot over a little and give you some space to make breakfast as well. "sure, i can, if it helps you" you say softly. a short silence falls as you open the fridge to look for something to drink.

"it does a lot.." he whispers under his breath, taking his plate and moving it to the dining table. for the rest of the morning he's oddly silent, contrary to his usual behaviour. he keeps flashing anxious smiles at you when the two of you lock eyes.

you didn't see him for the rest of the day, but when you came home, he was already there. "yo, kihyun," you say loudly down the hall. "i'm home!" you continue, kicking off your shoes, hanging up your coat and stretching yourself out.

faint sounds of footsteps come closer, until kihyun is at the other end of the hall, red face, clammy, and anxious; as if he had just cried his eyes out. "hey..," you say in a soft and gentle voice. "are you okay..?". slowly stepping closer to him, he interrups you. "stay right there or- or i'll hurt you!" he says, grabbing a key from the tray on the cupboard next to him.

"what's going on..?" you ask in a concerned manner, doing as he told you; stepping back a few feet as you held your hands in front of you.

"you're out to get me, huh?"

"w-.. what do you mean..?"

"you secretly really hate me and you think i'm weird, so you- made some sort of-.. some sort of weird conspiracy! you, hyunwoo, and-.. and minhyuk too! every single person on earth!" he stammers, shaking his head at you in disgust.

"you all act like it's fine, but you talk shit behind my back and you're the reason why i fail at school! you all convince the teachers to give me bad grades and all! i'm done with all this bullcrap!" he says, raising his voice until he's shouting.

"it doesn't just- wreck me physically, but-.. but mentally, t-too! so stop targetting me- please..! i-..i beg you..." he says anxiously, breaking down slowly until he became a sobbing mess on the floor, kneeling as he buried his face in his hands and wiped his face now and then.

it took a long while for him to calm down, and you even rang hyunwoo and minhyuk so they could come over and help you. kihyun eventually kind of trusted the three of you, and agreed with going to bed early that night to avoid any more misunderstandings. of course, telling kihyun he was acting weird didn't really affect him; he only called you delusional liars as a result.

-

weird 'episodes' like these are things he gets more often these days. he already did it when you met him, but was quite lowkey back then. it was usually him getting scared if you came back home early, or he tried to answer your questions immediatly and apologized if he couldn't. one time you tried to ask him about it, but each time he sounded like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about.

nowadays, as time went on, his problems became bigger and bigger; yelling at you for no reason and calling you names, or even worse, not recognising you as the kind, upbeat and supportive person you always are. it was devastating to see it all happen, but now you decided it's finally time to do something about it.

-

minhyuk places a hand on your shoulder as he notices you're about to burst into tears. "it's okay, you can let it out if you feel like it.." hyunwoo mumbles before you break down, hands covering your face. "i- i have to do something about this.., but he won't believe anything i say..!" you stutter, taking a deep breath as hyunwoo rubs your back.

"its gonna be okay," he says. "we'll help you tackle everything" minhyuk adds, in which hyunwoo nods and smiles. "we're gonna help you figure everything out, i promise" hyunwoo continues, causing your heart to slow down.

hyunwoo smiles empathetically and asks you where your laptop is. "oh- i'll get it for you, one second.." you say, sniffing a little before getting up to pick it up from the dining table. "here you go," you mumble, handing it over to hyunwoo. "what do you want to do with it..?"

"google his behaviour and- i don't know, try and find out if he has a mental disorder? i'm no psychologist but i know for sure he's not okay" he says, turning the laptop to you so you can unlock it.

minhyuk nods. "yeah, i studied psychology and like- i'm basically a certified psychologist and i can tell you for sure he has a mental illness." he confirms. you sighed and shook your head. "i feel so bad.. i haven't done anything until now..! it's been three goddamn years and-"

"paranoia." minhyuk says, holding up his finger. you could almost see the light bulb turning on above his head.

"what..?" you and hyunwoo mumble.

"he's paranoid. i know for sure- woo, look up the symptoms of paranoia real quick."

-

"so-.. this may be sudden," hyunwoo says carefully, looking at you and minhyuk to try and see if you agree with what he's saying. "but we're calling you so we can find out what happened with kihyun." hyunwoo continues, gaining nods from you and minhyuk.

