#even though i am one bad month away from fully broke ill always find energy to gift you all some martits xoxo

[mxwhore]

Some day… hopefully… I will have sufficient funds to commission you… unpaid intern life does not work well with fandom obsessions 😔😔 but in the meantime I’m thinking about it 👀 just gotta figure out what I’d want so when it’s financially feasible I can do it right away 👀👀

ive lived the unpaid lab intern, beautiful soul, hang in there

[human-resourccs]

He Just Likes The Rush - Ch. 3

In which Scarecrows are born and it gets sorta gay for like a second there

~1300 words

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Looking back on it, Jonathan struggled to remember exactly how long it took after that first visit to his home that his research…. Escalated. He'd been well aware of his declining mental state - on some level, he had. But the warnings, the concern, the thoughts of slowing down; all of those rational things he should've been thinking had been getting locked away in the back of his mind as he redoubled his efforts on his life's work.

It had started out fairly well, to be fair. Having already become desensitized to the Riddler's…. disposition, it became fairly easy to hold a conversation when he was in a decent mood. The first thing he'd found out was that his new acquaintance's name was actually Edward Nigma - 'Common knowledge, Jonathan! Pick up a newspaper once in a while! Mister Riddler, really?' - and barely batted an eyelid at the oddity of it. Honestly, it was one of the less excessive things he'd done for his aesthetic.

The arrangement had been thusly; the Riddler had provided him with the contacts he'd been looking for, put him in a position where he could now reliably access the more shady dealings of Gotham’s underground; and in return Edward would typically bother him - either in person or over the phone - whenever it took his fancy. It was mutually agreed that this arrangement would be promptly broken with no harboured grudges if it ended up they both found each other absolutely intolerable. They both had some small amount to gain from either eventuality. For Edward, his curiosity would be at rest and an interesting addition made to the criminal scene in Gotham; for Jonathan, he would maintain his contacts regardless and end up with more time to dedicate to research.

All in all, it really wasn't a bad deal. Especially since they had found one another mutually agreeable; on good days, they'd debate various scientific, sociological, and literary-based topics. Sometimes, these discussions even became quite heated; especially where the fields of psychology were broached. Sometimes Jonathan would swear that his acquaintance was trying to goad him into throttling him.

"All I'm saying, Jon, is that- technically- technically! the ancient Greeks weren't as far off as they thought they were with regards to the humours of the body."

"That is objectively absurd. "

"Well - what are the causes of most psychiatric disorders, if not an imbalance of chemicals in the brain? Riddle me that! Sure, they undershot the number of chemicals a little, and wildly misinterpreted their identities and locations - but the core concept still stands, now, doesn't it?"

Edward, of course, knew exactly what he was doing - he just delighted in getting a rise from him.

"Edward, I am warning you..."

"Is that a begrudging admission of defeat I see through those gritted teeth?"

Neither of them were sure how that one didn't end without a trip to the emergency ward.

Though the raising of hackles was not entirely one-sided, of course. Jonathan also took great pleasure in his petty tortures.

"Jesus, Jon, how long have those dishes been there?"

"Mh? Dunno. Couple weeks, maybe. Lost count. I'll do them when I run out of clean ones."

Sometimes it took all his effort not to break the deadpan tone in his voice when the inevitable exclamations of horror from Edward soon followed.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Throw up in the corner; the mould's getting hungry."

The sight of the sheer speed with which the Riddler's face blanched - speedily exiting the room so the rogue might regain his composure - finally broke the stony expression he'd been trying to maintain; that was the first time Edward heard Jonathan laugh, and really laugh. Low and hearty, head thrown back, laughing until he was pink in the cheeks.

For some reason, Edward wasn't able to muster up the energy to be mad at the sight.

And on bad days, the Riddler would simply rant about whatever had slighted him or taken his interest in that particular instance, waving his hands in grand gestures and even getting up from where he was seated on a few occasions; Jonathan would half-listen and nod emphatically now and then. The background noise served to make it slightly easier to concentrate when he was thinking.

