#like i am happy most times but my reactions to minor inconveniences are way out of proportion

[tremendously-crazy]

"mental health is important" until your child is an inconvenient, annoying problem when their mental health is poor

[arttheclown]

   okay i’m like... having a lot of thoughts about this page. mainly how happy i am to see sam & twitch again (and how touched i am that terry thought to go to them for help in the first place), but also the entire exchange between wynn & al & what i think it means for their characters, and for terry. i’ll break it down into bullet points under the cut, because this got way longer than i intended it to.

as this page demonstrates, wynn clearly doesn’t have any loyalty to any one particular person or cause - he just follows around whoever is the strongest / has the most advantage over everyone else. right now - in a twist of irony, considering how spawn began - that person is al. jason is fascinated by terry’s courage & even had a moment of understanding with him, but those feelings aren’t strong enough to override his own desperation to survive.

however, with this in mind - wynn and/or al allowed terry to go peacefully, seeing as the last issue ended with terry’s horrified reaction to the state of al. it’s interesting to note that wynn has been given repeat opportunities over the course of king spawn to kill terry & opted not to every time. makes my gay little ass wonder if there’s some underlying affection or respect there, because wynn’s choices don’t seem to have much to do with terry’s usefulness to him at this point. terry doesn’t seem to be offering wynn anything, and yet...

his decision to tell al that terry is “on the run” can be interpreted two ways, i think. he’s either selling terry out in an attempt to save his own skin, or he’s trying to gauge how messed up al is by seeing what he’s willing to do to his best friend. not to give jason wynn too much credit, but considering that wynn goes on to talk about what terry told him he saw in his vision, i’m inclined to believe he’s trying to figure out how far gone al has become - at least for now. whether it’s because he’s scared of al or is planning to use al’s madness to his advantage remains to be seen.

terry, on the other hand, seems to be turning to anyone he thinks might help him get al & this entire fucked up situation under control. wynn reveals in the new issue that terry confided in him about his dream off-panel; likely when they were alone, seeing that wynn had to explain to al that he knows what terry saw. this really cements, at least in my mind, that terry is clinging to the hope that wynn might come around & help get al under control (you know it’s bad when terry is putting any confidence in him). an “enemy of my enemy is my friend” kind of situation. the enemy being al’s instability, of course.

and then we have al, who clearly isn’t doing well or acting like himself at all. no shocker there, considering he sat on the god throne which either a) corrupted him supernaturally in some way or b) badly shook up his already-fragile mental state. he sees terry not as his oldest & best friend, but an minor inconvenience to his scheme. terry & al have had their ups and downs since pretty much the beginning of spawn, but because this writer went out of his way to establish what close friends they were, we’re meant to find that remark disturbing.

more evidence pointing to just how unlike himself al is acting? king spawn emphasized, from the first issue, that al simmons is a protector of children and gets deeply angry when they’re put in harm’s way. wynn - who has been written as callous towards children before, but not outright hateful like some of the other villains - is clearly struggling to wrap his head around the fact al would ever hurt one, especially terry’s kids.

and even if we’re going off the idea that jake & katie are demonic or supernatural in some way - and i honestly couldn’t tell you if that’s still the case or not, because trying to follow spawn canon is a fucking headache on a good day - i do not see al taking any pleasure in getting rid of them. that grin on his face is so out-of-character for him it’s not even funny. it’s pretty obvious to me that, at least right now, he is not the hero of the story. the person who’s taken over that role is terry. al needs to be rescued from himself and fast.

the last thing i’m gonna comment on is that i find the way al describes wynn & terry’s roles (on a separate page) interesting. he calls wynn a “bishop” and terry a “rook,” comparing them to the chess pieces. a bishop is less valuable than a rook, as a rook moves in any direction horizontally or vertically and is not restricted by its square colour. the bishop is the only piece besides the king (al) and queen (wanda) that may move diagonally at any point, but the rook is the second most-powerful piece on the board besides the queen; it has even more power than the king. could this line be offering some clues as to what the future has in store for these characters? we’ll find out in time, i suppose.

[bonesandblood-sunandmoon]

The Baggage of Love

CoA prompt for Dec 2019 - “Love�� [Call for Submissions]. Under a cut due to length; there’s a few sections: Family, Friends, So-Called “Puppy Love”, Love is a Four-Letter Word, and “not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”. (Link to that quoted post is provided.)

Family

In terms of feeling (personal experience) and topic (impersonal), there’s an iceberg when approaching familial love (and the lack thereof). I don’t have the spoons for poking at the effects of our parents’ lives on us, divorce, growing up in an essentially single parent house, or the fragility of familial love, usually framed in terms of acceptance, around queer and trans identities. Other people have written about the popularity of the Found Family trope in queer fandom, intergenerational trauma, and all kinds of family stuff, and I am but a simple blogger. I do remember that it was first with my family that I was exposed to the concept of love and saying that I loved them, and when push comes to shove, it’s not uncommon for stories to default to parental love as an important element of a character’s story (‘at least their family will always be there for them’).

Familial love can be fraught with complications of our own parent-child or caretaker-child baggage (if grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. raised us), but I suspect there are some aros who would say that it’s a different flavor of love from what’s talked about in relation to aromanticism. The whole offspring thing is a whole ‘nother can of worms that could be a separate CoA prompt, but I can see child rearing being separate from the alloromantic relationship elevator in a way that isn’t incompatible with being aro, even if co-parenting is usually presented romantically in most media. (At least, off the top of my head, I associate it with ‘becoming a step-parent’ narratives, but that doesn’t mean non-romantic co-parenting isn’t out there.)

Friends

I know I’ve seen it cross my dash about not emphasizing platonic love over romantic love or over emphasizing friends as a means of ‘aros are still human’, but I didn’t save links for an idea of how discussions about prioritizing friendship have been happening. On the one hand, I can understand how uncomfortable and alienating this can be for aplatonic aros, but on the other hand, I spend most of my time in the allo-allo world with people who clearly prioritize romantic love over friendships, so it feels like I don’t actually experience very much prioritization of friendship. I don’t mean that the aro community shouldn’t be cautious of prioritizing platonic love and relationships. It’s more of a personal balancing act, but I’m not quite finding the right words for what I want to say right now.

(Aside: When I think of love that hasn’t been otherwise specified, I think of the middle school banter with some of my friends - something like a minor inconvenience leads to “I hate you” “Aw, I love you, too” - juxtaposed against feeling blindsided in high school that, apparently, I’m misleading others if I say ‘I love you’ to a friend. Unbeknownst to me, I was dating someone for about two or three months in 9th grade because of that. I think of wanting to tell someone that I was proud of them facing one of their fears during the course of that day’s work (“I love you for trying”). I think of reassuring friends that I care about them.)

When I think of just the word ‘love’, I think of an amorphous, unspecific feeling love that seems to reasonably include friendships. Some posts that were probably meant to stay personal/venting posts from aro bloggers use love to mean romance, but sometimes, that feels about as restrictive as allo-allo people assuming I must be dating a friend in order to say love. I may not feel as comfortable saying it out loud anymore, but I still love my friends in a way that’s hard to name or specify any further yet isn’t romantic.

So-Called “Puppy Love”

I feel like I’ve explained this before, but I have memories of crushes that have faded and become hard to translate to present/future perceptions. One of my past rounds of shadow work was specifically aimed at recovering from a crush on a friend ending our friendship, and I’ve always been embarrassed to talk about it, particularly as the final straw that set off one of my depressive episodes in high school. ~ One of those overperforming emos writing sad poetry about an unrequited crush? The emotional dysregulation of experiencing the first major heartbreak and becoming a depressed teen stereotype? ~ It was cringey before calling things cringey was a thing. (Also, please don’t go looking for my middle/high school era DA account where that’s been immortalized.)

In hindsight, I can recognize a whole bunch of comparatively minor crushes were probably more based on aesthetic attraction because they didn’t actually come with the same type of ‘butterflies’ and daydreaming about hypothetical futures. The crushes that were more substantial and had to be accommodated were more likely on friends, and it faired better to just wait out the feelings with no disclosure. I can think of at least one occasion where I was semi-aware that my crush was aesthetically based and I didn’t actually want to date him, but that awareness didn’t come along until undergrad. The last situation I definitely call a crush was in Sophomore year of undergrad and involved a friend, who in the past year found out about it and wasn’t upset or anything. (Shout out to friendship that can survive accidentally revealing that time I had a crush on her because she follows my tumblr.)

The Lightning Incident (as I so creatively refer to it) was this random, out of the blue event in my (I believe) Senior year of undergrad where my brain just kinda blanked, I felt internally giddy, and I just forgot how to speak while a cute girl I didn’t know was talking to me. Like, I just mentally shut down a bit and wandered away from the salad bar in a daze. For sheer experience on my end, I’m including it here, but I’ve still never been sure if it was a crush because my brain forgetting how to talk is incredibly counterproductive to interaction (and hasn’t happened before). I felt incredibly nervous talking to her during future conversations, but it didn’t quite feel the same as what I’ve experienced as a crush before. (I’m also 99% sure she never picked up on any of my internal weird feeling experiences and hasn’t found out since then, so yay me for keeping a lid on that.)

Love is a Four-Letter Word

Originally, I had something about hearing the line attributed to this section from a cartoon villain and the presentation of an inability to love in some form as a shortcut to villain coding planned, but then, in the midst of ‘pre-headache brain static’, I remembered a line from a post, “M is for the lack of madness | Called love that others see” (‘Aromantic’ acrostic poem). For a certain amount of aros, it’s probably just a relatable line, and they don’t necessarily give it much thought. I still haven’t been able to figure out how I feel about equating love to madness. On the one hand, there’s somewhat of a literary tradition, so it’s not exactly a new idea:

“Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do, and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love, too” (As You Like It, Act 3 scene 2, No Fear Shakespeare link).

On the other hand, I have complicated feelings around the idea because of my own mental health issues. But if a crush ended a friendship that was important to me in high school, and it was tied up with depression, doesn’t that make it sorta relatable? Maybe for someone else, but I wind up thinking about the ashamed teen who couldn’t explain what was wrong in such a way to be believed and get help because it was ‘just an unrequited crush I would outgrow quickly’, and the isolation of not being able to talk to anyone about a same-gender crush that didn’t help the depression. I may not have had to face homosexuality being listed as a paraphilia, sexual orientation disturbance, or other listing in the DSM, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a supportive atmosphere to reach out to ‘trusted’ adults.

I don’t have the energy to poke at other relevant details around my mental health right now, but there’s a certain knee jerk reaction to feel uncomfortable with the implication that an element of a romantic, sexual, or otherwise specified orientation may get people called crazy. I know aros are usually trying to joke about alloromantics (punching up, as it were), and no one wants to disclaimer their posts for every little thing. It’s entirely possible I’m overthinking this, and it’s bumping up against other baggage (around gender therapy and not being ‘too mentally ill to be believed’, for example), but I would rather not have ‘love is madness’ be a thing that people try to fold into permanent aro infrastructure. (The use of ‘love’ to mean ‘romantic love’ might also cast too wide a net and people who use ‘love’ non-romantically might think they’re being included.) If someone wants to call me ‘mad’, I’ve got brain shenanigans and symptoms to use as justification instead.

“not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”

There’s something about the first half of this post [link] that seems suited for spoken word poetry, and I don’t know how to translate my feelings into a written reply or commentary. However, I want to end with this because it scratches a hopepunk itch, and since I’m wrapping up this post on New Year’s Eve 2019, I feel like I could use a little hope for 2020. Maybe love is a messy concept that’s broad and narrow, felt by everyone and felt by no one (depending on each definition), and carries only as much meaning as you give it. Maybe love has no inherent feeling that’s universal, and it’s all down to action and inaction, like radical kindness. (I don’t know.)

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Sugar Daddy Hanzo part 13

Hey guys! Hope you all are well. I’m not doing so great today, so forgive me if that shows in my writing. My brain is exhausted and I struggled with writer’s block. 

If you guys ever want to throw ideas at me, I’m super cool with that and I will totally credit you!

Anywho, here’s 2,200-ish words for you. Love ya!

The next few days were spent lazing about with Hanzo and eating the plethora of comfort food your grandparents had left for you, but it was Monday again, and Hanzo had to be off to work. The man was definitely a bachelor, not doing the best of jobs staying quiet as he got ready to leave at a ridiculously early time. You were trying desperately to stay asleep but then heard an onslaught of angry Japanese. A laugh bubbled from your throat – his rare little outbursts always made you smile.

“Hanzo,” you called groggily, “everything okay in there?”

He poked his head out of the door with an apologetic look. “Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” you said sitting up and rubbing your eyes, “I can always nap later. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he huffed, glaring at the bathroom behind him.

