#its already separated by long and short and i know i had a grade 2 shave last time

[elibeeline]

While im on my streak of doing slightly rebellious things, do i shave my undercut at home or do i go out and get it done at the last place i got it

[nanami-says]

Part V (2/3): chapters 58~60

Chapter 58

[About Sukuna’s fingers resonating with one another]

"The ones that possess an immense presence. The ones that are hiding. The ones that are already taken in by cursed spirits."

⇒ "1) The ones with too big presences. 2) The ones holding their breath. 3) The ones already absorbed by cursed spirits."

I added the numbers for explanation purposes, see below. 

"One of Sukuna's fingers was hidden by a cursed spirit. When Itadori consumed the finger in June, it released its cursed energy"

⇒ "The Sukuna fingers that had been absorbed were holding back their power [while] inside cursed spirits. Then they unleashed their cursed energy with Itadori's incarnation [of Sukuna] in June serving as a trigger."

Whelp. On top of extremely simplifying the explanation, they mixed up the kind of Sukuna finger involved here - it was very explicitly stated in the text that it was number 3) "absorbed" (assimilated) fingers, and not 2) "hiding" fingers. 

I guess saying that Itadori consumed the finger isn't wrong plot wise but it's actually referred to (here and many times more in the manga) as "incarnation"! The same word also gets used for the death painting brothers.

[Megumi remembering a conversation with Gojou] 

"I was surprised you asked me to train you"

⇒ "It's rare for you to ask me for a practice, Megumi"

"To train you" wasn't wrong but Gojou saying "it's rare" here points to it either happening occasionally or having happened in the past and I'm not sure "I was surprised" quite conveys that. 

"Are you feeling pressure because of Yuji's growth?"

⇒ "Did you get impatient after getting surpassed by Yuuji?"

Gojou actually says that Yuuji has surpassed Megumi here! Quite a different nuance from just "Yuji's growth".

"Megumi, your skill and potential are probably higher than Yuji's. All that’s left is the mental aspect"

⇒ “You know, Megumi, I think that both your real ability and potential are in no way inferior to Yuuji's. (...)"

Emphasis mine because pray tell, how does one reach the conclusion that "don't lose out to"/"aren't inferior to" equals to "are probably higher". “Skill” was fine btw but I’d probably go with “mindset” for the last line, personally.

[Gojou explaining why he thinks Megumi doesn’t know how to make a serious effort giving the baseball game as an example]

“Why did you bunt? You sacrificed yourself so that Nobara could advance. Well, good for you"

⇒ "Why did you make a sacrifice bunt? Did you want to advance Nobara to the next base even if it meant you'd be out yourself? That's commendable"

The nuance for the last line was just different - the word used there usually is just used as praise, either genuine or ironic but imo “good for you” has a different meaning. Also he says “out”  but it’s written as “death” (although that is sometimes the case in baseball as well.)

“But no matter how many allies you have around you, you'll always die alone"

⇒ “(...) when you die, you’re alone”

I tried to phrase it a bit closer to the original because I feel like the nuance may just be different for this line but can’t quite put a finger on the how.

[Gojou to Megumi]

"To die and then win, and dying victoriously are two completely different things, Megumi"

⇒ "To win by dying and to win even if you die are completely different, Megumi"

Emphasis by Gege. Ngl, I had no clue what the English was trying to say here… This is most likely what the line actually meant.

[Megumi regaining his consciousness after he blacked out from getting hit] 

 "How long was I out? Was my divine dog destroyed? No, my technique's finished"

Actually "my technique got undone". Putting it as "has finished" is imo both unclear and misleading. Similar situation as in ch. 1 (refer to part I).

[Lead-up to Megumi using a domain expansion for the first time]

"A jujutsu sorcerer's growth never comes easy"

⇒ "The growth curve of a sorcerer isn’t always gentle"

Mostly, the line was more intricate in the original but also the grammatical construction used here that they mistranslated as "never" actually means "not always [necessarily]” instead.

"Here we go!!"

Not really incorrect but it's kinda generic and I guess something like "I'm gonna do it!" is closer nuance wise. 

"With a firm base, skill and imagination, a person can change thanks to the slightest of events"

⇒ "A firm foundation, a handful of sense, and imagination. Then, [even] with a most insignificant opportunity, a person will change"

A pity they simplified "a handful of sense" into just "skill" here. Overall not really incorrect but I wanted to propose something that imo better conveys the original wording and vibe.

“Area expansion”

…”area”? What? Obviously this is actually “domain expansion”. I just don’t have words.

“Think bigger! My technique’s interpretation!”

First sentence actually referred to the second one, so it’s actually something like “Expand it!! The technique’s interpretation!!”

[Megumi to the cursed spirit after his shikigami deals it a finishing blow]

"Divine dog's claws even hurt it...You were no match!"

"(...) So something like piercing through you when you're not even paying attention was easy"

Less excitement, more dismissiveness, I’d say? Also, for the divine dog it’s actually specified that it’s “divine dog (totality)” and not just simply “divine dog”. The term appeared before in ch. 47.

Chapter 59

[Megumi talking about what he considers the basic rule for human interactions in a flashback to his middle school years]

"Basically, you shouldn't cross any line that violates another person's dignity. You should acknowledge each other's mutual existence. That's the rule. You ignored it and fed your stupid ego"

⇒ "In short, it's drawing a line in order not to jeopardise one another's dignity; [it’s] a process through which both parties can coexist. That's what the "rule" is”. You broke it, throwing your weight around and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around you”

For the first sentence, Megumi says “it’s drawing a line”, so the nuance here was probably closer to “creating boundaries” rather than “crossing boundaries” like in the official English release. For the second sentence, the original literally says “the process through which one another’s existence is achieved”, so rather than acknowledging each other’s existence the sentiment is probably closer to live and let live? For the last sentence, they once again simplified it to the barest bones.

"I'll definitely tell Ikezawa and everyone today that we're not their lapdogs"

“You got this, Aida!”

"But we might be the next punching bags, so don't go overboard!"

Should be “Ikezawa and others'' and definitely “that I’m not their errand boy” for the smallest boy’s first line. If all of them were already being treated as errand boys like the way using the plural form here implies, the other student’s reply wouldn’t make sense.

[After Tsumiki sees Megumi has beaten up delinquents once again]

“You said you wouldn’t pick fights anymore”

“You’re not my mom”

⇒ (...) “Don’t act like you’re my guardian”

Imo the distinction is significant because there’s a possibility that Tsumiki as the older of the two probably did feel responsible for Megumi to an extent and acted accordingly, as if she was his guardian. 

Also, he doesn’t actually say “mom” - this is not the first time where the official English release opts for a gendered phrase where the original uses a neutral form. (Like making Yuuji say his grandpa was like a dad to him when he actually said parent all the way back in ch. 2.) 

[Megumi’s thoughts from back in the middle school]

"I hate bad guys with no brains and zero emotional capability. Walking around feeling proud. Disgusting."

⇒ "I hate bad people. The way they act like they’re superior, with their complete lack of imagination or sensitivity. Disgusting”

I guess I really dislike the way they worded it here, especially the “no brains” part since Megumi wasn’t really talking about intellect or smarts here but about imagination (and sensitivity), which he literally describes as being akin to "vacant lot", "empty lot", "raw land”, which is much more evocative.

"I hate goody-goodies forgiving bad people, justifying mercy. Makes me wanna puke"

⇒ "I hate good people. The way they forgive such bad people and perceive that act of forgiveness as something noble. They make me sick"

Mhm, way to just simplify the heck out of the whole line. I’m extra bothered by their use of “goody-goodies” here since this is yet another appearance of a rather formal word for “good person” (善人/zennin) in the original and which I’ve observed to be a very important part of the world-building in jjk. I discuss it at length in various previous installments, with notable examples including: ch. 9 (Megumi about Yuuji and about the kind of people he wants to save - part I), ch. 31 (Nanami and Yuuji’s conversation in the aftermath of the Junpei incident - part III 2/2), ch. 36 (Panda about Yuuji - part IV 2/5).

“Tsumiki, you’re a perfect example of a good person.”

See, the word he uses here to describe Tsumiki is the same as in the line above (善人) but because back then it got translated as “goody-goodies”, you’d never guess it since the vibes are just that different.

[Megumi reminiscing about meeting Gojou for the first time]

"In the first grade, my dad and Tsumiki's mom got married and separated just as quickly"

⇒ "When I was in the first grade of elementary school my father and Tsumiki’s mother, our respective single parents, got together and disappeared into thin air"

The original doesn’t mention marriage OR separation. Heck, especially for the second one, it doesn’t even come close to mentioning it?? I have no clue where they got this from. 

What I put as “got together” can also be translated as “to have a liaison with (a man or a woman)” (among others). Since Tsumiki’s surname is also “Fushiguro” in middle school, it’s possible that they were actually married and many Japanese fans seem to think that as well but it’s not explicitly stated, at least not here, so those are most likely speculations. 

As for mysterious “separation”, the word used here actually means "disappearance (of people intentionally concealing their whereabouts); unexplained disappearance", so imo the whole section means their parents got together and at some point both disappeared. As we learn at one point in the manga Touji first and Tsumiki’s mum sometime later. 

(Btw, one fan scanlation used “evaporation” here instead and while this is another possible translation of the word in question, imo from the context it’s clear that the intended meaning was the “unexplained disappearance” instead.)

Lastly, Megumi uses kind of formal expressions when referring to both his own dad and Tsumiki’s mum, which imo is indicative of the emotional distance.

[Tiny Megumi about teenager Gojou]

"A weirdo with white hair said"

⇒ "A suspicious man with white hair"

Needless to say, he doesn't actually call Gojou a weirdo.

[Gojou about Touji] 

"But he's a loser that just works for me. He left the family and had you."

⇒ "He's enough of a good-for-nothing to take aback even me. Basically, he left home and then had you."

Emphasis mine. Again, I literally have no clue where they got the translation they went with for this. “Works for me” - just what?? (Btw, one of the fan scans available for this had the latter part of this line mistakenly imply that Gojou had Megumi leave his house. The bit definitely referred to Touji leaving the Zen’in family.)

"You're something your dad used against the Zen'in family. His trump card"

⇒ “You’re something your father kept as his strongest card against the Zen’in family”

A bit of a different nuance than “your dad used” suggests.

"The divorce money makes sense now. I was sold to this Zen'in family"

⇒ "The mystery behind the funds for their disappearance got solved. Apparently, I was sold to this Zen’in family or something"

Again, the word for “divorce” doesn’t make an appearance ANYWHERE in this chapter, least of all this page. ...How. 

Once again - fan scans had this as money that also evaporated but neither it nor the official English release make sense, considering the line is followed up by “I was sold” as the explanation. So yeah, imo the first sentence definitely referred to the money Megumi considered necessary for Touji (and co’s) disappearance.

[Gojou referring to Touji basically selling Megumi off]

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's annoying. Especially your attitude."

⇒ “It pisses you off, doesn’t it”

“Yeah, it does piss me off. Especially that lack of delicacy of yours”

I mentioned it multiple times but imo repetition in the original text tends to be done on purpose and as a device and imo this was another example where this was the case. Megumi borrows Gojou’s words here. (Which mean “to be irritated, “to be angry” and not “it sucks”.)

[Megumi continuing about Gojou]

"But that annoying guy wrote off the situation with the Zen'in family. He made a promise that we would work as sorcerers in the future. We would be collateral and receive financial support from Jujutsu High in exchange."

⇒"This man pisses me off, but it was him who cancelled the deal with the Zen'in family, and made it so we would receive financial support from the technical college with me working as a sorcerer in the future [serving] as collateral for it”

I don’t know why they’d translate it as “we would work” here since who the “we” would be supposed to even entail other than Megumi himself? Surely not Tsumiki. Or Gojou. Also, putting the next bit as “we would be collateral” makes it sound kind of dehumanising to me, ngl, whereas Megumi was talking about his labour here.

Also, the same phrase for “pisses off” as above got used once again, which makes it three times in a row, so imo that was definitely a deliberate stylistic choice on Gege’s part.

“Jujutsu sorcerers. How stupid.

⇒ "Sorcerers, what even. How nonsensical"

Just proposing an alternate wording.

[Megumi about the curse Tsumiki got hit by]

"All we knew was that we didn't know anything. Tsumiki still sleeps."

The word used to describe Tsumiki’s state literally means “became bedridden”, which imo heavily implies she fell into a coma. “Still sleeps” is most likely a misunderstanding on the translator’s part since the word sounds like it’d mean that (but it doesn’t.)

[Megumi about Tsumiki]

"Always smiling and saying nice things"

⇒ “Always smiling and spouting lip service”

Another case where the translator seems to have translated the word based on the way it’s written as opposed to checking the actual meaning. (The “nice things” phrase.)

"It's not a bad thing to not forgive people. Megumi, that's your way of showing kindness."

⇒ “Not being able to forgive people isn’t a bad thing. That’s your kindness, Megumi”

It wasn’t just “not to forgive” but “not being able to forgive”! Which imo would imply the next line’s nuance was something similar to Tsumiki considering Megumi’s inability to forgive people to be something that stems from his kindness (e.g. because he can’t stand seeing injustice).

"Even spinning my short-comings in a positive light."

⇒ “She would affirm even my nature"

Imo this line was more of Tsumiki accepting Megumi as he is or at least that’s what the line says - makes sense with what I proposed for the line above too. Translating it the way they did in the official release kind of feels like overinterpreting.

"But even she would get upset when I hurt somebody. I was annoyed by the hypocrisy"

⇒ "But even such Tsumiki would get genuinely angry (...). I would get annoyed thinking she was a stickler to the rules and a hypocrite"

Emphasis mine. The phrase that the translators seem to have skipped here and I translated as "stickler to the rules" literally means "to play it safe", "to avoid trouble at all cost". 

"Yeah, I know. I was immature. I'm sorry so please wake up already"

“I’m sorry, I was a brat. I’ll apologise so just wake up already, stupid older sister”

Just a different nuance and tone for the whole line.

"All I did was get rid of the Yasohachi bridge curse. My sister's sleeping curse is a separate matter."

⇒ "This Yasohachi bridge curse was probably only overlapping with it, and the curse that caused Tsumiki to fall into a coma probably hasn't been lifted"

The official English release makes it sound like sleeping (or more correctly, the coma) was the nature of the curse that Tsumiki was put under, whereas imo the original indicates it just as its effect, which is an important distinction.

“As for the finger and Itadori…”

⇒ “What should I tell Itadori about the finger...”

The “tell”, “say” is only implied here but it’s pretty clear from the context that was the meaning. Also, he explicitly says “to Itadori” here.

[After the Yasohachi bridge curse got defeated by Megumi who then retrieved the Sukuna finger from it] 

"All of sudden I feel a presence. Did the finger get out of the barrier? Whoever took out the finger bearer is quite formidable."

⇒ “The huge presence that appeared all of sudden... Did Sukuna's finger get out of the barrier? If it was a sorcerer that exorcised the finger's host, they must be quite good......."

Emphasis mine on bits that got cut out in the official release. Because Esou was facing off Nobara, he probably assumed it’s likely there may be other sorcerers present and imo that’s what this line also suggests.

"Even so... The finger... Even if they fought against a special-grade and won, They more than likely didn't come out of it unscathed. I hope they're okay."

Just to clarify that the word used for “they” in the original indicates the speaker knows the people in question, so those were Nobara’s thoughts here.

 Chapter 60

[Esou to Yuuji and Nobara after he activates his wing king technique]

“Start running and turn your backs to me”

“Run. With your backs turned to me” would fit better nuance and mood wise. (Esou didn’t want to show his back to anyone so now he’s’ forcing them to show theirs.)

[Nobara to Yuuji after he scooped her up because she couldn’t run as fast as he could]

“I got your back”

“Okay”

“Okay” isn’t incorrect per se but the word has the nuance of “I’m counting on you”.

[Nobara to Yuuji after he speeded through the forest while carrying her, allowing them to escape from Esou's technique]

"Well done, you deserve some praise"

“Yeah, yeah”

“Just kidding. Thanks!”

⇒ "You have my praise." (...)

Actually a set phrase! Spoken from a rather elevated/superior POV, which is why Nobara later reiterates that she’s genuinely thankful. Also, I probably would just go with a period for “Thanks”, imo nuance wise it didn’t require an exclamation mark and it’s not there in the original either.

[Esou after Yuuji gets splashed with Kechizu’s blood]

"There's no need to worry. My younger brother's blood isn't the same quality as mine"

Actually "doesn't have the same properties like mine”.

"You wouldn't even die from mine unless you were drowned in it."

Much closer to something like "unless you were to bathe your whole body in it".

"But it does hurt like hell"

⇒ "But it does hurt to death"

Not really wrong meaning wise but in the original it was “to death” instead of “like hell”, which combined with a previous line was probably a wordplay. "You won't die but it does hurt to death"

[Esou explaining how his and Kechizu’s shared technique works]

"If you take in one of our brother's blood and if one brother activates a technique"

Idk if it's clear here but it most likely doesn't matter which brother does which (could even be the same one). Also, definitely should’ve been “the” or “this” for technique, since Esou has just stated on the same page he’s now going to start laying out how a specific technique of he and his brother’s functions.  

[Esou replying to Yuuji]

"Yes, the result is essentially poison. Our technique is 'decomposition'"

Should be “but what our technique is, is actually ‘decomposition’” nuance wise.

"It's activated now. In reality they'll be dead faster than that”

⇒ “Done with technique disclosure, so in reality (...)”

Emphasis mine. You know, the rule in jujutsu where if you explain your technique to your opponent, it gets a buff? “Activation” is just wrong here. 

While it’s not phrased as such, the phenomenon is first explained in ch. 20 during Nanami’s explanation to Yuuji (refer to part II 2/2). It also gets mentioned by name later in the manga but oftentimes the official release would either skip it or word it completely differently so it’s hard to tell, like in ch. 51, when Hanami realises Toudou has lied to him (part IV 5/5). 

[The history of how cursed wombs came to be]

"[In the beginning of the Meiji era] there was a girl with special genetic makeup who bore a cursed-spirit child"

Actually “with an idiosyncrasy that allowed her to get pregnant with the child of a cursed spirit”! Imo an important distinction since it’s not certain whether her first child that gets discussed here was born prematurely or not and the following pregnancies were all aborted.

"A child born of mixed blood - both cursed spirit and human.”

Skipped “grotesque child” at the end.

“It was a mysterious pregnancy. She would be ostracized by family and friends.”

⇒ "Starting from a pregnancy she had no recollection of, [followed by] the oppression from her kith and kin, it made her go insane"

This latter part of this section is filled to the brim with complicated language so I’m not entirely sure but I think this might’ve been the intended meaning of the line. The official translators were probably struggling with the vocabulary too, so they cut out some stuff entirely, to be precise - the go insane part. It’s the bit I’m not certain about myself but I scoured Japanese dictionaries and that’s the meaning that seemed to be the best fit among the options.  

Anyway, to reiterate - the bit about the pregnancy actually says that the girl herself didn’t even know (couldn’t remember) how it came to be. The part about the relatives doesn’t mention friends, it’s actually a set phrase that means “one's relatives by blood and marriage (in blood and law); one's kith and kin” - I went here with the latter since it’s shorter and fits the overall vibe of the line.

“She would hold the corpse of the child and flee to a temple in the mountains. The temple was run by jujutsu sorcerers. However, her luck had run out."

⇒ “(...) However, this was when her luck run out”

Other than the nuance in the last line, this isn’t mistranslated but the whole section just flowed differently in the original and felt less disjointed.

Also! One of the scanlations I’ve seen had it misspelled as “Noshitori” but the evil sorcerer’s name is actually “Kamo Noritoshi” (and yes, it’s the same as the young Kamo but the “toshi” is written with different characters).

"The child born from a cursed spirit and human would become a prisoner of intellectual curiosity"

⇒ "His [Kamo Noritoshi's] intellectual curiosity would be taken captive by children born between a cursed spirit and a human"

Very much the other way around. It's very clear in the original that the subject of the sentence was Kamo's intellectual curiosity and not the child.

"Death painting wombs: numbers 1-3. Cursed objects worthy of special grade."

Closer to "cursed objects powerful enough to be classified as special grade"

"Did cursed energy originate from a mother's hatred? No..."

It's specified here as "did their cursed energy" instead (emphasis mine), and the question is actually left unanswered......................................................... So yeah, congrats on getting rid of this very intended ambiguity. It's something like "or was it maybe--"

[About cursed wombs]

"For 150 years, with only the notion of one another's existence, they would survive, sealed away"

⇒ "For 150 years, they endured the seal, relying only on one another's existence"

"The notion" just doesn't capture the sentiment of the line at all, which imo is most likely the follow-up to the narrator's musings about the origin of the death painting's immense cursed energy. (See above.)

"We're siding with that cursed spirit."

Actually "siding with them", read as "them" but written as "the cursed spirits" - probably plural as the original literally says "the side of the cursed spirits", so it possibly means cursed spirits as a whole as well, aside of Mahito and co specifically. Remember, the brothers are actually half-humans too. I explain in depth the “written as but read as” device in part IV 4/5 (ch. 48, Toudou’s “my friend” phenomenon).

"The future that the cursed spirits have painted is more suited for us. But that's it. Forget about what we owe for our freedom"

Not incorrect per se but Chousou actually says “forget the debt we owe them of our incarnation”, which would make it yet another instance where the official English release has cut out the term entirely. (Emphasis mine.)

[Nobara after stating that a technique that assures a win as long as it hits an opponent is indeed powerful]

"I'm a bad match for you!!"

Actually “the worst match [possible]” - more confidence in the line! 

[Nobara to the death painting brothers after using Resonance on herself thus redirecting their attack back at them]

"Let's play a game of chicken, shall we?"

The actual wording is “contest of endurance”, I’m not entirely sure if the two have the same connotation.

[part v (3/3)]

[rockthistowninsideout]

DigiWeek 2021

Day 1 - Beginning

The Story

part 2 part 3 part 4

   “Bye Miko, bye Taki!” someone shouted just as our bus pulled up in front of us. We both turned to see Matsuda waving before he climbed into his mother’s car. We waved back, then got onto the bus. After the driver had greeted us we walked to our usual spot at the back of the bus.

   “Phew”, what a day!”, Taki exclaimed, flopping down beside me. She shook back her long black hair and leaned her head on my shoulders.

   I nodded. “You’re saying something.” I slid deeper down into the seat, checking my reflection in the mirror, ruffling my short unruly black hair dyed blonde a bit more before closing my eyes.

   Taki and I had been friends since kindergarten and we were now in eleventh grade together. And today had been truly hell. One test had chased after the other and in P.E. we had to run laps all period long. Ugh. When it came to ball sports I was always aboard – and on top of my class – but athletics were my armageddon. I was just glad it was over now.

   As the neighbourhood passed by the window and we didn’t have to get off for the next ten stops there was plenty of time for a nap. I took a deep breath, settled my head on Taki’s, and already started daydreaming.

____

   While Miko and Taki were sleeping peacefully side by side, the world around them slowly transformed. Passengers vanished, lampposts became trees, the road turned into a grassy pathway, and the once municipal bus changed into a rural area trolley running on an invisible contact wire.

____

   “Ssh, Miko, wake up. Wake up!”

   I was rudely shaken awake by Taki. As the sunlight filtered through my half-closed eyelids, I jolted, immediately wide awake. “What is it? Have we missed our spot?”

   “No.” Taki’s voice was suddenly all but a whisper. “I think it’s worse.”

   I looked around but I had a hard time processing what I saw. We sat in an old-fashioned trolley that was empty except for us. It stood on a lush meadow full of colourful nodding flowers. Something moved between them and when I squinted I saw two, well, creatures approaching. I didn’t have a better word for it now. As they came closer I could distinguish one of them as some sort of green, upright standing turtle wearing a sturdy hat – and was that a ball like that of a computer mouse on his belly? The other creature beside him was dragon-like, but with yellow fur instead of scales, and wore intricately decorated black armour.

   After we had gotten outside, I protectively stood before before my friend, not actually hoping that I could defeat the creatures but it was the gesture that counted. Taki thankfully pressed against me, taking hold of my jacket.

   “Finally you’ve come!”, the turtle squealed, apparently with joy, and opened its arms as if to embrace us.

   “Yes, we waited so long”, the dragon echoed the sentiment with a deep voice. It stood upright now and held its claws up in the universally understood gesture of peace.

   Yet I wasn’t ready to give up my protective stance. “Who are you?”, I demanded to know in my most commanding voice – which actually was quite impressive. I was six feet tall and had to shop in the men’s section because female clothing didn’t fit my broad shoulders.

   My demeanour had the desired effect: The creatures shrank back. In a defensive voice the dragon said: “We do not wish to harm you! We are Kamemon - “, he indicated the turtle, “and Ryudamon. You are here in the Digital World.”

   “Uh…”, was all I managed to say. Faintly, a bell rang in my head at the words “Digital World”. Something about a humongous bird and some sort of dinosaur wreaking havoc in Tokyo about a decade ago. Shortly after, my family moved out of the city to Atami. I had been maybe four or five at that time.

   “We need your help”, the turtle, I mean, Kamemon chimed in, “a gruesome force is about to take over this part of the Digital World.”

   “A gruesome force?”, Taki finally dared to partake in the conversation.

   “Yeah. I don’t know what that is but it sounds evil, right? Ryudamon says that all the time.�� Kamemon laughed and hit Ryudamon amicably on the shoulder.

   It rolled its eyes before it said “Please check your pockets.”

   I frowned but both Digimon – I gathered that’s what their species was called – nodded encouragingly. So I patted my jacket and pants until I found a circular device with a screen and several buttons. Mine was dazzling golden like the sun while Taki’s was a bright lunar silver. A picture of Kamemon flashed on the display of mine. It waved and the image waved, too.