"what..?" you softly hear across the phone.

"well- okay. so, i don't know if you know, but we found out kihyun is severely paranoid, and since you're his brother and all.., we uh.." hyunwoo says, trying to find his words. minhyuk takes the phone and sighs. "we thought that, since you're kihyun's brother, you could tell us a few things about his life before he moved out. it can help us find out what triggered kihyun's paranoia." minhyuk easily says, causing you to give him a short thumbs up and a smile.

"yah! why should i tell you?! try sticking your nose into other people's business-"

"i'm a trained psychologist, sir. i know for sure that your brother is mentally ill. if you want help, it can become very expensive very quickly. i can do it for free because kihyun is my best friend, but i can only help him if i know more about him and his past. he's never told me."

a silence falls, followed by a sigh.

"fine, but i can't be on the phone for a long time," kihyun's brother says. "my dad's coming home soon."

[sygil-loux-hq]

Recipe for Identity Crisis.

I was in my Google Docs folder reminding myself what was in there and I found this. This is quite possibly the first real step in changing my life that helped me sort my thoughts and hunt down the sources of my problems. It was created on Mar 19, 2017, ~1 year before i “woke up”.

When just about everything you've ever really found yourself interested in,

Is considered, “weird,” “creepy,” Or just plain “wrong.” When you've never felt right in your body, And it only grows worse with time.

When you grew up in a world demanding girls like pink,

Fueling an early hatred for it that you feel obligated to keep as an adult.

When you've always pushed away "cute" and "girly," Then find yourself actually wishing you could pull it off.

When even your eyes can't decide their color, So when asked, you default to "hazel." When you want to try a billion different things with your hair, But always chicken out because it might fry or turn out horrible. When you want to get more tattoos, But can't decide what, or make the commitment.

When you want to be a piece of art that defines you, But have no idea who you even are.

When you cling to the voice you share your headspace with

Because you couldn't imagine being without her there to bear a burden you can't

When you've never had actual parents,

Just very well meaning grandparents that tried their damnedest to fill the roles.

When you’re stuck staying because one passed away and the other needs the help,

But you’d give your right leg for an ounce of privacy outside the 4 walls of your bedroom.

When you wish you could sit alone in your own apartment without pants,

But are stuck in a house with 3 useless family members and fill-in mother, just to give her a break.

When you don’t remember a good 95% of your childhood and have multiple symptoms of abuse.

But don’t have the heart to ask the one person who might know.

When you’ve never been able to settle on any goals,

Because your attention span demands something different every couple weeks.

When you can’t even do art you're good at,

Because you lose interest in every medium before you even finish.

When you're partially decent with multiple mediums,

But will never be an expert because doing it long enough makes you want to pull out your hair.

When you can't even settle on a favorite kind of music,

Because your taste changes multiple times a day.

When you're beyond awkward around other people,

Because you can't get past the feeling that they’re waiting for you to screw up.

When you’ve always put up a strong front,

Even when you’re dying inside.

When the only thing that’s never changed is a love for animals,

Cats forever in the top spot to the point you make jokes that you're one of them

When you've spent your life just trying to survive, While your first real enemy is your own mind and body.

When you gave up on relationships, Then find the sort of soulmate people dream about. When you didn't plan to live past 21, Then end up passing 25 with someone to live for.

When keeping all of it up is just so tiring that you consider giving up the charade

…and looking for your identity reveals you've become hopelessly lost in your pile of masks.

It didn’t cover everything cause I wasn’t writing to document anything, I was writing to sort out some thoughts. I was writing stylized cause its more fun. The last line was pretty much where my mind was at the time.

The last line was actually where i realized i was wearing masks; this is where the title came from.

[jeminy3]

FIRESIDE - Chapter 4

4. isn't it hard to make up your mind?

WARNINGS: crying about feelings, gay shit, smoking

This chapter's too short on its own, but too long to stick onto another one, and I wanted to keep the chapter names thematically relevant with the song lyrics.

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 5

Breathe. Just breathe, Havoc thinks, forehead pressed against his steering wheel. Okay. It's okay.