You stood and ambled over to him sleepily. “So you just felt like curing out my bathroom? I know it’s small, but at least it works.”

“That is not the problem,” Hanzo explained, “I just managed to drop my cufflink down your drain, it all. Just a minor inconvenience. I need to go by my apartment to change anyway.”

“Something special about this cufflink,” you asked, pulling back your hair.

He looked a little sheepish. “No. It is only a trinket.”

“Come on you pressed,” opening up your linen closet and grabbing the mop bucket, “fess up.”

With a bit of confusion on his face, he watched as you began to push all the junk under your sink to the sides to make way for the bucket. “I admit, it has some sentimental value, but what on Earth are you doing?”

“Emptying out the P-trap,” you yawned, “to get you your cufflink.”

“The what?”

“P-trap.”

His frown deepened. “A trap for pee? In the sink?”

You burst out laughing. “No, my cute little rich boy, not that kind of ‘pee.’ Just plumbing. Come here, I’ll show you,” you said gesturing for him to kneel beside you.

He did as instructed and you handed him a flashlight to hold. After losing power while taking a shower, you kept one in every room. As soon as you put on rubber gloves, Hanzo got apprehensive. “My beauty, it is just a cufflink, no need to do anything drastic.”

“It’s basic plumbing,” you grinned, adjust the beam of the flashlight by moving his outstretched hand. “What, will I no longer be a beauty if I get my hands a little dirty?”

“Not at all,” he said, handing you the towel you pointed at, “but I am more than happy to call a plumber to deal with this for you.”

You scoffed, reaching into the back of the cabinet under your sink to shut off the water supply. “No way in hell am I letting you pay for a plumber for this! And the plumbers ‘round here are usually booked for weeks. Just give me a sec, this won’t take longer than a couple of minutes.”

In curious silence, Hanzo watched as you unscrewed the slip nuts on either side of the curvy piece of PVC pipe and let the water trickle out. Once it was all dripped away, you pulled out the bucket and felt around for the little piece of metal. You smiled triumphantly as you pulled out the little silver pin.

“Ta-da!”

Hanzo chuckled at you and shook his head. “Who knew I had fallen for such a handywoman?”

“What can I say,” you shrugged, holding his cufflink out for him to take, “some of us were broke ass college students who couldn’t afford to hire a professional. Thank god for YouTube tutorials.”

His whole body recoiled as you held the slightly soiled piece of metal out, “I don’t suppose you have some rubbing alcohol?”

You giggled, taking off one of your gloves and handing grabbing a nearby bottle. “How did you get by before you met me?”

“A lot of hired help,” he smirked, helping you up. “Thank you for doing this for me, especially after I woke you up so rudely.”

“No worries,” you said, swishing the disinfectant around, “I’ve done it plenty of times with earrings before work.”

With a quick tug, Hanzo pulled you close and kissed the well of your neck. “You are remarkable,” he said wistfully.

“Hanzo,” you laughed, “it’s the most basic plumbing you can do – the opposite of remarkable.”

“One man’s common is another man’s unbelievable,” gazing at you dreamily. His look hade your heart race. “I wish I could stay here with you another day.”

“I get the feeling a workaholic like you has plenty of vacation days built up,” you grinned wrapping your arms around him.

“That I do, but unfortunately I also have a meeting with an international client as well. You know, it has been a very long time since I wanted to take a day off. I have always felt I needed the distraction.”

You gave his cheek a quick peck and toyed with his silken hair. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a ton of vacation days, too. We’ll have to make good use of them soon.”

“Indeed we will,” Hanzo hummed, “but for now, I must go. May I call you later? See if you are up to lunch?”

“Please do,” you nodded, reluctantly letting him go. “I’ll tell you all about the other household repairs I can do.”

“Sounds delightful,” he smiled, kissing you as long as he could before rushing out the door.

You spent the next hours or so pretending you would be productive, but instead fell asleep on the couch.  It was your cell phone blaring away that woke you up in a panic.

“Hello,” you said rubbing your tired eyes. Then came a three hour long, entirely infuriating conversation with your company. They had found out you were released from the hospital and wondered why you were not clocked in. Less than a week after you had been shot point-blank. You were still sore and taking a myriad of drugs to help your body patch itself up. You doctor had told you to stay off your feet as much as possible for a week, and even after that, you were supposed to avoid anything that put too much stress on your body until your next appointment. If anything happened to your injured lung, it could be utterly deadly.

And yet the boss was yelling at you for ‘bungling the Lucio event.’

After your call had been dropped the third time while you were being transferred, you gave up and turned your phone off in a fury. “Fuck that,” you snarled, breathing heavily through your anger. Your pain flared up in response, and you held your chest. “I am not at all ready to go in yet,” you whispered dejectedly. You steadied your breathing and eyed the pain pills on your coffee table. Sure they would help, but opioids scare the hell out of you after watching one of your classmates dissolve into addiction. You snatched your phone and turned it back on.

“This is exactly why ‘do not disturb mode’ is a miracle,” you sighed, scrolling through Facebook and smirking as the office’s calls went right to voicemail. Being petty could feel damn good.

But then a notification reading ‘one missed call from Hanzo’ popped up.

“Oh fucking fuck,” you hissed, rushing to call him back.

“I hope I did not wake you for the second time today,” he said as he answered.

“No, no,” you sighed, “just avoiding someone else’s call.”

“Who is that,” he said gravely.

“Work,” you grumped, “they wanted to know why I wasn’t at my desk and it became a whole thing from there.”

“You were shot in the chest mere days ago,” Hanzo reeled, sounding just as angry as you.

“It’s a load of bullshit,” you griped, “but I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Why don’t you let me take you out to a late lunch then,” Hanzo offered. “I can meet you at that burger place you told me you were telling me about. ‘Drown your woes in a plate of bacon and cheese covered fries,’ as you said in the hospital.”

“Dear god that sounds amazing you groaned,” getting up to get dressed, “but it doesn’t really seem like your kind of joint. It’s a greasy, hole in the wall kind of place.”

“I trust your judgment,” he said matter of factly, “and I will take off my tie before entering.”

You grinned, knowing he would still stick out like a sore thumb. “Sounds good. I’ll call a cab.”

Sure enough, Hanzo’s suit and sleek appearance had the other patrons raising eyebrows – the place was right next to campus, so most people were in sweats and sneakers. As you slid into the seat across from him, Hanzo gave an unnerving look to the group of guys who were staring at him from across the room. They instantly looked away, and you grinned.

“I probably shouldn’t love it so much when you do that, but I do,” you giggled.

“Do what,” Hanzo asked, sliding a menu over to you. He had left his gloves, probably a sign that he thought this place was grimy – which it was, but that was all part of the charm.

“You know, scaring the shit out of people with a look.”

His brow furrowed a bit until you nodded toward the table of young men. “Ah,” he said casually, “I suppose it is an automatic reaction for me now.”

“You make it sound like you’ve been stared at a lot,” you hinted.

“I have,” he explained, “ever since I was a child.”

“Care you elaborate?” He hesitated, as he always did when his childhood came up. “Come on,” you pleaded, “you don’t have to tell me much, but if this thing between us isn’t going to implode there’s got to be a little more give and take. You know I won’t judge you.”

Hanzo sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, “I suppose you are right.” He looked out the window and spoke quietly. “My family was very prominent where I am from, and as children, Genji and I were recognized and notable – and therefore scrutinized – from a young age. We were taught we were superior and in turn taught that we were feared. I especially took to this idea, cultivating an image and persona that kept others beneath me.”

You leaned across the table and ran a few fingers up his arm. Hanzo looked to you for a brief moment before looking down, as if ashamed. “Sounds to me like you were pressured into acting that way.”

“Even if I was,” he huffed, “I still had a choice to act otherwise, and I did not. My brother was able to be his own man, even though he was raised much the same way.”

“No one said being a kid and learn the ways of the world was easy,” you assured him, “we all did stuff we’re not proud of. But you’re moving forward, that means a lot.”

He gave you a thin smile. “I think you give me too much credit.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Did you, or you not just say something revealing about yourself?”

“I did, but I hardly think one small change constitutes ‘moving forward.’”

“It’s all about baby steps, handsome baby steps.”

The two of you ordered and ate a delicious bounty of unhealthy, happy-inducing food, Hanzo slowly loosening up. He even admitted the greasy fare ‘did, in fact, have decent flavor.’ Eventually, he set down his fork and gave you a knowing look.

“What is it,” you asked warily.

“Are we going to talk about your job making you upset now, or not?”

You groaned loudly. “Do we have to? I don’t want to ruin such a nice lunch with you, and I get the feeling I’ll be battling the bosses for the rest of the day.”

“Very well,” he said, sipping his drink, “but let me know if I can help, will you? I am more than happy to rain hell upon anyone for you.”

“Aw shucks,” you laughed, “you’re so sweet and intimidating.”

He scoffed. “I believe I can count on one hand the people who think I am sweet.”

“Just me?”

Hanzo thought a moment, “Very probably, yes.”

You smiled warmly at him, and he did the same, making you flush and toy with your necklace. Something in the back of your mind was suddenly clawing for attention. “Hanzo?”

“Yes,” he asked, still gazing at you.

“When are we going to talk about what we’re doing here? How we label this? Where we want it to go?”

He sighed and stroked his chin. “I know we need to, but I admit that I have been holding the conversation at bay.”

“You care about me, don’t you,” you asked softly.

“This morning you said you’d, well, ‘fallen for me.’ I not going to make you say any weighty words or anything, but you’re invested in us, right? You’re going to meet me halfway and talk to me and – ”

Hanzo reached across the table and took your hand, “I am completely dedicated to you. If you need anything from me or our relationship, you need only ask. I am here for you, as you have always been there for me.”

“Good,” you smiled, “I guess I just needed to hear it.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “I will be sure to tell you often. I adore you, and everything about you.”

@collinssie @watch-your-grammer @zarcake-writes @yesthisisbae @eebbapanda1@deercapitate @missbumblina@skyrina@justjaaaay@thewetbones@skyelentnight @ilovebva@punk-dork @cbrokeherboobs@sobanoodledragon@sydniesamm@honeyburger@knightofsexyness @queenoflabyrinths@speakingishard@iknowimcutethanks @ninevast@ivymarquis @sydniesamm@barbie-the-centrist@tumblertrash@angle0fthegourd@shaybae1997 @lillypet95 @rusty-potato@tt-nikithakppr @honeydew-do-you @kitties-and-unicorns @spookymf@seachelle-the-tideborn

** please let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed from the tags in future updates and sorry if I missed anyone, I feel like tumblr is deleting my shit**

[daresplaining]

Luke Cage Countdown: 6 Days

Misty Knight, Armed and Dangerous

    At long last, MCU Misty Knight is getting her sweet bionic arm! This is essentially her origin story, and as such, it will have huge consequences for her life moving forward. Here’s a brief look at her disarming, recovery, and powers in the comics.

    As in the show, in the comics Misty Knight starts her career as a promising young cop, top of her class at police academy, ready to change the world. She serves on the NYPD for six years... until the unthinkable happens. 

Caption: “Memories... years gone now, yet still terribly fresh, clear... Patrolwoman Misty Knight, twelfth precinct, NYPD, working the day shift.”

Bystander: “My god-- that man-- he’s thrown a bomb!”

Caption: “Reaction. Fast... instinctive. Futile.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #6 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Karen Mantlo

    Misty is unable to dispose of the bomb in time, and her right arm is caught in the ensuing explosion. Her partner, Rafael Scarfe, manages to keep her alive until paramedics arrive, but she wakes up in the hospital irrevocably changed.   

Misty: “Damn you, Colleen-- I’m half-a-woman now, a freak!”

Deadly Hands of Kung Fu vol. 1 #33 by Chris Claremont and Marshall Rogers

    Misty is shattered by the loss of her arm. She sinks into a deep depression, feeling like she is now weak and worthless. Her best friend Colleen attempts to bolster her spirits and help her regain her self-confidence, both through encouragement and some well-intentioned butt-kicking, but Misty remains convinced that she’s damaged goods and no use to anyone. This attitude, along with the painful memories of her accident, haunts her for years afterward. The violence in her life often plunges her back into that moment of pain and loss, and she harbors a sense of anger and loathing about everything surrounding the event and anything that reminds her of it-- including her own perceived deficiencies. 

“Misty Knight, first in her class at the academy, B.A. in criminology at John Jay... holder of the NYPD Medal of Honor... twice wounded in the line of duty... and forcibly retired after six years service. After all, what good is a one-armed lady cop?”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #7 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Bonnie W.

    Much later, when Misty's arm is damaged again, she reacts in much the same way, showing that on a subconscious level, she’s still recovering.  

Colleen: “You’ve crawled up inside your head... again. Focus your anger on something positive.”

