#maybe its because I myself had a need to find myself and fitting labels

[vlada-slavik]

[virgo-dream]

One of Their Own 🏳️‍🌈✨

dreamling / queer joy / fluff / first kiss / 3,6k words

summary: Hob Gadling invites Dream to a meeting of the uni's queer clubs at the New Inn. Dream learns more about his own gender identity, and that he's very much in love with his best friend.

author’s note: this fic, this pairing and this fandom all mean the world to me, so I thought it was fitting to bring it back for pride month!

I’m incredibly thankful for finding Sandman when I did. Since joining this fandom, I’ve made wonderful friends and became part of a community of bright, kind, loving and loyal queer people that I would not trade for anything. I’ve learned more about my community and about myself, and I wave my ace/agender flag proudly now. This fic was written in a moment in my life where I felt hopeless and alone. Now, things couldn’t be more different. Happy pride sandfam! 🏳️‍🌈✨

read here or on ao3

Dream doesn’t get it at first. He never really did get it, but only attributed it to the need humanity had for labels, for packing things into boxes and saying this goes here and that goes there. Sometimes, it leads to this goes to heaven and you go to hell. It seemed to be a very common one, too. He was beyond that; his name said it all, Dream was endless. Not he nor she, not man nor creature, he was all there was to be and the nothingness beyond it. Gender and sexuality need not apply.

Still, it meant so much to Hob, that he’d have dreams about it. Nightmares too, for nights on end, and even if Dream begged Hob to allow him to take them away, Hob always declined, always braving through them. “If you take them, I’ll forget how much it all means. I’ll forget why I’m still fighting.”

They sat at the New Inn one afternoon, while Hob graded papers and Dream had a cup of chamomile tea, but his eyes couldn’t help but focus on a shiny pin on Hob’s jumper shaped like a flag, the shades of pink, purple and blue a spot of proud colour in Hob’s otherwise earthy colour palette.

“It’s the bisexual pride flag.”

“Hm?” Dream’s eyes darted up to meet Hob’s, tilting his head slightly. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for being caught, because he wasn’t sure what he was looking at in the first place.

“The pin. I wear it for my students, but also for myself. The kids feel safer I guess, knowing they have at least one of their own in the faculty. Can’t say it doesn’t make me feel good too.”

Hob has a particular tone to his voice that makes Dream’s heart sing in tune to its melody. It’s a fuller sense of self, maybe more than Dream ever had in regards to his own identity. “…one of their own?”

“Oh, I– Sorry, those are pretty recent.” Hob straightened himself up (ha) on the chair, his lecturing posture taking over. Dream liked when he did that. He liked to hear Hob speak of things he had deep knowledge of and passion for. “This one was created in 1988 by a queer activist called Michael Page. Had the pleasure of being there when it was first unveiled, but clearly it took a long time until I was able to wear something like this out in public and not be decked by some bloody homophobe.”

It was starting to sink in.

“…I’m afraid I was not present for these developments.” Dream saw the look on Hob’s face, like he was ready to apologise. He raised a hand to stop him, waving his concern away. “As far as I can remember, queer was not a form of self identification, but only a way to shun out those outside the established norm.”

“Ah, yes. We reclaimed it, though. Or are reclaiming it. The 80s were crazy. All of them were, for me.” Hob smiled at Dream, at their shared secret and at their years of now reestablished friendship.

“I think you’re lonely.”

Could it have been….? Could he have meant…?

“What does it mean for you, then?” Dream asks in a way he hopes sounds inconspicuous, pointing at the pin. He was hesitant to ask, afraid to be getting it all wrong.

“For me? It means I love whoever I love. Man, woman, either or neither.”

The pride coming from Hob’s words filled Dream with hope, something he had not felt in a long, long time. The look in his face then shifted onto something else, something he didn’t quite understand. “…what about you? That is, if you’re okay with talking about that. I don’t want to overstep. Last thing I want is for you to walk out–”

“I won’t, Hob.” Dream knew Hob had reason for feeling that way. “I don’t believe the terminology you have could define my experience. I have laid with mortals and gods alike, and have worn many faces and names. It is beyond human comprehension.”

Hob seems to take a moment to think about what he’d just heard. Dream feels like he might have thrown too much at his human friend. “…I think I get it. But, and tell me to bugger off I’m wrong, do you prefer to be a particular way? To be with a particular sort of being?”

Dream. Didn’t have an answer.

He never thought of what he preferred. He’d never felt in need of any sort of outside validation, but. That was a lie. He needed it. He just never cared to look for it.

Hob’s smile was what broke him out of the spell of his own self doubt. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. It takes people a long time to get it, it took me nearly 600 years! Ah! You know what? I’ve got an idea–” He reached inside his brown messenger bag, pulling out a colourful piece of paper, handing it over to Dream. A pamphlet for a meeting. “We’re having a meeting for the uni’s LGBT clubs here at the Inn. I want this to be a safe space for the kids, and to get them to connect with other folks in the community, share their experiences. It’s tomorrow, and I’d love it if you could make it. I’m sure they would too.”

Dream took the pamphlet in hands, looking at the bright colours and bold fonts, taking in every bit of information Hob was giving him and trying to fill in the gaps of the questions he wouldn’t dare ask. After a moment, he looked up at Hob, allowing himself a small smile. “I shall be in attendance, then.”

—————

Dream stood outside the New Inn, hands tucked safely inside the pockets of his coat jacket. He watched as groups of young adults arrived, greeting each other cheerfully. The hair colours and outfits reminded him of his sister, Delirium, but they all seemed to be more in line with her previous self; delighted to be there, happy to meet their friends. A flag danced in the light summer breeze on a pole next to the window, the stripes of colours brightening up the already lively scene. A rainbow, Hob had told him the day before, was the most recognizable symbol of the queer community. It now was accompanied by stripes of light pink and blue, white, black and brown. Dream enjoyed good symbolism, and he could feel the meaning of those colours to all who were present from their daydreams alone.

He, however, still felt like an outsider. Like he wasn't really meant to be there, save for Hob's generous invite. Dream was not defined by the same standards humanity aligned itself with; in fact, he wasn't defined by anything at all. He was not an individual, but the safe arms in which those dreamers rested every night, the common thread in their hopes, in their restful slumber. It would be silly to think that he'd need to identify as one thing or another, really. He was there for Hob . Because Hob invited him. Because he wanted to know more about the everyday life of his dearest friend. Because he wanted to hear him talk, see him inspire others with his tales, wanted to hear the sound of his voice, the gentle way in which he made people feel welcome, cared for, loved, he wanted–

Dream thought it best to wait it out, at least until most people had already arrived, until he had an idea of just how many young, hopeful minds would be in the vicinity. After escaping the Burgess Manor, Dream was faced with a considerable raise in the amount of dreamers under his care. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but at times, it became too much even for him to bear. The idea of willingly walking into a space with so many people was daunting, to say the least. So he waited, watched as the New Inn became packed with dreamers, feeling his palms dampen inside the pockets of his coat.