   “So you always know where I am when we get separated. Because we’re partners now.” While Taki and I had been checking the devices the Digimon had dared to come closer. Kamemon extended a hand. Ryudamon did the same in front of Taki.

   “I am honoured to fight at your side from now on”, it announced gravely.

   Taki and I exchanged a look until she nodded. “Partners we are then”, she said.

 Kamemon and Ryudamon

  When and how did you first discover Digimon?

   Judging from the date it aired on German TV (March 7 1999) - and assuming I started watching it right then - I was barely 3 1/2 years old. I don’t know if that makes any sense or if my parents even allowed that so I can’t vouch for this to be the truth. Though if I only watched a re-run it couldn’t have been a lot later, maybe a year. Because I started collecting the Digimon comic magazines that the German publishing house Dino released from issue 13 (Angemon vs. Devimon) onwards, and issue 15 was released on May 23 2001 (and their story lines were much behind the storylines from the episodes on TV - Issue 14 introduced the 02 kids). That means I was 5 1/2 years old - which, thinking about it, does make a lot more sense than 3 1/2 to get invested in animes and comics. 

   To make a long story short, it probably was the summer of 2000 and I was about 4 years old.

[fallafox]

Sennelier French Aqua-mini Palette Review: Your Best Bet for a Starter Set!

When it comes to artist-grade materials, professional watercolors are often deserving of the hype surrounding the brand and Sennelier is no different. If you're looking to upgrade your art materials into an artist grade set, then this might be the right palette for you!

Here are my thoughts on the Sennelier French Aqua-mini Palette:

I bought this set almost a year ago and it took me a long time to really get to know what this tiny palette has to offer. Now that I've branched off into making fully colored illustrations, I got the chance to experiment more with the paint sets that I have.

So before anything else, let's get into the product details of this set.

This starter palette contains a set of 8 artist-grade watercolor paints which include the following colors:

#675 French Vermillion

#703 Payne's Grey

#574 Primary Yellow

#344 Cinereous Blue

#314 French Ultramarine Blue

#805 Pthalo Green Light

#819 Sap Green

#202 Burnt Umber

While the tin case looks very compact, each color is actually around the size of a regular half pan so it's guaranteed to last a long time. This set also comes with a small brush (not much information is available on the brush but the bristles seem to be made from synthetic fibers) which is surprisingly good and deserves a separate discussion. The Sennelier French Aqua Mini Palette is currently available in Art Nebula for Php 1,320 and other art stores around the country.

1. Amazing value for its price

Compared to other Sennelier half pan sets of 12 that retail for around Php 4-5k, and the Sennelier test pack with 6 half pans at Php 1.5k, this travel set sits way below that price range and already offers 2 more colors than the test pack. If you're only after the paints themselves, this is already a huge bang for your buck considering that it will cost way less than buying all of the included shades as individual half pans that retail for Php 350 per piece. I think Sennelier cut costs in some aspects to make this palette affordable: there's not much of a mixing area on the cover and the middle area with the wells containing the paint is made of cheap plastic. The size of the tin also contributes to this, as well as the choice of including a very short wooden brush instead of something that's of higher quality. Another factor could be that the pigments used in the colors included here significantly cost less to produce compared to other shades like French Ochre or Dioxazine Purple. Overall, it's still very impressive that Sennelier has put together a budget-friendly palette of this caliber.

2. Flexible selection of colors

At first, I was pretty hesitant about the color selection because it didn't seem to have the right amount of primaries to mix colors with. I'm very surprised to learn that you can pretty much achieve all the necessary colors you need for making portraits, painting landscapes, and pretty much everything else with just some slight workarounds. Since the French Vermilion, Primary Yellow, and Phthalo Green Light are all very bright and luminous (almost approaching neon-like in brightness and vibrancy), you'll need to mix it with a neutral shade to produce a warmer counterpart. In my experience, for instances where I needed a warm yellow, I had to mix the Primary Yellow with the Burnt Umber. To my surprise, doing this did not desaturate the yellow, but instead yielded a vibrant warm yellow. As a starter set, the color selection is actually pretty good but I would have preferred a warm yellow in it. With the Burnt Umber being the only neutral in this palette, I found myself using it a lot especially when painting food. The selection stands well on its own, but if you want to further maximize this palette, you can buy additional colors such as Burnt Sienna, Yellow Ochre, Ivory Black, or Sennelier's Neutral Tint so you can achieve a larger gamut of color mixes. With that said, even with these additional colors, it would still cost you less than buying the 12-color regular palette set from Sennelier.

3. Compact and travel-friendly

As mentioned in the previous point, this Aqua Mini palette is incredibly portable since you'd already be carrying all the colors you need with you. If anything, I only wish that they included a foldable brush instead to fully make it travel-friendly. I find myself chucking this into my bag along with my pocket-sized Potentate Sketchbook whenever I have to go out. The Payne's Grey and French Vermilion can make an interesting two-color urbanscape study, similar to what Teoh Yi Chie did in this video.

In conclusion...

The Sennelier French Aqua Mini Palette is a solid purchase for artists on a tight budget. The brand's amazing history and stand-out luminous paints make Sennelier watercolors something worth investing in.

[cosplayswitzerlandaskblog]

Unlike last time Hetalia got a new season, the response has not been particularly positive, and I’m seeing a lot of twisted feelings towards the show and the fandom to a point where it seems long time content creators are stepping away from it. I know anyone still active who follows me either are or were fans of Hetalia, so it should be relevant for all y’all.

As a fan who never fell out of the show, I find the response sad though healthy, and even if I know I ghosted you all on tumblr (sorry) because of time constraints and mental health, I still make the occasional CMVs. Fact is, I do not let go of special interests very easily. It seems a lot of you all started watching the show at 10-14 years old, where I myself was a bit older – 17 – and had grown a bit more. Long story short, my Naruto phase was your Hetalia phase, and no, it’s not pretty. You’re young and stupid and don’t know much critical thinking and make mistakes, and you have to forgive yourself for those mistakes, especially when the content you consume is associated with the real world in a sensitive subject.

But after seeing all these posts explaining all the bad we see from Hetalia, I wanted to make a post explaining what I learned from it – all the good that can come with a show like this if you stay aware of perspective. I am not excusing all the bad that came with it, for WWII is a serious event in history that should never be forgotten nor made fun of, but here goes:

I went from a ‘war-is-cool’ history buff to one who truly delved in and learned the intricacies of history, being fascinated with the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ as well as getting an excuse to look at the histories of nations which I’d never otherwise be interested in, and I know a lot of other people in the fandom did the same. This is how history should be known, as that is how we can truly apply it to the real world.

I learned to separate people from their countries. To give an example that’ll hit close to much of tumblr, when I started Hetalia I hated Americans with a passion because of the road “you” had put the world on, and I considered all y’all dumb and bad as a cause of it. Getting that excuse to take an ACTUAL look at how your nation functioned and what communities truly hid behind the borders, I learned instead that your government is corrupt as shit, your society is rigged against you and you have been forced to stand by and watch as chaos happens. It got applied to the world as a whole, where I considered other nations being as dynamic as my own, with people both good and bad, and the actions of the nation is even less of a reflection of the people in the cases of corrupt democracies or dictatorships.

I separated from Colonial world views. I was never actively racist, brought up in a proper home, and already before Hetalia I fiercely protected the rights of Muslims who are often mistreated in my nation and tried to hear them out when possible. But I was a Westerner, and even if the nation I came from had barely participated in invasions, I had learned to consider my culture ‘correct’ and native and African cultures ‘primitive’. While the journey was long, a step wise process of realizing things like there was nothing inherently ethically wrong eating dogs or partially incubated duck eggs, only in how the animals were acquired, that cultural progress is heavily dependent on perspective and that fucking genocide of native peoples still happen in this damn century, Hetalia was the stepping stone which gave me the interest in other nations to expand my world view. I probably ain’t done here – I have a whole life of outside influences to unlearn – but I’m further than most people I know in my near surroundings, and I’ve even managed to move my parents who originally taught me to respect people of all kinds in the first place.

I learned Nazis were people. This is a conversation which often comes up here on tumblr, and the demonization Nazi Germany and its government directly allows actual Nazis and fascists like Richard Spencer a free pass because they look groomed and proper. Until then, I’d simply assumed no one was ‘stupid enough to be a Nazi’ because of the atrocities of WWII and therefore looked at the world naively. Realizing how little true support Nazis had during WWII and similarly anyone could end down that pungent rabbit hole, I became careful of what I excused on social media and allowed myself to doubt seemingly normal people if their behaviour was alarming – such as the police man who is supposed to be a damn ‘hero’ of society.

I learned how to deal with material sensitive to others. A common problem in the fandom has always been the cosplaying and portrayal of Nazis, especially at cons and the like, and in a similar vein – I did blackface once because of Hetalia. The horrible thing about this is that blackface is immensely common in Europe – at least my own country – and blackface frequently happens at schools during ‘international’ events, where whole classrooms are assigned to portray a designated country. A whole of two times – in 6th grade as well as 2nd grade of high school – I was exposed to blackface as my class was given an African nation to portray – Somalia the first time, Kenya the second. No one, adult, teen or child, are aware of the history of race imitation in my country, but by the second time I was supposed to participate in dressing up as an African tribe, I’d understood the issue – thanks to Hetalia. My friend group of white, privileged, European teens discussed what symbolism was appropriate at cons or in videos – could we wear the Iron Cross? The Nazi flag? What if we burned it during the video? These thoughts are not usually a part of the mind of European youth, and I consider that a grave problem which leads to people making fun of ‘triggers’, downplaying racial issues and the like.

It offered me a means to make history personal. The biggest struggle for good history teachers and the reason we are often made to read and write letters from the periods we study is to make it seem real and get a emotional connection to these past, lost peoples. Hetalia offered puppets for me to place into historical contexts to make them truly real – the main driver pushing me away from mere fascination of war, since I suddenly felt the horrors of warfare through the characters that I loved. Things like Elizabeth I’s court, the conquests of Rome, the dissolution of the Kalmar Union, the battlefield of Somme, the invasion of America, damn slavery becomes different when something you already know is a part of it and you can see them in there. Hearing of people of the past should in itself be enough, and for the closest parts of history (WWII and afterwards) it always was for me, but we are human. We cannot understand the size of a billion, and we struggle understanding the lives of those living centuries before us, unless we are offered context.

I’m not blind to the issues of the fandom or the show. I was here for ‘the r*pist, the pervert and the p*dophile’, I know of South Korean and Chinese issues with the show, and I heard the gassing joke in the show’s dub and got nauseous from discomfort and anger. I’ve always been in the fringe of the fandom due to my social disabilities, so I don’t know everything that happened, but I’ve seen many racist OCs and disrespecting of historical sites. It’s not pretty, but I will believe these people, who were likely young, likely learned in time. And I may have been able to learn these things by other means, but not in the same way, and not through personal interest and research that’s helped me become sceptical and analysing of the world around me.

At its core, Hetalia is about watching a normal, nerdy guy learn how to draw, using stereotypic country personifications mainly from the perspective of Japan. It’s natural he chooses Japan, since he’s Japanese, and WWII is unfortunately the automatic historical event for most common people to focus on – but Hetalia doesn’t even solely focus on that, but is an amalgamation of vaguely correct historical situations played out by the characters, and often it is with the intent of comedy rather than the grimness often associated with historical settings which allows a wider audience than merely history nerds.

What I want you all to do is learn from your mistakes and forgive your younger selves for not knowing better. Maybe reflect on what you got from the show, rather than what you lost. A new generation of young Hetalians is likely coming with the new season, and us old timers might be able to help them avoid pitfalls if we stay around to teach them. The best of the show is compassion towards the people of the world combined and love of history, as I believe Hima wanted it – the worst is Nazi apologetics and racial stereotyping. We decide in what direction we take it, and what lessons we bring into the future.

TL;DR: As a lot of media intended for older audiences, Hetalia is a show which has to be watched critically, which makes it dangerous for young people to watch unhinged, but it also opens up for interest in the world beyond the borders you live within. We should be aware of the issues and learn from them, but in and of itself the show has a lot of good to offer in learning compassion for other nations and cultural groups.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything. 

 May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

 Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

 Cool. Cool cool cool.    

 It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

 At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

 So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

 And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be      fine, really    , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

 Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

 It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had      loved    her.

 He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

 “Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

 Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

 “I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

 So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

 But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth.  “This is the life of a shinigami.”

 Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

 “      Chacun voit midi à sa porte,”    he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

 “What?”

 “It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

 *

 Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

 He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

 “I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

 Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

 “H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

 “Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

 Roman can’t really argue with that.

 “Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

 “It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

 “Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

 “Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

 “The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

 “Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

 Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

 Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

 “What did you just say?!”

 “Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

 “Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

 Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

 This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

 “What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

 * *

 “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

 Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

 He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

 “I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

 “You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

 “Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

 Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

 “Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

 “School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

 “Geez, you’re so rough… And fine,  but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

 Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

 These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

 Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

 She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

 And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

 “What are you thinking of?”

 He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

 “I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

 “Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

 “Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

 “Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

 “Thats kind of fucked up.”

   * * *  

 Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

 It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

 She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

 There is something very wrong with france.

 Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

 “All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

 “Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

 “Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

 “...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met.  “  Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

 “Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

 “You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

 Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

 She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

 At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

 He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

 Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

 “Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

 “Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

 “Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

 “No, not her. Mash.”

 Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

 “Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

 “That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

 Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

 Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

 “I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

 “Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

 “Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

 Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

 The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

   * * * *  

 “Do you know where you are?”

 Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

 “I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

 “Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

 Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

 “There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

 “Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

 “That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

 “You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

 “Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

 “On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

 “You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

 “Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

 “I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

 “I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

 A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

 “Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

 The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

 “Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

 “Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

 The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

 “Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower,      princess    .”

 “That is quite impossible,” still a  warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

 “I’ve done impossible things before.”

 And he would do them again.

 * * * *

 Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

 France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

 And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

 Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the      Golden Hind    , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try.   They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

 The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

 “Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

 Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

 “It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

 “Yes… It is…      free    ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

 “Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the       Golden Hind    .  “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

 He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

 “No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

 “I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

 “Friends…”

 “That’s what we are, right?”

 Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

 * * * * *

 “Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

 “Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

 “Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

 “Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

 “Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

 “I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

 Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

 “Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

 This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

 “So that’s it…”

 Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

 Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

 “I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

 “Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

 “He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

 “I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

 “My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

 “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

 “Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

 “I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

 “Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

 Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

 So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

 “You didn’t… send me back?”

 Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

 “I - you’re kinda crazy.”

 “I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

 “A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

 “Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

 He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

 “Deal.”

[lonestarbabe]

Saving The Child Inside

Chapter 1: Unsettled New Normal

[AO3]

Growing up as Sam Avery's son wasn't easy for TK. His abusive upbringing left him with a wealth of trauma that he couldn't bring himself to face, even as an adult, but for all the bad, TK's life in Austin brought him a lot of good. He married his high school sweetheart, Carlos, and he became a firefighter like he had always dreamt he would be. But for all he had managed to make something of his life, there's still a hurt, lost child inside TK, a child who wants to found, and mostly, that child wants to be loved.

(I have rewritten the first several chapters, which have been condensed into one chapter, and then, I will be adding new content starting in chapter 2).

Chapter 1: Unsettled New Normal

It had been three months since T.K. had any drugs or alcohol, and he was long past the withdrawal phase of getting better, but it still made him sick to think that he could never touch a drug again. It’s going to stick this time, he promised himself. It never sticks, the critical voice in his head added. You always mess up, so you might as well just give up now. Despite the nagging thought that he was doomed for failure, T.K. didn’t have plans to go back to his old ways, and in that moment, he didn’t want to do drugs ever again. But the thought that he could never have substances again without the risk of a complete spiral made T.K.’s hands shake with apprehension. He thought of all the wedding toasts he’d have to miss, all the nights getting wasted in clubs in a way that was called fun instead of abuse, and all late nights with a date and a bottle of wine. Oxy was easier to escape in normal social functions, but he’d always be a little too fond at the mere thought of it.

There was an itchiness that prickled his core, pulling at his middle with a sloppy mix of feelings he couldn’t distinguish beyond being uncomfortable. The itch made him restless, and without the time-warp of being high, T.K. didn’t know how to keep himself busy. But he still stayed away from substances. All of them. He hadn’t even had coffee; though, he knew his resolve wouldn’t last on that front because there was only so much abstinence that he could he handle and only so much hollowness that he could take. He would need something eventually, even if that thing was a weak, watery stand-in for what he wanted. He’d knew that he’d always be an addict.

He didn’t mind being clean—sober, he reminded himself because the substances had never been what made his skin feel grimy and his insides feel like dust was perpetually compacted in all the hollow spaces—but sobriety would always bore him, like driving through a flat stretch of middle-America in a silent car on an overcast day, but it was better than the alternative. T.K. couldn’t put Carlos through more than he already had, so he suffered through the restlessness and tried to remind himself why he didn’t want to die.

The boredom had worsened since T.K. wasn’t working. T.K. yearned to return to the 126, even though he knew it was going to bring up thoughts that he’d tried to chase away with substances and an ill-fated overdose/suicide attempt. Working would give him something to do. His mind still whirled with the memory of that day, but sitting at home made him feel useless. Guilt ate at him as he thought about Carlos at work while T.K. sat on his ass. He wasn’t fulfilling his role in their household. I’m going to change that. I’ll go back to work, and some of the colors will come back into my life. It won’t always be this gray.

Bouncing his leg up and down to rid his body of some its excess energy, T.K. was not-so-patiently waiting for his husband to come home. He hated how trapped in his thoughts he became when no one else was around to keep his head away from everything else. He could have called Carlos’ mother. She’d decided to work less when she turned fifty-five, but it drove her crazy to have nothing to do, so Andrea Reyes would have gladly come over to keep T.K. company if he had asked. She’d been doing that a lot lately, probably at Carlos’ behest, but T.K. didn’t want to burden anyone with his issues more than he had to. I’ve been doing that enough lately.

T.K. couldn’t stop checking his phone. Carlos was late, and T.K. couldn’t stop himself from thinking the worst. He imagined Carlos blown up or shot down, and he couldn’t get the idea out of his head that something bad had happened. Carlos was the kind of guy to be on time, and while being a social worker meant that Carlos had some late nights, he usually told T.K. if he got caught up in something at work, and ever since the explosion, Carlos had been cutting those late nights short. T.K. knew it was because Carlos worried what would happen if T.K. was alone too long. Selfishly, T.K. was relieved when Carlos came home early, even if he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

He thought it would be good to get dinner started, but T.K. knew his limits, and he knew he wasn’t the best cook. He could throw together a meal if things had returned to normal, but he still had trouble motivating his body to do the things that he asked of it, so he sat with his worry. Every separation sends a fresh surge of anxiety through each of them, but they were trying to be better.

Still, there was only so much that T.K. could take, so he exhaled when Carlos came through the door, carrying a couple bags of groceries on the floor when T.K. got up and threw his arms around Carlos in record time. T.K. smiled. “Babe, hi.”

Carlos returned the smile and kissed T.K. on the forehead. “Sorry, I’m late. I had to stop at the store and get some stuff for dinner.”

“I wasn’t worried,” T.K. said too quickly.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“Just fidgety,” T.K. said, hoping there was no waver in his voice.

“You can’t lie to your husband.”

“You weren’t home, and I just thought—” T.K. shook his head. “It’s been hard.”

“I’m okay. You’re okay. Right?”

T.K. rubbed Carlos’ shoulders, trying to ease the knots. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m glad you’re home. I’m bored here all alone.” After giving T.K. another kiss, Carlos moved to the kitchen to put away the groceries and start dinner. He pulled out a pot, filling it with water and putting it on the burner.

T.K. followed Carlos to the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

T.K. felt warmth radiate in his chest, and he wanted to pull his husband to bed and never leave. “That’s the second time this week.”

“Are you getting sick of it?” Carlos said and then yawned.

“You know it’s my favorite.” One of T.K.’s earliest memories was being around three years old, and his mom made him macaroni and cheese. He remembered little about his mother. She was gone shortly after that memory, but macaroni and cheese always made him think of her. He remembered her smiling at him as she put the food in the bowl in front of him. “I ate it every day for two months after I left home. I didn’t get sick of it then, and I won’t get sick of it now either.”

Carlos ignited the burner, and as the fire fanned out before settling to its normal intensity, T.K. felt his heartbeat trot, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the flame.

“About leaving home. There’s something you should know.” Carlos’ tone was dark in a way that it hadn’t been since T.K.’s dad had turned up to their wedding uninvited two years prior. A shiver ran through his spine. “I saw your dad today. He’s back in town.” T.K.’s eyes snapped up.

T.K. fell back onto a stool next to the counter. “Oh?” he said, voice pulled like a rubber band just before it snapped. “I haven’t seen him since the wedding.”

“I heard he went to Florida.”

“He’s here now,” Carlos replied somberly. “I don’t know for how long or why, but he’s here.”

“Did you talk to him?” T.K. prayed the answer was no. He didn’t want Carlos to get too close. T.K. didn’t think Carlos was in danger, but Sam Avery was toxic.

Carlos shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to say anything good, so it’s probably best that I didn’t, but no, I just saw him at the market. He didn’t even acknowledge me.”

“I’m not even sure he knows your name. He only acknowledges me when he wants to make my life hell.” T.K. wasn’t bitter. He really wasn’t. He was tired of the bullshit that his dad brought into his life. “I wish that bastard would get out of Austin.”

“He should be in jail.” Carlos set a second pot for the cheese sauce down on the stovetop with a thud. T.K. startled. “Sorry,” Carlos said, looking guilty. The water on the stove was boiling, bubbles becoming more aggressive.

“I don’t want him in jail, but I want him away from me,” T.K. replied. “I can’t let him back into my life.” I can’t deal with him and staying sober. I’ll lose my mind if he tries to pry his way back into my life.

“I won’t let him get near you,” Carlos promised, and T.K. knew that for all Carlos meant his words that his dad wasn’t the type of guy who respected boundaries. If his dad wanted to get to T.K., he probably would. T.K. didn’t think the old drunkard cared enough to go out of his way, though. He was hoping desperately that that’s the case. Sam had told T.K. that he wasn’t worth the time hundreds of times, and T.K. didn’t want to be worth the time.

Carlos poured the macaroni into the pot, and the water foamed before settling.

“I’m not a helpless little kid anymore,” T.K.’s voice trembled. He was not one, but the helpless little kid lived inside him, scared and hoping that someone would care enough to let him out of the dark room he’d been shoved into. “I don’t know why he still gets to me.”

“It’s normal to hold onto things. I’m still mad at Willie Johnson for throwing a rock at my head in first grade.”

“Willie Johnson is has always been a jerk. I’d be mad too.”

“Yeah, but if I can hold on to that memory, it’s normal that you’d still feel hurt over the things your dad did, which were a hell of a lot worse than a rock to the head in first grade.”

“Dad wasn’t that bad.” You’ve always been sensitive. He only hurt you because you were too sensitive.

“I won’t spare any kind words for that man.”

“He’s still my dad.”

Carlos bit his lip as he put the milk, salt, pepper, cornstarch, and ground mustard into the roux pot and brought that mix to a boil. He got out the block of sharp white cheddar and shred it, taking his frustrations out on the cheese.

“What are you not telling me?”

Carlos put the cheese down. “I think you should get a restraining order.”

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“What if he finds us here?” Carlos asked. “I don’t trust that he won’t track us down.”

“What’s he going to do? He’s got a lot of bark but not a lot of bite.” T.K. shook his head. “A restraining order won’t keep him away. If he wants to find us, he will, regardless of what the law says. He might break the order just to spite the law.”

“He’s dangerous,” Carlos said, voice going shrill. “We nearly had to cancel our wedding because you were so terrified to see him when he showed up unannounced.”

“He doesn’t scare me,” T.K. insisted. “He’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle him, and I don’t want to handle him if I don’t have to.”

“He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s my thing to worry. You know that.”

“Let’s talk about how you are,” T.K. diverted the conversation. “How was work? I hope it wasn’t too bad.” Carlos had had a hard week the week before. A child in one family he worked with had died tragically, and it had been no one’s fault, but it had left Carlos feeling guilty that he hadn’t done more.

“It was okay,” Carlos replied with a sigh. “Better than last week.”

“That’s good.” T.K. pressed his lips against Carlos’ neck. He caught a whiff of Carlos’ cologne, and it reminded him of a smell he used to know, but he hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. He just knew it made him feel calm.

“As much as I love having you kiss me. I’m trying to make dinner,” Carlos said with a laugh, swatting T.K. away with a dish towel.

“Fine. Have it your way,” T.K. pulled away slowly, already missing the closeness. “That’s the last time I try to make you feel better after a hard day.”

“Being with you always makes me feel better,” Carlos replied in a tone that was so earnest that T.K. could hardly believe that Carlos was his husband. “I’m feeling less stressed already.”

“You should have asked me to go to the store. It’s not like I had anything to do.”

Carlos shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but you’re so busy, and I’m just sitting around being useless.”

“You’re not useless.” They’d had a fight about this several times since the explosion. You do nothing to help this household. It makes no sense that Carlos has been so patient and sticks around.

“You have to say that. You married me, but what do I do? I’m not making any money. I can’t cook. I can barely even leave the house. The only thing I do is my job.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit, T.K. You’ll be back in action soon. You’re recovering. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Work will probably be bad too. Did you hear that they’re bringing in some guy from New York to run the new 126? That’s what Judd told me.”

“Oh? How’s Judd doing.”

“Pissed that they’re bringing some stranger in to be our captain.”

“Are you pissed?”

“Obviously. It’s a slap in the face. That’s what it is. That man is going to ruin everything. He doesn’t get how it is here in Texas. Austin is progressive, but we’re still in Texas. I give it three weeks before he realizes that he’s not cut out to work here.” T.K. hadn’t been born in Texas, but it is the only home he could remember, and he didn’t like the idea of an outsider coming in and flipping everything on its head. They’d had enough changes.

Carlos shrugged. “Maybe he’ll be nice.”

