#massive trigger so what the fuck do i do here. to be allergic to some of the most caloric and fatty foods out there

[wizardnuke]

does anyone know if we have to roll that rock up the hill again tomorrow

[tobiasdrake]

Alright, that brings us to what may be the biggest plot hole in V3. You know what I'm talking about.

People have gone back and forth a lot on cospox, because it makes absolutely no sense within the "true" metatext of V3.

It's presented here in the form of Tsumugi dressing up as Kaede, to demonstrate a horrible rash that spreads across her body as an allergic reaction to cosplaying a real person.

We're not going to talk about how patently silly that is because this is Danganronpa and Danganronpa does not give a shit. There is no ceiling for zany magical bullshit. If Tsumugi says cospox is a thing then sure, why not.

She literally wrote the script. She knows better than you or I do about whether this is possible.

No, the problem is that how it's introduced and how it's ultimately used are at odds with one another. If this is a real affliction that Writer Tsumugi suffers from, that's fine. If this is purely a quirk that she wrote for Character Tsumugi, that's also fine.

It would be entirely possible for Tsumugi to fake this. We see later in the game that her Cosplay skills are so advanced that she has super-speed quick-changes, able to swap wardrobes and even body types near-instantaneously. She could absolutely be fucking with Kaede right now.

The problem is that this becomes a critical plot point for revealing the truth of V3. Her cospox is central to revelations of the middle reality. We learn that the Danganronpa universe exists as fiction within her universe because she can cosplay as Danganronpa characters without triggering her cospox.

But. That. Doesn't make sense, does it? Because in this scene where she reveals her cospox, she's dressing as Kaede. Kaede is no more real than Makoto Naegi or Ibuki Mioda or Junko Enoshima. You can't even bullshit around that problem by saying that she's wearing the actress's clothes, because the actress came here in a different outfit. These clothes were provided to Kaede during the False Start opening as her character's costume.

Some people have taken this as undeniable proof of an even more hidden truth buried beneath the hidden truth that's buried beneath the lies masquerading as the truth. The ending even suggests as much, with the characters speculating that maybe the reality show and LARP was itself a lie and that the TRUEST TRUER true story of V3 has never been revealed.

But I don't truck with that shit. That's just mystery boxing. Deliberately not answering the questions that the story raises to trick the audience into making up their own explanations, which they will then project onto the original lazy story so they can convince themselves it's clever.

What exists within the text is a massive plot hole. Maybe Kodaka couldn't be arsed to notice that he wrote himself into a corner because he was actively burned out on Danganronpa when he was making this, or maybe it's an elaborate writing prompt. One that you can absolutely spin 50,000 pages of fanfic out of if you want to. But either way, it's my opinion that, as an audience, the main plot of the story shouldn't be your responsibility to fix.

One way or another, the way V3 handles Tsumugi's cospox is terrible.

[grimaldiapologist]

I just sometimes wish my body made any sense. I have a tree pollen allergy, and it triggers at just about anything made in nature that isn't pissing and breathing at some point. But it doesn't do it with any sort of consistency.

For example, some years, I have zero symptoms from pollens. Other years, it's a nuisance. Rarely, it gets in the way of living.

Some foods that I know for a fact are cross-reactive for me: raw carrot, any sweet fruit, cherry will probably kill me if I have it another time, almonds.

Almonds in specific. Hazelnut is usually fine, sometimes it causes blood blisters to spawn in my mouth, and there's no rhyme or reason. But almonds, they're itchy, terrible, make my throat swell just enough that it can't be ignored, attacks my gums, makes me feel all sorts of histamine'd up.

Now, going to the store, I was pretty tired, and I bought an almond ice cream by accident. You'll understand better if I say it's a crème fucking brulée ice cream, and you wouldn't exactly expect that to just straight up be made out of shredded almonds, but whatever. I'd had an encounter previously with this same ice cream thanks to this stupidity, and told myself while I was selecting my two-for-one ice cream packs that I'll need to check it before purchasing it. I didn't, because I was sleepy, and brain fog is fun.

So I came home with this almond ice cream. And boy oh boy is it almondy. There's almond everywhere. Why does this fucker say Crème Brulée and not CB&Almond, if the entire ice cream is just mixed with ground almond? It's not a flavouring. It's not vegan ice cream made of almond milk. This is straight up almond muesli all over my fucking ice cream, chewy, rough, almond-tasting.

And my body does not give a single fuck. Not one fuck has been lifted from me eating this ice cream. Barely a shiver has passed.

Please make it fucking make sense. I've been allergic to everything this spring, to the point, likely due to the dry weather, where even after the goddamn birches stopped dusting up the world, I've been sniffly and itchy and coughy, and I do not have grass allergies, so what the fuck is that. What is it. So I assumed, naturally, that since I'm already sensitised - and I'm not taking allergy pills at any regular frequency, only if I get really bothered by the symptoms - I'm going to react like fuck to the ice cream. But I'll brave it, the worst that can happen is that I have anaphylaxis and die in a hospital, worth it for the treat.

And NOTHING. Why! Why is my fucking body like this!!!!!! I tasted a nectarine last week and my gums turned into massive, prickling, itchy sores in 10 minutes. Now I'm here with my finished almond fucking ice cream like I've never been allergic to a thing in my life. My cat, or the grasses I was pulling out of the flowerbed with bare hands, gave me hives yesterday.

I just want something, anything, to make sense so that I can have some confidence in eating again. Why is it that I'm allergic to everything and nothing all at once, never the same thing the same way reliably two times in row, I fucking hate pollen allergies.

This has been a vent about how much my almond ice cream did not bother me and how much I did not waste my money on it like I initially thought, and I'm angry about it.

[ground-zero-idiocies]

Ok so you know how Marvel has a what if scenario. You know how in the game Nick Valentine is a father figure. For Fallout 4 what if the original Nick Valentine was Nora's biological father, they had a close father/daughter relationship and everything. So Nick would have memories of raising her with the original Nick's fiancee (before the Eddie Winter killing her scenario). Then after they finally meet after Nora got out of her Vault. She treats him the same way she treated her father, she isn't bothered by his physical appearance of anything. She still has a habit of calling Nick "dad".

I'm not a good 'sad' writer but here's my attempt to kick you in the feels. Good luck (to you and me).

Fallout 4 Short Fic: 'Dad'

To Nora, life was shit.