He lifts his head, leans back against his car seat. He wipes his eyes dry with one hand, stares out across Headquarters' parking lot, his breath slowing down, growing easier. Huh. He actually feels better instead of worse. That was probably the best cry he's had in months. Years, even. A regular 'good cry,' completely bawling your eyes out just to get it all out of you.

He leans forward, folds his arms over the top of the steering wheel, rests his chin on his hands. He lets his sore, puffy eyes gaze out through the windshield, unfocused.

Just tell him you love him.

...It was that simple after all, wasn't it?

All this pain, all this aching... it was just love, huh? He'd been so scared that it was something so much bigger, more complicated - Well, to be honest, it still is. And it still hurts, but... at least now it has a name to it.

He definitely feels better than he did last night, at least. God, last night was terrible. After leaving the bar, he got so caught up in trying to stop crying that he could barely concentrate on driving back to his apartment, and he didn't get much sleep when he got there. He spent hours tossing and turning deep into the night, plagued by an ache in his chest that's been there for years, now.

He really only noticed it when he lost his legs, come to think of it. Back then he figured it was just the natural symptoms of a freshly-broken heart. It only made sense after his experience with 'Solaris' -  not every day that you find out your latest girlfriend is actually an immortal monster woman who tries to kill you via stabbing her claws through your back. Even more uncommon to lose all use of your legs from the ensuing spine injury, but then get them magically restored through a miracle of Alchemy at the behest of your commanding officer.

Mustang... he's in love with him. Huh.

Havoc thought he already knew what love was, what it felt like. It was his bread and butter, he thought, a skill that he'd honed over the course of his dating life. You meet a girl, you talk to her, you click with her, you hit it off. Be confident, but not a jerk about it, be flattering, but not a kiss-ass, be yourself, but also a gentleman. If she warms up to you, great, if she doesn't, let her go gracefully. And if all goes well, you get those warm fuzzies with her, she gets them with you, and you can see yourself having fun with her, whether that be at a restaurant or in your bedroom. And hopefully, that can turn into something real and long-lasting, and then you can see yourself settling down with her.

But apparently, that wasn't love at all.

Because this wasn't something you did or got better at, this was a force of nature. A storm that grew in size and strength and power until it tore through your heart, your head, your entire being, without making a sound the entire time. And you don't even see it coming until it's too late - and you're in too deep.

It's someone you're suddenly working under that you're not sure what to think of, but there's something strange about them, something you can't quite explain. He's someone you learn to respect and to trust, not just with your paychecks or your life, but with a dream, a future for your country that you and the rest of your team all believe in.

Then he's someone you befriend, and they become more than just your boss or future leader, he becomes... well, a person. With thoughts, feelings, hopes, doubts, fears. Someone who likes watching the clouds through office windows, holding pen caps in his mouth and lightly chewing on them, his coffee with extra cream and three lumps of sugar, no more, no less. And when he's your drinking buddy after work, he likes his alcohol just as sweet, whether it's fruity gin or hearty rum. And you'll tease him endlessly for his "girly" tastes but he'll always justify that it gives him an edge on stealing your woman for the night, since if he drinks on her level it makes him more relatable to her. And he's right, the bastard.

...But then you'll hear him sobbing quietly in a bathroom stall later that night, when he thinks he's alone and can't bear his broken heart anymore. And you know it's because of what happened with Hughes, and everything else in his life, and you know you should say something, anything - but you don't. You stay silent, do your business, and leave quietly, giving him the benefit of his privacy... and his dignity. Even when deep down, your heart screams otherwise.

He's someone with dark hair and dark eyes that've seen far too many horrors and tragedies to still be so deep with knowledge, so sparkling with mirth, so intense with fire. He's got an impressive smile when he's confident, and a beautiful one when he's genuine. A strong chin but soft cheeks, broad shoulders but a small waist, this mix of stern and masculine but slight and elegant, all at once.