T.K. shot him an “Are you serious?” look. “He’s probably going to think he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and I don’t want to work for a guy who has attitude.”

“You have attitude,” Carlos replied with a laugh, bumping T.K. playfully with his hip. He poured the macaroni and cheese mix into a casserole dish before adding bread crumbs and putting it all in the oven.

T.K. crossed his arms, looking petulant. “Well, I’m not in charge, am I? My attitude won’t get anyone killed. That job should go to Judd. He’s an actual leader. Not some city guy who got his position by charming the pants off his superiors. Like, come on, New York? Why would a New Yorker want to come here? Judd knows what it’s like here.” T.K. didn’t see any reasons why Judd shouldn’t get the promotion that he was next in line for.

“Do you think Judd would even want it? Grace tells me he’s been having a tough time with everything. Being captain is a lot of pressure.”

“Our team died. Of course, he’s having a hard time, but he’s fine now. He told me so. He’s ready to get back to work, and I’m going to be right beside him. I’m just glad we’ll have each other.”

“He’s struggling more than he lets on. Grace doesn’t think he’s ready to go back”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “Grace said that?”

“He won’t do his required therapy.”

“They won’t let him back until he does. It sucks, but all you have to do is tell ‘em what they want to hear and then you’re done.”

“That better not be the attitude you use when you go to therapy.”

Carlos was careful with what he said next. “Do you think you’re ready to go back?”

T.K. felt a sudden rush of guilt. “Babe, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” Carlos looked nervous.

“I’m going back tomorrow,” T.K. confessed.

“What the hell, T.K.?” Carlos asked. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” T.K. had been trying to tell Carlos for a week, but he knew Carlos would think that it was too soon, so he’d delayed it until he could delay it no more. He’d never meant for it to become such a big secret, but like any secret, it had a life of its own.

“It was short notice, but I’ve been doing my therapy, so the captain agreed we could try to see what happens.”

“You nearly died twice.”

“The overdose was a lapse in judgement and the explosion was a freak accident. Neither will happen again.” You know it’s only a matter of time before you fall off the wagon. I wouldn’t do that to Carlos. You can’t help yourself.

“Judd won’t be your boss. The new guy is, so you’ll have to listen to him. Are you ready for that?”

“He saved my life, so I’m going to be loyal to him above all others, and the new captain better learn to deal with that.” Judd had shielded T.K. with his own body, protecting him from the worst of the explosion. T.K. owed Judd his life, and he was going to be bitter on his friend’s behalf about this new guy rolling in and stealing what was rightfully Judd’s.

“If you need more time off, we can make it work. You don’t have to go back right now.”

“We can’t make it work. You don’t exactly get paid a lot, and I can’t just sit at home all day.”

“Whatever you need, we can make it work.”

“I need to get back to work, Carlos.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go back before you’re ready.” T.K. could hear the anxiety in Carlos’ voice, and he knew that Carlos had nightmares about T.K. dying in the explosion.

“I need to get back to living a real life, not just my sad, pathetic existence.”

 “If you say you’re ready, I’ll support you.” Carlos swallowed. “But I won’t deny that I’m nervous about you going back.”

T.K. took Carlos’ hand, pulling Carlos closer. “I’m ready. I promise. I was born to do this, and I won’t let shit that’s happened in the past stand in my way. I feel purposeless, and I need to get that purpose back.”

“Will you keep going to therapy?”

“If that makes you feel better.”

“I want it to make you feel better.”

T.K. leaned up to kiss Carlos. “That’s why I married you. You always want me to be better. You make me better”

“I thought it was because I could cook?”

T.K. kissed him again. “That was just a perk.”

“Are you nervous?” Carlos asked.

 “You know me. I jump into things and don’t look back.” T.K. shook his head. “No, I’m not nervous.”

Walking into the firehouse the next morning felt strange after months away. T.K. hadn’t been there since the memorial service for the lost members. T.K. felt like Dorothy walking into Oz as he stared at the firehouse’s facelift, but instead of awe, dread was the only emotion that T.K. could make out.

The fire station felt like a hotel that he was passing through more than a second home where he’d be spending huge chunks of his time. He couldn’t deny that the arrangement was impressive, but the transformation only made him bitter. Lives couldn’t be covered up with a fresh coat of paint.

Before he could even get his bearings, the Owen Strand pulled him into his office, offering a hand and a too chipper grin. Reluctantly, T.K. shook his new captain’s hand. He hadn’t been raised with many manners, but he wasn’t an idiot either. He knew to play nice with his boss. “Owen Strand,” Owen introduced himself. “Please, have a seat.”

T.K. sat in a chair that looked too nice to be comfortable. He didn’t want to have whatever conversation Owen wanted to have. It wasn’t like T.K. has done anything yet. He hadn’t had the chance to let his impulses get him in trouble with this stupid New Yorker who was probably going to be the downfall of the entire station. Because based on the aesthetic of the firehouse, T.K. had to wonder if Owen was a leader who probably cared more about appearances and firehouse statistics more than he cared about the work itself.

They wouldn’t even start taking calls for another week because Owen thought it was important that they had team bonding and the kind of crap that T.K. thought was a waste of energy. They’d be doing training sessions, which were better than the getting to know each other games that were also on the agenda. Endurance exercises would keep his mind off everything else, but the trust exercises made him want to scream.

The captain was looking at him with an unreadable expression, and it was too early for a stare-off, so the way the captain was looking at him only made T.K. angrier because he’s too tired for games. T.K. hated men like that who looked at you like they could break you down by looking at you long enough. “Good morning, T.K.” Owen’s voice was bubbly, as if the firehouse wasn’t still haunted by all the people it has lost. T.K.’s was not sure that he’d ever be able to smile like that without guilt. It’s not like his life gave him a lot to smile about, anyway.

T.K. crossed his arms and uncrossed them because he didn’t want to look like a petulant kid. “What am I here for?” T.K. asked, not wanting to extend any pleasantries. He wasn’t there to make nice. He was there to do his job, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. I’ll show him I’m okay, but I don’t have to pretend I like him. He didn’t want to make friends or talk to his boss about things that didn’t matter. Owen Strand wanted to be Mr. Popular, and T.K. would not let him have that title easily. T.K. couldn’t be bribed with gourmet coffee makers and a variety of milks.

Owen has the gall to crack another smile. T.K. doesn’t return one. He can’t. He won’t. “I thought I should inform you that Judd won’t be coming back yet.” He hadn’t talked to Judd, but he’d figured that part out based on the conversation he’d had with Carlos the night before.

“Yeah, I know.” T.K. kept his voice stoic. “And I probably would’ve noticed that when I didn’t see him here.”

“I thought you should know that my decision not to bring Judd back right now doesn’t mean he’ll never be back.”

“Great, thanks for letting me know. Can I go now?”

“But that’s not why I called you in here. It’s not the only reason, at least.”

“Then what is? I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

“I want Judd to take care of his mental health. That was the major reason I would not let him back. He wasn’t taking his trauma seriously.” T.K. wanted to tell Owen off.

“It’s hard not to take trauma seriously. It’s always serious. That’s what makes it trauma.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. All I mean is that he needs more time to get his head back to where it needs to be.”

“You think I’m better than he is?” T.K. wasn’t sure he was much better than Judd. Maybe he was better at hiding the haunted look in his eyes. He’d been doing it his whole life. I know how to seem okay. It’s one of my greatest talents.

“You’ve been doing what the department requires, and that’s why I let you come back.” Owen kept his tone cool. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, T.K.”

“Yeah? And?” He still doesn’t know why Owen is wasting his time with this. “I still don’t get why you called me in here.”

“Being here doesn’t mean that I’m going to ignore well-being. I need you to take your mental health seriously too. You’ve done your required therapy, but I need you to keep taking care of that. If you have issues, you need to be upfront about them or else this won’t work. I need to know that I can trust you.” What about me trusting you? How am I supposed to do that?

T.K. rolled his eyes. “What my personal life is like isn’t your business. Everyone’s got baggage, and it’s not your business how I deal with it.”

“It is if it impedes what we’re doing here. I believe we all need to be on the same page. Are you willing to be a team player?”

“I would never let my issues get in the way with my job.”

“I know you wouldn’t intentionally, but—"

“But nothing. I’m fine, and this isn’t something I want to talk about with someone I’ve just met. What happened was awful, but I’m ready to move on because it doesn’t help anyone to live in the past.”

“T.K., you’re young and you’re resilient, but trauma is still trauma. I’ve been through it myself. I know what it’s like to lose your whole crew.” He pauses, looking choked up. “I know what it’s like to lose everything important to you.”

“Then, you know that sometimes you don’t want to be coddled. You just want to move on.”

“I also know that sometimes no matter how hard you try, you can’t move. I don’t want you to be stuck.”

“I’m nothing like you,” T.K. spat. “And the problems that you think I have are just you problems.”

Owen didn’t let T.K.’s comment rile him up. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m here if you need to talk. I’m here for anyone on my team.”

“I won’t, and if I do, it won’t be to you because I don’t trust you. You just rolled into Austin like you owned the place. It doesn’t make sense that you’d want to come to Austin, of all places. This would be a downgrade to a New Yorker, so unless you were on the verge of being fired, I can’t see why you’d take this job other than having a hero complex.” T.K. absolutely shouldn’t talk to his new boss that way, but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“I appreciate your honesty, so I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not here because I want to be a hero. I’m here because I needed a fresh start. New York has a lot of hard memories for me. I was holding onto a lot of things that I needed to let go of, so when the opportunity arose, I made the most drastic change that I’ve ever faced. This new station can be a fresh start for you too. And Judd.”

T.K. remained testy. “I didn’t ask for your sob story.” He was being an asshole because that how he gets whenever he has any negative feelings. Like father like son, I guess.

Owen gave T.K. a sympathetic smile. “Trust me. I didn’t give it,” and T.K. knew that there was something to unpack there, but someone else’s trauma wasn’t something he has any business digging into. Besides, he really didn’t care to know anything more about Owen Strand than he already did.

By the end of the shift, all T.K. could think about was how big of an asshole Owen Strand was. Owen was the type of guy who everyone thought was so amazing. He grinned, and he cracked jokes with the crew. He wasn’t afraid to dive into a dangerous situation, and he had all the makings of a ruggedly handsome fifty-something hero. For all the things that outwardly seemed cool about Owen Strand, he was grandiose, and T.K. recognized the carefully practiced smile of someone who had a dark history that hadn’t yet found its way to a light present.

Trying not to think of his captain, T.K. got in his car, and he could hardly believe how much he wanted to go home after being so insistent about needing to get out of the house. He went ten miles per hour over the speed limit and rushed in through the door with fresh rage he could never seem to shake. Carlos looked up as he threw his keys onto their hook and missed the hook, letting the keys hit the floor. He groaned and didn’t pick them up.

“Hey,” Carlos said, voice cautious. “How was today?” T.K. didn’t want to talk about it, but he also had no ability to keep his mouth shut.

T.K. throws his hands up, gesticulating wildly. “He wants to change the entire station with his espresso machine and new age crap like that would make things any better. He thinks Judd isn’t ready to come back. How crazy is that? Judd lives to be a firefighter.”

“What about you?” Carlos asked.

“What about me?” T.K. blared. He clenched his fists, already losing it when the conversation has barely started.

“Does he think you’re ready to come back?”

“He looked skeptical, but he didn’t say I wasn’t. He let me stay for the shift, but all we did was fucking bonding exercises. But it helped that I’d actually gone to my therapy. I didn’t tell him that my social worker boyfriend pushed me into it.” T.K. crossed his arms. “What does he know anyway? This guy thinks that he’s an expert on mental health. Like, you can’t tell just by looking at a person how well they are is doing. He told me that he still had concerns about me, but with Judd, he just flat out said that he wasn’t ready. How unfair is that? Judd’s been there since he got out of high school. It’s not like he’s forgotten how to fight fires. Most of the time we’re just doing medical calls and crowd control.”

“Maybe he’s right.” T.K. looked at Carlos like he was a traitor.

“Whose side are you on?” T.K. felt like a raw nerve. He’d felt like one since he was a child, and now, he kept blowing up at the people he loved the most, and ever since the explosion, he’d been worse. He dreaded opening his mouth because he didn’t know when something red hot would spew out before he could stop it.

“Yours. I’m always on yours, but what you went through was traumatic, and—”

“And nothing! You don’t get to define my trauma by telling me how I should feel or that I’m not ready to go back to work. I’m ready! I’m tired of sitting at home like an invalid. You don’t get how crazy I’ve been going here.” The comfort of being home was short-lived, apparently.

“I know that it’s been hard.”

“It’s been the worst time of my life, and you know what my childhood was like.”

“Maybe the captain won’t be as bad as you think.”

“Maybe he’ll be worse. What does a city slicker know about running a fire department in Texas? He’s going to ruin everything we built. The station looks like it’s from an architecture catalog, but that won’t do  much when he lets the station go to hell with poor management.”

“One man can’t destroy the whole firehouse all on his own.”

“He’s hired outsiders. He searched across the country. What’s the matter with people we have here?”

“You don’t like your coworkers.”

“They’re fine, but that’s not the point. They don’t get what it’s like here either. These people don’t feel like family.”

“It takes time to get to know people. Isn’t it better that he’s looking for completely fresh faces instead of trying to replace the old ones?”

“No. Owen Strand has only just started, and he’s already making a mess of things.”

“He’ll adapt, and he’ll have you to help him.” At least T.K. still had a job to show up to. Judd’s prospects were a lot less settled. Owen Strand didn’t seem to change his mind easily.

“I have a policy about not doing favors for bastards.” T.K. said, plopping his body on the couch next to Carlos.

“You wouldn’t be doing a favor for a bastard. You’d be doing a favor for the people of this city. Even if this new guy doesn’t need it, they need your help.” T.K. wasn’t going to let people down no matter how awful he felt about the whole situation. He was the best person for the job, which was why he was going to have to play nice and vent his frustrations when he came home from work at night.

“I know, but it’s still going to suck. I’m too hot-blooded for this. God, I’m just like my dad.” Carlos pulls T.K.’s body away from his so that they can look at each other eye to eye.

“You’re nothing like him. You can get passionate, but you don’t hurt innocent people when you get mad, and you care about people other than yourself. I wouldn’t have married you if you were like him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my mom didn’t intend on getting stuck with an abusive deadbeat either. It’s no wonder she... left me.” T.K. wondered how much he was like his mother. If he married to a man like Sam Avery, he figured he would have given up on life as well.

Carlos kissed T.K.’s temple. “You’re the best husband. I’m lucky to have you.”

T.K. leaned his head against Carlos’ chest. “I’m even luckier to have you. You put up with my craziness.”

Carlos smiled. “For now, and forever.”

“Life’s never going to be the same, is it?” T.K. couldn’t help but ask.

Carlos holds T.K. closer. “No, I don’t think that it is, but it could be good in its own way.”

“We’ll see about that, but I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s going to go up in flame.” In T.K.’s experience, never good lasted when the bad was so insistent on taking the joy.

One Monday later, Judd was finally allowed back after Grace had convinced the captain to let Judd came back, meaning that T.K. would have at least one ally at work. That knowledge did little to sweeten T.K.’s sour mood. T.K. had just had the weekend off, so going back to work for another week with Captain Thinks He’s Cool But Is Actually an Asshole was not T.K.’s idea of a good time.

Usually, he liked his job. He enjoyed helping people, and every time he saved someone else, T.K. felt like he was rescuing himself from parts of himself that he didn’t like to consider—his impulsiveness, his addictiveness, his restlessness. But with all the changes, T.K. felt little when he worked. There was a hollowness in his core that T.K. couldn’t fill as effortlessly as he once could. Work didn’t make him feel in control anymore. It made him worry that he was seconds away from a spiral because firefighting was once solid ground, but it had become a collapsed building, full of accidents waiting to happen.

The day was off to a bad start. A house fire left T.K. in a bad mood, but he didn’t think about that. Reminding himself of the details would only cause his brain to spiral, and he had a shift to finish. You need to stop being so crazy and get your act together. If you don’t get it together, you’re going to make a fatal mistake. T.K. wasn’t sure his job would ever be the same. What if I can never do my job normally again. What if I’m broken?

I should be dead, was the mantra repeating in his mind. It had been there for longer than he would have admitted. There was no reason why he had lived while his family had died in that catastrophic explosion. Every single person in that crew had been better than T.K. a million times over. T.K. was lucky to have known them all, and their acceptance of him had proven that life is happier when the best part of it was the people who surround you. They brought out the best in him, and then, they were gone. Now, T.K. was left with Carlos, Judd, and a mountain of issues that he had to battle. He couldn’t talk about those issues, though. Not if he wanted to keep himself marginally levelheaded.

“You’re spacey today,” T.K. heard, and he felt himself jolt at the interruption. Paul was right next to him with that look on his face. The one that T.K. was being analyzed in ways that made him want to dig a hole and hide for a few months until things had steadied and he didn’t feel dizzy all the time. T.K. tried to keep his distance from Paul because it was hard to hide from someone who was hyper-observant. T.K. knew a thing or two about hiding. He’d hidden his sexuality, he’d hidden all the shit that happened with his father, and he’d hidden how untethered he always was, even before the accident. He took comfort in all the things he never showed anyone. Even Carlos only knew a sanitized version of what went on in T.K.’s head, and life was less chaotic that way. It kept things compartmentalized.

“I’m just here to do my job.” But he wasn’t even good at that anymore. All the calls that could have gone wrong did, but blocked those thoughts from his mind. He’d been on the verge of a mental breakdown for a while, and he tiptoed the edge between being okay and not being okay carefully. As long as he could act okay externally, he could deal with the messy internal thoughts. No one could know that he was struggling. If they did, they’d think it was too early for him to be back at work, and that wasn’t the case at all. Work wasn’t the problem. It was everything else in his life that was falling apart. Work was the glue that was keeping him together. But it’s getting harder to pretend I’m okay. I’m tired, too tired for the façade.

T.K. wasn’t sure why Paul had come to bother him at all. Maybe he’d drawn the short straw. The new team should’ve known better than to approach T.K. when he was in a mood. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to be social with anyone at the 126 other than Judd. T.K. wasn’t planning on making friends, and he certainly didn’t want any concern from people he saw as nothing more than interlopers.

“I’m here to talk if you need it, man.” The consideration almost made T.K. soften. Because I’m weak. Damn Paul for being a good guy. T.K. had to remind himself not to let his guard down just because someone was nice to him. Maybe several years ago, he would have been pathetic enough to try to be friends with anyone who paid attention to him, but he was past being desperate for love. Love always seemed to turn up tragic, anyway, so he’d clutch onto the love he already had without making any more. Whoever said the more, the merrier didn’t know the joy of being alone.

“I have a husband for talking to,” And I haven’t felt like talking to him either. Or my therapist.

Paul’s face remained neutral. “A husband, huh? I think that’s the first personal thing you’ve said. What’s his name?”

T.K. resisted rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help the clipped tone that came out, “Don’t get used to information. His name is Carlos. That’s all you’re going to get.” I’m such an asshole. He hated how he couldn’t seem to stop himself from being a jerk. He’d been an asshole to Carlos when they first met as well. He’d said, “Go look somewhere else if you’re looking to use your hero complex,” when Carlos had bandaged T.K. after T.K. fought with his dad. T.K. still wasn’t sure how Carlos had gotten past that moment, that broken and pathetic moment.

Paul shrugged, saying, “Okay. That’s fine. I’m not trying to push anything,” and the response made T.K.’s blood boil with something he couldn’t identify—anger, anxiety, maybe fear. He expected more of a reaction when he was an asshole, and it made butterflies flutter in his stomach when people’s reactions were different than he anticipated. No, it was more like bulls stampeding in his stomach, running with heaviness and power. “But that was a bad call with the little girl, so if you need to talk to someone who gets it, any of us are willing. It doesn’t have to be me.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me off for being an asshole.” Childish defiance was brewing in T.K., and the more he wanted to make Paul’s expression change. “You obviously aren’t as observant as you claim to be because you haven’t noticed that I don’t plan to play nice with any of you. You’re only here because good men died. You’ve got awfully big shoes to fill, and you’re never going to fill them.”

Paul’s voice still didn’t raise. He pointed to his boots, “Luckily, I came with my own shoes, and I’ve filled them for a long time.” He stood from the bench and gave T.K. a pitiful look.  “I get that you lost a lot, and no one is going to replace your old crew, but like it or not, you’ve gained a motley crew of people who don’t want the world to hurt other people like it hurt us. You don’t have to talk to us. You don’t even have to like us, but we’re here, so you might as well make the best of us.”

The anger dissipated from T.K.’s body. “I think I just need a few moments alone.”

Paul gave a small smile, “Take as many or as few as you need,” and with a nod, he was gone.

For all he wanted it to, the day didn’t end there. T.K. just wanted to go home, bury himself under his covers, and sleep, but he had thirteen hours left on his shift, and he’d have to suck up his bad feelings and try to get through.

Just two hours later, Marjan was the second member of the crew to corner T.K. When he saw her come up to him with an expression that screamed, “We’re having a serious talk,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a groan. He liked Marjan. She was a badass with a quick wit and a heart of gold. What wasn’t to like? But while she didn’t have Paul’s extreme observational skills, she had a way of cajoling information out of people that almost made talking to her more dangerous.

“We’re going out to a honkytonk tomorrow night. You should come.”

T.K. brushed her off, “I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re busy a lot.”

T.K. tried to make a joke, “I get booked up months in advance.”

“Well, maybe you could squeeze us in some time.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” T.K. said, but he wasn’t going to make any promises. The exchange was short, and for the most part painless.”

It wasn’t even one hour later when T.K. was bombarded yet again. He looked at Mateo with an exasperated expression, “What is this? A let’s talk to T.K. revolving door?”

Mateo looked confused, “What?”

“Never mind,” T.K. shook his head.

Mateo was the member of the 126 who people too often underestimated. They looked at him and assumed that he was stupid or naïve and wouldn’t know anything. He was quiet, and there was a lot that he didn’t understand, but his ignorance had nothing to do with his intelligence or will. He just didn’t have the experience level that the rest of the crew had, but he was good with the details. He left nothing to chance, and he was the least likely of all them to cut corners. He was thorough with his relationships too, and he was so naturally caring that it was hard to turn him away and not give him something. His trustworthiness and his genuine concern made it hard for T.K.’s barriers not to melt just a little bit, but I have to be strong.

Mateo was brief with his speech, “We’re all just here to help each other out, and we need each other now more than ever.”

“I need my old crew more than ever,” T.K. said, meaning to sound stubborn, but it came off as desperate and too honest.

“We’re more than replacements. We can be friends.”

“You’ll be waiting a while if you want friendship.”

Mateo shrugged. “I’m good at waiting. Do you know how long it took me just to be a probie?” T.K. hadn’t paid attention enough to know the answer, but he did remember a lot of fretting about Mateo’s firefighter’s test a while back. “I don’t care about having to do so much grunt work, either. I’m just glad to be here.” The question is, Am I glad to be here too?

T.K. felt a rush of relief fill him when Mateo didn’t make him say anything more, but T.K.’s mind wouldn’t leave him alone.

The final few hours of his shift dragged. They ate dinner together, but T.K. wasn’t hungry. He pushed his food around as he thought of the little girl, and couldn’t shake the sickness in his stomach. He wanted to escape. He wanted a drug. He wanted a hug from Carlos. He couldn’t take it anymore. His mind was reeling with the defeat of the day. Excusing himself, he snuck to the bathroom just to escape being near other people.

He splashed water on his face, trying to wash the bad of the day from his face, but it didn’t budge. He heard a voice and spun around, feeling his heart beat faster. It was just Owen. T.K. felt the fear diminish but the residual panic was still in his body.

“Sorry about that,” Owen said. Turning the tap on and waving his toothbrush. “I need a quick refresh.”

“It’s fine,” T.K. replied half-heartedly, not wanting to look as distraught as he felt while also not wanting to invite a conversation. T.K. dried his face off and tried to make himself presentable before he’d have to go back and face the rest of his shift.

Before he could slip away, Owen stopped him. “T.K., hold on,” Owen said as he spat the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

Owen Strand was the member of the 126 that T.K. knew better than he wanted to know him. He talked a lot, and he pretty quickly revealed heaps of information, but T.K. knew that for as open as he appeared to be, he had secrets that he was guarding. He was choosy about what he revealed, but because he revealed a significant amount of stuff that didn’t really matter, he seemed open. T.K. recognized that in him because T.K. was exactly the same way. He made people feel like he was giving information away to distract from the secrets he kept. Though, he hadn’t even been doing that lately. He didn’t have the energy to spin a narrative just to keep people off his trail. There was so much else he had to handle, and the new 126 didn’t seem worth the effort of either divulging information or actively hiding information.

Owen picked up a comb and started fixing his hair. Of course, Owen of all people would have a post-meal beauty routine. “It’s been a hard day. Self-care is most important on hard days.” He handed T.K. some lotion. “Try this. It has chamomile. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“No thanks,” T.K. said.

“Suit yourself,” Owen said, putting the comb down and using the lotion for himself. “Our job certainly doesn’t promote good skincare.”

T.K. didn’t even know what to say to that. “I guess not. Can I go or did you want to say something?” “I wanted to check-in.”

For all he tried to be civil, T.K. couldn’t stifle his groan. “You don’t have to keep asking me how I am.”

“It’s not just you that I worry about. I check in with the others too. You’re just more elusive than them.”

“You can’t tell me I’m more elusive than Judd.”

Owen grinned. “Hard to believe, I know.”

T.K. eyed Owen as he picked up cologne and dabbed it on his wrists and onto his neck. “It’s the little things that get you through the day. I know it seems silly, but I like smelling like myself,” Owen explained. He was one of those people who liked to hear his own voice. “A good scent can remind you that there’s something beyond the smoke.”