Misty: “Colleen, save the zen master speech. Seriously. I don’t want to hear it.”

Colleen: “Your father wouldn’t understand why you’re not a cop anymore. [...] You could go back to the force right now and they’d be happy to have you, but the problem isn’t in your arm, it’s in your head.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    Misty leaves her police career behind, and starts a slow healing process, largely facilitated by the creation of (K)Nightwing Restorations, a freelance detective agency she co-runs with Colleen. This new career gives her a chance to prove to the world, and more importantly, to herself, that she is still capable of working and making a difference. 

    In addition, though it serves as a daily reminder of what she has lost, Misty’s life is also improved by her brand-new super-awesome robot arm! 

“The girl had said Misty’s arm had exploded. Well, why not? Why shouldn’t a robot arm explode when it’s riven with nuclear fireblasts? Because that’s what it is-- a robot arm. On a human woman.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #3 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Don Warfield

    In the comics, by the time we meet Misty she has already had her arm for several years, so we miss out on the details of its initial installment. But we know that it is Stark technology, and thus state-of-the art for its time. It is super durable, operates with all the ease of a real arm, and it grants Misty a degree of super-strength only limited by basic physics. Since the rest of her is squishy and human, she can push, pull, and smash with her arm, but it doesn’t allow her to lift extra heavy things, or do anything that would put tension on other parts of her body. 

Misty: “Blast! I’m overshootin’ the wall. Gotta grab this stanchion as I go by-- use my bionic arm to stop me-- an’ hope the non-bionic rest o’ me can take the strain.”

Power Man #49 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, F. Mouly, et al.

    However, over the years her arm has been upgraded to be more than just extra muscle. 

Tony: “This arm is a superior design. I should have called Misty for an upgrade sooner, but I’ve been busy. The exterior is diamond interlaced with Vibranium. It is harder, lighter and stronger. I’ve had them install a pain dampener so if something like this happens again her nervous system won’t be harmed.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    These days, it can do such fancy things as generate magnetic fields and energy blasts, and interface-- both physically and at a distance-- with computers. It operates as essentially a Swiss Army arm, making Misty an even more formidable crime-fighter than she already was. 

Misty: “These originals were mechanized, a mix of Stark tech and counterfeit crap. Plenty of brawn. But no common sense, apparently. Fine. I’d just have to do the thinking for them. [...] I had Stark tech of my own. Made me very persuasive to A.I.”

Black Panther and the Crew (2017) #1 by Ta-Nehisi Coates, Butch Guice, and Dan Brown

    Plus, of course, it looks awesome. Initially, likely due to her insecurities, Misty had a flesh-colored coating over the arm, disguising its true nature. But nowadays, she usually keeps the metal exposed-- probably for a variety of reasons: It’s common knowledge among the superhero and supervillain communities that she has a bionic arm, so hiding it would be pointless, it looks cooler this way, and her attitude toward it has changed. The arm is a part of her now, and she is no longer ashamed of it. 

    99.9% of the time, Misty’s arm is presented as a permanent fixture. It is attached to her body the way a biological arm would be, when it is damaged she experiences pain, and it presents serious problems when it... say... gets caught on giant electromagnets. 

Misty: “It’s no use! That magnet is stronger than I am. The only way I’ll get free is by pulling my own arm off.”

Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #66 by Mary Jo Duffy, Kerry Gammill, and Glynis Wein

    However, the remaining 0.1% is Jeremy Whitley’s approach in his Secret Wars: Secret Love story. Here, the arm is presented more like a typical prosthesis, and is removable. In the final scene, we see Misty relaxing with her arm off-- which seems way more comfortable than the alternative. 

Secret Wars: Secret Love, “Misty and Danny Forever” by Jeremy Whitley and Gurihiru

    Since this interpretation is in the minority, and directly opposes the way her arm is presented everywhere else, it likely will not stick. However, there is something appealing about it. Misty is a disabled character, and her bionic arm tends to feel like a quick fix-- a super cool quick fix, of course, but there are a lot of comics where, in terms of both art and writing, it’s easy to forget that she’s even an amputee. “Misty and Danny Forever” does a great job of spending what little time it has on exploring Misty’s life experience as a disabled person. It doesn’t rehash her trauma and self-loathing from the earlier comics-- she has largely healed from that, as is natural-- but it does bring up little day-to-day inconveniences that most Misty comics don’t address. 

Misty: “It looked so beautiful in the store.”

Colleen: “It is beautiful.”

Misty: “I know. It’s me. It’s the arm. It slides right off the metal. [...] Colleen, I can’t do this.”

    Whitley discusses his reasons for this change in this interview: 

“I think for the most part that comics view disability as a thing to be fixed. If a person is injured, their parts can be swapped out for cybernetic ones or they can be magically healed and everything is better. The reality of living with a disability is much different. While her cybernetic arm makes her super strong, it is also bound to have effects on her life. Self-image is just one of those things. [...] It was also very important to me that in the last page, Misty does not have her arm. She is having an intimate night with her husband, getting her hair done, and snuggling up to go to sleep. First off, we’re talking about a large, bulky metal arm. Secondly, the thing has a lot of moving parts and is sure to make noise. I think the visual of a superheroic woman of color with her arm missing is very powerful.” 

    Again-- this is one isolated, unique interpretation. But we’ve always found it compelling. 

    Now, we are finally getting Misty’s sweet robot arm in glorious live action, and we cannot wait. To start, it looks great. The design is fantastic-- still futuristic, as it should look to emphasize its state-of-the-art-ness, but it also looks realistic. The fact that it seems to be some form of plastic/carbon fiber rather than metal, and the sleeve-like part where you can see how it’s attached to what’s left of her biological arm, both provide the illusion of this being actual prosthetic technology. It’s possible that this arm will, just like 616 Misty’s first arm, only be super strong. But there ain’t nothing wrong with that.  

    (The level of detail on this thing is breathtaking. Wow.) 

    We also know that this new arm will be-- gasp-- Rand technology! We’ve been excited about this idea for a long time, so we were thrilled when it was hinted in the last episode of The Defenders. Usually we’re sticklers for comics accuracy, but this change makes perfect sense. It keeps Misty’s story tied to the Netflix corner of the MCU (we’d love for these shows to cross over with the movies, but in this case staying close to home will allow for more freedom in telling this specific story). It is also a wonderful bit of bonding between Misty and Danny, who have had distressingly few interactions so far in this universe. The whole idea of him commissioning the arm for her makes us all warm and fuzzy, and regardless of whether this will actually lead to them interacting in this show, it still presents a form of personal connection, which we appreciate. Go check out this delightful Rand Enterprises spotlight on Misty, if you haven’t already! 

    This will be a new chapter in Misty’s life emotionally as well. She will have to cope with having lost a limb, and all that that implies. Like in the comics, she should be in for a difficult time, because experiencing this kind of trauma is world-altering. There have been several shots in the trailers that suggest a Misty who is coping well and recovering, which is a big relief. But that can’t come too quickly, because that’s not realistic. We also have moments like the one above, which suggest turmoil. We also have this great Daughters of the Dragon scene, which suggests that Misty may be suffering from insecurity, and which Colleen may be using tough love to treat (just like in the comics). And while we know that Misty will still be operating as a cop in some capacity, it will be interesting to see how she approaches this, and how long it will last. Misty’s story is only just beginning, and for us, she is one of the people we’re most excited to see again this season.   

[curtis-experience-blog]

In Come the Stretchers

before we begin--

Putting aside the grammar (which I’ll tackle-- re-editing it all at some later date (to be decided)), I did forget to add the italics I had to the last text. I’m going to go make those changes now. Enjoy slanted words in any re-reads.