It was an odd arrangement, but they were odd people.

It was after that - if he concentrated, it must've been about a month, a little less - that things went sideways, as they always do. Edward seemed to have sensed the change, the slight shift in his personality - he didn't say anything. Perhaps it was out of some sense of respect, or perhaps it was for fear of the reaction. Hell - maybe he just wanted to see what would happen. Jonathan couldn't say he blamed him because that would've made him a massive, massive hypocrite; he'd have done the exact same thing, were the roles reversed.

Their talks became restricted to just phone contact; then became less frequent; then stopped altogether as the situation came to a head.

The situation. He kept dancing around the topic in his head, never thinking about it - was it because he struggled to sort through the hazy memory, or because he was scared - scared of admitting that Jonathan Crane, sanest man in the room, might've been more of a madman than he thought?

The preceding few nights, the lack of Edward's - of anyone's - presence, and his stock of resources had allowed him to work feverishly through the twilight hours until the sun came up, broken up only by his obligations as a lecturer.

It did not take a psychology doctorate to see the clear issue with this, and yet somehow Jonathan remained oblivious. Something had to give.

It had been innocent enough, such a small thing. Jonathan was no stranger to the habits of the students that his class was comprised of; they were young adults, a demographic that was always going to be known for their perceived lack of respect and general rowdiness. But for some reason, that day, they had just been so much louder than usual, he thought. So much louder - look, there, those four aren't even facing the front - and she's eating in the middle of the lecture- is that little brat napping in my class? How dare he? How dare any of them? He was here, teaching-

Oh, he would teach them, alright. It all happened so fast; nobody was really sure what Professor Crane had actually done to the boy who'd been sleeping at his desk. He just stopped, mid-sentence. He had this... weird look on his face. Walked over to the desk. Planted his hands on either side of it. Leaned in, whispering something with heated fervour;  such a dark, dark expression on his face.

The boy just…. Started screaming. flailing around like a madman. Didn't stop until the paramedics showed up and sedated the poor bastard. They didn't find any drugs in his system - they weren't to know that the chemicals had long since been metabolised - no history of mental illness, nothing. Of course, though nobody could prove that Jonathan had actually done anything to him, action still had to be taken. There were furious parents, friends of friends, all directing their anger at the university that something be done about this!

And so, Jonathan Crane, at least on paper, willingly resigned from his position at the University. This, of course, left him with a great deal of extra time on his hands. He wasn't even angry - the opposite, he was pleased, now that he could dedicate so much more time to his work.

Within the week, everyone who had been in attendance of the class that day began to have strange, inexplicable mental breakdowns. One by one - no explanation. Screaming about monsters and spiders and fire and drowning; none of them ever recovered. Not fully.

Within the month, vendetta sated, fear had closed its cruel, icy fingers around the hearts of Gotham's inhabitants - and with that fear, the first appearance of the Scarecrow, and subsequent capture after a long arduous pursuit on the part of the GCPD and the batman.

But the damage was done.  No time for regrets, nor doubts - this was the path Jonathan had set himself down and he intended to walk it to its conclusion.

His short stint in Arkham would prove to be most interesting.

[marbleseyes]

What is it to grow up with an autoimmune disease?