T.K. knew the smell right away. “That’s Black Valley by Oscar Simmons, isn’t it?” Even assholes can have good taste in cologne.

Owen raised his eyebrows. “You know it?”

“My husband wears it.”

“He must be a dapper man.” Owen looked impressed. “It’s an old scent for someone so young to wear.”

“Carlos says it’s a classic. I think he likes it because his dad passed it down to him. He’s always thought his dad was super cool.”

A flash of something dark flickered through Owen’s eyes. “That’s nice. Tradition is important. I’ve been wearing this scent for nearly thirty years. It’s been through a lot with me.”

“It’s been around that long?”

“I still have trouble believing that I’ve been around that long,” Owen said with a chuckle.

“I’m getting pretty close to thirty-years myself.” He still had four years before then, but he was closer to thirty than twenty. He felt ancient. The past few months had felt like years.

“Enjoy the time before your body starts getting creaky.”

T.K. cracked his knuckles. “It’s already there.” He sighed. “But at least I get to grow older. That little girl—” he caught himself before he said more.

“It’s hard to see kids die,” Owen commented somberly. “How are you doing with that?”

T.K. forced a smile, the normal almost friendly moment dissipating as tenseness settled between them. “I’m doing okay.” Owen was the captain, so if there was anyone that T.K. had to fool, it was him.

“It’s been a long shift. A child died, and that’s always hard. No amount of experience makes that easier.”

“No, but I’m not cracking up over it.” He sighed. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, but you don’t have to shut down your emotions. I don’t want robots as employees, so I won’t penalize you for having them. It’s good to process those things.”

“We still have time on the clock, so I’ve got to keep my focus.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Owen insisted.

“I didn’t say it was,” T.K. bit out. But it is, isn’t it?

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“Yeah, I know that,” T.K.’s voice was firmer now, but he couldn’t help the way it wavered at the end. “But I saved the villain.”

“You did your job.” Owen opened his mouth to say something else, but the alarm lit up, and a siren wailed through the firehouse.

“We’ll have to talk later,” T.K. told the captain, hurrying out of the captain’s office to get ready. He had no intention of talking. It’s best that way. Talking never leads to anything good coming out of my mouth.

It was nearly time to go home, and there was only one person who hadn’t yet had a heart to heart with T.K. As the only member of the crew to have a genuine relationship with T.K., Judd’s concern meant the most, but they’d never been the type of friends to have emotional conversations. They were brothers and would do anything for one another—Judd’s family often hosted T.K. for holidays, which they’d split with Carlos’ family—but they didn’t need heart to hearts to be close.

T.K. thought he was going to escape without a conversation with Judd until he saw Judd waiting by T.K.’s car.

“You have to let them in eventually,” Judd told him. T.K. had to admit that Judd was a changed person since he had started to go to therapy. Maybe that’s why he seemed so into having real conversations now instead of just talking about sports and married life.

“I don’t have to do anything,” T.K. insisted, and he sounded so much like a little brother.

“Kid,” Judd always called him kid when he was going into big brother mode, “They want to know you, and crews always work better when they trust one another.”

“I’ve given them no reason not to trust me. Just because I don’t share—”

“T.K., you’re not trusting them.”

“I trust them to do the job.”

“You won’t even tell them your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

Judd sighed. “I’m not asking you to tell them every little detail about yourself, but if you want this to work, you have to give ‘em something.”

“Judd, I have to go.” T.K. looked at his watch, “Carlos is waiting for me, and I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”

“Talk to him about what happened today. With everything with your dad—”

“He’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Are you sure about that? Carlos told me he was back in town.” Judd shook his head. “Which you should have told me.”

“I should have known Carlos wouldn’t keep that a secret.”

“He’s worried. I am too.”

“Please, Judd. I want to go home.”

“Fine.” Judd sighed. “Just don’t be a stranger. Dad misses you at family dinners.”

“I’m doing my best, Judd. You of all people know it’s a lot to deal with it all.”

“I know. I’m still strugglin’. trust me the nightmares keep on coming, but I’m taking little steps forward, and I’m learning not to let bad days get me down so much. Our new crew is a good bunch of people, so I don’t want your fears to get in the way of you adding some new people to your life.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Judd patted him on the shoulder, “Well, whatever you are ain’t making you happy,” and wasn’t that the truth. I’m not sure happiness is in the cards for me.

When T.K. finally got home, the last thing he wanted to do was talk more, so he slid into his house and went directly to bed without saying more than a few words to Carlos. He tried not to let thoughts about the dead little girl infiltrate his mind, but he had nightmares of her burning in the fire. When T.K. woke up, Carlos was already at work, and T.K. knew he’d have to endure the day alone. He didn’t mind moping on his own, but he knew it was a bad day to have excess time. If things were normal, he would have bothered one of the crew to hang out with him, but his crew was dead, and it wasn’t a good time to burden Judd. Grace would understand, but like Judd, she already had enough to deal with.

He could have always called Carlos, who would’ve dropped everything to talk to T.K., but Carlos had already missed enough work, and he deserved some time away from the chaos that T.K. had dragged him into.

With Carlos gone for most of the day, T.K. tried and let himself recover, by the third hour of watching a soap opera that he didn’t understand, T.K. was at the end of his rope.

When Carlos did come home, T.K. wasn’t in a talking mood, but silence didn’t pair well with dinner. He knew it would help, but he didn’t want another night of trauma talk. For once, he just wanted to pretend that they were a normal couple who worried about normal things like what they were having for dinner or whether to paint the living room tea leaf or sea glass. T.K. tried to find something to say, but he couldn’t think of anything normal, so he just stayed quiet and asked Carlos what he had done at work.

Carlos talked about his day, but after T.K. asked him about what he did during his day for the fourth time, Carlos had enough. “You have to talk about it eventually.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Conversations are always pulling teeth with you.”

“Could you stop? I’ve had a long day.” He wanted to eat their meal without the rattling in his brain. For a while, he wanted to ignore all that was wrong with his life.

“You were off today.” And agonized by all my free time.

“The days blur together, I guess,” which was true. With odd shift schedules, T.K. sometimes lost track of what day it was or when the old day had turned over to a new one.

“You haven’t been talking to me since you got back to work.”

“I talk to you every day, Carlos.” T.K. wouldn’t be able to stop talking to Carlos, even if he tried. He’d lose his mind after the third day of silence. For as closed off as he was, T.K. couldn’t stand silence with anyone for long, and he’d lose his head when he thought people were giving him the silent treatment. If no one was talking, T.K. usually babbled just to fill the space. He didn’t have to do that as much with Carlos, though, or anyone he trusted. T.K. knew that Carlos would never use the silence as a weapon.

“Not about how you’re doing.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine. I’m back at work and feeling better than ever.”

“You don’t just go from wanting to kill yourself to being fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was just a normal ‘I’m a fuck up who accidentally overdosed on a shit ton of oxy that didn’t even make me feel better.’” You’re a liar.

Carlos didn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t really matter what exactly happened that night. Whatever happened, you weren’t okay, and all that matters now is that it happened, and you need to address it. I want to know that you’ve been dealing with whatever you’re feeling in the right ways because going backward isn’t a choice.”

“I’m dealing as well as I can be.” He wasn’t telling the truth. He could have committed to his therapeutic process. He could have admitted that he had wanted to die when he took those pills. He could have told Carlos that despite all his bravado that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be back at work and that he wasn’t even sure that firefighting was what he wanted anymore. He could have admitted that more than just work was getting to him. But he wasn’t going to do any of that because it was easier for everyone if he dealt with his shit alone.

“Keeping to yourself isn’t dealing. It’s ignoring the problem.”

“I’m trying to spare you the angst.”

“No, you’re trying to spare yourself from dealing with your problems.”

“Why does everyone want to talk? Why can’t any of you let things go back to normal? We pretended I was fine before. Can’t we do that again?”

“That’s kind of the problem. The normal you want to go back to doesn’t exist, and the sooner you realize that the more stable your life will become.”

“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve been more on edge lately, and I’m not sure if it’s because you’re back at work or because I told you that your dad was back.”

“I don’t care about my dad,” T.K. refuted too quickly.

“Fine, then this is about something else.”

Carlos wasn’t going to drop this, and T.K. couldn’t help the anxiety that blossomed in his chest or the rage that it turned into. “Why are you always such a busy body? You can’t leave me to have peace for five goddamn seconds?” He regretted yelling immediately, but with all the shame he felt for yelling, he became angrier, and he needed to be louder, or else he’d be consumed by whatever happened next. He needed to keep fighting or he’d go down. “You’re supposed to support me, not try to leech information from me just to be entertained by the fucking drama in my life.” He sounded paranoid and insecure, but when he was in a mood, he always spoke to keep control of the situation and make sure his voice didn’t fade.

“I know what you’re doing.”

The anxiety was bubbling more, and he wasn’t sure what to do to stop it. He didn’t even know why it was there but yelling temporarily dulled it. “I’m yelling at you like an asshole, that’s what I’m doing, but you can’t drop your sincere, loving husband act for two seconds.”

“You want me to lash out, but I’m not going to take the bait.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just a fucking asshole, Carlos. It’s not that deep. You’re so naïve that you think there’s something redeemable in every person. How crazy is that? Grow up and see that some people are just wasted. They’re going to break your heart, and they’re not going to care that they’re doing it.”

“You always do this when you’re upset.”

“I’m not doing anything. It’s not a master plan or a scheme! I’m just an asshole. That’s all. You should know by now that that’s all I am. You married me, and if you don’t know what I am by now, that’s pretty pathetic. You must’ve been desperate if you married me. Aaron must have really broken you. He—”

T.K. could see the heat burning in Carlos’ eyes, and he got a guilty surge of satisfaction of finally getting a hint of the response he wanted. “Shut up, T.K, and don’t give me that crap. Aaron devastated me, but I was fifteen and in the closet. He’s in the past, but you’re not. You know what you do? You try to control people’s reactions. You provoke them so they’ll get angry with you because you’ve learned that a predictable bad response is more secure than gambling on what you might get.”

T.K. rolled his eyes, “Keep your social worker talk out of this.” He wasn’t looking to be psychoanalyzed.

Carlos swallowed a lump in his throat. “No, you’re all about bringing up hard truths tonight, so I’m not holding back either. You’ve learned that being hit hurts a lot less when you’ve convinced yourself that you had it coming, so when you feel vulnerable, you try to make people mad so that they get angry when you see it coming.”

“Stop it,” T.K. warned.

Carlos didn’t stop, “If you make people angry, you don’t have to risk them feeling something you don’t know how to handle. You don’t have to worry that they’ll hurt you for no reason because when you get too close to someone, you always give them a reason to be angry.”

T.K. felt his eyes get glossy, but he’d learned long ago that crying made things worse, so he closed his eyes and willed the drops to retreat into his eyes. He felt Carlos’ weight settle beside him and felt a warm hand slip into his. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but you don’t get to dictate when I feel what. I want you to feel safe, but you’re never going to feel safe if you don’t learn to accept that you aren’t responsible for how other people feel, and you can’t control their emotions.”

“I can’t even control my own emotions. I feel like they’re always going crazy.” He couldn’t get a grip on what he was feeling. It had always been hard for him to process his emotions or even identify which one he was feeling at any given moment.

“That would be hard.”

“It was just an awful day.”

“I don’t know what happened, but you’re trying to punish yourself. There’s a part of you that thinks it’s what you deserve.” Because punishment stops the spinning in my head.

“Yeah, well, I really fucked up, Carlos.” Maybe he did deserve bad things. All of the bad things. I messed things up so badly, and I don’t there’s a way to make it okay.

“What happened?” Carlos’ voice was gentle but prodding.

“There was a little girl who died in a fire we were called to.”

“Did something happen to her?”

T.K. nodded. “Someone happened to her.”

“Arson?”

“No. Her dad had beat her and her mom up, and then, he set the house on fire to cover it up.” The amount of senseless violence T.K. saw never ceased to make him sick.

“Fuck, that’s bad.”

“Yeah, and it was all my fault what happened to her.”

“No, T.K. her death wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you did everything you could to save her. I know you.”

“She was dead when we got there.”

“What do you feel guilty over, then? You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I know that there was nothing I could have done. I didn’t even know what had happened at the time, but I saved the wrong person.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos’ brows were furrowed as he struggled to understand what was bothering T.K. so much. Carlos’ face became animated with grim understanding. “You saved her dad.”

T.K. swallowed a lump in his throat. “I had to leave her body there while I carried her abuser out.” Logically, T.K. knew that he was doing his job, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left a living person behind out of spite, but he hated how unfair it was when the scum of the Earth could continue living while people who did nothing wrong didn’t get that same chance. He hated that he had no control over it. He was powerless to the whims of the universe. He was powerless to his future. He was powerless to old scars that still sometimes ached as if they’d just happened. I’ve always been so powerless. “The thing I really hate,” he confessed, “is that I would have saved my dad even if he had tried to do the same to me.”

“That shows that you’re the better man.”

T.K. wanted to sob, but he let out a choked, “I’m sorry, Carlos,” instead.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. T.K. had been an awful husband, and he couldn’t stand himself for it.

“It’s not. I’m an asshole.”

“No, he’s the asshole..”

“It’s an inherited trait,” T.K. concluded, feeling like the worst person alive. Carlos is too nice to see the truth. He doesn’t realize that he can do so much better. “And I don’t think I’ll ever escape it.”

[blue-lions-baby]

Operation Confession (Dimitri x F!Reader) [Ch. 2]

ah! i felt like i should specify that this is a f!reader. sorry about that. all of my stories have been f!reader and i (waking up in a cold sweat) realized it would prob be better for me to specify that from now on. i’m so sorry for not putting it earlier! from now on, i will specify if it is f!reader or not.

this has got to be one of the longest fics i have ever written (this chapter alone pushing slightly past 5000 words). i am *so* glad i split it up into different chapters. imagine if this was just one big oneshot oh my g

also, i found some loose inspiration for dimitri’s wardrobe change from be my princess 2′s ivan chernenkov!

okay, that’s about it. sorry for the long intro! now, please enjoy chapter 2!

~*~

“Sylvain...”

“Yeah?”

“Was it truly necessary to tell everyone about my... predicament?”

“I-If I may, Your Highness,” Ashe piped up, “we were already aware of your feelings towards (F/N). You’re not exactly... subtle.”

Everyone-- including Byleth who was grading papers at their desk-- all nodded their head in agreement.

“See?! C’mon, even the Professor noticed the sparks between you two!”

“That’s because they’re Professor Byleth, Sylvain.” Ingrid informed with a sigh.

“Oh yeah. Fair point.”

“Where is (F/N)?” Dimitri queried, not seeing your radiant face among the crowd.

“Well, Mercie and I...” Annette began, her cheeks spreading into a grin. “We pulled a little... prank, on our dear (F/N).”

“A-A prank?”

“Nothing too serious. We just did something that will slow her down.” Mercedes assured sweetly. Sylvain clicked his tongue loudly.

“Don’t worry about her! Remember why we’re all gathered here.”

Murmurs bounced around the attendees; before Dimitri could ask what kind of scheme the redhead roped them into, his loyal retainer announced,

“Your Highness, do you require assistance in confessing to (F/N)?”

Dimitri’s alabaster cheeks were hosed into an assortment of rubies and reds; dismay and horror and dread were all that filled his pretty azure eyes. The veins outlined in his neck and forehead grew sharper and sharper with each uncomfortable squeak that left the prince’s throat.

“Ridiculous. The boar actually has feelings?” Felix spat.

“Yeah. He needs help.” Sylvain answered, ignoring his scowling classmate.

“I-- You-- Sylvain, was this--?”

“My plan? Yeah.”

Dimitri would have killed Sylvain right then and there if it weren’t for the presence of several witnesses.

That didn’t mean he didn’t entertain the idea, though. Sylvain’s cool facade was pierced by the murderously sharp glow in the prince’s eyes.

“Not to worry, Your Highness!” Ashe cheerily interrupted Dimitri’s elaborate scheme of how to grind Sylvain’s kneecaps into a fine powder. “While on our way here, several of us have come up with ideas on how to get you two together!”

“Instead of us all working as one big group, we thought it would be wiser if we split up into smaller groups.” Ingrid mentioned.

“Mercie and I are together of course!” Annette’s eyes glowed excitedly. “After class, we’re gonna stop by the florist to buy (F/N)’s favorite flowers!”

“Why flowers, may I ask?”

“So you can give them to her later tonight!”

“T-Tonight?”

“This is where Ashe and I will lend you our aid.” Dedue stepped forward. “We will help you cook the perfect meal for (F/N).”

“Me? Cook?”

“(F/N) will surely be pleased that you put in the effort to cook her something! No matter the outcome, at least...” Ashe rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“And I suppose this is where we come in.” Ingrid said, motioning to herself, Sylvain, and Felix. “We will be making sure that everything goes smoothly, and will assist each group however way we can.”

“I’ll teach you everything I know when it comes to wooing the ladies.” Sylvain winked.

“I suppose I can serve as the ‘distraction.’ After class, I’ll ask (F/N) to spar with me so that should give you all some time to prepare.” Felix huffed.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind taste-testing the dishes that you prepare... J-Just to make sure (F/N) will like it! We do have similar tastes, so...” Ingrid blushed.

“I myself have devised a way to get you two together,” Byleth stated flatly, “and that starts with a brand new seating chart. I have separated you all into your different squadrons.”

Everyone crowded around the parcel of paper that Byleth spread on the table.

“Dimitri, you sit by (F/N) in the back of the room there. Mercedes and Annette, you sit together towards the front. Ashe, Dedue, in the row beside them. Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix will be sitting in this row, behind Mercedes and Annette. Understood?”

“N-No--”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. In your seats, everyone. If my calculations are correct, (F/N) should be coming in any minute now.”

Dimitri watched in plain confusion as everyone scrambled to their new seats. He automatically looked to Dedue for help, but only saw Ashe taking Dimitri’s usual spot beside the Duscur man. The sounds of curses haphazardly strewn about the vicinity along with an unsettling squelching sound echoed closer and closer to the classroom.

“Quickly now. Dimitri, in your seat.”

BANG!!!

The doors of the classroom smashed the stone wall with a thundering clap, rattling the slabs of wood on their hinges. You stumbled in, holding a dripping wet boot with one hand and your collection of study materials hastily bundled together in the other. The tousled blob of tangled tresses on the left side of your head starkly contrasted the sorry attempt of brushing on your right. Little leaves stuck out of the collar of your shirt and brown, crackly twigs pinned themselves onto your skirt.

“Good morning, Ms. (L/N). Turned rather... experimental this morning, have we?”

“P-Professor Byleth!” You bowed deeply, jumping when your books tumbled out of your grasp. “I am so, so sorry for being late! I’ve had the most horrendous morning...”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, when I woke up, i found my boots filled to the brim with water.” You chucked the boot you were holding towards the door and yanked off the one you were wearing; about a quarter bootful of water came cascading out of the shoe.

“Then my uniform-- which was folded neatly and placed on my desk the night before-- was thrown! Outside! Into some shrubs by my window!” You picked and plucked at the bits of foliage that accessorized your uniform with exasperation.

“And to top it all off, my hairbrush was missing! So I’ve been trying to comb my hair with my fingers, but that’s really hard to do when you’re holding a soggy boot in one hand and books in the other!”

You keeled over, wheezing, while the rest of the Blue Lions slowly turned their gaze to the two smiling girls in the front.

“That is... quite a tale.”

“Professor, I can not make this up. I feel like somebody is targeting me. But why? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?!”

“Nothing, (F/N). You’re right. What you went through was severe.” Byleth glanced down at two specific students sharply. “I will excuse your tardiness for today. Dimitri, please go help your new desk mate. I must start class immediately if we are to stay on schedule.”

“Of course, Professor...”

Oh no... Of all the... Since when did your class get a new seating chart? And why, of all people, were you placed beside Dreamy Dimi Dimitri?! Why was the Goddess punishing you? And for what?! You didn’t do anything! And now he has to see you looking like this for the rest of class? Why was life acting so cruel towards you?

“(F/N)?”

“Ah! D-Dimitri! Yes, hello!”

“Allow me to take your books to our desk.” He muttered politely, refusing to meet your gaze. Unable to say anything else without babbling like an idiot, you bowed gratefully to the prince as he scooped up your notes and books in his arms. Great! You were so disgusting, he couldn’t even look at you! Today was gonna be a long, long day...

Dimitri smoothed out the crinkled notes on your side of the row and his pupils happened upon a little scribble faintly scratched into the corner of the paper. The tips of his gloved fingers grazed the marking subconsciously, his brain not quite registering the ‘D’ drawn in the middle of a heart.

Color flooded your cheeks as you nabbed the paper away from Dimitri’s ‘prying’ eyes.

“Excuse me! I need that!”

“A-Ah. Of course. Forgive me.” Dimitri’s cognitive abilities had completely shut down, his entire being running solely on the etiquette lessons that were drilled into his head as a child.

Minutes ticked by, and Professor Byleth’s voice slowly joined the symphony of background noise. Neither you nor Dimitri processed a single word in class that day-- you huddling yourself into the closest semblance of a ball while Dimitri busied himself counting the specks on the floor in a vain, vain attempt to distract himself from the delightfully crisp apple notes that came from your hair (despite its... frazzled appearance).

The words that did process, however, was Byleth’s resounding ‘Class dismissed’ and you had never been happier to leave a lecture. Without casting a glance at anyone, you shoveled your studies into your arms and sped-walked out the classroom and towards the safe confines of your room to cry yourself to sleep.

But in your rush, a certain paper that was half-wedged between two books spiraled down, down, and further down. Dimitri’s watchful eye and skillful hand caught the piece of paper before it touched the ground and recognized the small, minimalist script as your handwriting. He looked up, eager to hand you your belonging, but...

“Er, Felix, have you seen (F/N)?”

“What? Did you not see her leave the classroom? I didn’t even get a chance to ask her to spar with me...”

“Well, she--” Dimitri choked on his own spit. “F-Felix--”

“What?”

Short, blubbering stammers made up a majority of Dimitri’s vernacular; Felix, growing impatient at the royal’s inability to form coherent thoughts, snapped the paper from Dimitri’s hand and read the contents.

“These are just notes on that battle formation we learned the other day.”

“No, there’s something on the corner up there...”

Felix’s sharp gaze followed Dimitri’s quivering finger.

“... Oh.”

“Fel, what’s up? You’re supposed to be training with (F/N) right now.”

“Sylvain. You take care of this.” Felix slapped the note into the redhead’s chest. “I’ll be by her quarters. When she finally decides to come out, I’ll ask her then.”

Then he was gone.

Sylvain, brows furrowed, unraveled the piece of paper that was so roughly shoved into him; his nose crinkled slightly.

“These are just notes.”

“The top...”

“Huh? What--... Ohhh. I see.” Sylvain’s light, angelic chortle didn’t mesh with the devilish smirk on his lips. “Your Highness, by any chance... Have you got an extra suit on you?”

“Hm? Well, yes, but it’s reserved for very special occasions.”

“Does a date with the girl of your dreams not fit that category?”

“... Allow me to show you where I keep it.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

Like a sailor heaving up a heavy sail battered by the ocean’s rageful tempest, you slowly hoisted your eyelids open with unimaginable difficulty. It felt like a bag of lead was tied to your eyelashes, keeping your eyes at a constant state of half-opened. You padded the soft, swollen flesh around your eyes and already knew the puffiness was there to stay-- at least for the rest of the day.

Two short knocks peppered your door and you very nearly chucked the closest item in your vicinity at it. You caught yourself, however, and face-planted into your damp pillow.

Two short knocks peppered your door as you sunk your face further into your cushion.

Two short knocks peppered your door as your anguish turned to ire.

Two short knocks--

“WHAT?!”

You had no memory of the actual journey from your bed to your door, but that didn’t matter much to you as you swung it open to face your grievance personified.

You caught Felix mid-knock and would have snapped his wrist if his knuckles dared to make contact with your door.

“What is it.” You croaked disdainfully.

“Wow. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Shut up. Just leave me alone.”

Your door was caught by your visitor’s firm yet gentle hold.

“Hang on. I... I’m sorry.” Felix swallowed thickly. “Today has been a pretty tough day for you.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Goodbye.”

“So,” Felix interjected, “spar with me.”

“What?”

“Let all your anger out on me. It’s not good to keep it inside.”

“That sounds strange, coming from you.”

“Trust me, it feels stranger saying it.” Felix grimaced. “Just... Please. Spar with me. Don’t let this fester inside you.”

He sounded almost pleadingly. A tiny portion of your heart swelled in gratitude towards the male; you stiffly wedged the door open.

“... Fine.”

The corners of Felix’s lips twitched upwards as you both headed for the training grounds.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

“We got the flowers!” Annette burst into the dining hall, waving the bouquet with glee. Mercedes shortly followed.

“I saw Felix and (F/N) head for the training grounds. He’ll keep her occupied for at least an hour or two.”

“Just enough time to roast a Faerhgus fowl.” Dedue commented, smiling slightly.

“Great! Well, I guess I’ll keep watch, so if you need me...” Sylvain slipped out of the dining hall and leaned his frame by the entrance, smiling and waving at passing females.

“Oh, and remember Your Highness,” a spike of red popped back in, “don’t forget you still need to get changed.”

“Got it. Thank you, Sylvain.”

“(F/N) and I were on kitchen duty last week, and she mentioned she loves (Favorite Soup)! We can cook that as well.” Ashe’s eyes shone brightly.

“I can bake some sweets!” Mercedes chimed in.

“E-Everyone, I’m afraid my skills in the kitchen are... less than spectacular. I’m afraid I will only hinder your progress...” Dimitri took a hesitant step out of the kitchen as he watched his classmates get to work.

“Nonsense, Your Highness.” Dedue reassured as he picked out a fowl. “We will guide you. May you please wash and cut the potatoes?”