Taking the first step towards the door was difficult. Pushing it open was even harder. Dream stepped in, careful not to bump into anyone or to even get too close. The sound of the little bell that was supposed to announce his arrival had no effect, as it was overtaken by the sound of chatter inside the Inn. It was better that way, Dream thought. Not having Hob rush to greet him. That way he could take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, maybe even blend in, become invisible. In hindsight, his usual choice of attire did anything but blend in there. He was a dark little cloud in a sky full of bright colours, like a multi-coloured sunset on a tropical beach. And of course, every sunset had its monarch, shining brightly, commanding the attention. That, of course, was Hob.

"Hello there, kids! Glad to see most of you could make it!" The cheerful, gentle register of Hob's voice filled the room, filtered by the small but potent speaker he'd rented just for the occasion. Dream could hear his voice clearly, and it helped him tune out everything else that wasn't his beloved friend. "This is the first of hopefully many meetings of our beloved Queer Clubs here at my beloved New Inn. I want you all to know this is a safe space for you all no matter what part of the gender and sexuality spectrums you fall on. The only things I won't accept here are discrimination of any kind, and anyone that thinks Lawrence Cheney shouldn't have won season 2 of Drag Race UK. Are we clear on that one?"

Laughter filled the room, and Dream couldn't help but allow his lips a small smile. Hob truly was a marvel. How anyone could shine so brightly was beyond even the dream lord's knowledge, but he was glad to be able to bask in that glow from time to time. He wished he could do it more often.

Hob was saying other things, Dream thought. Instructions on seating arrangements, subjects to be discussed, discounts on food and drinks. All Dream could do was watch as Hob did more than just make everyone feel welcome, but inspired them with hope and joy, a gentle breeze of acceptance, the embrace of a parent, the empathy of an equal. There was much to work with here, much to inspire new dreams. Dreams of comfort and love, of community and pride.

"Dream? You in there, love?"

Hob's voice broke the spell he himself had cast over Dream, who could now see his friend's palm waving in front of his eyes. He'd become lost in thought, it seemed. Dream's nose scrunched up at the interruption, looking at Hob with his usual look of curiosity. There was still much he needed to catch up on when it came to non verbal communication. "Aye. I'm here. Have I not fully manifested my presence?"

Hob chuckled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Oh, yes. Physically, at least." Dream's brows furrowed in worry, and he was glad Hob was quick enough to notice when something had gone over his head. "Just a joke– hey, I'm glad you could make it. The kids will love meeting you."

"Meeting me? There are far too many people here for you to make introductions. Besides, I know them all, and they all know me. They just do not remember it during waking hours."

This felt like a plausible enough explanation to keep Hob from actually introducing him to everyone in attendance. But Hob was far too optimistic to be dissuaded so easily. "I'm not talking about introducing them to Morpheus. I'd like them to meet my friend, Dream."

"I do not see the difference." He shouldn't say why he couldn't bear the idea of being introduced to so many people. Shouldn't burden Hob with his problems, that wouldn't exist had he just not been captured in the first place. Dream had been good at hiding his discomfort so far, and he'd continue to do so.

…well, maybe he was not so good at it. Not when Hob's eyes so clearly conveyed the worry that had just settled in his heart. It was difficult to deny Hob the truth when his warm, calloused hands took Dream's into his own so carefully, squeezing gently, as if saying you can trust me. I've got you. "It's okay if you'd rather not. I know it can be overwhelming sometimes."

"...thank you." Dream replied with a murmur. Hob gifted him with a smile. It seemed a lot could be said with just the eyes.

————

Even if Dream didn't intend on actually joining in on the conversations being held, he was glad to follow Hob along and listen to the discussions. It was amazing seeing just how bright the kids really were: they spoke of justice and equality, of inclusivity, of respect and love, of family and religion and sex and responsibility. It was a wider range of topics than he'd expected, an awareness of self he didn't think humans would ever possess, and now, he was glad to be proven wrong. He listened to their shared experiences, to the kindness in their eyes as they lifted each other up, the melody of their laughter and the bravery in their voices as they spoke of injustices they'd lived. It was fascinating, really.

What Dream was truly surprised to find was that people had, after all, an understanding of self that went beyond just physical. Hob brought him closer to a group of kids who were in a long discussion on gender identity. Some of them felt comfortable with the gender they'd been "assigned with at birth", others did not feel any affinity for it. Some of them had changed their bodies to fit with how they felt on the inside, and Dream couldn't help but feel enormous empathy for them, for the way they had to fight to exist in a body that didn't feel like a trap. It was something Dream always took for granted, until he himself felt the horror of having no agency over himself. The pain they went through to guarantee they'd have the right to live authentically. Dream's body had never been limited to an exclusive physical manifestation; he was as he felt like. Fluid , as one of the bright colour haired people had pointed out while explaining their own experience. They reminded Dream of his own sibling, Desire. Someone else brought up how they didn't particularly feel like they had a gender, and that the language surrounding it didn't particularly bother them. Agender, the girl said proudly. Dream wondered if there was any right or wrong way to declare oneself fluid or agender. Then he realised the tightness in his chest when the thought occurred to him.

"Are you alright?" Once again, Hob's voice brought him back to the Waking. Dream could now feel Hob's hand on his own again, but he wasn't sure what exactly had warranted it.

"Your hands were shaking."

Once again, Dream's physical form betrayed him. It was also clear how the conversation surrounding them had gone quiet, and more eyes than he would have liked had landed on their linked hands. He didn't like being watched. Like that.

"Oh, Mr. G, is this your boyfriend?" one of them asked, teasingly. "Would have never guessed you had a thing for goths!"

"Marissa, stop!" someone else said, poking the girl on the shoulder apprehensively. The next thing they said was soft as a whisper. "They are clearly not feeling well."

They.

Dream had never considered himself as they. But this person, whoever they were, preferred "not to assume" his gender. And the empathy displayed for his discomfort was something he wasn't expecting either. Hob seemed to be about to say something, but Dream was quicker.