And his hands seem strong and calloused, but because he wears gloves and does paperwork most of the time, they're always soft and smooth when you shake them. And you've only touched each other casually like this, but here and there your eyes wander over his shirt collars and short sleeves, how his pants cling to his hips. Sometimes your skin prickles at any little brush of contact, and you keep thinking and wondering and dreaming 'till you're so hot and aching alone in your bed that you have to satisfy yourself with fantasies of him. And you’re completely ashamed of yourself because he’s your boss, for crying out loud, what are you doing? But no matter how you try to justify it to yourself, you do it anyway. You blame it on stress, or boredom, or being so pent-up from striking out with girls all the time that you're just desperate, that's all. It's like a phase, you'll get over it eventually...

But you don't, because you're in love with him.

And it all makes sense now - not just the aching (physically and emotionally), but all the other feelings too, feelings Havoc's had and couldn't explain the origin of. The fact that he thinks about him more than he thinks of himself. The fact that, honestly? He'd do anything for him, absolutely anything, just say the word - even lay down his life for him, if it really came down to it. And sure, that's what's expected of him in their line of work, but deep down, he wouldn't really do it because he's supposed  to - he'd do it because he wants to. He wants this - has wanted this - for a long time, now.

Havoc sighs, long and hard, closing his eyes. How long has it been... Eight years? Yeah, jeeze... almost eight years since he first met Roy Mustang. So much has happened... but in terms of this particular situation, not much has happened at all, really. Ever since his promotion, he's been content to remain one of Mustang's most trusted subordinates and friends, but nothing more. He's been biding his time, going through the motions, ignoring this feeling that's only grown stronger with time instead of fading away. Because he didn't know anything about it - didn't think about it too much, didn't want to face it. Kept it under tight lock and key while fooling himself otherwise, kept aimlessly pursuing women when what he really wanted was right in front of him all this time.

Even when Roy saved his life, saved his legs, refused to abandon him even when Havoc begged him to. On top of the other dozens of times Roy's saved his ass, Havoc doesn't deserve the time of day from him anymore, honestly.

And yet his heart says otherwise, Havoc thinks, opening his eyes and leaning back against the driver's seat. He retrieves his cigarette pack, thumbs out another joint into his mouth, but as he sets it back down, his mind wanders, and he doesn't particularly feel like fishing out his lighter. He's thinking about Roy - has been this whole time, really, but it's particularly intense now. He's seeing his face, his smile, his eyes. His bare hands, his bare neck, his bare chest as he travels further. He imagines the scent of his skin, the feel of him under his hands, the taste of him on his lips-

...Damn. He really does have it bad. Why didn't anyone tell him he could fall head over heels for another man just as hard as a woman?

Havoc bothers his unlit cigarette with his teeth, shifting his jaw. Well, his friends did, just now. Practically shoved it right under his nose. And yet he still tried to deny it, yelling and losing control like a fucking idiot just because he was too damn scared to admit otherwise. Yeah, that's what he was - a scared idiot. Pushing his feelings away, spying on Mustang from bar corners, being shitty to women he wasn't even interested in to begin with, he just dragged them along to keep up the charade. And then blowing up on his friends when they were just trying to help? Yeah, fits the bill.

Havoc straightens himself, sitting up in his seat and wiping his eyes again. There's a well-deserved wave of shame settling over him now, but still, his chest feels lighter, his head feels clearer, his tears are spent. The pain's out of him now, mostly. All that's left to do now is... well, like Breda said - just tell Roy how he feels.

Whether Roy felt the same way or not was... terrifying, honestly, but Havoc supposes that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that important if he could finally get this off his chest after all this time. And honestly, Havoc wasn't sure what Roy would even see in him to begin with - he's still just a simple man from the countryside, after all.

...But he'd definitely be lying if a very small (but very loud) part of him wasn't hoping for Roy to love him back with even a fraction of what he felt for him. God, just imagine - him and Roy, together... Just entertaining the thought makes his face warm and his heart flutter.