“O-Of course!” Dimitri dunked a handful of the starchy tubers into a bowl of cool water and made sure no speck of impurity remained on its surface. With Ashe’s saint-like patience and Dedue’s constant monitoring, the royal succeeded in cutting the lumpy veggie into nice, even cubes.

“Great job, Your Highness! Now, can you peel the carrots while I prepare the soup?”

“With pleasure, Ashe.”

Dimitri took the small blade in his hand and carefully skinned the carrots’ rough exterior away, revealing the healthy shade of orange underneath. Dimitri’s confidence grew with each slightly whittled but clean carrot he handed to Ashe and Dedue, and he was silently celebrating the fact that he hadn’t--

... Crack!

All eyes flashed to the source of the sound.

Dimitri stared at the large, compromising splinter running down the length of the knife’s wooden handle; he looked up slowly.

“Er... Is there, perhaps, another one that I can use?”

“A-Actually Your Highness,” Ashe laughed awkwardly, gently taking the ruined blade from his hand and leading him to the bowl of soup, “can you watch the soup and make sure it doesn’t burn or anything?”

“Y-Yes... Um, I apologize for--”

“Do not worry, Your Highness.” Dedue’s monotone voice rang clearly. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, but now the kitchen staff has one less knife to work with...”

“A problem that we can fix the next time we go to town.” Ingrid assured, finally breaking from her food-induced stupor. The savory scents of roasted duck interwove with the hearty notes of (Favorite Soup), creating a mouthwatering song that entranced the gourmand; the delicate, feathery hint of sweets that Mercedes was concocting complemented the deep, earthy tones set by the three males.

“Would you like some, Ingrid?” Mercedes queried sweetly, holding up a small assortment of freshly baked goods. “I know how patiently you’ve been waiting for a sample.”

Ingrid almost lunged at the plate in the cleric’s hand.

“Y-Yes. Thank you, Mercedes. I am excited to taste your sweets.” Ingrid proceeded to not-so-graciously inhale half of the plate’s colorful contents.

“Ah! Ingrid, that was for everyone!”

“Oh!” Ingrid, mouth half-full with sweets, slammed the plate down on the table. “I-I am so sorry! I just, I got super excited and--”

“It is quite all right, Ingrid.” Dimitri replied, his eyes not leaving the softly boiling pot of liquid for a second.

“Please do not look so upset, Ingrid. I can always bake more!” Mercedes gave the aspiring blonde knight a light squeeze. “When we’re done, I can bake you a whole tray of sweets!”

“That would be lovely.” Ingrid smiled, still slightly chewing. “Thank you, Mercedes.”

“Ah, Ashe, it’s boiling quite a lot now. I think the soup is done.”

“Not yet! I haven’t added any seasoning.” Ashe hummed thoughtfully. “Actually... Would you like to add them, Your Highness?”

“I believe a sense of taste would be necessary to accomplish such a task... I, unfortunately, have none.”

“Ah, well,” Ashe looked at the row of spices neatly spread out, “you can still try though! Ingrid can taste test the dish, and she can tell you what you need to add.”

“I suppose that can work... Ingrid--”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

Dimitri and Ashe almost jumped at the closeness of her voice. Turning around, they saw the lass mere inches away from them with a childlike glow in her eyes.

“Ingrid, how did you--”

“I heard I was taste testing, so I came as soon as I could.”

The prince and archer shared glances with each other before the latter was called to assist Dedue. With a quick bow and a ‘good luck,’ Dimitri was left all alone save for a bubbling pot of soup and an overly-enthusiastic assistant.

“I think it would be wise for me to have a taste now so we can see what we still need to add.” Reported Ingrid dutifully.

“Ah, establishing a baseline. That’s a great idea.” Dimitri stepped out of the foodie’s way.

Ingrid grabbed a ladle and scooped a humble amount in its trough before pouring it into a small bowl. Her lips caught the edge of the bowl and she slurped its contents. She hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip.

“It’s all right, but painfully average... We need more of everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Its flavors need to be boosted drastically. It’s not bland, just... underwhelming.”

“I see...” Dimitri cast a nervous glance at the row of spices. “I’m assuming these are the seasonings used to flavor the dish?”

“That is correct!” Piped Ashe from the oven.

“Let’s see here...” His hands danced over the vessels of flavor hesitantly. A bottle of fine, onyx-colored powder caught his eye and he checked the label-- black pepper. He popped open the cap and tapped a careful amount in. Ingrid stirred the pot and poured some more soup in her bowl.

“Mm, that added some much-needed flavor. Try salt this time.”

Dimitri gingerly set the pepper down and scoured the row of spices for the condiment. After he found the small bottle tucked away in the back, he unscrewed the lid and sprinkled in some salt.

“Add more. I can barely taste a difference.” Ingrid critiqued.

Dimitri did as he was told and sprinkled in some more, unsure of the intensity of the granulated whites.

“More, Your Highness. You can be a bit liberal with the salt here.”

“Got it.” Dimitri tilted the bottle and gently tapped its side.

Only for half of the bottle’s contents to fall in.

Dimitri blankly stared at the visible pile of salt floating on the surface of the soup, slowly disintegrating as it drifted further and further down to the bottom of the pot.

Then he was tossed into the five stages of grief all at once-- Ingrid riding that emotionally tumultuous ride with him.

“Your Highness!”

“Ashe!”

“W-What?! What happened?!”

“The salt!” The blondes screamed in terror.

“S-Salt?! What do you--” Then he saw the bottle of salt, previously filled to the brim, staring back at him half-empty. Without a moment to lose, he broke through the two and beelined for the pot. He seized the ladle, scooped up its murky contents, and gave it a large swig.

His eyes shot open in horror and his face paled several sheets of white. He dropped the ladle, wetting the surrounding area with the toxic liquid, and stumbled back onto the counter. Gripping his pants until his knuckles turned as pasty as his cheeks, he forced down the soup with a gag.

“Water...” He flung himself onto the mortified prince, his eyes tearing up. “Water...!!!”

“I got you, Ashe!” Ingrid came swooping in with a cup of the aqua panacea; the archer snagged the cup from Ingrid and chugged it all, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“What happened?” Dedue finally arrived, his head absolutely spinning from the pandemonium that ensued from across the kitchen. Mercedes came running as well, almost dropping the tray of freshly baked desserts from her hands.

“W-Well, His Highness--”

“It’s all my fault,” Dimitri stepped forward, head hung low, “I was only trying to add a little bit more salt, but then I ended up pouring half the bottle. Then Ashe went to taste it, and, well...”

All eyes went to Ashe, who was still recovering from that whole... experience.

“It,” he sputtered,”it tastes like sea water.”

“Ashe, I am so, so sorry. Is there any way I can make this up to you?”

“Get out of my kitchen I-It’s all right, Your Highness... But um... I really don’t think we can serve this to (F/N). It tastes... unpleasant. Very unpleasant.”

“I understand...” Dimitri sighed, forlornly looking at the pot of failure. “Curses! I’m sure (F/N) would have loved it, if only I--”

“Your Highness. There is no need to linger on what has come to pass. We can still cook up a wonderful meal.” Dedue’s even voice steadied the prince. “We do not have much time left. Let us make haste.”

It was all hands on-deck from thereon. While Ashe was temporarily out of commission, the rest of the Lions present did everything in their power to compensate for lost time and dish. As Dimitri busied himself with dicing and rinsing vegetables for a simple salad, everyone else was bouncing around ideas that could possibly substitute the soup.

“I was in town the other day, and I heard one of the merchants talk about this pastry called ‘garlic bread.’“ Annette remarked.

“‘Garlic bread?’“ The Duscur man repeated questioningly.

“Yeah! From what I remember it sounds very easy to make, and we seem to have all the ingredients.”

“And those are?”

“Hmm... Adrestian Butter, bread, powdered Gautier Cheese, powdered garlic, and dried parsley.”

As Annette recounted the recipe to the best of her abilities, Ashe wobbled back to the kitchen with a few of Mercedes’ samples popped in his mouth.

“If you need an extra hand, I’d be happy to help!” He turned to the healer. “And Mercedes, these taste absolutely delightful! Eating them makes me feel all re-energized.”

“I’m always happy to help!” She smiled sweetly, dunking and scrubbing away the dirt on some pots and pans. Dimitri’s eyes widened.

“Ashe, are you certain you’re okay? I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard...”

“I’ll be fine, Your Highness! And besides, Mercedes’ sweets completely washed away the taste of your soup! ... Er, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“... And then we just pop them in the oven, and wait until the edges turn brown.”

“How convenient.” Dedue’s mouth turned up slightly. “I’m sure (F/N) and His Highness will like these.”

“They look quite scrumptious in there...” Ingrid licked her lips greedily. “Hopefully they don’t take too long... Hey, has anyone seen Sylvain? Last I heard he was on guard duty, but he could have run off with some girl at any time.”

“I’m still here,” called a voice from outside, “Ingrid, your lack of faith in me stings! Do you really think I’d be that calloused towards His Highness’s cause?”

“Yes.” Ingrid answered plainly.

“Yowch. That hurt.” Sylvain grimaced. “By the way Your Highness, we--”

. . .

“Sylvain?”

“You guys!” Sylvain came tumbling in, hysteria marring his smug features. “They’re coming!”

An unintelligible gurgle of surprise left the Lions’ throats and they drove to plate and add last minute details to their dishes. Dedue whipped out the duck and Ingrid the garlic bread, followed by a whole parade line of baked treats brought out by Annette and Ashe. Poor Mercedes, finishing up the last spoon in the sudsy basin, was suddenly bombarded with every plate, bowl, utensil, and pan in the kitchen-- not to mention The Pot of Poison. Dimitri set the wooden bowl that carried his salad on the table and he was instantly teleported away to a secluded section outside the dining hall. Sylvain carefully pulled out Dimitri’s finely decorated suit from under a brush, swatting away the little pebbles and specks of dirt that happened upon the fabric.

“It’s a good thing I kept the suit here. Imagine us running back to your quarters to change.”

“Thank you for thinking ahead, Sylvain.” Dimitri’s eyes flitted about him nervously. “I feel rather embarrassed changing out here in the open though...”

“We’re running out of time, Your Highness! Don’t worry, I’ll, uh, cover you.”

Dimitri shot him a grateful look and threw off his cape, which Sylvain caught and held up in a weak attempt to cover his friend. Dimitri chucked off his gloves and shimmied out of his boots; he then lifted the hem of his shirt past his neck and made quick work of his pants, shuffling and kicking the fabric away from him.

“Oh Goddess, they’re coming down this way! Quick, hide!”

“What?! Where?!”

“Uhh...!!!” Dimitri and Sylvain looked to and fro, their heart rate and cortisol levels reaching new heights. Behind the tree? No, the tree is hardly thick enough to cover the prince. The brush? Nah, it’s too small for a full grown man. No, no, he can’t run to the other side of the building, everyone will see his... parts. Sylvain pushed the bewildered Dimitri onto his knees, threw the tarp over him, and sat squarely on his back.

“Sylvain--?!”

“Hey hey hey, Fel and (Your Nickname)! Sooo, how was training?”

“Ah, well, y’know,” you answered back weakly, “tough.”

“Ah-hah! I see, I see!”

“Sylvain... What are you sitting on?” Felix’s eyes rested severely on the... quivering? quivering why was it quivering lump holding the male up. Sylvain looked down, then up, then down, then up, and chuckled nervously.

“Oh, y’know! It’s uh... It’s uh, a rock.”

“... A rock?”

“Yeah! Good ol’ rock here. Conveniently shaped too, y’know.” He patted something that felt a bit too round to just be Dimitri’s back; the two men quietly let out screams of the damned and Sylvain made a mental note to burn his hand off later.

“Huh... It does look quite comfy.” You mumbled, eyeing the spot where Sylvain just patted.

Please don’t sit here please don’t sit here please don’t sit here plea--

“Would you mind if I sat down for a bit?”

“Not at all.” Sylvain answered automatically, winking. It was in that moment that he truly regretted his playboy tendencies, and actually seriously considered change for a split second.  

“Great!” You skipped (more like limped) over to the silently screaming male(s). With a huff from you, Dimitri promptly felt something soft nestle into his rump; a portion of his soul disconnected from the mortal plane, never to be seen again.

“This... rock... feels kinda...” You shuffled in your ‘seat’ a bit. “soft.”

“A-A rock?! Soft?! Ha ha ha, don’t be silly, (F/N)!”

“And... This looks like Dimitri’s cape, does it not?”

“W-Why in the world would I have His Highness’s cape?”

“Well, that’s true... But, why would you put a piece of cloth on a rock like this?”

Sylvain just stopped working.

A good five seconds of silence ensued before the male finally found his tongue.

“Why wouldn’t you put a piece of cloth on a rock?”

“Well, if it’s an attempt to make the rock more comfortable, wouldn’t it make more sense to just... sit on the grass instead?”

“I mean, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spread a blanket on a rock for my own personal comfort, right?”

The throbbing in your head only worsened as you tried to comprehend this man’s logic.

“Um... sure.” You stood up. “I’m gonna go freshen myself up a bit before I head to dinner. See you later, Sylvain.”

“Y-Yeah! Of course! Catch ya later!”

Sylvain waved you and the very confused Felix goodbye and eagerly watched you leave. After making sure that you two left and no one else was nearby, Sylvain slowly leaned over.

“Your Highness--”

Dimitri shot up like a man reborn, shocking the redhead off him and wheezing for air.

“I couldn’t... B-Breathe...”

“Sorry about that, Your Highness...” Sylvain accidentally made eye contact with The Hand and he immediately gagged. “Let’s not... talk about what happened here. Ever.”

“Agreed.”

Both men sighed deeply.

“Well, you heard her. She’s gonna freshen up a bit before she goes to dinner so there’s no rush now. ... Well, you’d still probably like to rush a bit, since you’re currently in your briefs.”

“Thanks, Sylvain.” Dimitri grumbled, slipping his achy legs into the high-quality fabric and buttoning up his shirt. He readjusted the crooked pins and small medals that adorned his breast and smoothed away any wrinkles.

“You’re lookin’ snazzy, Your Highness.” Sylvain chuckled. “Now we just gotta fix up your hair a bit.”

“My hair? It looks fine though, does it not?”

“Yeah, sure, it looks fine but that’s about it. C’mon, think about it! You wear the exact same hairstyle day in and day out. We gotta give it more of a ‘wow’ factor.” Sylvain’s brows furrowed deeply as he studied Dimitri’s face closely. “... Y’know, this might just work.”

“Huh? S-Sylvain, what are you--?”

“Trust me, Your Highness. (F/N)’s gonna love it!”

With a quick swipe of his hand, Sylvain flipped Dimitri’s bangs onto one side of his face. Sylvain took a step back and crossed his arms, satisfied.

“Woo, now that’s a prince!” Sylvain whistled.

“D-Do I really look... princely?”

“Always have, buddy.” Sylvain threw an arm around Dimitri’s shoulder. “But right now? The princeliest of princes.”

Dimitri’s eyes crinkled happily and he bowed deeply to his dear friend.

“I thank you, Sylvain. From the bottom of my heart... thank you.”

“H-Hey now.” Sylvain laughed, cheeks reddening. “No need for all that! I’m just doing what I can to help you with this. You deserve to be happy, Deems.”

Dimitri smiled in response and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Ready, Your Highness?”

“Ready.”

[demivampirew]

Don’t judge a book by its cover Chapter 6 (final chapter)

A Cap. Syverson story.

Triggers: Heartbreak ;use of curse words; crying; puking.

Synopsis: Rebeca is an Argentinian girl who a few months ago moved to the USA (Washington D.C) to study in university thanks to a scholarship that she was granted. She’s lonely. People don’t treat her well. Some could be understood but most of them just hate her for being a foreigner. She meets Syverson because he’s a man from the South and she has not had a good experience with people from there, but she may find out at the end that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Tag:  lunedelorient 

You’ll find a note at the end of the chapter, which is an explanation of what is being said when the * appears.

Things couldn't be better for Rebeca. She had been dating a wonderful man for the last three months and he treated her like a true queen. She passed all her exams with high grades and now was rightfully enjoying her spring break. Now she had time to hang out with her friend Danielle and even would have double dates with her and her girlfriend Phoebe. She couldn't be happier. One morning she woke up feeling like hell. She had to run to the bathroom to puke. At first, she thought that could have been something that she ate the day before that settled badly in her stomach, but after several days of waking up nauseous and feeling awful but then feeling better the rest of the day, she realized that something else was going on. She decided to take a pregnancy test - two actually, for more certainty- at both gave positive as a result. She was expecting a baby. They usually were careful when having sex, but there were two separate occasions in which they didn't use a condom. She was nervous. What would happen now? Could she lose her scholarship due to her pregnancy? What if they wanted to kick her out of the country and separate her from the child once he had him/her? Would Sy be happy with the news? Should she have the baby at all? The only answer she knew was the last one and it was yes; that baby would be her's and Sy's. She needed now to find out how he felt about it. As long as he was ok with the baby, she'd know that everything was going to be ok, because he always going to be there for her, to help her solved any troubling situation she might be in. After work, she went straight to Sy's house to share the news with him. She was quite nervous, but also excited. If he was happy with the news, then she would get the family she always dream of. She entered the house using the key he gave her and once inside the house she searched for her boyfriend. She found him sitting in the couch, crossing both on his arms in his chest, looking at the space in front of him, lost in his thoughts. Something bad had happened, she could feel it. She caught his attention and he looked at her in silence for a few moments. "Fuck" he cursed and she knew that whatever happened, it was really bad. He sighed and asked her to sit in the couch with him, that he needed to talk to her. - I got the call - he said with sadness. No further explanation was necessary, she knew exactly what that meant. - How long? - she questioned. - Maybe a year or more. They need me there, it has to be me. The locals already know me, I'm the only one who might bring some peace there. - he answered. - I knew I shouldn't have started a relationship. I knew that this day would come in eventually. I didn't want to hurt you, babe.- he apologized. - What are you saying? It's a year or maybe a bit more. I'll wait for you. - Beca assured him - Darling, I may never come back, that's how things go there. I tell you is a year and might end being more. Last time I was supposed to be only for a few months and ended up staying for three years. That's a lot of time. You're young, you cannot spend the rest of your days waiting for a man that might never come back. - he tried to reason with her. - You're breaking up with me then? - she asked with tears on her eyes. - I am, yes. This is best for you. - You promised me that you'll always be going to be there to protect me, but you were lying. You're going to leave me alone.- she recriminated him. - I'm really sorry, baby. It hurts my soul knowing that I'll have to leave you, but I have to go. I have to. I don't have another choice. - But you do. You could leave and found another job and never go back, but you want to. You want to be there because you want to save people, is in your nature. That's who you are. You want to help even if it costs you everything. - she replied, filled with sadness. She stood up a walk to the door with the intentions to leave. He followed her. - Beca, stop. It's late, don't go. It can be dangerous. - he pleaded her to stay the night. She wanted to act like a stubborn child and just leave, but she knew he was right. I was nighttime already and was dark outside. And she needed to think in the baby. "the baby" she thought, reminding herself that now she was going to be alone in this predicament. She was going to be a single mother. She accepted to stay, but she would sleep in the couch, he tried to persuade her to change places, so she would sleep in the bed and him on the couch, but he knew that'd be a waste of energy, she was too stubborn to listen. She spent at least two hours crying silently and thinking in all the mess she was caught on. She was going to have a child in a country that wasn't her own and probably wouldn't want her, an inmigrant with a study visa, to have an American kid. She would probably lose her visa and her job because there was no way she could study and work with a baby and also would not be able to afford childcare. There was only one solution she could find: she needed to go back to her country. There, her family would help her and she would be able to study in her former university and work while her parents looked after the baby. That was the only solution. Then she thought about Sy; the fact that she'd probably never see him again and how he could even die in the battlefield. She got up from the couch, went into the bedroom and saw that he was awake, probably thinking as much as she was. As soon as he saw her, he sat on the bed and stared at her. First, she looked mad at him, but then she started to cry and he extended both of his arms, waiting for her to accommodate herself in his chest so he could hug her. After a bit, she felt a little bit better. She looked into his eyes and kissed him. If that was the last time she would ever see him, she wanted to be a night that neither would forget. A proper goodbye. Neither of them spoke again, they let their bodies do the talking. He made love to her for the very last time, taking the sweet taste of her lips with him forever in his heart.                                           ----------------------------------------------------------- Two years later Syverson was back from the Middle East. He was promoted and now he would never have to come back there again. He was ready to settle down alive and normal life. He would help train new soldiers and would help the new captain there from America, giving orders of how to proceed, but he would never go back. The first thing that crossed into his mind, the main reason he fought to never go back, was to see Rebeca. She was on his mind constantly. There wasn't a single day he wouldn't think of her or dream with her. He planned to search for her, and if she hadn't moved on with her life, he would beg her to take him back. She was his everything. He went to her place and found a young man living there. The gentleman told him that he never meet the former tenant of that house and that he's been living there for over a year and a half. Syverson then looked for her in the grocery store, but she wasn't there either. Another girl was working there, who told him that the owners of the store were on vacations and that she never meet any former employee and that she had been working there for a few months. College was his last resource. He waited for her to get out of the building, but that never happened. After the place was almost empty, he lost his hope in seeing her. He was about to leave when he saw a familiar face leaving the place. - Danielle! - he called at the girl. She turned around and recognized him immediately. - Sy!- she greeted him, surprised to see him.- How are you? - I'm fine. How are you? - he asked politely - I'm great, thanks. - she replied- What are you doing here? - I'm looking for Beca. I've been searching for her everywhere but I haven't been able to find her. Her phone is not the same, she moved and she doesn't work in the grocery store anymore. - he explained confused.- Is there any chance you might now where is she? - I do, actually.- he admitted and took a pause before delivering the bad news- She went back to Argentina. - What? -he questioned, shooked by the news. It was like an ice-cold shower - What happened? Did she lose her scholarship? Did something do something to her? - he asked worriedly. - No, she's fine, don't worry. She went back shortly after you left - the young lady informed him- She said she missed her family a lot and didn't want to stay any longer in the country. She didn't lose her scholarship, she gave it up.- Sy was speechless. He has lost her forever. He couldn't accept that just like that. He needed to see her again, somehow. - Do you have a phone number by any chance? - he asked her - No, sorry.- she apologized. After a little pause, she continued - I have her address, though. She sends me an email with her address and I sent her mine so she could send me things she wanted me to try from her country and I'll send her things that only could find here.                                          -----------------------------------------------------------

He had learnt enough Spanish from two Latino soldiers on his squad to be able to handle short conversations. So, thankfully, it wasn't to difficult for Syverson to order a taxi at the Argentinian airport to go to Rebeca's house. He got out of the taxi and took a minute to see her house. It was quite beautiful, it had flowers in the front. There were bars in the front of the house, so he had to press the doorbell for someone to open the door for him. Moments later, a woman in her late forties or early fifties open the house door. - Hola, qué necesitabas? (Hello, what do you need?)* - asked the woman - Hola. ¿Está Rebeca? (Hello. Is Rebeca here?) - questioned Sy, struggling to hide the fact that he wasn't a Spanish speaker. - Decime tu nombre, así le aviso que la estás buscando (Tell me your name so I tell her you are looking for her) - Digale que Sy la busca, por favor. (Tell her Sy is looking for her, please) - he replied. The woman clearly heard about him, because she looked surprised at looked at him from head to toes, like inspected him. - Espera acá un minuto, ya vuelvo (I'll be back in a minute, wait here) - said the woman and entered the house, closing the door behind her. While waiting, he took a look around the place. Pedestrians were walking around, looking at him, just like some old ladies who were sitting in the porch of the house chatting. For a moment, he felt like a zoo animal. Around ten minutes later, the door opened again and Beca appeared, closing the door behind her and walking towards him. She opened the bars door and let him in. They looked at each other in silence for a moment and then hugged, like if neither of them could believe that was happening. After the hug, he pressed his head against her forehead and smile. He missed her so much. He looked at her and couldn't even believe it. She was way more beautiful than he remembered. - Why did you leave? - he asked her - It's a long story. -she replied. - I thought I lost you forever.- he replied, sighing in relief to know that he was finally with her again. - I ... Why are you here Sy? Why are you in Argentina? - I came to you. I want you to come back with me. - he begged her. - I can't. I lost my visa when I gave up my scholarship. - she explained - You can get it back or maybe a work visa - he suggested - It's not that easy, Sy. You know it. - I'm not giving up. I'm going to find a way to bring you back. Please, take me back. - I would, but I don't think I can get back there. Things are way more complicated than you think. - she paused and took a deep breath. Then, she looked into his eyes and asked him to follow her. They entered the house. Rebeca asked him to wait in the living room as she went into another room. While waiting, Syverson inspected the place. It was a homie. It wasn't different from his house or any other American house, but it felt different. The smell of homemade food being cooked; there was a certain cosiness and warmness that it was hard to explain. No wonder she wanted to go back there instead of staying in the coldness of the solitary house she used to live in Washington.  He heard a room door open and he settled his eyes in the direction in which Beca disappeared. He froze as he saw her enter the living room with a little girl on her arms. She had the same eyes and curly brown hair that Rebeca, but her face...her face looked like him. It was like looking at the pictures that his mother had of him as a little kid, but with long curly hair. Rebeca sat in a chair next to a table, while looked at the little girl, who was shyly hiding her face on her chest, grabbing some of her curls. Sy kneeled before them, without taking his eyes out of the little girl, speechless. He tried to stroke the girls' hair but she hid even more. Beca caressed her and told her that it was ok. - He's daddy. Do you remember daddy? I showed you pictures of him and talked to you about him? He's here. - she explained the little girl. - Does she speak English? - asked Sy, without even thinking. He still was in shock. - Yes. I decided to teach her both English and Spanish at the same time. She's still learning, but she understands when you speak to her in both languages.- she explained. - Hi, baby. I'm your daddy.- he replied, with tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe he had a daughter. - Why... -he began, looking at Beca. He didn't have to finish his question because she knew exactly what he was going to ask. - I was going to tell you that day, but then I couldn't. For lots of reasons. I think you might understand why I did it. - I do. - he agreed. She didn't need to explain anything. Whatever happened, happened. He knew that somehow Beca made the right call. It wouldn't have been the same those years if he would have known that she was alone taking care of his child, but he couldn't leave his squad alone either. He felt terrible for losing a year of his daughter's life; for not being there the day she was born, her firsts steps, her first word. Nonetheless, he would be for the rest of her important moments. And no matter how hard I'd be, he would find a way to take his woman and his daughter back with him.