From her view, the recent timeline of her life just kept getting worse: first, she got pregnant by accident. Not great, but manageable. Then she got fired for not being able to come into the office. Again, not the end of the world. Then a disastrous visit with her dad up in Providence leading to a no-contact situation brought her attitude down even further. Then, on a day when she'd planned to she a counselor and get her life back on track, the world literally ended. Nukes flew and she got locked in a cryopod - and seconds later, from her view at least, her husband, her one remaining ally in a cruel world, got shot right between the eyes by an unknown gunman. To top it all off, a kidnapping of the last meaningful thing in Nora's life.

So to put it mildly, Nora's first visit to Diamond City wasn't exactly a chipper vacation. Less then twenty minutes after she entered a desecrated stadium she had loved so much, she left in search of one apparent hope: some robot locked in the basement of a Vault.

Entering Vault 114, Nora's interaction with the triggermen was short. Asking to see the detective, Nora was brought before Skinny Malone - who she promptly shot, her mind so one-tracked that she would kill herself if it meant her body ended up in the next place she had to be on her absurd quest to find her son.

She walked through the vault, the remaining triggermen to scared to pull a gun on her. Walking to the bottom, she clubbed Dino in the head with a sledgehammer and opened the door to the overseer's office.

"Do I know you?"

Valentine's words cut like a sharp knife right into Nora's ears. No longer was she locked in a Shaun-induced trance, but her anger was far from gone along with it. She pulled her 10mm pistol and raised it right to Nick's temple.

"Maybe when you put that voice away and stop impersonating my centuries-dead father, I can tell you who the FUCK I am!"

Nora was on the verge of tears. Even in her belief that this was just some impersonator, some robot scanning her brain like the machines in Goodneighbor, to hear that voice again brought her to her psychological knees.

Nick observed the gun, then the wavering voice, then the tears welling up in Nora's eyes. Somehow, Nick's mechanical pupils grew massive. There must have been some glitch in his self-preservation subroutine, because he chose to ignore the barrel pressed to his power core. He wrapped his tattered arms around Nora, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to say anything, seaweed. I can't believe I'm seeing you again."

Nora's finger slipped off the trigger. The hug had switched the safety off, but the word 'seaweed' caused the pistol to fall out of hand completely.

Seaweed. It was a pun, one that was last told over two-hundred years prior. Seaweed. It was a play on her name, Nora. For her eleventh birthday, she'd been taken to the best Sushi restaurant in Boston. The only problem was that she was allergic to one primary ingredient: the Nori that coated the rolls and pieces of nigiri. When ordering, Nora had turned to the waiter and proudly asked for 'Two tuna rolls, but without the Nora. Nori! Without the Nori!", causing a storm of laughter from the table. From that point on, that was who she was. Seaweed. So much in such an odd word.

Nora dug her head deeper into Nick's covered shoulder.

"How? How is this even...I...I'm so sorry..."

She couldn't stop crying. And somehow, maybe it was the humidity in the air or the leaky pipe above his head, Nick shed a tear onto Nora's blue jumpsuit as well.

"It's ok kiddo, it's...I forgive you."

Nora embraced Nick even further, both enjoying nothing but being in each other's presence once again.

After a moment, Nick wiped his cracked cheek and spoke again.

"It's a really long story. One that would be better told at home. Wherever home is, anyway."

Nick stifled a laugh.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've been living out of your old house in Sanctuary Hills. I've tried to keep it in good shape, but 200 years can really do a number on a house. Specifically, a number of holes in the walls."

Nora's tears were broken by a single, sharp laugh from deep inside her stomach.

"If you're here, is Jenny? Shaun? Nate?"

Nick let out a saddened chuckle.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with just me for now. Those CIT eggheads only bothered to shit out one member of the family in Inspector Gadget form."

Nora looked up at Nick, his robotic face melting into a warm smile, one bringing her back to a time when a 'super mutant' was a side character in a 5 cent comic.

"Come on, Nora. Let's go home."

Still tightly holding Nora's hand, Nick started slowly walking out of the office, finding themselves back in the spacious atrium outside.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

SKIN DEEP—a fic

So Rainbow had a pretty funny exchange on Twitter yesterday about the Watford crew and teenage acne, and in particular if Baz would have acne. Which she said he most certainly would. So, being me, I had to go write a fic about it. Because I have no chill and even less self control. So here is a slightly crack-y fic, set at pre-canon era Watford, as hormones start to surge and Simon becomes pimple obsessed.

Screen shots of Rainbow’s tweets at the end of this post, to prove this lunacy had a real life prompt.

Simon and Baz fourth year, as the ravages of adolescence commence. Pimples, blemishes and spots. Questionable concoctions. The roots of Baz’s immaculate skin care regimen. Some things even a vampire can’t avoid.

Skin Deep

Year Four

Simon

I’m just about to splash water on my face when I notice them in the mirror. I mean, I’ve been expecting this to happen. I saw the older boys go all spotty at the homes. There’s no way I’d be lucky enough to be spared.

But fuck it all. I’ve got one on the side of my nose, two on my chin and one right between my eyebrows. How did I get all these pimples in one night?

I’m half tempted to think Baz spelled me. But that’s not his style, he doesn’t sneak about doing something like this, even though he’s a prick and a plotter. No, he did things like this when we were first years, but now when Baz spells me he wants everyone to know what he’s done.

Makes a production of it, the wanker.

Like when he knocks my boater off. Spells my shoes untied during class, so I trip when I stand up. Or seals the lid on the butter dish at breakfast.

If Baz was going to spell me spotty he’d do it in on a Monday, right before class, when everyone would notice. Not in our room, on a Saturday morning, when we’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He’s still asleep so if he did do it, it must have been in the night and really what would be the bloody point of that?

I have to reluctantly admit it’s probably not him this time. It’s me. I was just hoping this particular stage of puberty would just pass me by.

The other milestones have been coming one right after another though, so I guess I’m not that lucky.

I’ve got hair in more places now.

And I grew three inches this summer (Baz grew four, the tosser, so he’s still taller than me).

He’s taller but it’s like he fits in his body. Glides when he walks. Smooth as silk on the pitch. Bloody infuriating, is what it is.

I feel like a marionette on a string, my arms and legs all out of sync, knocking into furniture and tripping over my own feet, even when my shoes are tied.

And my voice has been doing that stupid thing where it gets all deep mid-sentence, and then it goes up so high I sound like Madame Bellamy. It’s bloody awful. Baz always gives me shit about it --“going to break into song for us, Snow?”

He’s such a prick.

I lean in closer to the mirror. The ones on my chin are small. It’s the nose one that’s a disaster.