   I, personally, feel that stretching is something each and every one of us should do on a daily basis. It isn't difficult. I wonder how anyone can go their lives without thinking about it. They're your muscles! Stretch them! They love to be used! "How do you actually stretch though, Curtis? I have this chart for 30+ different ones, and my heart is head over heels in love with that one woman using the treadmill. What am I to do with myself?"    I'm going to answer these questions and more because it is from my experience that I've had to learn how to bring back my body from some level of debilitation that isn't easy to address in full. So, we're going to skip that part and get straight to what I prescribe and why after some more talking.    They don't teach you how important stretching is in school, especially in ways that kids will comprehend. For instance, you go to gym class, and then sometimes stretching is given some attention. It all depends on the activities planned for the day. (This assumption might not accurate because I don't remember gym class, but the disappointment is there.) One glaring issue is: when we all go stretching, we hold the positions for-- what? 15 seconds? And there are the kids that complain at 10 seconds and those that change before all the others. Therefore I blame the kids. That is no where near long enough! A stretch should go on for one minute minimum up to 30 or so. I'm not blaming the teachers or the school board or the guy in the big chair or any of those people responsible for training athletes, etc. Realistically, typically our bodies move when it's time, and the ramifications of injury or what I call "muscle deformation" don't affect those in the early game. And the balance of money and time is always taking precedence over the enhancement of the next generation. Though, putting all this cynicism and pessimism aside, it will be attempted herein to shed some light on the importance of stretching through Curtis' eyes.    The very root of our muscles is somewhere to the lower right of the back. This point is where the beginnings of muscle formation begin. As we age, there is gravity, stress, injury, and neglect that pull them together towards this point. These things take control of our bodies, and can be forgiven to an extent. Yet, as blunt as it sounds, one or more of these things will eventualy come to you. This happens to everyone. From your head to your feet, the compession of the body is inevitable. Let's try to stave it off, why don't we?    Ignorance is nothing new when it comes to human intelligence and progress. Truth is: there aren't very many people on this planet that actually care about muscles. And we all know those people are crazy; that all happen to live fluidly and with ease. For those that want to break free of age, gravity, stress, and neglect, I have some good news: There are two stretches (three and/or four for those that want to push it to the limit) that will greatly help. How one begins depends wholly on who you are: Whether you've been injured, are afflicted by the symptoms of severe muscle deformation from age or neglect-- stress contributes some incredible amount, and so does one's constitution. At least, for those affected by the above, a stretching regimen will have to be personalized for you. Sadly, in today's day, the only people that seem to understand this (though most likely not with the same reasoning) are in the minority. So, let's break this down. I'm going to put the stretches at the very bottom because that's a nice place for them. We'll begin with how stress, gravity, and age play their hand in this. Stress    Stress stems from worry. When we worry or fear, at least, from a survivalist perspective, we are trying to perservere - to stay alive. Instinctually, the unconscious reaction to fear, of being killed, for instance, is to become as small as possible (among other things that aren't relevant here). So then many are, when stressed, tightening up their muscles in one way or another to become smaller. You might say the stress in humans is quite different from the stress felt by animals in the "wild." Rather than knowing you can run away, humans have worked themselves into a reality where running away isn't an option. Rather than feeling stress over a relatively short period of time, man is sustaining his feelings of stress day-in, day-out. Anyone can guess how this affects us on the physiological level. In muscle talk: this is bad. Generally, we're allowed those two days off to unwind. Still, one's occupation is not the be-all, end-all; particularly when there are myriad avenues worry leverages its priority amongst everything else. Gravity and Age and a teaspoon of Neglect    These two and 1/2 items are, more or less, the same thing. We feel gravity unceasingly and we age unceasingly. Neglect just takes advantage of the two and takes our muscles along for the ride. Besides that, there's not a whole to cover here.  You do, however, have to admire astronauts that've made it to space; for they know the absence of gravity. Do astronauts stretch? Let us ponder on that notion.    Basically, the longer we go neglecting our muscles, the more they knot up, tense up, and become a hinderance on the body. Think of muscles as having their own memories. When they aren't reminded of the things that are important, that memory goes off lodging itself somewhere deep in the recesses of its brain. You might think it's pretty darn handy to be able to feel the things that they once remembered. Kind of a tongue-in-cheek speculation when the ways muscles tell us they're is a bad state are usually through pinched nerves and pain, etc. But if you want them to go back to the way they were, then you'll have to slowly have them remember by actively stretching. I insist that a little bit of stretching can do absolute wonders for those who's muscles have been the victim of age and neglect and all this other nasty stuff. Injury, cause for individualizing    How injury takes root in our muscles is as diverse as the number of injuries we can pass onto them. Luckily muscles pretty well always end up looking the same way after enough time passes (when nothing's done about it). Old injuries from your childhood can surely be felt by an experienced masseur or masseuse. (Don't blush. I know you can.) Unless you were brought up under a rock and plan to continue living under a rock, you'll experience one or more injuries. What you can do about it is: something.    And this is where you have quite a few options. You can go see a chiropractor, massage therapist, your GP, fitness instructor, physiotherapist, read up on the interwebs, and more. Don't be lazy - is what I'm trying to say. However, while I do encourage someone who's afflicted by one thing or another to do something, I do very much prescribe to the belief that your thing may not be what one professional or another can address. You might need the help of someone else.  Additionally, I strongly believe that exercising to prevent an injury from recurring is also common sense. It'll save you money. It'll save you the inconvenience. It'll make your body happy.    I did touch on constitution earlier. There are indeed some folks out there that have been dealt a hand that can be described as unfortunate in one vein or another. As with what I'd written earlier: a personalized regimen is surely the only way to treat your body as everyone is different from the other. This takes time and experimentation, and above all, the determination to find an answer. When all else fails, there is [almost] always a solution. I'd like to reiterate: For some people, the only way to treat their body is something they must learn for themselves through self-discovery. There are times when a professional can only share their understanding of how things work. 90% of the time this is definitely foolproof. Folks that make up the other 10% are probably some of the most frustrated. I was among them. When I say deformation - Is it a word?    A deforming of muscles is apparent. I call it deforming. People that've studied and know all the proper words likely call it the receding of muscles.**  Those suffering from severe muscle deformation definitely need their own plan. It's extremely time consuming bringing back your muscles from such recession. You'll go months with very little sign of improvement; and there's no way around the laws of cause of and effect. For instance, aftereffects of stretching in persons with severe muscle deformation may experience dizziness or have a difficult time catching their balance. One's equilibrium is a sensitive thing. The most you or I can do is be confident in knowing that the stretch is good for us and, whether we like it or not, the effects of stretching on a body that has been neglected for so long will go through some very dramatic changes. This has to do with nerves, the pressure on them (from knots), and the brain in its attempt to deal with it all; to get you to a feeling of normalcy despite all the muck going around under the surface.    Though, before you go blaming anything, think about how long you've been alive and compare that to how much time you spend on maintaining your body. Most people don't even consider that their muscles require maintanence. Like USB ports: plug it in and go. (Some unclear, not very relevant techno-simile for saying when waking, consciousness is injected into reality.) They do! They really should be!    From the time you're born you're given what can arguably be considered a perfect body. (Folks that weren't born with muscles will have to forgive my assertion.) Gradually the tissue of the muscles begin to retreat. If we use another personalification, they no longer know they need to move this way or that way. When, for however many years, a muscle is used only to contract, its learned range of motion is decidedly changed. Scar tissue, by way of nature, builds and builds forming new knots which push old ones deeper; and the cycle continues in this way. Usually I use the term muscle deformation in the context of muscles with noticably or severely inhibited range of motion, but in reality, there are so many things we cannot see with the naked eye. The area in focus will be affected by lots of groovy stuff.    For those persons, such as the elderly and/or severely afflicted so, taking up stretching can be incredibly frustrating. What can appear so easy to others like those depicted in stretching illustrations is not easy. In fact, some of those stretches are quite literally detrimental to one's betterment. Do these people go to their GP for advice? Do they go to a physiotherapist for clarification? Do they get the advice they need to help themselves? I assume most don't do anything. It is confusing, misleading. The stretches make you sore and hurt. These people accept their bodies aren't like they once were, and that's it. That's all there is to it. So, the big question is "Why?" For starters: Why do these stretches hurt? - It's because of gravity. For those stretches that have the person stand: that's too much weight! It's, plainly, too much stress on the joints. The protection and support that muscles provide is absent. The joints are held too firmy by what's underneath.* - It's because of injury. When a muscle is torn (in anaerobic excercise too) and/or strained, it is forced to compensate for the space, building more tissue there. This creates knots. Knots, and the scar tissue in them, hold the healthy muscle back. It hurts because the fibres are stretching to make healthy bonds again.    Now, what will be described below should be consumed with the implicit theme. To be more direct, be aware! Talk, deliberate, criticize, and do so as to feel more comfortable with one idea or another. It doesn't matter if it came from here or some place else. As long as it encourages you to care more about your muscles. At the very least, the stretches I have to offer come with various considerations. From my experience, I've put together a rough sketch of what can be contemplated and tried; that, I hope, is helpful. Stretch Points - Hold a stretch for 1/5/15/30 minute(s) or more. How long one holds a stretch depends on two things: 1) The nature of the injury/injuries and 2) How the stretch makes you feel. The latter may not present itself until the next day. - Warming up in one way or another will help, but for some, this is not an option. Don't think too much about it. After 5 minutes or so of a light stretch, the area will naturally warm up. How long this takes depends on the person. Just means one has to be more patient. - Listening to music may help to stay patient. - Never quickly assume a position. - Do not force a stretch beyond what is moderately comfortable. - Unexpected sensations from stretches described below include, but are not limited to, tingling, pain behind the right ear, pressure behind the eyes, tightness in the forehead. - Depending on how and where a knot forms, one or more sensations will manifest when stretching. These feelings will change over time. The rule of thumb being: the worse off the muscles, the more dramatic the changes in the body. Stretching stretches #1: Simple neck stretch - Let head hang forward to where it is comfortable. Lace hands behind the head, applying force back into them with the neck.  Use counter pressure with your arms, gradually increasing strain to a comfortable level over the course of the first minute or so. - Sitting position is recommended. Be comfortable. - Allow head to raise some as well before applying pressure. Be comfortable. Benefits and cautions: Someone who has limited range of motion of the head, looking left to right, will find this stretch very good. Someone with a plain stiff neck, also, will benefit greatly from repeated use of this stretch. May cure headaches. Note: Please be thoughtful if you are a person with whiplash. Even if you are gentle, you may experience soreness and/or stiffness. Expect discomfort. Through experimentation users will have to learn what is too much strain. #2: Simple back-with-legs-up stretch - Lay on back with legs up against a wall. - Do not force your butt firmly against the wall if it is not bearable. - Using one's bed is a convenient apparatus to stretch on before going to sleep. Be comfortable. - Pair this stretch with the simple neck stretch above for added effect. - Users can alternate between legs stretched out and bent at the knee. Benefits and cautions: May cure any number of pinched nerves in the back and/or neck. Note: Persons unable to scoot closely to the wall: please do not be discouraged! Everyone starts somewhere!

#3: Simple wrist stretch - Use a countertop or other comfortably accessible surface edge to rest fingertips of both hands on. Fingertips facing up. - Slowly lean into wrists over the course a minute or so. - Adjust strain during stretch as needed. - This stretch can be done almost anywhere by placing your hands on your hips. Bear in mind: stretch should be held for at least 2 minutes as about the minimum. Benefits and cautions: Reduces forearm stiffness. May cure Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Q&A Q: How often do I do these stretches? A: That’s something, I feel, that should be left to the individual and how their body reacts. Q: I had a broken neck/wrist/back. How long should I hold these stretches for? A: That is, again, something you'll have to learn for yourself. I don't know what  your physiotherapist says. Perhaps they've already made a plan for you. Q: Of all the professionals out there, who do you think is the best? A: That all depends on what's going on with your body, yea? Maybe a chiropractor is a good idea. Maybe a massage therapist is a good idea. Who knows? One thing I do know is: it's important to try things and find out which of them works. That being said, especially with stretching, you have to make an effort to see results. Someone who tries stretching once, then says it didn't work, may as well have never bothered to in the first place. Q: Can I trust these direction and what you have to say? A: There is risk in everything. I can tell you what's worked for me and some of those that I know. That's about it though. If you're skeptical, as I wrote earlier, consult learned professionals. Q: Is there a chance things will get worse if I stretch?

A: Yes. The body and brain is incredibly complex. It's up to you to learn what a good pain is and what a bad pain is to make progress. The knots in our muscles are almost like a game of Whac-A-Mole. As knots work their way out of our bodies, new ones spring up. How these new knots affect our nervous system all depends on where they are, how big they are, etc... There is no world where stretching is bad for you. The sensations may be alarming; there may be good days and bad days. What you go through all depends on what you've done with your body.

Q: Can stretching replace visits to a chiropractor or the like? A: Maybe. Probably. The potential is there. Along with all my other wacky ideas, I do strongly feel that stretching will definitely strengthen the bonds in our bodies, making it more durable against the troubles these professionals practice to remedy. * Someone familiar with anatomy or learned professional can explain better

** Probably

4.92/10 Experience points

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

All The World Inside Me

A/N: There was a death in my family this week. I am probably about to start posting some really angsty fic for ODAAT, and I love this fandom so I wanted to warn you. Feel free to keep sending requests, but if they are fluffy, just know they will be on hold.

Established relationship ficlet in which Penelope finds herself pregnant and Schneider is the father. Short and fluffy and random. I think this was an idea that came from chatting with @cykluber ages ago, if not an actual request.

Penelope x Schneider, One Day At A Time. Also on AO3.

They had never discussed kids because Schneider knew she did not want more, and Penelope knew he knew that. They had used protection and they were in their forties and this was not supposed to happen.

Ay Dios mio, this was not supposed to happen. What if he was upset about it? Above all else, Schneider would never want to hurt her, even by being honest.

“It was pink.”

Penelope looked almost pale on his doorstep, and it was that more than the late hour that worried Schneider. He stepped back to let her enter, brow furrowed as she continued.

“It’s funny how some things don’t change, you know? With Elena I was late, and then I threw up, and then I bought two pregnancy tests. And I told Victor, and he cried. And I cried, and it was just so much.”

“Okay…Pen, do you want to sit down?”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes filling. “But you should, maybe. Schneider, you should sit down.”

He tried to reach for her, his tone cautious when she shifted further away. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“I was late. And I got really sick last week, remember? We thought it was that street cart. But I waited until everyone was asleep, and peed on the stick, and two minutes later…it was pink.”

Penelope turned her back on the foyer, unable to watch his reaction when she finished. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence stretched out between them in Schneider’s big, tidy apartment.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

She wrapped her arms around her torso, still staring toward the kitchen. “Well, I haven’t gone to a doctor yet, but it’s so much like it was with Elena and Alex. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Penelope heard him get up, and hunched in on herself a little.

Instead of coming to stand in front of her, Schneider stopped at her back. He curled his arms around her and pulled her against him.

He kissed the top of her head as she started to cry.

“How are you doing? Are you feeling okay?”

“That’s…that’s your first question?”

“You know I love you, Penelope Alvarez. What else am I supposed to care about?”

“Don’t…” She sniffled. “Don’t you want to know what I’m going to do?”

“Of course.” Schneider ran his hands along her forearms, trying to soothe. “That can wait. Are you still throwing up?”

She let out a weak laugh. “It’s not a one-time thing, Schneider. I’m okay, but yes, I’m still throwing up. In the afternoons, mostly.”

“Why do they call it morning sickness if it happens in the afternoon?”

“Propaganda. I don’t know.” Penelope exhaled, the air shuddering out of her–half exhausted, half relieved.

“Do you want some water?”

“No, I’m good.”

She turned, letting Schneider’s hands link behind her neck as he peered down at her.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, she realized. He could barely see her. She leaned closer, until he stopped squinting.

“I’m really good.”

Penelope’s laugh was more surprised than pleased. Once she realized how she felt, it was kind of shocking, actually.

“I’m…happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not ready for this, and I wasn’t expecting it…we were so careful, you know? It shouldn’t even be possible.” 

“But you’re happy about it?”

She stepped back and waited while he put his glasses on, smiling at him once she knew he would see it. “I think I am. As weird as that is.”

Schneider’s brow had that deep furrow in it, and Penelope realized she was calming down enough to think clearly again.  

“So, what about you?”

He tilted his head. “What about me?”

“Come on, Schneider. I’ve had way longer to consider this might be happening. I just threw it at you. How are you? What are you thinking? Talk to me.”

“I’m...” He paused, taking the question seriously. “I’m glad that you’re happy about it.”

“Okay, but that’s not really your feelings. That’s still about me.” Schneider was good with babies--even better with kids; his avoidance was starting to worry her. 

They’d had the talk about being exclusive, and they’d had lots of talks since about their shared future. About how it would look, about dreams and feelings and money.  

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

They had never discussed kids because Schneider knew she didn’t want more, and Penelope knew he knew that. They’d used protection and they were in their forties and this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Ay Dios mio, this wasn’t supposed to happen. What if he was upset about it? Above all else, Schneider would never want to hurt her, even by being honest.

“Hey. Come here.”

Penelope slid her fingers through his, holding on and looking up at him.

“However you feel, you know it’s okay, right? We did not plan for this to happen. Hell, I didn’t know how I felt until you and I were already talking about it.”

Schneider closed the distance between them to bury his face in her hair and stay there for a moment. She heard him inhale deeply before he spoke.

“I’m really glad you’re happy about it, Pen, because I’m happy too. And if you weren’t, I wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to be or anything.”

“Yeah, I get that. You’re happy, too?” 

Penelope pulled back enough to look his way, and realized he was crying. “Oh my god, you are. For a guy who’s so happy he’s dripping in my hair right now...why do you sound sad?”

