#and theoretically this is health and not my field

[uswe]

Oh hey did u kno a1c (the way blood sugar over time is measured and a diabetes diagnostic) isn’t a number in isolation, it’s specifically in relation to hemoglobin (which is why it’s also called hba1c) and the numbers can be fucked up by anemia?

Anyway I’m going to try to put together an actual for reals study because I am mad as all hell, but poll time!!

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[edosianorchids901]

Survive and Thrive

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "bees"

Whenever it became necessary to force Holmes to take a holiday, he had a habit of vanishing periodically. He went for walks alone, wandered off to investigate a new interest, or simply found some quiet place where he could avoid everyone, Watson included.

Watson had gotten used to it after so many years together, and took no offense. Holmes hated being away from Baker Street, and hated not working. It tended to make him somewhat irascible.

Today, though, he had not reappeared after a few hours, and Watson began to worry. He had spent his own afternoon alternating between reading a yellow-backed novel and catching up on medical journals. He tended to neglect his own reading during busy patches, and this had been a busy patch.

Finally, though, the twist of anxiety in his stomach overruled his ability to focus. What if Holmes had not merely gone for a walk or gotten enraptured by a friendly horse in a neighboring field, but had collapsed?

His health was poor, after all, his body badly strained by this latest round of overwork. He continued to suffer from sudden, severe fatigue, as well as bouts of pain that sometimes grew so unbearable that he cried out. If he had been stricken by another such attack, he might be unable to return to the holiday cottage.

Watson put on his hat, snatched Holmes’ favorite blanket off the sofa, and jogged outside. Holmes had apparently taken his cane, which meant he most likely was not somewhere inside the cottage. Unlike yesterday, when Watson had found him in a previously unnoticed attic going through old letters that had belonged to some past owner.

The garden near the house seemed a good place to start looking, and Watson took a full circle around the cottage. In a way, this very much reminded him of his army days, of going out to search for wounded soldiers. At least he wouldn’t find Holmes bleeding to death.

Theoretically. If there was anyone who could manage to nearly bleed to death while on holiday, it was certainly Holmes.

Finally, Watson caught sight of the familiar figure and gave a sigh of relief. Holmes sat on a low garden wall, deep in the study of a cluster of sunflowers. All was well, then, and quite normal. Holmes occasionally lapsed into contemplation of flowers or plants, and usually emerged with some sort of philosophical lecture.

“No, I have not collapsed in a field somewhere,” Holmes said as Watson approached. He did not look up from the sunflowers. “I am merely appreciating the garden.”

“That’s good. Time in nature is supposed to be very healing.” Watson shook out the blanket and wrapped it around Holmes, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “I should be glad to join you, if I would not be in the way.”

“You are never in the way, my dear Watson.” Holmes flashed a quick smile at him, then indicated the empty spot on the wall beside him. “I do advise a little caution.”

“Caution?”

“Mm. I doubt the bees would take kindly to being sat upon.”

Watson cast an alarmed look at the wall, then at Holmes. “I did not trap any underneath your blanket, did I?”

“If you had, I believe I would know about it by now.”

Cautiously, Watson stepped across the wall, eyed it again, and then sat. He could hear the low buzz of bees now, a handful of them drifting from sunflower to sunflower. He glanced at Holmes again, and smiled. “Is that what you’re watching so intently? Bees?”

“Mm.” The briefest of smiles twitched onto Holmes’ face. “Bees work exceptionally hard, Watson. They are tireless, endlessly devoted to their work.”

“Bees do not take holidays, I presume.”

“No, no. They work for all their lives, and do not idle away precious time on pursuits that matter not.” Holmes held out a hand near the sunflowers. A bee brushed against his fingertips, investigating the new arrival, and then returned to collecting pollen. “All that they do matters, Watson. Each task they complete helps the hive to survive and thrive.”

“I would guess that the many people who you have helped to ‘survive and thrive’ would think that all you do matters, Holmes.”

Holmes pursed his lips. “At the moment, I do not do anything. True, I have not had a worthy opponent since Moriarty, but my more commonplace work accomplishes some little good. My sitting here idle and wallowing, however…”

Affection tugged at Watson’s heart, and he gently settled an arm around Holmes’ shoulders. “You are not a bee, old man. You cannot simply work continuously until you die.”

“Mm. I think I should prefer that.”

“I would not,” Watson said with a shudder. “I want you to live much, much longer than a bee.”

Holmes started a little, as if broken out of his trance, and then gave Watson a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. Forgive me, Watson. I am merely a little melancholy.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“Yes, and very tired. I suppose I must rest if I, too, am to survive and thrive.” Letting out a long breath, Holmes leaned into the embrace. “I cannot accomplish any good if I am too sick to work.”

“You must indeed rest.” Watson hugged him closer, careful not to use too much pressure. Holmes was even more sensitive to touch when in pain. “But you’re not entirely correct. You do a great deal of good for me just by living, old man.”

“Ah.” Holmes flashed another smile at him. “Thank you. Perhaps I might do more good for you by entertaining you with interesting facts about bees?”

Chuckling, Watson turned back to watch the bees at work while he listened. “I should be delighted.”

[ponett]

with the fallout of bandai namco's idiotic "it's up to interpretation" bs, do you think that it's possible to enjoy queer media made in a corporate environment in addition to independent works? is it even worthwhile to attempt making queer media in a corporate environment? i find it special how well the g-witch production team managed to tell the story they wanted even with the challenges and pressures they faced, but i have to admit that independent works like slarpg are always going to more completely tell queer stories. as someone who has resonated with both slarpg and g-witch, i was curious to know your perspective.

i'm probably less cynical about this than a lot of my peers are - not that i can blame anyone for feeling cynical about queer rep from corporate-owned media. (we've been through so many First Ever Gay Disney Characters at this point, and lord knows blizzard loves to tease that another overwatch character might be gay every year or so as a PR move.) unfortunately it's just extremely hard to get something like a full season of an animated series funded and produced independently, so the artists looking to enter these fields and pour their hearts and souls into meaningful queer stories as a full-time job don't have many options

going indie gives you theoretically endless creative freedom to tell your stories without corporate censorship, but it's also a massive gamble. only an extreme minority of indie creatives in any medium are actually able to make a living. the fact that i came out the other side of slarpg's development with enough money that i can keep being a full-time indie instead of being in massive debt makes me one of the lucky ones. and even with my modest success, i sure as hell don't have the money to hire a whole team, which limits the scope of what i can make. so i can't turn my nose up at the queer people writing disney channel cartoons where they can't say the word "gay" out loud. they have health insurance, i don't. for most people, what i do is simply not an option

with the corporate-produced Queer Stories i enjoy, i'm often able to squint and see what the creatives were trying to do, wishing that they could have done more while understanding that they probably had to fight tooth and nail for what's there

in the realm of children's animation in particular, i'm thankful that the people working at these studios ARE fighting for more, because it means that kids today have so many more positive queer stories to relate with. i didn't have a single gay character i felt i could relate to until i read scott pilgrim at age 16 and saw wallace wells. before that, i felt so alone in the world. i denied who i was for years because it felt like there would be no place for me. i didn't know anyone openly gay in real life, growing up in the south, and in fiction gay people either existed as the butt of a joke or not at all. the fact that queer kids are now able to see people like themselves in so many shows means something, even if we still have a long way to go and the big studios continue to be a major obstacle

on the subject of g-witch, i'm honestly unfazed by the statement from bandai-namco. i guess i wish they could've let suletta and miorine kiss, but like... the text of the show is extremely blunt about them being a couple by the end. it's not up for debate. and it's not like a gundam series having a meaningful story in spite of the wishes of the toy-producing overlords is anything new, this is just our latest example

all that being said, i do think people should branch out more and explore more weird indie shit if they want more wholeheartedly, openly queer stories. people gotta suck it up and embrace more outsider art instead of only valuing things with studio-level production values. start looking at ren'py visual novels, rpg maker games, obscure webcomics, zines drawn in sharpie, artists on bandcamp who aren't signed to a label, all that jazz. maybe part of the reason why i'm not more fazed by the state of affairs with corporate-funded fiction is that i'm constantly surrounded by furry artists who are telling their own little gay stories

