#ill bet you anything the exhaustion is a symptom too

[semiotomatics]

its only just now occuring to me that i might be experiencing a migraine cause im a fucking idiot

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Horny on Main Disease - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: Reader catches a strain of the despair disease that means she says everything she is thinking. Kind of awkward considering all she can think about is how much she wants to jump Komaeda's bones. This is intended to be sort of funny, but i still wrote it pretty seriously, just want to make it clear that i did not half ass the smut. i whole assed it.

Word count: 4444  Contains: fem reader, they/them pronouns, despair disease, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, voyeurism Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

It’s not even a particularly hot day, and yet you’re sweating bullets as you walk over to the dining hall like you do every morning. Your legs are wobbly and your head is aching something terrible, you assume that you’ve caught a cold or something , whatever the problem is, it’s going to be a question for Tsumiki when you meet up with her at breakfast.

Kuzuryu is standing out by the pool, pensively staring into the still water. He probably misses Pekoyama, but you’re smart enough to know not to-

“Hey, Kuzuryu! I bet you miss your dead girlfriend, huh?”

He just stares at you, and it takes a good few seconds for you to even realise what you just said out loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, horrified.

“I don’t know why I said that!” You squeak

Kuzuryu doesn’t look...angry? He shakes his head at you and sighs, “you’re acting weird today too, aren’t you?”

“What? Weird? Who’s weird?”

“Owari was here a few minutes ago, bawling her eyes out on the ground.” He crosses his arms and looks away from you, “I think the bear is planning something again.”

You nod sternly, “anyone with tits as big as Owari has nothing to cry about! Something is definitely suspicious.”

Oh god why did you say that??

“Oh god, why did I say that??”

You just keep saying everything you’re thinking!

“I just keep saying everything I’m-“

Kuzuryu grabs you by the wrist and starts tugging you towards the dining hall, “something is definitely fucked up.” He looks down at where his hand is gripping yours, “Jesus Christ, your skin is on fire!”

“Yeah, cause I’m hot !” That was already an embarrassing thing to say, you are horrified when your mouth drops open again to follow it up with, “bow-chicka-wow-wow!”

There is definitely something wrong with you. In general you are the sort of person who takes the time to carefully curate every word that leaves your mouth, the fact that you are just speaking without even thinking about it is bizarre and alarming. The ache in your head is also steadily growing stronger and you’re starting to feel dizzy, maybe you’re just delirious with flu? It doesn't make sense for you to catch the flu on an abandoned island, but weirder things have happened already.

It is at this moment that you realise you have been (only semi-coherently) mumbling your full internal tirade outloud to Kuzuryu, who is now helping you up the stairs to the dining hall. He has very diplomatically, been either ignoring, or at least pretending to ignore everything you have been saying.

“You’re nice. Probably the politest yakuza i’ve ever met.” you pause, “I’ve never met another yakuza, i'm not sure why i said it like that.”

Kuzuryu scoffs and tugs you up at the last step. Deigning to give your comment any sort of response.

As you step up onto the dining hall landing, you freeze. This is dangerous. Your nails are biting into the skin of your palms, and your already warm face feels even hotter. Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think about him. Kuzuryu is giving you a look, you must be verbalising your own mental gymnastics, but that is less embarrassing than the alternative.

“Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think-”

You look up, like an idiot . Komaeda is sitting by the window with his chin in his palm, just sort of staring off into the middle distance, not really looking at anything. The morning sun cascades through the window and catches in his hair. It shimmers. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, you have been trying to keep this little fascination of yours under wraps, but he slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose and-

“He looks like an angel .” You say, and you say it loudly.

All eyes in the room turn to you. Hinata especially is looking at you with his particular brand of exhaustion, that says this is not the first weird thing he has heard today. You scramble, trying desperately to think about anything other than Komaeda, to stop yourself from saying anything stupid. In your desperation, what you say is: “Yes hello! I was talking about anyone in this room apart from Komaeda. Please do not be confused, it was not Komaeda. I want to make it crystal clear that i am NOT attracted to Nagito Komaeda. This is a very convincing lie and you all believe me!”

Mioda straightens her spine and salutes you, “Roger! You are not attracted to Komaeda, I believe you!”

Your sweating even more now, it’s getting hard to breathe, “Forget I said anything!”

Mioda salutes again, “Consider it forgotten!”

“What is happening?! ” Hinata exclaims, gesturing wildly to you, Mioda, and Owari who you suddenly notice is leaning against the far wall and sobbing, “This is not normal!”

Your eyes slip to Komaeda again. He is looking at you and he is blushing-

“He looks so...cute…” You whisper, and Hinata yelps.

“Why are you all being so weird???? ”

Monokuma takes that as his cue to finally show up. Waltzing on into the dining hall like he owns the place, clearly buzzing with excitement, “A good question!” He says, clamoring up onto a vacant chair and holding a paw in front of his face to hide his laughter, “ Oooh , this is my best motive yet! Looks like three members of the class have come down with a bad case of the despair disease!”

“D-Despair Disease?” Tsumiki contributes, nervously playing with her hands, “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Yeah, well. It’s pretty self explanatory!” Monokuma says, “The main symptom is high fever, along with some other fun despair related effects! It’s a bit of a mixed bag though and no two cases are the same! For example, Moida is suffering from the Gullible Disease...Owari has the Cowards Disease.” Then, Monokuma points his stubby little paw in your direction, “And you have the No Filter Disease. You just say whatever you’re thinking! It’s been lots of fun so far, upupupupu~”

“Oh, does that mean all those things they were just saying about Komaeda were the truth?” Sonia says. Her brows draw together, and she taps her lips with a finger, “How interesting.”

“It’s not my fault he’s gorgeous!” the words escape you before you have a chance to stop them. You squeal and clap a hand over your mouth before you start talking again. Komaeda is now bright red to the tips of his ears.

“That was true? GROSS!” Saionji exclaims.

You glare at Monokuma, “If you wouldn't kill me for doing it, I'd rip out all your stuffing right now.”

Monokuma withers a little, “Aw~ Is that what you really feel? Here I was thinking we were great friends.”  

“I’ll gut you like a fish.” you pause, “a bear-fish.” another pause, “a fish-bear.” You groan, “UGH, I can’t stop saying stupid things! I’m all sweaty! This sucks !”

Tsumiki steps over to you, her hand is shaking as she brings it up to your forehead.

“Oh…” you breathe, “your hand is cold.”

“S-Sorry! I’m just checking your temperature.”

“You smell like lavender.”

She recoils a little, “It’s j-just my shampoo!!'' Then she shakes her head and turns to the rest of the group, “Monokuma is telling the truth. They’ve got a fever.”

Hinata hurriedly presses his hand against the foreheads of both Owari and Moida, confirming that they’re also burning up, “What do we do, Tsumiki?”

Before she can answer, Monokuma pipes up again, “did I forget to mention? It’s contagious~~”

Saionji squeals and backpedals all the way to the stairs, “Contagious!?”

“Yeah and I'm a conta- genius . Get it?”

Souda gives you an uncomfortable look and scratches the back of his neck, “How much space in your brain is taken up by bad puns?”

You’re feeling really dizzy now, “A lot of it! But usually I don't say any of them!” your knees wobble and you almost fall over, luckily Tsumiki is still close enough to grab you before you topple to the ground, “I am going to kill that goddamn bear .”

“Could-could someone help me?” Tsumiki squeaks, “If i keep holding them up like this we-we’re just both going to fall over.”

You giggle a little, slipping into a semi-delirium as you cling to Tsumiki for dear life. Hinata and the others start working on a plan to keep everyone safe until the illness runs its course, “Hey Tsumiki…” you whisper, “Komaeda’s got real nice hands, huh?” she is too busy trying to keep you upright to answer, “I want him to carry me. Unless I'm too heavy, Tsumiki, am I too heavy?”  

You’re all but draped over Tsumiki now, who is trying in vain to shuffle you over to a nearby wall, when you suddenly hear her sigh in relief, “Oh...Th-Thank you. I’m not very s-strong…”

You manage to flop your head around to face the other direction, lacking the strength to turn your neck properly. Komaeda is looking down at you, it might just be the fever, but you feel like you’re going to burst into flames.

“Aha, I’m sure i'm not much stronger than you, Tsumiki.” He says, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you over to him. You might have moaned, you can't be sure, “But I do have the height advantage.”

The utter tsunami that leaves your mouth is unavoidable. Literally medically unavoidable, but that doesn't stop it from being the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“He’s touching me. He’s touching me…” your head has come to rest on his chest and you are practically hyperventilating, “He smells like chamomile soap and clean laundry...His hands are cold, his shirt is soft...Oh god i'm so sweaty, he probably thinks i'm disgusting! Komaeda, i'm so sorry , this was meant to be a secret!!! I wasn't going to tell you, everyones gonna think I'm weird!” your thoughts are leaving your mouth faster than you can think of them, if Komaeda is reacting to anything you have to say, you don't notice because despite your mouth running a mile a minute you still have an ounce enough of shame and bury your face in his chest to hide from your own words.

The world is spinning, your head feels heavy, everything is so hot , “Your hair is nice, did you know your hair is nice? God, I've wanted to run my fingers through it since day one. This is so fucked up, you almost killed someone! I want to stop talking , i feel like i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out. Im gonna…”

***

“I think I passed out.” Is the first thing you say when you wake up. You’re still hot and the back of your neck is sweaty, but you can see that you are now in the hospital, and that you’re wearing a hospital gown.

“Who undressed me?!” You exclaim, disappointed to find that you still can’t help saying everything you think.

At the sound of your voice, the door to your room opens, and Komaeda steps in.

“No! Not you!”

He freezes, withering under your gaze, “Ah, I see. Being greeted by garbage like me in your current state, it must be insulting .”

You feel like an asshole .

“That’s not what I meant! Please don’t go, I never want you to go.”

Komaeda laughs a little, still lurking nervously in the doorway, “You’re confusing me.”

“I don’t want you to hear what I’m thinking. I want you to stay, but all I can think about is how much I want to suck on your collarbone.” You freeze the second you stop talking, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth as you hide your face in your hands, “I’m so sorry! I can’t stop it!”

Stepping further into the room, Komaeda quietly closes the door behind him. Your heart is pounding.

“I’m nervous.” You say.

He tilts his head, walking over to the side of your bed, “I can still leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” You shrink under his gaze, “it just, the way you closed the door it makes me feel like you’re planning something, like maybe we’re going to have-“ you manage to cover your mouth before the rest of the sentence escapes. Keeping your hands tight over your lips as all you can think about is his long fingers, his soft hair, his half lidded eyes.

“Are you...still talking behind your hands?”

You nod.

A smile crawls up the side of his face, “are you saying something embarrassing?”

“I wanna stick my tongue in your mouth.” You say, loud enough that even the tight grip of your hands doesn’t muffle it.

Komaeda remains remarkably calm, “You keep saying those things. This disease...means you say whatever you’re thinking, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s driving me crazy, I’m just being such an idiot and I’m probably freaking you out. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it.” He sighs, moving slowly as he sits down on the side of your bed, “Honestly, why would you let such thoughts about scum like me take up so much real estate in your mind?”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim, “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I just can’t! I want you so badly. I…..I-“ you hold your breath, you can’t let that last part out, no matter what, you can’t say that last part. You’ll die of suffocation before you let him hear it.

“You...what?” He asks

Oh god. You can’t stop thinking about it. Your lungs are aching, screaming for you to just open your mouth.

“What are you hiding, hm?”

It’s too much. The nerves, your sick and weakened body, him right there . You can’t do it, you can’t stop it, the next time you see Monokuma, you are drop kicking him into the sun.

“I’ve touched myself while thinking about you!”

The words echo off the walls of the room like a gunshot.

For a moment Komaeda just stares at you, but then, his shaky hands reach out and wrap around both of your wrists. His throat bobs.

“Hng. I want to suck on the side of your neck, I want to see you covered in marks from my teeth-“ you try to cover your mouth with your hands again. Komaeda grips your wrists tighter.

“No.” He whispers, trembling, “keep going.”

“ God, your hands are so big. I want to know how deep your fingers would reach inside of me. I bet you’re good at it, I bet you’re really good at it.” He just keeps staring at you, ghostly green eyes blown wide, chest heaving , “Are you turned on? Is this turning you on? Just pin me down and fuck me, do it, do it, do it!”

“How...how often are you thinking about me like this?”

“Oh, all the time.” You freeze, mentally (and therefore also verbally) berating yourself, “Not all the time! Just like, a normal amount. However much that is.” He is still just looking at you, the pad of his thumb slowly brushes across the pulsepoint in your wrist and you shiver, “Yes, yes! I’ve wanted this intimacy with you for so long . I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't tell you. During the first trial, when you went on your weirdo rant about hope and despair. I was scared, i was so scared, but oh god- ” you can't stop yourself. Every thought in your head is pouring out of your lips. Filling up the room, the mortification is drowning you . All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at him, “I was wet , Komaeda. I went back to my cabin and came three times to the thought of you, I am reprehensible . What do you think the others would do if they found out, huh? That all i can think about is you fucking me over my trial podium. They’ll tie me up next-”

The bed squeaks, and Komaeda brings his knee up and over your hips.

“-Oh my god. You’re doing it aren't you?”

His other leg comes up on the bed, and he settles, hovering up above you. He shrugs, “I honestly don't understand why this is something you want,” he leans down over you, resting his palms on either side of your head, “but who am I to deny the wishes of an ultimate.”

If not for the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, you are sure that you wouldn't be able to shut up, based only on the number of thoughts tumbling through your head like they’re on a spin cycle. You are still sweaty with fever and probably look disgusting, but Komaeda shuffles down in between your legs and hikes your hospital gown up to your waist. So you are suitably distracted.

He laughs as he hooks his fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs, “I cant believe that you want scum like me to touch you like this. Usually I would assume that you are lying, or taking pity on me.” He grins, running a finger up the length of your sex, “But everything you say to me is your exact thoughts, isnt it?”

“Yes! Touch me, please! ” You’re quivering beneath him, barely able to breathe in between your frantic pleas, “You feel so good, you feel perfect . I want your fingers inside me so bad .”

He hisses as he slips his middle and ring finger inside of you, eyes glued to where your entrance is swallowing him up, “Ahaaa...you’re drenched . You really do want me don't you?” he pistons his fingers in and out slowly, slowly and deliberately, “Someone like you, desiring me so terribly. It’s such a waste , but i can't help it. I must be selfish and take this chance while i can.”

“Not a….waste....” You force out, helplessly grinding on his fingers, “Want you....want only you…”

“Oh- Ohhhh .” He moans, “I can feel you, squeezing around my fingers. You’re so wet...so warm…”

You hear a zipper coming undone, and your thoughts go into overdrive, “oh my god, oh my god. Komaeda’s going to jerk off in front of me, wanna watch, wanna watch! ”

His fingers still inside you for a moment as he tugs his boxers down far enough to slip out his cock. Your eyes follow the movement of his long fingers as he slowly curls them around the base, and tugs them up again, rolling the pad of his thumb over the head. His hips buck, and you moan.

“You...you’re tightening around my fingers…” he breathes, choking on a moan as he pumps his cock again, “you like watching me touch myself?” Your hips stutter, grinding your clit against the meat of his palm as he continues stroking himself. His eyes are wide as he watches you writhing beneath him.

“The face you make when you do that...it’s so cute.” You say, whining as his fingers start moving inside you again, “it’s even cuter than I imagined. Your cheeks are all red.” You swallow, “and your cock is so pretty...I want you to cum inside me, so bad .”

His breath hitches, “you want me to cum, inside you?” his cock is leaking with pre-cum now, painfully hard in his hand. His chest is heaving.

“Yes yes yes! ” You plead, “I want you, please! ”

“I don’t understand.” He breathes, and you whimper as his fingers slip out of you, “How could someone be so desperate for my pathetic seed?”

“Fill me up , Komaeda!” You exclaim, at this point you are long past embarrassed. The words leaving your mouth are the absolute truth and there is no way you can deny them.

He groans at that, an octave deeper than you are used to hearing and it seems he is having trouble denying you. His own desperation mingling with yours and overtaking his painful self-doubt, he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, and slowly edges the swollen head against your entrance, “f-fuck…” he mutters as he slips inside you, “you’re so warm .”

You can barely even register what you are saying anymore, it’s little more than a string of compliments about how good he feels inside you. About how handsome he is. Your tongue feels weird and loose in your mouth from overuse, but you still can’t stop talking.

He looms above you, halo of white hair bouncing as he thrusts in and out of you, the unmistakable jangle of the chain hanging from his jeans. All things that confirm it is Komaeda inside of you. Your heart races with the fact.

“Th-thank you, for permitting me to do this with you.” He stammers, sweat slowly dripping down his brow, “it’s...so good...it feels like I belong inside you. ”

A moan rips through you, and you hook your weak ankles around his waist, “you do belong inside me. You fit so perfectly , I was made for your cock. GOD I sound so filthy…..I- I can’t help it.”

“ No.” He hisses, eyes meeting yours, “Keep talking.”

“You say that like I can stop.” You dip your head lower, and wrap your lips around his left collarbone, moaning as you suck hard enough to leave a bruise. He keens above you, hips snapping against yours even faster, “Your hip bones are digging into my thighs…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I-I’m sorry, do you want me to-“

“Don’t you dare stop, Komaeda. You’re mine , I want to feel every inch of you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You bring a shaky hand up to his cheek, he nuzzles into your palm, “You aren’t hurting me. It feels wonderful.”

He kisses you then, messy and wet, his lips taste like desperation. Even with his tongue tangled with yours, you are still trying to speak. Sweet nothings, forceful demands, anything and everything that comes to mind is trying to force its way out of your mouth. Something is in the pit of your stomach is twisting tight and you moan greedily into the cavern of his mouth as his hips meet yours again. You can feel that he’s losing his rhythm.

“S-sorry. I’m...im close…” A moan rips from his throat and he buries his face in your neck.

Your hips have started canting up to meet his, you want so badly to be close to him, to feel all of him, “M’close to. I love having you inside me, i want to do this again and again and-”

Komaeda freezes, eyes turning to the door on the other side of the room. Footstops.

“Who is it? Did they hear? Are there going to come in? What do you think they’re going to do if they see you inside of-”

Komaeda covers your mouth with his palm. You’re still talking, but at least it’s muffled now. Kuzuryu and Hinata are chatting in the hallway, the footsteps seem only to be growing closer. You can't stop thinking terrible, horrible things, and while Komaeda’s hand keeps you quiet enough that they can't seem to hear you from outside, Komaeda can definitely hear you.

“I wanna keep going.”

His eyes are blown wide, but you feel the tell-tale throb of his cock inside of you, “ What?! ” he hisses, “there’s no way you can keep quiet like this...they’ll definitely hear us.”

“I don’t care if they hear us, I want them to hear us. I want them to know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips twitch, and he bites his lip hard to keep in a moan, “You're not ashamed to be seen intimately with someone as despicable as me?”

You coo at him, running your index finger down the front of his throat and over the mark you left on his collarbone, he tentatively removes his hand from your mouth and pushes some sweaty hair away from your forehead, you smile, “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m in love with you.”

Komaeda sucks a breath in through his teeth, and it is only then that you realise what you have said.

“Oh GOD. I didn't - I'm so sorry.” your eyes are wide, you’re ready for him to jump up and bolt out of the room, “I just thought it and then i said it, and jesus christ im so sorry-”

You’re cut off by his lips. The kiss is gentler, less desperate, but filled with the depth of passion. He starts thrusting in and out of you again, and you gasp in surprise at the feeling. He pulls away from the kiss, and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as one of his hands slips down under your knee. He pushes your leg up higher and you choke on a moan at how much deeper this new angle feels.

A high-pitched whine leaves his throat as he continues moving inside of you, he swallows, “I...I love you too.”

“Aaah... ahhh .” You’re so close at this point, the coiling in your stomach is about ready to snap, “I love you so much, I want your cum, please! ”

“I’ll give it to you, I...hah...I’ll fill you up...is that what you want?”

His hand slips down to your clit and you shriek , clenching hard around his cock, “Yes, yes, yes! I’m close...i'm so close…”

“I’m gonna...I...I…”

A moan rips through you as your climax finally hits, for the first time this day your mind is void of thoughts. All you can do is feel . Your fingers dig into the bedsheet under you, and your legs tighten around Komaeda’s waist. He writhes and moans above you,  he just keeps going, harder and harder and harder, and then, with a heavy groan you feel him release inside of you.

“Thank...you…” you mutter, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Before Komaeda has a chance to say anything in return, someone clears their throat on the other side of the door. The two of you freeze.

“Are you two done?” Hinata asks, he sounds exasperated.

Komaeda clears his throat, “Um...yeah...pretty much.”

“His dick is literally still inside of me! Maybe give us a few minutes!” You wince at the blunt sentence that just left your mouth, Komaeda is clearly trying not to laugh, you huff “Sorry Hinata! I can't help it!”

This disease was going to be the death of you.

[hannahdra-ws]

and now (you’re hyper paranoid)

Summary: 

hypochondria; n; abnormal anxiety about one's health, especially with an unwarranted fear that one has a serious disease.

(or: Janus has a very bad time.)

Romantic, established dukeceit

TWs: hypochondria, covid-19, panic attacks, unspecified eating disorder, coughing, crying

----------

Through the uneasy feeling, Janus knew he was being a little unrealistic.

He's perfectly healthy, he rarely gets sick. He hasn't even had the flu before. He's double vaccinated, and he wears his mask everywhere. He's certainly never gotten food poisoning before.

So he doesn't know why he's freaking out so much.

read on ao3

Janus stared at the plate in front of him, heart thumping so loudly he was almost sure the others at the table could hear it. It wasn't anything major, it was just meatloaf with a side of mashed potatoes and corn, and Patton and Logan (mostly Logan) spent a lot of time on it, so there's no reason he shouldn't eat it.

The others are enjoying it too, bantering and joking across the table without a care in the world. Roman was basically sitting in Logan's lap, and Four Idiots (as Janus and Remus dubbed them as) kept sending each other equally besotted expressions. Remus was next to him, gesturing animatedly while he talked with one hand and the other hand tightly gripped in Janus's own.

He felt off kilter and shaky, watching everyone eat their food. Janus knows he should be eating too, and logically he knows that there is a very small chance of him getting food poisoning. But that doesn't make the debilitating anxiety welling up inside him go away.

Oh God, he's going to get sick, somethings wrong with the meat he'll get sick and vo-

Ugh. Virgil's the one that has the anxiety problem, not him. Why did his brother have to give him his mental illness? Bitch.

Suddenly, a loud noise happened, forcefully dragging Janus out of his mind. It was Roman, coughing loudly. He kept hacking, and hacking, and Janus abruptly felt faint. 

The others were watching with concern, and Logan was patting Roman on the back to get whatever had lodged in his throat out. Eventually, he did clear his airways, after a long breath in and a particularly violent cough. 

Patton inquired if he was okay, and Roman nodded, face red and tears streaming down his face from coughing so much. "Sorry, I choked." His voice was scratchy from coughing. But he was smiling, and that should have been an indicator that he was okay, he just choked, he's fine-

Remus made some comment, and Virgil flipped him off while still looking worriedly in Roman's direction, but Janus suddenly couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears. Remus must have noticed either the way he abruptly went still, or the fact that he had barely eaten anything, because he squeezed his hand in question. Janus abruptly stood up from the table, almost knocking his chair down in the process.

Remus frowned, a small, confused thing, "Jaybird? You alright?"

"I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me," Janus managed to choke out, before quickly ripping his hand from Remus's and stumbling away, ignoring the protests and calls from the table behind him. 

He hopes no one noticed that he didn't finish his meal.

----

Janus stumbled to his room, heart beating out of his chest, thump, thump, thump. He quickly locked the door and slid his back down to the floor, digging his gloved hands in his hair and pulling.

Roman's dry hacking wouldn't leave his head, oh God he sounded sick, but he's not he just choked he's fine, he doesn't have covid none of you do you're all vaccinated, fuck-

Janus was acutely aware that he was crying, now, his chest tight and his throat sore from the tears. He was trembling, small and terrified against the back of his door, and he couldn't stop thinking.

Janus had to go back to school in a week. School, with its crowded areas and unvaccinated people and possible removal of masks. The very thought of it makes his heart jump into his throat, dizzy with terror.

What if one of them had covid, and we just didn't have any symptoms, what if the vaccine doesn't work against the variant, fuck, he's going to get it, maybe he already has it, he's going to die he's going to die he can't breathe-

He suddenly had the image of his own funeral in his head, his boyfriend and his friends and his brother at his own funeral, crying softly and holding each other. He envisioned himself in the afterlife, waiting for them, watching Remus suffer alone because he wasn't there-

And that horrifying image in his head is what turned his soft crying into desperate sobs, shaking and pulling his hair so tight it stung. 

And that's also when he finally registered the frantic knocking on the door, how long has that been going on? and Remus's panicked voice coming from the other side.

"Jan? Baby, I can hear you crying, fuck, are you hurt? If you want me to fuck off, tell me, but- Oh, Jay, please answer, even a knock, just let me know if you're alright-"

Janus reached with trembling hands to unlock the door, even as his mind went no don't he could be sick, and he quickly moved away from the door a little so Remus wouldn't smack him in the face with the door when he came bursting in.

And burst in he did. In a flurry of motion, Remus quickly came in and shut the door behind him, then sat on the floor with panicked, worried eyes looking at Janus.

"Janus? Can you- fuck, I'm not good at this- can I touch you?"

Somewhere, in the back behind the panic, Janus found his stumbling endearing.

Janus debated for half a second, social distance 6 feet apart you'll die you'll die you'll die, before crumbling to his desire to be held.

"Pl- Please, hold me, I- I can't-" Janus's voice came out absolutely pathetic, broken up in sobs and small and trembling, but Remus paid it no mind. He quickly scooped up Janus in his arms, and Janus held onto him for dear life, like he'll be swept away if he doesn't. He cries so hard he's almost heaving, shaking like a leaf in Remus's strong, tattooed arms.

Oh, Remus, make it go away, He thought, and then cried harder because what a childish thing to think.

"Shh, shh, you're alright, I've got you. Can you breathe with me, darling? In and out, you're okay," Remus's voice was calm and soothing, the panic deliberately gone from his voice, probably to not make him feel worse. He breathed in deeply, over exaggerating his breaths so that Janus could follow along.

Janus tried to follow the rhythm, hiccupping through his tears. He stumbled a few times, and it took a bit, but he eventually was able to settle his breathing. His tears had started to slow, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly childish. 

He just had a breakdown over something so stupid. It's not like he's the only one affected by covid, they're in a fucking pandemic, and he has no right to panic when he's not even sick. He's fine. 

Janus and Remus had only been together for a few months, so Remus hadn't seen this side of Janus yet. This was sure to make him leave. Fuck, he's so stupid.

"There you are, baby," Remus crooned with a soothing voice, and Janus flushed despite himself. Remus wiped away one of his lingering tears, his palm cupping Janus's cheek, and Janus leaned into the warmth, suddenly exhausted. He felt boneless and hollowed out inside of Remus's arms, like his limbs were made of lead.

"I'm sorry," Janus croaked, and Remus was shushing him before he could get more words out.

"No, shut up, you're not allowed to apologize for having a panic attack. You have nothing to apologize for." Remus was strong and steady, and Janus opened his eyes that he didn't mean to close. For some reason, he wanted to deny that what just happened was a panic attack. "You're okay, love, we're okay."

Janus gave a small laugh in spite of himself, and Remus huffed, indignant. "What?"

"Nothing, just- you use a l- lot more cutesy nicknames when you're calming me down." Janus noted, and Remus puffed up like a peacock, but he was smiling. 

"Would you rather I use my normal names? J-anus? Two Dicks? Hot ass? Da-"

Janus cut him off with laughter and a smack to the arm, "Shut up, you awful man, that wasn't an invitation-" 

Remus was laughing too, grin blinding. When they both stopped laughing, they just sat there for a while in comfortable silence. Remus traced the vitiligo patches on Janus's back through the clothes (Janus flushed at the fact that Remus just knew where they were) and Janus traced the tattoos on Remus's brown skin.