‘M not sad.” He nuzzled up against her again and breathed her in.

“Concerned? Irritated? Give me a hint, ‘cause you and I are about be parents. Both of us. Together. Communication really helps with the whole raising a tiny human thing.”

Kissing the top of her head, Schneider moved to sit and drew her with him. “Concerned. Terrified. Mostly...worried. If you were all this kid had, it would turn out perfect, because your kids are perfect.”

“Okay...”

“I’m a different story, that’s all. I never planned on being a dad, and not because I don’t want to be. You know I love kids.”

She sighed and shifted so that she was curled into him on the couch, her back resting against his chest. “I do know that.”

“But let’s be realistic, okay? With my family history, my addiction history, my inability to hang onto a job...”

Schneider splayed his fingers over her stomach, rubbing lightly as he continued. “This baby deserves so much better than me, as its father.”

God, she should have seen this coming from miles away, Penelope realized. She’d been too panicked, then too focused on what came next, to really think about it. But of course this was where Schneider would go. She knew his nightmares as intimately as he knew hers. 

Hers: clowns and armed combat. His: spiders and rejection.

Turning around to face him, scooting back so their knees were touching on the couch, Penelope sighed. “You’re right. We should be realistic.”

He nodded.

“Private adoption is probably our best option,” she continued. “Obviously I have a lot of relatives we could choose from, but I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Not when the whole problem is probably hereditary.”

“Huh?”

“But the good news is that with your money, you can afford, like, the most talented lawyers, and we’ll make sure I have excellent prenatal care, so our baby goes to only the very best family. Right?”

“Right. I mean, no. Wait. Penelope! What??”

“What? I agreed that we should be realistic. And not just about you--you’re talking to someone with depression and PTS. So you’re right, there’s definitely a woman out there who would make a way better mom than I could. More stable.”

“Hey, now.” Schneider frowned and reached out for her hands. “Having PTS or depression doesn’t mean you’re undeserving or that you won’t be an amazing mom to that baby and oh my god I see what kind of a Jedi trick you’re trying to pull on me there.”

With a fond hint of a smile, Penelope mimed the exploding-brain gesture at him that he was so fond of. “Blew your mind, yeah?”

“Maybe I just feel like arguing with a pregnant lady is a dick move,” he replied.

“Nah, I totally won the argument.” 

Lifting one of his hands up and turning it over, Penelope kissed his palm. “I have almost two decades of experience now, Schneider. And I am telling you, you’ve got what it takes to be a great father.”

She saw the moment when the thought struck him, watched it bloom over his face into a huge grin. 

“Penelope. The baby--our baby,” he corrected himself softly. “We’re going to be able to give it everything it needs. Everything it wants! And all the love it deserves. It’s going to just...” 

Schneider teared up again and she took the opportunity to move in for a hug. “It’s going to be the luckiest baby ever,” she agreed. “And super cute, obviously.”

“But it’s not gonna get spoiled,” she rushed to add. “You hear me, Schneider? No thousand dollar strollers or designer baby clothes it’ll throw up on in five minutes, no round-the-clock nannies. We don’t need it, the baby won’t be better off because of it. No child of mine is going to grow up not knowing the value of money or hard work, or what the real world is like.”

“I hear you.” Still grinning, Schneider kissed her, his mouth gliding over hers.

“I’m not kidding,” Penelope leaned back to say, jabbing a finger at his pajama-clad chest. “You don’t get to throw your money at every minor inconvenience, or sneak tips to people to smooth the way like that’s normal.”

His hand rubbed at the tension in the nape of her neck while he moved his mouth to her cheek. “Got it. Dial down the overtipping.”

“And if you think you can get around me with kisses and charm, think again, alright? This is important, Schnei---”

His name transformed into a moan when his lips found the pulse point behind her ear.

“Damn it, Schneider, you can’t...well, fuck.” His teeth grazed her neck and she melted against him, her fingers gripping his against her stomach. 

His quiet laugh was wicked before he followed his teeth with the soft brush of his mouth. “Y’know, Pen, that’s really very inappropriate language for a mother-to-be.”

“The baby doesn’t even have ears yet,” she reminded him, “so come here.” She used her free hand to bring Schneider’s face back to hers, kissing him until they had to break apart for air.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Can you stay?”

“Normally I would say no, you know how my Mami is. But I think that just this once, when I head home with the news...she’s going to have other things on her mind.”

Penelope grinned against his mouth between kisses, quick and bright. “Let’s go to bed.”

“You know,” Schneider said as he stood and reached for her hand, “this will sort of be our first night as a family. I’m glad we get to spend it together.”

“I’m happy to be here too.” She squeezed his hand. “But you should really know better than that.” 

Stopping in his bedroom doorway, Penelope stood on her toes to kiss him, sweet and slow. “Schneider...we've been family for years.”

[cynicinafishbowl]

If you're still taking asks, chapter 8 (the last one posted if I have it right?) of An Evening, with Mary saying yes to Evie and their relationship talk

GET READY FOR ME CRINGING AS I RE-READ MY OWN FLUFF (under the cut)

“And thanks. I know I didn’t exactly give you a legitimate answer yesterday, and I am slightly sorry about that. We do, however, on that, have a lot to discuss.” [no shit, homie]

“I understand that,” Fitzwilliam replied. Mary looked over at him and was distracted by the lines of his arm muscles [Mary likey] as he went along on crutches, noting particularly the fact that his sleeves were rolled up, and his forearms (she definitely had a thing) [oh boy, does she have a thing] were positively rippling in the fading light of a summer evening.

When, after a time, they arrived, Fitzwilliam led her to a surprisingly large backyard with some stone benches overlooking a mossy rockery [atmospheric amirite]. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, taking a seat and stowing the crutches next to him, [I get weirdly hung up with keeping track where everything is during a scene, i have no idea why] “but the weather seemed so nice.”

“It’s lovely,” Mary said, pausing in her visual exploration of the patch of lawn overlooked by tall shrubs, the small patch of dwarf roses, and the climbing jasmine covering the fences, to sit on the other end of the bench. [the moment I decided that there was a backyard, I knew I needed to set a number of scenes in it. This is the first of a number I have planned]

“So,” Fitzwilliam began, before foundering. [these two awkward idiots struggling to talk about their feelings. Such fun!]

“Yes.” Mary gathered her thoughts. [I want to flag right now that I feel super weird about my fluff scenes. I would write them, and then not even be able to read over them for editing because I’d be like ‘is it too trite? I should just cut all of it] “I’m sorry about how I left things yesterday. I was surprised, and confused, and did what I always do in difficult situations, tried to escape [avoidance is life].” Fitzwilliam was looking out over the garden in a pointed manner, as if steeling himself for bad news [staring off into the distance in a stoic manner. Yes please]. “I like you. A lot. [eloquent] You’re fabulously fun to spend time with, and in the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve had a crush on you for ages. But,” Fitzwilliam’s small and slowly growing smile disappeared [that’s right, boy, don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched], “also in the spirit of full disclosure, I should give you an idea of why I acted the way I did.” Mary was fiddling with a hairband on her wrist and studiously avoiding looking anywhere else [more avoidance! such fun!]. “I was a pretty awkward child, growing up. [understatement. There’s a reason she scrubbed the digital record clean] I didn’t have any real interest in any kind of relationship until quite recently, and I don’t mean ‘it would be inconvenient right now so I’m ok with being single’, I mean ‘honestly thinking that I was aromantic because there wasn’t any other explanation’ [tfw you’re perfectly happy with how things are going and then #surprise, feelings move in and everything you ever knew turns out to be a lie]. There was the usual idiocy in my undergrad [we’ve all done some stupid shit in first year], but my actual relationship experience is pretty thin on the ground.” An understatement. [yet another instance of ‘that’s certainly one interpretation of events’] “So if we decide to go for this, you need to know that I’m likely to be a bit nervous and weird about it, and there are probably going to be things I struggle with.” [like all of human interaction]

Fitzwilliam placed a hand on her wrist, covering the elastic. [I’m a huge fan of Character B putting a hand over Character A’s to stop them fidgeting or similar. I also wanted to show that they’ve got a decent baseline of intimacy going here] Mary stared at his hand, not quite feeling up to eye contact [YES, MARY! AVOID YOUR FEELINGS!]. “Mary, nothing is stopping us from discussing what you want and are comfortable with [isn’t he just the most excellent human in existence?]. All I want is to not have to pretend that I don’t…” he was silent for long enough that Mary glanced up at him to see what was going on, her hair flopping about the place because there was a light breeze and her hair elastic was currently being held hostage [I try to avoid extraneous details. If I mention the hair elastic on Mary’s wrist, you’d better believe that that elastic is going to be a serious supporting player in the scene]. Fitzwilliam brushed her hair out of the way [#CurlyHairProblems] and left his hand there, cupping the side of her face [boy is a smooth operator]. “Mary, I’ve been in love with you from more or less the moment we met [good for you, lad, coming clean on that]. And I’m sorry to be dumping this on you as well [you fucking should be], but at least everything is out in the open now. I don’t care if we need to take things slowly, or whatever you need for this to work. I… I don’t particularly care so long as I’m with you.” [he has torn his heart out of his chest, and is offering it to her. How nice. Aren’t you glad I made you read a 12k porny interlude with a minor character in order to facillitate this?]

Mary was saved from having to formulate a coherent answer by a sudden unforecast and unexpected downpour [you’re welcome, Mary. This is an example of my approach to writing fluff without it getting too much: I call it ‘pile on the feels, slap on the arse’. Things are getting a bit heavy just now, and if the conversation were to continue, it would be way too heavy. So I pop in a comic element which means that when the conversation restarts, it restarts from a much lighter base point]. Despite all deliberate haste [I love using ‘deliberate’ as an adjective], they were both soaked through by the time they made it inside. “That puts a bit of a damper on things,” Mary remarked as they stood there, dripping, and tried not to laugh [bad jokes are the best]. Fitzwilliam just gave her a look which said ‘Mary, how could you?’ [all bad jokes need a commensurate reaction] Mary fought to suppress a shiver, because as balmy as the evening had been, it was no longer once the rain had begun. [and now we have Mary in a slightly vulnerable mode, which is new, and facilitates other things]

Fitzwilliam snapped to [good lad]. “Let me get you some dry stuff to change into, and I’ll put your clothing in the dryer. Leave your shoes there, and I’ll get you a towel.”

Mary left her shoes at the door, and removed her socks, which were also soaked, while Fitzwilliam sat on a handily placed stool and did the same. Mary followed him in and was soon presented with some towels and what looked suspiciously like a pair of pyjama pants and a henley. Fitzwilliam then showed her to a bathroom, and she dried herself as best she could, putting on the clothes she had been given. It was indeed pyjamas [platonic clothes-sharing. Yet another fun trope I am determined to expoit]. Mary then had first-hand confirmation of the fact that men’s shirts weren’t designed to accommodate bosoms. [#AboutTheAuthor] The buttons tended to gape, and when they were undone to relieve the tension on the fabric, they showed a decent amount of cleavage. Mary sighed, thanked the heavens that today was a good boob day [there are days when your breasts are behaving themselves, and looking good, and everything is great. There are days when the fuckers are determined to test you. This is a legitimate concern in life. Or at least it has been in my experience], towelled her hair, did damage control on the makeup she had been wearing (eyeliner and mascara, both waterproof, and eyebrow powder which decidedly wasn’t, but thankfully hadn’t run everywhere) [Mary isn’t much of a makeup person. She’ll apply a full face for events and the like, but unless she’s working (as she was on this day), she doesn’t bother. As such, she’s hyper-aware of the fact that she has stuff applied to her face which could be harmed by her environment. Also, when is waterproof makeup actually waterproof], and emerged, holding a bundle of her soaked clothing. Fitzwilliam had changed into jeans and a similar shirt, showed her to the laundry, and put her clothes to dry. He then handed Mary a pair of socks. “Sorry about the mismatch, I just don’t need to worry about that stuff any more.” He looked down at his foot and back up to Mary. “You know how it is.” [Characters saying ‘you know how it is’ about WILDLY UNRELATEABLE THINGS is another fave trope of mine]

“Not from personal experience,” Mary commented, “but thanks nonetheless.”

Fitzwilliam ushered Mary into the sitting room and let her put on the socks before he started talking [nice of him. It’s hard to carry a conversation while putting on socks]. “I’m happy to discuss logistics right now, although it should probably be mentioned that before the rain kicked off, I was very close to trying to kiss you.” [YES BOY! GET SOME!]

“We should probably discuss first,” Mary agreed. “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” she shrugged [use your words, Mary]. “According to a number of mates [I think you mean literally all of them], our interactions up to this point have essentially constituted what they would describe as dating, so I’m happy to keep going the way we have been.”