No help for it. I’ll ask Penny if there’s a spell at breakfast. Though I doubt there is, seeing as Agatha’s been spotty for weeks and I know she’d use a spell, if there was one. Penny says Agatha spells her hair to be that straight and shine like it does. I wasn’t sure I believed her but some days it’s got a bit of an uneven wave to it so I wonder if Penny may be right.

*******

“No, Simon, there isn’t a spell.” Penny is using her patient voice with me, which means she thinks my question is unbearably stupid. She leans across the table to peer at me over her glasses. “You’ve hardly got any.”

“I might only have four now. But just you wait. They’re bound to get worse. With my luck I’ll be covered in them.”

“You don’t know that. And even if they do get worse it’s human nature! The universal teen experience!”

I groan.

“It won’t be that bad, Simon. Besides everyone’s spotty.”

“Baz isn’t spotty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Baz again, please.”

“Have you seen him, Penny?”

“I see him every day, Simon.”

“Yes, but have you really looked?”

“Obviously not as intently as you.”

“I live with him!”

I get another eye roll.

“He’s not got one spot! I tell you, it’s proof he’s a vampire. You can’t go through normal adolescence and be as pristine as all that.”

“Everyone goes through puberty at different times. He’s probably not at that stage yet.”

“He’s taller than me!”

“He’s always been taller than you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s not like he has any control over that, Simon. It’s genetics.”

I know that. I know height isn’t something that you can magick. But it just doesn’t seem fair that each time I grow enough to catch up to him, he grows too.

He did it last summer. Did it again this summer. Even grew over the Christmas holiday this year, the jammy bastard.

And now I’m sprouting pimples right and left and he’s across the dining hall with his flawless, pearly grey skin. Not a spot to be seen.

Typical.

****

I can tell I’ve got more when I wake up. Bloody hell. The old ones dry up and get crusty and new ones take their place.

My face feels heavier this morning. I grimace and I know there’s one on the side of my nose again. It pinches when my cheeks move so it must be massive. And the one on my chin itches— it’s probably grown overnight, red and welted around that nasty white center. I can’t even imagine what my forehead looks like.

I’ve tried everything.

Washing my face twice a day.

Alcohol to try to dry them out (didn’t do a thing, except make my skin all flaky so I looked like I had dandruff and the pox).

I borrowed some ointment off of Gareth. (He’s worse off than me, the poor sod, just a face full of them.) (Which should have tipped me off that whatever he was using wasn’t working.) (Got an earful from Penny about that.)

I had some sort of allergic reaction when I used his, so my face was itching, red even in the areas between the spots, and felt like it was on fucking fire.

Practically scrubbed my face off trying to wash it away.

Of course, Baz walked in right as I came out of the en suite. Did a double take at the sight of me, the wanker, then raised that eyebrow of his and curled his lip up in a sneer. Leaned forward and studied me for a moment. My face got even hotter. I don’t like it when he stares at me like that, all intense and focused. Like he’s plotting the best way to end me without triggering the Anathema. Makes my stomach twist, it does.

Made me wish my wand wasn’t half way across the room.

But I know Baz won’t risk the Anathema. He’s never done anything remotely threatening in our room. (It’s another story out of our room.)

He’d crossed his arms over his chest after he was done inspecting me and smirked, the tosser. “You know, Snow, between the excessive quantity of moles, infinite number of freckles, and extraordinary collection of pimples you have on your face, I don’t think I can actually see anything resembling skin anymore.”

He’s going to make me trigger the Anathema one of these days.

I ended up having to see the nurse for it, when I couldn’t stop scratching at my face. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Penny. It’s not like I can help being there so often. I’ve got missions. Important work for the Mage. It’s what I do.

She’d shaken her head at me and cast some spell that made the itching go away but didn’t do a thing for the bloody spots. Looked bored and put upon even doing that, she did.

This teen experience is a bloody nuisance.

I’m more and more convinced Baz is a vampire. The entire class looks poxed except for him. Like we’re in the middle of a plague while he’s all alabaster skin, unblemished and smooth, immaculate and bloody flawless.

Perfect, just like he always is.

Wanker.

Baz

Snow is an absolute spotted mess. It was entertaining at first, to watch him peer at himself in the mirror, hear the muttered curses as he would catch sight of each new blemish.

But I’m actually finding myself almost feeling sorry for him now.

Almost.

He’s standing at his mirror, turning his face this way and that, grumbling to himself as he inspects his reflection.

It’s something he does on a daily basis since his skin condition deteriorated so precipitously. I should probably stop needling him about it.

But I won’t because he actually seems quite bothered by it. Can’t let him think I’m going soft.

I wasn’t joking the other night, when I mocked him. I don’t think he has a span of skin left that doesn’t have some manner of spot or blotch or freckle on it. At least he’s stopped with the alcohol washes. He was shedding more than a snake when he was doing that, leaving errant flakes of skin all over the bathroom sink.

Disgusting.

Whatever he’s doing certainly isn’t making anything better. Making it a far sight worse by my estimation.

He’s literally a textbook illustration of acne vulgaris. The full range: from red and bumpy spots, to glaring pustules, to crusted over, scabby craters.

More like a walking dermatologic visual in actuality. You could slap a label on him: progressive stages of teenage acne and the entire range of pigmented facial anomalies.

Although they weren’t really anomalies before the acne got to Snow. His moles and freckles just seem to fit with his tawny skin—vast arrays of constellations scattered across his face, mapping out patterns against the smoothness of his complexion.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. What absolute nonsense. Snow’s freckles are a travesty.

And he’s anything but smooth complexioned. He’s more of a lunar landscape than Shakespeare’s damask’d roses.

I can’t be arsed to mess with him now though. I’m too comfortable under my blankets.

It’s far too early for anyone to be up, but Snow’s probably readying himself to head off on one of the Mage’s blasted missions again. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday morning and by all accounts he should be doing what the rest of us are—having a lazy lie-in.

I watch him from under half-lidded eyes, the blankets pulled up to cover the bottom half of my face. He growls one last time, savages his curls in an attempt to tame them, and then charges out the door. It slams shut behind him, further proof that Snow has no regard for the niceties of sharing a room.

Thanks to all his thumping about, I’m now wide awake. I try to go back to sleep, try to will myself into a drowsy oblivion, but that ship has sailed. No Sunday lie-in for me and I lay the blame directly on Snow.

I stay under the covers for a bit longer, dreading the chilly walk to the en suite, but eventually my need to piss outweighs the comfort of the bed.

It’s not until I’m washing my hands and happen to glance up at the mirror that I notice.