After several long, quiet moments, Remus's quiet voice broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Instantly, Janus went tense, before shaking his head no. He couldn't explain it without sounding stupid, and he didn't want Remus to leave.

Besides, there was nothing Remus could truly say that he hasn't heard before. 

Nothing will make it go away.

Remus nodded, content with not pushing. "Well, I say we move the cuddling to the bed and not the floor, how does that sound?"

Before Janus could respond, Remus just scooped him up, effortlessly in the air. Janus squeaked and held onto Remus before Remus just dumped him down unceremoniously onto the bed, bouncing a little on the springs. 

Remus laid down on his back, and Janus immediately crawled to him and curled up next to him, laying his head on Remus's chest and Remus wrapping an arm around him.

"Nap time," Janus mumbled into Remus's shirt. Janus felt more than heard him chuckle.

"Well, if the king says it's nap time, then I have no choice but to obey." Janus swatted at him lazily, and he couldn't see it, but he bet Remus grinned. Remus laid a quick kiss to his temple and his heart swelled.

The worry still pricked in the back of Janus's mind. He was sure that later, he was going to freak out over this moment, that the sudden contact made him contract an illness.

But right now, at this moment, he's fine. He's with his boyfriend, and his other friends and his brother are in the house somewhere too, no doubt worried about Janus. They're all vaccinated, healthy, and safe. 

I'm okay, he thought, the thought not panic induced this time, and fell asleep next to Remus, and dreamt of nothing but warmth.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Emergency! Part 3

Summary: A woman comes back from her trip from Asia but isn’t feeling the best. And is rushed to the hospital. Her symptoms are that of the flue, but worse than. The virus spreads throughout the hospital, Jack falls ill collapsing in the break room. Dean falls ill on a rescue, Cas having to rescue the original victim and his partner. The reader, having to sit by and wait and pray for her friends pull through. But turns out the original patient with the virus got better, now her body has the antibodies to fight the virus.

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 4,262

Warnings: Scary Situations, Language, Mild Angst, Fluff.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: I could use the corona virus or COVID-19 but decided to use the virus used in the Emergency! Episode of the same name. The virus being a strain of the Asian flu during a bad outbreak in the late 60’s. Also the drugs and measure mentioned are probably not accurate, I’m not a pharmacist.

a/n2: D.O.N = Director of Nursing, DOA = Dead on Arrival, BP = Blood Pressure, O2 Sat = Oxygen Saturation

~

“Dean,” Cas says, walking into the fire stations garage.

Dean was logging supplies in the squad truck when he heard Cas enter and got his attention.

“What’s up Cas?”

“When you started dating Y/N, when did you know she was the one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I really like Meg, and when she was taking care of me after that accident of mine I found that she and I have a lot in common and I want to know her more?”

“Well, Cas, it’s different for other people. Just ask Meg out. Talk to her, find out stuff about her that she likes, hates, and if you can find yourself still able to love her despite her flaws. Keep it going. Keep taking her out.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Nothing in life is simple man.”

Cas nods in agreement.

The alarm sounded in the station.

“Squad 51, someone sick. Respond. 226 south Jasper’s Avenue, cross street South Walker boulevard.”

“Back at it again.” Cas says.

“Let’s hit it.”

Dean getting into his usual spot in the squad, revving the engine to life and heading to the location.

When they arrived, another station had arrived originally.

Dean and Cas gathered their tools and headed into the residence.

“Chuck, what do you got?” Cas asked.

“Kelly McMeyers, 22, her dad said she was fine at breakfast.”

They followed Fireman Chuck through the house to the girl’s bedroom to find her on her bed, sweating, pale and in obvious discomfort and pain.

Dean placed a hand on her head.

“She’s burning up, Cas, get the thermometer.”

Cas did as told handing the thermometer to Dean.

Dean placed in the girls mouth, under her tongue. Cas handing him the blood pressure cuff.

Dean began checking her Blood pressure.

“Get the radio, we need to tell the hospital.” Dean orders.

Cas, pulls out the radio of it’s holster on his belt.

“Rampart, this is rescue 51. Rampart this is rescue five one.” Cas radios in.

 It was a normal slow day at the hospital, y/n having finished her charting, getting reading for her lunch break.

“Rampart this is rescue 51,” she heard Cas’s voice over the radio.  “Rampart this is rescue Five one.”

She picks up the hand piece to the hospital’s radio to respond.

“Go ahead 51.”

“Rampart we have a female, Kelly McMeyers, 22 years of age.” Cas transmits.

 “BP is 129 over 80, O2 Saturation is…”

Dean places a hand over her chest, watching it rise and fall. Counting in his head. But scolding with the low number he came up with.

“Did you pack the pulse Oximeter?”

“I did.” Cas says, handing it to him.

“I got to double check before I give you the wrong number.”

Dean turned on the device, and placing it on her finger.

“Still reading low, O2 Sat, 85.” Dean says.

“O2 sat is 85. Temperature is coming up…”

Dean pulls out the thermometer.”

“105.” He reads.

“Temperature is 105.”

 y/n was shocked she had a temperature that high.

“51, standby, a doctor will be with you shortly.”

“10-4.”

 “I just don’t understand, she was fine at breakfast, it happened so suddenly.” The girl’s father expressed.

“Some of these things do happen rather quickly.”

“Could be the Asian Flu?” Chuck suggests. Playing with the girl’s pet monkey.

“Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions until a doctor can see her.” Cas says.

“Kelly, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean asks.

The girl nods groggily.

“She’s really drowsy.” Cas mentions.

“Kelly, are you in any pain at all?” Dean asks.

“My head hurts, my chest hurts too.” She whines.

“She threw up a bit before you got here Winchester.” Chuck mentions.

 “51, this is doctor Singer.”

“Rampart, we have new information, patient is experiencing head and chest pain, she’s drowsy and vomited a few times before we arrived.”

“Alright, start IV, lidocaine, two milligrams. And just in case what she has is contagious keep contact with the patient to an absolute minimum.”

“10-4 Rampart.” Cas says.

“I’ll get the IV going, if you want to get the ambulance here Chuck.”

“Already ahead of you, they should be here by now.”

Sirens are heard in the distance, as if on cue.

“How about that timing?” Cas says.

“Alright, she’s set, lets get her to the hospital.” Dean says.

Just as more paramedics came in, Dean grabbed the equipment as Cas walked out with the patient.

Chuck still petting the monkey.

“I love monkeys, bet he’d be a cute pet to have.” He says.

“Yeah, but they’re not meant to be pets Chuck.”

“Yeah, I know. But, cute little guy, isn’t he?”

The monkey sat on his pole that stood in the room. And the monkey started walking over to Dean, walking on his shoulder, messing with his hat.

“Hey, stop,” he told the monkey while trying to shake him off gently.

The monkey got back on his pole as Dean walked out to the squad.

 At the hospital, Y/N, Doctor Singer assisted in the patient, Kelly McMeyer, as Doctor Singer preformed a spinal tap.

Just as he pulled out the needle, gathering spinal fluid, Doctor Kline walks in.

“What’d you got Bobby?”

“Possible strain of the flu, her symptoms are consistent with that of the Asian flu, but the incubation period is too fast. Her symptoms came up quick, she was fine at breakfast.”

“Do we know where she’s been lately?”

“All over southeast Asia, Kelly and her friends were part of her church’s mission trip in assisting kids in orphanages, and adoption homes. Fixing them up, helping kids get adopted. And her dad took her camping when she got back. Took her to the Black Hills in South Dakota.” y/n explained.

“That opens us up to a whole array of fevers, and of course flus. China is always riddled with noval viruses we’ve never seen nor dealt with. And of course, there’s ones we’ve dealt with her, rocky mountain spotted fever, lymes disease, or even parasitic infections. Fungal infections that could have originated from her camping trip.” Jack explained.

“Did Kelly have any kind of protection on either trip?” Jack asked.

“Her dad made sure she packed, bug spray, tick spray, and they had nets around their camp to prevent nats and other flying insects from getting in the tents.” Y/N says.

“So, in which case, we’re back to, what did she catch when she was in China. Because chances of her getting anything on the camping trip are slim I’m guessing.”

“Her dad was pretty adamant that they were covered for their trip. He didn’t want anyone getting sick.”

Jack nods.

“Let’s get some blood work, see if we can’t find the answer in there.”

“You got it doctor.” y/n says, getting her hands sanitized, and ready to draw some blood.

 “Dean, your shift was done an hour ago, go home!” His father ordered.

“Just finishing up the logs for the day.”

“Cas can finish it up for you, he at least goes home in an hour. Now go.”

“Yes sir, you sure you got this man?” Dean asks.

“Dean, I got it. Go home and rest. See you in two days.”

Dean handed Cas the papers for logging their day, what all happened, their end result. He grabbed the keys to his Impala and drove on home.

He could tell he was exhausted. At a stop light he had to really will himself to stay awake just a few more miles.

But as he got to another stop light, he knew he was too tired to be driving.

Y/N’s apartment wasn’t far. He moved lanes before her street came up and Dean drove to her apartment. Giving her a call to make sure she was either up or home.

“Hey Handsome, how was your day?” she asked.

He could hear the background of the hospital.

“Exhausting. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah, another late one. Why? Are you in the area?” she asked. Sounding concerned.

“I’m really exhausted, and I don’t think I’m gonna make it home. I was thinking on crashing at your place.”

“You can stay there Dean; my key is by my hanging plant. I think your clothes from last time are still there.”

“Thanks baby, where would I be without you?”

“Dead in a ditch because you’ve run yourself ragged, now hurry to my place and get to bed. I’ll home when I can.”

“Love you sweetheart.” He says with a tired smile, pulling into her apartment complex.

“Love you more Winchester, sleep well.” She says.

He parked his car near where she parked. Walking up tiredly up to her apartment he found her key easily.

He headed inside, placing the key back but also locking up behind him as he got himself settled.

She had since gotten a new apartment since the plane crash; sure she was farther away from the hospital, but she was closer to him by several blocks.

He had gotten out of the shower, feeling a little bit better, but he climbed into his side in her bed. Pulling the covers over him, and falling fast asleep once his head hit the pillow.

She had hurried with her charting, her replacement nurse coming in late. But at least she showed up.

She hurried to her car to get on home.

She saw Dean’s car parked next to her spot on the street. She parked her car right behind his.

She quietly entered the apartment. Leaving the lights off she navigated to her room seeing his sleeping form in her bed. Sound asleep.

She made her shower quick and simple, washing off the stress of the day and relaxing enough so she could fall easily asleep.

She climbs into bed beside him. He tossed, turning towards her, wrapping his arms around her.

Poor dude was exhausted. But Dean was no fool, he loved being the little spoon. Maybe too much. But when it was her, he didn’t care too much.

 Days followed, and the original patient began to go downhill. Her fever wasn’t breaking.

Y/N had finished getting Kelly’s vitals, updated her chart. She headed back out to the nurses station when she saw an ambulance dropping off a new patient.

“What do we have?” she asked.

“Fireman, Chuck Shirley. Stricken with a fever, 104 temp, slightly elevated BP.” One of the paramedics informed.

“He was fine at lunch time.” His wife said behind the paramedics.

“Are you his wife?” Y/N asked.

“I am, my name’s Becky.”

“Okay, I’ll escort you to the waiting room. I’ll keep you informed of your husbands situation.” y/n told her.

Becky nodded, and she was lead to the waiting room. Y/N walked back into one of the exam rooms.

Hours passed as the doctors looked over Chuck, they learned one thing in common.

He responded to Kelly McMeyers.

“I want everyone who responded to get checked out. Clearly we are up against something contagious.” Jack orders.

“I’ll get right on it.” y/n says.

 As the day wore on, Y/N had called all the stations that responded, the ambulance and even called up her boyfriend personally.

“Afternoon beautiful.” Dean answers.

“Hey babe, you responded on the Kelly McMeyers right?”

“I did, me and Cas both, why?”

“Chuck Shirley is sick with the same symptoms as Kelly, and Dr. Kline has ordered you two to come in and get checked out.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Dean, Chuck looked bad. Come in, please.” She practically whined.

“Okay, I will. Don’t worry sweetheart. I have to come down for supplies anyway, I’ll bring Cas along.”

“Thank you. See you soon.”

Just as Dean and Cas left the hospital after giving their blood samples to be checked for any virus or uprising in white blood cell count. Questions rose to how and where the original patient got sick.

“Whatever this Kelly chick has must be bad.” Dean says as he drove back to the station.

“Must be, if she didn’t get while camping then where?” Cas asks.

For a beat there was a pause.

“The same place where she got her pet monkey.” Cas says.

“You really think that monkey is the carrier?” Dean asks, unsure.

“Think about it Dean. It’s always animals in other countries that carry all these scary viruses. Swine flu came from pigs. Avian flu came from birds. The Asian flu came from, well, Asia but it was ducks. What if, this monkey one of those viruses and was somehow able to transmit it overseas?” Cas explained.

“You should really be a doctor something, damn Cas.” Dean says, impressed with the information Cas was able to share.

“Also think of the movie Outbreak.”

“Dude, that wasn’t even a real virus.”

“No, but it was a real situation that can really happen. It’s the worst case scenario. But it was a monkey carrying a mutated version of the virus.”

“I think you’re onto something Cas.” Dean says, digging around in his pockets.

“Here, call my girlfriend, tell her what you told me.”

“Okay.” Cas says.

 “Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s Cas, you got a minute?”

“How’s Dean?” she asked concerned right away.

“Oh, he’s fine, we were just talking about the victims. She brought home a pet monkey from China. And Chuck was playing with it.”

“That is actually something Cas, thanks. Is there anything else we need to know?”

“Not really, but just for the fact that this monkey might carry a virus that could kill Kelly and our friend.”

“And you’re spot on, on that. I’ll tell Jack and Bobby. Thanks Cas.”

 At the hospital, the two doctors were at the nurses station when Cas called. Their attention on her when she seemed surprised with the information he given her.

“Cas of squad 51 just told me Kelly brought home a pet monkey from China. And that Chuck played with it.”

“That’s something, Bobby, get someone to go with Kelly’s dad back to his house. Get the monkey and bring the little guy in.”

“You got it Jack.”

 Cas had handed Dean his phone back.

“You know, Cas,” he says.

Cas doesn’t say anything but has his attention.

“I kind of played with the monkey too.”

 The next following day, Kelly was slowly getting better. But Chuck was taking a turn for the worse. His fever wasn’t breaking.

Jack goes into Kelly’s room to talk to her about her monkey.

A nurse was already in the room taking care of her.

“Abaddon why aren’t you wearing your mask?”

“Oh, sorry Doctor its just—”

“No excuses, you’re taking an unnecessary risk. Not only would you be putting your life at risk, you’re putting everyone else’s lives at risk as well.”

With that she put her mask over her mouth and nose.

“Kelly,” Jack says.

She opened her eyes slowly giving the doctor his attention.

“We got your pet down in the lab. Now, was he ever sick when you had him?”

“Yes, just after I bought him. He had a bad cold, and threw up a bit too.”

“Well in order to help the fireman, and you as well, we may have to put him down so we can perform an autopsy.”

“No, you can’t!” she cried. “I don’t know what I’d do without Oreo!”

“Kelly, it’s the only chance we have at saving lives.”

The tears that built up in the girls eyes fell. Jack took his gloved finger by her cheek, brushing away the tears that fell.

“If you’re right about that,” she swallows thickly. “Then you can take Oreo.”

“Could help you too Kelly.” Abaddon says.

“I know.”

Jack gave a sad smile through his mask.

He doffed off his PPE by the door and left her room to give the go ahead.

 “Dean, we have a group of kids from Jefferson Elementary School to come in for a tour, can you help Gabe clean up the garage real quick.”

“Dad, I’m really exhausted, can you get Cas to do it?”

“It’s not like you to complain, come on now. He’s busy with the logs, come on it won’t take long.”

The alarm sounded.

“Never mind.” John says.

“Station 51, medical emergency. At the top of the Wells Fargo bank at 5535 Woodland Boulevard. Cross street Jackson Avenue.”

The men and women at station 51 jumped into action.

 At the location they climbed up the stairs after they reached the max floor the elevator would allow to go.

“What happened?” John asked one of the men working on the roof.

“Jimmy was over the edge cleaning the windows and he let out a yell, and I saw him collapse. I tried getting him on this thing but it’s jammed.”

“We’ll get him, we’ll hoist one of my paramedics down to get a line on him and we’ll bring him up.” John assured.

“I’ll go.” Dean says.

“Why don’t we just swing the lift through a window?” Cas asks.

“There wouldn’t be a safe way to do it. Just, get me down to him. Drop a line for him and he’ll be up here before you can say Bobs your uncle.” Dean says.

“Just be careful man.” Cas says.

“I will dude.”

Dean has the ropes around him, his harness, Gabe, Michael and Raphael anchored his rope as they helped lower him down.

“Okay, more slack!” Dean shouts as he got closer to the victim.

He got safely on to the lift and began to work the rope around the victim so they could lift him up.

But Dean’s vision began to spin. His hands came up to hold the support of the lift.

“Dean, you okay!?” Cas shouts from the ledge.

“Yeah!”

Dean hurries to get the rope around the victim and tries to work on tying the knot.

His dizziness got worse, and worse. Just as he was about to ask for help, Dean passes out.

His body falling off of the lift, and hangs by his harness off of the ledge.

“Try lifting him up a bit!” Cas ordered.

The three brothers tried pulling the rope slightly.

Cas could see Dean wasn’t getting any higher.

“No, stop, he’s tangled. I’m gonna have to head down there.” Cas says.

He heads over to Charlie who handed him some rope, getting the lopes around him, and working his harness on.

Cas hurries over the ledge.

Gabe, Michael, and Raphael tied Dean’s rope to hold him steady as they lowered Cas down to the lift.

“More slack!” Cas ordered as he got closer.  

Cas removed his work gloves to check the victims pulse.

“He’s in full cardiac arrest!” Cas shouts out, communicating.

Cas finishes what Dean had going. Connecting the loops around the victims arms and legs making a makeshift harness.

“Okay, lift him up!” Cas calls out.

The victim slowly rising as Gab, Michael and Raphael pulled the rope lifting the victim up.

“Dean, can you hear me man?” Cas asked, trying to lift Dean onto the lift.

He didn’t respond. He was out cold.

Cas furrowed his brow as he grew concerned for his friend.

“Okay, lift him up!” Cas ordered.

Cas seen the original victim made it over the ledge safely. And Dean began to slowly rise up to the top.

Once everyone was safely up, they got Cas up as well.

Cas helped with the cardiac victim while Charlie and the others assisted with Dean.

 Y/N sat at the nurses station charting her days work about ready to head home when an ambulance and squad approached the door.

She quickly typed up her report, saving it and sending it to her Director, she went to assist the paramedics.

Her heart dropped when she saw one of the patients being wheeled in.

“Dean.”

“Patient one was DOA, heart attack. Dean has a fever of 104.” Cas says.

“Okay, there’s an exam room open, lets get him in there. I’ll page Dr. Singer.”

“Where’s Jack?” Cas asked.

“He’s sick too. He was about to treat Kelly and Chuck when he collapsed. His fever is 103 and climbing.”

“How is Chuck?”

“Not doing well. Let’s focus on Dean please.” Y/N said, keeping the tears of fear at bay.

 Dean was all settled in a room later that night.

“Y/N.” Bobby says as he entered Dean’s room.

“Dr. Singer.”

“Your director doesn’t want you treating him. It’s against ethics.”

“I know. I’m off the clock.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

“Oh, forgive me for staying by my boyfriend’s side.”

“Y/N, you’re D.O.N is on the other side of the this door. Relax.” He whispered.

“Bobby, I can’t think straight right now. I want to stay by his side, if that’s alright.”

“You can’t just stop everything because he’s sick. The CDC got back to us on the virus, you know this. It’s a strain of the Asian flu, a newer mutated strain. We have a drug we can use.”

She sighs, rubbing her face hard, trying to not get frustrated with herself.

“I know. I just want to know he’s going to be okay is all.”

“You love him. I know. But you have to still live life. Because that don’t stop. You got to keep going kid.”

She nods. “I’m guessing I can’t stay with him due to isolation protocol.”

“You got it. but once he’s better, you can.” She nods again.

“Please, keep me in the loop with him.”

“I’m sure Meg will. Cas was already on her case about him.”

She chuckles with a nod.

“Go home and rest. He’ll still be here tomorrow.”

She nods, leaving with a slump in her shoulders. Heading to her car. Driving quietly home.

It wasn’t until she got out of her shower, and laid in her empty bed did she let her walls come crumbling down.

A sob escaped from her, shaking her to her core.

“God, Dean. Please be okay.” She sobbed.

 The next day, she heads into work trying to focus on her patients.

She learned from one of the over night nurses that Chuck passed away.

Her anxiety already being high enough with her boyfriend being sick with the same virus, but the same virus that killed a fireman.

She headed up to Dean’s room where Meg walked out. Sweating after being in her PPE for some period of time.

“How is he?” she asks.

“Not good. His fever is not even breaking. He had the first 100 Milligrams of Idoxuridine.”

“Has it been two hours?”

“Close, it’s been about an hour and fifty minutes since last dose.”

“Give him another dose of it. Same for Jack if he’s not getting better.”

“Sure thing, I’m sure Bobby will understand.”

Y/N nodded as Meg went back inside to give Dean another dose of the drug.

Y/N headed back to the nurses station to chart her first half of the shift when her D.O.N approached the desk.

“Y/N, I was told you were by Dean’s room yet again. This time on the clock.”

“Sorry Jody, I just—”

“It’s okay, really. Bobby can be a hard ass sometimes, and I know I can be too. But my husband gets sick really easily. And I’d do the same thing you’re doing.” She says.

“Thank you…” she hesitates.

“I have your replacement coming in so you can see him and be with him. Once Donna gets here, go to him.”

“Thank you, thank you.” She says, as tears rise to the surface.

“It’s not a problem.” Jody smiles.

 Days pass as the doctors and nursing staff cared for Dean and Jack for the virus.

Y/N stayed day and night, her D.O.N giving her the week off on FMLA.

She had lost track of the days when she finally allowed herself to sleep.

Kelly was fully recovered and the doctors and nursing staff encouraged her to donate some blood so they can use her antibodies in her blood to donate to Dean and Jack so they have a fighting chance.

His fever finally broke, he was getting better. She could close her eyes and he���d still be there.

She woke that night to a hand on her head, playing with her hair.

She stirred awake to find Dean awake and well.

“Hey.” She says tiredly.

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He answers. “Babe, did you stay here all day?”

“Dean, it’s been a week. You’ve been out for a week.”

“Damn…but still, you’ve been here all week?”

“Yes. You scared me.” She says. Taking his hand and placing it on her cheek.

His thumb brushing against her cheekbone. Catching a tear that fell.

“Well I’m sorry for scaring you. But you’re worrying me, did you take care of yourself while you were here?”

“Not really. Haven’t been hungry. I’m not sick or anything.”

“I know, you’ve told me that you’ll get this way. Either in a good way, like an innocent way of binging your favorite show and forgot to eat. Or in a bad way, like this.”

“Let me get Meg and tell her you’re awake.”

Just as she says that, Meg comes walking in.

“Jack’s awake…oh Dean’s awake too.” She says.

“Yeah, he is.” Y/N Says tiredly.

“I’ll get Dr. Singer so we can see when you can go home. And get Y/N to a bed, she hasn’t slept much since she stayed here.”

“Really, not eating or sleeping.”

“She was worked up. who could blame her?” Meg asked.

“True.”

Meg left the room to get Bobby.

Dean not saying a word, pulls Y/N’s arm guiding her in the bed with him.

She happily got in, curling into his side.

He felt a residual tremble shudder through her body.

“Shh, I’m here baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He says.

Not even a tiny virus would tear up this team.

~

A/N: Did you enjoy? How are you liking it so far? Favorites yet? Feedback is fuel and much appreciated. :3

~

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69​, @luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​, @jayankles​, @jeaniespiehs20​, @mlovesstories​, @akshi8278​, @flamencodiva​, @anotherspnfanfic​, @megzdoodle​, @lyarr24​

~

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[chilling-seavey]

hey, so this may be a hard to answer but i kinda didn't have anyone else to talk to about this:/. for a while, i have always been self conscious about my differences. i have been researching about autism lately and i've noticed that my "symptoms" are very similar to ones that i've researched. i just wanted to ask about how your story about it, if you're comfortable:) anyway yea i might just be overthinking it

Hey anon! Thanks for sharing! First off, take it from me first hand, there’s nothing you gotta be self conscious about! Easier said than done, I know, but our differences are what makes us unique and that’s not something to hide. 

I wasn’t diagnosed as autistic until I was 18. Autism in boys is often more prevalent so it’s easy for us girls to be overlooked and end up having to figure out ways to cope with symptoms etc themselves for sometimes our whole lives! I obviously don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl and even still, autism is such a wide spectrum that what I deal with may be completely different than what you are dealing with. In any sense, autism isn’t like another mental diagnosis and it is perfectly fair to self-diagnose without input of a professional if one wishes. Yet, at the same time, it can also tend to be like googling your illness symptoms and the website that pops up says ‘you have a mild headache? you’re dying’ when that isn’t necessarily true! Sometimes asking for some professional opinions on what you think might be symptom could be your best bet! But it’s personal preference too!

In my case? My whole life, I was more of the weird outsider girl. I often sat at recess alone with my stuffed animal (that I had since I was born and is still my comfort even know at nearly 21!) and my books and I wasn’t necessarily bullied but I was picked on a little in elementary school for being different. I wasn’t ‘cool’ and I was socially a ‘late-bloomer’ and never seemed to really keep up with the other kids. Honestly, I just thought I was shy.

Once I had to get a psychological test for university done at age 18, my therapist recommended that I do some advanced tests for ASD (autism-spectrum-disorder) and it was then that my results really opened my eyes that - holy crap everything made sense now. In particular, one of the tests I had to do was facial recognition where she showed me an image of a person making a facial expression and I had to tell her what emotion they were feeling. Another was listening to someone say a line and I had to repeat the tone of voice used to mimic their emotion. I scored so low on these tests. I never realized that this was something I struggled with and I soon learn its because of something called ‘masking’. 

Masking is super prominent in girls with autism because our symptoms may not be as strong or ‘typical’ as those in boys. It essentially is our mind’s way of reading our environment and forcing ourselves to play a part to ‘fit in’ whether it be through mimicking social cues or other things. It’s exhausting and most times you don’t even realize you’re doing it! 

One thing that I can joke about now that I am more comfortable with the familiarity of my diagnosis is what I call my ‘sensory sensitives’. (If you read my writing on here, Penelope in ABM has a few of these!). This is often common in autistic people where certain textures or sounds or other triggers can make you ‘freak out’ (for lack of a better word). I remember when I was little, if my bedsheets weren’t pulled perfectly tight and flat, I would have a bit of a meltdown until mum stripped my bed and remade it. Even now, more often than not, I have to strip my bed and remake it before getting back in if my sheets are too wrinkly. 

I could go on for ages talking about my own experiences and if you want to hear more I can share but the main idea to take from this are as follows:

1. Everyone is different. Everyone as in humans and everyone as in all autistics. So what I have expressed about my own experience here may be different from what you have been experiencing but that doesn’t mean one of us is more valid than the other or has a more ‘serious case’ than the other

2. Don’t go searching for something for the sake of searching. This has obviously been on your mind and it’s good that you can recognize this in yourself! If you are worried about a) what this means b) if it medically factual for yourself c) anything else, bring it up to a family member you trust or a councilor or doctor! Not everyone in your social circle is going to be accepting, especially if you are “high functioning” (I use that term loosely) because us in that category “don’t look autistic”. Just remember there’s no mould you need to fit in to be x y z and having a certain diagnosis or not doesn’t mean you are or aren’t any less of your own great self!