“And what sort of…” Fitzwilliam seemed to be struggling to articulate what he wanted to say. “What physical contact is…” [the sweet lad is trying to make sure he’s not doing anything she’s uncomfortable with. What a nugget]

Mary laughed. “I said aromantic. Asexual never entered into it [an important distinction]. If I’m honest, I rather enjoyed your territorial boyfriend act. [oh boy, did she enjoy the territorial boyfriend act]”

“You did?” he said, perking up. [he also enjoyed it, unsurprisingly]

“Very much,” Mary confirmed, moving across so that she was right next to him. “I liked all of the times you just put an arm around me, or pushed my hair off my face when my hands were occupied, or brushed your fingertips over some bruising, asking if I was ok,” Mary broke off with a shiver as his fingertips brushed along the side of her neck. [the ‘rugby bruising’, amirite, readers?]

“You look like you were stepped on by someone wearing cleats,” he commented. [this happened to me once. I had THE MOST QUESTIONABLE looking bruises and scratches on my neck for a couple of weeks]

“It happens,” Mary explained, which wasn’t, strictly speaking a lie [it does happen. Just not in this case].

“Are you ever not battered?” Fitzwilliam asked. [bless him, he worries about her]

“Off-season is pretty calm,” Mary reassured him. “And preseason isn’t too bad.” She took one of his hands, running her fingers over the veins at his wrist [always a fun thing to have your characters do]. “You shouldn’t worry about it. I bruise easily [the eternal struggle of ‘I’m fine, i picked up that bruise a month ago, it’s just taking a while to fade]. I’m invariably fine.”

Fitzwilliam captured her hands in his [is this because Mary started just poking the squishy veins? Probably. It’s the sort of thing she’d do]. “It’s hard not to worry about it when you have a handprint-shaped bruise and you haven’t even noticed it’s there.” [everyone starts getting worried the moment bruises start looking like hands. Bruising everywhere in weird indistinct shapes? No problem! One hand-shaped bruise on your arm, and suddenly everyone’s asking if everything is ok at home]

“Evie, you’re going to have to accept that I’m going to spend the majority of the time covered in fairly suspect bruising.” Mary squeezed his hands reassuringly [I swear I’ve spent way too much of the chapter keeping track of whose hands are where and what they’re doing. Is that weird? I don’t even know any more] and then tied her hair back [the elastic is back], because it was going everywhere, before shifting so that she was facing him directly. “And if you get worried every time I present looking a little bit worse for wear, you’re going to be worried basically all of the time.” Mary adjusted her hair, and as if the universe were personally tormenting her, her hair elastic snapped [There are three characters in this scene: Mary, Fitzminor, and Mary’s hair elastic. Who has just been brutally killed off. This probably constitutes minor character death at this point in the narration]. Mary groaned and flopped her head down, lamenting the passing of an elastic she had rather liked. [there is nothing more upsetting than the death of an elastic which you had broken in]

Fitzwilliam tilted her chin up and brushed back her hair, one thumb trailing along her cheekbone. Mary looked up at him. His eyes were roving over her in a manner which made her blush slightly [Dayummm, Mary, back at it again with the problematically timed blushing]. “You know,” he said, his hand resting at the back of her neck, “the sight of you, here, in my clothing, is horrifically sexy. And honestly, there’s only been one situation where I’ve been more sorely tempted to suggest all manner of impure acts.” [I mean, the whole post-wedding thing was just TEMPTATION EVERYWHERE, and good for him for not going there, even though he REALLY WANTED TO, because he didn’t think she would be receptive]

“After Jane and Charles’ wedding?” Mary asked, doing her best not to lean into his touch as he twined his fingers into her hair. [Her body is telling her yes, but her mind is telling her to try to keep it together at least for now. It’s a struggle]

Fitzwilliam smiled in lieu of an answer and leaned in towards her. “You know the answer to that,” he whispered [I was cackling so hard as I wrote that scene, just pumping it with as much sexual tension as I humanly could], his breath tickling her neck as his hand slid downwards to rest on her lower back. Mary allowed herself to be pulled closer to him. She could feel the warmth of his body, so close were they [radiant heat transfer - something I definitely write about more than the average author], and siezing the moment, she ran her hands through his hair, raising herself up onto her knees, so that they were eye to eye. Slowly she leaned forwards and pressed her lips to his. He stayed still, as if afraid that any movement might startle her off [terrified woodland creatures, anyone?]. After a very brief and very chaste kiss, she sat back down, and with a smile (and a blush), said, “Maybe I wanted you to.” [yes, girl! Embrace your desires!]

The kiss that followed, he initiated. It was neither brief nor chaste, and left Mary short of breath. He was not unmoved either. “I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time,” he admitted with a smile, leaning back down to meet her. [after all the torture I put you guys through, I needed for them to at least make out a little]

[anthonypaulh]

JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS, SHINGLES all the WAY

It is incredible to believe that exactly nine years ago this very weekend, I was about to suffer the most painful experience of my entire ITP career. Having been diagnosed purple in July 2006, I had been on and off relatively high dosages of Prednisolone to control my Platelet count. Apart from the usual steroid side effects of weight gain, indigestion, bloated face, irritability, mood swings, and eating like Sea Biscuit and Red Rum combined, I had no idea that shingles could possibly be linked to taking the dreaded Pred. But for Christmas 2009 I was about to discover an unwanted, itchy gift under my tree.

Since 2009 an awful lot of water has passed under my ITP bridge and thankfully I no longer take steroids. I am successfully controlling my platelet count with 500mg of Mychophernolate Mofetil (MMF), twice per day and have been doing so since 2016. I have a huge amount to be grateful for and I fully understand the agony that fellow ITP sufferers go through in trying to control this rotten, enigmatic illness. My last platelet count was 118 at the end of September and I have had no ITP symptoms in that time.

As many ITP sufferers will know, one of the side effects of taking any of the immune suppressing options to control the platelet count is that it leaves us ITP folk more vulnerable to colds, flu’s, infections and viruses. One of those viruses is shingles because it is actually the chicken pox virus, known as the Herpes Zoster virus.

Once you have ever had chicken pox at any time in your life, the virus remains dormant in your spine and can be reawakened at any time. This is possible especially if you get run down, or have a weakened immune system. So any of us ITP people who take immune suppressing drugs like Prednispolone, Azathioprine, Rituximab or Mychophenolate Mofetil can be very vulnerable to shingles.

Looking back on my shingles outbreak in 2009, my count was at a very respectable 126, on the first day of December and I didn't foresee anything that would throw my Christmas off track. How wrong could I have been ? What was to come on December 7th was enough to derail the Orient Express, let alone little old me.

I had felt a bit under the weather over the weekend of December 5th/6th. I was generally tired, quite hot, actually just feeling like a cold might be coming. But all the same I wasn't expecting anything like the complete devastation I found on my lower back on the early morning of Monday December 7th. I woke up feeling very feverish, achy and itchy on my back, hip, stomach and down my left hand side. When I looked at the offending area in the mirror, it looked like I'd suffered sun burn. The whole area was very inflamed and as Elvis once said.. I was itching like a man on a fuzzy tree. I was definitely all shook up.

So what to do next ? What could it be ? Had we started using a different washing powder which might have caused an irritation? Had I been stung by something or eaten something that might have caused an allergic reaction? The only way to find out was yet another trip to the hospital for them to check me out. As it happened I was due another blood test anyway so my wife drove me straight to the hospital to get the blood test and have the awful itchiness/rash/inflammation examined.

The good news was that my platelet count was holding well at 116 but the bad news was that I had contracted shingles. No wonder I was itching, irritable, hot and bothered. Yet another ITP related episode was about to unfold and as usual it couldn't have come at a worse time. A Christmas gift I could really have done without and one that I was literally itching to get rid of as soon as I received it ! 

My doctor prescribed me with the anti viral drug Aciclovir which I was to take for 7 days. The only other advise was to stay at home, rest, and take Paracetamol if needed to control any pain the shingles rash might cause. The drugs worked and gradually the shingles outbreak receded but it was hard going, very sore, extremely painful and in short, absolute agony. 

It is hard to believe it now but during that awful December of 2009 I had developed shingles as a result of taking Prednisolone, on and off from July 2006. Just thinking about the terrible pain that shingles caused me over that wretched Christmas it is like hearing the rattling chains of old Marley himself. It really does bring back horrible memories and was one of the most painful episodes of my ITP experience.

Shingles can be very dangerous so never underestimate it or the damage it can do. If you think that you might have developed it, do get checked out as soon as you can. The quicker that you can take the anti viral drug the faster the virus will be halted and the less pain you will get from it. In addition if you tackle it quickly it will have less chance of doing long term damage.

 The only pain that I have suffered in my ITP life that comes even close to the agony of my 2009 shingles outbreak was the awful suffering I encountered from my bone marrow biopsy in June 2010. I wouldn’t wish to go through either of those episodes again.

So as we approach another Festive Season and reflect on another year, I count my blessings that my Platelet count has been “normal” (apart from a brief blip early this year). I am not due any further check ups until New Years Eve (oh how very convenient, seeing  the old year out at the hospital). But I’ve no complaints, I can happily endure a quick blood test at 10.30 am on December 31st provided that my platelet count holds up. Compared to that awful Christmas of 2009 with the agony of shingles, it is a minor inconvenience.

As I contemplate another ITP year (my 13th) and accept that my enigmatic condition will always be with me, I realise that I will probably never banish all of the purple Ghosts of Christmas past. I remain in remission from my ITP at present but it is possible that the purple ghoul may return. But then again it may not. No use worrying about it, because it just wastes time and energy. I’ve come to accept that if you can’t control it, don’t worry about it.

The key message for me, as ever, is to get on with life, do the things you want to do, see the things that you want to see, listen to music you love, and be with the people that really matter to you. Time really is the only thing that we all need more of. We should use it better, it is our greatest asset but a diminishing resource, so don’t waste it.

With that in mind, I am looking forward to this Christmas season and all the good things that it brings. Family, friends, holiday traditions like going to see Simon Callow in A Christmas Carol and then The Nutcracker performed by The Bolshoi Ballet in the next couple of weeks, seeing the tree in Trafalgar Square, the lights in Covent Garden and Regent Street, probably consuming too much food and drink but most importantly valuing good health and hopefully making time to reflect on just how fortunate we are.

Happy Christmas one and all, God Bless us everyone !

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/shingles.

https://www.londontheatre.co.uk/theatre-news/news/simon-callow-to-return-in-a-christmas-carol-in-london

[genuinelyscottish]

Change

Change is my arch nemesis. The fluctuation of schedule, the disintegration of routine, the lack of order evokes a literal feeling of sickness in the pit of my gut. Although I’ve always supposed this change-phobia is intrinsically linked with the mentality of rigidity which was drilled into me in the earliest of my childhood memories, recent events have taught me that perhaps change is not the multi-headed demon I so feared. Within three months, the very core of my fundamental beliefs about life, the universe and everything in it (a reference I would not have made in October!) have shattered and scattered across my corner of the planet.The presumptions I had made about how my life was going to go, what makes me happy and how I as a human being exist have become like dust swirling in the abyss - directionless, but perpetually in motion. These integral parts of my character are rapidly being reassembled as the choices I am making, the actions I am taking, and the words I am saying become finite and irreversible. Not that irreversibility is negative - in fact I would argue that stability and safety in the knowledge that my choices are definitive is what anchors me to them, and to the security they bring. And this ‘new me’ who finds herself being constructed as each day, each conversation unfolds? I think calling her ‘new’ would be entirely false. What is actually happening is a necessary growing up, a maturing which is essential to my progression as an individual towards my end goal (which, coincidentally remains steadfast amongst these most tumultuous of changes). 

My advancement as an individual has been so exponential these past three months, it is difficult to articulate without losing something. Without pandering to the English student in me too much, I’ve grouped my personality changes into three key areas which I think have been the most affected. 

1. The Fog

Ah, the fog. My good old friend, the destroyer of relationships; crux of my self-sabotaging need to overthink; drain on both my and those around me’s social energy. I’ve been grappling with you for almost an entire miserable decade, and only now as no longer being a teenager looms all the nearer have I finally began to dissect and dissolve you. You are an unwanted by-product of a broken brain, but it is my broken brain, and there is limitless beauty in brokenness. This swirling, all-encompassing, depressive grey is erasable, and recent changes have enabled me to take third-person-esque look at you and tell you that no more do you rule my life. You are not the winning party, or even a close second. My beautiful broken brain has entered a state of self-awareness where I can look at you, identify your source, and wipe it out. You do not define me any more. 