There’s a pimple on my nose. Not just on my nose—at the very tip of it. Right in the fucking center of my face. If it were anywhere else—my forehead or my cheeks, for example—I’d have some chance of hiding it. But this. I can’t hide this.

And I can’t hide the one on my chin either. Bloody hell.

I shouldn’t even have pimples. I should by all rights be immune to this. I don’t get sick, I’m not prey to infections—how the bloody hell have I ended up with acne, for Crowley’s sake? It should be one of the perks of being undead—imperviousness to the ravages of teenage skin eruptions.

For half a minute I wonder if Snow has spelled me, in retribution for my insensitive commentary on his facial imperfections. But there is no possible way Snow could have managed a spell this precise, this nuanced. I’d be covered in boils, like Job himself, if Snow had attempted to pox me.

That’s not to say that this is acceptable. It most assuredly is not. And there’s no bloody spell for it. Dev’s been spotty since last year and he and Niall have yet to find anything that does more than slightly diminish the redness.

It’s fine. This is fine.

It’s not fine.

I need to call home and talk to Daphne. Surely she’ll have some advice for me.

Simon

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes me up. I’m still knackered from yesterday. Didn’t get back until well after midnight and I’ve got class in just a bit. I stretch and groan as my shoulder pops. I wrenched it trying to free my sword from that basilisk’s skull last night. I roll my neck and pull myself to a seated position.

Baz is already up. The door to the en suite’s closed but I don’t hear the water running.

My stomach growls. I’ll have time for seconds if I get to breakfast early enough. I’m just about ready to head down there when Baz comes out of the bathroom, steam drifting behind him and bringing the scent of his shampoo with it. It’s some posh brand, in sleek, artistically shaped bottles.

Penny says it smells like cedar and bergamot. I’m not sure what cedar and bergamot smell like. All I know is that the scent is unfairly pleasant.

Unlike Baz, who isn’t pleasant at all.

He looks murderous at the moment, eyebrows lowered, eyes narrowed. He’s an arse in general but more so in the mornings. He’d sleep late if he had the chance—he’s rarely out of bed before nine on weekends, the tosser, not unless he’s got exams to study for or an away match.

I’m trying to stay out of his way as I leave but I make for the door right as he crosses the room to his wardrobe and we do this awkward half step to avoid each other.

And that’s when I see it.

He’s got a pimple on his nose. Right at the tip of it, where it comes to a bit of a point. It’s nothing compared to any of mine. I’d hardly notice it on anyone else but this is Baz.

It’s stark against his pale skin, raised and just slightly reddened.

Fuck. He’s got one on his chin as well. Two, actually.

Baz has spots.

Trivial and hardly noticeable ones, but still.

I open my mouth to say something then think better of it and hightail it down to breakfast.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz has spots.

Penny is disappointingly unimpressed by this unexpected and highly irregular development.

“Simon, we all have spots. This is not some earth-shattering revelation. It’s puberty. A normal part of human development. We’ve been over this.”

“No, but this is Baz. Baz, Penny. He’s not human.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. She rolls her eyes rather a lot, I’m thinking. “He is if he has spots, Simon. I’d say this disproves your vampire hypothesis for good.”

“Maybe vampires aren’t immune to acne.”

“Simon.”

“Maybe it’s some plot. He probably magicked them up himself, the scheming prick.”

“You’re relentless! First you’re outraged that he doesn’t have spots, now you’re complaining that he does! For Merlin’s sake, Baz has finally shown himself to be as imperfect as the rest of us, so let it go, Simon.”

“He’s not imperfect. Far from it. Even his pimples are impeccable—small, unobtrusive, uh . . . restrained.”

Penny stands up, takes her plate and glares at me over the top of her glasses. “That’s enough, Simon. You’re being absurd. No one has perfect pimples.” She stomps across the hall to deposit her dishes, turning back to give me a disapproving look.

I scowl at her. Baz walks in as Penny goes out.

She’s wrong this time. Penny’s not wrong about much, but she’s wrong about this.

Baz’s pimples are fucking perfect.

It’s so fucking unfair.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383057

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via A "Rational Suicide" Note. Ft. Anne Örtegren.)

November 9, 2019

This is a “suicide” note left by a ME/CFS sufferer who sought and found relief from her suffering via legal, medically assisted suicide.  She says this manifesto took her months to write, which I do not doubt a bit: it is long, detailed and polished and was written when she was feeling terrible.  She wrote it with the intent to describe her almost indescribable pain and experience, and to convince others to take action on behalf of ME/CFS sufferers, both of which are lofty communication goals when anyone is seriously ill.

Describing and convincing have been my most impossible endeavors since I’ve been seriously ill myself and I think I have mostly failed, judging by others’ reactions to everything I’ve managed to gather the physical and emotional grit to attempt to communicate: that I am seriously, hopelessly ill with an incurable, progressive disease, that there is no bottom to how bad this can get, and it matters not what anyone thinks about it.  Some things are just true regardless of whether anyone believes it.

In this note, ME/CFS patient Anne Örtegren describes symptoms and dilemmas I have experienced myself and she foresees logical outcomes to her predicament, something sick people and especially sick women are never allowed to do because catastrophization. For example, she knows that her heightened sensitivity to light and sound will make treatment or recovery in a hospital setting impossible where the standard of care in that environment requires constant activity and interruptions, and provides no privacy and no escape from the harsh industrial lighting, interrogations by (allegedly) well meaning staff and the general hustle and bustle of capitalistic money making on the backs and bodies of sick and dying people.

That is but one example of a sick person making informed prognostications regarding likely outcomes of the things other people want to do to us, and as someone who shares these sensitivities to light and sound (and therefore an aversion to hospital settings) as but one example of our shared experience of being seriously ill, I appreciated her spelling it out.  I also feel extremely sad that she had to, and furious that no one who allegedly cared about her wellbeing including medical professionals who should be fucking sensitive to the actual needs of real patients could make the leap themselves.  There are many such examples in this letter.

See for yourselves, and understand that as illuminating and raw as this letter is, it’s also been edited by the publisher and a so-called suicide prevention expert because the bottom line everywhere appears to be that there is no such thing as rational suicide or euthanasia because well people and people who make money off of the long-term sick and dying say so.  And because living in this capitalistic, patriarchal nightmare is so hideous for so many people that “suicide contagion” exists, where just knowing that someone, somewhere had whatever it took to end themselves is likely to cause untold numbers of happy, healthy consumers with bright futures to do the same damn thing.  Yeah that’s it, let’s keep telling ourselves that.