We are used to older people getting ill. Ill to the point of not being able to function like everybody else, when your body is tired even before you are fully awake at the beginning of the day and is already screaming for help before noon.  But you know what, children get sick like that too. I was diagnosed with Sjögren Syndrome when I was nine, but was sick for about two years prior to the diagnosis and have been suffering from the rheumatic aspects of it since I was five years old. My parents did everything they could, they even took me to the expensive doctor that treated old people with arthritis just to hear her say that what I had was “growth pain”. After a while everybody thought I was faking it, lying to get attention (my sister was two years old at the time and that was what everyone thought was making me lie). But I knew. I was the one feeling as if my body was decomposing. Everyone else was normal at school, ran and played as kids do except me. Then I got mumps, as you do at that age. And a month later I got it again, and then again, and again. As you know that is not normal, but nobody could find a reason for it other than that of me being a very unlucky child susceptible to multiple occurrences of mumps.  After two years, a lot of pain and difficulty handling my appearance (try to have that swollen face mumps gives you for months and you will understand that) someone decided to cut into my lower lip, get some glands in there and look them up. Turns out I did not have mumps (well, I did, but only the first time just like everyone else) but a autoimmune disease that was attacking my salivary glands and that was the real problem. The disease also had the rheumatic effect, which explained my constant pain. But, fun fact, Sjögren rarely happens upon such a young person. I won the genetic lottery, but the award was really not that great. The treatment consisted in immunosupression with medication that not only made me sick, but also was photo responsive, so I had to stay out of the sun unless I wanted all sorts of weird marks on my skin. So I, a child that loved going to the beach or playing while my father washed the car had to start living, quite literally, in the shadows. I was hospitalized due to infections my body could not control and that would be otherwise quite easily managed by a healthy immune system, I got bullied for always wearing long sleeves and trousers even on the hot summer of Brazil, or for my “sick person” colored skin, or for how skinny I was. I would not eat properly, because my stomach suffered with the medicine and eating made it worst. But then, at fifteen, the disease retreated and apparently I was ok. I still had rheumatic problems, my eyes where almost always dry (the disease attacks lacrimal glands too) and colors that are too similar cannot be distinguished by my eyes as the medication got deposited on them and made me loose some of that fine differentiation of colors, but other than that I was great! Got through school, entered university and moved out of my parents house to leave alone in another city. Had a boyfriend and everything seemed like it was going to be ok. Maybe I had been misdiagnosed and it was just something that passed. Then my boyfriend started being really abusive, I got depressed and entered a spiral that could have ended badly. Got sick again, autoimmune diseases have a strong correlation to ones mental status.  At the end of the tunnel came a light in the form of and exchange program. One year abroad, studying what I was passionate about.  Boyfriend tried to make me stay, said I was leaving him and all those things manipulative and abusive partners will say to make you guilty of doing something. I went anyway, and he cheated on me before a fortnight was passed. I broke up with him but he tormented me the whole year, threatening that he would go after me or that he would do something to himself. I got worse, and it was terrifying as I was in a different country, miles away from my family. I needed my mom to shush me to sleep through my fevers, telling me it would be ok, like she used to when I was little. Came back to Brazil, got medication again as my Sjögren was really flaring up again. I had a gland that had gave up after all those years swelling and would not come back to its normal size. My rheumatologist told me to take it out as it could calcify and pose a problem later. Turns out it was a lymphoma. Lymphoma are fairly common in Sjögren patients, but than again, Sjögren patients normally have 40 years or more. It was the scariest time of my life. My fiance, who was then my boyfriend of less then a year, thankfully is a much more controlled and hopeful person than I am. He held me, he helped me, he was a true safe spot for me. As my parents live in another city he had to put up with my mood swings, my despair and my depression through everything. The lymphoma was treated, but the stress it caused put me on a real bad flare up of the syndrome. It was my final year at university and I had a lot to do, but almost everyone was patient and kind and understood my situation. Everyone but my  supervisor. Mind you, she knew me for about five years and the first thing I told her when she interviewed me was that I had this problem and that it was extremely unpredictable. That did not stop her treating me as if I was lying or making up excuses not to go to work (even though I did everything I had to do, even if it was taking me less time to do it). It is hard to be treated this way, and I know when people think this of me. We do not always get signs of the pain, the extreme lack of energy, the fevers or anything that can come up from our illness. One day I am great, and then the next I wake up and I am not able to get out of bed, because everything hurts. I am not a liar and I am not useless. I am very productive, but I have my own pace and my own limitations, which I am learning to live with. When you are older, even if people really do think you are making up excuses they will not treat you badly, out of respect. When you are a young person struggling with something as disruptive and difficult as this you face disdain, you face a lack of confidence in your capabilities and an immense barrier is built in front of you, blocking your way to your objectives and dreams. I may have to stop at least ten times, but I will climb that fucking barrier and get to my place in the sun. I owe that to my parents, to my family, to my fiance and, most importantly, to myself. I grew up discredited by almost everyone, so I will make the world see my own worth. Life is hard as it is, with everything in your favor. I will get those sour lemons life gave me and make a delicious lemonade.