2. Social Energy

Aligning itself perfectly with this realisation of the fog’s origins, it has become apparent to me that social energy is the catalyst to the majority of problems in my mentality. They say the average person speaks around 16,000 words per day, and past-me was eager to not just meet, but exceed this target. Silence is uncomfortable, or so I’d taught myself. If someone is silent with you, they must despise you - you just aren’t entertaining, or funny, or interesting enough to merit conversation with. Whilst these thoughts occasionally rear their ugly heads when I can sense the quiet seeping in and the fog rattling in her cage, reassurance and the knowledge that no, I am an interesting person, and the people who are in my life are there because they want to be and because they think that what I have to say holds value allows me to solidify the imprisonment of the negative thoughts and embrace the silence. 

When twenty three out of twenty four hours (allowing for a collective hour of bathroom/snacking breaks) are spent in the company of another person, there is inevitably going to be that moment when conversation runs a little short. That is healthy, and that is normal. I am writing this here partly as a message to anyone who stumbles across this blog, but also as a reminder to myself in the future that constant mindless conversation is not necessarily more desirable than one forty minute debate about something both parties feel educated and invested in. Accumulating knowledge about areas of common interest is a key way to ensure that conversation remains refreshing and interesting, and living a life outside the time spent together is perhaps the main way to ensure that the reunions are all the more memorable because they are rich in conversation and excitement. But, the main takeaway is that silence is not the enemy, and reiterating this to yourself will help keep the fog at bay. 

3. Love

On a completely different topic, perhaps the core strand of my personality which has found itself being fairly violently plucked after almost two decades of minor flicks is my capacity to love and to be loved. I thought I had found this love in another after he allowed me to dream and fantasise and plan, but I was naive and did not understand (or want to understand, really) that nothing would ever come of my obsession. I mistook an imagined fantasy for love, and now I’ve found the real thing, I laugh at what I thought I wanted. Some of the obsessive behaviours still haunted this the purest form of love at the beginning, but when it became apparent that living in the past and stalking social media religiously was in actuality doing nothing but detracting from the utter joy and bliss of the present, I learnt very efficiently that history is confined to the past. We experience the range of human emotions, from pure ecstacy to the deepest of sorrow at some point in life, and these experiences shape who we become. Without our stories, we don’t exist, but knowing someone’s story, and obsessing over things you had no part in and cannot do anything to change are two very different things. 

Being truly in love for the first time in my life has expanded my capacity to feel - to feel misery, to feel worry, but also to feel utter and exuberant joy and complete contentment in the presence of another. Love has been redefined - it is not striving for his affections by obscuring who you are, rather allowing yourself to enter the levels of complete acceptance of your body, your mannerism and your personality that are only usually felt when you return to your family home. Home, also, is a funny concept which I have found the definition of to be uprooted. The place I once called home has become a writhing pit of infernal reptiles, insistent that my happiness can only come from a church-approved source. Instead, we have built ourselves a home out of IKEA and Asda, a corner by the harbour where we watch the boats ebb and flow whilst we sit sipping coffee and whisper our forevers. He is my forever, and whilst I was concerned that I was allowing my stupid over-romantic heart to fall irrevocably again before it imploded because maybe I’m just unlovable, each day I am learning new ways to love him, and the intensity of the overwhelming joy I feel when I remember that he is mine, and I am his, is unlike any other feeling in this world. 

Hearing his story, learning his past and what built him into the bundle of humour, energy and cynicism he is today feels like remembering something I’d once known. Watching his quiet habits, the things he subconsciously allows his muscle memory to do evokes the strangest of reactions in me - my heart throbs with such an intensity I struggle to not place a hand on my ribcage to ensure it doesn’t physically burst out. Knowing that he is comfortable enough with me to let all his walls down, as he has so effectively demolished mine, our souls can connect at the purest of levels, intertwining in perfect harmony. Our love is the love of music, of poetry, not necessarily overly cliche because our beautiful broken brains would not cope with constant sap, but is instead humour-filled, fuelled by incessant teasing and intellectual challenging. What a relief to have found my perfect partner in this disjointed disaster we call existence! Holding his hand, curled against his chest, head filled with images of our wedding, our curly-haired babies, our life spent chasing each other round our forever home with the cats trying desperately not to be trodden on and our retirement where I finally learn to knit and he fiddles with old computer parts, insistent that ‘one day I’ll revive this old thing, just you wait!”, I am assured in myself that this is the real deal. We are end-game, the couple people are jealous of because our connection is not forced or reliant on proving ourselves, but instead natural and as effortless as breathing. I truly believe that destiny pushed us together, at the most inconvenient time in the most unlikely of settings to allow us to discover that through the (already fairly copious) trials the world will throw at us, we are anchored to each other and secure in our love, and together we’ll be from now into eternity. 

Anyway, I’m aware that this post is ridiculously long and now exploding with unbearable levels of romance, but this past three months has released my potential, my identity and my sense of self from the prescribed outline enforced by my upbringing, and that certainly warrants a fairly substantive post. 

With any luck, I’ll keep updating this with more frequency, I’ve missed the satisfaction which comes from brain-dumping onto an obscure corner of the internet. 

‘Til next time,

The golden child. 

[letteredcreation]

Life of a telepathic enby

Short story/drabble, ~1800 words.

I was still learning to control my telepathy, and part of that included learning not to accidentally let my thoughts be heard by everyone around me or just whoever I looked at. Therefore, learning that I did not identify as the gender I had been assigned, the one I had been raised as and the one everyone thought I was, before learning to master my telepathic abilities, made it quite difficult to hide my gender identity. I did not even get to be sure of my own gender before people around me knew I was questioning what it might be. It was particularly inconvenient when it started with thoughts such as "I kind of wish I had a dick", "why would I want to wear dresses all the time?", "But I don’t want to be with the girls or the boys…", and "Wait, does that mean I'm gonna get boobs someday? No, thanks!". 

It was also exceptionally awkward when my parents had yet to hear any of my gender-questioning musings and were expecting me to be the perfect little girl and attend a fancy dinner party. And, of course, I was feeling particularly masculine and quite dysphoric (not that I knew that term back then) on this evening. And, of course, I was distracted by this and all the people around me so my control slipped, along with my until-then-quite-secret questions about whether my gender was not what I had always been told it was. As one can imagine, letting a mental inner conversation of "I hope I don't get boobs like her, at least! Not that I'd want any boobs… Who'd want them anyway? So inconvenient and gross! A long pee-pee, however, now that's something I'd be on board with just about now…" be heard by the entire party, was not something my parents were particularly happy about. Especially since my telepathy was not considered "normal" or even possible, and so something only my closest family knew. Luckily, in a way, most people had not been able to see properly if my mouth was moving or not, and had thought I had said it out loud. This was not all good though, as, if we could have explained it with the lack of control of powers, at least then there would have been some understanding. As it were, however, people were shocked. They were shocked someone could have such thoughts (apparently that was not deemed "correct"), and also that someone would say something like that out loud at a dinner party. My parents had similar views. 

The result was several years of quickly becoming more in control of my telepathy (at least as far as not involuntarily sharing my own thoughts) as I was told again and again that I was a girl and that there was no other option. I learned to suppress the thoughts, ignore the discomfort, and take refuge in the few times where the discomfort and confusion were at a minimum. After some years, however, I became accustomed to the internet and found more information about who I was. Through the years I had hoped to find any hope my parents might be accepting of my identity, but listening to their thoughts gave me nothing for that. Some other people, though, random strangers in shops and on the bus, I could hear occasionally thinking similar thoughts or thinking of a person who had come out as a different gender than they had thought they were. It was these strangers' thoughts that helped me feel less alone and helped me know what to search online to find what I wanted - what I needed. 

In the later years, as I learned to control it better, I was happy for my telepathy, incredibly so actually. It had helped me be sure that my parents would not tolerate my trying to tell them of my questions around gender (however depressing it was to hear) which meant I knew how to act to let them give me more freedom elsewhere, such as online. Behaving how they wanted for all those years meant they were no longer suspicious I might me transgender, and so I was able to research what I needed and find people who felt the same way as me. It gave me the opportunity to find the words to describe myself more correctly, to find a word for my own gender identity, something that was important to me (but is not so for everyone). I was able to find the term Genderfluid, read the description and feel a sense of belonging. I found a community of people who identified similarly. 

As I became older, I also realised how much I needed to be able to express who I was, and how in my current home that was not possible. I had been increasingly affected by my life, the constant misgendering, the knowledge that the people around me didn’t understand or even accept me for who I was. So, really, I should have been more careful, should have gone through with my escape plan much sooner, but it was hard, hard to leave behind the only home I had ever known, hard to try a risky plan that could backfire, hard to break the hearts of the only family I had ever had. So I waited. And I waited. I waited until I was close to bursting, until my unaccepting surroundings had taken a too great toll on my mental health, until the all-too-frequent dysphoria had gnawed its way to my bones. And still, I waited. And so, I burst. Being me, I also managed to burst at the worst possible time and place and way. 

It was my cousin's wedding. We were sitting in our seats, watching the ceremony. I was, once again, decidedly not identifying as a girl. This time, however, I had been identifying more with a third unknown-yet-definite gender. I had still been feeling quite masculine, though. And I had been sat with the women, as was usual during these occasions. The couple was about to sign the contract, and that was when I let myself pick up on a few nearby thoughts. To be honest, I should not have been expecting anything else, I should have been used to it by then, I should have been in better control of myself, I should have known not to listen to my mother's thoughts. It was a mistake, a slip, an accident. One that finally burst the damn, released the water, started the storm, disrupted the calm. 

The first slip was, once again, on my powers. Therefore, I, once again, released a stream of thoughts to the entire room. This time, however, it was not a questioning voice, it was not a confused child's ponderings, it was not innocent. No. This time it was angry, furious, outraged, it was sad, bitter, a mess. It was loud. It was a loud, bitter rant. It was a shout in everyone's minds, so startling and sounding so out-loud that nobody except my parents would think it anything else. Everyone had turned to look at me as I started speaking in their minds. I had no idea how it had happened, when exactly I had snapped and let everyone hear my inner rant. I had reacted to what my mother had thought and somehow let everyone hear it. 

I opened my mouth as soon as I realized what was happening, hoping to conceal the true nature of where they had heard the voice. I was, after all, aware of how unknown and unacceptable such powers were in our society, despite the superhero movies. It was too late, though, most people had already looked at me without a moving mouth and heard my voice in their minds at the same time. I ran. As soon as I realised what I was doing, I tripped over the legs of the people sitting in the row beside me and ran out, ran away. 

As the soon-to-be-spouses had been about to sign, my mother had thought: "I can't wait 'till my dear daughter will marry her own handsome and appropriate man!", and I had thought (to be heard by everyone): "I'm not your fucking daughter, I'm non-binary, I'm genderfluid, I'm not a girl, or a boy. I don’t understand how people can call themselves my family, say that they love me when they can't even try to accept me for who I actually am. I hear their thoughts, I hear their hopes, I hear and see their reactions to people like me - people just trying to be themselves - and they're not good. Oh, no, my family hates me, really, if they knew who I really am." And then, as I looked up at the last part, I saw all the people staring at me, I saw the shock, the fear, the confusion, and my parents' outrage.

So, I did not get to escape the more peaceful way as I had planned, but as soon as I had come out (in the worst way possible if you remember), I ran away. Unfortunately, I had no way of getting home to get my belongings before leaving. I had my phone, and there the number of the one person I had found that could help me. I had some money that I had managed to steal from my parents and had luckily had in my purse (one of the pros of wearing a feminine outfit I supposed). I had been lucky as I had this person to contact though. And after this, after escaping my abusive home, life got better. I had to learn to live away from home, without my family, but it was so much better when I go to be myself. I was also lucky to have parents that just decided I was not worth it and rather seemed to pretend I had died, or, more likely, had disowned me and made up some half-believable lie about how the guests had seemed to hear my voice in their heads. At least they did not come after me or try to find me, despite my status as a minor. 

My contact I had found online took me in, and I got to live there, determined to work for them to make up for it. And, as a result, here I was, using my powers carefully, learning to control not just my powers but my mentality as well. I rarely said anything in anyone else's mind, only sometimes correcting people that used wrong pronouns about me or someone else, or correcting them on something else. I always made sure to make it seem like it was just them correcting themselves, and tried to stay as hidden as possible.