"There is no need to worry for my well-being, but I thank you for your kindness." Dream allowed himself to smile once again. These children were going places, he knew it. "You may address me as he , if necessary. I would not oppose her or them either." It felt liberating to say it, and Dream didn't really know why. He did know, however, that he suddenly felt brave. "I am not Professor Gadlen's boyfriend , but I am honoured to call him my dearest, most cherished friend."

Dream looked at Hob, who seemed to be awestruck by his words. It was amusing to see him like that, and it lit something else inside him. This meeting was making Dream experience a range of feelings he'd forgotten about. He showed Hob a smile, and Hob smiled back at him, warm and gentle as ever. Their hands were still linked together. Dream had no intention of letting go. "Ah, yes. This little prick here is indeed my dearest, oldest friend. I did want them to meet you guys. I'm glad I was right about it."

When Hob said it, it made Dream's heart sing.

"...so you're fuckbuddies?"

" Marissa! "

————

After a few hours and many, many rounds of different conversations, Hob gathered the group once again, thanking them for coming and congratulating everyone on the success of their first meeting. Dream couldn't help but notice how Hob seemed unable to stop smiling. He could feel the pride and relief radiating off of his tanned skin and kind eyes. Dream wished he could have it all directed at himself, that gentleness.

Hob's boyfriend. Now that would be something.

Dream sat on the booth table behind the bar where he and Hob usually held their meetings and waited for everyone to leave. He wanted some time alone with Hob, even if just to hear what his beloved friend had to say about what he thought of the meeting, just to hear Hob's voice, the only music suited for Dream's ears.

He also had so many new feelings inside himself to explore. Those he could tend to later.

"Hey there, handsome stranger." Hob said as he sat across from Dream on the table, taking Dream's hand in his as if it was just the way they always did things. Maybe it could be. It wouldn't hurt (too much) to hope, would it? "Come here often?"

"Only when I'm in search of an epiphany." Dream couldn't bother to hide the fondness in his own voice, nor the relief he felt to have Hob's hand cradling his own again. "I am impressed, Professor Gadlen. You have gathered a group of exceptionally bright minds. It gives me hope for a better future for humanity."

"Wow Dream, that is… that is really high praise, especially coming from you." Hob seemed flushed, and Dream wondered what else he could do to cause that reaction, to see Hob shy and pretty like that again and again. "I learned a long time ago that I have to build the future I want to live in. But in all honesty… I'm more interested in the present right now."

"Oh, is that so?" Hob's optimism was infectious, it seemed. Dream too could only focus on the present moment. "I am glad to be able to share it with you."

There was a short silence shared between them after that. It was as if neither of them were ready to say whatever it was they clearly needed. Dream tried to take comfort in the feeling of Hob's hand in his, rubbing the back of Hob's hand with his thumb.

His mistake was looking up to meet Hob's eyes.

"There is much I have learned today." Dream decided he'd be the one to break the silence. He'd be the one to take the leap, because he knew Hob had made sure he'd make a safe landing. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter how much he could get hurt, he was safe. He could trust Hob with his heart, even if there was a chance that he would break it. "I often make the mistake of thinking there is nothing more to my existence than what I have already discovered. I contain all conscious minds throughout the universe, their lives, hopes and dreams. Yet, I forget that the tales of others cannot substitute one's own experience, only enlighten it."

Hob listened to Dream's words attentively. He looked anxious, but would not interrupt. Dream knew he wouldn't. He knew how much Hob cherished the moments where Dream felt ready to share something new. "Today, you have once more shown me there is much I have to learn. For that, I am grateful, Hob Gadling.”

How could Dream not fall in love with someone that treated him like he was the moon? How could the moon not love the sun?

"I'm grateful for you too, you know. The kids loved you. I'm sure I'll be getting asked about you for the rest of the semester. Maybe even longer." Hob's eyes were so fond it made Dream want to cry.

"And how would you like to answer their inquiries?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you like to tell them of your dearest, oldest friend…" Dream leaned in, bringing Hob's hand to his own cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to Hob's palm, and watched as Hob's eyes followed his every move. There was no turning back from this. "...or would you prefer to tell them about your lover, Hob?"

For a moment, time stopped. Their eyes met, and before Dream could get anxious or regret his words, Hob was already standing and leaning over the table, locking their lips together.

Dream thought he'd heard the sound of people cheering outside one of the windows of the New Inn. Hob would certainly be getting many questions from his students come next monday.

[minkieater]

tace omg omg new lore abt my fav boy (kicks legs giddily)

gahdamn I KNEW i had read moirai somewhere but this and joong referring nana as supernatural beings oh wow... this reminds me there are 3 goddesses in three fates, and they also are called triumph of death? or the three times joong met (sort of interacted?)or nana tweaked his brain chemicals in a way, they can be the three sisters, clotho the spinner, lachesis the alotter and altropos the cutter of life thread. MAYBE im reading into the symbolism too much but literature is about each interpretation to its own and reading between the lines (im more worried abt sounding confusing and dumb but MEHHHH i wanna talk abt this so i will) you really ate with the symbolism (im a whore for that istg)

okay them sharing the same universe gives me hope because the last bit showcased immense mental strength of hongjoong despite the regression. and his values are so similar with captain irl i cant help but really really keep this story close to me.

ZORO ZORO ZORO DHEHAKGDJDHDJBR I JUST REMEMBERED JOONGIE BOY HAD HIS EYE ON HIM ALWAYSHDGEHVEBE YOURE SO EVIL WITH THAT i was like searching wikifandom who the hell is noa then gave up.

i think if joongie boy had confronted nana, which would make his walls fall more further than he wanted to. far from his comfort zone to even build it back up, and i can agree with that because sometimes i would just pschewww away from a situation because confronting it just another mental breakdown.

i was eerily content with the ending maybe thats why i never pointed out that they should've just talked about labels and all that jazz. (am i stupid, or am i single tune in to find out).