3. It’s not something to be scared about. It’s who you are! Autism is something you’re born with and, yes, it can be tiring for others and especially yourself, but it’s just a piece of your personality and you just have to find a way to work with it! Like if you have an allergy for instance, it’s annoying and can get in the way, but it’s just something you have and you need to take certain care through it! So don’t be too hard on yourself. It can be a weird time through possible acceptance and diagnosis (whether self or medical) and crying out your frustrations is certainly valid (I have plenty of times myself) but you aren’t broken and you aren’t scary and you have no reason to be self conscious over any differences you may have. Being social is freaking tiring to try and keep up with neurotypicals so just know your limits and be kind to yourself

I hope this helped if at all...I didn’t mean to write a whole ass novel in reply lol oops. But if you have any more questions or anything you can always shoot me a dm or another ask 🥰 I’m here for ya and I wish you luck in however you chose to progress with this!! 

[natrashafierce]

I just had a cosmic dermatologist appointment.

We were making small talk, and they always ask what your job is, so it came up that I ended up having no career because I was already sickly and then got mono (Epstein-Barr virus) my first year of college and had it constantly recur for years afterward for months at a time (most recently the past month, though I figured some stuff out and did a 180 since last Friday — thank GOD, because everything I figured out before to keep it away for a few years suddenly wasn’t working).

It turns out my dermatologist’s daughter is the same age as me, went to the same college as me, got mono her first year of college just like me, and it HAS FUCKED HER UP TO THIS DAY. She was diagnosed with both EBV and narcolepsy, and just like me she would sleep for 16 hours a day and still be exhausted and want to sleep more.

She had hypnagogic issues too, although for me that’s been a thing since I was a kid due to another herpes virus (herpes simplex, the one that causes cold sores; EBV is also a herpes virus) and EBV just gives me vibrant dreams instead of half-awake visions. Hers sounds worse than mine ever got because she has trouble knowing what’s real, and I never struggled with that; all my visions were like, mystical symbolic stuff — like obviously I’m not Kali destroying the earth, obviously I’m not fleeing the devil and retreating to nonduality etc, so I just thought they were cool and switched the channel back to real life when I was wakeful enough, whereas my dermatologist said her daughter has no kids but once thought every child in an emergency room was hers. Her husband thought she was schizophrenic at first until they figured out they were hypnagogic hallucinations. I think maybe I’m lucky I had to figure this shit out myself instead of being put on medications, because the stuff she’s been on sounds nuts and awful.

I bet we caught the same fucking super-powered strain of EBV. I’m so curious to find out how many people that year at our college ended up like this, but I don’t really know how I could find out. Most doctors don’t take it seriously enough to test for it and — if they believe you at all — focus instead on discrete symptoms; my doctors tested me for cancers because almost all my lymph nodes were palpably swollen for weeks on end (most people only have a few swollen in one or two areas), no matter how many times I would say it was the exact same illness I got in college. In college they only tested me for strep throat and said it wasn’t strep throat and didn’t care to figure out what it was even though I was completely debilitated; I wonder if my dermatologist’s daughter went through the same thing with the shitty university health services.

And in my case, it was all complicated by herpes simplex fucking me up in other ways and tending to strike at the same time, too (my immune system was weak and if it was a nice environment for one herpes virus I’m not surprised another one did well too). Then the EBV would do additional worse stuff over the years (it would make my spleen swell, and my liver, and I would get pain in my gallbladder and pancreas as well, and sometimes my parathyroid, and it often fucks with my kidneys especially as I get older; it can attack almost anything) so I’d get sent to every specialist and tested for stuff that isn’t microbial. Anyone who is debilitated by a virus long-term tends to go through a similar carousel of specialists, so even if there are more of us, I bet most of them don’t even know it’s EBV.

Anyway, that was the most validating experience with a doctor I’ve ever had, and it was nothing to do with what I came in for.

[finnofamerica]

Hey, I wanted to throw you a Fili Friday ask. :) How does Fili handle an S/O who's inclined to ask for help? Even if they're exhausted and need it. Also, I'm so grateful to have found you. You're so ridiculously awesome

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Thank you!!! I’m glad we’re friends!!

So if you’re anything like me then you are a stubborn piece of shit who gets physically ill due to stress. 

Fili would first notice when you start spending longer than usual in the restroom, hearing your groans as your stomach decides to revolt against you. Being the hard worker that you were, you were constantly on the go, zooming around like a worker bee. 

He would get even more worried when you would squat, bracing yourself against the wall as a wave of nausea overwhelmed you. 

“Amralime?” He’d ask, crouching next to you, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just nauseated.” You would wave it off, taking a deep breath and continuing your work. At first, he thought you were pregnant, but you weren’t showing and it’d been long enough that the possibility was not likely. 

In the evening, when you laid down to rest, he would gently rub your shoulders, asking if you were feeling well. 

“I’m fine,” You’d mumble into the pillow. 

“Maybe you should take a break from work, Kidhuzurâl.” His voice is soft and concerned. You just shook your head in refusal. 

You would refuse his help in sharing your workload until you literally nearly collapse during work. After that, he would insist that you take a break and you were too weak and exhausted to refuse him. 

The next three days he would make sure you were resting and eating properly to get your strength back. After a quick explanation to his uncle, he was free to spend his days with you until you were feeling better. 

You bet your ass he would shower you with love and assure you that nobody is going to be upset if you have to lessen your workload. When you do eventually get pregnant, he would be sent into a state of worry all over again because your symptoms are so similar. (He would be over the moon to find out he’s gonna be a dad, and you’re not sick from stress.) 

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

Stress-based sickness, psychosomatic disorders, and the F word. Fibromyalgia.

Read up or listen up @t-mfrs.com (podcast available wherever you stream.)

Waking up, like I didn’t sleep for weeks. Falling asleep after five minutes on my feet. A pounding head. That sense of dread. Sticky sharp pains through in my shoulders and neck. Brain short on energy, missing a few cards from the deck. Waves of nausea and stomach cramps. Chills and sweats, depending on the body amps. Swollen lymph nodes. Muscle weakness poorly bodes. Insatiable hunger but nothing sounds edible - shit, now desire to throw up is incredible. Eyes shriveling, dry, back into my skull. The aches in my legs, pulsing and dull. Foggy thoughts. Racing heart. When will this end, why did this start?

Did I finally catch the ‘rona? Or am I just past my limit for being stressed out again? Well, I just moved, so this time I know that the answer is very likely… stressed.

So who wants to talk about getting sick? Yeah, among this group, the answer might be surprising. A lot of us do.

Why? Not because we love bitching and complaining when we feel less than ideal - spoilers, that’s every day, there’s really nothing left to say about the raging shit storms inside of us after a few years of it. We’re tired of hearing about it, too… just like we’re tired of living it, feeling it, and fearing it.

No, for us, it’s because it feels like there’s always a surprising ailment right around the corner when we least expect it. One that seemingly has no logical basis or reasonable solution. One that no one else understands. One that feels like it’s born of mental illness, somehow, while being very physically present. One that we don’t even bother bringing to doctors anymore, because no one needs to be shamed and shoved out the door again by their flippant disinterest in anything we say after the words, “Yes, I have anxiety.”

Yep. If you haven’t tried to mingle mental health with western medicine before, let me give you a quick disclaimer: unless you’re missing an arm, don’t bother. In my experience, the only thing you’ll get is an eye roll, possibly a prescription bandaid that somehow makes you feel worse, and a bored recommendation to see a psychiatrist - even if you already do.

All of this, of course, has the effect of only making you feel more upset. First, mentally, as you ruminate over the disrespect of essentially being called a liar just because the doctor doesn’t have enough training. Then, physically, as your increased stress and systemic arousal pushes your body into a new level of overdrive.

Oh, was it a mindfuck just to make the doctor appointment, get yourself there, and deal with the social anxiety of a waiting room for 30-120 minutes? I bet it felt great for someone to then invalidate your health concerns, recommend you calm down, and send you out the door without even looking you in the eye. Feeling more upset, now on a highly emotional basis? Enjoy the shame, hypertension, and lost sleep, as if you needed any more of that.

Today, I want to talk about the stress-central area of my health that hasn’t been completely figured out… and the label that I - embarrassingly - just recently learned is highly applicable to my physical condition.

But also, the outrage that I feel over said label, because, well, it explains nothing. In fact, if anything, it probably does all of us a huge disservice after we’re granted this diagnosis by pushing us into the express lane for being written off. It also separates two issues that are poorly explained, rather than combining them into one full picture that might actually yield answers. Oh, and should I mention that I think this is a larger problem of gender bias in the healthcare system? Yeah, why the fuck not. Might as well air all my grievances as a nice lead-in to another upcoming episode; is mental illness diagnosis skewed by gender?

I don’t want to let my pounding head and aching shoulders deter me too much, so let’s just get started.

History of ailments

I’ve talked about this before, but to briefly cover how fucked up this body is… let’s take a trip back to 2013 when my system failed me out of the blue. And by “out of the blue,” I mean that I had chronically overworked myself running on anxiety, obligation, and starvation for 2 years, leading to physiological revolt.

So, looking back, “duh.”

But at the time? This was all-new. It was crisis-inducing and beyond comprehension that I went from a perfectly healthy, physically resilient, surprisingly strong and low maintenance specimen to a chronically pained, systemically ill, digestively impaired, and constantly exhausted sack of wallowing self-hated.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

You’ve probably heard the “What IS CPTSD?” episode by now, so I’m guessing you’re not a stranger to the details about the common emergence of complex trauma symptoms. Yes, that’s based on a lot of research, but it’s also a throwback to my own experience. I was a long time depression and anxiety lurker, first time complex trauma contributor around age 23, when my brain was suddenly uprooted by a series of new social and therapy-based traumas.

My depression became debilitating negative self-regard and stronger suicidal ideation. Suddenly, my social anxiety became agoraphobia. My new health issues became topics of obsessive and intrusive thoughts… you know, when I wasn’t ruminating about my role in every trauma, my worthlessness as a human, and my recently-unsettled childhood memories. My early twenties were a great time.

And with all the mental strain, came the unresolvable insomnia. Which fed right into the health problems. Which circled back to spark more mental duress. Health anxiety is not a fun way to live.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

To be clear - back in the day I had some very easily detectable physical problems. I understand that doctors have a difficult job when it comes to interpreting the immeasurable inner experiences that their patients detail, but that wasn’t entirely the case here. When your body stops digesting food, well, there’s some evidence to prove that it’s a fact. When a 96oz medical grade laxative used for colonoscopy prep results in zero percent colon cleanse… uh… somebody isn’t doing their duty (pun intended). And boy, did my digestive system just decide that it was DONE doing its only job.

Everything I ate seemed to spark unpleasant physical responses, but moving materials through my guts and extracting nutrients wasn’t one of them. After months of garbage disposal failure, I was basically a walking sewer mixed with a compost pile. I found myself chronically starving, exhausted, puffy, distended, intestinally inflamed, and generally sickly. Your body doesn’t fare so well when it has no sustenance, it turns out.

At the same time, or maybe slightly predating my digestive protests, I started getting ill in weird ways. Things I had never experienced before started popping up, like chronic respiratory tract infections, sinus infections, and gum infections. I was having what seemed like allergic responses to something in my inner or outer environment. I was often covered in hives or my face and stomach were inflating like balloons for no apparent reason. I had near-constant pain in my continually-locked shoulders and neck. My actual skin, itself, hurt, as if I was being stretched to the brink of bursting. My lifelong migraines transformed into something new - disorienting tension migraines that came with horrifying loss-of-vision auras and feverish shakes.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

On top of giving up my impressive life trajectory in the aftermath of the physical breakdown - because I was too fucking exhausted to consider the next steps I needed to take for grad school - this is also where I’ve previously mentioned my drive-aphobia coming into play. When you can’t count on your own faculties, you definitely don’t want to be behind the wheel. And suddenly, life gets very restricted.

I gave up my… anything life trajectory at that point. I went from a wildly social and focused student with a fantastic sense of humor about life and stronghold of self-determination to… Hiding indoors. Keeping isolated. Obsessing over my health. Googling the most embarrassing things late at night. Having no answers. Feeling like a crazy person. Hating myself. Fearing that this was the end. Assuming that my future was over. Guilting myself for fucking up my past. Replaying my tragic story of a rapid flight and a crash, after everything I had fought so hard to accomplish. Giving up.

This is riiiiight about where I pull most of my inspiration for talking about living in perpetual “trauma states” from. Being consistently triggered, out of control, and terrified. Having no answers and no one to even ask. Watching mental illness take over my world without the slightest clue of what was happening. And, oh, the perpetual torment of unpredictable physical breakdowns.

Everyday a new surprise. Every moment the opportunity for a shocking change in vitality. Every night a battle of my brain versus my chronic pains versus sleep.

And so it persisted, throughout 2013 and into several later years… despite the fact that I actually came up with an answer for myself that vastly improved a good part of the sickness struggle... but definitely didn’t fix it all.

Finding AN answer

I’m sure I’ve already mentioned this, too… but eventually I found some respite in my health struggles through no help from modern medicine. In fact, I helped myself thanks to familial clues when I decided to exclusion-diet my way into an answer. My grandpa had celiac’s disease long before it was trendy and I decided gluten was a logical place to start. And what do you know? That helped about 60% of my ailments.

So began years of obsessing over figuring out the gluten free life. Which, contrary to popular opinion, fucking sucks. I get that it became a trendy idea at exactly the wrong point in my life, but goddamnit, I hate the question, "Are you ACTUALLY gluten free, or is it by choice?" It is not a dietary walk in the park when essentially every item is contaminated with some form or another of secret sauce and your body is going to flip out at the slightest dusting.

I remember being so distraught over having these drastic dietary considerations to figure out on my own that I would spontaneously break down into tears in all sorts of places - the fridge, the grocery store, restaurants, social contexts when people kindly asked, “how about you choose where to eat this time.” I can’t choose! I can’t eat anything! I would privately bawl to myself. What a fun time that was.

But that was not nearly the end of it.

It turned out, yes, entirely cutting the glutens helped immensely. I also realized that sugar was not my friend. In fact, processed anything was not going to have a great outcome. But then… there was this other weird pattern that I started noticing in my life… sometimes I was pretty healthy and (relatively speaking) happy with the way things were going off-wheat. But sometimes I was just as sickly and digestively screwed when I definitely hadn’t consumed anything questionable. As if other tried and true components of my diet randomly became gluten analogs that upset me just as much.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

I was still finding myself bedridden and ready to give up on the whole idea of living on a semi-regular basis. Sometimes it was every two weeks, sometimes once a month, sometimes a few months apart. But I never knew why, how long it would last, or how to control the system-wide failures.

And if you want to know how western medicine helped me with any of these continued challenges… it didn’t. I tried to get answers for years before I finally gave up. Every doctor turned me away. Every specialist was critically uninterested. Even the Mayo Clinic neglected to listen to what I said or utilize applicable resources, after I was so sure they could solve the medical mystery of my life.

So. I stopped trying at a certain point. I resolved myself to being health anxious and perpetually confused by myself. I realized that I would never know what any day was going to bring, because my discomforts and continued sicknesses seemed to come and go with the tides.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

I realized that my diet needed to be incredibly tight, and by that, I mean “boring.” Beyond gluten, I cut out basically everything sugary, carby, and processed. I noticed that without a certain variety of physical exercise on a regimented basis, everything started slipping. I prioritized finding ways to get to sleep at night, even if it meant being rigid and assessed as “dramatic” by less slumber-impaired humans. I gave up any activities that caused neck and shoulder strain, and tried to be better about things like stretching. I also noticed that dealing with my emotions was a gateway to pain and discomfort relief, which was an uphill battle all it’s own. And, you know, eventually I learned about this Complex Trauma thing that explained a HUGE part of early to mid twenties, including a majority of the physical ailments.

But, although I began to live like an above-averagely healthy human again… I’ve still always had a few mysteries about my health.

Sure, over the course of many years I’ve figured out how to live with a semi-predictable body after long periods of never knowing what tomorrow would bring. But, unfortunately, there are still times when my system throws me a curveball. During those unanticipated spans of health failure, I’m left ruminating on a question or three that haven’t ever been answered consistently.

One of the most common inquiries is coming at you next.

Stress or sick?

So, even after all my life changes and careful modifications. All my sacrifices and seemingly over-the-top regimes. I’ve still had an ongoing health obsession that pops up from time to time when my shit starts to go downhill.

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

I realized a while back - maybe in my mid-late twenties - that holy hell, I sure felt like I was coming down with the flu more often than it was logical. The thing was, my symptoms only ever progressed to the point of feeling like I was still actively fighting off the sickness as it took hold. I would get the temperature dysregulation, the headache, the muscle pain, the foggy feeling, and oh boy, the exhaustion - that generally serve as your first signs of contagious trouble.

I would be too deliriously tired to get up and do anything. If I made myself go to work, it felt like wading through a dream. Half present, half falling asleep at my desk. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Even my head was too heavy for my neck to manage the task.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get incredibly weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

And I would respond in kind. I would retreat to bed, Nyquil and vitamin C showering over me on frequent intervals, gearing up for the systemic war of a lifetime. I would drift in and out of sleep for a day or two, fending off the weird muscle aches and sweat sessions that come with an emerging fever. Interestingly, many of my old food reactivities would rear up during this period. I would get my neti pot and vomit-bags ready for action.

And then… nothing else would happen. Assuming I chilled out and retreated to a state of forfeit when I actually treated myself with kindness and care, everything would work out. After 1-5 days of being back in my bedridden state, determined that significant contagious sickness was headed my way, it would seem to just disappear overnight. Or, clear up by about 70% overnight, to be more realistic.

It took several rounds of this pattern - I couldn’t tell you how many - before I finally realized… heyyo, my body shuts the fuck down when I’m stressed out. Every time I experienced one of these sudden falls from health, it followed (or ran in tandem with) a period of significant stress, anxiety, and/or depression. And if I let myself relax for a week, it would all be okay. If I tried to push through it because ObLiGaTiOnS, I was signing myself up for a prolonged and far more serious health failure. It happened too many times; I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Like I had postulated earlier in my adulthood - my health seemed to be drastically affected by my mental state. Particularly, my interpretations of stress, obligations, and fears.

And I can tell you, my health anxiety quieted down for a while in the aftermath of the acceptance. Call it immersion therapy. When you’ve experienced the same event over and over again, but A never leads to B, and C-alming your shit makes condition A disappear  back into the ethers... well, eventually you take it for what it is and just stop panicking so much. I think I got tired of preoccupying myself with the whole dumpster fire at some point and preferred to extinguish the flames by letting them run their course.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

And yet, when it’s happening, I also never know for a fact that my stress-based illness is definitely what’s going on. The result is getting trapped in a “will I or won’t I” obsessive spiral of anticipating the worst while reassuring myself that it might be nothing at all. There’s a lot of internal and external conversation about it, as people want to know if you’re sick and you want to be able to warn them that you feel like death… but also have to throw in the caveat, “Iunno, you have to realize that this happens to me all the time and it’s usually nothing, though.”

Of course, this creates the opportunity for my brain to 1) tell me I’m probably fine, quit complaining, pussy, and 2) compare myself to everyone else on the planet, who doesn’t crumble when their brain interprets times are hard. Because, of course, I have to make myself feel mentally ridiculous for feeling physically horrible. Other people are always happy to help in this regard, too. "You sure get sick a lot. I thought you had the flu last month. Wow, it always seems like something is wrong with you." Mhm, I feel the same on all accounts.

And, Fuckers, that’s why I stopped talking about it or looking for answers a long time ago. Instead, I've just relied on the most logical answer and quit worrying. I’ve done enough research on my own, not to mention all my Animal Science schooling, to know how stress responses work. They’re significant. They have the potential to disrupt your entire body through hormonal dysregulation. And they work differently - as far as we can tell - depending on the organism.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

That’s that. Pretty complicated but simple. Try not to stress yourself out and god help you, if you do. Chill for a few days and you’ll be alright, probably. No one knows why it happens. Doctors don’t care. Just watch out for yourself, because no one else deals with this shit.

Unless… they totally do.

So, that’s fibromyalgia

I guess this is where I tell you something that a lot of folks have probably already figured out. Sorry if you’ve been yelling at me through your headphones this whole time - chill, I’m getting to it.

There definitely is a term for everything I’ve described. There are millions of other people who experience it. And, yeah, doctors often still don’t believe it’s real… but the numbers and anecdotal evidence don’t lie.

Ever heard of fibromyalgia?

Of course you have. But have you ever really looked into what it meant? Because… I hadn’t.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Via DM, your fellow Fucker started telling me about being tired all the time, mysterious aches and pains that worsen with stress, IBS symptoms, improper temperature regulation, and over-exertion that leads to required days of recovery. My jaw hit the floor.

You know I hopped online and started doing more research of my own. And all of the information was confirmed and expanded upon in a way that drove my mandible straight into the basement.

Hey, you know how fibromyalgia is synonymous with “widespread pain?” Oh shit, if you dig into it, there is a lot more to learn. Here’s a (maybe, complete?) list of the currently known associated symptoms. Keep in mind, I couldn’t find a single comprehensive resource for this information. This list is compiled of information from the the peer-reviewed article I'm going to read from later, the American College of Rheumatology, the CDC, Healthline, and Medical News Today. And if it sounds like a bit of a "catch all" pile, I think you're right.

Pain and stiffness all over the body

Fatigue and tiredness

Depression and anxiety

Sleep problems

Problems with thinking, memory, and concentration, known as “fibro-fog”

Headaches, including migraines

Tingling or numbness in hands and feet

Pain in the face or jaw

Digestive problems, such as abdominal pain, bloating, constipation, and irritable bowel syndrome

Tenderness to touch or pressure affecting muscles, sometimes joints or even the skin

Irritable or overactive bladder

Pelvic pain

Trouble focusing or paying attention

Pain or a dull ache in the lower belly

Dry eyes

Sleeping for long periods of time without feeling rested (nonrestorative sleep)

Acid reflux

Restless leg syndrome

Sensitivity to cold or heat

Problems with vision

Nausea

Weight gain

Dizziness

Cold or flu-like symptoms

Skin problems

Chest symptoms

Breathing problems

Insulin resistance

Wait, wait, wait. THAT’S what fibro is? Because, I’m sorry, I have literally never heard any of that detail before… and although it gets so ambiguous that I suspect these ailments are all the conditions that just haven't been explained before by medical science... this list just described my life. All the way down to the tiniest detail of dry eyes, as I now recall chronically dumping drops into mine for those same years in my 20s. What. The. Shit.

Prior to this research, my symptomatic knowledge of fibro was essentially - pain, of the unexplained and incurable variety. No one ever once has mentioned anything else about the condition to me, or allll the ways that it correlated with my years of health trauma. Not my peers, not my doctors, and not even my amazing, well-informed therapist.    

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

Maybe that’s why I never had anyone clue me in to the diagnosis - I honestly stopped talking about the cyclical sickness a while back, after recognizing that people didn’t respond favorably to the narrative, “I just get too stressed out to function.” Shutting my mouth and writing off my experiences may have halted my potential for hearing a realistic account of living with fibromyalgia. Oh, how the trauma shame shenanigans never stop royally fucking you.

Of course, based on my own recent education, now I’m wondering if fibromyalgia applies to far more of us in the trauma community. Because if I hadn’t found reliable information on it in all my trauma and inflammatory illness research over the years… how many other people are in the same boat?

And this brings me to my next point. I really hate the term fibromyalgia.

Why I hate the term

There’s actually another explanation for why I never heard about everything that fibromyalgia describes. Uh, you’re going to hate me for this, but I didn’t think it was a “real” diagnosis.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

You see, a number of years ago, as a budding counselor with a few years of experience, my therapist friend mentioned something about fibro. Specifically, that it was a common label granted to more seriously mentally affected patients… and it wasn’t believed to be a real thing. I wish I could remember more detail on the context, but the basis of the story is, someone that I trusted - someone with many trauma patients - told me that in her experience, no one took fibromyalgia seriously. People with intense mental illnesses regularly presented with unfounded complaints of pain, and this is the term they were assigned as a result.

There was no proof of their physical discomfort. The patients tended to have myriad mental and physical health issues. They tended to be more difficult clients. Professionals had doubts about how serious the complaints were. No evidence, no respect. It was just about that simple.

To give more weight to the story, here’s one quick excerpt that is actually validating to read, from an article titled, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview.

“People with FM often reported dismissive attitudes from others, such as disbelief, stigmatization, lack of acceptance by their relatives, friends, coworkers, and the healthcare system, that consider them as ‘lazy’ or ‘attention seeking’ people, with their symptoms ‘all in their head’. Such dismissiveness can have a substantial negative impact on patients, who are already distressed, and also on the degree of their pain.”

So… similar to the asshole social associates described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

So… similar to the assholes described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

It took the real life account of someone with the diagnosis to show me all the ways that my previous perception was completely incorrect. I suddenly realized how reductive and insulting the false information had been. Annnd all the ways that I could have really helped myself and a few others a lot sooner if I had just investigated the term on my own, rather than lazily falling back on someone else’s casually-expressed opinion.

So, I’m saying… fuck me. 100%. That makes me really upset with myself. But it makes me even more frustrated with the medical field.

And this is why I hate the term fibromyalgia.

It doesn’t actually explain a fucking thing… and it doesn’t seem like anyone is actually trying to.

At this point, there is no known cause for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

At this point, there is no known cause or organic mechanism for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

Millions of humans have detailed the same experiences, but science hasn’t yet come up with a way to explain them, so let’s go ahead and give them a new diagnosis that boils down to “Not sure what’s going on, but they say it’s unpleasant and it sounds a little something like widespread pain. Cool, let’s call it a day. Nah, we don’t need to educate the medical community or the public - we don’t need a single list of all the known comorbidities - because we don’t get it, ourselves. Let’s make sure we put that disclaimer right in the definition, so everyone knows it’s a controversial topic."

And implicit in saying that doctors and scientists don’t understand the term, comes a negative connotation of assumed delusion or attention-seeking complaints.

Essentially, what I’m bitching about is the tendency of researchers and practitioners to shuttle things they can’t directly measure to the back of the relevancy line. Despite all of the anecdotal evidence from fibro sufferers that corroborate the same causes, symptoms, and outcomes… we can’t see what they’re talking about and we don’t have an easy explanation, so we put this in the “fake news” stack of information - AKA psychosomatic illness.

Now, it’s also worth mentioning that fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma. Something like 2/3rds of fibro patients also have confirmed PTSD symptoms, if not higher. Exact numbers depend on which study you trust. Just know, it is a prevalent, accepted, correlation between trauma and the development of fibromyalgia. And of course, no one has determined the causative or affective relationship between the two at this point in time.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

The medical field’s lack of trauma education is a big problem. Making “psychosomatic” a dirty word isn’t helping millions of folks out there. Being invalidated by the people who could possibly help you is another mental health crisis waiting to happen. And all of this is infuriating to me, following my own experiences and thinking about other people’s.

Should we take this one outrage step further? Sure.

You know that a vast majority of fibromyalgia sufferers are… women. Sorry, about to get a tad feminist. Is anyone here surprised that primarily female voices tend to be written off by medical professionals? Ha, ha, ha. No, probably not.

For all of human history, the ladies have been getting the shit end of the stick when it comes to medical care. We all know that women were given amazing explanations for their ailments, such as having “hysterics” or "the vapors" not so long ago.

Furthermore, there is research showing that doctors do not take women’s accounts of pain severity seriously, in particular. Even fellow female doctors and nurses are given different treatment by staff when they go to the ER, versus male counterparts. And if you’re a minority or socioeconomically challenged woman? The data says you might as well take two aspirin and see what happens the next morning, because the medical attention research is even worse for those demographics. Huge surprise.

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups one way or another… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

Yeah, we haven’t.