The letter as published is reprinted below.  The unedited letter supposedly exists online somewhere if anyone cares to look and has the energy to figure out how and where the edited version differs from the original.  Comments are open below.

Farewell – A Last Post from Anne Örtegren

Nobody can say that I didn’t put up enough of a fight.

For 16 years I have battled increasingly severe ME/CFS. My condition has steadily deteriorated and new additional medical problems have regularly appeared, making it ever more difficult to endure and make it through the day (and night).

Throughout this time, I have invested almost every bit of my tiny energy in the fight for treatment for us ME/CFS patients. Severely ill, I have advocated from my bedroom for research and establishment of biomedical ME/CFS clinics to get us proper health care. All the while, I have worked hard to find something which would improve my own health. I have researched all possible treatment options, got in contact with international experts and methodically tried out every medication, supplement and regimen suggested.

Sadly, for all the work done, we still don’t have adequately sized specialized biomedical care for ME/CFS patients here in Stockholm, Sweden – or hardly anywhere on the planet. We still don’t have in-patient hospital units adapted to the needs of the severely ill ME/CFS patients. Funding levels for biomedical ME/CFS research remain ridiculously low in all countries and the erroneous psychosocial model which has caused me and others so much harm is still making headway.

And sadly, for me personally things have gone from bad to worse to unbearable. I am now mostly bedbound and constantly tortured by ME/CFS symptoms. I also suffer greatly from a number of additional medical problems, the most severe being a systematic hyper-reactivity in the form of burning skin combined with an immunological/allergic reaction. This is triggered by so many things that it has become impossible to create an adapted environment. Some of you have followed my struggle to find clothes and bed linen I can tolerate. Lately, I am simply running out. I no longer have clothes I can wear without my skin “burning up” and my body going into an allergic state.

This means I no longer see a way out from this solitary ME/CFS prison and its constant torture. I can no longer even do damage control, and my body is at the end of its rope. Therefore, I have gone through a long and thorough process involving several medical assessments to be able to choose a peaceful way out: I have received a preliminary green light for accompanied suicide through a clinic in Switzerland.

When you read this I am at rest, free from suffering at last. I have written this post to explain why I had to take this drastic step. Many ME/CFS patients have found it necessary to make the same decision, and I want to speak up for us, as I think my reasons may be similar to those of many others with the same sad destiny.

These reasons can be summed up in three headers: unbearable suffering; no realistic way out of the suffering; and the lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs.

Important note Before I write more about these reasons, I want to stress something important. Depression is not the cause of my choice. Though I have been suffering massively for many years, I am not depressed. I still have all my will and my motivation. I still laugh and see the funny side of things, I still enjoy doing whatever small activities I can manage. I am still hugely interested in the world around me – my loved ones and all that goes on in their lives, the society, the world (what is happening in human rights issues? how can we solve the climate change crisis?) During these 16 years, I have never felt any lack of motivation.

On the contrary, I have consistently fought for solutions with the goal to get myself better and help all ME/CFS patients get better. There are so many things I want to do, I have a lot to live for. If I could only regain some functioning, quieten down the torture a bit and be able to tolerate clothes and a normal environment, I have such a long list of things I would love to do with my life!

Three main reasons So depression is not the reason for my decision to terminate my life. The reasons are the following:

1. Unbearable suffering Many severely ill ME/CFS patients are hovering at the border of unbearable suffering. We are constantly plagued by intense symptoms, we endure high-impact every-minute physical suffering 24 hours a day, year after year. I see it as a prison sentence with torture. I am homebound and mostly bedbound – there is the prison. I constantly suffer from excruciating symptoms: The worst flu you ever had. Sore throat, bronchi hurting with every breath. Complete exhaustion, almost zero energy, a body that weighs a tonne and sometimes won’t even move. Muscle weakness, dizziness, great difficulties standing up. Sensory overload causing severe suffering from the brain and nervous system. Massive pain in muscles, painful inflammations in muscle attachments. Intensely burning skin. A feeling of having been run over by a bus, twice, with every cell screaming. This has got to be called torture.

It would be easier to handle if there were breaks, breathing spaces. But with severe ME/CFS there is no minute during the day when one is comfortable. My body is a war zone with constant firing attacks. There is no rest, no respite. Every move of every day is a mountain-climb. Every night is a challenge, since there is no easy sleep to rescue me from the torture. I always just have to try to get through the night. And then get through the next day.

It would also be easier if there were distractions. Like many patients with severe ME/CFS I am unable to listen to music, radio, podcasts or audio books, or to watch TV. I can only read for short bouts of time, and use the computer for even shorter moments. I am too ill to manage more than rare visits or phone calls from my family and friends, and sadly unable to live with someone. This solitary confinement aspect of ME/CFS is devastating and it is understandable that ME/CFS has been described as the “living death disease”.

For me personally, the situation has turned into an emergency not least due to my horrific symptom of burning skin linked to immunological/allergic reactions. This appeared six years into my ME/CFS, when I was struck by what seemed like a complete collapse of the bodily systems controlling immune system, allergic pathways, temperature control, skin and peripheral nerves. I had long had trouble with urticaria, hyperreactive skin and allergies, but at this point a violent reaction occurred and my skin completely lost tolerance. I started having massively burning skin, severe urticaria and constant cold sweats and shivers (these reactions reminded me of the first stages of the anaphylactic shock I once had, then due to heat allergy).

Since then, for ten long years, my skin has been burning. It is an intense pain. I have been unable to tolerate almost all kinds of clothes and bed linen as well as heat, sun, chemicals and other everyday things. These all trigger the burning skin and the freezing/shivering reaction into a state of extreme pain and suffering. Imagine being badly sunburnt and then being forced to live under a constant scalding sun – no relief in sight.

At first I managed to find a certain textile fabric which I could tolerate, but then this went out of production, and in spite of years of negotiations with the textile industry it has, strangely, proven impossible to recreate that specific weave. This has meant that as my clothes have been wearing out, I have been approaching the point where I will no longer have clothes and bed linen that are tolerable to my skin. It has also become increasingly difficult to adapt the rest of my living environment so as to not trigger the reaction and worsen the symptoms. Now that I am running out of clothes and sheets, ahead of me has lain a situation with constant burning skin and an allergic state of shivering/cold sweats and massive suffering. This would have been absolutely unbearable.

For 16 years I have had to manage an ever-increasing load of suffering and problems. They now add up to a situation which is simply no longer sustainable.