MY JOONGIE BOY IM SOS SOSKDO PROUD OF HIM ☹️☹️ I SEE MYSELF IN HIM😞😞😞😞💘 THANK YOU TACE FOR WRITING THIS (scoops up melted heart matter and gives it to you) 🫂 city boy!joongie will keep me company for the rest of my adulthood

you’re not reading into the symbolism too much at ALL its all about your take on it and what makes sense to you 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

i’m obsessed with how much you ARE reading into it genuinely this message literally made me want to giggle like a school girl im so happy omg

when i first got into atz mingi immediately pulled my ass under (i am a simple woman i love one man) but hongjoong… i am obsessed with him. my soul sister i see so much of myself in him sometimes, the big sister in me can’t help but read into everything he does and pick apart every part of his personality, i have no outlet except writing to bring all of these scenarios i think up about him into fruition. captain joongie is so layered i adore him i need to sit down and have a conversation with him to unravel each one, my feelings for him pour into each piece i write abt him (ill shut up i can talk about him forever)

i am also still a simple woman with my love for zoro, i love big man 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ he follows me everywhere and i keep him close to me always (so valid for searching for a noa. i couldn’t name him zoro its too OBVIOUS)

i honestly wonder if joongie ever would talk to nana, im unsure if it fits his personality to leave himself so vulnerable, to inevitably admit his feelings through what could be a simple conversation 😔 i was also comfortable with the ending i feel like it made sense but they also work together, they’ll see each other often & there’s no way they just ignore each other in the hallways 😭 at least i hope not tbh joongie might end up walking past her like he did in the lobby IDK

i also see myself in him we are similar and it makes sense that we both feel so many things toward him!!! thank you so much for reading it and loving my boy as much as i do<3 city joongie will live inside me forever

[ckret2]

There’s theories that Stan had some past encounters with Bill during the portal days, which is how Bill was able to get into Stans head without a proper summoning in Dreamscapers.

Also, curious, but does Bill know what the brand means? I have my own theories as to what the brand does, but I like seeing others too

I don't subscribe to the "Bill and Stan have met" headcanon myself. I feel like saying "Stan already knew Bill" retroactively detracts from Weirdmageddon—it creates a lot of loose ends to give them a prior relationship that was never mentioned and none of the other characters find out. It's not as good as "Bill messes with every one of the Pines EXCEPT Stan, and then as punishment for messing with Stan's family, Bill gets punched to death by some guy he's never formally met before." That's their first and last meeting. I like it.

Ford makes a clear distinction that Bill can haunt his dreams but not enter his mind as long as they don't shake hands. We also see Bill pestering Dipper in his dreams before Dipper makes a deal with him. So I figure the rule is that Bill needs someone to summon him (like Gideon did) to get into Gravity Falls' psychic plane, and once he's in the psychic plane he can visit anybody's dreams he wants (like Stan's, Dipper's, and Ford's). Possession, and the ability to dig deeper into someone's psyche, require a handshake.

You could make a case like "well, Bill WAS digging into Stan's memories, which is the same sort of thing Ford said Bill would have to shake his hand to do in Weirdmageddon; so doesn't that mean a deal happened?" I have two explanations for that:

Out-of-universe, Dreamscaperers was a season 1 episode, before the crew decided how significant Bill would be or mapped out their season 2 plan. I figure they probably just hadn't refined his power set yet and we aren't supposed to think too hard about it.

In-universe, you could say, yeah, he COULDN'T dig into Stan's memories without making a deal—and so he had to taunt the mystery crew into doing the digging for him.

(This feels like the kind of detail a fan would probably have asked the creators about at some point, but if anyone did, I haven't found a mention of it yet. If there HAS been a comment on it, I'd appreciate a link!)

As for the brand:

STANS TATTOO MEANS WATCH YOUR STEP!

Considering that Stan got it during a fight when he stumbled against a hot piece of equipment, I assume that here Bill's referring to the fact that he got the brand in an accident—and so I also assume that Bill's coyly avoiding admitting that actually the brand doesn't actually have any deeper meaning.

(Obviously, that doesn't HAVE to be what he's saying—you could just as easily headcanon "well Bill's a liar so maybe the brand DOES have a deeper meaning and Bill is avoiding revealing the truth by instead alluding to how Stan got it." But for my own headcanons, this is one case where I prefer Occam's Razor.)

Ford & Fidds built the portal by raiding the crashed UFO under Gravity Falls for supplies. Given that, I assume that the overheated piece of equipment Stan fell against was some symbol that has meaning on the alien ship—and, since F&F took it away from its original context, the symbol probably doesn't have an appropriate meaning within the portal equipment where it's now been installed. Maybe it just says "HOT." Maybe it was a label for engine parts to help the ship's mechanics—"BOILER" or "MAIN CONTROLS" or the like. Maybe it came from the the aliens' public restroom stalls and it says "OCCUPIED."

If we wanna get all smart, maybe the symbol says something like "CAUTION"—and so Bill was technically telling the truth when he translated it to "watch your step." I like that idea because it's funny/clever, fits in with what Bill's told us, and would be a reasonable thing for the symbol to say given where it came from.

[askelectrochromic]

what is the Krikani language like? i like the description of Cheloan glyphs as analogous to Hanzi or Kanji (being able to identify the ``spicy'' character) but id love to know about the Krikani writing system

(im not expecting you to write a whole conlang of course but was curious if you had a general shape or feeling to it in mind) ^^;

SableGear0: You know, I haven't actually given it much thought yet. I probably should, though. My first impulse was to say "they don't have a written language" (for reasons I will discuss in a moment) but that seems impossible; they're a sapient species capable of space-travel and manage huge military systems, they probably have writing since not all communication can be person-to-person. So, organic rambling solution-finding and some links and images under the cut.

Generally I conceptualize Kriken as a (semi-)eusocial hive organism that are passively psionic, to keep in touch with the greater hive. How much direct communication happens psionically I'm still not sure; whether it can be used "conversationally," or if it's merely a "vibe" they share with local Kriken that's strong enough to pick up on the "vibe" from the core colony sometimes. The fact that they have a spoken language probably means its closer to the latter.

If the psionic communication is powerful enough, then maybe they wouldn't need to write? But then how would you do something like label the controls on a starship or make maps? You might have to devote someone to memorizing what all the labels would be and then telepathically ask them what you're looking at. Which isn't totally unreasonable, if we consider them highly specialized hive organisms. Maybe they do have "librarians" that keep this stuff in their minds and can be asked/accessed on a whim. This would be an extremely alien way of keeping track of information. While I kind of like it, it seems maybe a bit too weird for the Metroid series as we know it. Arguably, Metroid has kept its aliens fairly (socially) tame, giving us a lot of written logs throughout the Prime series. Though the ones we've gotten the most lore on are Pirates and Chozo, which aren't great benchmarks since they were respectively "the bad guys" and "the good guys (mostly)."

Being insectoid, Kriken might also communicate via pheromones? But pheromones and what/how Kriken eat have been stumping me because... well, their heads aren't really attached.