...Havoc rubs at his face again, snapping himself out of another bout of spacing-out. Okay- okay, now, he's getting distracted. No need for all this daydreaming. Can't be thinking too much and not doing anything about it, or he'll just end up right back in his old ways again - and he can't afford that, not anymore. Not when he finally knows what he needs to do now. Confessing to Roy - yeah, yeah. He can do that. It'll be hard, really hard, but... he can do it. He just has to... get him alone, somehow? Meet him after work? Or maybe during work, in his office. Like a private meeting, or something. No no, that's not- that's inappropriate, he should stick to after-hours... But then, where-

Havoc shakes his head, blinks himself free of a potential spiral into his own anxiety. He muscles open his car door and steps out, standing and giving himself easy access to his pockets and lighter. He lights his cigarette, finally, taking a long, slow drag to ease his nerves before they start acting up again. One thing at a time, Jean, one thing at a time, he thinks. Cross that bridge when you come to it. His real first order of business should be getting out of this parking lot, back into Central Headquarters, and apologizing to his friends for being an asshole just now. Then figure out the confession stuff. Yeah.

Havoc exhales, letting out a lazy cloud of smoke. He'll probably be rejected when he does, but, still... maybe not? Roy does tend to smile at him an awful lot... and he's caught him staring at him sometimes, or shrugging away awkwardly when they've been too close, so...

Havoc takes another, smaller drag, relaxing further. Then he closes his car door, locks it, and starts his way across the parking lot, feeling steady on his feet, determined. This new prospect is a little scary - well, really scary, but Havoc's never backed down from a challenge before, and he's certainly not going to start now.

...Hopefully.

[loveleads]

Ella was less than 24 hours old when I noticed something was wrong. Ella had just finished up eating and was snuggled in her bed right next to me when I noticed her color was off, she appeared blue and I immediately panicked. Nurses came in to assist but by the time they arrived, her color had gone back to normal. 2 hours later, Ella had just finished nursing and was snuggled in my arms as I was burping her. I looked down to kiss her sweet head and realized that once again, she was blue. I called the nurse’s station and they flew in to my room. 3 nurses grabbed Ella from my arms and began assessing her. They told me they didn’t know what was going on, that she was “dusty” and that more tests would be needed.

I wasn’t a new mom. This wasn’t my first child. I was confident in what I knew was happening. I knew that something was off, I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Something was wrong but no one could tell me what. We started the testing, I met with the pediatric doctors at the hospital, I had my awesome OBGYN there trying to help sort pieces together, I had my parents (who were pediatricians at the time) back in California trying to help figure out exactly what was going on. It wasn’t what or how I pictured the first few days of my sweet girl’s life to be. I remember when the pediatric doctor came in to do her initial checkup on Ella, she was making notes as all doctors do. I was hovering, I was being me, the mom who wants all the details and wants to know exactly what was going on. I told her I didn’t want my daughter’s chart to be a secret and that I wanted to know everything she was writing down in her chart. She told me there were some genetic markers she saw on my sweet baby and that Ella’s new pediatrician would follow up with what comes next.

Genetic markers. I, of course freaked out. I started googling the genetic markers that were listed in Ella’s chart and I started praying. I was thankful my sweet girl was resting peacefully in my arms but I was fearful of what was ahead. Doctors ran all the tests they could and sent us home. I remember tears flowing as I asked the nurse what to do if my baby turned blue while at home. She showed me how to do the Heimlich on my newborn and off we went.

I was terrified going home, alone, with this baby. Days turned in to weeks and Ella continued to struggle, I continued to break down. Ella would continue to choke with every single feeding. At 5 days old, I walked in to her doctor’s office and demanded answers. Her pediatrician at the time, assured me my baby was just fine. She said I should be grateful that I have an “easy baby”, that she was just a lazy eater and a super chill baby. I was in that doctor’s office every week for the first two months of my baby’s life. Bloody diaper rashes that wouldn’t heal, colicky baby who wouldn’t sooth, baby who ate around the clock (literally every hour), a baby who would fall asleep on me while feeding her only to wake an hour later starving and a mama who was tired, real tired.

Around two months is when things took a turn for the worse. Ella was miserable and so was I. I am a nursing mama, have been with all 3 of my kiddos. I wouldn’t say I was a pro, but I absolutely knew what I was doing and knew how to handle the hardships that come with nursing. But this time was different. I was loosing my milk. My baby was hungry, I could tell she wasn’t getting enough milk which caused her to be super fussy. So we started giving her some formula. I did my best to up my supply, I took all the teas and faithfully pumped after every feeding. With every bottle we gave her, the choking got worse. I remember a specific time Matt was feeding Ella a bottle and she literally stopped breathing. She was turning blue as he threw her in my arms. Terror filled both our eyes. Something was absolutely wrong but we didn’t know what.