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

- Mommy, mommy, look what daddy bought me! - said Alma running into her mother's arms to show her the new toy she's got. It was a plastic gun. - See? Now I'm a warrior like daddy. - the little 5 years old girl told her mother while pretending to shoot with the gun. - Seriously, Syverson, a gun? - Rebeca reprimanded her husband for the toy he gave to their daughter. - Hey, she chose it herself, ok? - he defended himself, grabbing her wife by her hips and kissing her. - A kiss is not going to get you out of trouble, mister. Tell me, do you think a gun is an appropriate toy for a little girl? - Girls can be awesome soldiers too, ma'am. - he pointed out - I'm not saying that's not an appropriate toy because she's a girl, I'm saying that toy isn't appropriate for a child of any gender. - Apologies, my lady, you're right. But, you know her, she'll leave it on the floor and forget about it in two days, as she does with all of her toys. - he said grinning. - You're lucky you're right, sir, otherwise there was not going to be more kisses for you. - And that would be the end of me. - he finished the conversation, kissing her while he stroked her face.

The end.

Notes: *In Argentina, is a polite way to ask people you don't know who they are and why are they calling at the door.

[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.

[publiccollectors]

QUARANZINE #14

QUARANZINE #14: Rachel Herman. Rachel was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. She's been fighting the virus for just over two weeks. Yesterday she posted this long message on Facebook about her experience so far and I asked her about publishing it in QUARANZINE. She had been thinking about reaching out to me, so we were both on the same page. The text is very long for the format I adhere to so the type is quite small, unfortunately. Here it is in its entirety: Dear friends,

This is the week many of us will get sick. Social distancing is working, but most cities waited too long to declare shelter-in-place orders and many others have yet to. So, we will see spikes in confirmed cases within the next week or so. I want you all to be armed with pragmatic and useful information if this happens to you or someone you care about.

I am on Day 14 of what was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. (I am still waiting for my COVID-19 results.) I’ve had a relatively mild case, and I’m on the mend. My congestion is clearing up, I can breathe deeply again, and going up and down the stairs doesn’t make me winded. My energy and appetite are coming back though I still have had a fever of 100+ for 14 straight days. Most of us will get a mild case. 40-70% of us will get it, but so much of the media frenzy right now is focused on things that were important last week and yesterday (every day feels a year these days, though, to be fair). I have seen shockingly few articles or helpful testimonials advising how best to treat ourselves at home, and, trust me, I’ve been looking. So much of the information we’re focused on now is preventing transmission, but there is woefully little on what to do IF and WHEN we get sick.

Being waylaid during the time that so many folks have been still frantically trying to avoid getting sick has offered me a strange bubble of calm and insight. I’m grateful for that because the fear out there is palpable. I would like for this to be an offering to assuage at least some panic. That is my hope anyway.

The CDC and the WHO have labored and lengthy instructions on how to prevent transmission to someone else in the household or orders to quarantine. This creates a new problem for us as caregivers. A potentially critically ill person separated from everyone else drastically reduces a caregiver’s ability to monitor, replenish fluids, and generally take care of the person who is sick. On top of that, these two trusted sources offer only the most basic (honestly, negligible) recommendations for treating symptoms: sleep, keep hydrated, and take Tylenol (or the generic acetaminophen). This kind of bare bones advice is, well, skeletal. We all want to know how best to take care of ourselves and each other so that we can avoid having to go to the hospital. We want to be able to recuperate at home because we want to prevent putting a strain on the system and, face it, the idea of going to the hospital in this scenario is downright daunting. The better we know how to nurse ourselves back to health, the better our odds are healing well in our own beds.

So, I wanted to share what I’ve learned.

Caveat emptors/disclaimers because I’m making this public and shareable: This is based on my own personal, lived experience. I am not a doctor, so this does not replace or supplant solid medical advice from a professional you trust. I have had relatively mild symptoms but still a longish case. I am one of the freakish 5% who has had never-ending nasal congestion that went into my upper respiratory tract, but I somehow avoided the dreaded cough. YMMV (your mileage may vary). I have no underlying health concerns, I’m 52, a non-smoker, and fortunate. I have a comfortable apartment to myself, and I was able to spend $500 to stock up on essentials before the lockdown and before I got sick. (For the love of all that is holy, I swear I did not stockpile anything, especially TP. Stocking up is simply incredibly expensive. I dwindled my account down to almost my last dollar, since I’m adjunct faculty at two local universities and don’t make a whole lot.) Still, that is more than so many of us are able to do, and I am grateful for all that I have. What follows goes a bit beyond common sense, because this virus is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, even though to be clear, this is certainly a far cry from the sickest I’ve ever been. I hope it can be a boon to friends and strangers alike.

Here are the things I did that helped:

WHILE YOU ARE WELL

1) Start taking your temperature in the morning and at night so that you have a baseline.

One of the first signs of the virus can be a low-grade fever, though this virus does present in different ways. Full disclosure: I was one of those people who had to go to 3 different drugstores on Wed Mar 11 looking for a thermometer amid decimated shelves.

2) Before you get sick, change your diet.

Stop eating and drinking things that will make it harder to fight off the virus. Mellow out on the processed foods, dairy, and sugar (alcohol and gluten are in this category too, sorry).

Increase your intake of immune-boosting foods like green vegetables, fish and other omega-threes, garlic, ginger, and citrus. You don’t have to give in to the whole elderberry craze (though it does taste pretty good). Replace coffee with chaga, a fungal immune booster that you can brew into a strong, soothing tea, for a few weeks.

If you think these dietary recommendations are extreme, consider that you are in a temporary but dire situation where everything else around us is collapsing. Change your eating habits this month, even if it’s just a little for a little while.

3) SLEEP at least 8 hours a night. (I know, I wake up at 4am in a blind panic too. But, still, try.)

4) Make a pot of soup NOW while you are healthy or at the first sign of any symptoms.

This is especially important if you are sheltering in place alone. When/if you get sick, trust me, you won’t have energy to cook. You will barely want to eat anything anyway. But you will force yourself to have two bowls of it every day, and it will help. The pot should be big enough so that you can eat from it for a week. Make your favorite broth-based recipe: chicken, vegetable, or bone. Bone is most healing, obviously. Avoid dairy and noodles because these ingredients increase congestion and inflammation. Freeze it if you don’t have any symptoms at this point, so you will be able to thaw it when you start to feel oogy.

WHEN YOU GET SICK

1) At the first sign of fatigue, a tickle in your throat, aches, or a fever, go to bed and stay there. SLEEP. Don’t try to keep working. Your body needs to heal, and it can do that most effectively when you are sleeping.

Early symptoms reportedly vary. Some have aches and fever, scratchy throat, and chest tightness with a dry cough. Headaches, sneezing + nasal congestion, shortness of breath, nausea, and diarrhea have all been reported. I woke up on Mar 14 with a headache, body aches, congestion, and a fever of 101. My fever spiked to 102.5 on Day 2, and I’ve had a fever of 100+ every day since along with body aches, nasal congestion (my nose opened up like an actual running faucet on day 5), chest tightness and upper respiratory congestion, exhaustion, lack of appetite, and some lower GI distress (though not full-on diarrhea, everything just felt labored and different and, sincere apologies for the vivid image I’m about to put in your head, my poop seemed to be covered in a gauzy cloud). The two aberrations from most commonly reported symptoms: I have only had a negligible cough, and I never had a sore throat. My baseline temp leading up to getting sick was 99, but I am usually a straight-up 98.6 kind of person.

I had a dinner party the Monday before I got sick, and a friend who helped me in the kitchen came down with the same thing at the same time. My friend has asthma and has had a much harder time of things. But we are both on the road to recovery, in large part because we have been sharing what we’ve learned, checking in with each other, and doing some intense jobs taking care of ourselves while in isolation. (No one else from the dinner party has gotten sick to date.)

2) DRINK WATER, every 15 minutes when you are awake. Every time you wake up or roll over, drink. It should be room temperature, not cold. Cold liquids exacerbate the illness.

3) Drink WARM liquids like herbal tea and broth. Hot liquids keep everything in your system moving. Make soothing, healing, and warming remedies out of whatever inexpensive supplies you already have available.

4) In the giant void of an antiviral treatment that works on COVID-19, I have turned/returned to plant medicine, and it has helped me a lot.

My cousin, who is taking a Chinese medicine course in Singapore right now, sent me directions on how to make a ginger and licorice root decoction that was used throughout China during the Hubei lockdown. It’s easy to make. You bake the licorice in molasses, and then you boil the licorice root and the ginger for an hour. The ginger licorice decoction has really helped my friend who also got sick at the same time I did.

Making tea from Chaga – an Alaskan mushroom – has been so incredibly helpful. I’ve made a large pot of it every day, reserving the chaga and re-steeping over and over again for the past two weeks. Was it the chaga or the fact that I was drinking a gallon of warm soothing liquid daily, ladling out a mugful every couple of hours, that helped me get better? I’ll go with a little of both.

Other natural antiviral immune boosters that might help include vitamin C, C60, and olive leaf extract, oregano oil, and Manuka honey. Since stores are closed and Amazon has stopped shipping, we have to make do with what we already have. Make a tea with citrus peels and cloves and sliced ginger, if that’s is in your fridge.

5) The word on the street is to manage fever with Tylenol or acetaminophen or paracetamol, which are supposed to be more suited to treating respiratory illness than other alternatives. Frankly, I have been taking acetaminophen as sparingly as possible to avoid putting strain on my other organs. Cool compresses work too.

Some people are saying NOT to take Advil and its generic ibuprofen, as they have anecdotally said to propel otherwise healthy people to hospitals for oxygen. There is a lot of noise and confusion in this debate, and I’m going to sidestep this thorny conversation for our purposes.

6) Zinc lozenges and elderberry syrup help with a scratchy throat and cough. A friend of mine prone to bronchitis recommended Myrtol, a German cough syrup made from natural ingredients, including elderberry. If you have a pharma protocol in place for managing a persistent, chronic cough, you are probably already on it.

7) The fatigue is real. It also becomes really hard to think clearly. That’s why it’s so important to have soup and tea and other supportive supplies ready ahead of time.8) When you think you are getting better the first three or four times, STAY IN BED.

The arc of this virus is really rollercoaster-y: up and down and up and down. After the initial alarm passes, (and it is alarming at first because you don’t know which way it’s going to go and that seizing up can make everything feel worse), I was able to focus on getting better, calmly. I made it through the first scary fever spikes, but right when I thought I was feeling better, I would get knocked down again. There were critical junctures around days 3, 5, and 7 where I was certain I’d turned a corner, and, well, yesterday.

I’d get up and do dishes, take out the trash, take my dog for a walk around the neighborhood (face covered), and try to get some work done (end of quarter grades were due at both my schools and my departments have been preparing like mad to take our classes online in the spring). Then I would feel hot and light-headed again, taking my temp only to see it had sprung back up to 101.5. You will feel better and want to get back up and do things only to get knocked right back down. The moment I ease up on drinking water and tea constantly, I start to feel horrible again.

Remember: YOU ARE ESSENTIALLY PREVENTING YOURSELF FROM DEVELOPING FULL-BLOWN VIRAL PNEUMONIA. I would say the new mantra needs to be SLEEP + DRINK WATER. Start now, to the extent that you can. Please resist the urge to get up and do things. Rest. Do your Zoom meetings from bed with a virtual office background, if you absolutely have to be on a call. But, truly, you shouldn’t because this is the time to sleep sleep sleep and binge watch The Good Place (my choice for existential dystopian laughs/insert whatever makes your socks go up and down). For the past few days, my temp has been normal in the morning only to spring back up to 100+ if I try to do too much (e.g. read: ANYTHING). When I let myself sleep, my temp goes back down.

9) A humidifier has helped. Some recommend running a hot shower and sitting in your own makeshift bathroom sauna. Steam eucalyptus or rosemary, if you have any, and inhale deeply. I just made a homemade vaporub with a base of coconut oil and a few drops each of clove, thyme, rosemary, and peppermint oil. It is wonderful.

10) My breathing never got dangerously shallow. But this virus can potentially fill your upper and lower respiratory tracts with mucous until you feel like you are drowning. A physical therapist wrote with life-saving advice about the importance of Postural Draining, a method of draining mucous from the lungs using gravity and percussion. It involves physically moving your body so that you tilt your lungs and bronchial tubes upside down and then firmly clap the back or chest. This allows the mucous to flow up out of the lungs along with deep, prolonged exhales. Then you can cough it the rest of the way out. You can do postural draining alone or have someone perform it on you. Google postural draining diagrams – there are different for positions for each of the five lobes of your lungs. Do these exercises for 3-5 minutes a day before you get too sick. You can get into position in a chair or laying over a yoga ball, bean bag, or pillows for support.

Failing steps 1-10, if you have difficulty breathing or your temperature spikes beyond what you and your doctor are comfortable with (I’ve heard different numbers), please go to the ER immediately. Some of you will develop dramatic and dangerous symptoms quickly. Please do not wait to seek care if your lungs are struggling beyond what you can manage at home. My advice is geared to keeping as many of us comfortable for as long as it takes to heal, but that obviously is only going to go so far for those who suffer from chronic conditions, are older, or are immunosuppressed. If you have a finger oximeter, and are able to monitor your oxygen levels numerically, then you will know when you have to go to the hospital. But very few of us have those, and they are way sold out.

THE OTHER SIDE

Healing from even a mild case (and mine IS mild) takes about two weeks to a month.

As my dad would day, take it easy. It is unclear how immunity works with COVID-19. Some have said that there was a patient in Japan who tested positive a second time. There is speculation that this, in fact, was a relapse and not re-infection. We need more time to learn about the virus. In the meantime, please give yourselves time to heal.

We don’t know how long immunity lasts, and we don’t know about immunity to slightly different mutated strains even if we have recovered from one of them. I do hope that we get to develop a fair amount of herd immunity in the next year, but, again, there is a lot to learn. We will obviously still need to protect our vulnerable populations, and our society will continue to bend and contort itself around the virus.

But I hope to be in a position to assist when others get sick. I will happily help you to the best of my abilities. Looking to a future I can hardly conceive at the moment, I anticipate learning more about plant medicine. Scientists will develop new antivirals, retrovirals, and vaccines. I look forward to donating plasma as part of a treatment for those who get sick in the future, whenever that near-distant moment may be.

And thank you, friends. I am good. I have everything I need. My inner circle is incredible (I love you, mom!). I have been quarantined since developing symptoms and went out for a half hour only to get tested (thank you, Howard Brown for your invaluable service). No one else I spent time with beforehand has gotten sick (except my one friend whose illness coincided with mine, and they are also struggling a bit today with the ups and downs. Please hold them in your thoughts).

May you and your loved ones stay healthy. Or, more to the point, may we all get well and stay well. Sending love to all corners.– Rachel Herman

[ghostlywritten]

Too Nice To Say Goodbye Pt. 2

A/N: Look, a bias wrecker.

For those, who are waiting on an update for ‘Uncertainty’: I’m having a tough time coming up with an interesting plot, because the third season royally sucked in my opinion. I’m gonna try, but it will take a while.

Words: 3,5k+

Part 1 

It took you a huge amount of self control to keep the tears at bay throughout the night. Haechan was fidgeting nervously every now and then next to you, his eyes constantly flickering over as if he was afraid you would blow up at any minute.

You almost rolled your eyes. You were not going to cry in front of anyone. You had never even cried in front of Mark despite all the time you’d shared together so far.

‘Speaking of’, you let your eyes wander to your ‘boyfriend’ or whatever he was right now, who was completely immersed in the show, his arm loosely hanging over Yeri’s back of the seat. 

‘They would look good together,’ you realised, noticing the admiring look Yeri would occasionally throw at him. You had known about her feelings right from the beginning. Not that she was mean to you or anything, she was just as nice as Mark. It was the quiet but passionate way she always looked at him when she thought no one was watching. 

You felt uncomfortably out of place. As if you were the villain standing in the way of their love. The best friends separated by a third person, because they hadn’t yet acknowledged or admitted their feelings to each other. It was so cliche, it was sickening you.

For the rest of the night you kept to yourself, nursing the one drink you had as you watched the others chat animatedly over mindless discussions. You wondered briefly if they had known all along what you had just concluded for yourself and felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment.

‘I can never show my face here again,’ you thought to yourself as you bid them goodnight after a few hours, the cold air refreshing as you stepped out with Mark in tow. You breathed in deeply, finding it easier now to keep your emotions in check since you got out of that stuffy room (and away from the lovesick eyes of Yeri).

“That was cool, right? Just us chilling, all relaxed and stuff,” Mark commented, sighing blissfully as he fell into step beside you. You had decided to walk the short way to Johnny’s flat earlier but you started to regret it now as it seemed to be a much longer route than you had in mind, not to mention the wind being freezing cold. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your sweater. Usually you would hold on Mark’s hands as they were always mysteriously warm but it was too awkward now. 

Everything was uncomfortably awkward with him now. 

Two weeks passed and you were retreating more and more into your shell, shying away from any sort of contact with the NCT gang. You couldn’t help the humiliation you felt, knowing how you were the unwelcome third wheel standing in the way of the best-friends-to-lovers relationship. They were probably all waiting for you to just be left behind and for the actual love to start blossoming between Mark and Yeri. 

But although it was quite easy for you to stay away from them and have all these bitter thoughts you just didn’t have it in you to break up with Mark. Your love for him was achingly real and it hadn’t wavered a single bit, despite the situation.

You still smiled when he did, you still laughed when he did, you still gave him a kiss on the cheek whenever you woke up first and you still longed for his touch, even if it was just a simple intertwining of your hands at night whilst he was fast asleep.

You never went as far as that anymore. Never initiated anything when he was fully conscious, not wanting to make him feel awkward. You had to cringe whenever you thought back on all the skinship you had done and how discomforting it must have been for him. 

‘When has he stopped finding comfort with me?’ you wondered sadly, trying to distract yourself with some studying. Keyword, “trying”. All you did was stare blankly at the screen of your laptop, rereading a line without taking in its contents as your eyes grew more and more tired with each passing second. 

A door opened and fell shut, shaking you awake from your mindless state. “I’m home,” Mark announced and you heard him stop his shuffling as if he was expecting an answer. 

You opened your mouth to shout back the usual “Welcome back, love” but the words died on the tip of your tongue and you just pressed your lips together, swallowing tightly. 

“Y/N, are you home?” Mark called out, walking further inside.

“I’m here,” you said quietly just as he passed by the kitchen, causing him to jerk in surprise. 

“Oh my Jesus, you scared me,” he breathed out, laughing as he held his hand to his heart. Your own thudded out of rhythm upon seeing his dimples. 

“Sorry,” you said with a wry smile before you looked back at your screen, pretending to read whatever you had put up. You actually didn’t have to study anymore since graduation came up in a month but it wasn’t like Mark knew about that.

“What are you up to?” he asked, ruffling his black hair as he took out a water bottle from the fridge, handing you one as well. 

“Just some post-studying,” you replied vaguely but he smiled anyways, patting your shoulder, “Yo, keep it up. You are going to slay,” he encouraged and you chuckled at his choice of wording. 

He had always been a promoter for hard work, cheering you on to keep going when you were close to giving up. You admired and simultaneously felt grateful for that trait as it helped you through the toughest exam periods. 

“Thank you, Mark,” you said softly, glancing at him lovingly but quickly averting your eyes, wondering if that had already been too much. Your shoulders slumped slightly. Were you really supposed to tiptoe around your boyfriend like that, thinking over which move was the least loving in order not to make him uncomfortable? 

No, you were not. And yet, you couldn’t let him go. Even if it wasn’t fair for the both of you. 

You failed to notice his face fall slightly. “Hey, is everything alright?” he asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. You flinched slightly in surprise, causing him to raise his eyebrows. Was that probably the first touch he had initiated in a long time? 

“..Um, yeah I’m good,” you said, quickly changing the subject, “And you? How was your day?”

“Oh, it was great. Donghyuck did such a funny move today at practice...,” Mark started off, sitting down on the seat next to you as he rambled about his day as usual. You smiled slightly at his excitement, closing your laptop and resting your head on your hand as you turned to listen to him, using times like these to stare unabashedly at him and engrave his every feature in your mind for the future. 

“...and yeah, it was just dope. You should have seen it, Y/N,” he ended, wiping his eye after another laughing fit he had.

“I wish I had,” you commented lightly, not really meaning it. You were perfectly fine with not seeing them again as bad as it sounded. 

Mark’s smile faded slightly and he cleared his throat, “Actually, the guys have been wondering where you are. They haven’t seen you in a while...,” he trailed off and your heart skipped a beat. They asked about you? Why? Or was he just using it as an excuse because he was wondering himself? “I never noticed before but you have not been around for movie nights and practices in weeks...” Your heart deflated into a pout at his words and you broke the eye contact, looking down at the counter instead. 

“Yeah, I’ve just been busy with...studying and stuff.”

“But...aren’t you graduating in a month?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows. 

“You...know about that?”

“Yeah, Donghyuckie told me.” It just seemed that he was going to keep lifting and dropping your heart tonight. How did Donghyuck remember anyways? You had only briefly mentioned it to the whole group. 

“Yeah, but I might be called into an oral exam if they can’t decide on my grade,” you lied lamely, sighing inwardly when he nodded in acceptance.

The frown didn’t leave his face though and he scratched the back of his head. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to finish college soon anyways?” 

You shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Not a big- Y/N, you are graduating!” he exclaimed, “How is that not a big deal?!” You stayed quiet. “Were you just going to accept your scroll without me cheering you on from the crowd?” A smile crept up on your lips, your heart warming at his sweet gesture. Mark was just the nicest guy you had and would ever meet. You could tell he still cared for you even if he didn’t love you anymore. And maybe that was why you held onto him. 

Your ‘boyfriend’ grinned back and you couldn’t resist reaching out to him. He stood up, letting you wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest. “Just tell me the date and time and I’ll be there,” he muttered into your hair and you nodded wordlessly, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

A month passed and you felt like time had almost reverted back to when you both were deeply in love with each other. Mark had seemed to realise how you were drifting away and even though he didn’t understand why, he never forced you to tell him. Instead he was determined to coax you out of your shell, asking you to go out with him to a new restaurant, playing video games until late at night and refusing to let go of you in the morning. 

You tried to guard your heart but couldn’t help but enjoy his attention again and soon you were falling back into his arms, giving in to the urge to clutch onto him like a koala. Especially at the point where you started kissing again. It was the fifth consecutive night you had spent playing Mario Kart together and you were as usual failing to beat him in any round, causing him to whoop after every win. 

“Ahh, I guess it should get boring to win against you all the time,” Mark teased as he wrapped his arms around  you when you eventually refused to play another round, “...but nah! It’s always fun!” he cackled at your sour expression and you had a hard time fighting the smile from your face. 

“Yeah, yeah I got it. You’re the best,” you uttered, playfully rolling your eyes and he squeezed you closer, suddenly causing his face to be inches from yours. Your expression turned somber as you traced all his features with your eyes, poking his dimple. It deepened when he smiled wider, his own dark brown eyes flickering between yours and - your heart fluttered - your lips. 

You stilled when he drew closer, his breath hitting your face, watching his eyes flutter close as he brushed his lips against yours before fully placing them on. You stopped breathing, your eyes closing on their own, relishing in the familiar yet foreign feeling of his mouth on yours, his hand on your jaw, his fingers tracing your skin and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing him closer by his shirt, deepening the first kiss you had shared in a long time. He let out a low groan, his chest vibrating against your fingers and to your delight you could feel his heart race as you ran your tongue over his lip a-

A phone ringing interrupted your sudden makeout session. You broke your kiss, breathing heavily as you looked up into Mark’s eyes. He looked dazed with his cheeks flushed and hair messed up and you had never found him more beautiful than now. “I think it’s yours,” you huffed and it took him a second to focus before nodded absently, grumbling under his breath. He took his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen light. 

“It’s Donghyuck inviting us over to Johnny’s flat,” he said chuckling, “He’s mad that we’ve been neglecting the movie nights.” You smiled, slowly regaining a normal breathing pattern as you straightened yourself up. “Shall we go tonight? They haven’t started, yet.” Freezing, you thought back on Donghyuck’s comments about your relationship and how the embarrassment you felt the last time you were there. 

“Uhh, I’m not really in the mood for a movie,” you excused yourself quickly, faking a yawn, “I’m pretty tired actually. But you go ahead and have fun!” Mark frowned slightly, glancing down at his phone before putting it away, “No, it’s okay. I will go to bed with you.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise but decided not to comment on it. He trotted after you towards your bedroom and you wondered whether you would continue where you had stopped when you got interrupted, your cheeks flushing slightly. No one could blame you, it had been a while since he had kissed you. 

“You know, you haven’t been hanging out with me and the guys for a while now...,” Mark approached the subject again as you both slipped into bed. 

“Oh really?” you squeaked, cursing yourself for your high pitched voice, “I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, it’s just they have been wondering what’s up. I told them it’s nothing because...there’s nothing, right?” he asked uncertainly, facing you as you laid on your back. You swallowed down a cough when you found your throat had turned dry.