We’ve been given a term - complete with a wink and a nudge - that no one wants to meaningfully research or prioritize understanding. We’ve received a new phrase that doctors will “generously grant us” when we’re drowning in unexplained symptoms and pain. We’re then labeled with a word that essentially amounts to “disregard and humor” for all our future appointments. On top of it all, we’re carrying the burden of traumatic histories, which immediately qualify us for misunderstood diagnoses that more or less equate “ghosts in their blood” - because, hell, we can’t quantify mental illness, either.

The whole ordeal makes me really upset. The fact that I was inadvertently pulled into this biased disbelief makes me more upset. It also serves as quite a demonstration of how powerful or deleterious knowledge can be after it worms its way into your head involuntarily and becomes your only “go-to” piece of data, true or false.

One seemingly-trustworthy person mentioning a negative opinion of fibromyalgia one time in my past somehow infiltrated my thoughts to the extent that I didn’t have a second thought for 5 years? And we're talking about a goddamn trauma researcher - with, what I consider - an otherwise open and connection-happy mind?

The power of assumed authority and truth in opinion is significant. If I can be swayed in this way, how could less mental health informed medical professionals stand a chance in responding differently? That’s frightening and clarifying… though immensely upsetting.

So, since biomedicine hasn’t bothered to find any great information for us, despite the rapidly increasing rate of fibromyalgia diagnoses in the past two decades - how can we make sense of the information to actually help ourselves?

Let’s talk about that next.

What we can conclude

So it kindof blows finding out that you probably qualify for a new medical term… only to find out that we don’t actually know anything about said term. I say this, because if you’re waiting for me to pop off with some sweet research on fibromyalgia… uh… I haven’t found it yet. But not for lack of trying. So far every article I’ve seen has been pretty basic and uninspired.

Does fibromyalgia correspond with trauma? It does. Does stress mediate and moderate fibromyalgia, PTSD symptoms, GI problems, and depression? It does. Does it take a long time and numerous appointments to receive medical help for fibromyalgia complaints? It does. Does the comorbidity of post-traumatic symptoms make fibro more uncomfortable and challenging to overcome? What do you know - it fucking does.

(Wow. So enlightening. Having two debilitating disorders is less fun than having one. Who’s funding these research studies, anyways?)

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

Really, the  most interesting things I learned from my reading are that

1) insulin resistance is another associated disorder, which explains even more of my baffling life

2) sex hormones are leached from your system under stress, which, refer to point number one... explains another huge chunk of my existence, and

3) the recommendations for treating fibro long term are the same recommendations I’ve given for getting your trauma life re-ordered.

You know how I always push for people to find out what’s manageable on their own through trial and error, rather than approaching trauma recovery with preventable fires burning in every area? Hey - someone agrees.

Namely, it's recommended that in order to manage fibromyalgia you establish routines including strictly nutrition-based eating habits, non-threatening forms of consistent exercising, prioritizing tons of sleep, and controlling your environment as much as possible for stressful stimuli. Doctors can also supplement your rehab with antidepressants, because, again, fibromyalgia is related to the same underlying hormonal imbalances as depression - but the larger health issues are managed best by changing your behaviors. Just like I’ve said.

I suppose this is no surprise, since this entire time I’ve unknowingly been talking, in large part, about how I’ve controlled my own fibromyalgia symptoms. I just thought it was mandatory trauma pains I was dampening. But the word is out! There's a separate phrase for it. The doctors and I agree; stop treating yourself like a turd, and maybe you’ll stop feeling like one. Whatdoyouknow. Sometimes there are reasons for the things I notice experientially, even if they aren’t originally informed by medical lingo.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

This perfectly aligns with my observations that a terrible work week mixed with a personally challenging month on top of a physically exhausting cleaning marathon will lead to a systemic breakdown every time. And, conversely, those times when life has actually been pretty chill correspond to periods of bodily health and limited upset - the times when I wonder “was I ever really sick at all?” and start to health gaslight my damn self.

Realizing the link between stress and sickness, of course, also begins to explain the correlation to trauma, and particularly, complex trauma.

Now, let me start by saying that there’s some debate over the downstream effects of PTSD - some researchers swear that it decreases system arousal in the face of later stress, others have collected data reflecting that a nervous system hyper-sensitization takes place. From my own trauma involvement, I’ve seen and heard more cases of the latter; we’re quick to upset and easily pushed into stressed territory. I don’t know many, if any, trauma folks who are non-responsive to disturbing life events... but that sounds more like a deep, dangerous, clinical depression symptom to me.

Personally, once I’ve been chronically stressed for a few weeks or months, then I notice the loss of stress response take over. My limbic system gives up, the HPA axis stops responding, and therefore nothing can rattle me. Perhaps you’ve also had the experience of laughing when your car breaks down, because it’s already been 3 months of disaster around every turn and there’s nothing else you can do for yourself. So, sure, people can reach a point where they legitimately don’t respond to the chaos anymore, but I’m not so sure that’s a consistent norm. I think it’s more likely that you turn off your stress reactions if you’ve been adequately prepped to dissociate for the sake of sanity or your chemical balance is so wack that your danger center has powered down.

I can tell you without a doubt that before the point when my stress threshold has been raised sky-high thanks to repeat exposures and wiring disconnections... I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for basically every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses.

I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses

This nervous system sensitization, as they call it, explains a lot of trauma symptoms. I’ve regularly discussed the hypersensitivity problem it creates, when your brain doesn’t adequately filter out or assess neutral stimuli because it considers basically everything to be a threat. This can also contribute to the ADD and ADHD diagnoses that we receive, when our heads are too busy trying to sort all that data streaming in to direct our thoughts in a steady way. Or, the ways that we’re uniquely thrown immediately into panic mode when we sense a risk. Plus, we’ve probably all had the experience of tiny, secret triggers sneakily upsetting our bodies when the stimulation wasn’t even significant enough to pass through our cognitive recognition centers. These are all caused by the same systemic over-sensitization problem.

In general: yes, we trauma folk are sensitive to our environments - inner and outer. We are easily pushed down survival pathways to fight/flight/freeze/fawn responses. We rapidly catastrophize ambiguous information, which can convince our brains and bodies that the worst has already happened. We’re hyperaware and easily overstimulated, often agitated, and regularly on edge.

I maintain, in the face of controversial evidence, that we get stressed out easily. And our bodies react dramatically.

I feel like I should also state that this is especially true, as most of us have read, when we have unresolved emotional strain floating around in our meat jackets. We can be overstimulated and aroused (in a bad way) from the inside, out. Since the majority of us are not skilled in emotional recognition or resolution, we’re often walking around with a lifetime of hard feelings stored in our guts. And there’s been roughly zero doubt in my head about emotional and environmental stress contributing to dissociation, contributing to a vagal nerve shutdown as a big part of the digestive failure that characterizes fibromyalgia, IBS, Crohns, and so many autoimmune disorders.

On top of the unresolved emotional root of stress, this pings another episode that I've previously released. The one about being overly restrictive in your diet and exercise for the sake of appearance perfectionism. If you physically exert yourself too strongly through caloric deprivation or extreme work outs, you can easily stress your body into a survival response. It can't tell the difference between starvation for bikini season and starvation for lack of food. Running your ass off for your upcoming wedding or running your ass off for your upcoming bear attack. Your danger sensing center is sensitive and it overreacts, much like myself.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.  

Again, the authors out of Italy and Brazil who penned, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview, have a potential way to think about that. They state:

“Even if the causes and pathophysiology of FM are not completely known, widespread chronic pain could be explained by a vulnerability due to a perturbation in the central processing of sensory information, named ‘central sensitivity’ or ‘central sensitization’, that amplifies the response of the central nervous system to a peripheral input. Hence, people with FM and/or other central sensitivity syndromes have a lower threshold for interpreting sensory information as noxious. Several factors, such as genetic predisposition, deficiencies in neurotransmitter levels, biochemical changes in the body, endocrine dysfunction, mood states, anxiety, sociocultural environment, psychological trauma and past experiences in general, expectancy beliefs, and catastrophization have been proposed as explanatory mechanisms of patients’ subjective experience of central sensitivity. Current research indicates that abnormal sensory and pain processing is a key factor in the pathophysiology of FM. There is robust evidence that  abnormalities in central pain processing, rather than damage or inflammation of peripheral structures, play an important role in the development and maintenance of chronic pain in patients with FM.”

Interesting, huh? I still think inflammatory responses are a big part of the 1000 piece stress puzzle, but I don’t disagree with the idea that our finely-tuned danger detection systems amplify pain and discomfort signals to deafening levels. Putting all the system data together, you can deduce a fairly complete picture of how strain, physical degradation, and pain are all related.

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

All of my strange health complaints from the past decade have aligned with this new label. And that label corresponds perfectly with my inkling that running on cortisol and overzealous guardsmen have been the major source of my health anxiety sauce. Welp, it’s been validating research for all of my educated guesses, to say the least.

Long story short, there’s not a ton of helpful information about the reasons for developing fibromyalgia or what makes it get worse. But there’s one thing we do know for a fact; stress is the enemy. At least I think it’s comforting to conclude that stress is the root of many of our C-PTSD complaints, as well as depression, anxiety, insomnia, obsessive thoughts, and now… a whole list of common maladies, labeled fibromyalgia.

Whether or not it’s really understood, at least there is a connection between everything. At least there’s something that ties ALL the random, disjointed pieces of torture together. I’m guessing that for many of us, fibromyalgia is similar to complex trauma, again, in that regard.

And, lastly, I can conclude that… I have more questions

More questions than answers

Here’s one last excerpt from the aforementioned article, which is the only one I found that’s worth hearing from.

They state: “FM is labelled, often with a negative connotation, as a ‘functional somatic syndrome’, part of a ‘somatization disorder’, ‘fashionable diagnosis’, ‘idiopathic pain disorder’, ‘non-disease’, ‘psychosomatic syndrome’, dismissing the true suffering of the patients. In the absence of a univocal identified biological cause, subjective reports of symptoms by the patients are often viewed derogatorily and discredited as ‘psychogenic.’”

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Uh, I don’t know what could be more organic than the endogenous hormones in our own bodies creating downstream health effects, but hey, I’m not a biologist anymore, what do I know?

The fact remains - there’s a lot more to understand about the assorted mechanisms that lead from trauma into depression, generalized stress disorder, and physical manifestations of a biochemical system that’s running off-balance. And this is where I have the biggest questions.

First, I have to get this out of the way. I’m wondering about the known gender split in fibro. The numbers are horrendously skewed towards women as the primary sufferers, and that’s not helping the medical legitimacy case. So, what are the chances that men just don’t have fibromyalgia at the same rate as women? Either they don’t get stressed to the same magnitude or their bodies respond completely differently? It’s possible. OR. Is it something else?

It seems to me like this follows another similar mystery - what are the chances that men just don’t suffer from Complex Trauma at the same rate as women? Pretty poor? Probably more of a diagnostic or seeking-help issue? Yeah, I think so, too. Yet, if you look strictly at the numbers, it sure seems like there are more women hearing about C-PTSD than men.

This analogous labeling issue between the genders makes me think of a few explanations…

1) Men don’t seek help for their physical ailments the way that women do, either because they’re less in tune with their bodies or because they’re shamed for not being tough enough if they complain. Just like C-PTSD.

2) Men don’t hear about fibromyalgia, because it is an engendered diagnosis reserved for dramatic women at this point. Just like C-PTSD. They receive other partial diagnoses, like IBS, that are less controversial. This leads me into a whole spiraling rant about several genital-dependent psychological diagnoses that I feel similarly about, but one of them is…

3) Men don’t receive the same level of fibromyalgia labels as women because men don’t often receive Complex-PTSD labels, which would serve as a hint to their doctors, since trauma is a well-known predisposing factor…

This brings me to the next set of questions.

It’s unpopular opinion time, but, frankly, I don’t know that any of these trauma and fibro issues are really that separate.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

First comes the trauma, then comes the presentation of downstream physical and mental symptoms. Presentation, magnitude, and personal recognition of these symptoms varies, just like severity of Complex Trauma does. But under both conditions, our experiences are often so similar - the hard part is that we struggle to describe them and often lean on abstract language which can be used in such diverse ways. We focus on different problems, depending on our own life impacts.

So, maybe we notice and report internal events differently, but it’s hard for me to believe that the two disorders aren’t more than corresponding diagnoses - and are, in fact, one and the same.

I could be very wrong, but I’d sure like to find out.

So, to the small percentage of fibromyalgia sufferers who don’t have trauma… you sure? To the depressed and anxious folks who can’t seem to get a grip on their physical health, but never saw their life as traumatic… want to take another look? To all the traumatized folks with Raynauds, food allergies, hypertension, ADD, aches, and migraines… have you really looked into the full definition of fibromyalgia?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

Is it possible that everything boils down to one underlying event - trauma - that produces a whole host of other biological adaptations down the line? Did we create a separate term for it, simply based on a lack of standardization?

Or is this an exclusionary problem?

Have all the various ways we’ve learned to categorize and describe our experiences actually separated one full disorder into two half-disorders; one that encompasses the brain and another that covers the body? Is it our societal misunderstanding of the connection between our perceptions and our meaty husks, forcing us to separate the issues of mental and physical health that would be better understood together, as one?

I’m not sure! But I’m definitely thinking a lot about it.

Partially, from personal bias. I always considered my physical issues to be part of my trauma life, not separate from it - and that explanation made perfect sense to me. Where do these disorders really split? Maybe it’s possible to have Complex PTSD without the physical symptoms, but that's really not what I hear from people. The most of us have at least some periods of physical ailments, even if they're not persistent. To me, it seems like a distinction that should be made within the trauma diagnosis - with or without physical wellness degradation - rather than piling a separate, largely-ineffective diagnosis on the vast majority of us who have some variety of said bodily ailments.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

If more psychologists actually learned system biology and more medical practitioners actually studied abnormal psychology, maybe we wouldn’t have disparate diagnoses that each come with a half-recognition. Maybe we could have one term that encompassed the full experience of trauma. Maybe these professionals could confirm all the details that we don’t understand by working with a more comprehensive approach to how humans work as a whole, rather than organ by organ. Just a fucking thought.  

Because, I can tell you, if my therapist friend had the same biological education that I did at the time, I guarantee that she wouldn’t have told me fibromyalgia was a “pseudo diagnosis.” If she had knowledge of the connection between stress hormones and bodily breakdown, plus the trauma physiology that determines our sensitivity to stress - there’s no way she would have been so flippant or insensitive with her words. But under the influence of her counseling peers, the diagnosis became a fallacy.

I think this highlights the danger of the problem at hand. It only took one industry-determined void of knowledge to pass along an unfair opinion that skewed at least my perception for years down the line. And, think about it, how many times has one innocently-baseless comment in the psychology or medical fields probably created a lifetime of bias in an up-and-coming professional?

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Depressing! And enlightening.

And that’s roughly where I stand today, after days of fibromyalgia research and very few satisfactory answers. Depressed and enlightened.

More or less, asking myself more questions about the legitimacy of our entire mental and physical healthcare system and all the lines we draw in the sand. Confident that trauma leads to increased stress leads to increased brain and body trauma. Somewhat happy to know that I’m actually not the only one who consistently apologizes for feeling like shit and questions if it’s “valid” or not because it seems connected to my brain. But also, pretty pissed off that we’ve been given a word that comes with no explanations and a hellofalot of medical field judgement, as if we needed more of that.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Hey, the same link exists between socioeconomic status and complex trauma. Hey, it’s another predisposing factor for post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms’ emergence. Hey, big surprise, if you have a stable and predictable physical and financial environment, you’re less likely to develop the terror-based conditions brought on by earlier trauma.

If you have financial resources, you’re also less likely to be chronically stressed by the demands of life. You’re probably also more likely to receive respectable medical care. Therefore, meaning that you’re both less likely to have enough perturbation to develop over-sensitive nervous system responses and less likely to be dismissed by doctors with a label they don’t believe exists. Plus, probably more likely to have access to mental health care that could prevent the onset of Complex Trauma presentation, and likely fibromyalgia, altogether.

Oh, look, logic explains so many things. Or, fuckit, let’s just choose to believe that poor people are lazy and always want to complain about something, whether it’s in their heads or their bodies. Whatever the rich white men say.

Big issues to think about.

Like I state way too often on this show, it’s the small things in this trauma life that bring you comfort. And monumental societal failures that make you scream. (Okay, I just added that last part today.)

Wrap it

Okay, let me get out of here before I question more beliefs that are way out of my paygrade. Sorry, medical and psychological practitioners. I know that I’m just a critical observer who, like that kid everyone hates in class, perpetually asks too many questions.

At the bottom of all my complaints, I just wish that we could come up with a way to characterize these disorders that actually helped people understand what was happening. If you know how your body is reacting to what stimuli and how the symptoms are all related, that's a lot more powerful than throwing assorted barely-defined titles at them.

If we can't definitively say that fibromyalgia and trauma symptoms are one and the same, fine. Let there be a distinction. But I think it would be preferable to call fibro something more telling and true to the accepted cause. Call it semantics, but something like Stress Affective Syndrome would be more useful than the made-up word of fibromyalgia. Please, anyone feel free to come up with a better phrase, because I just made "Stress Affective Syndrome" up so I could say "I've got SAS." It already fits the bill.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

Even if I had gotten that information about fibro, would it have helped separate from the C-PTSD diagnosis? Honestly, probably not. I would have just been harder on myself for suddenly being too weak in the face of stress. And after reading that medical professionals doubt the validity of fibromyalgia, in the first place? Well that would have been a whole other source of disbelief, anger, and negative self-regard. Maybe a whole new crisis, once my inner critic got a chance to hammer away at my head.

I suppose that figuring out the patterns of my strange bodily conditions actually needed to happen organically for this Fucker, because any semi-questioned diagnosis would have just been more fuel for my trauma fire at that point when I so thoroughly despised myself. Confirming to myself, for a fact, that stress fucks me up may have been a prerequisite for accepting that I might be “one of those fibro people.” You know, the ones who lie about their symptoms. Ha.

And, again, this says a lot about the potential damage that poorly-described labels can do to people… just as much as it says about my own reluctance to be considered a weak-minded over-reactor by outsiders.

All of this being said, I’m so grateful for finally finding out exactly what all fibromyalgia actually entails. It took too long, but honestly, the information came at the perfect time. Two days after I got it, I was stress-sick. Ahhh, it's fibro time. How’s that for irony?

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

After years of nobody I spoke to having a tale that even mildly resembled my autoimmune breakdown, finding anybody who related to my issues was extremely relieving. Not only was it a common experience, but it meant that I hadn’t somehow brought the discomfort on myself - through mental illness, physical shenanigans, or plain old weakness - the ways that I feared.

Furthermore, it proved that I hadn’t imagined it all. Because believe it or not, you’re surprisingly willing to throw yourself under the bus after all the pain has passed. I’ve spent the past decade telling people, “I think I have the glutens, as I call it... but I don’t really know though, it’s never been explained, sometimes other things bother me, and sometimes it’s really not a big deal, I don't know what it is” as an almost-apology. A disclaimer that I, too, doubt my own memories and conclusions because they weren’t properly validated by who I considered authority figures.

Hearing that other people had digestive disorders and autoimmune disasters in the wake of Complex Trauma, via the book The Body Keeps The Score, shocked me into self-acceptance of my prior experiences. Hearing that all of it can be encapsulated by this term fibromyalgia a few days ago - well, shit. This is a more mainstream occurrence than I ever previously thought.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma feel more applicable than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma are more enlightening than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

Now I know. When I feel a physical breakdown coming on, with the suspected cause being stress… I don’t have to apologize for it. I don’t need to tell people that I just can’t handle the pressure with unfettered shame for my own biochemistry. I can rest assured that what I’m going through is common - far more common than we know - and completely valid. Even if there are people ready to tell you that it's not.

But, to be honest, I still probably won’t tell anyone that it’s called fibromyalgia. I’m not proud to say, I wouldn’t want them to think I’m just being dramatic.

UGH.

[swimmingnewsie]

Gone Home

Link to AO3

---

The sun shone brightly in the fields of the Northuldra camp. Winter was quickly approaching, apparent by the snow left from the evening before. It soon would be melt, but Elsa didn’t mind. She was home. 

It had been ten years since she abdicated her throne, leaving her sister in charge of Arendelle and its people. The journey here was scary. But once Elsa had accepted her role amongst the spirits, things changed for the better. Her powers grew day by day, and with that growth, her control did as well. With her powers under control, she was finally able to see the other parts of life that her sister had dreamed of when they were children. Things of love and marriage. 

A family.

As time passed, Elsa and Honeymaren discovered they held a bond for each other that neither could imagine. The Northuldra believed love could happen between any two souls, different from what Elsa had learned as a young girl. Honeymaren had taken a chance, and Elsa had fallen head over heels. 

They married during Elsa’s third winter with the tribe. It was a simple ceremony, far smaller than she would have endured in Arendelle. It was a dream better than she could ever imagine.

More time passed. Elsa thrived in the forest, bringing peace to nature in her elements. Anna thrived in Arendelle, leading to prosperous years of happiness and wealth. They had less time now, but there was always time for each other. Anna now had the large family she had always wanted, and Elsa was more than elated to be a part of it. Especially as it meant being Auntie Elsa to her four wonderful children. Add in Honeymaren’s family as well as Kristoff’s and there was more than enough love to go around. There were no more closed doors.

Elsa smiled at the baby girl in her arms. Laila had come to them unexpectedly. Four months ago, a new mother in the tribe passed shortly after childbirth, while the father was an Arendeillian soldier who previously sacrificed his life protecting Anna from an assassination attempt. Yelena had asked if they would take her in, and Elsa didn’t give it a second thought. 

Laila opened her little eyes and gazed at her mama. 

“Good morning, ladybug,” Elsa whispered, conjuring a few snowflakes above the baby’s head. “Did you have a nice nap?” Laila cooed, opening her mouth to catch the falling pieces. 

“I bet you did. You looked so peaceful.” She twirled a little curl on her daughter’s head. She had the same dark Northuldran hair her mother and Honeymaren had had. If only her mother could see them now. Elsa, a mother herself. She never thought this would be her life. 

Elsa gave her daughter small kisses to the head. “We’re going to go see your Auntie Anna and Uncle Kristoff and all your cousins tomorrow. I can’t wait to show you the castle. Show you where Auntie Anna and I grew up.”  Since the birth of Laila, Elsa hadn’t been back to Arendelle. Nokk wasn’t the easiest creature for a newborn to ride on afterall. And even though Anna and Kristoff came and visited their niece, it wasn’t the same going herself. Homesick, Elsa and Honeymaren had arranged for a sleigh to take them home tomorrow.

Laila cooed and gurgled up at her mama once again. Elsa simply smiled, tickling her young daughter’s belly, when a wind brushed by feverishly.

“Hello, Gale!”

The wind spirit wasn’t their happy relaxed self, however. Gale was erratic, causing far more movement than they ever had before. They carried a note. Sensing something was wrong, Elsa settled Laila onto her side and reached out to read the note.

Elsa,

Anna is sick. Very sick. I’m scared. I don’t want to worry the kids. Please help.

Kristoff

Before even reading the second sentence, Elsa was up tucking Laila into her pouch. “We’re leaving a little earlier than I expected, ladybug."

“I’m coming, Anna.”

----

A half-hour later, Elsa was barging through the Arendellian gates on Nokk, Laila held tight to her chest. Elsa couldn’t delay this trip until tomorrow. She needed to get to Anna. She needed to get to Anna now.

When she entered the corridor to Anna’s chambers, there was a shell of a man sitting outside her door. His eyes were tired, hair messy, and face puffy with tears. “Elsa?” he asked with disbelief.

“Where’s Anna? I need to see her.”

Kristoff stood, dusting himself off. “She’s sleeping in our bed. I wouldn’t go in there yet-”

But before he could finish his sentence, Elsa had bolted into the room. 

The sight crushed her soul. She hadn’t seen Anna this sickly since they were children. All the color was gone from her face; she was breathing heavy and wheezing. What had happened?

“Anna?’ she whispered quietly, touching her sister’s burning forehead. Tears dripped down her face and snow began to fall around her. She would have stayed there forever if it weren’t for Laila’s cries. Not wanting to wake her sister, Elsa left the room bouncing her infant.

“Kristoff, you have five minutes to explain what happened to my sister in there,” she said with the regal authority she hadn’t had in years. 

Kristoff sighed, trying to settle himself. "Leif came home from lessons with a bad flu a few weeks ago. And you know how Anna is. She'll give anything for the boys. So instead of delegating her tasks to everyone else, she served as Queen and doting mother." Elsa nodded. She herself had done that when Anna was ill. "Well, it was fine when it was just Leif. But then Leif gave it to Eli who gave it to the twins. Four sick kids and royal duties didn't go over well.

"We both knew we would be at the receiving end of this illness, but I didn't know how bad it would get." Kristoff wiped at his eyes trying to keep composure. "She had the same symptoms as the boys, and so did I. But I got better and well... You've seen."

Elsa looked at her brother-in-law with anger. “You mean to tell me, my sister has been sick for God knows how long, and you’re just now telling me about it?” 

Kristoff shook his head. “You have Laila. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near this. The twins are three, and they’re still recovering two weeks later. There’s no telling what would happen if she caught it. We thought it would resolve itself. But obviously it didn’t.”

Elsa bit her lip and heaved a sigh. He was right. She was putting her daughter at risk having her near Anna. “You still should have told me.” Elsa gave a deep breath, focusing her energy inward. “I need to send a message to Honeymaren. I’m not leaving until this is settled.”

Kristoff nodded again, sighing. “I didn’t think you would.”

---

"I drew you a bath." Honeymaren wrapped her arms around Elsa, bringing her out of her thoughts. "You need to unwind for a little, my sweet."

Elsa shook her head again, not giving into her wife's comfort. It had only been hours since she returned to Arendelle but it felt as though it had been days. "There's too many things to be done. Trade agreements need to be read, I need to get Leif ready for this briefing, we need to put Laila to bed-"

Honeymaren stopped her wife with a kiss. "It's late. Laila is in one of the boys’ old cradles. Kristoff and I put the other kids to bed, including your young student, and those agreements can wait until morning." A little more forcefully, she tugged at Elsa's sleeves. "Bathtub. Now."

Elsa sighed. There was no point in arguing with her. It was late and after today, a bath sounded wonderful. "Okay, bumblebee. Bath time." She could see the look of glee on Honey's face, making her less remorseful of lost working hours.

Gently, Honey helped her wife out of her gowns and into the bath. Elsa visibly relaxed at the heat. Hot springs in the mountains were nice, but a bath in her old home couldn't be beat. "Aren't you going to join me?" she asked slyly.

Maren gave a small chuckle. "In a minute, love." Her hands wandered to the various soaps and oils at her disposal. She poured a small amount into her hands and began working through Elsa's hair. 

"Let me take care of you for a while."

Elsa laid back letting her wife massage her scalp. Her hair was far shorter than it had been in her youth but the sensation was still wonderful. It took her mind off of all that had happened that day. 

Anna. Her sweet sister was dancing with death. Watching her lie there riddled with pain was a sight she had never hoped to see. 

As if that were not bad enough, she was in charge of helping Anna's oldest son Leif navigate royal affairs. Kristoff had learned plenty in his nine years as prince consort. But no one else knew ruling Arendelle like Elsa. And thus Elsa was teaching him how to be the prince regent, far earlier than he should have. It was a cursed parallel of fate; but, cursed or not, they needed to be prepared.

Elsa was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed Honeymaren crawl in beside her. Her wife wiped away a stray tear from her cheek, and that's all it took for Elsa to break. The temperature dropped drastically; the water around them crackling as small bits froze. She couldn’t even bring herself to apologize for her magic. The tears kept falling, and all Honeymaren could do was hold her wife tight until she had exhausted herself.

What else could she do?

---

Elsa slipped back into the monarchy routine almost as if she hadn't left ten years ago. Meetings with Leif, though numerous, were manageable. As an advisor, she helped him navigate agreements that Anna had been working on before she fell sick. She helped him hold court, allowing the villagers to bring their complaints. She even helped him prepare the month's budget report. For being so young, he was doing quite well.