[mytsunami]

Message from Sanam: Hey everyone, A couple of days ago I opened up on social media about my abusive relationship. You can read the whole post below. I never expected the amount of support I received. I am overwhelmed by the kind messages, prayers, and love I've gotten from friends, family, and so many of you who I've never met or spoken to but have extended so much warmth and concern to me. At the suggestion of more than a few people, I've decided to start this GoFundMe for anyone who would like to help me get back on my feet. I haven't worked for a while now for several reasons but the 2 biggest ones were my health (I have PCOS & fibromyalgia) and the stress of this relationship. All of this has left me dead broke but today, after spending an hour with a domestic violence counselor thinking I would have to spend the next few months going to court and trying to have my now EX-boyfriend removed from my home that he had spent the last 2 months threatening to kick me out of - he ended up coming home, packing up all his stuff, and leaving his keys. I am SO relieved that all of this has happened quickly even if it was very painful. But the next 6 months of my life are probably gonna be the hardest. The last time I went through something like this, I ended up alone and homeless and it took me over a year to get back on my feet. This time I'm hoping to cut that process very short because I am so lucky to have the support system I have today. If anyone would like to donate to help me stay in my home and be able to pay my rent, bills, car insurance, gas, groceries, medications, therapy, doctor's appointments, etc, I would be so sooo grateful. I've been on my own since I was 18 and I've never really asked anyone for help. The amount above will cover all of my living expenses and basic necessities for at least a few months and leave me with some emergency money. I don't even think I would have made it through the last 48 hours if I hadn't had so many people reach out and encourage and love me. I am so eternally grateful to every last person. I've seen every message, every comment. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Love, Sanam (original Facebook Post) this is hard to say out loud. i have been in a physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive relationship for the last year and a half. he is a well loved and respected person in his community. i spent years admiring him and when we became friends, i fell in love quickly. he was charming and smart and kind. the closer we became, the more i learned how much trauma and abuse he had faced in his own life. at 38 years old, he had never gotten any help for his severe mental illnesses. our relationship became toxic quickly for many reasons. we were 2 broken, traumatized people who came together to find solace and healing in one another. what happened was the opposite. his suicidal ideation eventually turned into anger and manipulation. every few weeks we would fight and he would break up with me and cut me off, often threatening to kill himself first and saying hurtful things which he would tell me later on was in the hopes of pushing me away because he felt so bad about himself. instead of heeding these warnings and moving on, i spent almost all of my time obsessively worrying about him. although i knew he was being manipulative, i would worry about waking up and finding out he was dead. i went back again and again even though everytime it happened it was worse than the last. i made excuses for his behavior over and over again because i wanted SO BADLY to help him. i behaved in ways i was ashamed of and subjected so many people around us to my misery because i couldn't just accept he was an abuser and move on. even when he wanted to take space, i would constantly feel the need to check in because of the fear that had been instilled in me from the incessant threats of self harm. the last few months, although the suicidal behavior has stopped, the abuse has gotten worse. every couple of weeks i’m berated on and on and told i’m a stupid bitch, made to feel worthless and degraded, am threatened to be kicked out of my home. i’m told that everyone in my life hates me, that i am useless and i won’t ever do anything with myself because i’m financially dependent on him. i’m told that i’m disgusting, that i’m a fucking moron. he has no remorse for the most part. he thinks this is normal behavior and that this is “just stuff that people say when they’re mad”. it takes an extremely exhausting amount of emotional labor to even begin to make him understand that his anger is out of control and he is almost always reluctant to accept this. 2 months ago, on a day when we fought again, i stood in front of the door when he tried to walk out. he picked me up and threw me on the floor and slammed my head on the floor. over and over again. i vividly remember being told that this is what i asked for. i vividly remember