Trace has no neck. And while in some renders it looks like that tiny teardrop of a head is resting on the body, the in-game model and wireframe show pretty clearly they do not touch. Hence why I go with psionic; their heads float for spooky psionic reasons. This also means that while their heads may be a sensory center (headshots still work in Hunters), I doubt it's where they stick food when (if?) they eat, so it being a chemosensor feels a little unlikely, but I digress.

Anyway back to written language. I suppose I have to ask myself, what would a written language look like if it was invented by ants? Or bees? Ants is a tough one mainly because I don't actually know much about ant organization. My impression is that they build and tunnel fairly organically, just wherever is easiest to go and/or smells like it has the most food. When I think about bees, though, I think about bee dances, and how that might be adapted into a written language; a system abstracting the orientation and movement of the body into markings that can be re-read at any time so that worker doesn't have to bust down and dance it out every time she wants to relay some information to someone new.

And thinking about that, I think about Phyrexian. This conlang shows up in the Magic the Gathering universe, and knowing what I know about Phyrexians (an all-consuming hivemind-like culture that take creatures and turn them into half-mechanical abominations to serve their own purposes), it seems like a decent fit.

The shape of these is really what I was going for but the cultural implications match up too. I was thinking of the cross-strokes being similar to the directional facing if you were to write down a bee dance, the extra marks indicating other movements like stops or the frequency of a waggle.

It also looks like something a bug might make if you dipped it in ink and let it walk around on a paper, so that's neat. Scratching marks like these out would be fairly quick and easy for a Kriken, since they only appear to have a crab-like manipulator and a single combat claw, and I've stuck with that design choice in describing them because it's more interesting than "oh and they have normal hands too".

So there's your answer, I guess. Written Krikani probably looks kind of like Phyrexian; branching strokes off a central line that stem from an ancestral system of gestural communication (and I like the verticality so I'll probably keep that too). Simple, efficient, and easy to replicate.

Thanks for the ask! This was a bit of a brain-teaser.

[bishiglomper]

You know dad called me the other day to check up on us. Whenever he calls I keep reminiscing about the trip to New York 😗 (Also every time I get a low glucose. Because I'm always like "at least its not as bad as that time..")

And the latest fixation is. When we got back to the hotel for the night he suggested I go out drinking. Alone.

In New York.

And I panicked for a second like. I am fuckin' autistic man, I'm super dependant- I cannot be trusted to wander a city like New York and not fuckin die 8D I also get lost super easily. Even trying to find the hotel room by myself is anxiety inducing. I am just not fit to be released into the wild, okay? That's why I dragged him there in the first place.

But I have yet to tell him about being autistic because he is the type of person (autistic) that does extensive research on any and all topics and cites all his sources. Even if its just suggesting a vitamin for me.

And my self-diagnosis comes from a few years of crowd-sourced experiences I've related to and referenced to form my own diagnosis. I don't know of any articles that could sum that up specifically enough to convince him without further debate over it.

And I am not very good at organizing my thoughts enough to have that conversation 😐

I dont mind explaining my chronic illnesses because those can be in itemized lists and practically graphed but autism cannot. 😅 How I feel and react to things are not so easily categorized.

It's just. So frustrating.

And one of the things I know that frustrates him is my lack of motivation to do things. It's bugged him my whole life

And i have determined I never had/have any ambition because i lack the dopamine. Even the things I LIKE arent enough to give me the juice i need to push it further.

Like with my crafts, I could try to do those sculptures he wanted, clay used to be a decade long hyperfixation. I could look up and learn all the techniques i need to learn to get it done. ....but also, I dont want to. I've been wanting to do some clay. But not enough for all that. And it's frustrating for all parties involved when that happens. I was born with literally 0 fortitude and a shitty constitution

And I know I'm a whiny pissbaby over it, I admit I was definitely spoiled. But alas, still don't have the fucks to give to change it.

I wish I were just gay, that would be easier to explain. 😂 I already told him I was asexual. Maybe didnt use the label, but explained.

Btw his only response was a sad look and the comment "But you should have someone to rub your butt. D: "

I mean. That was a new one, at least. 🤔

[bandofchimeras]

PDA stuff & long diary life update for those who care!

started sort of arguing with a popular neurodivergency Twitter person (not really, but got defensive) over the idea of PDA being a myth or a grab bag for those of us with severe burnout, etc. I'm open to not being CORRECT on this, but personally I've found both good and bad things in the diagnosis, the label, and community self-understanding, as with any diagnosis....its all based on a pretty flawed and pathologizing system. so why attack PDA in particular?

anyhow, on a personal level, today I stayed up into my natural noctural habitat to chop vegetables and make borscht. its a long, tedious process at my rate, and took two days + leaving the vegetables out overnight to do, but now its done! and yummy healthful soup for the rest of the week. :)

I'm slowly chipping away at rebuilding life and haven't tackled doctors, dentists, pharmacist, therapist aspect yet because of feeling vaguely unsure about where I will actually end up living once this couchsurfing period is over. its such an ordeal I don't want to repeat it again....but my teeth need urgent care, and meds are gonna be essential for any kind of work. which i've also been avoiding.... February is historically the hardest month for me to get thru. every year. have delved into other things astrologically but February...well I guess natal Uranus square Venus, Sun and North Node/Pluto plus oppositon Mars....that's a rough transit. But its probably the weather. Okay on to the PDA/ADHD/sensory/wtf bullshit I wanted to write about:

today I slowed wayyyyy down and just noticed in my body where and when resistance came up. It was a huge dark spirally last few days, but today had a few breakthroughs of being honest when my anxiety tempted me to lie/hide, saying no to somebody instead of people pleasing, and calming down before calling my mom, and actually having a pleasant chat.