[cobra-creampuff]

i don't remember what it is in canon and i haven't made it there again yet on the rewatch BUT. i always like... idk if i really had this interpretation of the text or whatever, but i like to THINK that when ian was away between s3 and s4 he didn't stay local or even nearby the whole time. i like to think he really traveled around a lot and like obviously a lot of that time was really very bad and he was in a bad place and doing dangerous things with dangerous people, but some of the time it was good! some of the time he made real friends who cared about him, some of the time he had real fun that wasn't a mania or drug high or solely for avoidance's sake, some of the time he learned new things and had new experiences and so on.

but anyway sometimes. i also like to think about a canon divergence where maybe in the middle of this, ian meets a psychiatrist or a counselor or a neurology professor or a mental health crisis responder or maybe a foreshadowy emt or some other kind of guy who would be able to correctly recognize many of ian's symptoms and who would be confident enough about his opinion and skilled enough at de-escalation to bring it up with him without scaring him off right away.

he met this guy at a bar or a party or through a friend or whatever, and he tried to seduce him, but the guy is miraculously not a fucking pervert freak shitheel unlike most of the men ian has met in his life and won't sleep with an underage kid. no, ian, not even an underage kid who is barely even underage. no, ian, not even an underage kid who's birthday could theoretically be tomorrow because actually an eighteen year old is still too young for him.

and ian has decided to take this as a challenge and has been staying with him, and the guy chose his field and profession in it for a reason, you know, he's a helper, and he really means it, so he's letting ian stay without rent or favor and he's trying to help him more on top of that too. (and at first probably ian is just convincing himself he's taken getting turned down as a challenge, though he is genuinely convinced the guy is attracted to him no matter what he says - which is maybe not totally untrue, but also he really is just a kid to this guy so it's more like a 'wow he's going to grow up hot and he's already on his way there' kind of thing - but he's really subconsciously latching onto this guy for a fucking break because he's been mattress surfing for his living space for months and honestly even while he was manic and hypersexual it was getting exhausting if only because not everyone you go home with when you go home with someone every night is going to be someone you'll actually be good in bed with and anyway maybe just maaaayyyybe he's starting to miss staying in one place for more than a week.)

ian met him at the tail end of a manic phase, when he was still way up there but it was fading off and he was getting tired. and i know in canon he had to have been gone for less than 9 months, but for this it kind of has to be longer even though he's almost certainly rapid cycle - wait nevermind i just looked it up and apparently rapid cycle is "4 or more cycles in a one year period" so that's one of each phase every three fucking months my GOD (but also rapid cycling usually isn't permanent so at least there's that, but still. goddamn). fucking shit man, in 9m ian could have cycled 3 entire times, provided he has very short maintenance phases if any while unmedicated. jesus. okay well. where was i.

oh right, okay. okay, so ian is at the tail end of his third manic phase of this period (which is about at the 9m mark, so i am still extending his period of absence beyond what it was in canon a bit) when he meets this guy. and he's done this twice now, and the first time he was half lucky half not and he'd already had someone he was welcome to stay with for a little while when this happened so he was housed and fed (inasmuch as he would eat the food he had access to) and that for at least part of the depressive phase before that person got sick of him and dumped him at a shelter like a pound puppy they changed their mind about. but the second time he wasn't lucky at all and didn't have anything lined up, and he ended up on the street and he's highkey refusing to look back on it but if he did he'd probably have to conclude that he only survived that because of other unhoused people helping him out as much as they could and the miracle of mild, dry weather the whole time.

all that to say, while he is absolutely camped out on the treacherous muddy river banks of denial about it, he does know what's coming and he knows he needs to find someone with a lot of hospitality for him to take advantage of and he needs to find them really fucking fast because he could have a whole week left or he could go down overnight. so he meets this guy, and he's hot enough that ian would like fucking him now and won't rather kill himself than let him do whatever later, and he looks like he has money, and he's familiar with the place they're at or maybe even knows the server/cashier/whatever so he probably lives around here, and he's charming and polite and kind in the few casual unglamorous ways you can see a person be when they're a stranger in a public space which really say more about a guy than grand gestures anyway. he's basically a first choice option, so because of the time constraint and because he doesn't want to have to take a downgrade, ian's approach is maybe a little bit- well. i won't say desperate because this is my precious baby i'm talking about here, but you can go ahead and think it for yourselves. quietly.

and the guy turns him down for sex, turns him down for a date, sees through all of ian's attempts to feign interest in anything he might need or want the guy's help or input on, like say attending the university he teaches at if he's the neurology professor or writing an article for a made up publication about ways to handle a crisis situation without calling 911 (and why you'd want to) if he's the mental health responder or the emt, etc. so ian is giving up, and he's having a pretty hard time not losing his temper about it, and he's having a pretty hard time not feeling genuinely rejected even though he knows they both know his ulterior motives were a higher priority than real attraction on his own part, and he's having a pretty hard time not getting really really really scared about what if the next guy says no too and the one after that and the one after that and he either has to settle for someone who will hurt him or what if he just dumps himself at the shelter but they won't take him either or he wears out his welcome there too or what if- so it's really very obvious how upset he is, and it's really very obvious it's not hurt feelings or bruised ego at being turned down. and ian is charming and polite and kind in all the ways that indicate a stranger is kind, and he's just a fucking kid, so the guy says listen. i'll buy you lunch - it's not a date! - and if you need a place to stay, i have plenty of room.

and also okay let's say. they have lunch, and over lunch they discuss the specifics. the guy does indeed have money, and he's single - not married! ian kinda wants him lol - and he also owns his own practice or for whatever other reason has a really nice private office that he's allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants with an no one else ever needs to use. so ian can stay at his house with him if he wants, where there's more space and it might be a little more comfortable physically speaking, but where the guy will be all the time and will have habits and guests and other things that might bother or be bothered by ian. or ian can stay at his office, where it's smaller and doesn't have, you know, amenities, but ian will have it all to himself for the bulk of the time, with the guy only coming and going for a few hours here or there on weekday afternoons.

and like i said. ian is getting tired. it's not just that the mania is fading, not this time. he's kind of getting a little sick of the lifestyle. it's exhausting, even when technically his energy is endless. and he's... maybe starting to feel just a little bit bad about himself, and then he feels bad for feeling bad because he's not doing anything wrong, and every now and then the drugs and the sex and the travel and the dancing and the club lights and the interesting new people that ian doesn't have to love and all the other things and even the dissociation and hysterical optimism on the upswing can't keep out a tiny but persistent little trickle of regret as some of the consequences for a few particular big decisions start to slowly, piece by piece, sink in. so even though he is, allegedly, trying to seduce this guy, he picks the office.

so he gets set up with a sheet tucked around the couch cushions, pillow, blanket. guy tells him the address, leaves a piece of mail in case ian forgets with a bunch of takeout menus ("old fashioned," ian flirts, gesturing to his smartphone and its location services and doordash app). he finishes out his last few days of mania crashing back to the office in the wee hours of morning, then spending the days really giving his all into getting this guy to sleep with him when he comes around to do whatever he does here for work. no dice, but the guy mostly just seems amused with him, and he's kept every word so far, so ian keeps himself from getting anxious about it sometimes with drugs and sometimes with giving it a rest and just genuinely getting to know the guy. and it's actually pretty nice.