A wonderful lactation consultant from the hospital finally pointed us in the right direction. She was the one who diagnosed Ella with a Posterior Tongue Tie and sent me home with a plan. Thanks to the wonderful world of facebook, I met a tongue tie expert who happened to be located in Bend and met with her that evening. I remember sitting on the sofa with her. I cried and she listened. For the first time in two months, someone heard me. She acknowledged my concerns and she sympathized with my mama heart. She understood the struggles we were facing and she helped me make a plan. Ella’s PTT procedure was scheduled for that very week. Once home, I was filled with hope even though I was told it would be a slow process of healing for Ella. Weeks went on and the choking continued. My milk returned, my baby began sleeping more, she was finally happy again and she was able to nurse. The procedure for her tie absolutely helped Ella but didn’t solve all our problems. She no longer turned blue during feedings which made feeding time less terrifying, but her choking continued which unfortunately just became a way of life for us. We started seeing a new doctor and started pressing in for more answers.

Ella quickly began falling off the charts. Okay, now let me just start by saying yes, I know that all children grow and develop at their own rate. I know charts are horrible and absolutely discourage moms and do more bad then they do good. I understand that kids have a range for when they start doing things and I know that range isn’t noted on most charts. I hear ya folks. Believe me, I have heard everyone else’s opinion on my sweet girl, but this was different. It wasn’t that Ella couldn’t hold her head up at the 4 months old, it was that she was floppy and loose and couldn’t fully support her head at all. It wasn’t that I was feeding my baby too much but yet my baby was 20 pounds at 4 months old. It wasn’t that I didn’t love the fact that my baby slept more than the average 4 month old, but it was hard to understand why she needed so much sleep. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stand up at a certain age, it was that she couldn’t bear weight on her legs. It wasn’t that she just preferred to not be on her belly for tummy time, it was that she would cry with sheer terror when she was placed on her tummy. It wasn’t just that my baby was just super fussy, it was the fact that I, her mother, could not soothe her when she became overstimulated. So when she started falling off the charts in regards to her developmental milestones, I knew something else was going on.

It was then my awesome lactation consultant who became a dear friend of mine (because I am a very loyal gal, if you are with me in my ditches, you will forever have my love whether you want it or not) suggested I call Alyce Hatch. Alyce Hatch is a local organization that helps families with children with special needs. I made an appointment that day and Ella was evaluated soon after. I remember sitting in the waiting room at Alyce Hatch. Ella was asleep in her car seat with a car seat cover on. I spoke with the Therapists evaluating Ella and told them her story. You have to qualify for early intervention therapy and as I sat with these ladies, I realized they understood more of Ella’s story then I did. I held back tears as I shared with them the frustration I had with Ella’s journey up to that point. They nodded, they listened, they passed the tissues my way as I needed them.

Ella woke from her nap and I uncovered her. The Physical Therapist who was doing the evaluation looked to me and said “has anyone ever mentioned hypotonia to you?” Of course no one ever had. She explained to me that my baby has low muscle tone. That her choking happened because while sucking, her muscles became weak and would give up, that is when she would choke. She told me that is why she hated tummy time, because holding her head up was too much work for her, her muscles were soft and too relaxed. This is why she would sleep all night and take 3-4 long naps every day, she was tired. Her body required more sleep because it took her more work to do the simplest things. She wasn’t comfortable in her own skin and therefor, when she was in overwhelming situations (such as a party, or an airport, or at a friend’s house) she would just scream. Nothing could soothe her, not even me. Finally! Someone understood. Someone had some answers.