Her days were packed full, loud and bustling as she navigated royal duties and helping care for Anna's children and Laila. Though there was more stacked on her plate, the balance was easier now than when she reigned. 

But the best part of her days was when Honeymaren would take Laila for a walk to help settle her down, and Kristoff was tucking his own lot into bed. Elsa was able to go and sit by Anna's bedside. Sometimes she would read. Sometimes she would talk. Sometimes she would just sit. 

Anna's condition was serious, but stable. She was fighting hard everyday, but the illness rendered her unconscious most of the time. If she was awake for four hours a day it was a lot. The way Elsa saw it though, if she was sleeping, then her body would recover.

"Good evening, Anna," Elsa said, her voice quiet. She placed a frosty hand to Anna's forehead in an attempt at relieving her from the relentless fever. For now though, her sister was resting soundly; and the way she saw it, if she was sleeping, her body would recover faster. "Are you having a good sleep?"

Anna muttered in her sleep, picking at her bedsheets. She had been doing that a lot lately. It made Elsa wonder what she was dreaming about. 

"I'm going to read to you, okay?" Elsa reached out and held her sister's limp hand. She gave it a quick squeeze and began to read through the novel. "Now where did we leave off?"

She read softly for a while, letting herself get lost in the moment. It was nice. Not as nice as the times when Anna was awake, but Elsa was glad to bring her sister some comfort in her sleep. As she read, Anna broke out into harsh painful coughs. Panic had spread across her face.

"Elsà!" she managed, clutching at her chest.

Elsa dropped the book like a hot coal, rushing to help her sister sit up. "It's okay. You're okay." She rubbed circles in her back, trying to help her get the coughs up. 

"Can't- can't breathe!" Anna shouted, voice raspy. "Help!" Her coughs wracking through her body.

Elsa could feel her own panic rise. "I'm here, Anna. I'm here. Can you drink some water for me?" She shakily handed her sister a glass, hopeful to alleviate the coughs. But Anna could barely stop long enough to swallow, worrying Elsa even more. 

The wind around Elsa moved briskly, Gale making themselves known. "Gale, I need you to get the physician. Now." And as quickly as they had made themselves present, they were gone.

"I've got you, Anna. I've got you..."

Magic flowed through her fingers. She couldn't let this fever take her sister. Not now. The ice froze over her fingertips. She put one hand on Anna's back and another on the back of her neck. She prayed to the spirits beyond to let her ice pass through and heal.

Anna’s breathing slowed, her eyes looking far tamer. “Feels good, ‘sa,” she choked out. 

Elsa shushed her sister. “Save your strength and let me help.” Her ice works slowly down Anna’s body, attempting to cool her from the inside out. “Can you feel it in your chest?” Anna nodded, able to relax slightly. She gave a productive cough and another. Elsa could feel her sister’s relief as her shoulders dropped. “Just let it out. You’re getting there.”

Soon Anna’s breathing had regulated, her exhaustion evident. “Thank you, Elsie,” she said, tears prickling from her eyes. “Feel cool.” She gave a small smile. Elsa quickly took the hand off her neck and pressed it to Anna’s forehead.

The fever had broken.

---

“It was your magic wasn’t it?”

Days later, Anna was sitting up in bed sipping on hot tea. She was still quite weak from the weeks of illness, but she was certainly on the mend.

Elsa sipped at her own tea, gaze fixed on the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your ice broke my fever,” she stated bluntly. “There’s no other way. Not with- not with how it felt before.”

Elsa sighed, finding no reason to keep up the charade. “I didn’t know if it would work. But I had to do something, Anna. You were in so much pain.” 

Anna set aside her tea and reached to embrace her sister. Elsa could feel the wet drip of tears fall on her shoulder. “I was going to die, and you- you saved me.” Tears fell freely.

Elsa returned the warm embrace. “And I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”

She would do it again and again and again. For as long as she could, Elsa had sworn to protect all she could: the woods, Atohallan, Arendelle. But spiritual oath or not, she would go to the ends of the Earth for Anna. They did this together, and would continue to do it together. Nothing was going to stop that, and certainly not today.

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 7

Chapter title: Secrets and sorrows Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: None A/N: This chapter tore the hell out of my emotions, and I actually expect it to do much the same to you. I’d apologize for that but I know you’ll all stick with me to the end, because the story has a long way to go to get to that happy ending you all want so much! Enjoy! X

The next three weeks were some of the best weeks of my life. Being Taron’s girlfriend, being loved by him, was an exceptional experience. Despite both of us being incredibly busy and in the thick of filming, he never let a day go by where he didn’t remind me in some way that I was loved and that I was his. I’d never had a relationship that had felt so genuinely real and sweet and supportive, and it made a difference in how I felt about my own life to that point.

One of my favorite moments had been the evening I was making dinner, some kind of cauliflower pasta recipe Taron had agreed to be the guinea pig for. He and Clara were seated at the dining table, going over her fractions homework. Clara’s frustration at not understanding the problems was palpable, but I just remember how patient and calm Taron remained until that look of understanding dawned on my daughter’s face. They’d both looked up at me, leaning in the kitchen doorway, with the sweetest looks on their faces.

Their bond was growing every day, made even stronger when, unbeknownst to me, a special delivery had been made of a Steinway upright studio piano so Clara could continue her lessons at home. I will never forget the look on her face when she realized it really was hers and it would be staying in my front room. Taron rebuffed every “you shouldn’t have” I tried to give him, telling me he knew first-hand how important it was to be supported in the pursuit of your art. I couldn’t deny him that, because I knew it to be true as well. Still, a few internet searches later made me gasp at how much he had spent on us; I knew I could never repay him.

But that was just the thing; he didn’t want or need repayment. He did things for people out of the kindness of his heart; he never expected someone to give him a favor back. He was generous to a fault, and whether he knew how much money he was worth or not, he never affected an attitude that he was affluent. He remained the working class boy he’d spent his childhood growing up as, the boy who needed financial help from his family just to audition for RADA. And I think I loved him even more for that.

Trying to pin Markus down, though, that was a whole other story. I knew I needed to tell him we were definitely done, but every time I tried to make plans to grab a coffee he had something else come up. We were dancing every day, learning choreography for both “Saturday Night’s Alright” and “Bitch Is Back,” and my body hurt in every way it was possible to hurt. Both of those pieces were massive, and when they secured set locations we would have to be ready to go. 

I’m pretty sure I spent more time at Rocketman rehearsals those few weeks than I did teaching my own classes, but I was beginning to wonder if Markus was blowing me off because he already suspected what I needed to tell him. I had finally decided to just grab him after rehearsal that day and make it final, and the stress and anxiety of it made me feel slightly queasy.

We had just finished rehearsal and Leah immediately came up to me before I could pull Markus aside. “Are you okay?” she asked me, and I shrugged.

“Of course. I mean, I’m with Taron now anyway,” I said, watching Markus flirt a bit shamelessly with another dancer, and she was all-too-happy to be receiving his attention. I’m not really sure how someone could manage to make a leotard look slutty, but she certainly got an A for the effort.

“Markus can be a dick, forget that. What I mean is that you’re really pale but your cheeks are also really flushed,” Leah said, staring at my face.

“Oh, that, I don’t feel great, no,” I shook my head. “I’m kind of nauseous, but hey, I’m here. The show must go on,” I said, giving her a faint smile.

“Or it really doesn’t if you’re really sick, Juliette,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment.”

“I just need to deal with Markus and get home and take a nice long soak and get some sleep. I’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a tight smile even though I was fighting the urge to lose my lunch at that moment. “See you tomorrow?” I said, and she nodded, still looking concerned. But when I turned away from her to find Markus, he had already disappeared, and I was in no state to try and chase him down.

I changed into my sneaks and gathered up my bag and, as I was leaving, had to make a detour into the bathroom to puke after all. I hadn’t had much to eat that day anyway, so it was mostly orange Gatorade and bile and I felt worse for throwing up, since it was now burning in my throat and sinuses.

“Ugh, fuck,” I groaned as I left the stall, trying to wipe the clammy sweat off my forehead. The truth was that I was waking up most mornings feeling a little ill and sometimes it lasted long into the day. I was beginning to think I needed to go to the doctor, but it seemed to come and go at random. I imagined it was likely just stress from everything going on, but it would probably be wise to see the doctor anyway. I washed up, splashing water on my face, and smiled as I scrolled through my texts. Taron never failed to make me feel better no matter what.

I left the bathroom and passed Riley and her posse hanging out in the hallway, ignoring their stares and the whispered comments on how I must be bulimic because that’s why I was always running to the bathroom during rehearsals and why I stayed so skinny. I had no idea what they were talking about, and ignoring them was always the safest bet, but their bullying still got under my skin some days. I wished I could turn to them and tell them off, but that probably wouldn’t satisfy anything or make me feel better.

The subway ride to my mother’s to pick up Clara, and subsequently home, made me feel even more queasy, and I lost my appetite for dinner for the rest of the evening. After I helped Clara with her homework, her piano lessons, and made her food, I ended up just laying in front of the telly, exhausted and lacking any energy, for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t the most inspiring end to the day, and just as I was crawling into bed, Taron called me. 

“Hey love!” he replied when I answered the phone, probably sounding as sleepy as I felt.

“Hey T,” I groaned, rolling over slightly in my bed, all of my muscles protesting.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the excitement draining from his voice slightly.

“I just feel miserable, honestly,” I said softly. “I think I might go to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Oh, babe, you should have called me over. I’d bring you the best soup my mam made to make me feel better,” he said sweetly.

“I just need sleep. And probably strong drugs,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow to the clinic?” he asked, and I shook my head before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“I’ll not have you cancel on your film scenes to go wait in a clinic lobby. I’m sure it’s just some kind of bug. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, and I could hear him pacing on the other end, the way he did when he was anxious about something.

“Alright, but if you need me, you know I’ll be there, right?” he said quietly.

“Of course, babe. I know that. With my whole heart, I know that,” I smiled softly. We chatted a bit more but I couldn’t hardly keep my eyes open, and soon we ended our call and I passed out.

I actually felt better in the morning, enough to keep some dry toast down, and after seeing Clara off to school, I managed to teach my first two classes of the day before taking my lunch break to go to the clinic. My stomach had started to churn again, and I was ready to just be over this stomach bug. I got checked in and had to groan at the long wait time, having to text the Rocketman choreographer that I’d be running late to rehearsals but he only told me to take care of myself and he’d see me later, and to let him know if that somehow changed.

I was a nervous wreck by the time my name was called, and after having my vitals checked (and frowning over the fact that I’d gained 10 pounds despite my diet restrictions) and explaining my symptoms to the nurse, I was left to wait in the room for another 15 minutes, shivering in the cold air. I bounced my knee and aimlessly scrolled through Facebook until the doctor came in. After describing my symptoms, yet again, even though they were in my chart, the doctor asked if there was even a remote chance that I could be pregnant. And since I couldn’t answer that with utter confidence, she made me take the dreaded urine test. 

I was so nervous I nearly couldn’t do it, and then had to wait even longer for the results to come back, my stomach tied in knots for an entirely different reason. I’d had my period, though, so I’d never thought to take the home tests I’d bought. I’d believed that was a sure sign I wasn’t. But what if I’d been wrong? I thought to myself, my head a complete jumble.

When the doctor knocked and came back in the room, interrupting my train of thought, I nearly fell off the table for having been holding my breath so long. I was clutching my phone in my hand so hard my knuckles were turning white.

“Well, Juliette, your symptoms are very explainable by one very simple thing. You are indeed pregnant, about seven weeks or so,” the doctor replied, as gently as possible.

“But it can’t be,” I whispered, feeling the walls of the room closing in around me, the tightness in my chest threatening to overwhelm me. “I had my period,” I said stupidly.

“Many women still have menstrual cycles, especially in the first trimester. It’s quite common, and some can even exhibit period symptoms throughout the entire pregnancy. But the results are very clear,” she explained sympathetically after gauging my reaction as not-of-the-excited variety.

When I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, the doctor continued, giving me a prescription to help with the nausea and telling me I needed to follow up with my Ob-Gyn. I could only nod my head, still frozen in the ocean of confusion, fear, anxiety, joy and excitement that came with “You’re pregnant.” Where do I go from here? I had no idea.

I left the clinic in an absolute daze, and instead of going to Rocketman rehearsal, I ended up wandering around Regents Park, not really seeing anything at all as I worked through the torrent of emotions and thoughts and questions inside my head. Seven weeks meant the baby was definitely Markus’ - that was the only good thing about this situation. I wouldn’t have to spend months wondering who the father might be. 

But now I wasn’t sure what to do; I was in love with Taron, but how could I possibly ask him to carry this burden with me, to take this responsibility on when it was another man’s? Even more so, I was adamant that Clara know her father; I would fight just as hard to make sure this baby knew his or hers. And I had yet to actually leave Markus, so maybe the right thing to do was to decide to be with him even if it didn’t make my heart entirely happy. I now had a responsibility to this baby to not be selfish, to not choose only my own happiness but what would be best for all of us.

I gently touched my belly and smiled for a moment; a new chapter in my life was most definitely beginning.

I finally made it to rehearsals, texting Taron that we needed to talk later, as soon as we could manage to find time. He responded immediately that he’d meet me after rehearsals were over, so I spent the next few hours trying to dance through my anxiety. As soon as I stepped out of the rehearsal room, bag slung over my shoulder, Taron was there waiting for me.

“Juliette, darling, everything alright?” he asked, kissing me on the forehead and making me feel intrinsically sad.

“No, not really,” I said softly, nodding toward one of the empty studios. We stepped inside and instantly I felt smaller, diminished by what I was going to do, a lesser person somehow.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” he asked, his eyes wide and full of the vulnerability that had endeared me to him, my hands clutched tightly in his.

“I can’t do this,” I said so quietly I wasn’t sure he even heard me. “I can’t be with you, Taron,” I mumbled, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling it like a knife wound in my heart.

“What the hell do you mean?” he asked, slowly dropping my hands and staring at me.

“I have to break up with you. I’m going to choose Markus,” I said numbly, unfeeling.

“You told me you loved me,” he said, the hurt in his voice hurting me.

“That was a lie,” I said, trying not to tear up. I’m not sure I sounded even remotely convincing.

“No, it wasn’t a lie,” he said, shaking his head and calling my bluff. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, at all. I don’t understand it, but I won’t play these games with you,” he said, waiting for me to explain myself. But I couldn’t tell him about the baby now; it would only hurt him further. “I gave my heart to you. You can’t just toss it away or pick it back up when it’s convenient to you,” he said, not an ounce of anger in his words, only resignation. His eyes were a bit red at that point, and if I wasn’t already feeling low, seeing him nearly cry would have broken me down further.

He sighed heavily when I still said nothing. “When you’re good and ready to love someone proper, come back to me. But until then, I wish you all the best,” he said gruffly, tearing himself away and leaving me standing alone in the studio, the pain in my heart echoing silently off the walls.

****

It turns out that I deserved the biggest Oscar award in the world. To act sincerely happy when your heart is shattered into a million jagged pieces is no small feat. Markus, for his part, was beyond thrilled that I had chosen to be with him after all, and while he wasn’t Taron in any capacity, he was still kind to me at least. I had yet to tell him that I was pregnant though; somehow that felt like a secret I needed to protect until the moment I couldn’t hide it any longer. 

For now, I continued to dance, eating anti-nausea meds like Pez candies and trying to find the right balance between eating enough food to sustain myself and the baby but not so much that I’d gain any more than I had to. If the production never found out I was knocked up, then no one else would have to be the wiser. I hadn’t told my mum yet either, afraid of her judgment, nor Madison, even though I desperately needed to talk to someone about this. All she knew was that I had decided to cast my lot in with Markus and that I was, according to her, figuratively insane.

The worst part was the cold politeness I now received from Taron any time we ran into each other at the studios. I hated what we had become, hated the pain I had caused him and myself. I knew he’d shut himself down to protect his own feelings against me, but knowing how warm and compassionate and open he could be just made this feel even worse. Still, I knew for certain that he couldn’t know about the baby, and so I bore the ups and downs of the pregnancy for weeks in silence, sometimes dreading getting out of bed, sometimes full of a strange energy I couldn’t explain. But glowing I was not; I mostly felt bedraggled and exhausted, so much that even Clara asked if I was sick one day.

But you can only go so long without support before you totally break; I learned that lesson the hard way. Five weeks later, after a back-breaking rehearsal, I just totally felt something inside me snap. We were about to start night shoots for the “Saturday Night’s Alright” scenes but I couldn’t even muster the excitement I had originally felt when I signed my contract. I felt like I was going through the motions of everything, and I was worried I wouldn’t even be a proper fit for the film. I was living a lie, only partly happy in this pseudo-relationship I was trying to build with Markus. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t me, and keeping the baby a secret was crushing me. I also desperately missed Taron, and I can’t tell you how many times I nearly dialed his number, because I knew despite everything he would have picked up the phone, and he would have listened, and he would have tried to help me find a solution even if he wasn’t with me. That was just the person he was; I felt like I had lost my best friend.

I pulled Markus into the same empty studio I had broken Taron’s heart in, and sat down on the floor, my hips aching something fierce.

“Markus, I have to tell you something. Please don’t freak out,” I said quietly, as he sprawled out on the floor next to me, his sweaty shirt sticking to his muscular chest.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. While I loved when Taron called me babe, something about the way Markus said it always made me cringe slightly. For a moment I nearly chickened out in telling him my news, but I couldn’t keep going on like this. At some point he would notice when I was naked that my just-beginning-to-show stomach bump was more than just a large meal I wasn’t even eating.

“You remember that first time we had sex, right?” I said, looking over at him and biting my lip.

“Of course I remember that,” he chuckled. “I fell for you that night,” he said, a boyishly cute grin on his face.

“Yeah, well, we did a lot more that night than just sleep together. Markus, we made a baby. I’m pregnant,” I said quietly, but my words still sounded too loud.

“Woah, no way,” he said, sitting up immediately. “You… you’re sure of that?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I had a test at the clinic, I’m sure,” I said. “I’m twelve weeks already.”

“And you’re sure it’s mine?” he asked, making me sigh.

“Of course it is. Taron’s always used protection, for one, and for two, the timeline is right. It was you.”

He was quiet for a long few minutes, trying to process this news, I’m guessing. “You’re running out of time then,” he finally spoke.

“Running out of time? For what?” I asked, confused.

“Well you’re not going to keep the thing, are you?” he said, and I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped.

“Of course I’m going to keep your son or daughter. This baby isn’t some ‘thing.’ It’s not garbage you throw away,” I said, feeling the anger rising in my chest.

“Woah, I didn’t mean it like that Juliette. But I sure as hell am not ready to become a father,” he said, holding up his hands to me.

“You don’t get to make that decision now, Markus. You have to take responsibility for what you did,” I nearly hissed. “And what about Clara? You can’t date me without considering her!”

“Yeah, but Clara’s old enough to wipe her own ass. And I’m not her father, she already has one of those she spends time with. I’m fine with that, but a baby is a whole other story. You can’t possibly want this too, it will ruin your career,” he pointed out, and I could only stare at him, unable to process what he was saying.

“My career? Being a mum was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life and I will choose my family over my career every single day of my life. But of course, you wouldn’t know what that’s like because you don’t even want to try,” I said, my face flushing red.

“I’m sorry Juliette. I just can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d support you if you want to, you know, terminate it, but I won’t be the one raising it,” he said. “I’m not going to shatter my life like that,” he continued.

“Then get out. Get out of my face. Don’t ever talk to me again,” I said, my voice shaking in both anger and anguish. “This baby will be better off without someone who doesn’t want it. But I do, and my baby will always know how much I love him or her.”

I buried my head in my hands, bursting into tears as I heard Markus leave the room without another word. I’m not sure what I had expected, but that was not it. I hadn’t remotely prepared myself for the possibility that he would have wanted me to get an abortion, that he would reject fatherhood so thoroughly. Were any of us ever ready to be a parent, even people who had looked forward to it for so long? There was something so deeply terrifying about being responsible for the needs of such a tiny human being, of trying to help them thrive in a world meant for destruction. But that was also the greatest role I had ever held, far more rewarding than any production I had ever graced the stage in. And it wasn’t until the words had left my mouth that I realized how deeply, fiercely I wanted and needed this baby too.

I have no idea how long I cried in that empty studio. I have no idea who discovered me like that through the tiny window in the door. And I have no idea who went and got Taron, but suddenly he was there, pulling me into his safe, comforting arms. I don’t know how long we sat like that, until I had long cried all my tears out and my body had stopped shaking and his fingers grew tired of stroking my hair.

He had stayed silent, patient, until I finally pulled away enough to sit up on my own. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, absolutely no judgment in his voice. His expression was nothing but kind and compassionate, worried for my well-being over his own.

“I found out I was pregnant five weeks ago,” I said softly. “That’s why I was feeling so ill. I went to the clinic and we did a test. I was already seven weeks at that point. I thought … I thought it would be the right thing to do to give Markus a chance to be the father of the baby he created with me but he wants no part in it. He told me to get rid of it, and I can’t,” I whispered.

“That’s why you tried to break things off with me?” Taron asked gently, smoothing back my hair from my face as I nodded. “Oh Juliette,” he said softly. “I knew there was something, some reason for it. I knew that wasn’t what you wanted, that you were breaking your own heart. I’ve only been waiting for you,” he said, making me want to cry again. “I am here for you in everything, through everything. And we will face this together too. When I told you I loved you, there were no conditions attached. And I love Clara too, and I will love Markus’ baby as it were my own. Because that’s how I love, endlessly,” he said, and my eyes watered up again.

“I can’t ask that of you, Taron,” I said, wiping at my face hastily, but he just reached over and gently brushed my tears from my cheeks before gathering my hands in his own.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. This is something I need too. Maybe it doesn’t happen exactly the way I imagined it would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, adapt to it, and grow with it. Life has a way of challenging people, but that doesn’t make it all bad. And I right imagine that this could be so much more of a blessing, yeah?”

“My God, you’re a saint. An absolute angel, Taron. I don’t deserve this, at all. I pushed you away,” I said, trembling slightly so he pulled me back into his arms and kissed my forehead sweetly.

“I’m just Taron,” he smiled. “And you do deserve to be happy, and to be loved, and to be absolutely fucking cherished. So I am here for as long as you want me to be here,” he said. “I never really stopped.”

“Even with this?” I asked, touching my belly, which I had started to hide beneath dance sweats because leotards just weren’t cutting it anymore.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he grinned and I’m pretty sure I broke apart in a whole new way at that statement.

“Taron,” I breathed slowly, just gazing at him, feeling excited and a bit bewildered too. “Are you sure?”

“100 percent, Juliette. Now stop asking me that because I won’t change my mind,” he chuckled sweetly. “Now let’s get you up off this floor, and let’s go have a celebratory dinner, shall we?” he said.

“But don’t you have more filming to get back to?” I asked, a bit wide-eyed and still feeling a bit like I was floating a few feet off the ground. My head was swimming with the crazy turn of events.

“Dex understands. You needed me, it’s really as simple as that,” he replied, helping me stand up and even shouldering my stinky dance bag himself, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Taron, not invalid,” I teased him and he just shrugged.

“I’d carry it for you any day,” he smirked, even holding the studio door open for me too. “Get used to it,” he said, before playfully slapping me on the bum as I walked by. “Also just wanted to do that,” he said cheekily, making me groan at that but also feel so grateful that we hadn’t lost what made us feel so special.

“So who all knows about this?” he asked me as we walked out to his car.

“Just you and Markus, really. I hadn’t told anyone before today,” I said softly. “I couldn’t handle it on my own anymore. I was feeling so alone.”

“Well you aren’t alone now, at all. And you should tell your mum, and Madison. Tell them the baby is mine if you like, if you’re worried about anyone judging you. It might as well be, because I’m going to love it that way,” he said, squeezing my hand in his. “But you should feel happy, and proud, and excited. I want that for you,” he grinned, changing everything about the fear and confusion I’d felt just a few weeks before.

“How are you so perfect, Taron?” I asked, shaking my head in awe of him.

“I just wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s not that hard to care about people more than yourself. I find that pays itself back in dividends. And it’s not hard to love you, you know. You’ve brought a lot of color and light into my life in a way I didn’t understand it could be before,” he said softly. “And now I have even more to look forward to.”

“Damnit, T,” I said through the blush rising in my cheeks. “I don’t know how to handle when you say things like that,” I laughed. “It’s like living inside a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales were written because the truth in them does exist. They aren’t unattainable, impossible figments of our imagination. They can be elusive, yes, and rare, but sometimes you do find yourself living inside one.”

I could only gaze after him as he unlocked the car, opening the door for me again, as I felt every bit of myself being put right again. We decided on our favorite pizza place, but I first made him stop by my house so I could shower and change into more suitable clothes. Clara was with Zayn that night, so we took our time eating and enjoying our relationship again, a relationship that nothing could seem to derail.

I had the idea to stop over at my mum’s, because of all the people who should know, who had been through thick and thin for me with Clara, it was her. Taron almost seemed cutely nervous as we sat on the couch and I broke the news to her. My mom honestly screamed in excitement, jumping up and enveloping us both in a bone-crushing hug. I had no idea why I was so worried about her reaction after all; we never mentioned the baby’s lineage and let her assume since Taron was there. We figured it would be easier this way, to not have to deliver the news with a long introductory caveat, and if the question came up later we could explain then.

As we were driving back to my home, it hit me with a sudden jolt that I would have to meet Taron’s parents, and that we would be sharing the news with his family too. Something about that made everything feel far more real to me, that this was honestly going to be my life. That I would truly become a part of his life, not just in the few dates we managed to squeeze between rehearsals and film sequences, but that we would honestly be creating a life together. There would be many things to have to discuss and figure out in the near future, but tonight wasn’t the night for all of that.

Later, when we were laying on the couch, my head in his lap, the telly on a low murmur and both of us trying to not pass out, everything just felt right. Troy was snoozing on the rug, and I felt as emotionally satisfied as it was possible to feel, and far too stuffed with pizza than I had a right to be. I didn’t have to put on any kind of show with Taron; there was no performance here. We could both comfortably be ourselves, even if that was tired and cranky or moody or whatever.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” I said with a yawn.

“God, don’t remind me. Night shoots,” he groaned playfully.

“I think it’s exciting,” I grinned. “The set already looks insanely cool. I can’t imagine it all lit up at night!” I smiled. We’d already had a few camera blockings at the carnival they had built specifically for this scene. I was honestly excited about the four days we’d be shooting tomorrow, despite the massive amount of logistics that would go into it. We were definitely in for some long, long nights.

“You think that because you haven’t done it yet,” he giggled. “Speaking of, we should probably head for bed ourselves now. Try to store up some of that energy we’ll be needing.”

I grinned at that and happily followed him back to my bedroom. We both quickly got ready for bed and fell into it, and I was all too happy to see him resting between my frilly sheets and pillows. “You’re cute,” I grinned, kissing the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled in response.

“Well don’t give me a big ego about it,” he teased me lightly, pulling me down to him so that I squealed and then kissing me proper a few times.

“Get some sleep, love,” he smiled, his eyes already drifting shut in exhaustion.

“You too, T. Thanks for saving me today,” I said softly.

“Always,” he breathed out, falling asleep shortly after, his eyelashes sweetly resting against his cheeks in slumber.

Despite my own exhaustion, I was still a whirlwind of emotion and I couldn’t quite fall asleep, so I silently slipped out of bed and grabbed my phone, sitting on the bathroom floor and calling Madison even though it was late and not caring if it woke her up.

“What on earth is going on with you!” she fairly screeched into the phone when she answered, clearly not asleep. “You’ve barely talked to me for weeks. I’m so-”

“I’m pregnant!” I cut in, and she instantly stopped what she was saying.

“What?!” Madison yelled into the phone, so I had to hold it away from my ear for a moment.