[official-impravidus]

Facade - Jekyll and Hyde Analysis

I had the pleasure of being in the production of Jekyll and Hyde this summer in the ensemble and this song is a big song for us. Facade is the first large ensemble number of the show and in most productions shows the poor singing and mocking the rich who don't acknowledge the poor. There's a face that we wear In the cold light of day - It's society's mask, It's society's way, And the truth is That it's all a façade! This line refers to how we all pretend to be something we aren't just to fit society's mold. There's a face that we hide Till the nighttime appears, And what's hiding inside, Behind all of our fears, Is our true self, Locked inside the façade! Going off of the first line it says how we hide our true selfs, behind the fear of not being accepted. The self that you don't show until you are alone. Every day People, in their own sweet way, Like to add a coat of paint, And be what they ain't! Referring to the fake self they show but also a reference maybe to the makeup overuse that is used in daily life by many. That's how our little - Game is played, Livin' like a masquerade Actin' a bizarre charade - While playing the saint! This says how even though we all at some point be something we aren't we still act as though we are doing good and that we are good people. But there's one thing I know, And I know it for sure: This disease that we've got Has got no ready cure! And I'm certain Life is terribly hard - When your life's a façade! It makes life hard when you are spending your life worrying about what others think about you and making yourself what you think others expect from you. Look around you! I have found You cannot tell, by lookin' at the surface, What is lurkin' there beneath it! From this fake self you have, people can't even tell what is inside. I know a lot of people try to put of the opposite of themselves as a cover to hide their true insecurities. Acting outgoing and loud to cover up the fact that you are very insecure. Being rude to everyone else to shut yourself in to yourself. Being over-helpful and over-kind to hide your hatred towards yourself. See that face! Now, I'm prepared to bet you, What you see's not what you get - 'Cause man's a master of deceit ! Humans are really good at lying. It's just a fact. 60% of People Can't Go 10 Minutes Without Lying. It's just a mechanism that makes things easier. Sometimes just making up whatever the person wants to hear is easier than telling the truth, and many people use that as an escape mechanism. So, what is the sinister secret? The lie he will tell you is true? - It's that each man you meet In the street Isn't one man but two! Though in the concept of the musical about the actual two person man Jekyll and Hyde it is a literal sense, thought in daily societal life it is also easily applicable. Many have different versions of themselves that they apply to different people. One who is happy and social and one that is serious and depressed for example. Nearly everyone you see - Like him an' her, An' you, an' me - Pretends to be A pillar of society - Again, just how we all try to be what society wants. Examples are just the expectations for women to be feminine. To be beautiful and have these features that are just related to "beauty." To be skinny, flawless skin, cascading long beautiful hair. A model for propriety - The term propriety refers to following the rules. Likewise to how many aren't taught to learn for themselves, to go do good things, but just to follow rules and orders. Sobriety Sobriety means to be free from alcohol. According to the National Institute of Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, " In 2014, 87.6 percent of people ages 18 or older reported that they drank alcohol at some point in their lifetime; 71.0 percent reported that they drank in the past year; 56.9 percent reported that they drank in the past month." So, sobriety is definitely something that is in the minority. An' piety - Piety refers to being religious which especially right now in the current 2016, is a bit of a lesser. Though 70.6% of Americans identify as Christian, the term has loosened and many people don't identify with the religion itself. Not agreeing with the bible's words or even going to mass except for being, as Sage Francis says in "Best of Times", "conveniently religious." 22.8% of people say they don't associate to religion (agnostic, atheistic, etc.) Who shudders at the thought Of notoriety! Notoriety is becoming famous by a bad quality or act. For example, not to be political, but people such as Hitler or Donald Trump. These people mentioned above strive to be perfection and fear being known for being any less. The ladies an' gents 'ere before you - Which none of 'em ever admits - May 'ave saintly looks - But they're sinners an' crooks! Hypocrites! Hypocrites! Ah yes, my favorite line of the song. Also one of my favorite words. Hypocrite is a word that I can relate to a lot, for I am one, as are many people. These people who make fun of the lesser, the people who say "I'd never do that", who talk about people behind their backs and fakes being their friends. Such a common thing that never ends no matter what age you are at. There are preachers who kill! There are good who hurt and sin. There are killers who preach! There are people who do wrong but tell of good. There are teachers who lie! The people whom you trust to teach you, to educate you, who lie and tell of biased information. There are liars who teach! There are people who may lie but teach about the good they find. Take yer pick, dear - "Cause it's all a façade! If we're not one, but two, Are we evil or good? Do we walk the fine line - That we'd cross if we could? This is a very good line. The fact that evil and good are such a fine line. It comes to the question that is asked in popular Japanese manga and anime "Death Note" questioning that if you kill all "bad" of the world, where is the line drawn? When does the world's murderers evils equal a common robber's evils? Aren't all people who do bad also have a good in them as well? They have families and lives of their own, yet it questions that would the world be better with perfect "equal happiness and peace." Are we waiting - To break through the façade? This asks that when will we break through this fake persona that we've put onto ourselves. When will be the time that you will stop being something you aren't. One or two Might look kinda well-to-do - Well-to-do means prosperous or wealthy. Hah! They're bad as me an' you, Right down they're boots! But really these people who look who they have it so great are the same as the people who have less then them. Rather it be the flaws or the insecurities. I'm inclined to think - Half mankind Thinks the other half is blind! The fact that people seem to think that the other people around them don't see what they see. That they ignore the harsh truths, wars, famine of the world. Wouldn't be surprise to find - They're all in cahoots! When really, these people are probably working together. They probably talk and they still bad mouth the others together. At the end of the day, They don't mean what they say, They are all liars who just say whatever will get them to the top and make people like them. They don't say what they mean, They don't say what they want and just spit out whatever superficial words that will end the conversation easily and well. They don't ever come clean - And the answer - Is it's all a façade! Is it's all a façade! But in the end, no one ever comes out to tell the truth because it's just easier to lie. It's easier to just do whatever will make people happy and hold everything in because telling the truth creates conflict and creates emotion and who needs that in their daily life? Real human reaction? That's just a little too much of an inconvenience. It's a nightmare - We can never discard - Because really this world we created can be stopped. We can tell the truth, talk how we feel, and just emote. But instead we don't and it becomes too much that we can't get out of because we all have dug ourselves into a deep hole of lies that we can't get out of anymore. So we stay on our guard - We stay on guard, seeing who will be the same, who will stab us in the backs, and who threaten to get us sent down the social status line. Though we love the façade - But we rely on this fake self, What's behind the façade? and our real self is somewhere hidden beneath, Look behind the façade! and we need to find it there.

[kaylainbloom]

An IUD-- what to “expect”

So I am a 20 year old female who has never had children before and I wanted to get on birth control. I did a whole lot of research, went to various GYNs, and weighed my options. I get horrible cramps, like keep you in bed, sweating, light headed, blackout, throw up cramps. In 2016, for the first time ever, my cramps were getting better (but that might also be because I was pumping myself full of tylenol and aleve). I was sick and tired of taking medication that I knew we killing my liver and kidneys, I also wised up and realized a 20-year-old sexually active woman should be on birth control.

After my search for birth control, I realized that an IUD would be my best option. I know I’m forgetful so the pill was out, I also have problems with fibroadenomas and hormones, so anything with estrogen was out. My doctors and I came to the decision that an IUD was best for me. I just had to choose between Mirena, Paraguard or Skyla.

All IUDs are recommended for women who have had a child. as stated before I DO NOT.

Mirena is a small, flexible, T-shaped device that is implanted in the uterus. Mirena uses levonorgesterel– a progestin birth control hormone–and slowly releases a small amount into the uterus over time. Because it releases hormones directly into the uterus, it releases a lower level of hormones into the body than oral contraceptive pills. The IUD slows or stops the movement of the sperm and egg by changing cervical mucus, fallopian tubes and the uterine lining. It takes about 7 days for the hormonal IUD to start working, and it remains effective for 5 to 7 years. Mirena is known to lessen periods to the point that it could completely go away.

My other option was a Paraguard. Paragard is also a type of IUD but it is copper and does not have any hormones. It works because it cuts off sperms access to your eggs. Periods tend to worsen with a Paraguard IUD.

My last choice was Skyla. Like Mirena, Skyla releases progestin into the body. Unlike Mirena it is only good for 3 years. As with Mirena, you might experience some changes in your period, including having no period at all but unlike Mirena, some women experience increased menstrual bleeding and discomfort.

*all of the IUD come with side effects such as ovarian cysts, acne, or breast tenderness, or have abdominal or pelvic pain, allergic reaction and a depressed mood that I encourage you to look upon your own*

Because of my already pre-existing cramps, I decided to go with Mirena. As I stated before IUDs are recommended for women who have had a child, this is due to the fact that the device is implanted in the uterus. If you’ve never had a child before your cervix is pretty much completely shut, there are instances of doctors not being able to insert the IUD because they cannot get the cervix open which is an extremely painful process.

I searched the deeps corners of the internet at 2am the day before my procedure and found all these horror stories of terrible pain and cramping for months at a time (you can look these up on your own but I don’t recommend it). I almost backed out. I asked my friends about their experiences because I figured people only went on the internet to tell the horrible ones, and the anxious person I am I just had to know if the procedure and the recovery was as bad as everyone was saying. This is what they had to say:

“Lmao no lie it was shitty afterwards I was spotting like brown stuff for legit 2 months and was crampy, I lived on aleeve. But now? Bitch. Whos a period? I DONT know her. Cramps? Mood swings? Can’t relate. It’s not bad it hurts a little but it’ll be over really quickly” (mirena)

“The insertion was rough honestly, make sure you have a ride back cuz I thought I could walk back from the health center but I couldnt, it feels like intense period cramping. Then for a while afterwards your body goes through trying to reject it since its a foreign object in your body. So your first period after getting it is going to be terrible Im not gonna lie, i deadass thought I needed an ambulance lol and you're gonna spot on and off for a while until the IUD makes a home in your uterus. I wont lie its rough for the first few months until your body gets used to it so be prepared but honestly its the best thing I did. I got the paraguard so its hormone free. I was on birth control pills for so long and i really didnt react well to the hormones. When it comes to contraception I can 100% say the IUD is your best bet. 7-10 years baby free, you can get it taken out whenever you want. Although I will say, your partners may feel the strings that hang from the IUD from certain angels, but its a minor inconvenience compared to a baby LOL” (paraguard)

“so this is actually funny because I’ve unfortunately had nothing but problems since i’ve gotten the IUD. i first got it in December 2015 and i had the worst cramps of my life for a few weeks after and my period of super long lasting like 2-3 weeks. then i went for my 3 month check up and found out my body was rejecting the IUD so i got another put in and it just got worse. i started having ridiculously heavy periods and there were blood clots coming out. i thought i had uterine fibroids or cysts so i went to get an ultrasound and it turns out my body is rejecting the IUD again so i’m getting it removed monday because i’m just not eligible for it, unfortunately, i’m so upset about it because i really wanted it to work and i have friends that love it and have no complaints and it’s just so convenient cause you literally never worry about being pregnant”

“DONT WORRY! getting an IUD was literally the best decision i’ve made. Tthe forums will totally freak you out. and it’s definitely painful, but it just feels like a really bad period cramp that lasts like 30 seconds. i had cramps for at most two weeks after. and they weren’t constant just occasional. and i had like blood spotting for a little more than a month. of course it’s different for everyone! the forums scared me too but i personally feel it was worth it and i’ve had it for a little over 6 months now.”

Admittedly, even though there was some horror mixed in, this felt REAL. So I decided to go to my appointment. If you asked me now, id say it was a quick process, two sharp burst of pain then you’re done. Im on day 3 and I only had cramps for the first half an hour after but I took a tylenol-codiene leftover from a previous surgery before hand and Ive been taking aleve ever since. But when I got out of the procedure heres what I texted my boyfriend: That was the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. So first they had to measure and dilate my cervix and apparently my cervix is small and short so when they opened it i like yelled cuz that shit hurt and that was the first pain and there was blood so she couldn’t see so it took longer then they went to put it in and before it was like cramping then it ended. But when they put this other thing idk what it was I think it was a way for them to slide the IUD in? That hurt so bad I screamed and tears came to my eyes. She said that should be the worst of it because putting in the IUD shouldn’t hurt more because everything was in place so if I could handle that I could handle the IUD. Then she put it in… I screamed and that shit felt like cramping mixed with a fucking knife and there was bleeding so they had to apply pressure and that shit hurt. So like once they were done it was like a dull constant pain. I laid there for a second and then i got dressed. After i got dressed i started shaking and sweating and i fell on the floor and they had to put me in the chair and took my blood pressure and it spiked. Apparently I went into shock. Im in the car rn the codeine finally kicked in but I’m still nauseous and shaky.”

I can’t remember pain, but I dealt with it, the whole procedure was less than 5 minutes and within a half an hour I was feeling better. My vagina was swollen that night but today its fine. I honestly think it was worth it. If the healing process goes well I’ll be ecstatic. Its only day 3 so I don’t want to get ahead of myself but everyone said that this would be the worst time, for me it feels fine. It might be because Im on pain killers but I didnt expect to be this good. I have little to no pain, some spotting but thats to be expected this first month. Im already happy with my decision and I will keep you updated (obviously much shorter lol) on how the healing process is going! Lemme know if y’all have any questions!