Hypotonia means low muscle tone. She has had it since birth and she will have it for the rest of her life. She will not outgrow hypotonia but she can strengthen the muscles she has to make it less hard on her in the future. Ella’s hypotonia makes everyday movements difficult and exhausting. Her low tone shows up when she wouldn’t tolerate tummy time, when she refused to crawl, when she started walking and now as she is starting to talk. Hypotonia isn’t a diagnoses on its own, it usually is a symptom of a diagnosis. There are so many chromosome abnormalities out there, to test for them all is not possible. Some kids grow up having hypotonia and never knowing the underlining medical issue while others have diagnoses happen as they grow. To some, Ella looks and acts like a normal toddler, of course with delays but nothing more. No one sees the struggles Ella has, but I do. No one sees how hard she works to do the simplest things, but I do. No one sees how many times she has to fall before she gets back up, but I do. Ella, we celebrate your strength, we celebrate every inchstone you have accomplished. We see how hard you work, I know the internal fight you have when you developmentally want to try something new yet your body simply won’t do it. You are brave, you are strong, you are determined to do the hard things. You inspire me, your daddy and your brother and sister.

Ella went on to have torticollis, rapid weight gain, an MRI to check her brain, an MRI to rule out Hydrocephalus, blood test after blood test to rule our chromosome abnormalities, walking delays / issues and speech delays. And here we are, two years later. Ella is still struggling but she is also so much stronger then she once was. I know there are delays, I can see and feel the differences in our sweet girl and other toddlers her age. I feel the difference every time I go shoe shopping for Ella, when typical shoes don’t fit the orthotic inserts she needs to support her core so she can have better stability. I feel the difference when Ella’s new Physical Therapist starts asking me the questions, the dreaded questions, about what tests have been done on Ella because hypotonia, gross motor delays and speech delays usually mean something else is going on. I see the difference every time we are at the playground and Ella can’t physically do something without my help, or when she falls and literally cannot get herself out of the position she fell in. I see the differences but I also see her strength. I see her get right back up after she falls. I see her try to climb a ladder because her brother just did it. I see her little leg lift up on her own when she comes to a curb because all she wants to do is step up on that curb without needing my help. I see her try. I see her fail and I see her try again.

What I have learned the first two years of Ella’s life is that we, both her and I, can do the hard things. What terrified me once, no longer terrifies me. Ella will conquer all things, she will do the things no one thought she could, she will figure out a way to be exactly who she wants to be. Ella teaches me how to live in the moment, be thankful and grateful for what you have today, in this moment. She teaches me to never give up, even when you fail you can try again. She has taught me to just sit in the moment and be okay with exactly where you are even if others don’t understand. I also learned through Ella’s life, that being weak is okay. I was weak for the first year of Ella’s life, so very very very weak. But guess what? Through that weakness breakthrough came, God showed up in mighty ways. I was expecting it, because I was desperate for it. When I surrendered it all to Him, when I said I simply cannot do this without His help, that is when healing happened. Not only for me, but I believe that is when it happened for Ella as well.

[nangangaraplamang]

first annoying life post

one of my drafts on my phone

I have always been insecure about my hair ever since I started pulling it out. My impulses started as early as 8 years old when my mom's worker told me I had dead hair and pulled a strand out. Since then, I started pulling my hair out from the follicle, finding the perfect texture to pull out. The rougher, the curlier, the better. There was once a time my classmate pointed out how much hair there was on the floor, and suddenly, the whole class surrounded me and stared at the strands of hair on the floor that could almost make a wig out of. It was never a big deal for me to pull my hair out when I was younger; every time I pull my hair out, I'd show rough and curly strands to my classmates and call them "dead hair"—I couldn't tell if they were amazed or weirded out. There came a time when I stopped pulling it out completely, and when the summer of freshmen year came, my impulses got worse. There were locks of hair everywhere I go until my first bald spot appeared. I still remember the horror I felt when I went out of the shower with my hair soaking wet and saw a part of my scalp out. My brother saw it too, with concerns in his eyes telling me I looked like I had cancer. It finally hit me; I was already balding at only eleven years old.