2. No realistic way out of the suffering A very important factor is the lack of realistic hope for relief in the future. It is possible for a person to bear a lot of suffering, as long as it is time-limited. But the combination of massive suffering and a lack of rational hope for remission or recovery is devastating.

Think about the temporary agony of a violent case of gastric flu. Picture how you are feeling those horrible days when you are lying on the bathroom floor between attacks of diarrhoea and vomiting. This is something we all have to live through at times, but we know it will be over in a few days. If someone told you at that point: “you will have to live with this for the rest of your life”, I am sure you would agree that it wouldn’t feel feasible. It is unimaginable to cope with a whole life with the body in that insufferable state every day, year after year. The level of unbearableness in severe ME/CFS is the same.

If I knew there was relief on the horizon, it would be possible to endure severe ME/CFS and all the additional medical problems, even for a long time, I think. The point is that there has to be a limit, the suffering must not feel endless.

One vital aspect here is of course that patients need to feel that the ME/CFS field is being taken forward. Sadly, we haven’t been granted this feeling – see my previous blogs relating to this here and here.

Another imperative issue is the drug intolerance that I and many others with ME/CFS suffer from. I have tried every possible treatment, but most of them have just given me side-effects, many of which have been irreversible. My stomach has become increasingly dysfunctional, so for the past few years any new drugs have caused immediate diarrhoea. One supplement triggered massive inflammation in my entire urinary tract, which has since persisted. The list of such occurrences of major deterioration caused by different drugs/treatments is long, and with time my reactions have become increasingly violent. I now have to conclude that my sensitivity to medication is so severe that realistically it is very hard for me to tolerate drugs or supplements.

This has two crucial meanings for many of us severely ill ME/CFS patients: There is no way of relieving our symptoms. And even if treatments appear in the future, with our sensitivity of medication any drug will carry a great risk of irreversible side-effects producing even more suffering. This means that even in the case of a real effort finally being made to bring biomedical research into ME/CFS up to levels on par with that of other diseases, and possible treatments being made accessible, for some of us it is unlikely that we would be able to benefit. Considering our extreme sensitivity to medication, one could say it’s hard to have realistic hope of recovery or relief for us.

In the past couple of years I, being desperate, have challenged the massive side-effect risk and tried one of the treatments being researched in regards to ME/CFS. But I received it late in the disease process, and it was a gamble. I needed it to have an almost miraculous effect: a quick positive response which eliminated many symptoms – most of all I needed it to stop my skin from burning and reacting, so I could tolerate the clothes and bed linen produced today. I have been quickly running out of clothes and sheets, so I was gambling with high odds for a quick and extensive response. Sadly, I wasn’t a responder. I have also tried medication for Mast Cell Activation Disorder and a low-histamine diet, but my burning skin hasn’t abated. Since I am now running out of clothes and sheets, all that was before me was constant burning hell.

3. The lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs The third factor is the insight that the risk for further deterioration and increased suffering is high.

On top of the nearly unbearable symptoms it is very likely that in the future things will get even worse. An example in my case could be my back and neck pain. I would need to strengthen muscles to prevent them from getting worse. But the characteristic symptom of Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM) when I attempt even small activities, is hugely problematic.

Whenever we try to ignore the PEM issue and push through, we immediately crash and become much sicker. We might go from being able to at least get up and eat, to being completely bedbound, until the PEM has subsided. Sometimes, it doesn’t subside, and we find ourselves irreversibly deteriorated, at a new, even lower baseline level, with no way of improving.

PEM is not something that you can work around.

For me, new medical complications also continue to arise, and I have no way of amending them. I already need surgery for one existing problem, and it is likely that it will be needed for other issues in the future, but surgery or hospital care is not feasible for several reasons:

One is that my body seems to lack repairing mechanisms. Previous biopsies have not healed properly, so my doctor is doubtful about my ability to recover after surgery.

Another, more general and hugely critical, is that with severe ME/CFS it is impossible to tolerate normal hospital care. For ME/CFS patients the sensory overload problem and the extremely low energy levels mean that a normal hospital environment causes major deterioration. The sensory input that comes with shared rooms, people coming and going, bright lights, noise, etc, escalates our disease. We are already in such fragile states that a push in the wrong direction is catastrophic. For me, with my burning skin issue, there is also the issue of not tolerating the mattresses, pillows, textile fabrics, etc used in a hospital.

Just imagine the effects of a hospital stay for me: It would trigger my already severe ME/CFS into new depths – likely I would become completely bedbound and unable to tolerate any light or noise. The skin hyperreactivity would, within a few hours, trigger my body into an insufferable state of burning skin and agonizing immune-allergic reactions, which would then be impossible to reverse. My family, my doctor and I agree: I must never be admitted to a hospital, since there is no end to how much worse that would make me.

Many ME/CFS patients have experienced irreversible deterioration due to hospitalization. We also know that the understanding of ME/CFS is extremely low or non-existent in most hospitals, and we hear about ME/CFS patients being forced into environments or activities which make them much worse. I am aware of only two places in the world with specially adjusted hospital units for severe ME/CFS, Oslo, Norway, and Gold Coast, Australia. We would need such units in every city around the globe.

It is extreme to be this severely ill, have so many medical complications arise continually and know this: There is no feasible access to hospital care for me. There are no tolerable medications to use when things get worse or other medical problems set in. As a severely ill ME/CFS patient I have no safety net at all. There is simply no end to how bad things can get with severe ME/CFS.

Coping skills – important but not enough I realize that when people hear about my decision to terminate my life, they will wonder about my coping skills. I have written about this before and I want to mention the issue here too:

While it was extremely hard at the beginning to accept chronic illness, I have over the years developed a large degree of acceptance and pretty good coping skills. I have learnt to accept tight limits and appreciate small qualities of life. I have learnt to cope with massive amounts of pain and suffering and still find bright spots. With the level of acceptance I have come to now, I would have been content even with relatively small improvements and a very limited life. If, hypothetically, the physical suffering could be taken out of the equation, I would have been able to live contentedly even though my life continued to be restricted to my small apartment and include very little activity. Unlike most people I could find such a tiny life bearable and even happy. But I am not able to cope with these high levels of constant physical suffering.

In short, to sum up my level of acceptance as well as my limit: I can take the prison and the extreme limitations – but I can no longer take the torture. And I cannot live with clothes that constantly trigger my burning skin.

Not alone – and not a rash decision In spite of being unable to see friends or family for more than rare and brief visits, and in spite of having limited capacity for phone conversations, I still have a circle of loved ones. My friends and family all understand my current situation and they accept and support my choice. While they do not want me to leave, they also do not want me to suffer anymore.