“No, of course not. I’ve just been busy with graduation coming up and stuff.” Mark nodded in agreement, seeming pleased with the excuse and you bid him goodnight before automatically turning to your side, used to facing away from him now. 

But tonight he shuffled over, wrapping his arm around you as he snuggled into your back. He planted a kiss on your head and your heart melted when he intertwined your fingers together in front of you. 

“I’ll make sure the guys and I attend your big day!” he said, his voice already sleepy and yet he managed to make your heart burst with affection. It meant a lot to you since everyone else had rejected coming - mainly your parents and close friends - due to busy schedules and such. 

You sighed, feeling happy to know you had someone to look at after you accepted your scroll.

-

But you wouldn’t have someone to look at. As you stood waiting in line in front of the stage, waiting for your turn, you wouldn’t have someone to look at. You would constantly glance down at your phone, waiting for a message to explain why he and his friends weren’t there yet.

You would disheartingly go up the stage, shake the principal’s hand with a tight smile, take a picture whilst your eyes would flicker over the crowd in vain until you had to leave the stage with a hanging head. 

‘Something important must have come up,’ you thought, worry clenching your chest, ‘What if he got into an accident?’ You immediately reached for your phone and dialled Mark’s number, growing nervous with each dial tone when he picked up. 

“Hey Y/N, I’m so sorry!” Mark picked up, frantically apologising and you sighed in relief at hearing his voice. 

“It’s okay, Mark,” you said, “Are you alright? You didn’t get into an accident, did you?”

“No no, it’s all good, I’ve just held up at practice.” You nodded. That would have been your second guess. 

“Did you lose track of time again?” you asked good-naturedly, simultaneously hating and feeling fond of this trait.

“Yeah, kind of. It was an emergency,” You nodded again even though he couldn’t see you, “Yeri was crying because she couldn’t keep up with the others. Seriously, I’ve never seen her break down like this before...,” his voice faded into the background for a second as you took in his words, “It took me and the others a full hour to calm her down. Man, she must have been holding it all in for so long...”

“I see,” you whispered, closing your eyes tightly and clenching your hand into a fist. 

“I’m really, really sorry, love, for missing your graduation. I know it’s really important!” Mark apologised again and you distantly heard a chorus of ‘sorry’s from the guys, including Yeri, “I can make it to the after party-”

“No, don’t bother, really,” you said, not able to hide the bitterness in your voice. Someone called your name, asking if you needed a ride. You turned over to one of your fellow students, who had been your roommates before you moved in with Mark, and gave her thumbs up.

“Y/N?” Mark asked, a little apprehension colouring his tone. 

“I’m not going to stay for long anyway. And you should you stay with Yeri-ah,” you muttered, dying to hang up. 

“But-”

“See you,” you ended the call, taking in a few deep breathes to calm yourself. ‘This is your day, Y/N. Don’t let anyone ruin your day,’ you thought sadly. 

-

The party was in full swing, people lingering around in circles with their respective families and friends, chatting up storms with glasses of champagne or wine or whatever they wanted. 

To say you felt like the odd one out was an understatement, being the only one without a single acquaintance around, you were forced to stand with your former roommate’s people, akwardly making conversation with them. 

“Are you alright?” your colleague would whisper-ask you every minute and you would always nod until you couldn’t even lie anymore with the tears brimming in your eyes. 

After an hour you decided to call it a day, realising that you wouldn’t be able to save any joy you had with graduating. Sighing deeply, you watched the puff of air as you walked your way home, finding peace in the silent night with the occasional refreshing breeze. You suddenly felt so tired, tired of pretending, tired of holding on when it was so pointless. 

You knew you had to eventually set Mark free and the time had come now. ‘I will ask him to come over tomorrow,’ you decided, figuring he would stay at Yeri’s or wherever she was to keep her company. To your surprise, you saw him standing in front of your apartment door, an adorably confused expression on his face as he searched his pockets. Knowing him, he had forgotten to take them in the first place. 

His features brightened up when he noticed you walk over, “Y/N, thank Jesus you are here! I probably lost my keys again.” 

“Hey Mark,” you greeted him quietly, slipping your keys into the lock and opening the door without stepping in. 

“Hey jagi...,” he called you gently, noticing your distress and holding onto your arm, “I’m really sorry I missed your day. You know, I wanted to be there so bad..”

“And I actually believe you, Mark,” you said, turning to see him smile his beautiful dimpled smile, “But I don’t think it’s enough...anymore.” You watched his face slowly drop as he registered the words. 

“Wait- what do you mean?” he asked, stepping closer but stopping when you moved back, crossing the threshold to what was once the home for both of you.

“I mean, we should end it here.”

Mark’s eyes widened, shock crossing his features. “W-what? Why??” 

You held up a hand so he wouldn’t get in, closing the door. “Please, just stay over at someone’s else for tonight. I will have my things moved out by tomorrow.”

“Moved out where- Y/N!” he pressed his hand against the wood, preventing any form of barrier between you. By now, you had a hard time keeping your tears in and you just wanted to be out of his sight before he could see them, “ Where the hell are you going? Why are you talking like this?”

“Because you don’t love me anymore, Mark!” you finally shouted out the words that you had kept in your heart, breaking it in the process of finally stepping out of the constant denial. “You don’t love me anymore,” you sighed, this time quieter and more defeated, “I can tell, everyone can tell...and I know you are too nice to break up with me so I’m doing it for you.”

“But I do love you...,” he uttered, his mind racing to find out what made you think that he didn’t in the first place, but the hesitation was clear in his voice. 

You shook your head with a sad smile, “You don’t. So please...just go.” Your voice cracked at the end, freezing him into place and you took the moment to close the door on him, and you relationship. 

A few months later you would see a heavily disguised boy holding onto a hand of a petite, equally disguised girl walking down the streets, into the cafe you would usually find yourself in and you would immediately realise just who they were, causing you to turn your back on your’s and Mark’s favourite place to go on dates.

End...I guess.

Help me Get Coffee Support?

[chocolatechocolatekip]

I’m on mobile and don’t know how to do a Read More thing so I apologize in advance! Here’s the post that y’all asked for!

•••

As more and more of us in the Friendom continue to reach out to Hulu, our chances of getting a renewal for our beloved show grow as well. There seems to be plenty of factors that will affect the outcome of our current efforts, and it’ll be a long wait until we hear anything regarding a final decision. But for now, let’s try to fast forward a bit:

After almost a year of waiting, corporate at both Hulu and Disney Channel have finally heard our voices. They have decided to renew Andi Mack for a fourth season to stream on Hulu. Both companies announce the news on their respective Twitter accounts, and news articles begin appearing across the Internet about this miraculous resurrection. Cast members take to Instagram with reunion photos captioned “Surprise!” and #themackisback starts trending on Twitter internationally. Those who have made their peace with the original series finale rejoice as the moment feels so surreal, and the entire Friendom overflows with joy. For a second, it all feels fuzzy and too good to be true. But that raises the question:

What Would Season 4 Even Be About?

•••

In this TED talk, I will be exploring a few of the things I feel would be interesting plot points and ideas for the show to cover. These are just ideas from all the emotions I’ve been feeling since the finale, but I hope that I’m able to communicate them properly and that you understand what I’m trying to say, lol. Here I go!

From a logical perspective, there are things we know that the fourth season will focus on:

- Andi’s time at SAVA

- Cyrus, Buffy (and possibly Jonah) starting at Grant without Andi

- Cyrus and Thelonious’ new relationship

- Buffy and Marty’s new relationship

•••

There are other things I want to see from the fourth season, and there’s just so much unexplored territory with these characters that it really is bittersweet knowing that these stories will never unfold on the small screen for us. One can hope, and we will still have fanfics written by those in the Friendom. However if we do get a fourth season, these are some things I personally would love to see.

- Andi developing a true sense of independence. Her whole life she’s had an tight-knit immediate support system through her friends and family, but now she’s going to a school where she doesn’t know anybody doing things none of her other friends and family have had experience in. She’s been surrounded by things familiar to her since second grade (or possibly before that) so seeing her grow into somebody separate from those things would be so amazing. She knows SAVA is where she belongs, and now she’s gotta prove it to herself.

- Andi-Cyrus development. We’ve gotten a lot of Andi-Buffy and Cyrus-Buffy moments, but the two definitely outweigh any development we’ve gotten from Andi and Cyrus. I mean, sure, they’re best friends! I know they love each other and are important to one another, but it still seems like some unexplored territory. I’m hoping they’re just as close as they are with the other seeing as they’ve known each other since the second grade. Though now that Andi is going to a different school, I don’t know how they would work that in.

- Buffy’s home life being explored. We’ve only ever met her mother a couple times, but her dad didn’t seem to be significant enough to her story for them to actually cast and write him into the series. There’s no doubt in my mind that her parents are insanely proud of her for her growth and accomplishments since the first season. However, it would be nice to see what kind of relationship she has with her dad.

- Cyrus finally coming out this parents. We were robbed of such a plot point because so many people, regardless of age or gender or race, have to deal with coming out to their families. As much love and acceptance as Cyrus deserves, I personally don’t want it to be one of those “we’ve always known, we still love you” kinds of coming out because those aren’t always the case. I think that when he does come out, I can imagine at least one of his family members not fully accepting of it. I’m not saying that Cyrus needs to be have a hard time coming out to his family, but in the long-run it would make sense. Also if Thelonious is already out to his parents, I’m hoping he helps Cyrus come out to his as well.

- We need more sibling relationships to be shown. As I’m writing this I’m noticing that a large chunk of the characters are only children? They’ve had a lot of different family structures represented but haven’t really focused on any sibling relationships. I think Cece and Mei, and Iris and her brother are the only siblings we’ve been given.

- Jonah getting the proper help he needs for his anxiety. I really don’t want them to forget about Jonah’s mental health, but it almost seems like they let it take a backseat to his family’s financial problems. Real anxiety doesn’t just go away, and seeing as Jonah’s only been dealing with it for roughly a couple of months, they wouldn’t just subside this quickly. Obviously I don’t want him to suffer attacks every day for the sake of him having them, but it does need to be fleshed out and handled a little better.

- Bex and Bowie making some new friends their age. Maybe other parents with kids at SAVA? Maybe Cyrus and Buffy’s parents? I understand it’s important to be involved in your child’s life, especially after secretly being her sister/non-existent dad for 13 years, but I can’t remember a time when either Bowie or Bex have mentioned any other friends their age. Other than M*randa and that lady that wanted to sue Bex (lmao) there haven’t been many other memorable young-adult interactions. They’ve been so focused on making up for lost time with Andi, making up for lost time with each other, and assuming their roles as parents that they haven’t really grown beyond their familial bonds. It would be nice to see how the act when they’re not in Responsible Parent Mode™.

- More character development for Amber. Now that the GHC (sans Andi) are going to Grant with her, she can be like their Big Sister Figure™ and help them adjust. We’d hopefully see her more often and get a look into what she’s like on a more day-to-day basis. See how she copes with her familial problems on the days they really upset her. Maybe even coming a bit more out of her shell and joining their school’s chess team.

- Thelonious fully coming to terms with his sexuality. I’m hoping, if he’s not already publicly out, that they develop his story of self-acceptance. Do his parents know? His grandparents? The other GHC? The way his sexuality storyline should be handled differently than they did Cyrus’ because everyone’s experience with their own sexuality is unique. I can’t think of how to word this properly, but TJ seems a lot more open and bold about it. He wants the world to know that he’s proud of who he is, because it’s true. Cyrus sought validation and security from others, only to find it in himself. TJ sought validation and security in himself, and found it in others. These two have such an amazing dynamic, and it would be amazing to explore TJ’s inner workings to the level that Cyrus’ have been.

- TJ and Cyrus being more than each other. I want them to branch out and grow into successful young people who value their own personal lives as individuals as much as they value the relationship they have together. Obviously Cyrus tries out for Grant’s drama club and TJ tries out for the school’s basketball team, but imagine their new interests! Cyrus on the debate team, TJ in the school’s orchestra, Cyrus on student council, TJ in a peer mediation group! The possibilities are endless.

•••

Those were some of the heavier things I thought would be likely/addressable in the show, but here’s some smaller, less thought-out ideas would still like to see:

- Walker also attends SAVA. I feel as though he’s at least a year older than the GHC (same age as Amber) and has been there a year before Andi.

- Marty possibly also being jealous of Buffy. Possibly as a result of Rachel being so jealous of Buffy. Not to the extent that it’s toxic, but just enough to create room for growth. A good way to address the cycle of jealousy. Plus Marty has no character flaws yet, soo.

- A social hierarchy at their new high school. Sure, Jefferson might have had one too with Christina or the boys’ basketball team, but high school hierarchies are very real. They’re both subtle and unspoken but also noticeable and in-place.

- All the Muffy and Tyrus hugs. Sadly leaving poor Jonah as the fifth wheel, lmao.

- Buffy, Jonah, TJ, and Cyrus are either suddenly too busy for one another or one realize they’re all growing apart. (Think of the dynamic between Shane and Mitchie in Camp Rock 2 lmao) High school does tend to separate people from one another, and peer groups shift all the time.

- Andi not cutting her hair short again. I’ve noticed that she cut her hair again somewhere around the beginning of Season 2 and again at the beginning of Season 3 maybe. Either it’s a personal choice for her, or the crew on the show wanted her to keep a consistent look (I’m going with the latter). I think that her hair growth could be a metaphor for her character growth, seeing as she’s branched out and not worried about keeping things the same anymore.

- Other groups of people being represented. Maybe we might get a Muslim character, a dark-skinned character, a non-binary or gender nonconforming character. While the show does have a way with tossing aside its background characters, it would still be great for them to be shown in the AM universe.

- The return of other background characters like Iris, Libby, Reed, pink backpack kid, Leo, etc.!

- Buffy continuing the trend of carrying Cyrus.

- Any other character questioning their sexuality, now that Cyrus (and by then, TJ) are out. We’ve all kinda headcanoned Amber to be lesbian, despite all the Jamber; Andi to be pansexual despite all the Jandi; Jonah to be bisexual, less and less as the show progressed; and Bex to be bisexual, though now that she’s married I don’t want anything to happen to Bexie.

- An episode or two focusing on racism. A little bit more real-life, internalized racism than the racial prejudice towards Buffy’s hair and the racial stereotypes Andi faced.

•••

There are so many possibilities that a fourth season could bring us! And with Hulu, they might have less restrictions than Disney Channel laid down. I know that we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much, but I felt as thought we should start discussing what a fourth season would even be like before asking for one without speculation. That’s all I have at the moment, but maybe as time progresses I’ll think of some other things that I’d like to see or remember some plot points they left open.

I hope that if we do get renewed that it will still feel like Andi Mack, and that the future content still possesses the same kind of energy it gave off so well. As of right now, for me, it’s still all a bit fuzzy. I can’t believe the show ended. We got what we wanted, and yet are still yearning for more. That’s when you know something is good material, when it keeps you hooked despite any and all of the curveballs it may throw.

Somewhere out there, Andi, and Buffy, and Cyrus, and Thelonious, and Marty, and Amber, and Bex, and Bowie, and Cece are all living their best lives. It was amazing to experience their stories alongside them.

♡ Andi Mack will live on in our hearts, Hulu or not ♡

•••

(I know, I use a lot of commas I’M SORRY)

[ronanivarsson]

“I WAS BORN FOR SOMETHING GREATER THAN I WAS--AND GREATER I WOULD BECOME.” | MARY SHELLEY 

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Ronan Ivarsson

MEANING:

RONAN ( IRISH ) - “LITTLE SEAL” 

IVARSSON ( SWEDISH ) - “SON OF IVAR” 

NICKNAME(S): Ronan has never had a nickname, and would never allow someone to call him by a nickname. He’s only ever been Ronan, even to both of his parents. The only acceptation would be if someone called him by his last name. 

PREFERRED NAME(S): Ronan

BIRTH DATE: December 13th, 1980

AGE: 39

ZODIAC: Sagittarius 

GENDER: Male

PRONOUNS: He / His

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual 

NATIONALITY: Italian

ETHNICITY: Swedish 

CURRENT LOCATION: Verona, Italy 

LIVING CONDITIONS: Ronan lives in an expensive top floor penthouse near the center of Verona, which is furnished exactly to his tastes--dark wood, sleek metals, dark leather. He bought it shortly after being married to Lucien, but his husband rarely ever stays for more than a couple of days or weeks, which means that most of the time Ronan lives alone. It is also outfitted to be more accessible for him. 

TITLE(S): Richard III, The Vice, Councilman 

BACKGROUND

BIRTHPLACE / HOMETOWN: Stockholm, Sweden / Verona, Italy 

SOCIAL CLASS: Ronan was born into a wealthy, upper class family, and his wealth has only increased since he became the sole bearer of that family name. He considers himself to be among Verona’s elite, though in the end he holds no love for that title--in his own mind, he is better than everyone in Verona. 

EDUCATION LEVEL: Ronan graduated university with a degree in political science. 

FATHER: Magnus Ivarsson

MOTHER: Joanna Ivarsson. 

SIBLING(S): None as far as he knows, but his parents cheated on each other throughout their marriage, and his mother could have very well had other children without telling him. 

CHILDREN: None

PET(S): None

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: All of Ronan’s other relatives are back in Sweden, and he does not communicate with them. (No brothers or nephews to do anything horrible to--yet!) 

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS:

Caleb Tallmadge: An intern at the American embassy, who was Ronan’s first serious boyfriend right out of college. 

Rafaella Capulet: The love of his life, his soulmate as far as he’s concerned. Their relationship deteriorated when he became a member of the Montagues, and with the exception of one night after Ronan became engaged to Lucien, they have not spoken since. 

Lucien Ivarsson: Ronan’s husband, who he met shortly after things with Rafaella fell apart. Ronan fell out of love with him quickly, and their relationship is barely functional at the present--they appear in public together before going their separate ways, with the exception of rare moments where they fall together violently. 

Renzo Carozza: A distraction bordering on an addiction. 

ARRESTS?: None.

PRISON TIME?: None. 

OCCUPATION + HOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Ronan is an elected councilman in the city of Verona, and his family has several investments that he manages. 

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: His salary as a Montague Soldato--a trifle in comparison to what he already has, however, he isn’t interested in earning money from the position. 

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: Ronan loves being the center of attention, and the power that he commands as a politician. His ambition extends far beyond his current office however, and he’d like to eventually run for more prestigious positions. 

PAST JOB(S): Ronan interned with the mayor’s office right out of college, and steadily worked his way to his current position. He has only ever worked in politics. 

SPENDING HABITS: Ronan felt like an outsider growing up, so he uses his money to purchase the life he feels like he deserves, the life he always wanted. As long as he has money, and lots of it, he feels safe--it’s as much an armor as the designer suits he puts on every day. He’s always aware of exactly how much he has, and ways that he could obtain more. 

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: A first edition of Frankenstein, his favorite novel. He bought it right after his mother died and he became the sole heir of the Ivarsson fortune. 

SKILLS + ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 4/10

Ronan was born with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy, which means that the muscles of his arms and legs are very weak. He does what he can to stay as good of shape as possible, and he is capable of doing the bare minimum required of a Montague soldier. 

OFFENSE: 4/10

Ronan would prefer not to get into a physical altercation, but he knows the bare minimum of fighting techniques. He can throw a punch with accuracy, that would hurt reasonably. His strength is his ability to see other people’s weaknesses fairly quickly, and fight cleverly. 

DEFENSE: 5/10

Defense requires less physical exertion, which means Ronan is stronger in that area. 

SPEED: 0/10 

Ronan walks with a cane, and isn’t really capable of running. 

INTELLIGENCE: 10/10

Because he can’t fight with his fists, Ronan made his mind into a weapon. He’s well read, he attended one of the finest universities where he attained excellent grades, and he is well studied in the arts of manipulation. He can read people’s facial expressions with astounding accuracy, he is excellent at verbally manipulating people into action, and more than anything, he is capable of inspiring great loyalty in people through deception, though words, through the weaknesses they were so certain they could hide. Its the same principle as your other senses heightening when one is deprived--Ronan couldn’t fight physically, so he made sure every other power he possessed worked at maximum capacity. 

ACCURACY: 5/10 

The muscles in Ronan’s arms and shoulders are weak, but he can sustain the position necessary to fire a gun long enough to be average with it. 

AGILITY: 0/10

Ronan is not agile at all--his muscles are too weak to allow him to do anything agile. 

STAMINA: 7/10

Ronan is used to pain--his spine and his shoulders, his legs, all cause him pain on a regular basis. His daily life requires an amount of stamina that the average person doesn’t have to exert. 

TEAMWORK: 0/10

He allows others to think they’re working with him, that they’re part of a team with him, but he’s always looking out for himself and his own designs first and foremost. Other people are merely pieces he can move around, or discard, as they present themselves as useful to him. 

TALENTS: Ronan is excellent at public speaking, and his public persona is very magnetic. He is skilled at manipulating people, at reading their faces, at ferreting out their weaknesses. He played the violin growing up and still plays occasionally when he needs to clear his mind, and he enjoys playing chess. 

SHORTCOMINGS: Ronan is incredibly narcissistic, with little to no empathy for anyone. He cares exclusively for himself and the things that he wants, and he doesn’t care who he has to hurt, whatever he has to do, in order to get them. He is also incredibly greedy, and one of his primary interests is getting more money for himself. 

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: Italian, Swedish, Latin, English 

DRIVE?: No, he’s always had a driver. 

JUMP-START A CAR?: No, that’s what mechanics or new cars are for. 

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: No. 

RIDE A BICYCLE?: No, he physically can’t. 

SWIM?: Yes. 

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Yes, he plays the violin on occasion. 

PLAY CHESS?: Yes, and at a high level.

BRAID HAIR?: No. 

TIE A TIE?: Absolutely, a nice tie can make or break an outfit. 

PICK A LOCK?: Yes. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE + CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Joel Kinnaman 

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Blonde 

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: He likes to stay pretty trendy--his current haircut is short on the sides and long on top, slicked back. 

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: None. 

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HEIGHT: 6′2 at his full height, but he usually is hunched over to varying degrees, rendering him about 5′10-6′0 to the eye. 

WEIGHT: 165

BUILD: He has a solid build, keeps what muscle he’s able to gain. 

EXERCISE HABITS: Swimming, lifting weights, physical therapy. 

SKIN TONE: Pale, but he tans pretty easily. 

TATTOOS: None, mostly because of his physical condition--but that could change if he found a person he trusted to give him one ;) 

PIERCINGS: None.

MARKS/SCARS: He has various scars from his work as a Montague soldier, and a few from when his mother was feeling particularly vindictive. 

NOTABLE FEATURES: Keen and sharp eyes, a mouth that seems to always be smirking to some degree, a sharp jawline. 

USUAL EXPRESSION: Pensive, like he’s looking for a weakness in your armor you didn’t even know you had, like he can see straight through you. 

CLOTHING STYLE: Designer suits, designer t-shirts and jeans, luxurious fabrics that feel nice against his back and shoulders, expensive watches, silk ties, all neutral and dark colors. Even his casual is dressed up from the average person. He also has several different canes with different heads on them. 

JEWELRY: He has a weakness for a nice watch, and if he’s in public he’s probably wearing his wedding ring. He also considers a cane as an accessory, and changes which one he uses depending on what he’s wearing.  

MAKEUP: None. 

ALLERGIES: None. 

DIET: He never had to cook for himself, so he generally orders out from Verona’s nicer restaurants. He drinks socially, and doesn’t really indulge in sugar that often. If Lucien is there and feels like cooking, he’ll eat whatever his husband makes. 

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: Ronan was born with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy, which means the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and legs are weakened. His lower back is curved, and the bones of his shoulders protrude in something called “scapular winging”. He wears a back brace most of the time to prevent a pronounced hunch and to lessen the pain in his spine, and he attends physical therapy anywhere from once to three times a week to deal with it.  

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ENTP 

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 3, The Achiever. The success-oriented, pragmatic type: adaptable, excelling, driven, and image conscious. 

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Evil

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric 

ELEMENT: Fire

PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Intra-personal Intelligence. 

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: None officially diagnosed--a case could probably be made for narcissistic personality disorder. 

SOCIABILITY: Ronan is very sociable--after being forced to the shadows throughout his entire childhood, he loves nothing more than commanding a room, than being the center of everyone’s attention. He doesn’t care about people on a deeper level than that, but he likes being around them--he’d be a terrible politician if he wasn’t able to make people believe that they liked him, that he had their best interests at heart. Again I quote Les Miserables, “He was a charming young man, capable of being terrible.”  

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Ronan doesn’t allow his emotion to get the better of him most of the time--he believes that emotion gets in the way of logic, prevents people from making the best, most rational decisions. He’d like to be cold and unfeeling, but more often than not his heart has a habit of getting in the way. He genuinely fell in love with Rafaella, it genuinely hurt when she left him, etc. He has a temper, but he’s worked very hard on keeping it under control. 

OBSESSION(S): power and money, being understood. 

COMPULSION(S): He doesn’t feel compelled to do anything--he refuses to be compelled to do anything. He is always in control. 

PHOBIA(S): Failure, Irrelevance. 

ADDICTION(S): Ronan isn’t addicted to anything. 

DRUG USE: Nothing recreationally.

ALCOHOL USE: He drinks socially, but he likes to be fully in control, fully able to observe everyone and everything going on around him. 

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Absolutely, violence is the quickest way to come to solutions, or to prove that you’re more powerful than your opponent. Violence is necessary if you want to get anywhere in Verona. 

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: Clear, properly enunciated, verbose. 

ACCENT: Italian

QUIRKS: Twisting his wedding ring, tapping his fingers against a nearby surface, never quite smiling, rubbing his hand over the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

HOBBIES: Reading, playing chess, playing the violin, occasionally strolling through art galleries. He doesn’t have a lot of leisure time, and prefers to be actively doing something useful. 

NERVOUS TICKS: Twisting his wedding ring primarily, other than that he doesn’t like to show weakness, and has trained himself out of having a lot of ticks. 