also addressed the Cat Peeing on Everything issue in a multitude of ways. I felt much stronger in my self-acceptance despite the realization last night that my joints have deteriorated to the point carrying grocery bags disolates them! my life is pretty boring and I'm sort of floating along with no direction, but today instead of spiralling about it, I used the role-play technique to coach myself into a new mindset of "maybe you are not ready to find your purpose yet, just focus on getting the basics down" AND I noticed when my avoidance was coming from sensory needs! and tried to address them before making the demand. it worked pretty decently (turns out when i'm cold i will Not be able to move my body until until its warm??) A huge Axis of PDA is our intense willpower and drive to conform, fit in, understand, mask, etc. among people who are not us, and not like us. I appreciate this about PDAers, this will to understand and adapt, and the determination to succeed despite all setbacks. however, I think due to our slower processing speed, with the demand avoidance interference, we often miss the "steps" involved in success. there may also be some wilful delusion - if they can do it I can do it! that comes from being hypersensitive to the opinions of an ableist collective. so this week for me, i was feeling the weight of "not and never will be enough" and comparison to others. however, deactivating my facebook and slowing down to make soup, going on a sunshine walk, supple,ents, using the happy light, and starting to practice responding at least a little more compassionately but firmly to my own meltdowns....its working. i just have to release the need to do everything, everywhere, all at once. PDAers are characterized by a strong will to not only live, but to feed, to grow, to expand, to be competent. full of ideas and desires!! Unfortunately we often do not receive the accommodations necessary to actually do so or develop missing skills bc of being good at masking, or our disability being demonized as willful, selfish and in need of "breaking" this can be very heartbreaking - but as today showed me in my roommate's gracious reaction to a talk I was very scared to have with them - when you find someone who does accommodate and understand, and are willing, able, and open to connect with them, it is also heart healing. our struggles are an opportunity to exercise deep self acceptance and love for the Self despite physical limitations and inabilities!!! or they can be in the right environment. that's my thoughts for now, now its really past time to go to bed and have wild near lucid dreams again. goodnight!!

.

[fenderjess]

last night a cis woman asked me if I liked her top and it ended up making me cry

oh, it looks great, i said, but what's 'kors'?

"WHAAAT? Don't pretend you don't know who that is, EVERYONE knows michael kors! You know, the fashion designer?"

can't say i do, i respond

"Wow, that's surprising! well, what's your favorite brand?"

favorite brand. what an odd concept.

how do i tell her ive never been interested in flashy expensive things. that even in a magical world where price is no object, i dont have the luxury of being choosy about where my clothes come from, that i dont get to have a wide selection of clothes because the powers that be running the clothing lines have deemed my body Too Big to be worthy of flattering or fun outifts, that i have to get whatever fits me from whoever sells it, that fat women are only accommodated if they're curvy in the Right Way, that tall women must be supermodel-thin?

how do i tell her that no, i don't know all the labels, because when i was growing up the clothes i wore were often whatever bland stuff i got at christmas, or dumb edgy hot topic graphic tees and jnco jeans and tripp pants, or polos and cargo shorts, or mechanic coveralls? that if i'd ever shown any interest in fashion, the boys at school would have beaten my ass, and called me a faggot even more than they already did; hell, maybe my dad would have, too

how do i tell her that where she and my mom and all the other cis women in my life have decades of cultural context and marketing and rebellion against the marketing and cultural discourse and whatever the complete gestalt of GIRLHOOD is and its effect on tastes informing their response to such a question, i just have a gaping thirty-year void of twisted feelings and avoiding things like "my appearance" as much as possible and painful memories and dissociation and trauma and enforced male gender roles and interests that rolled off my mind like a duck's back leaving me a shell of a young adult?

how do i tell her that my sole desire is to tear down the entire edifice of the Fashion Industry and the capitalist system that runs it and the class that benefits from my suffering and my insecurity and my desperation that drives me to buy clothes that fit at a 50% markup if they're available in my size at all, and replace it with a world where clothes just Last and you don't have to keep up with trends and every single person can get comfortable, beautiful clothes tailored to them without having to fork over money to a company that employs slave labor?

how do i tell her that even in asking the question, i'm reminded of the yawning chasm between their upbringings and mine, that i never had a pretty senior portrait or a tacky prom dress or goofy rebelliously short-skirted outfits that i can look back on and shake my head with a smile, that i would need another thirty years of immersion in that world to even have a prayer of answering that, that i'm too busy stressing over whether next month there'll be new laws that kick me off my hrt again, that it's yet another gut-punch of an interaction reminding me that in some people's eyes I'll be forever marked out as a Different Kind of woman?

well, i mean, i say, hugging myself and averting my gaze, i'm so big that finding things in my size is amlost impossible, and honestly the whole experience is so stressful i just don't bother most of the time.

"Ooooh you sohuld start your own clothing line tailored to girls like you! That'd be fun, right?"

[helpme225]

i like being anyomous. i also can’t really spell. im just here for practice. to wonder and speak to get back my brain. the girl i was. around two years ago. i say i hate who i was, but maybe i miss her. maybe i miss being dramaless, wearing whatever big size i wanted, listening to music, free in my friendships because they weren’t that serious. my friend group was holding onto who i was. slowly letting me slip away because i was no longer like them. and i wasn’t suffocating. it wasn’t hard to type. the one thing i liked about myself was that i could write anything, in the tone i loved. in the tone i could never find in a single book. or maybe i just liked the library teacher because she was the only one who cared. she still saw the change in me, and just like my old friends, drifted. now i am just cornered in the hallway when i try to pass her. she asks me if i’ve eaten, because i look thinner. i look lost. i am unable to speak to her. and she sees it in my eyes. i no longer ask for specific books. i no longer even go into the library. but it used to be so easy. no one needed anything from me. i didn’t have to choose sides against people i just want to stick around. my mom wasn’t home, i could do what i want, and i had my dog. and i wrote and i loved it. and i was a girl. but i was 13. and someone always has to come into my life when they see me bare-faced and free, and take that. take my time, my energy. i drifted. i was scared. i was lost. it wasn’t meant for me. but a boy wanted what he wanted and i didn’t know how to love so eventually i hated him. i found love after him, and the second i was labeled his girl, something clicked. i didnt value my friendships, i was disrespectful, and i was entertained by people hating me. and there was barely a whole page written by me during that. but he didn’t touch me in school. he didn’t expect anything from out hangouts, he just held my hand in his and i didn’t have to kiss him. i wasn’t afraid to sit next to him. he didn’t feel like a stormy cloud. i felt like someone, i loved it. i loved talking and listening and having a opinion. but then he left, and i had no one. and he came back, and left, and created someone else, came back, and still says i don’t care how i used to. how i don’t care enough, but i do, just not in the way he thinks caring is. he wants me crazy when he leaves the house, he wants me to worry and get upset at him for smoking with out me, because that would “show i care.” it’s not. it never was. it’s suffocating. i dont know who i am. i dont know who i created. i just know i hate myself. the way i dont fit in. im not loud enough, my laugh is too quiet and the things that would have my brother folded laughing, doesn’t even make my bf chuckle. he doesn’t laugh at my jokes. he says he’s going to kill me. he walks away and makes me choose between him or my ride home. i dont understand how you could do that. i am just 15. i need a ride home. i have to say what i said i am going to. i cant ditch my friends for him and it’s what he wants. he doesn’t understand. he lets me cry. he doesn’t tell me goodnight when we’re tg. he plays victim, i cannot tell him what he’s done wrong or im going off on him. so we will never communicate. he is stubborn and mean to all of my friends. he expects me to walk out of their house the second he’s there. but he is sweet when we are alone. i dont wait for it to be over. he treats me roughly and i have to learn not to beg for what i need. like he is training me. i dont like it but he will rest his forehead on mine when he gets over it. he will look into my eyes and kiss my face. he will hold me and tell me he loves me. he’ll laugh w me and treat me like i’m pretty. he says sorry and i believe him. its one of the only times he’s sweet, is when he is sorry. and if that’s what i’m holding onto. i used to be myself. now i am just a part of him and he is of me. he’s just as attached to me. and i am not enough. he is not enough. and the only way out i see is suicide. i tried with his belt the night after we broke up. i might :(

[starsbegantofall]

craft room update under the cut!