then the depression hits, and ian hates himself and everything he's ever done. he would never have made it in the army anyway and he couldn't have gotten into college either and now he's an unfeeling junkie whore and he'll never be anything else. his siblings will never forgive him and mickey hates him and mandy's already forgotten about him and nobody else ever loved him because he didn't give them any reason to. they all deserve to live without him, and he deserves to die without them. and he doesn't eat and he doesn't shower and it should be easy to sleep after he can't even remember now how long he was up especially when he's so exhausted it actually physically hurts but he doesn't sleep either.

and the guy realizes maybe not exactly what's up, as in 'this kid has rapid cycle bipolar type 2', because diagnosis is complicated and takes time and shouldn't be done by anyone who isn't both trained and asked to do it. but he does realize ian wasn't the way he was because of the drugs and he's not like this now because of drugs either, and he also is informed enough about these things to know what's up beyond that more than just 'something is wrong with him'. at first all he does to help is get some immediate needs met. he sets out clean replacement bedding within ian's arms reach so if ian gets struck at some point by the inspiration to change them out he won't have to do any extra work and might be able to actually do it. he gets a bunch of nonperishable single serving finger foods, meal replacement drinks, bottled water, and leaves those within reach too. he opens and closes the curtains when he comes and goes, so that ian can get a little bit of sun but won't be bothered by the light when he can't get up and close them himself. unfortunately he can't move the bathroom closer to the couch, but when ian sometimes has to make use of one of the empty water bottles, the guy disposes of them for him without a word. he makes sure he doesn't leave anything in the office that could be easily used to seriously hurt oneself. he spends more time there just in case.

eventually it passes, and ian climbs out of it - though at a much more gradual rate than he dropped from mania. when ian gets close enough to sea level to start trying to apologize, that's when the guy makes the first attempt to talk about the situation. obviously that goes poorly, but it could have gone worse. he leaves it be there, but he does start picking strategic books off his shelf, sitting on the couch with ian (companionship is helpful, and also it forces ian to at least partly sit up), reading them a bit (he doesn't pretend; it's always good to refresh the info), and then 'forgetting' to put them away.

there's no tv in the office, you see. and there's only so fucking much you can do to entertain yourself on a smartphone (if you don't read fanfiction lmao). no mobile game or social media site can fill the hours of every single day for weeks on end. so. ian reads the books. and he learns some things from them that still definitely for sure do not apply to him, but are good to know, you know, as like general knowledge. or in case monica comes back. (it doesn't occur to him to think in case one of his siblings ends up having it; he knows it's him, and according to the stats he'll most likely be the only one. it also doesn't occur to him that he wouldn't already be back first when monica hypothetically showed up again.)

after a certain amount of books, the guy tries bringing it up again. ian still brushes him off, but not quite so firmly. he leaves it be again.

soon enough ian gets all the way back up. he knows he's "normal" again by how it feels inside his head, even though he is of course still exhausted, sad, and lonely. he goes back to flirting with the guy, but there's no intent behind it now and they both know it, which is the only reason the guy finally starts flirting back. it's just for fun. he's still hot as fuck, hotter now than when ian first met him really, but whatever attraction ian had before is pretty dead now. he doesn't think friendship would work out real well for them either, to be honest. even not accounting for age and all the other vast expansive differences they have with, as far as ian knows, having the same sex and orientation being the only thing they do have in common, there's also the part where this guy was a total stranger when he threw out ian's piss bottles for him. that's just a very strange - and, for ian personally, kind of humiliating - starting point for anything.

but speaking of things that are kind of humiliating... the more time ian spends around this guy in a stable and rational state of mind, the more he realizes he's ian's type. ian's real type that is (as opposed to his opportunistic and/or strategic type). he's got dark hair that cuts a striking contrast against his pale skin, with some silver mixed in. blue eyes. not the kind you'd describe as "baby blues". icy blue, maybe, even when they're not cold. clear and piercing. sharp nose, elegant neck, broad shoulders. plush lips for a white guy, with a kiss hidden at the corner like wendy darling. smaller than ian but he'd be in the same weight class; it shows when he takes off his blazer, when he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. he flirts like it's a fight he's already winning, but he'll happily throw it if you can manage to get a hit on him. ian's in a similar spot this guy is about him now. it'd be like meeting your boyfriend's dad if your boyfriend's dad was hot and not a worthless evil scumbag; you're not attracted to him, but someday you'll be attracted to someone who looks just like him.

once ian finally lets himself think about mickey, he can't stop from thinking about everyone else too. he's exhausted, sad, and lonely, and he misses them so much, and he doesn't want this to be his life. he wants to go home.

the only problem is... he's in fucking. kansas city or something idk. he's in kansas city, broke, and a fucking mess. he could make his way back to chicago the same way he got here, but that would take a long time and a lot of doing things he just doesn't fucking want to do right now, or ever again. at least that's how he feels about it at the moment.

he could call fiona. he could call lip. he knows he could, and either one of them, or fucking both of them probably, they'd instantly drop fucking everything and drive all the way here in the fucking ice cream truck to come get him. but they'd know. they're going to have to know anyway, eventually, but he's still pretending he doesn't, and they wouldn't pretend shit. or if they did they'd be ass at it. they'd see him and they'd know and they would start dreading the next time he leaves, the next time he needs them to deadlift him off of rock bottom, right then and there.

he could call mandy. she probably couldn't get to him herself, not without help, but she would figure something out if he really needed her to. she wouldn't know. but she'd ask. she'd see him huddled up under a pile of stinking dirty blankets on a stranger's office couch, in equally dirty clothes, limp hair, pale with dark circles, too thin, not yet a year after he said he was obliging himself to the united states government for four. she'd ask, and he wouldn't tell her, and they'd both hate it. and besides which, she can really only get the help from strangers ian couldn't stand seeing him like this, or lip. or mickey.

he could call mickey. he doesn't know if mickey would drop everything and drive all the way here to come get him. he doesn't even know if mickey would answer the phone. he wouldn't know and he wouldn't ask, and ian doesn't know if he would let ian tell him if by a strange twist of fate ian wanted to for some reason. but he knows mickey still loves him. and he can already hear mickey's voice in his ear with his phone still face down on the table. so he calls mickey.

i'm a voyeur (lmfao. obviously.) which means i want witnesses, so we'll have mickey be at the alibi when the call comes through. kev is just off to the side a bit, pretending to listen to some other all-day bar patron say some stupid shit, but he's got some of the facts sussed out so when mickey sees the caller id and puts down his beer so fast it spills to answer it, and the answer in question is just, "Ian?" and his voice is all breathless and wet because he's too drunk and too heartbroken-hopeful to play it cool or keep it quiet, Kev is goddamn Zoned the fuck In.

"yeah, i- me- yours too," mickey says. the other bar patron tries to speak. kev does not so much as glance at them, gesturing for them to be quiet distractedly and obliviously coming close to hitting them in the face.