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: Ronan was cast aside the minute he was born, told repeatedly that he was monstrous simply because of a twist of fate that he had no control over. He wants to prove just how monstrous he truly is, and that he is capable of so much more than anyone ever thought he would be--he wants to see the faces of everyone in Verona when the monster they created comes to his throne to lead them. He wants control of the Montagues, the Capulets, and he wants control of Verona. 

FEARS: failure, being alone, becoming anything like either of his parents. 

POSITIVE TRAITS: intelligent, charismatic, perceptive. 

NEGATIVE TRAITS: manipulative, cruel, self-centered

SENSE OF HUMOR: dry, sarcastic, often at the expense of whoever he’s talking to. 

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: Not really, he thinks it betrays a lack of intelligence. But if he feels like the person he’s talking to will respond better to it, he’ll let something slip. 

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Working, visiting Renzo at The Dark Lady, scheming. 

ANIMAL: He compares himself to a wolf, or to a snake--vicious, hungry, frightening creatures. 

BEVERAGE: Vodka Martini 

BOOK: Frankenstein, Il Principe, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Memoirs of Hadrian, The Art of War, Wuthering Heights

COLOR: Navy Blue

DESIGNER: Yves St. Laurent, Burberry, Gucci

FOOD: Food isn’t really something he enjoys--its an annoyance he has to put up with in order to survive. 

FLOWER: Hellebore

GEM: Sapphire 

HOLIDAY: Ronan thinks holidays are trivial, and generally ignores them. 

MOVIE: Todd Browning’s 1931 adaptation of Dracula, Andrea Arnold’s 2011 adaptation of Wuthering Heights, Lawrence of Arabia 

QUOTE/SAYING:

“beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict.” 

-MARY SHELLEY, FRANKENSTEIN 

SCENT: Amouage--Jubilation XXV Man 

SPORT: None. 

TELEVISION SHOW: Hannibal, Game of Thrones, The Tudors

WEATHER: Dark and stormy. 

VACATION DESTINATION: His family owns property in Sweden that he has a few vaguely fond memories of. He also owns a place in Rome that he likes to go to when he needs space. 

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: To basically fashion himself a kind of king in Verona. He may be named after Richard III, who tried to do the same thing, but Ronan vows that he will be successful where is namesake failed. 

MOST AT EASE WHEN: He’s by himself and doesn’t have to wear any kind of mask--the only person he can fully trust is himself, therefore in private he puts forward the least amount of effort to disguise himself. 

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: His family is mentioned--particularly anything having to do with their deaths. He used to be at ease whenever Lucien was around, but in the present he feels like he has to be on his guard, whenever his husband decides to show his face. 

WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Someone manages to outplay him, to reveal his machinations and get him killed. 

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Being elected to the Verona city council, taking his family fortune for himself, becoming bigger than the abuse his parents hurled at him. 

BIGGEST REGRET: Letting Rafaella walk away from him, marrying Lucien in an effort to fill the hole that she left. 

TOP PRIORITIES: Ascending in the ranks, eliminating anyone who he sees as a potential threat, gathering allies to himself. 

[rigelmejo]

Repetitive Listening - here’s a youtube video playlist I found about it a few days ago.

Short summary: listening to audio in a language you’re trying learn, to the point of more than you feel like you need to. To where you can remember a lot of what’s said, the words/phrases sound familiar/pop into your head, and where if you have questions you could maybe say the chunk you’re wondering about out loud and ask about it. So like when you like a song a lot, and play it a lot, to the point its sort of in your head sometimes and you can remember lyrics somewhat. The idea is that if you listen to it enough you will get better at recognizing sounds and words and word chunks, and even if you don’t understand everything this will at least make looking unknown things up easier - and it should make your pronunciation/speaking better, and improve your comprehension of words you do know/have studied.

The videos give 80-100 times suggestions, but I do think as long as its a point where you feel really comfortable, that’s probably enough. The videos suggest: pick voices you like listening to, since you’ll listen a lot, and since you may pick up pronunciation/your voice sound from them. They also suggest using 2 minute to 20 minute clips depending on your level of comprehension in the target language, your comfort, etc. 

So songs will easily be good material for this, along with youtube video audio, radio drama episodes, audiobook chapters, podcasts. 

---

Tested it out a bit (listened 5-10 times so far):

I’ve decided to test out this a bit with the Guardian Audiobook chapters avenuex made. I think the podcast Slow Chinese would be better for beginners, since its shorter at 2-4 minutes. 

I just figure I might as well use something I’m listening to anyway. Also, before I heard about ‘repetitive listening’ as a technique, I was noticing a Tangible difference in my comprehension of the audiobook chapter from the first time I listened to it to the second. So if nothing else, I figured it would definitely help boost my listening comprehension up to the point of being able to catch most/all words I’ve studied - instead of just some when listening.  

I do think its helping me a lot with picking out words/phrases - to the point where I am picking up most words I’ve studied with text/flashcards, and to the point where I can catch the unknown words/phrases enough to type the pinyin in pleco to look them up. Also, for me personally, because an audiobook is based on a more literary text, I’m getting more used to the flow of the narrative writing - hearing time transition words, adjectives, descriptive phrases that usually get used more in writing like ‘turned his head’ ‘scratched his neck’ ‘gave a smile’ ‘hung up the phone’ ‘put his hand in his pocket’ etc. I could sort of recognize those phrases anyway when reading, since they’re words I know just in ways I’m less familiar with (I’m more familiar with dialogue sentences like ‘i did/he did X’). But hearing these phrases again and again is helping me to ‘process’ more quickly what they mean instead of having to work so hard to parse it out.

I’ve still only listened maybe 5-10 times, so I can’t say for sure yet if 30 or 40 or more times would see even more noticeable improvements. I can definitely say, even just doing this repetitive listening a little bit, seems to help a lot with listening comprehension of words you already have some familiarity with (have seen in text, or studied, or know some hanzi of) and it seems to help with recognizing pronunciation. By that second part I mean that often learning materials will speak slower, evenly, with a bit less natural variation, and if you learn a decent amount from flashcards or dictionaries then you know how often the automatic text audio can sound robotic and ‘off’ compared to once you hear it in real context like a convo or show. 

Avenuex’s voice is really crisp and clear (and lovely I think) so she’s still really comprehensible for beginners, but her voice also says the tones so much more naturally than a lot of learner texts I hear (which exaggerate tone sound so you can hear it better/are more evenly paced) - her pace gets faster and slower depending on the suspense of the scene, and the flow of the sentence. I think its a nice example of how to break down word-chunks when saying a sentence too. She changes her voice a bit too for each character (and the bg music changes, which is all really cool and funner to listen to than a lot of audiobooks I’ve heard!). I can hear some of the more natural-sounding ways of things getting pronounced, but she still speaks clear enough that it doesn’t get as slurred as those same words/phrases sometimes get in dramas I watch (I started rewatching Guardian and wow the amount of times Zhao Yunlan slurs/is muffled because he’s talking with a sucker in his mouth lol, or in many dramas when its short lines of common words they’ll get slurred quicker a lot). 

When I studied japanese, our teacher had us shadow the audio scenes in Genki, and record ourselves trying to say the dialogue and we were graded based on how close we sounded to the original book’s audio. What I noticed, back when I had to do that, is that I had to pay attention enough that I started noticing where the natural word-breaks were. Basically, which words you sort of ‘say together’ more quickly almost like they’re one word, versus the areas you’re more likely to leave empty space for to slow down or breath or change the pace. I’m guessing a lot of languages have this kind of natural word-breaks flow. I might break some of these sentences down in english like “I-might break some-of-these-sentences-down in-english like.” There’s a few different natural sounding ways to do it, but there’s definitely clear WRONG ways. It would sound less natural to pause after every single word - and depending on the sentences, there are sometimes odd places to pause that will stand out to native speakers. 

Well for chinese, its easy for me to put probably more unnatural sounding word breaks, if I don’t consciously try to emulate a chinese sentence example’s word-phrase breaks. I do think repetitive listening is helping me to get more of a ‘feel’ of when to do it, the way when my teacher made us try to exactly emulate japanese audio I started to notice much more ‘when’ to choose to put breaks in my sentences and how to chunk saying the words together.

Listening to the audiobook chapter a lot is helping me sort of get used to picking out the word chunks, instead of just the individual words I know as ‘separate.’ I think in the long run, this will probably help with comprehending audio faster, and it may eventually help with me speaking with a more natural flow when I’m not thinking as consciously of it. Hopefully, I’ll have to find out on that second benefit over time lol!

There is other benefit I’ve noticed - and I’m not sure if its because of repetitive listening, or because I have been reading a lot more, and adapting sentence-example flashcards with Audio into my flashcard study. I’ve noticed when I’m typing its easier for me to gather my thoughts and word them in chinese. Before, when writing I would struggle first to think the right words, then on how to even phrase it in chinese/general grammar, then on word order. I’m still double checking my written sentence on word order (mostly on time placement, since I know it goes toward the beginning but I just tend to think of it when typing toward the end, so I insert it at the end). But for the actual words/how to phrase them I’ve been a bit quicker - its easier for me to go “na jiu hao”, “wo juede na ge,” “zai zheli” etc. Pretty basic stuff to word together, I know. But in the past it was just taking me longer to figure out how to phrase “that’s good,” “I think that” “Here...” even though I knew the words, just because I’d be double checking whether to use na/nage/naxie/naben (which still kind of confuses me but I can tell seeing/hearing it more is helping me get used to when to use which easier), and where to place zai/mian/cong. 

If anyone else has tried repetitive listening, or used this study method a lot, I would love to hear about your experiences with it. How it helped you, how you used it, how it fit into your study plans. Whatever you feel about it lol.

[frekydeki]

Cupid Can’t Fall in Love

Part 1

Summary: (AU) Eternal and true love is a business transaction for you. Soulmates are simply two file folders tied together with a golden bow. But when eight folders come across your desk, your job gets a little bit stickier with each passing day. Being a Cupid isn’t so easy as it sounds...

Pairing: (Jihyun x Reader) 

| Part 1 | Part 2: Upcoming 

It’d be beautiful. The golden grass, the falling sun, the gentle and warm wind, the serene silence… It would all be so beautiful if he wasn’t staring into your eyes so tearfully. You trace your eyes over his blue hair and follow the line of his jaw, then his neck, over his collar bone and to his heart. Your e/c eyes widen to the size of the moon; a glowing arrow burns frantically in his chest. You harshly draw in a breath and smack your hand over your own arrow, hammering in your heart.

         You can’t process the tear trailing down your cheek as you turn your eyes away and up to the scattered clouds in the sky. Why? How did this happen? It’s got to be a mistake…

         It’d all be so beautiful… If only you could fall in love.

         How… Did it come to this?

Working for Aphrodite isn’t the most exciting employment option. When you were first born, you took a little bit more to your father’s side, preferring to kick ass here and there. But after a run-in with a seething Achille’s, – you told Zeus to just kill the guy but he insisted you talk it out – you got your butt kicked so bad that even Ares himself worried over you. Your mom said your warrior days were over that day. Nobody defies the word of Aphrodite, after all, and that’s why you’re holed up in this stupid office. Battle armor feels much more natural than the pencil skirt and blouse you’re wearing, but this is what you have now; platform heels, scrunchies, paper cuts, and the sound of typing like chinese water torture to your ears. Lucky you, though! You’ve put in your two millennia to get a personal office, away from all the typing and scratching on parchment; its maybe one of your greatest achievements in the past two thousand years since Aphrodite and Ares put you on the bench.

         This tiny little office is your hell a little bit away from hell, you like to say. You still have mental break downs and panic attack under your desk, and you’ve forgotten what wood your desk is made out of; but at least you get some damn silence. Except for the obnoxious banging on your door that’s happening right now. Is it eight already? The dread of a thousand punished souls in the underworld escapes from your lips in a groan; you barely even filed the cases you finished yesterday. Nevertheless, you roll in your rock hard chair – Hera was kind enough to make you a small cushion, even if it looks like a grandma’s afgan turned cushion, you and your butt love it – to swing your door open at a dangerous speed.

         The young blonde before you smiles and points towards the soft close door.

         “Isn’t it great Ares installed those personally for you?” Her raspy voice sputters to you quickly. Her scrawny finger then points to the coffee mug in your hand, “Hey, is that coffee.”

         “Yeah, what el-“ Your hand becomes lighter as she snatches it from you and takes a long swig.

         “I haven’t slept in like three days,” She babbles to you as she puts the coffee back into your hand and turns to the cart littered with folders, “Finals are next week and I haven’t studied all semester.” You’ve grown used to the incessant mumbling that Angelia lets loose every morning while handing in your cases… She’s like this every week, even without finals. “Becoming a god sure isn’t easy work!” She loudly laughs before continuing on about offerings and the rules of appearing to humans.

         “You know, Angelia, if you didn’t spend all of your time programming social media sites for humans, you’d be able to get your work done.”

         “How else is a messenger god supposed to stay relevant? Dad already does all the messaging between gods, so there’s no work for a dumb college god like me.”

         “You’re in college… That’s your job right now.” Your lidded eyes meet hers as she blows a loose strand of curly hair from her face and drops two folders onto your lap.

         “Yeah but I’ll disappear if I loose followers.”

         “No. You won’t. You’re a god born of two gods, not a god born of need. There’s a clear difference. We survive whether or not humans worship us individually. Plus there’s other jobs for gods to do other than meddling and fucking around.”

         “Yeah but I wanna be a messenger god!” She whines as she drops four more folders onto your lap. “Only eight new assignments today. Lucky you.”

         “L… Lucky me?” You screech at her. “I already have two hundred and eighty- eight active cases!” She surrenders her hands and pursues her lips at you.

         “I don’t decide who gets what cases.”

         “Yeah but you could also maybe throw in a word to Aphrodite and be like, ‘Yeah, boss, don’t you think MC already has enough assignments right now?’ You know, maybe stick your neck out for a friend once in a while?” Angelia continues to stack cases on your lap, unphased by the explosive temper you let loose every morning, and you keep on crying up to her, “Are you listening to me Angelia? I’m drowning in stress right now! If I were a nymph I would’ve shriveled up and died three hundred years ago.” With your pouting expression and whiney voice, you can be compared to a kid whose mom put her favorite cereal back on the shelf.

         “But you’re not a nymph. Yay! You won’t shrivel up and die.”

         “But if I were a nymph I would have. Doesn’t that concern you? I could die!”

         “Gods don’t die.”

         “Yes we do!” You snap up to her grinning face, “And the leading cause is stress!” The over caffeinated girl isn’t moved by your whining, so you switch to a bargaining strategy quickly.

          “Okay, hear me out,” You begin with a lowered voice, “Maybe if you just slip these onto someone else’s desk, and then pretend that you didn’t notice when Aphrodite asks you “What the hell?” By then that Cupid would have already started the assignment so there’d be no point in bothering me to do it.” Angelia drops the last heavy file folder on your lap and shakes her head. You blink as the weight of your coffee is lifted from your hand again.

         “No can do, my friend.” She begins as she sips loudly from your coffee mug, before her face scrunches, “Too much creamer.” Angelia puts the mug back in your hand, all the while you watch her with eyes the size of the moon; is she serious right now? Of course you know there’s too much creamer in there; you just had a late morning so for all you care she can take her scrutiny and shove it. “Anyways, Aphrodite and Eros both said - very strictly, I might add - that these files are meant for your hands only. Anyways, I’m only part time, here. That all is way above my pay grade.”

         “Angelia,” You suck in a heavy breath through your nose to try and curb your frustrations with the shrugging girl before you say, “You suck.” At that, she laughs heartily. She giggles her good-bye to you over the sound of her clicking heels as she moves to give the next guy his shackles for the day. “Hey!” She turns over her shoulder to acknowledge your head poking out of your office, “You tell Aphrodite that if I get any more cases this week I’m going to go ahead and fall in love, ya hear?”

“Yeah, right. Someone like you, fall in love?” She snorts, “Not even Eros would take that assignment.” You lift your lip, eyebrows pinching together, and shout back to her:

“Go bother someone else… I’m gonna be here all night because of you.” She waves and smiles pleasantly, which you return half-heartedly. The door shuts gently, and you groan back over to your desk.

         Eight files don’t sound like much to the human ear, but these files hold every single aspect of the subject’s life, so it looks like the holy bible. It’s not that you mind the read all that much – it’s like a nice little short story – but it’s the paperwork and scheming that you hate with every fiber of your explosive being. You look to the mirror hanging on your wall after glancing through one of the files – these were all a little bit bigger than the normal case – and decide to put your work order in for their vial’s early; it’s going to take a while to gather their life essence. You grab a drachma and turn it about in your hand as you scribble the eight names onto separate blue ribbons.

         “Ánoixe.” You cough, watching the solid mirrors surface begin rippling like water after a stone is thrown into it. “Eudorus.” The rippling increases before orange begins to reflect in the mirror; it slowly stops to reveal the freckled and smiling face of your good buddy. “How are you this fine morning?”

         “Don’t play coy with me, MC. I know you’re only here to give me more work.” Your lips snap shut before you laugh lightly.

         “I’m sorry. I usually wouldn’t bother you about it until tomorrow but… I just got eight new assignments and they’re really big files. I thought I’d give you a head start on getting their essence for me.”

         “Eight!” He cries at you, his freckled cheeks becoming red and eyes watering. “You’re already drowning in work already!” He purses his lips and puffs his cheeks as he mumbles under his breath, “Mom really has to stop giving you so much work. You’ll keel over soon because of lack of sleep.”

         “Can you do this for me? I’ll buy you dinner tonight?” He smiles at you.

         “I’d do it even if you didn’t offer food, but since you did you can’t take it back now. Give me the ribbons and I’ll give ‘em to you at dinner.” You push your hand through the mirror, flinching as the humid air of his workplace gathers to your hand.

         “How do you even breathe in there Eudorus? It’s so humid.”

         “You get used to it after a little.” He stops as he eyes you, his lips parted and brows slack in what you can only dreadfully identify as one thing; concern. “Are you getting enough sleep, MC?”

         “With all these cases on my desk, I can’t afford sleep.”

         “We might be gods and all, but we need our sleep just like the humans.” You grin as you roll your eyes playfully.

         “You’re starting to sound like Apollo.”

         “If he sees you like this MC he’s going to tear you a new one about taking care of yourself, and you know he’s going to crack down on your eating habits! You’re worse than Hades sometimes…”

         “I know, I know… I’ll just avoid him at all costs.” Your half-brother grins at you before he waves the ribbons held lightly in his smooth hands.

         “I better get to work on theses. And you better to, if you want to cut down on those piles on your desk.”

         “You’re right. Have a good one, Eudorus.”

         “Yeah, you too.” You watch as your red-headed brother disappears, and the mirror hardens again. Staring at your reflection, you realize you really do look like you’re on your deathbed. Your skin is a shade or two lighter from its usual hue, hair messily tossed into a bun, your bags much more prominent, and lips pulled down in a frown much more than usual. You look away quickly, recalling Angelia’s words from earlier…

         “Yeah, right! Someone like you, fall in love?” You stare critically at the stack of finished reports you need to put in their rightful files; you will never have one of these for yourself… It’s strictly off limits for you as a Cupid. If you fall in love, you lose your job. Sometimes it makes you mad, other times sad, and some rare times, you’re glad.

         Filing cases is the easy part of your job; all the hard work’s done, now all that’s left is topping off the paired folders with golden ribbons and filing them into your large bookshelf for review and approval by Eros. Eros, that sleaze. It’s been at least a millennium since you went through the trouble of pairing him with Psyche and he still has the nerve to waltz into your office and flirt with you shamelessly. Plus, he gets to keep his job despite being head over heels for his wife; who cares if he’s a primordial? He should be held to the same standards as everyone else!

         That’s not what matters at the moment though, you guess. Getting these cases off of your desk is the priority! You managed to close thirty cases last night, so you just need to focus on getting them all patched up nicely. You glance to the new files on your desk; once this is done you can stick your nose into the new assignments. 

         “Is this a joke, mom?” Saying you sounded as loud as Zeus when he and Hades butted heads would almost do a disservice to your anger. You are livid, fuming, downright insane with rage. Her beautiful violet eyes snap up to your own as she gracefully pushes her blonde hair from her face and folds her hands in front of her.

         “Is what a joke, MC?” Most of the time, her voice would’ve calmed you down to the point of rational thought, but not today. You’re ready to body slam her into Tartarus. You wave the files frantically in front of you and drop them onto her desk, eyes on fire and steam running out of your ears. You’re an Ares level threat right now.

         “What the hell are these assignments?” You screech. Opening the top folder you drop the picture of the blonde on her neat, tidy desk. “Yoosung Kim, 21, college student. He’s fucked up right now, mom. He recently lost his cousin, who, might I add, is also one of these files. How the fuck am I supposed to make a dead woman fall in love? And how the hell am I supposed to make someone like Yoosung fall in love while he is like this?” She opens her mouth to respond but you slap another picture in front of her. “Jumin Han, 26, an executive who doesn’t know the half of relationships and trusting another person. I can’t work with this yet! And don’t you even get me started on Saeran and Saeyong, have you even looked through these files? And Jihyun? What the fuck is going on with this guy?” You feel a large hand plop down on your shoulder. A growl nearly comes from you as you look up to your father, his yellow eyes telling you to try and calm down. “Well when the hell did you get here?”

         “I was here the whole time MC. You just marched in, ready for the kill.”

         “Well if she wouldn’t hand me such bullshit cases on top of all my other cases I wouldn’t feel like murdering everyone on this damn mountain!” Ares chuckles as he shakes his head in amusement.

         “You sure are my daughter, but you’re almost worse than me. What have I always told you, little soldier?” Your mouth draws into a thin line, before you mumble your response so lowly that no one could understand you. “No matter how hard it gets, it is your duty, and so you shall finish it.”

         “It could also be Eros’ duty. Or Agata! She only has like, ten assignments right now.”

         “Yes, my dear. But Agata is also very new to working as a Cupid.”

         “She’s been in the department for two hundred years!”

         “These cases require experience and power greater than that of a two hundred-year-old nymph.” You draw your lips into a thin line and eye your mother critically. What the hell does she expect you to do with this? You’re originally a war goddess. You were meant to fight, not shoot people with metaphorical arrows and make sure they fall head over heels with each other!

         “This is the life you have now, MC.” Ares begins, for like, the millionth time this month. You grind your teeth and step away from him. You know that you have to content yourself with working in a quiet office, watching others fall in love, constantly typing on a computer, wearing these stupid pencil skirts and bows…

         “But I hate wearing these damn heels!” Is all you can screech, childishly. Aphrodite giggles as she stands and walks to you.

         “But they make you look so beautiful.” You send a harsh glare up to her; of course, she doesn’t even flinch cause your glares are as harmless to her as a feather is to a rock. “I trust you to handle these assignments better than anyone working here… Even myself. I wouldn’t have given them to you otherwise.”

         “How do you suggest I start these, then?”

         “Drink their essence and see what they need.”

         “I’m not a damned therapist.”

         “Hear, hear!” Ares uselessly calls as he resumes his seat on the couch. He shrinks a little when Aphrodite sends him a harsh, menacing glare; if there’s one thing all the gods have learned, it’s that Aphrodite – and possibly Persephone – are the scariest when they get mad.

         “Yes, but you will know where to go. I can assure you.” You puff out your cheeks and cross your arms.

         “Fine, but you owe me three weeks of vacation since I can’t go next week anymore!” You hiss as you take the files she’d gathered in her hands before you even simmered down – it’s like she knew she’d win you over – and stomp to the door. “I had tickets to the premier of the new marvel movie! Do you know how expensive those are?” You cry, ready to slam the door shut, but giving your mom one more, half-hearted stare.

         “You’re a goddess, sweetheart. You have an endless supply of money.”

         “That doesn’t mean I want to waste it!” And you move to slam the door shut, but it slows just at the end. You swear your eyeballs set on fire as you realize that your father installed yet another soft close door because of you.

         What’s your plan? Dive in head-first and get blind-sided at every corner like Zeus? No way, just thinking about that has you ready to start another war. You need a plan, a good plan, and as much information as you can get. Meaning you’re going to have to work with their guardians. Pompous, inconsiderate, above the law shit heads is what guardians are. In your millenniums, you’ve avoided most, if not all, contact with them. You don’t work well with big heads; they always mess things up because they’re always right, narrow-sighted, and rash. Add to that the state that these wards are in, you can’t imagine these guardians will be the best help… But you’ve got to take whatever you can get.

         And that’s why you’re sitting at a large table of seven guardians, enjoying a measly meal of chicken tenders and fries; ambrosia is too damn expensive these days. But you suppose that as the times have changed, your offerings and followers have fallen to a measly, absolute zero. No worshippers? No ambrosia. It’s a good way to stir up some envy here on Olympus.

         “So, what do you need, Cupid?”

         “I need to know about your wards.” You sigh as you plant a folder in front of each guardian. You point to the empty chair and raise your brow, “Where’s Mina’s guardian?”

         “Uh, she’s out on sick leave.”

         “I thought you guys were invincible?”

         “Well, after all the times she’s worked, I’m sure she needs a break for a little.” Aeneas snaps at you. You roll your eyes; guardians were specifically designed to do everything but need a break. You’d have to check in with Zeus later to see what the hell is going on with her.

         “Okay, whatever.” Continuing, you decide to get straight to the point, “Tell me everything you know about your wards. Why are they in the state they’re in?”

         “Some wards are harder to guide than others.” Jac gently speaks. You look to the soft-featured man, nodding your head. You know that… You’ve always treasured Jac as a guardian, he’s one of the few to look at you on equal grounds.

         “I know. I’m sorry if it felt like I jabbed at you. Could you all maybe explain to me what you’ve learned does or doesn’t work with these wards?”

         “Of course… We’ll do as much as we can to help…”