This is not a rash decision. It has been processed for many years, in my head, in conversations with family and friends, in discussion with one of my doctors, and a few years ago in the long procedure of requesting accompanied suicide. The clinic in Switzerland requires an extensive process to ensure that the patient is chronically ill, lives with unendurable pain or suffering, and has no realistic hope of relief. They require a number of medical records as well as consultations with specialized doctors.

For me this end is obviously not what I wanted, but it was the best solution to an extremely difficult situation and preferable to even more suffering. It was not hasty choice, but one that matured over a long period of time.

A plea to decision makers – Give ME/CFS patients a future! As you understand, this blog post has taken me many months to put together. It is a long text to read too, I know. But I felt it was important to write it and have it published to explain why I personally had to take this step, and hopefully illuminate why so many ME/CFS patients consider or commit suicide.

And most importantly: to elucidate that this circumstance can be changed! But that will take devoted, resolute, real action from all of those responsible for the state of ME/CFS care, ME/CFS research and dissemination of information about the disease. Sadly, this responsibility has been mishandled for decades. To allow ME/CFS patients some hope on the horizon, key people in all countries must step up and act.

If you are a decision maker, here is what you urgently need to do: You need to bring funding for biomedical ME/CFS research up so it’s on par with comparable diseases (as an example, in the US that would mean $188 million per year). You need to make sure there are dedicated hospital care units for ME/CFS inpatients in every city around the world. You need to establish specialist biomedical care available to all ME/CFS patients; it should be as natural as RA patients having access to a rheumatologist or cancer patients to an oncologist. You need to give ME/CFS patients a future.

Please listen to these words of Jen Brea, which sum up the situation in the US, but are applicable to almost every country:

“The NIH says it won’t fund ME research because no one wants to study it. Yet they reject the applications of the world class scientists who are committed to advancing the field. Meanwhile, HHS has an advisory committee whose sole purpose seems to be making recommendations that are rarely adopted. There are no drugs in the pipeline at the FDA yet the FDA won’t approve the one drug, Ampligen, that can have Lazarus-like effects in some patients. Meanwhile, the CDC continues to educate doctors using information that we (patients) all know is inaccurate or incomplete.”

Like Jen Brea, I want a number of people from these agencies, and equivalent agencies in Sweden and all other countries, to stand up and take responsibility. To say: “ME! I am going to change things because that is my job.”

And lastly Lastly, I would like to end this by linking to this public comment from a US agency meeting (CFSAC). It seems to have been taken off the HHS site, but I found it in the Google Read version of the book “Lighting Up a Hidden World: CFS and ME” by Valerie Free. It includes testimony from two very eloquent ME patients and it says it all. I thank these ME patients for expressing so well what we are experiencing.

My previous blog posts:

From International Traveler to 43 Square Meters: An ME/CFS Story From Sweden

Coping With ME/CFS Will Always Be Hard – But There are Ways of Making It A Little Easier

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt I: The Facts – Plus “What Can We Do?

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt II: Why it Takes 20 Years to Get 1 Year’s Research Done

Take care of each other.

Love, Anne

Comments Open.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Odd :) numbers :)

You say you don’t care who I do but I’mma do Jesse and Vrox anyway XD

under the cut bc *insert vaguely angry but also just very affectionate ‘my son is a dick but I love him’ eyes here*

questions are from here, send me some if you’d like! :P please try to specify which character tho, less stress for me X’D

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Jesse: He’s actually very patient. He might jolt his bounce his knee a bit and twiddle his fingers, zone out/daydream. He’d probably have a nap after a while, he can fall asleep anywhere. He could last hours and hours if needed.

Vrox: You don’t leave Vrox alone in a room for a long time. Something will get broken, Even if there’s nothing in the room to break, something will get broken. About two hours at MOST before he starts getting annoyed.

June: They could last a long time if needed, though they would not be happy about it. They like to complain at the best of times.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Jesse: Normally has a long shower and eats whatever unhealthy shit they have for dinner (normally cereal or take out) and then plays music low in the background to help him nod off, occasionally he’ll replace it with an audio book but he’ll put his earbuds in for that. He and Vrox are both big night owls tho so keep in mind this is usually at about 3AM.

Vrox: Drags Jesse into dancing with him, eats whatever Jesse’s bottomless pit stomach couldn’t hold, and works out for a while (where Jesse can see of course because he’s a show off.) Then he has a very short paranoid shower because his DICK BOYFRIEND used up almost all the hot water, and tumbles into bed. Not gonna lie he and Jess have sex most nights, they’re… incorrigible. 

June: Soaks in the bath for a hundred years and refills it for every one of those years, then pulls on their super expensive silk PJs, does a facemask and pulls out whatever disgusting trashy knock-off romance novel they’re currently reading and pick it apart like the happy little vulture they are. They have a massive bed but they rarely ever sleep in it, most of the time they fall asleep on the couch until the sun wakes them up through the blinds they forgot to shut and they stumble into the bedroom cursing and go back to sleep till Taco wakes them up (they would sleep in all day if he let them.)

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Jesse: It depends on what you do. If you make a mistake, he’ll be fine. If you turn out to be transphobic or generally a dick then woop there goes his trust.

Vrox: hates everyone from the get go and that rarely ever changes, you don’t even have to try dude

June: Them?? Trusting anyone??????? *hysterical laughter*

7: What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Jesse: Nostalgia for him is bittersweet. Music is the biggest trigger since his dad loved it and had a record player that was like his second child, he used to dance with Jesse’s mom to Let Me Call You Sweetheart. One time Vrox found the old record and played it for him and Jesse absolutely broke down. He tries to think of the good rather than the bad, but it all gets jumbled up a lot: being gay, trans and black in 1910s was not a good life to lead. He’s got to step carefully around his memories.

Vrox: Doesn’t have a lot of nostalgia, but he DOES get weird dream-memories sometimes of back in his ‘baby years’, when he was just a simple hellhound without sapience yet. Jesse always laughs his ass off when Vrox has one of those dreams because Vrox looks so confused and disgruntled - and annoyed and embarrassed when he remembers something humiliating.

June: 99% of their nostalgia is soaked in PTSD, so no, they don’t enjoy it. The sound of the ocean, the smell of roses and citrus, wearing heavy dresses, any kind of grating or grinding on their teeth, and washing clothes by hand are all triggers, they hate it.

9. Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Jesse: Said “drat!” once and his mom made him wash all the dishes for three months straight. Needless to say, he doesn’t swear much even now. It gives it more impact when he does… unless in the bedroom, them he swears like, well, a demon.

Vrox: Fuck yes he fucking swears and he’d like any motherfucker to try and fucking stop him. Honestly the first word that came out of his mouth when he evolved was probably a swear of some kind.

June: Swears a lot. They’ll swear in front of you and your grandmother and your 6 year old, they don’t give a shit. They don’t remember their first one tho.

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Jesse: Definitely asks, he’s a responsible bean who’s mature and wants to know exactly what’s going on.

Vrox: Probably doesn’t care enough to ask, unless it’s just him and Jesse, then he’ll ask.

June: They’ll fake it till they make it or ask with a blunt “what the fuck are you talking about?”

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Jesse: Looks fucking fantastic in blue and/or yellow and knows this. Vrox can’t stop kissing him when he wears yellow and it almost reduces his big scary boyfriend to tears because “you look so cute, what the fuck, how are you so cute?!”

Vrox: Red. He loves red. But blue brings out his eyes and suits him better, tho red is also good on him.

June: Black or a dark smokey grey. They know they look damn good. They’re highly allergic to bright colours, you understand.

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Jesse: Is the chillest charasmatic person you’ll ever meet, amazing at putting people at ease and making lasting conversations or small talk. Master people person. He can still talk a little ‘weird’ for our time and some old slang slips out occasionally, but still very confidant. thus i have no idea how to write him LMAO how are you cooler than me i created you wtf

Vrox: No small talk, no rehearsing. He’s intimidating and doesn’t normally talk to people unless absolutely necessary, or he’s trying to pick a fight. Has 0 interest in making people feel at ease or comfortable around him, he wants to be left alone as much as possible. People think he’s got a weird accent when he does talk, one that’s pretty unrecognizable - he spent most of his life in hell, after all, not on Earth.

June: Clipped, concise, they get what they need out of a conversation and then conversation is over. They don’t rehearse, they’re blunt and don’t care about feelings. They have the faintest hint of a cockney accent that gets stronger when they’re drunk/angry/emotional.

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

Jesse: Kind of. And he’s easily scandalized, and sometimes not in a funny way. He still forgets that it’s okay for him to hold Vrox’s hand in public where people can see.

Vrox: Only Jesse can really get blushes out of him.

June: Occasionally, but they’ll get irritated faster than they’ll get embarrassed, and when they get flustered they tend to scratch so be careful with that.

19. What is their favorite number?

Jesse: 2.

Vrox: 666.

June: 43.

21. Why do they get up in the morning? 

Jesse: Sometimes he doesn’t. Mostly because he tries to find good little things in every day that he looks forward to. Or because Vrox wheedles him out of bed with breakfast and kisses.

Vrox: Because somebody’s gotta annoy Jesse out of bed. Also because once he wakes up he gets restless and needs to move around, no peaceful lie-ins for him.

June: Because Taco won’t stop drooling and shedding on them, otherwise they wouldn’t. Sleep is like the only thing they enjoy... just not the dreams.

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

Jesse: Gets a bit quiet but tries to feel happy for the person he’s envious of.

Vrox: Angrily. What did you expect. Tries to get the thing and if he can’t have it he tries to ruin it, or he just stalks off.

June: They get pissy and territorial and they sulk. A lot.

25. What are their thoughts on marriage? 

Jesse: Likes the idea, definitely wants to get married one day. His parents were both people of faith (even if it wasn’t SUPER strong) and he doesn’t really like that they would disapprove of him living in sin, ironic as it is. And he just wants to get married as an intimate tie.

Vrox: Doesn’t give a shit but would do anything to make Jesse happy.

June: HhahahAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahAHAHA no.

27. What causes them to feel dread?

Jesse: Any kind of weird looks in public, people he cares about running late, having anything around his neck, sleeping in the same room as other people (asides from Vrox.)

Vrox: Not being able to contact his (admittedly few) loved ones for whatever reason, and really not much else. Vrox doesn’t dread a lot.

June: Literally anything to do with their past, being shown affection, knowing they have to go out to a public gathering bc they are a big introvert, knowing they need to sleep at some point.

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

Jesse: He tries damn hard to. you’re doin great sweetie.

Vrox: Has no real ideals and still disappoints himself on a regular basis.

June: They don’t really have any ideas other than ‘be a snarky asshole’ and they sure live up to that.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

Jesse: Vrox. He kept him safe when he needed it most, supported him through everything, always encouraged him to kick ass and do what he thinks is right.

Vrox: Jesse. He taught him that it was okay to let people in and to be soft, that just because he was a demon doesn’t mean he has to let it define everything he is.

June: Dante. He showed them a way out and helped them build a life, always there to support them. And Taco, of course.

33: Could they be considered lazy?

Jesse: No. At worst, depressed. He’s definitely not lazy, not by a long shot, very active in human rights, painting, social activities.

Vrox: Not really, he’s somebody who always has to be Doing Something.

June: Absolutely. They enjoy it greatly.

35: How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Jesse: Super hyped and into it, gonna be asking lots of excited questions and listening to every word.

Vrox: Might playfully tease but always encourages whatever it is

June: Will roll their eyes and put on a show of not being interested but you bet your ass they’ll be paying attention and they will care (and anybody who manages to get close to June would know this)

37. Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

Jesse: He’s got an okay memory but if he really needs to remember something he’ll scribble it in his sketchbook

Vrox: Is one of those people who needs to sing the entire ABCs while looking up a word in the dictionary. But he doesn’t really care.

June: Has a good memory, but if they forget something they don’t give a damn. If they forget somebody’s name they’ll just call them by a bunch of different insulting names and ignore the person trying to correct them.

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

Jesse: It really depends on what the flaws are, but mostly he’s pretty chill.

Vrox: Is Vrox. Everything pisses him off, what do you expect. He doesn’t take shit.

June: If they care about you, they will tolerate a lot, though they won’t overlook them. If they don’t care about you, prepare to have all your flaws thrown in your face.

41. How do they feel about children?

Jesse: Not good with little kids and feels awkward around them, but he’s good with older kids/teenagers.

Vrox: Is very good with little kids and likes them more than his scarred angry ass will admit.

June: Loves kids but they make them uncomfortable so they avoid them at all costs.

43. If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

Jesse: “Gay, gay, very gay, have you even seen guys? Guys are great, I’m gay, I’m so gay.” (Vrox, in the background: “GAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY”)

Vrox: “I don’t care, if I like you you’re stuck with me.”

June: “The void.”