"couple weeks ago," mickey says. "boy. terry's thrilled." he keeps whatever insult he might have used, but the depth of hatred it would have represented is still QUITE clear. clear enough for kev to nervously check over his shoulder, relieved to find the pool table unattended. "i know that ain't what you fucking called about. if it is you can go fuck yourself."

there's a long pause. maybe ian's talking, maybe mickey's just waiting for him to.

eventually mickey asks, "are you- ...where are you?" the answer is short and mickey says, "that's not that far." then, soft and aching like no one actually in the room has ever heard him, if they've ever heard it from anyone at all, "can i come see you?"

the answer to that is very, very short. mickey's face doesn't crumble, not quite. he just closes his eyes hard, painful crease between his eyebrows, a shamed dip of his chin. "sorry," he says, "fucking stupid questio-"

"oh," he says. and then, soft again, aching still but in a different way. "yeah, i can do that. i, uh," he looks at the beer he spilled, his fuck even knows round of the day at fucking 11 am or whatever, embarrassed, "i gotta sober up first, but i- yeah. i'm... on my way."

[max1461]

I am, as usual, a counter-example to everyone's claims about higher education on all sides of the discourse, because I have a really weird academic history.

In summary: I was identified as a gifted kid at ~5 years old. Parents didn't act on that information because they didn't think accelerated classes would be good for me. Enrolled me in what I affectionately call a "hippy school", which I attended from 1st grade all the way through 12th grade. Before high school our work wasn't even graded, and homework was optional. The first time I ever had a piece of work graded I was 15 years old, in 9th grade, and it was terrifying. I don't remember what I got. Even in high school things were still incredibly chill and flexible, and grading was lenient. The first standardized test I ever took was the SAT.

As a kid, I had a hard time learning to read. I probably have undiagnosed dyslexia. Also, because my education was so flexible, the fact that I preferred to do other things over reading meant I got more practice at those other things, probably creating a bit of a vicious cycle. I liked math, and was good at it. When I got to high school, there were not enough math classes for me—this was more a consequence of the school being small than it being a hippy school. Nothing was offered above Calc 1. So I started studying math on my own. Actually I started studying math on my own before even taking Calc 1, because I didn't want to wait. I learned about complex numbers and some other stuff from YouTube lectures, but things really took off when I found out about proof-based math and started working through a copy of Herstein's Topics in Algebra in the summer before my junior year. I learned about groups, rings, fields and whatnot, how to write proofs, etc. I loved it and decided to major in math when I got to college.

I still couldn't read regular books at a rate much faster than a couple pages an hour, and I cheated on or blew off all my English assignments. I remain remorseless and regretless about this.

Around this same time I also discovered conlanging, and through that, linguistics. Somehow I started reading linguistics papers when I could find PDFs of them; I still don't really remember how this happened, in an episodic or theoretical sense. Like, I pretty much could not read, right? But I was reading linguistics papers? I think that I was skimming them + looking at the tables + way more interested in them than in books, so I was happy to spend a few hours on them. Plus papers are shorter than books. One way or another I learned a lot of linguistics, and decided I was going to major in linguistics when I got to college.

I was also struggling with some pretty bad mental health issues in my high school years, so a lot of it went by in a blur that I struggle to remember the details of.

I took the SAT three times, over the course of like a month? Or, I think the first two times were practice tests, administered in a realistic environment because I was taking an SAT prep class. I didn't pay much attention in that class, but getting used to the testing environment was kind of wild, because as mentioned, I'd never taken a test before. The first time I took the SAT, I scored dead average. The second time was ~200 points better (this is when the test was scored out of 2400), and the final time I took it I scored... 2100 or 2200? Something in there. I just remember that I got a perfect score on the reading comprehension section. I was a faster reader at that point, but more importantly the passages on the SAT were all short, so I had time to read them. And I guess my comprehension was good.

Other than the really bad mental illness, which had little to do with school itself, I enjoyed my high school years a lot and am glad I went to a hippy school. I think it was directly beneficial to my intellectual development to get to fuck around and place my intellectual energies where I wanted to place them, and I think it was good for my social development to get to blow off responsibilities with relative impunity as a 16 year old. I don't think I would have learned higher math if I had become accustomed to learning things in a spoon-fed way from an established curriculum.

Anyway, after all that, I got into a semi-elite college. I won't say much more so that I can't be doxxed. I had a plan to double major in math and linguistics, which I did. I was actually, before going, completely terrified of having real responsibilities for the first time, of actually having to go to class, actually having to do the homework, as the professor set it out, and not being able to just sort of talk my around the parts I didn't want to do. I had never had that experience before!

Miraculously, it went perfectly fine. I had basically no trouble adjusting to this new way of life, and ended up doing very well in college. I took a lot of hard math classes, and did well in all of them, and found that I greatly enjoyed the fast-paced, lots-of-work-and-lots-of-deadlines life (completely contrary to everything I had experienced up to that point). For this and other reasons, I enjoyed college even more than high school, and had a very good time there.

Uh. But yeah I still pretty much couldn't read, like, in the way other people read. I mostly still can't. In 2020 when I timed myself I was reading at 10 pages an hour but that pace was fucking painful, like it took all my concentration and exhausted me. Books my fucking nemesis. Also got a perfect score on the GRE reading comprehension section though.

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon,

I'm a recent grad planning to apply to psych PhD programs in the fall with the plan to pursue a career academia (despite how much I know it'll suck I've thought long and hard about it and truly don't think I would be as fulfilled doing anything else). My research experience has been in cognitive development and I keep on being drawn to questions about autism. I am Autistic myself and pretty much think the way we have historically thought about cognitive abilities in autism is garbage. I want to pursue my questions but am honestly terrified about trying to fight my way through the current status quo in autism research.

You're one of very few people I know of in the realm of academia with views on autism that I actually agree with and respect, so I would love your thoughts. Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into autism? Are there any researchers who you've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? Do you have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person?

Anything you can say to these questions would be much appreciated, thank you!

I'm the type to be brutally honest rather than uplifting and encouraging, so you know, take that into account when adjusting for the skew of my answers.

Any time a person reaches out to me seeking advice on pursuing a graduate degree in psychology of any kind, I advise them against it for the most part. The field desperately needs more research conducted by Autistic people, for Autistic people (and other neurodivergent groups) but I have never known a graduate program to be anything but extremely abusive, exploitative, ableist, and ill-suited to preparing a graduate student today for the reality of academic life as it now is. These mfers are playing by a rulebook that was tired in the 1980s and its downright detached from reality today. My graduate experience was so traumatic and disillusioning that I chose to abandon academic research or any hope of having a tenure track career altogether. Everyone that I know was either completely abused and traumatized by their advisor, or pod personed by them and transformed into exactly the kind of passive aggressive liberal manipulative ghoul that had once mistreated them. Graduate study ravaged my health and my self-concept.

Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into Autism? Well, there is a growing body of research by us and for us. Journals like Autism in Adulthood do give me hope, and help nourish me intellectually and improve my work.

Are there any researchers whom I've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? All the ones that I've seen actually operating in practice use methods of communication and workflows that are profoundly inaccessible and harmful to us, even if they are incredibly well intentioned and open to the idea of neurodiversity. There is a lot of decent research coming out these days finally, but I don't know how all of that sausage gets made.

Do I have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person? Make sure you have a very robust support system that exists completely independently from academia. Make sure you have a complete and rich life that has nothing to do with academics and do not give up even a SHRED of it, even if it means accomplishing less and taking more time while you are in school. Have hobbies, friends and loved ones you see daily, a spiritual or physical practice that helps you offload stress, vacations or little adventures within your community that renew you, and work that is applied and grounded rather than just basic/theoretical research. (especially needed if you're in cognitive psych land. shit gets so fuckin abstact and divorced from reality).