I've been struggling with keeping my craft room/wfh office clean for years ever since i moved into my house. Not only am I messy, a given for a free spirit like myself, but I'm also working on multiple projects at a time that cannot be put away or else they will be forgotten, also typical of free spirits. I also dislike commitment such as putting giant nail or screw holes in the walls for shelving and storage, which would have helped with keeping things organized or at least off the floor so I can vacuum up all the threads and dust.

A short while ago I moved the futon sofa bed out to my bedroom (not that it really fit there either) because the futon looked ugly and was gathering messes and dust and I never used it for its purpose. The futon now is a gathering place for pillows and plushies but sometimes I do sit on it to work on my journal or read a bit. So that's a slight improvement than no use at all. And I put a sheet over it so it's cute now.

With the biggest space-waster out of the way, I moved furniture around to make the best use of light from the window and recently purchased a cheap plastic Ikea shelf to hold lightweight bins and such. The aesthetics and feng shui are not perfect, but with determination, I was able to rehome almost all of my art supplies and boxes of projects off the floor where they had been preventing me from vacuuming and reaching the closet door. There are still a couple of trays of miscellaneous junk to sort through and I would like a better place for my recently obtained embroidery supply baskets, but that should be easy to resolve tomorrow. It better be.

The next biggest change was taking all of my booth/table stuff from a giant tupperware and consolidating the merch and signage on a small shelf since I doubt I will sell at a market or artist alley anytime soon. (Maybe at my retirement, but I don't think society will exist in 20 years, or not a society that will be buying my art anyway.) That freed up a lot of floor space as well. The other giant tupperware holds my wigs and I don't have a place for it in the stuffed cosplay closet, so it will just be hanging out in the center of the room as a mini table surface as usual. I also moved my photos and letters to my bedroom closet as they are not technically office or art supplies.

I pulled out some artsy or fashion postcards and stickers to decorate, labeled a few drawers, and placed vases of fake flowers around to help it look prettier as well instead of just utilitarian. Actually the flowers were from my previous PC desk setups, I never even put them away, lol.

The last few things on my list - add a cute curtain, find a home for the last few baskets I already mentioned and add more artwork to the wall as inspirations. And maybe hang up one small decorative shelf... if I can make that commitment lol. Anyway, I'm really happy that I finally pulled through and finished tidying up, you know, after years of being stressed out by my mess and unable to find anything and buying multiples I didn't need lmao. Now I'm excited to finish my sewing projects and work on new stuff, and I smile when I look at the semi-organized bins and rainbow colors of fabrics and flowers. Gotta celebrate the small wins in this evil and miserable world!

I will post photos on my blog hopefully soon!

[plantdad-dante]

Book #99 - A Choir Of Lies by Alexandra Rowland

(I- this- hng. It happened again.) I told you. I told you before, and it still holds: witchcraft This book has bewitched me, just like its predecessor did. It is echoing in my head, swinging back and forth in my skull like the pommel of a great bell, and I'm expecting a headache, but all I hear is wondrous music. The music sings of stories, of grief, of community and ruin and healing. And it sings of names - and as I listened, something moved into place. Something that had been sitting wrong for some time. Whoops, personal note incoming, but what else is new. ... Why do I have to have a name? No, serious question now. Like, fine ("not fine", says the inner punk), the bureaucracy needs to call me something, needs a definitive name to put on the eviction notice, but why do I need a name - one singular, solitary, defining name - for other people to call me? See, I realized, as Ylfing was contemplating names and Chants early on... I don't think I have a "real" name. I don't think I even want one. A legal name, sure, I can live with that, I guess. But a "real" one, one that's a fitting label to all of me? Yeah, no, fuck that. I like the internet, or at least this corner of it, in this regard. Here I call myself Dante, and no one, including myself, expects that to be my "actual" name, whatever that means. And yet it is as valid a name for me as anything. I like that. I like that a lot. Maybe this notion is a temporary thing. Maybe, one day, another piece will slot into place and render this feeling void. Maybe one day I'll find a name that feels the way Ylfing seems to feel about his. But "one day" isn't now, and a maybe can turn into a no just as well as into a yes. "Hi, I'm a dude. I don't really have a name - call me whatever you like." ... I had not intended to derail this post like this, but this blog exists, first and foremost, to chronicle my reading experience, and if that is made up of a bunch of weird epiphanies as of late, then I guess so fucking be it. [post script: If writing truly is a copy of one's mind, I might have to have some words with my past self about the multitude of characters in all the unfinished, never-to-see-the-sun stuff I write who have pretty flimsy relationships to their own names, and often only have a name at all because their found family issued them one on family-recruitment day. I might have spent ten minutes laughing hysterically when I realized this.]

[anatomic-adoration]

6/23/23

I made this blog with the intention of joining the studyblr community, but it doesn't hurt to throw some personal journaling in too.

It was warm today, sunny too, so I grabbed my most comfortable boots and headed out on one of my not so famous "adventures." It started off normal, of course, walking past the various bars and statues scattered throughout the college town. They were never my thing, but I've grown somewhat fond of the familiar territory. It's nice that there's plenty of things to use as landmarks since I can't find my way anywhere without a GPS. I gave the nose of the university's opossum mascot statue a rub for luck, then diverged from the sidewalk in favor of the "scenic" route.

It was peaceful, just enjoying the sunshine that peaked through the trees and climbing over rocks and run down fences. Rubbing the opossum's nose must've worked, because right by one of the fences was a dead bunny! The poor thing was half eaten and covered in those really pretty flies that have an iridescent green body. I took a picture and wished it a good afterlife. or reincarnation? or at least some peace in its eternal rest.

But none of that was new. The reason I felt the need to write this down is the woods spit me out right next to a bunch of cool stores I've never seen before. One of them was a coffee shop I'd never heard of, so I figured I'd give it a try.