During the same summer, I went out to meet with a friend and was shocked when she saw how ugly my hair looked. She touched and played with my hair while telling me it looks horrible and it was one of the most uncomfortable moments in my life. The next months were even more uncomfortable; in summer class of 2016, my Math teacher asked me what happened to my hair in front of the whole class. I told her I was pulling it out and she gave me the most confused look. It seems like she wanted to ask more yet she knew I wanted to drop the conversation. My new classmates couldn't help but ask me either why my hair looks like their grandma's hair. I really can't blame them though, it's not every day they see hair like mine. Although their comments hurt me and made me uncomfortable, I still smile and try to be nice about it. I sometimes dodge the questions as I try my best to hold back my tears. Seventh grade was the peak of my bad hair days; I couldn't help but cringe whenever I see pictures of the same year.

The comments I get from my hair were already something I was expecting whenever I meet someone new; whether it was the hairdresser when I'm getting my hair trimmed, a new classmate, friend, or a relative I haven't seen in years. I was only one Google search away to find out what was "wrong" with me and later discovered the term trichotillomania: a hair-pulling disorder. When I first read an article about it, I broke down in tears. I was young and naïve with what trichotillomania was; my family convinced me I was crazy for pulling my hair out ever since. I have never once had myself checked by a doctor and it has been years since I've been giving out hints to my mom. It was never "I have trichotillomania", but more of, "I think I have trichotillomania". I am fully aware of the dangers of self-diagnosing and I never want to jump to conclusions, but it's been so long and I'm still suffering.

There are days when I can't even look at myself in the mirror. Days when I think I don't look good enough to go outside the house and go on with my day. Days when I'd cry as discreetly as possible because of how bad I think I looked. I just know my hair is the first thing people would notice when they see me for the first time. My hair has always been an issue ever since. My self-esteem just crumbles when I see girls with effortlessly gorgeous hair. When I was younger, way before I had impulses, everyone loved my hair. My classmates would play with it, brush it, style it, and I never really realized how pretty my hair looked before. My hair was long, thick, silky straight, and I didn’t have lice and dandruff like the other kids my age. I just know I wasn’t the only one disappointed when I slowly see my hair go from one’s like a children’s shampoo model to a balding old lady. I then learned about the wonders of a hair straightener and straightened my hair every single day in tenth grade. And for the first time in the longest time, I felt comfortable with my own skin. I started wearing makeup, slowly wore the clothes I liked and didn't care what other people think—sometimes. I couldn't go out of the house without straightening my hair; I'd feel very conscious if I don't. But eventually, I learned to love my hair on its own, and even gave little effort styling it when going out. I think my hair already looks cute unheated, or not overly bobby pinned. As much as possible, I try to stray away from heating products and learn to properly take care of my hair. I started putting on hair serums, looked up DIY hair masks, and searched for the right products for my hair. I’d do anything to bring back the hair I had when I was six years old, even if I have to go through multiple square ones again.

My hair journey doesn’t end here, I sometimes research more about what trichotillomania really is, how many people in the world have it, etc. It really is shocking to find out it's a rare condition when you think you have one based on all the symptoms. It still always surprises me whenever I see people on the internet experiencing the same thing as me since I haven't really met anyone in real life with the same problem. Opening up to people I trust is even harder; my initial thoughts were what their judgment would be. When one thinks of a mental disorder, the first thing they'd think of obviously isn't trichotillomania. Trichotillomania isn't even something a quarter of the world population knows or even heard of. I've been through moments where I'd tell someone about it and they just really don't know what to say or what to react to since trichotillomania never really has been talked about—ever. Not even in the books we have in school, social media, or anywhere unless intentionally searched. I hope the day comes where people acknowledge that it's not just awareness that's important when it comes to mental health. Knowing different impulses, seeing in different perspectives, and being kinder to people is a step closer to reducing the stigma.

My impulses never really left; there were short episodes where I stopped pulling my hair out in a span of a few months then started to pull again. Luckily, my bald spots started growing again so there are awkward months where my hair just looks like it has been electrocuted. It's been years since I've been trying to stop, but I can't miraculously grow out of it. I sometimes do it consciously or unconsciously, relaxed and even worse when stressed, so I can't give a solid answer whenever people ask me why I do it. I just do and I really am trying my best to stop. I’ve been considering the fact that the relationship I have with my hair is in the insecure spectrum in a love-hate relationship, and I don’t know if I should learn to love it more since I can’t let it go—literally.