dissociating and thinking that it wasn’t even real because i couldn’t imagine why someone i loved and who loved me could be so angry and hate me so much. i remember getting up once he got off me and scratching his arm, wanting to hurt him back. but i couldn’t. because he’s a 38 year old 6 foot tall man who is twice my size. somehow even after all of this, and knowing what i do about intimate partner violence, i have forgiven this man time and time again in the naive hope that things would be different. telling myself that he is just a sad person who needs help and things can be better. idk why i do this when all i have seen in this relationship is that it doesn’t take much for him to resign himself to lashing out and abusing me. i find myself still defending the person who’s first instinct in an argument is to tell me i’m a stupid, worthless bitch. i know that i can be a toxic person and probably not a great partner. i have said and done some ugly shit but i can’t imagine that i’ve done anything that even comes close to warranting this much abuse. to have someone gaslight and degrade and manipulate me for months is really leaving me feeling like i might not make it out of this alive. for the first time in 10 years, i’ve self harmed. because of this relationship. i listen to a man i love tell me i’m stupid and disgusting and the worst thing that ever happened to him over and over again and when i FINALLY RESPOND with any kind of anger or hurtful words, i’m told that i’m a psychotic abusive manipulative bitch who belongs in a mental hospital. he fits every pattern of an abuser - belittling and name calling, denying/rationalizing his behavior, shifting blame, being hypersensitive and self deprecating. and he has done a great job of antagonizing and gaslighting me while convincing himself and his friends that i’m a “crazy bitch”. this relationship has destroyed my self esteem. since august of 2015, right after the rihanna video came out, i have spent all of my time putting this mans needs before mine and investing all of my energy into a relationship that always left me feeling empty and pathetic. i am filled with so much regret thinking about how different my life and career could have been had i been smart or strong enough to get out of this at the first sign of danger. a while back, i saw texts between him and his ex girlfriend where she also accused him of physically abusing her years ago and it was scary to read him say, word for word, the same things he has said to me denying his abuse. how could this be a coincidence? this is why i beg people to believe survivors of abuse. there is NOTHING gratifying or rewarding in speaking out about this. i have been met with doubt, anger, and victim blaming before and i fully expect to deal with that again. i’ve kept this hidden from everyone around me for so long and it feels like if i don’t let it out i’m going to lose the last bit of sanity i have left. men who abuse women get to move on with their lives while women who are abused are left behind to pick up the pieces. i have had to spend months and years rebuilding emotional, physical, financial, and spiritual well being when i have been through this in the past. i’ve been homeless and broke. i have had people tell me i deserved what i got, lost friends who blamed me for staying, had people not believe me because my abuser was publicly kind and honest and generous. there is NOTHING i look forward to about doing this again. i fear for my safety, i fear for his safety. i fear that after everything i've endured in my life, this is what will finally break me. i wrote this yesterday hoping it would give me strength and courage and instead i just feel more gross, ashamed, and helpless than ever. i guess i don't really know what the point of all this is except that if you see someone you love going through this, help them. and if you see someone you love doing this to their partner, HOLD THEM ACCOUNTABLE. the worst part of all of this has been still loving this person and trying to be kind to him and make him understand what he's doing wrong and get him the help he needs only to be met with anger and hatred in return. i really don't know what to do or where to go from here. we still share a space and i'm trying so hard to keep myself together until one of us can leave. i know how many of u know and love him. i know how much he has hidden from everyone to keep himself safe and i know how much i've hidden to keep him safe. i really didn't want to open this part of my life up to everyone but i feel helpless. he has made it clear that he does not and will not even try to respect me or be civil with me. and i don't know how much help anyone can give him when he is completely in denial and dishonest with everyone in his life about what is actually going on. i don't want to leave my home. i don't want to end up crazy or dead because of this is relationship. i don't know what happens after this.