Read a lot of fiction or practice some art or do something creative that has nothing to do with your graduate studies. Do not sign up for meaningless committees. Poster presentations do not matter and don't help your CV much at all. Most committees don't either. Read the book The Professor Is In and the blog that goes along with it religiously. Do not trust your advisor. Do not expect your dissertation to be perfect and do not make it your most ambitious project, focus on making it something you can get done quickly that is just "good enough." Cultivate skills that will be useful outside of academia. Do not assume you will ever get an academic job. Read the statistics on how many PhDs there are relative to how many professorships. Speak to people who work outside of academia who have the credentials you are getting. Know how to market yourself and get a job outside of academia if you have to -- consulting especially may be a good fit if you are Autistic and not suited for a 9 to 5 in an office.

Grill any potential advisor at any program you are considered for, hard. if they are defensive being asked questions about their working style, their leadership style, their former students, etc, that means they do not like ever being challenged and that is a red flag. Ask to speak to *FORMER* students. Not current ones. Current ones will not feel safe being honest. Ask for job placement data for graduates of their lab. Look up reviews. Do not pay for graduate school, only apply to fully funded programs otherwise they are scamming you. Remember you can leave at any time. good luck.

[kitkatpancakestack]

How do you think people should do this "actively work on developing and honing their emotional intelligence. "

Fair question. I'm not sure I have anything groundbreaking to say here, but I used to work in an inpatient mental health facility for kids and adolescents and we would do this kind of work often, so I can at least offer some tips from way back when. I still use them to keep myself on track matter of fact.

Emotional intelligence itself is divvied up into five main parts: self-regulation, empathy, self-awareness, making decisions, and social skills (I did look this up to double check lol). Important to keep in mind for the overall picture.

As far as advice I have, I mean, it's kind of back to basics, but I think these basics just get taught or passed down less and less:

Practice identifying emotions and identifying triggers. The amount of times I still sometimes have to take a moment and be like "okay what am I feeling right now? How did I get here?" Is not as infrequent as you might think. Especially when society pushes you to shove things down or pretty things up to the detriment of your own psyche. It also helps to acknowledge things like "oh this thing sends my mood plummeting" or "oh this thing really energizes me" so you can develop a plan when you engage with that trigger or just not engage with it at all, depending on circumstance.

Listen to respond don't listen to react. This also goes with when you're on sm, not just face to face. Digest the information coming at you in a way where you process it to develop a question, not a defense. Try to remember the benefit of the doubt.

Deliberately seek out information or people who deviate from your opinions. Treading carefully, theoretically, the more you are challenged the more you can expand your worldview to house opposing information without alarms going off and your shields going up.

Show care and consideration to your internal dialogue. How do you talk to yourself? How do you motivate yourself? The ways you communicate with yourself, negative or positive, spill over into the ways you communicate with others, even if you can't see it

Take a pause! Before you make that purchase, before you make that call, before you start that assignment, before you go into that meeting, before you get up for the day, etc etc. just check in. Think about how you want it to play out. Take a breath.

These are some of the things I remember from my training, but again it's been a while since I worked in the field so I'm sure there are other places you can go for more information!

Thanks, love <3

[magicalmanhattanproject]

Who's Training Whom? or A Screed Of Reasonable Length About Why Étoiles Is Still 15-0 In My Heart

So, through this whole Codes vs Étoiles arc, we've been repeating the question over and over again: who is training whom? Are the codes training Étoiles? Or is he training them? Is he just making them stronger and stronger? Well, it turns out the answer is neither because Étoiles is learning and innovating and developing new tricks and techniques and the codes have learned a grand total of One (1) trick and are mostly relying on Number Go Up in a way that's antithetical to everything I personally enjoy about Minecraft PVP.

The rest of this will be under a cut on account of how reasonable the length is.

Okay, so what makes Minecraft PVP more engaging to me than PVP in other roleplay or video game genres? Well, the thing that makes it unique is that everyone is starting from a completely even playing field. Look at it this way: if a DND Barbarian and Rogue of roughly equal level just stand there and take turns hitting each other, the Barbarian wins. The Barbarian has more health and does more damage and that's going to tell pretty quickly. Of course, there are ways to compensate for it and the Rogue can think on their feet and engineer a situation where they win and of course there are also advantages to playing a squishier class, but the point is that there are squishier classes and squishier players.

Minecraft doesn't have that. Everyone has the same number of hearts and can theoretically use the same weapons and armor. If you and a friend jump into a Minecraft world and just stand there and take turns hitting each other, whoever goes first wins.

That means consistently winning at Minecraft PVP requires you to get good at thinking on your feet and engineering situations to your advantage. You aren't a tank by virtue of picking the tank class at the start of the game, but you can become a tank by making a turtle farm for turtle master potions. You aren't a damage dealer because you selected the high DPS character five minutes ago but because you spent hours grinding the resources to upgrade your weapons to the best they can possibly be. You aren't winning fights because the stats on your gear are higher than anyone else's. You're winning fights because you know how to control the fight so that you can hit the other guy more than they can hit you. If you're winning fights with other PVPers, it's because you're better than them at their own game.

Unless you're the QSMP Code Monster.

And like, to be clear, I don't blame the admin(s) for getting frustrated enough to brute force it. We know current 06 is competent PVPer and so are a couple others we haven't identified for sure yet, but I doubt they were hired specifically to be cracked at PVP. But like, they also do have to fulfill the role in the story of being cracked enough at PVP to kill either the super well defended eggs or the French Beast. Like, they do deserve to take some shortcuts.

But also, it does really really undermine the narrative of the codes and Étoiles training each other when the codes aren't really learning from Étoiles because there's a lot they could teach him.

For example, they haven't really made much progress on learning to outmaneuver them. Watch back any fight where he's fighting them 2v1 after the sweeping edge bug gets fixed. If you're fighting someone 2v1, you want to be attacking them from two different sides since they can only defend and counterattack from one side at a time. Watch how often they're both attacking him from the same direction. That's not an accident. That's Étoiles constantly moving to keep both his enemies where he can see them and it's not something they've made much progress on dealing with. The fact that they'll have three codes present but only two of them attacking at once pretty clearly demonstrates that they haven't recognized the importance of using the numbers advantage and negating the shield.

(Also, this isn't super relevant, but Étoiles is a master of healing potion usage. Watch how often he throws them ahead of where he's running so he maximizes how much he splashes on himself and minimizes how much he splashes on the codes. It's good stuff.)

One really clear moment that shows how the admins have a tendency to brute force their way through Étoiles related problems is in the fight in the basement of the lore dungeon where Étoiles was convinced he was going to die and the admins had to give him a goodie bag afterwards. At one point, he digs himself down into a 1x1 hole and a code follows him down into the hole to attack him and prevent him from warping away. He grapples out and seals off the hole. From his expressions and reaction time, it's pretty clear this was a plan to trap the code the whole time. The code breaks the block and rejoins the fight. We have never seen a code break blocks before or since including in otherwise relentless attacks on eggs behind unprotected walls.

Like, dude, you got outplayed. Take the L. And no, I don't buy that it's just the code getting more powerful from training with Étoiles because, again, we haven't seen it break blocks since that one fight. This doesn't seem to have been an ability added to its bag of tricks.

Speaking of abilities which have been, I do think that giving it God apples in that fight was a fine play. Okay, it's getting stronger and it can buff itself now. Great! Genuinely! But again, it's only really getting stronger in the sense of Number Go Up.

How does Étoiles counter this new threat? Well, one day he's laughing hysterically at the idea of Tubbo using something as pathetically useless as a soul saber and the next day, he's got a soul saber of his own on his hotbar. Why? Because the soul saber's special ability is that it nullifies special effects. That's useless against 99% of mobs, but the hearts and regeneration given by the god apple are special effects that the sword can nullify.