“Jesus, Mads. Calm down. Things have really changed,” I said, explaining why I’d broken up with Taron, how things went down with Markus, and that Taron had been more forgiving than I deserved him to be toward me.

“So you’re back together again?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. I’m not sure we really were ever apart. He knew I hadn’t made the decision I wanted to make. That the lie was that I didn’t want him. He knew that the whole time. He truly knows me better than I know myself,” I smiled softly.

“And what about, you know, Markus’ baby?”

“That Markus refuses to acknowledge? Yeah, Taron said it’s his now. He wants to be a dad, and he’s claiming this as his.”

“That’s love, right there, Juliette. It’s staring you right in the face. Don’t you dare ever try and throw that away again, you hear? I will kick your little ballerina ass with my own pointe shoes if I have to!” she squealed, making me laugh too.

“I think I’m done screwing everything up here,” I replied with a laugh. “The universe couldn’t be louder and clearer.”

“That’s for damn sure. Now I’m just curious when he’s going to put a ring on that finger of yours!” she giggled.

“Woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet,” I cautioned.

“Dream a little, Juliette. He’s obviously a bit of a romantic. You know he’s going to make an honest woman of you. You’d better get on Pinterest and start planning. Oh, and I’d better be your maid of honor,” she said, making me laugh again. I listened to her chatter on about weddings and babies and all the possibilities, feeling bemused but also a little hopeful. I had no idea what a future with Taron looked like, not really, balancing kids and our careers. But I was certain that it would be happy; not easy, not perfect, but always fulfilling and supportive.

“Alright, Mads, I should go,” I said with a yawn, breaking into her reverie of my own someday maybe wedding.

“Oh, of course. Momma ought to get her baby rest,” she teased me, but it was all in love and excitement for me.

“You know it,” I giggled. “And that hottie in my bed tonight, snoring away,” I snickered.

“Jesus, you lucky bitch,” Madison joked, sort of.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned. “Night, Mads. Love you long.”

“Love you hard, Juliette,” she grinned back before we managed to hang up the call. I leaned my head back against the wall for a long moment, smiling to myself. I could honestly do this - I could have a happy life, I thought to myself.

I used the toilet one last time, already starting to feel the need to do that more often, before slipping back into bed with Taron, realizing just how much I had missed seeing the silhouette of his sleeping form. We had grown so comfortable with each other, that that absence over five weeks had been misery. But like magnets, we had found our way back to each other, his openness, vulnerability and forgiving heart never once questioning whether I should be in his life. He already knew that was where I belonged, and I loved him so much for never doubting it. I needed him, and he accepted that, and trusted so much of himself to my broken heart.

“Love you, T,” I said in the darkness, brushing my fingers lightly through his hair, before settling in next to him, feeling every ache and pain, emotionally wrought, but also feeling a deep satisfaction too. There was a certain courage in what he was choosing to do, and I respected him whole-heartedly for it. The universe had given me the greatest gifts, the man beside me, and the baby inside me. As I fell into the sweetest slumber, I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to let go now.

How will Taron and Juliette’s lives intersect, now that there’s a baby between them? Find out in Chapter 8 HERE.

[mikkock]

Uhm??????? Unacceptable?? Please tell me more about your OCs in that last art? I demand it? I want a full report on my desk before morning? Cite your sources please?

Oh no,, you’re asking,,, about my own faves,,, sorry to everyone, but I guess im never going to shut up ever now. (i already don’t shut up ever, what have u done, im now going to speak so much that society will collapse AT LEAST)

But for real. I enjoy pretending I don’t have faves, I love all my kids the same, buT WE ALL KNO THAT’S A LIE, those two my fave bitches (they snatched that title from the last two faves, rip to them, and they also snatched, n I must really make that clear, the title of “the bitches with the most AUs from the previous previous faves. Their power.)

SO. Get ready for a ride, table of content: them, their respective character, their story, and the pLETHORA OF ALTERNATE STORIES I GAVE THEM because i must yell about all the versions of my kids i have (non-exhaustive cause its that serious bro, but ill take extra time for the universe depicted in that art just for u bby). (tbh if clamp is allowed to sprinkle their fave gays in all their universes so am i, except they aint secondary characters there, every story is just theirs. love that concept.)(itll be so long you’re getting a whole novel even if i have to post it in two posts)

So~ Em twos. Dari n Wei-wei as I call em, or Dumbass n Egg if you wanna get friendly.

They’re my proudest instance of “oops i made a squad of characters, and two of them just accidentally were so perfectly compatible and complementary oh no I guess they’re in love now.” And then they became my favourite. Cause I guess their potential was too much (jk its bc they hot)

cuties.

I spent ten minutes wondering which to introduce first cause dang son, I want to talk bout them both so much shefjgfdg

First, as I technically designed him first (like ten minutes before the other), my man weiwei. if u ever saw my art its impossible that you havent seen him at least once. cause i’m legit always drawing him. cause im in love bro.

Demonstration : here are my computer scribbled weiweis of 2020 so far (with a few daris there n there they’re a package deal), that i could find, and they do not include all the paper sketches that i’m too lazy to take pics of. (i just been drawing him with so much hair these days that’s illegal, his brand is baldness)

But anyway, he’s CHEN Chia-Wei, he’s 21, he’s Taiwanese n I love him. Two very important facets of his character when you meet him: he doesn’t talk, and is absolutely, in every single dimension, built to make you fall head over heels for him.

He’s (in the “canon” storyline if i may call it that since it’s def not my most developed one but oh well) an art student, mostly paints but is also great at photography and videography (his vibe is busy hectic pieces with strong bold colours, lots of harsh edges, and very people focused).

Aside from that, he’s also super into fashion, and because he’s part of the rich boy squad (the “im broke so im giving half my characters wealth in compensation) he Can and Does exhibit some quite funky fits when he feels like it. (maybe a reason I draw him a lot, since my fave thing is pretty boys in weird ass clothes)(and then i also draw him in just casual shit cuz tittiful men in plain white tees you know. there’s just something about it.)

Small compilation of outfits. ft me and my band handwriting roasting outfits that id also kill to own but ok u know.

He digs music. (i make playlists for my OCs and i gotta say, his is the best one, i spent so many hours researching it, “arranging” it etc n its still a work in progress but dude. she got many moods my fave part is when it suddenly turns into so many cheesy ballads also she’s enormous cause im as wordy in playlists as I am in writing.) listens to a lot, n also he can play piano n guitar. cause you know. heartthrobs got to win your heart with a song (and if he’s alone he can even mumble some songs, who knows maybe even sing em softly, definitly a sight to stumble on accidentally). Big main artists that have his vibes are Hello Nico, No Party for Cao Dong, n Circa Waves’s “what’s it like over there” album.

He does a lot of sports. He ain’t fit through magic, rip to him. He’s got a serious routine, and it’s a time he likes to use alone, cause nothing like running at the break of dawn, alone with your thoughts, which you can just easily forget through the exhaustion of a workout session afterwards.

he also eats. A lot. Food is just good, bro. (the canon story is def happening some place europe aka his biggest struggle is how expensive food is here. outrageous.)

He secretly loves super cheesy movies. the dramatic romcoms??? the cute shows that are just so cute and worriless?? anything involving soulmates??? yeh dude. he watches it, he reads it, he listens to it, and he may cry about it, but no one will know. That’s the one true guilty pleasure. (and he definitly has a collection of romance dvds, books n manhuas in his old room back at the family home. where no one can see it. perks of studying abroad. no one can see ur hoarding of material that clashes your image. “yes i watch edgy experimental things haha yes i love those smart people movies of course wow the philosophy…” and then immediatly goes to watch the trashiest predictable but oh so sweet dramas all night)

While he doesn’t speak (as in with the mouth) he can communicate in a bunch of language, due to having moved around quite a bit. On top of his native mandarin and hokkien, he’s fluent in English, so he can use those to write, and is also fluent in TSL, and pretty good in HKSL (and from that, other close-in-syntax sign languages). So he doesn’t have trouble getting around, but then he is also overall quiet in public (with close friends and over text though, that’s another story, that’s where he gets chattier, and also where you may get more of his true personality). Also, he can speak with his sister. That’s pretty cool bro.

I was going to say he’s a very “hides his true colours under a shell” type of character but you know, for an egg character, that’s pretty ironic. We love poetic cinema.

He presents himself as a very laid back, chill detached dude, going with the flow and all that great stuff, and masterfully mixes just the right doses of mysterious, flirty and calm to just go around vibing. But ain’t that jUST THE MILLENIAL’S ILLNESS, those dANG KIDS, going around, gettin relationships but never intimacy 👏😢 (there’s more to it dont leave)

First of all, before you see the Drama, the Turmoil, the first thing you notice when you really do befriend him is that he’s c h i l d i s h, he gets sulky when things dont go following the plan, he gets whiny n jealous for not getting attention , he gets competitive over stupid challenges, and way too playful if you start teasing, and when he gets flustered too…you think you get cool stoic dude but actually you get a dude who’s reacting to things with way too much intensity, and boi i thought u were gon be mature what’s that why have you been pouting for three days over losing a bet come on- That’s mostly coming up when he interacts with his sister, but the closest you are to him to more of it you get to see.

He’s also an affectionate dude actually. Like physically. As in you’ll get spontaneous hugs. He’s come nap on your shoulder. That’s a perk of befriending him if you ask me.

Also he tries to look so cool, so tough haha. He’s actually a lil sensitiv boi. he gets fluffy, he gets flustered, he heart eyes. you turn around and he’s gazing at ya as if you were the whole universe. he gets a mini crisis for holding hands with his crush. ya know. he’s secretly a softie.

nerd.

Then in the “what he doesn’t show” (my fave part), where you stock all the anxieties, all the trauma… Obviously there’s a lot of anxiety here (selective muteness being a symptom of it, he hides the other ones very well) mostly fear of inadequacy, of abandonement and of loneliness. mmmmmmmaybe that’s why he was v reticent to continue pursuing that one guy he was into when he realised he was just a tad too into him oh no is that some,, like?? some lovey-love?? cant have that im afraid of gettin heartbroken bro. Aint that sad for a someone who’s one true goal is just findin someone to love and to be with forever, the struggles of yearnin for a soulmate when there’s nothing you fear more than getting attached to a person and letting them see you and your flaws.., delicious.

Now tho (because its so alone speaking about a character on their own and i just wanna get to the part where i can speak bout em together and how they bring out bits of each others ya kno, the good kush….), Dari…

He’s pretty, i must say, and got the funniest hair to draw, and comes from the most opposite background to weiwei’s.

Darian Andriev PARVANOV, also 21, comes from the remote Bulgarian countryside, but i still love him (this makes it sound as if i wouldnt normally love someone from the bulgarian countryside. its not what i meant. by default ud remind me of my son so you’d start being liked if u came from the bulgarian countryside) Now for the first instance of “wow, the complementarity”. The first thing i thought making Dari was that he looked too cool, and that he obviously was a dumbass, and mostly that he was physically unable to shut up. (o fuck he’s me)

best picture i could find of him. He’s got the dilemma of “wow he looked so pretty n cool until he opened his mouth” 

He’s ALSO an art student (cause they were initially created for the purpose of filling the gap of “i have ocs in every field except the one i sorta know that’s so stupid”), painting major (def vibes differently than weiwei though, he’s doing those soft pretty landscapes n flowers, everything real pretty and peaceful, we got some impressionism nerd in here folks). 

He was/is a real country boy, farm family, he helped tend the fields, he worked in plantations for pocket money, he knows how to take care of cattle and chicken and goats and all the cool babies you can take care of, he can tell whether the soil is good or not, he can drive a tractor, and doesnt fear dirt.

but then also he’s kind of a neat freak, he hates getting paint on himself, so the duality of man, dirt ok but paint? disgostin. his spaces are real neat and spotless, he likes cleaning (its relaxing) and does it nearly too often.

his dumbassery comes from lack of common sense and impulsiveness, aside from that he’s actually what you’d call “mad smart”, dude had em good grades, he can memorise pages upon pages of the most trivial information, he has an accumulation of knowledge beyond limits, and is good at problem solving. so he can recite all the words of the F letter of the dictionnary, but would also put a curling iron in his mouth to see if it would curl his tongue. (side note, he does have a problem with heat n fire, most his “oopsie how i wound up hurting myself on acccident” story involve burning -that stove was just too tempting…)

while he doesnt feel very attached to his home country, he does feel strongly for his family. he’d do anything for his mum (and actually does everything to make her proud already, that’s his one main goal), and he’s ready to sacrifice a lot for her (as in, spend years working non-stop a really uncomfortable job so his mother wouldnt have to pay a cent of his expenses even though she said she could by doing some sacrifices herself,and then being ready to come back as soon as needed if anything happened, and potentially drop his career and dream n go back to the farm life to provide for mama)(also he still does hold onto some parts of his home country’s traditions, and does sometimes feel homesick but more in a ‘i left the most beautiful landscapes n the city feels cramped and claustrophobic and i dont know people and i dont feel in the right place cuz im a forreigner with a thicc accent who doesnt master the language of this place and straight up have different body language communicators due to cultural difference oh lord i wanna be home where a nod means no and a head shake is yes i keep misunderstanding everything”)

if you want background noise he’s the perfect pal to call over, he’s just so chatty, he got hours and hours of non stop speech ready for you. you can shut him up once you’re done listening with the offering of food. works everytime.

he’s definitly not shy. neither in terms of talking to people, nor when it comes to making decisions. he’s quite bold, and rarely hesitates to go towards something he wants. he’s direct in his approach to most everything.

he likes partying. mostly the socialising part, talkin to people is just fun ya feel. and being in the crowd, doing whatever, pressure free? ya can dance n enjoy yourself, and people wont notice? yeah that’s nice. but doesnt do it super often cause broke bitches aint got the party time n budget. 

he likes arm. (just an excuse for me to drop this thing here cuz i like it)

While he’s an overall bubbly looking character, with a cheery loud personnality, he does carry some youth trauma that has him more reticent to engage in happiness, he comes from what you could call “not the wokest background” and he may have fallen victim of it : he’s kind of a flashy noticeable character, both physically and in his personnality, and doesnt exactly matches the expectations of dudes in the area he comes from (delicate, emotional and sweet guy? that doesnt exist bro). He went through it, and it has definitly had some impact on his confidence in many aspects. But he’s 100% the type of guy to put on the fake happy front because if feeling bad is sad, making the people you care about sad for you too is Unacceptable Right??? relying on friends?? what???

But then what are we supposed to be doing with such charming characters huh,,, 

Make them fall in love obviously.

Their story obviously has to do with falling in love and workin a relationship cause if I dont write romance i literally die, but I make the center pivot of all of it communication, and barriers in communications. Most obvious being them coming from wildly different cultures, having different native languages, and also the ways you adapt to muteness (what i love most bout that part is even then they fucked up given the easiest quickest small body language things to communicate are head nods n then i managed to make one come from the one country that reverses those like iconic how do they even understand each other -through a lot of work and love bro) but also on more “introspective” points, how to say things that you are even afraid to think about, how to open up and share your burdens and trauma with someone, how to say words you’ve been convinced you weren’t allowed to, the inner turmoil of communication in short. And then also communication through art, and through alternative unusual ways. If i were snobbish i could call it something like “a thinkpieces on how humans overcome obstacles in communication, and adapt, all for the sake of pursuing love” but fact is its mostly boys being in love n learning how to speak, figuratively and also quite literally. And also its me having fun with making characters evolve from each other, be able to influence each other for the better, helping each other be more comfortable with themselves and express the true things of their personnality, and discover new aspects. I just wanna write intense and soulful love bro.

So in less concept and more facts, weiwei meets dari, dari being his puppy self just immediatly strikes a conversation and weiwei gets interested cause “oho nice pretty boy? very good. i want some of that”. they get closer because you cant fight off the Power of friendship (and also the power of “what your friend is bestie with my friend?? guess we hanging out”) and then friendship and interest turns into pining, held back by respective dread of what romance with the other would mean (as in “romance?? cant have that we cant feel” and “with him?? cant do that, convince yourself he’s just a friend immediatly what would the family think”) but eventually they do have to just crash into one another cause that’s just the gravitational pull bro, its physics bro. and from then on its all unlearning destructive behaviours, bettering oneself with the help of the other, and getting over trauma to finally live ur best life. and gettin fckin married bro they’re both cheeseballs theyll wanna wed

BUT MAKING EM FALL IN LOVE ONCE ISNT ENOUGH time to make 3894853 alternate universes about em.

Lets speak bout my fave of those for a hot second.

First of all, the one of the art that brought this ask, guess i could call it “Pretty Tribes” AU, bunch of tribes live and do their things, having nature and energy powers. Dari n Weiwei’s tribes are bros, the latter’s powers needing them to move around to get energy from different places, enabling them different abilities. So basically they get to hang at the other’s place while the regenerate energy from there, and in exchange they help them out with various tasks (dari’s tribe is a rly farmer oriented one, with plant magic, while weiwei’s got more poyvalent powers, and have very good healers notably, so it comes in handy). The two boys were born a few months apart in their respective tribes, so naturally, anything the two clans meet, they’re put together to play and all, and from that they became besties, and each time they meet, after the gaps of time separating the two groups, they feel more and more of a little something else~ story is themed round growing up, friendship between clans, their traditions and cultures, and pretty boys in pretty clothes in pretty landscapes interacting with nature.

The superpower AU, i fuckin love it bro. Its an old one, made for other characters, but i just love it so much that i had to inject my faves in it. Its got a grimy ugly setting, bad government, propaganda, and fights between super-people (heavily mediatised for entertainment and reinforcing the idea that “look at these evil villains thank god us the good government protects you from them”), with a side of bad ethics in science. In all that, those two have the role of “those two young enemy warrior and villain, they were so powerful and fought so hard”, public figures, legendary and admired by both sides, everyone followed their fights, til one day they presumably died in one of their showdowns. (haha sike they actually found themselves talking for 5 seconds and realised they lived in a society, n built a plan to run away). The main characters get to find they’re alive because one of em had history with super-warrior-golden-boy and go to seek their help to overthrow the Big Bads. (stealing them from their nice gay cottage hermit life smh so rude)

Mermaids. I like those. Sailor weiwei sees merman dari, they both save each other in different occasions, they grow fascinated with each other, they’re at sea, water romance. Amazing. AU made half cuz i just like water n fish. and shirtless sailors.

(i couldnt find art of it in five minutes so have a link to that lil animatic piece i made of it once)

Indie band AU, where i was listening to songs that vibe so well with those two in general n then my brain was like “what if they’re the ones playing”. They’re (along with the rest of the art squad) a nice little alternative rock band, doing their thing, then one of their songs blows up, and they get quite the attention, to the dismay of dari who wrote that song in a moment of “oh no im so in love with my bandmate but i cant tell him what if i ruin everything we have going on ill just have to love from afar and deal with that” and now has way too many people interested in who he wrote it about and theorising from his every move when performing it (a mix of music, secret crushes and social media) (ft a picture of neither of them but its the least ugly art i found of this AU cuz its old and instruments are the bane of my existence)(also kelana is so pretty i gotta flaunt her around)

in kind of the same vibe, as in we’re in a music world overexposed to social media, i also integrated em to an AU i did for fun, “boyband AU” as its called aka idol based band system cuz you kno, i got a hobby, lets apply it. Band boy Dari and bodyguard Weiwei got a thing going on, but can’t really act on it in any way, because they’d just destroy the whole band if it ever came public. Featuring annoying bandmates, catchy pop songs and people making fanaccounts of that one hot Mr.Bodyguard cause dang he hot.

(all the art of this one so ugly im sorry)

SPY AU, one of my fave brand. They spies, they get assigned on the same mission, they work real nice with each other. spies hot. fights. strategy. i just like the concept. Gays taking down the worst traffics imaginable??? I love that song.(i actually have so much on this cause s p i e s are fuckin great)

Fashion. U kNOW i have an AU for fashion. Supermodel and his private stylist, trying to maintain the line of professionalism. And failing to do so. Lets make out in unpractical designer clothes.

Have an highschool AU for a bunch of characters, injected them as “spinoff”, start chatting online being art buddies, fall in love without meeting (ft. all the iconics of internet friendship like knowing tiny details of their personnalities but not the fact that they have a sister or “waIT ur a GUY i thought u were a girl wow wild good news for my gay ass”)

n those are my faves as far as i remember, i got a fuckton of small other ones that arent fleshed out enough, or some that are more of a guilty pleasure universe, and some that are more like “projects that i can expend on as soon as i run out of daydream material” (like u kno those hospital drama shows with super innacurate medicine n shit like idk scrubs or whatever, yeh i want some of that but im keeping it for later)

[momtemplative]

Two Cans and a Very Long String.

(All photos from History.com. Fox photos/Getty images)

<<Author’s note: I’m remembering what happens when I make a commitment to write every week. Sometimes the words flow fluid and without obstacles, and sometimes, well, they really don’t. Such is the case with any new practice; it takes time to find a groove. 

Meanwhile, god-forsaken Caronavirus concern is permeating everything in our day-to-day world system right now, so writing about anything else feels vacuous and out-of-touch. But sitting down to write something on the current pandemic from a ‘unique’ (ha!) perspective (in a way that does NOT inspire the reader, or myself, to want to go and commit suicide) is a challenging task. I know I didn’t nail it, need more time to nail it. But here is a start...>>

I was lying in bed a few nights ago, in the drowsy place between awake and asleep that brims with lucid visuals. I was thinking about mothers, specific mothers from long ago, who lived through their own versions of ruthless and lethal pandemics—Black Plague, Scarlet Fever, Spanish Flu. The Big Ones. I could see these mothers in my mind, one after another, as they held their babies in stained swaddling clothes and rocked them in the dark.

It’s so easy to see these women from the past through the dusty, incompatible lens of time. (The Black Plague took place in the mid-fourteenth century!) But the Spanish Flu took place a mere century ago. There were light bulbs and phones and cars chugging down dusty roads. The Industrial Revolution was over and hygiene and sanitation were understood to prevent illness and disease. These were not the dark ages. My great-grandma, Emma lived through it. 

When I juxtapose her mother-life next to my own, I see that the world I live in may be evolved/evolving in states of everything from gender roles to technology, but does that brand of growth compete with a pandemic? 

If the view-lens we are using is that of simply mother-to-mother, though, I sense that our deepest, most unfeigned thoughts and feelings are universal. To clutch our babies close, to do everything in our power to keep them warm, fed, safe and loved—I bet even a mole rat mother feels those feelings.

So I lie there between my flannel bed sheets, on my right side, shoulder crammed into my ear as per habit, eyes closed like tiny projection screens, thinking of that.

In the time between sleep and morning, those thoughts percolated and wound up rooting someplace deep down. Alongside the catastrophic declarations that scream from every media device —”The coronavirus can't be contained! Are you ready??”— and the images of medical masks and quarantined crowds, I’m experiencing my own version of what-the-hell-is-going-on-here. Trying to keep one’s head on straight in the face of a litany of panic requires a full-time commitment to mindfulness. (Which, as far as I can tell, is a state of mind limited to gurus and saints.)  

The louder the commotion gets about the world’s impending doom, the more I feel a plumbed sense of longing rise from my gut like a military tank from over the horizon line. A yearning—yes, that is the word—to know what it was like for a mother one hundred years ago as she weathered far-worse conditions while continuing to care for her babies and her household. I want to know her. I want her to remind me of resiliency and the uncompromising strength of family and community. As four-year-old Ruthy says when there is something specific she wants to hear, ”SAY THE WORDS!” I want my long-dead great-grandma to tell me those words.

The pandemic we are currently facing feels like a very long string between two extremely far-off cans. (A telephone line though time, the Indigo Girls sang.) I can almost hear Emma’s quiet conversations with her husband while standing over a half-boiling tea kettle. Her middle-of-the-night prayers. Her timid reassurances to her young children, Harriet and Lewis. 

I sat down to do a light bit of research, hoping to fill in the cracked and pencil-sketched images of the landscape of 1918 in my mind. I attempted to time-travel through Google, searching, “Life during the Spanish Flu,” then “Parenting during the Spanish Flu.” I found jaundiced images of hundreds of hospital beds, lined up meticulously like cards in a game of memory. The white sheets rendered the individual bodies in each bed impossible to decipher. I stumbled on some photos of five young boys, in sooty, ill-fitting clothes, wearing camphor bags around their necks to ‘prevent the flu.’ There was one photo of a group of WWI military gurgling salt water in unison at Camp Dix . 

I soon realized that there was very little personal history that the tentacles of internet could reach. Nothing from day-to-day life. It was too far back. 

So I settled for history book-type content—The facts. Un-nuanced. Bone-dry and depressing. Apparently the Spanish Flu affected one-third of the world’s population. It was typical in that the mortality rate was high in children and the elderly, those with more vulnerable systems. What was NOT typical is that it also took down healthy, robust young adults. 

Oh what I would give for Emma’s journal of what it was like to keep her babies safe and alive. I need to know, if they were old enough, how much truth did she tell them? And what about the days, weeks, months held after the panic had cleared and the dust had settled. Had her insides changed at all? Did she retreat inward, become less trusting of the cosmos?

Mercy. From where I watch the panic swell around our current pandemic—COVID19—things look much less tragic than Emma must have had it. Foremost, regarding our flu, it seems children are being spared—only 3% are showing symptoms and, of that, only 2.5% are showing severe symptoms. Thus far, barely a sliver. It seems my Opal and Ruth will be spared this round. (Physically, at least.) I say that to myself like a prayer of gratitude. 

I wonder how many long days and nights Emma had to endure, unsure if Harriet and Lewis would be pardoned from the Spanish Flu. As one of the countless mamas who pioneered hell realms to carry evolution one more generation closer to my own—where I’ve lived quite comfortably and safe for forty-three years, mind you—she certainly warrants a few moments of consideration from her great-granddaughter.

Meanwhile, Ruth continues to pick her nose. (I have tried umpteen times to guide her hand gently from her nostril to the light of day, but it returns the moment I let go, as if spring-loaded.)

Meanwhile, Opal sang Ruth to sleep tonight while gently caressing her little sister’s nose with her pointer finger, the way you would do with the velveteen nose of a puppy.

Meanwhile, three brand-new-baby boys have been born in the last two months to people who are close to me.

Meanwhile, my money plant by the window is outgrowing us all.

Meanwhile, the time changed yesterday, throwing my ten-year-old into a tail-spin of exhaustion this morning.

Meanwhile, the bean seeds we planted last week have shot up, aimed at the window pane, as if attempting to upend their little roots and run free.

Meanwhile, the discord of the winter geese is still my favorite music.

Meanwhile, I have a multiple-week supply of mac and soups and oatmeal and peanut butter stowed downstairs, in case of quarantine. We figured we’d eat it either way.

Meanwhile, the sun still burns upwards. The deep-spring blue of the sky pays no mind to the humans who are hoarding sanitizing wipes below. 

Tonight is the full moon, the same moon that Emma gazed at out her window, a hundred years ago. It will hover on the surface of the nearby goose pond, like a coin that refuses to be pulled to the bottom of a wishing well.

March 9, 2020

[wlwdjh]

hi. i think i might have some early fibromyalgia but the internet isn't helping me too much. how did you get a diagnosis? how did it feel for you in the beggining? please i need some help i have been struggling with health for a few years but lately its gotten worse and neither my mum (undergraduate in medicine) nor any doctors ive been to know whats going on. Ive been on antidepressants for a while but stopped them. i cant say they helped. do you have any experience you can share?

Hi hun. First I want to preface this by saying I am in no way a medical professional so all I can do is share my experience. I also am located in the United States and have health insurance, which is going to make my experience different than a lot of others. I’m gonna put the rest under a cut just in case anyone has trouble reading about medical issues.

Fibromyalgia is a weird diagnosis, in that it’s a diagnosis by elimination. Before I was diagnosed by a Rheumatologist (a doctor who specializes in diseases of the connective tissue like arthritis) I spent years working with my doctor to figure out the source of my chronic pain. At 19 I was in a car accident and my doctor checked me over and took x-rays, all of which came out completely normal. Slowly over the course of the next few years though my health started to deteriorate.