Étoiles doesn't counter a new threat by buffing his stats or getting a stronger weapon. In fact, he gets a weaker weapon. He gets a weapon that he thinks is terrible and shitty and garbage, but that happens to give him what he needs for his specific use case. And that's enough to turn the code eating god apples from a seemingly insurmountable advantage into probably a mistake to even bother with.

Étoiles fights the codes with three weapons out. First, his broken sword, which does such absurd base damage that it's stupid to use anything else. Second, the soul saber which turns the Code's most obvious power move into a trap. Third, the nightmare scythe, which blinds enemies, leaving them disoriented and giving himself time to recover. He also has his grappling squowk for mobility, Enough healing potions (he prefers to have at least 1000), a lava bucket for chip damage, blocks for gaining distance and controlling enemy movement, a water bucket for controlling enemy movement and clearing cobwebs, and his xp backpack to keep all his gear repaired. This represents a massive amount of prepwork and theory crafting to put together and have ready and decide on what to have and how to use it. He also has to know his notoriously messy backpacks by heart to be able to navigate to his other potions fast enough to be able to use them in a fight, which is he is consistently able to do.

The Code has a healthbar that doesn't move, a single weapon that does too much damage for the repair upgrades to keep up with, and sometimes it can spawn a single cobweb now, which Étoiles already had a counterplay ready for.

Like, I get that Étoiles is the goat. I get that. I am not going into this discussion unaware of the fact that Étoiles is the goat. I am not expecting the admins to be able to play at his level and to be able to pull out all the tricks he pulls. In fact, it's fine and even good that the Code doesn't have the same tools and moves as a player.

But it still feels a little cheap to say that Étoiles isn't ready for the sword yet when he's outplaying them every single time it's even possible to make a play.

Oh before I forget to add it in, the cobweb is the One (1) trick the code has actually learned from Étoiles. It's a good trick, to be fair.

Anyway, the other big problem with Number Go Up escalation that we've reached a point where it's Literally Impossible to fight the Code without the Shield. Without the Shield, either the Code is gonna have to be randomly weaker for no reason, or it's gonna just gonna get to run around pretty much unchecked for a while. To be fair, the Code running around unchecked could fuck, except for the fact that there are counterplays available if it didn't three shot people in full armor.

The big problem with fighting the Code right now, aside from the whole three shotting people in full armor thing, is that it has that sword that makes you drop whatever you're holding.

Luckily, Étoiles and BBH both have their own separate, individual solutions. Étoiles never got the chance to test his out in a combat situation because he got the Shield before it came up, but BBH used his against Code Tilín during the new member code battle and it proved effective. Unfortunately for all of us, Étoiles still landed the final blow on that Code so I think a lot of people failed to realize just how powerful BBH's strategy is.

But since then, the Code's damage output has just simply gotten so ridiculous to be able to cope with how ridiculous the Shield is that all those interesting, exciting strategies get sidelined in favor of Number Go Up.

So, uh, yeah. I think that's about everything I had to say. In conclusion hashtag hire jojosolos to play the code monster please quackity please she's a cracked pvper and she knows modded please

[sirwow]

Having some WC gameplay shower thoughts today about how i would actually make 5 captains work so time for a bit of a ramble.

though before i do ramble i wanted to do some clarification of the different parts of WC. The tag #pikmin wratihs call refers to the entirety of it- the story. When it comes to the theoretical gameplay tho theres 2 (or kinda 3?) different parts. First part is just Olimar and Louie being rescue corps members and generally being pretty similar to Pik 4 gameplay outside no oatchi. Second part follows Olimar, Louie, Alph, Brittany, and Charlie all returning to 404 as corps members with their own ship and the gameplay is pretty original outside the general skeleton of Pikmin gameplay. in between those is a koppai focused story but that would only work if it was a pikmin graphic novel game as there literally is only actual pikmin for about 1 page lmao.

Now then on to how Iv been thinking about making 5 captains work in the 2nd half of WC:

Essentially at the start of every day it starts off in the main ship and you choose how many captains you’re bringing out into the field. More captains the merrier obviously but when you bring one out there’s a major caveat. Each of the 5 captains don’t just do nothing while left behind, they have their own upgrades they develop over the day that they’re left on the ship! Some projects might take them multiple days but regardless they’re always working towards something in their own given fields.

Said fields for each goes as following:

Louie: Food! Louie for once actually gets to subject the others to his meals he makes and each one will give a different benefit for the day, starting simple with simply moving faster or having more health, up to his more ambitious meals that can have more extreme changes to the day with their own extreme draw backs (such as a food that makes a day 50% longer but every enemy in the area respawns) He has to perfect and collect the ingredients for said meals though so he needs the off time to do so

Alph: Suit/Gear upgrades. No raw materials required but time and patience is. The suits are only just now custom made since the urgency of this mission was so high and so he’s up to the task of gradually upgrading them on the mission.

Brittany: Onion and even Pikmin improvements. Her botany might as well be used to help the little plants that help them and so she’ll work towards safe ways to biologically improve the state of your onion and the pikmin that come out of it (Such as making it passively grow pikmin or even at a higher level, flower a few of the pikmin inside at the start of a new day)

Charlie: Physical training of the captains, basically like puppy point training but it’s timed instead. Running, swimming, jumping and hell even pulling things. Dw he’ll make the captains who were out for the day pull an all nighter to learn them /j

Olimar iv yet to come up with a good one yet.,. I thought maybe the ship but it would be stupid to force people to wait to go to a new area, especially thinking about my speedrunning chums. Treasure is still all you need for power.

This whole system is basically to encourage people to play with all the characters and really plan out the day ahead. Also a way of making each play through a bit different then the last as you could prioritize upgrading one thing over another.

Now then lastly I just have a few gameplay changes; Spicy spray will still effect all pikmin in play but will not flower them. Instead nectar puddles can be picked up if you so wish and eventually used in one large burst to flower all pikmin out on the field. Ice pikmin are nerfed- they can only freeze an enemy if eaten and otherwise will just slow down an enemy while attacking and have the same pitiful damage as winged pikmin. Purples are technically not nerfed but due to the new mechanic of carrying pikmin around in the pack to go up ledges and stay together easier, they have one downside of being stupid heavy on the captains. 100 carry weight pack can only carry 10 purples due to their weight. Whites now get a buff that will passively poison enemies over time depending on how much were on them and how long.

That’s all my thoughts atm, always open to questions about mechanics or anything else really. Currently still can’t draw bc of my hand tho so no doodle for ur time <\3

[your-darling-gaze]

After months of full-hearted efforts and research full off devotion, I hereby announce the completion of my first-ever invention:

The Artificial Gravity Generator

Creating an artificial gravity generator, as seen in science fiction, is a complex and theoretical concept that current technology and physics have not yet achieved. The idea is to simulate the effects of gravity in environments like spacecraft, space stations, or potentially even on other planets.

The concept of artificial gravity has been a longstanding goal in the field of space exploration and technology. As humans venture further into space, the challenges posed by microgravity environments become increasingly significant. These challenges affect not only the health and well-being of astronauts but also the long-term sustainability of space missions. Artificial gravity generators represent a potential solution to these challenges, offering a way to simulate Earth-like gravity in space.

I am pleased to announce my newest, dearest piece of tech with a whole potential and completely functional unit of working.

I have also, signed a Patent Claim with regard to this new invention of mine and am pleased to make it a private idea, feasible and available only on agreement basis and make it a limited source.

I am thankful to all the people who helped me make this project a success including my mentor Mister Anthony Stark ( @tony-starkinator ) and guiding me onto the right ways for making this a big achievement.

You know what they say, a man will die, but not his ideas.

Regards,

Darling Grace

(Experiment Handler and Alloy Specialist, Stark Industries; Co-researcher and data analyst, The Verizon STEM Effort Organization; Sub-lecturer, Wellington International University of Arts and Sciences.)

A peek into our newest tech:

Look into our report:

PROJECT ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY

___________________________________________

( @soldier-bucky-barnes @the-loss-of-my-life @imnothulk )

[kart0]

Thoughts about my life

Have you ever thought that you are going to the wrong path ?

I am an art student. I study visual arts, basically exploring all types of arts, painting, drawing, ceramics, sculpture, photography, performance, wood cutting, metal cutting ? Anyways, anything you can imagine, we do that.

I've been always disconnected to what I did though. I see all my colleagues, working on their projects with such dedication, such passion and I can't help but think that there's something actually wrong with me. Didn't I want that ? Or did I think this was the only thing I was good at ?

I do not feel enough. And that's an obvious statement. I actually always wanted to be a singer. And a biologist. And a veterinarian. But art was something I always did. So obviously it made sense that I should be doing that for the rest of my life.

I feel so bad. I am wasting my parents money. I am wasting their work and time. And I am wasting my life.

I am a firm believer that getting more knowledge is always a good thing, so maybe I shouldn't be that negative. I've learnt a lot in college. I did things I never thought I'd do, and I actually enjoyed them, such as analog photography. It was fun. It's been fun. But is that all ?

Aren't I supposed to do something bigger, better ? More important ? Shouldn't I try to change the world for the better ? What am I doing, painting silly pictures, making silly art. I could be helping people, helping animals, doing more.

There are no jobs for me here. There are no internships for my course. Nothing. I will not get a job on any company. I will never get a vacation, or health insurance. I will never buy a house, nor a car. What am I doing.

I have to be realistic. I need a job. The world isn't built for people like me, and sure, changes are happening but. They're not enough, and they will never be. I keep thinking I am too different, too off. Like there's something viscerally wrong with me, in my head, in my body.

Here's a secret. I was really serious about biology, and veterinary. Ever since I was a child I was always fascinated with insects. I loved ants and I really really wanted to dedicate my life to them. I wanted to understand their behaviours. What made them do what they did. I gave up after telling myself I wasn't smart enough. I wouldn't pass any entrance exams. The thing is, I know for a fact I am very smart. I'm just lazy. I do not work hard, for anything at all. I am too laid-back. I did not want to study, so therefore there was no point in doing any entrance exams for bio or vet. I wouldn't get in anyways. But. I keep thinking. Where would I be now if I did try.

I keep thinking why am I the way I am. Why am I not passionate over anything ? Besides haikyuu and now, apparently, genshin impact. Why. Is there anything actually wrong in my head ? I am autistic and I am bipolar so like, theoretically, yes, there is something wrong with me in fact.

It upsets me. Why can't I do more. What should I be doing. I wonder what am I going to do.

I can't see myself selling merch on events forever. I'm going to get old, and ugly, and I cannot sell gay merch forever. It's an unstable field, I do not get benefits from a company like health insurance or vacations. I have to be realistic. One day I'm going to get old and my art won't be enough. It's not even enough right now.

One of my hidden wishes and life goals is to work with wildlife rehabilitation. I would love to do that. Sounds very fun, and fulfilling. I am a very methodical, practical, organized individual. I am extremely aware of rules and I am very good at following them. I feel like I'm too much in my head for art. I feel like there's something I lack. Which is, that passion, that fire. I don't have that.

There's the thing though. Would I be fulfilled if I did anything other than what I'm doing right now ? I would wonder why I didn't go to arts, why I am studying this boring shit. I would wish I could be sculpting and drawing. And in the end, all of this would be just a waste of time, helpless and stupid thoughts, that would lead me nowhere. Like now. I know theres no point in thinking and rambling about what I could be doing. It is in my nature to self doubt anything I do though.

Maybe when I'm older and have time, and patience, and love, I can study animals. And work in a rehab center. And take care of birds. I love, love love love birds. I do love cats but I am so passionate about birds.

Maybe I can grow to be an old grandpa, who takes care of birds, and does art for fun as a side job.

But maybe, instead, I could be an artist, who volunteers in rehab centers. Who knows ?

I know for a fact I do not regret going to arts, I love it. It's the perfect field for me. It complements me. It makes me happy. But I keep thinking it's not enough. I'm not going to survive.

Anyways,,,,, just wanted to share some thoughts going through my head rn. I will not be giving up, of course. I just needed to vent a little bit. Thank you.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Sorry if this is intrusive but I have some disabilities and I really like history, is archives hard for you to do?

The usual caveat of I'm a north american who works very broadly but still mostly anglophone archives, I haven't finished a library degree and while I've got a shit-ton of experience, I'm not an infallible expert. And while I do experience disability, I am white presenting, cis, and I do not present as queer. That said, onwards and upwards.

It can be hard for me to do. It really is going to depend on where you work and what the nature of your disability is. Archivists who work in smaller institutions often have very little help and it can be very challenging but those who work in larger institutions might have more access to assistance. Right now, I'm by myself but even while I was casually trying not to bleed to death and my boss was worst off, I made a choice and got up on ladders and down in sepulchers. But I drew a line around cemeteries when it began to fuck with my lung health and things that could truly harm me.

But I am also extremely fucking good at my job and what keeps coming up on my evaluations is that yes, I am limited in what I can do and I take way too much time off but I'm smart enough I compensate for it. That sounds arrogant but I'm not even kidding when I say someone has sighed and gone "you're lucky you're so smart" When I applied for yet another round of sick leave. That's not something I can always keep up and it will likely change over the course of my life but I'm early enough in my career that I feel I still have to max out my brain-cells and impress to satisfy my ambitions. Most people will have to compromise in some way eventually but libraries are often among the most accommodating workplaces. That's not universal, especially in public libraries in conservative areas but there are work-around, there are ways. You can make this work.

Archival science a very diverse field. There are reference archivists, digital archivists, and rare book archivists. Someone with asthma might have a very hard time in rare books but be really happy as a digital archivist. Someone with migraines might find digital archives harder but be absolutely thrilled to be a field archivist. It all depends on who you are, what you want to do and what you need for accommodations. If you ever want to drop into my inbox and be more specific or shoot me a DM, you're very welcome too. Diversity and sometimes the lacktherof in archives is something I've been forced to become an functional if not theoretical expert on and I would be more than happy to give you advice or if its out of my wheelhouse, redirect you to where you could. Having the audacity is a lot of how you get anywhere in a field like archives. We tend to be an antisocial lot and in a world where democratic access is becoming the key to the field, it is increasingly down to fortes fortuna adiuvat. Fortune favours the bold.

However you identify and however you need to be accommodated to get you the life you want, the career you want, the passions you want to follow and you yourself are always going to be worth fighting for.

[shirogane-oushirou]

edit: i decided this would drive me nuts, but i still want to keep it in case there's something worth salvaging in the future. ignore all of this ^_^

for some reason i'm interested the idea of poke!ren beginning our friendship with that like... unintentional infantilization a lot of people do with disabled people when they're trying not to be actively ableist? not because i enjoy that LMAO ABSOLUTELY NOT -- and my pokesona is prideful as hell and would DESPISE it -- but i think it would make sense.