At first I thought it was only mental. I was having major anxiety, to the point where I couldn’t go to school, and depression severe enough that I couldn’t get out of bed. I was sent to a psychiatrist, who listened to my symptoms for 15 minutes, diagnosed me with a panic disorder, and prescribed me Fluoxetine (Prozac) and sent me on my way.

Here’s the thing with meds - they work, but it’s often a struggle to find the right one. A lesser known symptom of Fibromyalgia is medication sensitivity. While Prozac works wonders for millions of people, it was way to strong for me, and left me feeling like a zombie. So after a few months of this drug, I went back to the same doctor. He maintained his previous diagnosis but switched me to Buspirone, a medication that is used just for the treatment of anxiety. I definitely think that it helped, but it didn’t do anything for my depression or any of my other symptoms.

While I was trying to figure out my mental health I started having more severe chronic pain. I was a dancer from twelve to twenty, and was in the best shape of my life when I started having severe joint and muscle pain. I thought I was just pushing myself too hard honestly, and just tried to slow down on my classes. I went from dancing 8-12 hours a week to not at all.

I also was having issues with memory - I was losing gaps in the day and couldn’t focus on things I used to love like reading. I was also exhausted 24/7.

It’s around this time that I dropped my psychiatrist and went without medical intervention for about a year. I realized at 21 that my depression was getting worse and worse - that summer I spent an entire week in bed, and my best friend had to come and make sure I was eating. I started seeing an MFT, and going through my own journey to mental health.

When I finally (through tons of incredibly hard work) pulled myself out of that hole I stopped being emotionally stoic and started noticing hey, my body is getting worse. My IBS symptoms started around the age of 23, and I lost quite a bit of weight just by not being able to eat anything. I also, through the encouragement of my therapist, started going back to my primary care physician, and he started trying to puzzle it out with me. First we thought the symptoms were depression related, so he put me on Welbutrin (which I still take to this day). It was unlike the other drugs in that taking it actually gave me energy and cleared my mind, rather than fogging it up further. Then he sent me to Physical Therapy. The PT was horrified at the state of my back at this point and put me through 8 weeks of grueling therapy. I would leave in incredible pain every day and then have to go home and do more exercises. While it wasn’t pleasant I can say that it gave me some of the knowledge that I use now in trying to treat my Fibro.

I also went through an elimination diet to try to find my trigger food for my IBS. I had never before in my life shown signs of dairy intolerance and then here at the age of 23 I was developing a rash on my arm any time I tried to eat mac and cheese lol. Cutting that out of my diet made a big difference in my gut health.

This whole time I was doing lots and lots of internet research on my own. I remember coming across an article about Fibromyalgia and its symptoms and how my heart stopped when I read it. I took it with me to my next doctor’s appointment and he admitted that he didn’t know much about the disease but that he could refer me to the doctor who did. In the meantime he put me on Gabapentin for my pain (which just made me feel drunk and dizzy half the time, not my fav).

The first appointment with my Rheumatologist was terrifying. I kept thinking that all my symptoms were just caused by my depression, that I was faking, that here I was about to be laughed out of another doctor’s office as a liar and attention seeker. Instead my doctor sat me down, asked me about my mental illness, my family history, my lifestyle, my diet, how bad my pain was, where it was located, and never once suggested that any of my symptoms were in my head. I went home and cried that night - I had never felt more validated in my life.

Before I could get my diagnosis we had to run some tests. My Rheumatologist had access to all of my results from previous x-rays and tests but had to run some blood tests to rule out anything else. I also underwent a physical test where she checked for trigger points - they’re basically small points on your body that cause intense pain when pressed. Almost all of the points hurt me haha. After a few weeks, at 24, five years after my initial onset of symptoms I had my diagnosis. I was prescribed Cymbalta and told to stop eating gluten, start exercising more, and to take care of myself. That’s the hardest part of this condition for me - the only way to treat it is by living a healthy lifestyle, which is incredibly difficult to do on my own due to my mental health issues.

It’s been a journey for me, and I’m sorry to say that everyone I’ve talked to with Fibro has had a journey as well. It’s just not a condition that doctors are quick to diagnose patients with. I know it can be hard but self advocacy is going to be your best bet towards getting a diagnosis. Remember that even without one your pain is still real.

[aceyanaheim]

Okay let’s try this one more time.

Questions from this thingy that I saw a friendo do last year.

Introduction: Acey. That’s it that’s the introduction.

Diagnosis: I’m working on getting a Diagnosis but Autism and some form of attachment disorder.

As of 2019:

Neurocognitive and Cognitive Disorder due to Seizures

Major Depressive Disorder

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

Personality Change Due to Seizure Disorder ( later confirmed by a second psychiatrist to be Borderline Personality Disorder)

C-PTSD symptoms ( still waiting on final diagnosis but symptons have been confirmed and disorder is very likely.) 

Autism more or less confirmed by multiple professionals  but still waiting to be able to afford testing.

Symptoms: 

Autism/ASD : Can’t read tone. Hard time with social interaction. Sensory issues. Adherence to routine. Stimming. Scripting. Childish behaviour.  Meltdowns. Hyperfixation.

Attachment Issues: I tend to attach/get attached to people really fast. At the same time I push them away or tell myself I don’t matter to them. I also have a hard time getting attached to people. It’s either super quick or like pulling teeth. I want to be with people all the time. Codependence I guess is the word I’m looking for.  

Social Anxiety: I’m...basically always scared when I’m talking to people? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. I have my answers and messages rehearsed and proofread and sometimes vetted by someone else ( unless it’s sensitive info)  and I still feel like something comes across in a negative way. ( like This is too cheerful, That’s too morbid, does that sound dismissive? If I say This I fuck up in this way but if I say THAT I fuck up in another) It couples with my autism since that...actually makes me say awkward/wrong shit all the time. 

Has come down since starting Lexapro but still present.

Emotional Flashbacks: Feelings that were there while you were experiencing the traumatic event. Happen at random triggers. Incredibly strong. To the point that they don’t correspond to the stimuli and feel freshly felt. ( tied to C-PTSD) 

Hyper-vigilance ( tied to C-PTSD)

Anxiety attacks

Panic Attacks

Don’t act as mature as other people my age/more at home with younger people.

Hypersensitive to any perceived rejection. 

Brain fixates on bad memories and repeats them : C-PTSD

Constant fear of it happening again: C-PTSD

Black or White thinking: I’ll think someone’s sick of me or can’t stand me at stuff like being left on read while also deciding I love them and they’re the best person ever when they do something nice to me. Intense but have some modicum of self awareness. ( i know on some level people dont dislike or hate me, i still spiral though)

“Duckling Syndrome” ( is what i call it) : I’ll see someone be nice to me and all I can think of is how much I want them to adopt me, to take me home, to make me part of their family. It’s too strong to be anything but disordered. It hurts. ( possibly part of bpd) 

Has in the past put self in bad situations to not be alone ( connected to bpd/attachment disorder) 

Other Stuff I either need to mention to my shrink and/or hasn’t been tied down to any of my dx disorders:

I want things to be Just So. Like I want a certain kinda paper for certain kinds of mediums in art. I want my food in a certain order. I eat it in A Certain Order I get really uncomfortable otherwise.

I think I’ve depersonalized or dissociated at least five times..but..only when things get REALLY bad...like when I spiral. I still get those two confused even after reading the definitions but it’s like….I don’t feel anything? But I’m weirdly aware that I’m supposed to? Like I flipped a switch. Also mixed with this weird its not real feeling. I hasn’t happened in roughly a year tho so I dunno if it counts? Its been happening again this year. Still unsure if disordered or stress reaction.

I tend to struggle with depressive episodes from time to time. Like I’ll just lay on the bed and not wanna do anything. I have games to play, I have hobbies I could indulge in but I just..don’t want to. Don’t see the point.

Have thought that I’d be better off not existing. ( AKA suicidal ideation) Currently under control.

I’ve developed these like...weird paranoia spells? Like this one time a cop yelled at me ( to mess with me) and I was suddenly terrified of him following me and hurting me and my dad ( which yes can be attributed to the amount of police brutality you hear about, especially to people who don’t speak english fluently but like I saw it in my mind’s eye and it would not stop and the dude left and I was still seeing in my head him like following me home and hurting us) or like just recently some man asked about my dog and how much she was worth and this weird ass alarm went off in my head to get the hell away from him and what if he follows me home? What if he takes my dog? What if he follows me home AND takes my dog? They’re pretty sporadic ( though not as much as I want them to be)  but they’re also really intense. Have stopped since I started Lexapro.

Physical Self Harm in the past to ground, to punish myself, in times of high emotion. All of the above. ( has stopped as of last year. Even intrusive thoughts about it are at a minimum.)

Obsession with being “good”: If I ever do something I think is a mistake I all but turn on myself. I beat myself up. I think of myself as a bad person ( there’s only Good and Bad for me..but only in regards to myself) I have to be nice. I have to be kind. I have to be good in a way that’s disordered. ( this compounds with my social anxiety and bpd to bind me into being a “good person” ( someone who never gets mad never talks back never does anything but niceness irregardless of the fact that..it’s impossible) I tend to think if I’m “bad” that people need to punish me, yell at me, or hurt me. That I need to Atone) ( could be part of CPTSD due to past abuse. Answer pending) 

Intrusive thoughts: mostly about self harm but also about “learning my place” and...calling myself things I’d rather not say. I’ve so far at least managed to recognize they’re intrusive ( might be related to any of the disorders listed above but also with past abuse but unsure at the moment. Shrink thinks its tied to bpd. Could be tied to past abuse I haven’t discussed in therapy yet.)

Disordered Eating of sorts: due to my mother being paranoid about unhealthy food I’ve gone days where I can’t bring myself to eat something because I’m scared it’ll hurt me. There’s times where I’ve needed my friend to tell me to eat. There’s times where I feel like if I eat I have to exercise it off. It’s about control, it’s about fear, it’s….about everything but weight. Hella strong last year. More or less brought under control as of this year. But remain as intrusive thoughts and pop up as intrusive thoughts from time to time.

React badly to being alone, especially at home and not getting social interaction. Depression kicks up, sometimes depersonalization ( might have ties to childhood epilepsy -having to be on lock-down  and kept indoors a lot due to my own risk of being hurt via seizure- but combines with bpd/attachment disorders) 

Have Shown Signs/Moments of Age Regression ( more often than not with the emotional flashbacks but not always)

Literally all the symptoms act up at night/around bedtime. Mostly anxiety but some others that have now been associated with bpd. Causes sleeping problems ( I hesitate to call it insomnia because I do sleep but it can get as bad as 3 hours a night until i just conk out at the end of the week -or 2 weeks- out of sheer exhaustion. Has been present since I was a teenager.) 

In The Past: Recklessness and disregard for personal safety and care.

Sometimes get this  physical feeling like my brain is overloaded. Often with hypervigilance or spirals where my mind races.

Stigma:

“I’m autistic” “I’m so sorry”

“I’m autistic” “And you’re sure you wanna go for that major?”

“I’m autistic” “But not that kind of autistic right?”

“I mean if you need accommodations to take a test then are you really cut out to have that kinda job?”

I consider myself a very patient person.

“She doesn’t know any better. You know she’s special” ( I was standing right there)

“I guess you don’t love anyone huh?” ( I was uh..I was nine years old)

“You’re codependent as fuck” ( that one my abuser said to me...after...making me codependent on her..yeah) 

“You talk like a robot. It’s like you don’t feel anything.” ( eeemotianl detachment due to CPTSD in my teenage years) 

“You’re choosing not to grow up” ( when expressing fears of develomental problems/disordered behaviour that could cause lack of maturity. I was asking for help) 

“You’re a lot”

“People with your disorder tend to be a problem for other people”

“You need therapy” “I am in therapy” “Then why are you still acting like this.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“It’s like you like to cause trouble.” ( circa 2013)

“You just wanna hurt people that’s why you’re doing this.” ( circa...most of the 2000s) 

Multiple people in my family constantly make it a point ( or have in the past like..for most of my life) to tell me no one’s wanna live with someone like me ( I’m forgetful and before I figured out some ways to help it and the depression was bad uber messy)

Multiple people in my family try to discourage me from trying things because “you know you have that...thing”

And I mean..the usual constant bombardment of Autism being something you have to Fix. Of it causing people you love pain, and them never being happy because of it, of it being a defect.

People around me use autistic as an insult.

General comments about how horrible living with my mentally ill family must be ( ignoring that I’m mentally ill as well) and how my parents probably wish we weren’t disordered ( ignoring that they are also disordered) and how basically there’s no way for us to be happy.

I think at one point someone actually said to me something along the lines of “I bet your parents wish you and your siblings were born differently”

��I’m so proud you can do this incredibly easy thing that I think is all you can really do and I’m gonna talk to you in the most condescending tone about it like who’s a good lil autistic person look at you, talkin and solving basic problems and everything.” ( obvs paraphrased but thats...usually the gist) 

Define Your Disorders

Autism: a developmental disorder that affects communication and behavior.

Attachment Disorder: the condition in which individuals have difficulty forming lasting relationships ( it was the only one I can find that doesn’t talk about RAD as I don’t have the criteria for that. This one’s tricky cause I don’t have the proper diagnosis for it yet, for all I know it could be part of a bigger disorder)

BPD:a mental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes a pattern of unstable intense relationships, distorted self-image, extreme emotions and impulsiveness. Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, impulsivity, and impaired social relationships.

Major Depression Disorder: Depression is a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest. Also called major depressive disorder or clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes you may feel as if life isn't worth living.

General Anxiety Disorder.:  Excessive anxiety and worry (apprehensive expectation), occurring more days than not for at least 6 months, about a number of events or activities (such as work or school performance).

Amnesic Disorder Due To Epilepsy :Inability to remember events for a period of time.

Myth about your disorders and the truth

Autistic people are dangerous

Autistic people are unfeeling

Autistic people are uncaring

Autistic people are all nonverbal

Autistic people are all mentally challenged. ( I ??)

Autistic people ar a burden on their families/a parent who abuse or even  kills their autistic child ( which happens so much it’s an acknowledged problem)  deserves sympathy.

Autistic people are brainy and mostly male.

Autism is a spectrum disorder. People exhibit different traits and while some hyperfocus on things that help them academically some hyperfocus on things that don’t or that even make their grades suffer like other interest tend to. ( my hyperfocus was fanfiction and I failed like five classes because of it) I have a friend who’s autistic and likes to party and drink and hang out with people. I have another friend who’s autistic who likes to skate and science. I’m autistic and I like neither of those things. We’re all over the place in every way even when we do share some common traits

Literally we all have people and things we care about.

Literally all of us have affectionate moments. I’m fairly physically affectionate if I’m close to/feel safe with someone.

Nonverbal and autism aren’t always correlated. Further, some autistic people go nonverbal for a bit but can speak other times.

Autism looks different in girls/afab people because we’ve been socialized differently.

Parents who kill their autistic kids are just straight up horrible people and I resent having to be told to have sympathy for them while simultaneously wishing I had “autistic” written on my forehead so I could be angry without a guilt trip and also simultaneously hoping to god I never stop passing for neurotypical because apparently the moment you show too many traits no one cares if someone hurts you or worse.

The whole “autistic people are dangerous” thing is mostly people showing videos of meltdowns which only happen under high stress and is something people use to demonize us and make us seem like burdens...and is actually why the whole “sympathy for an abusive/murderer parent of a neuroatypical” thing is fucked ten ways from Sunday. We aren’t dangerous.

I don’t...have a lot for the attachment disorder since I’m still waiting to figure out what that one’s really about and I haven’t really….met anyone else who has anything like it or shares symptoms with me.

I think off the top of my head it’s when people think it’s “cute” that you’re super clingy or go the other way and say people with attachment issues are uncaring. The first one romanticizes a behaviour that you’re trying to work on fixing/curbing and that is honestly hell. The second one is...is just as untrue as saying an autistic person is inherently uncaring ( or any mentally ill person for that matter)

I’ve also seen people say that people with any kind of attachment disorder are broken and that I feel confident enough in saying that they’re not...and I’m not.

I’ve been told people with BPD can’t be aware of their own disorder and have been denied testing due to this. 

I’ve seen people say people with BPD are a problem to others.

Anxiety: I’ve seen a lot of people who think it’s fake. And also that the only way you can have anxiety if you’re rocking back and forth gasping for breath.

There’s actually multiple ways to have anxiety attacks.

Tips for those who know/love someone with same disorders/symptoms

Well, starting off with, and keeping in mind that I’m not a proffesional or expert in...literally anything ever like ever ever....

A very dear friend of mine once said “it’s a whole lot easier to be supportive than it is not to be” Let people with disorders tell you what they need, and then respect it. Open communication and making them feel safe is key...to everything. Being informed is important but at the end of the day, different people will experience things differently and what they need is really down to them. Don’t assume that reading about their disorder means you know what they need better than them. Don’t talk about how their disorder affects you. Even if you have good intentions, you’re going to make them feel bad. If you’re a parent, don’t talk to others about your child’s disorder in front of them. And if they don’t like a therapist, listen to them as to why. Don’t assume it’s just because “they’re disordered” that’s lazy parenting.

Take triggers seriously, talk to them about what symptoms they need help with, and which they’d rather process or deal with  on their own. Just..show that you have that initiative, that you’re there for them. Listen. Be patient. Establish boundaries gently but firmly. If someone with my attachment disorder is ringing you a lot and you need time to yourself, let them know. Explain. Don’t go radio silent. People with autism can be bad at reading you. Again explain, be patient, but don’t just....leave them there to guess what they did wrong. C-PTSD is traumagenic in nature so I’d add to taking triggers seriously, be ready for Tragic Backstory drop behind disclosing some triggers ( and understand how much they have to trust you to disclose that.) but also be ready for “I just don’t want this in my field of vision and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it just yet.” Don’t push for details. Don’t push period.

And also just....treat em like people you know. Disordered people are still people, let them exist outside their disorders and do the things that people in that relationship that you have with them. ( whatever relationship that is) do. 

How your disorder/s affect your relationships 

In the past -and before I was a bit more self aware- it’s made me uber clingy. I would call friends constantly, message them a lot. Think someone was my best friend or even closer than they really were because they were nice to me. It scared people off.

On the flip side I would also convince myself people didn’t like me or I was nothing to them the moment I caught myself having strong feelings. ( which as said before would happen mcquicklike)

As one can imagine this would put a lot of pressure on new friendships. Often it would sour them, sometimes it would make people dislike me. Sometimes it’d make them unconfortable. Which as my disorder also affects how I receive rejection...was..really bad.

On the flip side of the flip side I was also incredibly ride or die and it left me open to a lot of manipulation and abuse from friends. I couldn’t be mad at them if they hurt me. I couldn’t say no to anything they said. I needed them.

My anxiety also contributes to this as I would constantly go through a checklist of how many good interactions vs “bad” or awkward interactions I had with people before I let myself feel like I was safe to call people my friends. Or even say I did okay interacting.

I had a lot of nights while I was making friends in college where I just felt like I was nothing to anyone. Like I was messing up. Looking back, it was just standard new friend interactions.

The more people mean to me, the more I’d freak out-I didn’t want to lose them. So it made it hard to even enjoy the friendship milestones I did achieve.

I’m using past tense because it’s gotten a lot better as situations that were making this 10 times worse have alleviated somewhat but there’s still seeds of it and sometimes it flares up. I’m just aware enough I can sometimes if not stop it identify it as my disorder talking. I don’t keep lists anymore but sometimes the thought pops up.

Facts About Your Disorder You Wish People Knew

I wish people knew what scripting and autistic burnout was. And that adults can have autism. And that vaccines don’t cause autism so stupid ass people didn’t risk their kid getting sick because they’re scared of my neurology.

I wish the only thing when I search about

I wish people took triggers seriously.

I wish more people knew about attachment disorders period.

I wish people knew how hard it all is sometimes.

 Favorite healthy coping techniques

Plushies, pillows. Physical grounding techniques that include physical stimming. I’m very tactile when it comes to my autism and stimming so grounding techniques were Good Textures are involved help double.

For attachment disorder spirals: Watching YT animators or vloggers. Like a lot. It recently chased off my sleeping problems. 

Playing with my dog.

Walking outside.

Going to the beach.

Looking at buildings. ( I don’t..I don’t know why?? It’s like a visual stim I guess? Like buildings that stand out to me due to their shape or being different than I usually see)

Basically going outside. ( to look at buildings, to look at nature, to the dog park, out in the grass in front of my building just..Outside Good, Inside Bad) 

Sending fun stuff to friends/doing things for them.

I tend to get a good happy chemical surge from helping people/doing nice things for people so that’s something I really like using to my advantage. I’m looking at volunteer options.

Also cartoons and Disney Channel shows I watch a lot of those.

Cooking. I can’t understand this one either but cooking and baking sometimes even gives me more energy.

Current biggest struggles with your disorder/s

Being at home tanks my mental health. I don’t drive. So I’m home a lot.

Seeing families be happy hurts sometimes. And that’s my main confort narrative.

Seeing my friends with their families hurts sometimes.  All I can think of is how much I wish I was a part of that. So I have to...not spend time with my friends.

I’m afraid to live alone.

I can’t get anything done sometimes. My train of thought has been crashing to the point that I completely lose it and I miss goals and deadlines almost every month. I need to get assignments done, build a portfolio, at least keep shrink dates, its all a hurdle lately. Even before that it’s hard for me to get stuff done when I’m home on  my own ( aka when I’m supposed to be doing things) because all my brain can think is “we’re alone we’re alone we’re alone. It’s too quiet. We need to talk to someone.” According to my shrink DBT will help with this. I can’t wait.

It’s hard to see a myself having a good future sometimes. Because of how many hangups I have and how late I am in addressing them ( I’m 28) and how much there is to do.

 What not to say to a person with similar/same disorder/s

“You’re making it all up”

“You should just get over it, it happened so long ago”

“You’re bringing me down stop talking about this”

“Its all in your head”

“Every one feels that way really”

Anything dismissive.

Anything from the stigma answer.

Literally any kind of pity (granted thats more a me thing due to childhood epilepsy meaning i had to deal with a lot of that. But honestly I’ll stand by it bc I’m not sure anyone really ...likes pity. )  

Ways in which your disorder/s affect your daily life

I deal with executive dysfunction which makes it hard to get anything done. I feel like I’m starting over constantly. I feel like my age doesn’t match my brain. All of this augments my depression.  I have to take days off in the middle of the week to just do nothing or catch up to all the stuff I haven’t done. I miss deadlines or just barely make them. I’m also a budding workaholic which I used to do to avoid dwelling on all these feelings so having to take breaks isn’t….something I’m used to or really like. I at one point handled school, work, and 2 editing jobs. I used to do martial arts, I like running, I like swimming. I’m the kind of person that needs to be on the move and lately that’s hard because spoons and energy.

Also a lot of basic self care is hard to get done because of the dysfunction mentioned above.

Things that give you hope

The fact that I’m finally getting therapy.

I guess having people I can talk to about it.

My family isn’t as bad as it was back in 2014.

I guess I know that even if I feel like I’m at a dead end, I’ll figure something out. That’s what I do. I mean that’s life, you think things are never getting better or that something’s the end of the world but really time marches onwards and so do you and you figure it out. Things fall into place. I believe life has a funny way of working out. If anything because it kinda has to, it can’t stand still yknow. I have moments of clarity where I just kinda remember that ( its not my first rodeo.in regards to hard times or Things That Happen..its not even my hardest rodeo so..if I got through that..you kinda figure you can muddle through this and see what comes next yknow) I’m oddly hopeful for the first time in a long time so, it’s p cool.

Treatment types and personal choices

I spent most of my childhood, and teenage years...and early 20s dodging therapy and help due to it being controlled by my mother and having really bad experiences with it in the past.I do regret it sometimes but I comfort myself with the fact that it was what seemed like the best decision and i didn’t have the information I now have about keeping her out of things. 

After finding better insurance and getting into university I found a way to get myself a psychiatrist and am working on finding talk therapy. For the most part I tended to patch myself up a lot by finding ways to quiet the thoughts I had ( saving text messages to remind myself people dont hate me. Talking myself down. Joining social activities. That sorta home brew stuff. I’ve been soloing a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have been until recently but hey live and learn. Also I didn’t have insurance.) As of recently I’m on an antidepresant and  hopefully going into DBT. That reminds me I have to call them.

Your support system

I’ve found some really nice friends like they’ve kinda just collectively adopted me and when your disorder stems from losing family that..that’s been incredibly helpful. All my close friends are long distance but they help me. My younger sister is also there although i try to limit how much she’s privy to as she just turned 18. My brother and I tend to spend limited time together due to him having his own stuff goin on but I’d also put him there. My parents sorta count as....one supportive unit? ( they try with the best of intentions but it uh..thats..thats really all I can say about them)

Reactions from those who learn about your disorder/s

I get told I can’t possibly have them because i “look too successful” or whatever ableist rethoric they got going. When I talk about C-PTSD symptons I get side eye for “trivializing” it as they don’t believe I can have it and think I’m exaggerating anxiety symptons. When I talk about Attachment Disorders…..I often don’t because people always say something along the lines of “people with that are often too damaged and you don’t fit the bill” which..ouch.

Mostly it goes from “you don’t look like a damaged and/or psychopath crazy person” to “oh...I guess you are one” with a bit of “okay thats fine” but still anger and impatience when I show symptoms.

I don’t talk about my disorders a lot.

 Future hopes and dreams

I’d like to get my attachment disorder under control as it’s the main life wrecking thing I have. After that or along with that I’d like to live somewhere where I get the social interaction I kinda need.

I wanna be happy with whatever profession I have and just..my life in general.

I hope DBT helps. Whatever it is It’s my first time even trying it.

I have a couple of personal creative goals but I don’t wanna jinx them by disclosing them ( I did mention I had anxiety)

Interactions with other people with the same disorders

I follow some peeps with BPD and also folks on the spectrum on tumblr. I don’t really have a lot of  analog interaction. ( again no driving + suburbia = being cooped up A Lot)  My sister and I share some disordered traits so we talk about them often and that helps a lot.

Things you want to work on/improve

The whole black and white thinking and maybe getting things done on time. I’d like to get the spirals under control too.

 Work/school experience with disorder/s

Shit’s hard.

Often I don’t get the help I need and have learned to overcompensate/regulate so I can still get things done. I pretty much need to work since i don’t believe I’d qualify for disability. I get in trouble a lot for spacing out ( dissociating) and forgetting things at work. Work friendships are also slow burn if not just nonexistent due to my autism and people..not really knowing what to make of it. I’ll probably have to quit working while I study since I can’t really split focus enough to do both lately. Further, a lot of my energy needs to go into school things staying afloat and that tends to mean I can’t do things that contribute to my mental health ( i.e spending time with friends, going out, sometimes even therapy, taking breaks) as I’ve found out that sends me way back in recovery.

Free space!

Here’s a picture of my cat. She’s a demon. What it said Free Space.

Family history of mental disorders?

Mother has Bipolar disorder and depression. Sister has bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, and eating disorders, Brother has anxiety and shows signs of ADHD, Dad has what we suspect is ADHD and possibly some disorder traits from past trauma. Used to have anger issues.

I uh..I used to call us “The Madhouse” for most of my late teens and early 20s.

Media representation of disorder/s

Attachment disorders: characters who are stalkers and so desperate for love family and acceptance they’ll do anything, even hurt people to feel it. Also often don’t have depression and can do things like learn villain skills.

Autistic traits are often cherry picked and portrayed in an unfavorable light. I think I’ve seen some rare cases of actual representation though.

How do you feel about talking about your mental health?

I don’t...like it as much as talking about mental health in general. Most of my life is...me running away from trauma and trying to  reclaim a life outside of it. It’s what I did with my epilepsy of course that one was easier because the seizures went away. 

Talking about it feels like going back. I wanna just move on with it. But I’ve reluctantly come around to see that talking about it is a way to move on. And I mean its not like dodging it’s worked out that well for me so.