[cw casual ableism, infantilism of disabled ppl. also, disclaimer: i'm basing some of this loosely on my own health issues so it may not 100% apply to all disabled people. just want to keep that straight LMAO.]

most many doctors are SUPREMELY ableist, but doc!ren went into his field SPECIFICALLY to help disabled people and so focused on how best to treat each individual person according to their personalities and disabilities. sure, poke!ren's also technically both a clinical doc and researcher, but if doc!ren is like 80% clinical 20% research, poke!ren is like 10% clinical 90% research.

so poke!ren... doesn't have that knowledge. he does mostly field work and some lab work, with the rare "what do you think about this specific medical case?" appointment. he's the kind of person who hates the more vocal brands of ableism, but is consistently overbearing with his treatment of disabled people in a way that's inadvertently exhausting to deal with because "what happens if i tell him this is also ableist? will he have a fit? will he get angry or upset? will he decide disabled people are too picky if i'm not the Perfect Disabled Little Meow Meow?" so you just end up suffering through it.

therefore, he goes full "paper skin, glass bones," with me, very, "oh i can get that for you! no don't stand up, i can do that. can i cook something for you? no no no, i mean, i know you COULD, but wouldn't it be /easier/ for me to make it for you? you might hurt yourself!". 🙄

we have an evening outing in another city. it gets dark, we're not at the point where we're comfortable staying at his place together, he offers to maybe help me find a hotel, and i say "nope i've got this!" and fly away home on a Fucking Lugia.

and then he has to sit with that and realize some things.

like the fact that he has no idea who the fuck i am beyond surface level. after all, i've been carrying a legendary bird around in my back pocket and he didn't know until now, months after we first met.

like the fact that i can take care of SOME things by myself with the right "tools" or pkmn. i SOMETIMES need help, but i don't ALWAYS need help, and if i DO need help i have the option to tell him myself.

like the fact that he simply saw me as Disabled. as though i didn't have a life before or outside of Disability. i was simply the pitiable, lonely, disabled vn nerd he talks about games with.

and then he has to relearn Me from square one, and it makes our relationship so much stronger. we're able to work on our perfect balance together and build the trust that HE won't take things over for ME when I'M capable of something, and that I will let HIM know when i need HIM to do something I can't do. he has to trust that i'll let him be more doting on the days when i'm having flare-ups, but simultaneously has to respect when there are things i still want to do myself even on those worst days.

.........idk. this is a lot of words to say "god i want to be taken care of, but in a way where the other person sees me as an adult with a personality and decision-making ability and a life that's deeply AFFECTED by disability in many ways but isn't JUST disability." yk?

tbch, after writing it all out, this maaaay end up as canon..... OR it might remain a theoretical offshoot depending on how comfy i am when the Mental Movies (tm) of us finding that trust come together. poke!ren's supposed to be like. PURE escapism, so something like this honestly might hit too close to home to feel good fdhfghfg. like at least he'd end up learning that balance, which is nice... but everything leading up to it? 😬 Maybe A Bit Too Painful....

(damn. verbose king over here, wrote all of this TWICE just to say "i might throw it out" lKNMADKJFNKJDNF)

[oceanlandworld]

I have long believed that trauma treatment must address the effects of the traumatic past, not its events. Being able to tolerate remembering a horrific experience is not as important a goal as feeling safe right here, right now—or being able to reassure oneself that the racing of the heart is just a triggered response, not a sign of danger—or being able to relate to shame, grief, and anger as the feeling memories of child selves too young to comfort themselves. In my view, resolution of painful past events cannot truly be achieved without reclaiming the lost children and disowned parts of ourselves, extending to them a helping hand, welcoming them “home” at long last, creating safety for them, and making them feel wanted, needed, and valued. It took many decades of scientific research for the clinical world to accept that child abuse constituted an epidemic, not a rare occurrence, and that untreated post-traumatic stress resulted in tremendous social costs, not just individual suffering. Only in the last ten years have the concepts of implicit memory and bodily-driven responses to trauma become increasingly widespread (Ogden et al., 2006; Van der Kolk, 2014), but, even now, theoretical ideas about splitting, parts of the self, and dissociation are still controversial and often avoided. We as a field have not yet accepted that compartmentalization is normal under stress and much more common than we generally recognize. In a parallel process, the mental health world has had a history of disowning the prevalence of child abuse, dissociation, and fragmentation of the personality, either by ignoring its manifestations or by invalidating it as “factitious” or “malingering.” To be the “good child” in the psychiatric treatment world, therapists have been under pressure to “un-see” signs of dissociation, to diagnose voices as a psychotic symptom, and to treat fragmented clients “as if” they were whole integrated human beings. To be an integrated human, as Dan Siegel (2010) insists, requires “differentiation—with linkage,” that is, it necessitates the ability to make distinctions between different parts of the self, to name them as parts, but also to link them to other parts and to the whole of which they are a part. Disowning parts of one’s self and over-identifying with other parts does not facilitate integration and a sense of being whole, nor does it engender an internal sense of safety that could counteract the after-effects of an unsafe, unwelcoming hostile world.

Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors: Overcoming Internal Self-Alienation (Janina Fisher, 2017)

[babyspacebatclone]

I’ve been meaning to get something like this done for a bit, and this post from @my-autism-adhd-blog gave me the nudge to type it out.

I’m keeping it here in my own post, though, to not clog their notes too much. 😅

I’m sure anyone with an invisible illness or neurodivergence has had to come up against the idea of “Well, back in my day, no one ever had [very real problem you are suffering from], we just bucked up and deal with life!”

Oh, really?

Do you [theoretical irritating naysayer] know when the term anaphylaxis was coined?

You know, “hypersensitivity (as to foreign proteins or drugs) resulting from sensitization following prior contact with the causative agent”?

The potentially fatal reaction where people can lose the ability to breathe? A very real, repeatedly proven reality for a large segment of the population?

It was created in 1905.

(I’d go into more about the individual who named it, but he also subscribed to a lot of the worst fields of thought in the early 20th century and therefore we shall move on.)

On the other hand, we have writings explicitly referencing horse allergies from the turn of BCE to CE (one of the sons of Roman Emperor Claudius), among others.

What we now recognize as Seasonal Allergies have been identified around the 16th century, under names like “rose catarrh” (as in, a believed reaction to roses, most likely a reaction to the pollen of other plants during their blooming season) and “summer asthma” (asthma being used as a general term for an ability to breathe).

What fascinates me is the end of the 18th century, where

Seasonal allergic rhinitis was now often observed and recognized. The term “hay fever” replaced “rose cold.” Physicians believed seasonal allergies were an aristocratic disease because it was most commonly diagnosed among the upper class. (emphasis mine, taken from document described below)

Huh, I wonder why upper class people would be the ones most diagnosed with seasonal allergies? I wonder what myriad of reasons could lead the financially secure to seek out personal aide for non-debilitating but extremely uncomfortable symptoms?

Not the least of which being a lifestyle which allows it to be merely non-debilitating.

Anyway….

At some point I want to fully read this summary of the book Ancestors of Allergy edited by F. Estelle R. Simons (as getting my hands on the text itself would be more effort than it’s worth for me personally). What I’ve skimmed thus far is fascinating.

Here’s a timeline from those 16th century misclassifications of seasonal allergies to the present understanding of allergic reactions (as the source from that one quote from above):

It’s humbling to see the development of understanding and acceptance towards a medical condition we take existing for granted nowadays.

On the other hand, the length of time it took to clarify these experiences when they have indisputable physical symptoms (if sometimes difficult to identify triggers) can be disheartening when we thing about where the scientific community currently is regarding mental health, neurodivergence, and invisible illnesses.

But my main take away in this review of the history of allergies:

It was never new. It had always been there, people had always suffered from it. The only things that changed were the public perception of the condition and the treatments afforded to people struggling under things other people dismiss.

@my-autism-adhd-blog ‘s post about dismissive attitudes towards neurodivergence, specifically Autism and ADHD, which reminded me I wanted to share this all with my pocket friends and anyone it breaks containment for.