 The true face of mental illness (Selfie if you’re comfortable with it)

Aww yiiss. Selfies.

[kylosupremeimagines]

In Defense To Kylo Ren’s Character

I see posts all the time saying things like “Kylo is pure evil, there’s no way he can be redeemed!” to “Kylo is old enough to understand the things that he is doing, there is no excuse!”. I can understand where arguments such as these come from. I can't say for certain exactly what goes on through everyone’s head revolving around the subject, but I can tell you one thing that I see out of this; Kylo Ren is a manipulated Victim who has suffered many forms of abuse. Yes, I know that this doesn’t necessarily excuse some of the things that he has done. But when you really look into his character and his affiliation with Snoke, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that he has been abused and manipulated.

Abandonment

Starting from when he was a padawan, he had been sent to train under Luke by his mother. Before, his parents were often caught up in their professions as a  Smuggler and Senator, and this was able to give him a sense of abandonment as a child. And then years later, his own uncle come sot their point where he is ready to kill Ben. Those factors could lead Kylo to believe that his family did not care enough about him, to give him a sense of abandonment by the people who are supposed to help support him through his life.

“There is nothing more powerful than genetics. If you really imagine the stakes of him in his youth, having all these special powers and having your parents kind of be absent during that process on their own agendas, equally as selfish. He’s lost in the world that he was raised in and feels that he was kind of abandoned by the people that he is closest with. He’s angry because of that,  I think, and he has a huge grudge on his shoulders.”  - Adam Driver

Training Under Snoke

Then you have the next stage in his life where he joined under Snoke to train to be much like Darth Vader. We have seen how he is treated by his master, who does not shy away from berating him with “and look at you, the deed split your spirit to the bone. You’re unbalanced! Bested by a girl who never held a lightsaber, you failed!” followed by a lightning shock as a form of discipline. If he’s willing to do this years into his training, just imagine what happened the first years when Kylo was still trying to figure out himself, more than likely having moments of hesitation and questioning of the path he was going down.

Manipulation

One thing that is undeniable is the fact that Snoke has been so manipulative of Kylo, even before he turned. One thing that I would like to bring up is how Snoke views someone such as Hux (Who is practically Kylo’s rival). "You wonder why I keep a rabid cur in such a place of power? A cur's weakness, properly manipulated can be a sharp tool,” note that with the proper definitions, it hints that Hux is merely seen as someone in “poor condition” that has an “[extreme} support of” both Snoke and the First Order. Seeing as how Snoke treats them in similar lights (not including the fact that Kylo trains under him), Kylo is in a similar position.

rab·id ˈrabəd,ˈrābəd/Submit adjective 1. having or proceeding from an extreme or fanatical support of or belief in something.

cur kər/Submit noun an aggressive dog or one that is in poor condition, especially a mongrel.

When Han finally confronts Kylo on the Base, he makes it clear that he believes that Snoke is  merely using him to do what he wants. Seeing Kylo’s reaction to the first time seeing his father in years, he is clearly crying, torn up on the inside. Han points out the fact that Snoke is using him for his benefit. You can almost see the realization by Kylo, or at least the moment he considers it and even questions the idea.

“Your son is gone. He was weak and foolish like his father, so I destroyed him.”

“That’s what snoke wants you to believe. But it is not true, my son is alive.”

“No… the supreme Leader is wise.”

“Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he will crush you. You know it’s true.”

“It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not, leave here with me. Come home. We miss you.”

The Abuse

Now, there are many types of abuse out there, and of course, he would have some types more than others. I don’t believe he was ever sexually abused, and Physical abuse was probably only used when Snoke wanted to discipline him. The two predominant ones have to be emotional and verbal abuse. There are plenty of ways the abuse can be explained. (note that of course, some of these are based on opinion, but they make sense depending on how you look at it)

Deflection: Kylo must be scared to speak up against Snoke most of the time regarding the things he has done or said, knowing that it would only be countered with something negative will come from it, such as physical punishment or the blame being turned towards him instead.  We see how quick Snoke is to berate and belittle his apprentice. 

False Loyalty: Snoke was able to convince Kylo that he respected him, valued him as an apprentice. But in reality? He would not hesitate to throw him away when the time called for it, he would kill him. He is giving Kylo a false sense of trust and loyalty.

Demoralizing: After feeling betrayed by his own family and having nowhere to turn, Kylo chose to follow under Snoke. With his influence, Snoke changed Kylo’s ways of thinking and eventually corrupting his own morals to the point where he believed some of the things he had been doing were not in the wrong.

Secretive: There had to have been plenty of things that Snoke had been keeping from Kylo - it be he didn’t want him to know of or he didn’t think he was ready. And that right there is evidence of mistrust, or in this case, manipulation because it would all most likely have formal connections to plans of Snoke that he did n’t want Kylo to be  aware of, as it could raise questions.

Lying/False Truths: It is highly doubtful that Kylo would have been willing to follow behind snoke if he knew what he was really getting himself into, a life of manipulation and mistreatment as a pawn to Snoke. His master also probably put incorrect emphasize on how Kylo’s family really felt about him, which would make the feeling of abandonment and betrayal by them even worse, giving more of a reason to leave.

Questioning his loyalties: Snoke has been seen questioning Kylo’s abilities to do something as simple as killing his father, so it is not hard to believe that he would have brought up Kylo’s loyalties towards him, it be addressing it directly or even subtly by inquiring him about a mission not being fulfilled successfully.  

Invasion of his mind: Snoke literally was keeping track of what was going through Kylo’s mind, he admits to this when he explained “I see his mind, I see his every intent” Just imagine living every day knowing that at any moment, your master would invade the privacy of your very mind.

Coercion: As Snoke’s apprentice, Kylo is expected to follow all his demands and not question it. Knowing how Snoke rules, it would be done with the use of an iron fist. Kylo knows that if he doesn’t do what is told of him, there will most likely be consequences.

Physical Punishment: This is just something that can not be denied, as we can see it in The Last Jedi when Kylo tries to retaliate against Snoke.

Results of the Abuse

As a result of everything that he would have to go through, I’m willing to bet that he suffers from at least one mental illness. Again, some examples:

Reliving the Trauma: I see him as someone who would suffer from nightmares as a result of all the things he has been through. Seeing as how he shows a capability of showing guilt, it may some as a result of the things he has done and come to regret, such as some people he wished he didn’t let die.

Avoiding reminders: When Snoke had brought up the topic of his  father, he seemed to try to brush it off quickly, even claiming “he means nothing to [him],” And even after killing him, he tries to show he doesn’t care when he refers to Han by his full name

Negative thinking:  Kylo seems like the type that would easily feel self-conscious about his progress with training and thinks that even little things means he is an utter failure. Snoke probably destroyed his self-esteem during his training, and may not even have much self-worth. He could also possibly believe that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, especially by his parents. 

Insomnia: Kylo has been depicted by fans to have issue sleeping at times, and it is a high possibility that it would be something he does suffer from. The haunting memories and thoughts probably keep him up at night, and even some physical symptoms he may be suffering from at the moment. 

Pushing passed his limits: With the expectation on him that he becomes as powerful - if not more - than Darth Vader, he would probably push himself during training just to grow stronger. It would range from pushing too hard to the point of exhaustion from not getting himself checked in the Medbay after injuries of any severity. He would do anything to grow stronger, even if it meant becoming numb to pain

Mood changes: As seen in the movies and other media, Kylo has some major issues when it comes to controlling his emotions, especially his aggression and irritability, which are common symptoms of many anxiety disorders to PTSD.

Start to Redemption

Considering that this is the moment that Kylo finally starts to question everything is such a great concept. He was toying with his beliefs when he kills his father. With his desire and push by snoke to become like his grandfather, he hoped it would help him to fully embrace the dark side, but look at where it lead him. He is so conflicted after, and even snoke knows, as he stated “and look at you, the deed split your spirit to the bone,” he acknowledges that part of the (possibly) reason Kylo lost to Rey because it was right after he killed Han, hence his clouded emotions as he’s feeling  conflicted on the inside.

He may even be suffering from some panic or paranoia. Or maybe he’s feeling as if he is going crazy. If you have ever experienced something like this, it would be very understandable. Killing his father more than likely struck something within him to trigger some of his PTSD, which would have all crashed down on him at once. It made him more reckless than normal and even made him so confused and unable to focus. He believed it was in the right to go after Rey and Finn, but in his blind rage, he was ultimately defeated by Rey. Many argue it’s because she was just stronger than him, but it is easy to consider that he could have been going through a psychological battle with himself at the time, from things like just having killed his father and starting to question where his true morals should be.

In his first scene in TLJ, Snoke brings his fears, claiming that he could very well be mistaken by putting faith in Kylo, to which he responds with “I’ve given everything I have to you, to the dark side,” After, Snoke continues to criticize him  to the point where Kylo shows the first form of true retaliation that we saw from him, only to be shocked by  his master in Discipline. When Snoke called him “A child in a mask,” I believe that this is where he finally came to terms that his father was right, and by him destroying his mask on the elevator, he then decided that things were not right anymore.

When he was in his TIE making an assault on the Resistance Fleet, he hesitates to kill his mother, but then opts not to. He was torn up about killing his father, but he could not do it to his mother. He could have so easily have killed her, but he disobeyed his mission to let his mother live. When the other TIEs blow of the bridge with Leia inside, it says it all in his facial expression that he is hurt, believing that she is gone.

His last straw was when he watched Snoke torture Rey and then reveal that he had created the connection between the two, he most likely felt betrayed by this. When he was ordered to kill Rey, it was his final decision that things had to change right there and then. He finally had the courage to fight against his Master, and killed him. This is where he is free, he doesn’t have to fear any discipline from Snoke or even being killed by him.

Though, the one thing that is not clear to him is what really happened when Luke tried to end him back at the Temple. He still holds that against Luke not knowing that he was about to refrain, and he believes that it is the final connection that he has to break to finally be free from all the mental torment.

Conclusion

Taking from my own experiences, I love Kylo Ren as a character. Sure I’ve had one great parent relationship, but look at where the bad relationship with my mother took me. Before you go saying that just because she was an alcoholic parent makes all these arguments not completely valid, you have to know that experiences do not have to be the same to result in similar things. She was a neglectful parent, she didn’t have much consideration for me. I know what it feels like to have a parent that doesn’t seem to care about you. I can’t imagine the things that he went through with having TWO parents seemingly neglecting him to some degree, as well as an uncle that in his last moments with Ben, didn’t see to have a love strong enough for him to keep himself from trying to end his life.

On another end, I can also understand what it’s like to be abused. While physical abuse was not too terrible, emotional abuse was what really got to me. She would do things from belittling me, to make me feel guilty for how things were with the family, and even going as far as to tell me to kill myself - and not care too much when I even tried. This is where I feel the most Empathy for a character like Kylo.  With the way that Snoke is shown to treat him, from belittling him to manipulating him, I can see where his life went wrong.

Again, it does not excuse some of his actions, but it should be taken into consideration all that he has been through. To those who do not believe that there is hope for Kylo, Stars there is. He has shown to realize his makes and expression some guilt to it, it is obvious or so hard to see for you. I believe that there is hope for him in episode 9 and I am wishing for an amazing redemption for him in the movie. Though, it should come at a price. It is he almost loses his life by sacrifice or he does die doing the right thing, I just know that it would be a great conclusion for his character.

Kylo Ren is a broken soul that needs to accept that he deserves to be loved and he has to learn to mend himself back together. No matter what it takes.

“Anxiety Disorders.” National Institute of Mental Health, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/anxiety-disorders/index.shtml.

“PTSD: National Center for PTSD.” Negative Coping and PTSD - PTSD: National Center for PTSD, 1 Jan. 2007, www.ptsd.va.gov/public/PTSD-overview/basics/what-is-ptsd.asp.

“PTSD: National Center for PTSD.” Negative Coping and PTSD - PTSD: National Center for PTSD, 15 May 2012, www.ptsd.va.gov/public/ptsd-overview/basics/symptoms_of_ptsd.asp.

“ .” Victim Blaming in Abuse and Relationships, www.abuseandrelationships.org/Content/Behaviors/authoritarian_style.html.

[theshatteredrose]

Flower of Life (Chapter 12) - Octopath Traveller Fanfictions

AN: A slightly longer chapter today with some fluffy goodness, finally~ Also one more chapter left of this series. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFnet

Chapter 12:

Night-time had fallen when Alfyn was finally able to gather everyone back at the inn. It took some time, but thankfully with H’annit’s help, Alfyn was able to bring everyone back and make them comfortable. Though the antidote he created helped alleviate and then eliminate the symptoms and causes of the illness that infected his companions, it could not ease their exhaustion of having to battle against the serum.

They were all sleeping. Therion, Cyrus, Olberic, and Primrose.

They had a bed room each at the inn. A place they currently had full reign over due to the inn-keepers and their maid being infected by the serum as well.

With four members of their group infected, and four not, thankfully there was one person to watch over the other who was sick. Ophilia was with Primrose, H’annit with Olberic, Tressa with Cyrus, and Alfyn chose to watch over Therion.

With a chair pulled close to Therion’s bedside, Alfyn gazed down at his sleeping friend. The grey rash was nowhere to be seen. The deathly paleness to his cheeks had vanished. And now he was just sleeping off the rest of the serum and stress.

He couldn’t stop himself from constantly reaching out to brush aside the strands of his hair from his forehead to check if his fever had returned or not.

Alfyn was of course worried for everyone. But it was Therion who was at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt about what happened. The way Therion had pushed himself to find him, even as the serum ravished his senses, nearly turning him to stone. The way Therion staggered.

He never done that before. Stagger or stumble.

He could still feel the shock and concern when Therion staggered over to him and free him from his bindings. He could still feel the way his heart leapt into his throat when Therion fell in front of him. Falling in slow motion.

By the gods, that scared him more than anything.

Alfyn had to shake his head to rid himself of that image and the lingering after effects that still caused his heart to skip a beat. He spent a minute or so ensuring that Therion was comfortable, lightly draping the blankets over him and carefully folding his arms over his torso above the sheets. Therion didn’t like having his arms trapped beneath the blankets, after all.

With a lingering glance, Alfyn pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the room. He quietly closed to the door behind him and carefully descended the stairs.

“Alfyn?” Ophilia called his name softly.

Alfyn paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned around to look up at her. He tried to offer her a comforting smile when he realised she had obvious worry on her face. “Sorry. Just...one more thing I need to do.”

He then turned and walked out of the inn.

It was still unnerving to him how quiet the streets were. It wasn’t something he liked. Villages were meant to be busy, after all.

It also didn’t help that the silence made him reflect back on all that had occurred.

There was so much that needed to be done. What about those kids? Who would watch over them now? And the residents of the village; what conditions were they in? How long had they suffered at the hands of Henry and Beatrice, and their mind-altering serum?

It was honestly overwhelming, so Alfyn tried to focus on the present. Look after his companions. Make sure those kids were alive.

One step at a time.

After everyone had recovered, then they may be able to start the process of sticking the village back together. They couldn’t stay for very long, though. It felt wrong to leave after what happened, but they had places they needed to go. And Alfyn wanted to go with them.

After what had happened, he didn’t want to be a part from them for very long. Just in case something similar happened again.

Aflyn shook his head to clear it and uttered a sigh. His feet scraped against the ground, giving the small indication that he was feeling tired. But he kept walking until he reached a water well located in the centre of town.

He gazed down the inky blackness for a moment before he reached into his bag and pulled out a glass bottle. It contained the antidote.

And it was the only one he had left.

Tightening his hand around it, Alfyn tilted his head back and sighed as he looked up at the starry sky. Despite himself, more questions about what had occurred floated through his mind.

Was the Aeracure Blossom gone for good? What was it exactly? Where did it come from? Who built the Chamber of Healing it was housed in? What about the abandoned manor? Who owned it before Henry and Beatrice inhabited it? Why was it abandoned?

There were just...so many questions left unanswered. And the frustrating part was he may never know the truth.

Turning his eyes away from the sky, Alfyn looked down at the bottle in his hand once more. Slowly, he popped off the lid, the noise seeming to echo through the silence. He then poured it into the drinking supply.

It was all he could do. He couldn’t make anymore. All he could do was hope that by drinking the water with the antidote, those who were still infected would heal in time.

...There was nothing else he could do.

Slipping the empty bottle back into his bag, Alfyn turned and headed back in the direction of the inn.

He was silently glad that Ophilia didn’t try to wait for his return. Poor girl was worried enough about everyone. She didn’t need to be fussing over him now.

Their rooms were located across from each other and close to the stairs. So, Alfyn dropped his bag upon the top step and sat down heavily next to it. With a weary sigh, and ignoring the ache in his shoulders and back, he rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes.

Finally, he was able to sit down.

“Alfyn?”

Alfyn instinctively straightened his posture and placed a smile on his lips. “Hey, Phillie,” he greeted in return. He tried to sound jovial so not to alarm her, but he honestly surprised himself by how tired he sounded.

Ophilia looked at him for a while, her expression unreadable. She slowly lowered herself onto the top step next to him and folded her hands atop of her lap. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just a tad tired,” Alfyn replied, his grin turning more genuine. “Hah, don’t even feel like a drink right now.”

Ophilia nodded her head idly before she pulled her legs to her chest and folded her arms tightly around them. “...I can’t believe all that happened,” she whispered as she rested her chin atop of her knees.

The smile faded from his lips and Alfyn nodded his head. “Feels like it came out of the blue.”

“I felt really helpless,” Ophilia admitted softly. “I don’t like that feeling.”

Alfyn turned his head to look forward, but not really looking at anything. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It must have been so hard for you. So close to the cure, yet unable to reach it.”

“I bet it was scary for you, too. Locked away in that orphanage, not knowing what was going on.”

Ophilia’s arms tightened around her legs and nodded her head slowly.

It honestly wasn’t fair.

“...Let’s try not to think about it too much, ok?” Alfyn suggested, straightening his posture once more, trying to look energetic and willing to move forward.

“Y-yes, mustn’t waste precious energy,” Ophilia replied, reacting similarly to him. “We have others in need of our healing.”

Alfyn laughed lightly, actually feeling better than before. “Right. We’re not helpless now. So, let’s get back to work.”

Ophilia took to her feet and idly patted down her clothes to straighten them. “Yes.” She sent him a grateful smile and turned to head back to the room which Primrose was recuperating in.

But she paused and glanced down at Alfyn with a curious look on her. “You know, Alfyn? You look good with your hair down.”

Alfyn instinctively reached up to touch his hair and realised that his hair was indeed left hanging around his shoulders and neck. No wonder he kept feeling a tickling sensation at the back of his neck. “Oh, do I? I keep forgetting about it.”

Ophilia folded her hands in front of her and smiled. “Therion is sure to appreciate it.”

Alfyn felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “H-hey, Phillie!”

Ophilia giggled as she dashed away. She paused at the bedroom door to wave a hand at him before opening the door and stepped inside.

Alfyn sighed and idly rubbed at his cheeks with his hands. He felt a small frown on his lips, though, and glanced at the door to Therion’s room.

Therion…He pushed himself too hard for him.

He hoped he would awaken soon.

… … … … …

The stars glittered high above as Therion rolled his head to the side. The campfire were just glowing embers now, but it offered enough light to reveal that the spot next to him was empty.

Alfyn was supposed to sleeping there.

Therion immediately sat up and looked around. He soon found a familiar form nearby, near a lake. He sat on the bank, leaning back on his hands as he stared up at the starry sky. Still close enough to the campsite, but too far for Therion's liking. Especially alone and in such an unguarded state.

Uttering a silent sigh, Therion heaved himself to his feet and made his way over to Alfyn. “What are you doing?”

Alfyn tilted his head back and granted him a small smile. “Thinking,” he replied simply.

Therion arched an eyebrow and stood there for a moment longer. However, he soon dropped down onto the ground next to him, lazing back on an elbow, turned toward Alfyn subtly. “...About what?”

Alfyn turned his gaze skywards. “Ogen.”

Therion was unable to prevent a grimace and frown. “You still thinking about that?”

However, Alfyn shook his head. “Nah. There's something else that's been bothering me about the guy.”

“And what's that?”

“It's just…” Alfyn hesitated, probably trying to search for the right words. “I think he's truly forgotten what it is truly like to feel.”

Therion felt his brow furrowed in confusion. “Feel what?”

“Everything,” Alfyn answered as he flopped back onto the grass, his sprawled out widely. “I guess if you've been hurt enough, it's easy to mistake any depth of feeling for sadness, any sense of the unknown with fear, any sense of peace with boredom.” He rolled his head to the side and looked at him. “Ya know what I mean?”

Therion tried to remain casual and dismissively, but his body tensed nonetheless and he frowned. “Yeah…”

“Hey, Therion?”

“What?”

Alfyn reached out and slipped a finger around that damn fool’s bangle around his wrist and tugged on it lightly. “Your life is yours to do what you will with; you can make it whatever you want.”

That caught Therion completely off guard and he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “...What about you? There’s nothing holding you here.”

Alfyn hummed lightly as he released his grip on that stupid bracelet and let his hand flop listlessly onto the grass beside his head. “Hmm, there kinda is.”

“What?”

Despite lying flat on the grass, Alfyn managed to shrug and fold his hands across his torso. “I like spending time with you.”

Therion snorted to cover up the unusual feeling of peace and flopped onto his back next to Alfyn. “You need a better hobby,” he said as he folded his arms behind his head and rested an ankle on his knee.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Alfyn whined, but the amusement in his voice was obvious.

Therion just smirked and closed his eyes.

He found himself opening them moments later, however, and the slightly familiar sight of a ceiling over his head greeted him instead of a cluster of stars. That confused him. But as his vision began to clear, so did his mind.

And he soon remembered everything that had happened.

Therion immediately sat up in bed, ignored the way he head spun from the sudden movement, and swung his legs over the side. He placed his feet on the floor, taking light note that his shoes and poncho had been removed, and stood up.

A wave of panic washed over him internally as he glanced around the room and couldn’t see Alfyn anywhere.

“Alfyn?”

“Therion?” Alfyn questioned in return before he suddenly appeared directly before Therion and flung his arms around him, embracing him tightly. The hug was so sudden that Therion instinctively wrapped his arms around him in return in an attempt to prevent them both from toppling over onto the bed behind him.

It actually surprised Therion somewhat to realise how calm he felt the instant Alfyn flung his arms around him and pressed his face against the curve of his neck. In fact, he felt a sense of satisfaction and relief. He had managed to find Alfyn after all. And the fact that he was standing, breathing, and not some statue meant that Alfyn had managed to find a cure for whatever it was that Henry used on them.

“How are you feeling?” Alfyn asked as he pulled back slightly, but did step back from him. Instead he stayed pressed against him as his hands cupped the sides of Therion’s face gently. “Let me look at you.”

Normally, Therion would try to dismiss some of Alfyn’s obvious concern toward him. But tonight, he really couldn’t be bothered. So, he just rested his hands on the other man’s sides and let him fuss. “What happened?”

Alfyn sighed and interlocked his fingers together behind Therion’s neck. “Cyrus, Olberic, and Primrose had been infected with the mind-altering serum,” he explained as he rested his forehead against Therion’s. “I...was able to make an antidote. They’re going to be fine now.”

Noticing a white, hastily made bandage on Alfyn’s arm caused Therion to bristle with protectiveness. “Did that bastard do anything to you?” he asked, his arms unconsciously pressing firmly against Alfyn’s sides.

Alfyn kept his forehead against his and shook his head ever so slightly. “No. You got to me in time.”

Despite the affirmation that Henry hadn’t done anything, Therion still felt protective. “So, he was planning something?” murmured, not so much as a question, but as a complaint.

One that drew a small laugh from Alfyn, but little else.

He pushed aside that protectiveness and instead focused his attention on the man directly in front of him. The lighting of the room was dim, and Therion’s eyes were still a tad blurry from waking and moving suddenly. But he could see the tired lines on Alfyn’s face.

And the unruly strands of his hair around his shoulders and framing his face. Alfyn honestly looked good with his hair down. He would complain about it, though. How it tickled the back of his neck, how the strands would get in his eyes when he was trying to concentrate.

Therion secretly liked it when he wore his head down. But right now, he just looked exhausted.

“You have your hair down,” Therion murmured before he had the chance to reconsider.

Alfyn leaned back to look down at him in surprise. He, however, smiled somewhat sheepishly and draped one arm around Therion’s shoulders while he reached up to touch his hair with the other. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Didn’t really have time to put it back up, ya know?”

...He wondered what had happened after he found Alfyn. Perhaps finding him was the easy part. Leaving him to clean up the mess by himself was...a little unfair.

Alfyn uttered another sigh as he lowered his hand from his hair and draped it casually around Therion’s shoulders, like he had done with the other. He looked tiredly into his eyes. And yet...there was something in those eyes that Therion couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You pushed yourself to rescue me.”

“You were the only one to find a cure, after all.”

“Is that all, though?”

Therion sighed. No point in trying to be dismissive about it now. “...No.”

Alfyn tilted his head to the side and smiled softly. “...Shucks, Therion. I was worried about you, too.”

As Alfyn leaned down toward him, Therion instinctively tilted his head back so that his lips caught Alfyn’s. Alfyn didn’t react negatively in anyway. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t immediately pull back. No, he pressed forward to press his lips a little firmer against Therion’s. While he did no more than that, Therion knew what the slight movement meant.

It was both an invitation and a request.

So Therion took the lead, he being the one to deepen the kiss. And Alfyn happily followed, letting Therion kiss him in anyway he felt comfortable.

It was humbling, in a way. Even in such an intimate act, Alfyn still found a way to express his trust in him. A small voice piped up, saying that he didn’t deserve someone like Alfyn. But he squashed it.

Because, damn it all, pushing people away was getting tiring.

After one last, lingering caress, they pulled back from the kiss. But not from each other. While Therion opened his eyes, Alfyn didn’t. Instead he leaned forward to rest his forehead against his once again.

“I knew you would come for me,” he murmured.

Of course he would.

“Did you now?” Therion returned. “How can you be so sure?”

“I trust you, that's why,” Alfyn replied quickly and easily. “And you trust me, don’t you?”

“...Yeah.” Of course he did.

“Good,” Alfyn said as he hugged him tightly, resting his cheek on his hair. “So, if you ever get arrested, I'll definitely break you out.”

“Oh, will you now?”

“Well, I broke into a mansion. I think I’m getting the hang of this thieving business.”

Therion tried to snort, but instead chuckled in mild amusement. “I guess the gods like me more than I thought,” he murmured.

Alfyn pulled back to look at him with his head tilted curiously to the side. “Therion?”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have heard him. By the gods, that was cheesy. He might tell him about it later. But not now. He’d be damned if Primrose ever found out.

“You look tired,” Alfyn suddenly commented with a slight frown.

Therion had no doubt about that. But he wasn’t the only one. “I probably look less tired than you do right now. You’ve never been very good at looking after yourself.”

Alfyn granted him a sheepish half smile but didn’t argue. “I should try to refute that, but even I know you’re right.”

Therion smirked. It quickly faded though when Alfyn made the half-hearted attempt to pull back and he reacted by wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him still. Alfyn stiffened for a fraction of a moment but placed his arms around Therion’s shoulders once more.

“Share the one bed tonight?” Alfyn requested. “I’d...sleep better that way.”

Therion immediately nodded his head. Yeah, he would, too.

With that reassurance, Alfyn smiled and they finally parted. Only so that Therion could flop back down onto the bed and for Alfyn to get himself into the state where he could sleep comfortably. He soon flopped down onto the bed next to Therion and rolled over so that he was facing him.

Alfyn was obviously more tired than he thought. As soon as Alfyn’s head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

And Therion found himself watching him sleep for a while. Just watching. Reassuring himself that Alfyn was safe, that everyone else was sure to be safe. There were still a lot of questions swimming around in his head about what happened while he was out, while Alfyn was held captive.

But they could wait.

Draping an arm over Alfyn’s waist, Therion finally settled down and fell asleep himself.