The place was cooler than I could've imagined- alternative music was playing over the speakers, skull decor, and almost all the drinks had silly edgy names to match the aesthetic. I ordered a tea called "The Cure" (lemon, ginger, and just a hint of mint mixed together with some honey), then decided to do a little people watching while I waited for it to cool.

It was by no means crowded, but it was still fascinating to see that literally everyone there had an alternative look. There was an incredibly fun mixture of subcultures, but I found myself coming back again and again to this one punk looking guy there.

His hair was a grayish colour and he had a collection of piercings that complemented his jacket, which had a bunch of patches and some metal embellishments, including spikes. He was clearly pretty tall too; his chair looked tiny by comparison, and his legs didn't fit well under the table, leaving them pressed against the wood above them. Despite his obvious size and style, he still looked nervous to be there.

I know anyone can have anxiety, but there was something about seeing a man who would be labeled "trouble" by the average person being in such an uncomfortable state himself. I know it sounds mean, but the stark contrast was kind of amusing. I'd love to know how aware he is of the irony.

He noticed my staring, and I guess it made him uncomfortable because he rushed out pretty soon after catching on. As I drank my tea, I couldn't stop dwelling on the situation. I wish I could say I'm sorry; I never mean to stare for too long, but when something catches my eye it just... happens.

C'est la vie. I'll probably go back to the coffee shop again to try their other drinks, maybe a pastry too, so there's still a chance I'll see him again. Maybe I'll work up the nerve to apologize at this hypothetical next time.

Back to studying for the time being.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

So I (finally!) bought a pair of really good noise cancelling headphones, and it has changed my life! It's the fanciest thing I've bought in years, so to recoup some of the cost, I’ve researched & written a little essay based on my experiences with extreme noise sensitivity.

Hypersensitivity to sound is something I’ve dealt with all of my life, but I only recently found out it's medically known a Hyperacusis. (Please note this is a separate condition from Misophonia.) If you consistently struggle to cope with noise, the info below could be helpful! I’m including a link to my ko-fi, and I will be answering questions in the notes.

(skip to the bottom to read fun facts about my tax return and/or street organs vendettas!)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional, this is based solely on my experiences as a patient, and on what I have read and been told by professionals. Please notify me if you have corrections or concerns about accuracy!

BACKGROUND: Sensitivity to sound is a common type of sensory issue. While anyone can experience such issues (most people, for example, might be bothered by loud music in a crowded restaurant), some people are more sensitive than others, to the point it becomes a quality-of-life aka a medical issue.

If you consistently struggle with environmental stimuli that other people aren’t bothered by (background noises, bright lights, certain textures and tastes, etc), to the point it causes daily discomfort or limits the environments you can be in, I recommend reading about Sensory Processing Disorder.

SPD and sound sensitivity are both super common in autistic folks (like me!), but allistic (non-autistic) people can experience them too. Weep, ye prisoners of mortal coil, for none are safe, nothing sacred, not in this thy most accursed tomb of human flesh!

Anyway.

SOUND SENSITIVITY or HYPERACUSIS: Noise issues are particularly difficult to navigate in a world that is increasingly...noisy. The relatively new phenomenon of constant overhead music in restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls etc—all of this means that public spaces are increasingly inaccessible to people with auditory issues.*

As a kid, nothing quite triggered sensory overload/meltdowns for me like the constant exposure to noise I couldn’t control—the background chatter of other kids in the lunchroom, the constant noise in public spaces, being trapped in the car with the radio on.... I had so many fights with my siblings about the car radio, and who got to choose the music.**

But it’s not just loud sounds that are the problem. As an adult who lives alone and works from home***, I’m lucky enough to be able to avoid loud environments most of the time. This does wonders for my general levels of anxiety and discomfort. But even in a mostly controlled environment, I still experience problems. Because part of sound sensitivity is that even normal or quiet sounds can feel loud and intrusive. Here are some “normal” sounds that can cause me discomfort (ranging from annoyance to outright pain, depending on the day):

refrigerator/AC/ceiling lights humming

dishwasher/washing machine noises

ceiling fan making that damn ceiling fan noise

faint sounds of traffic

riding in a car

other people having a normal conversation in the background

someone talking to me in a perfectly normal inside voice

Unfortunately, even in a “controlled” environment, many triggering noises can’t be controlled. And many parts of life can’t be lived in a controlled environment. This presents...some incredibly freaking annoying problems. Luckily there are solutions!

Sorta.

There are sorta some solutions.

They are imperfect, but they help.

TREATMENT: And now I have something rather shame-faced to admit. In all the years of managing my symptoms, it never once occurred to me to see a hearing specialist for my issues with sound. I wasn’t even aware that treatment options exist, because none of my other doctors mentioned it. Instead, I’ve spent years finding my own coping mechanisms and tools, with help from therapists and psychiatrists, but without ever consulting an audiologist/ENT. It was only while researching this post that I found out that was even an option, holy shit.

So it turns out I am going to be making an appointment with my local ENT practice. shit.

Apparently treatment options include sound/acoustic therapy, systematic desensitization/exposure therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, sound machines, and other options that I had no idea even existed, goddammit.

MANAGEMENT: In the meantime, here are my current coping mechanisms. I’ve relied rather heavily on hearing protection, which is very useful when used in moderation. Unfortunately, it can cause its own problems: it’s important not to overuse hearing protection, because in the long-term this can increase your sensitivity. So again: a useful tool, but be careful not to overdo it.

With that in mind, here are some of the coping strategies I’ve used over the last decade to manage my symptoms. This is not a perfect system and you should contact your local ENT clinic for better, long-term solutions, but in the meantime here are some tips I use to just get myself through the damn day:

Regularly spending time in a quiet controlled environment, to allow my nervous system to decompress.

Wearing earplugs, (I use two different grade, depending on the level of noise prevention I need), and always carrying an extra pair in case I need them unexpectedly. I bought a 50 pack for $7 and put spares in all my bags and jacket pockets.

(I mostly use Mack’s Ultra Soft, but there are so many types and materials and brands, including foam, silicone, wax, custom moldable etc. Even if you have trouble wearing things in your ears, you might be able to find something comfortable.)

Similarly: hearing protection earmuffs, the kind used in gun ranges and on construction sites. I bought mine online for $10. they look like normal wireless headphones, so I've never gotten comments when wearing mine in public (other than “cool heaphones” bc i added skull glitter stickers).

Sometimes I wear the earmuffs on top of earplugs, when life is just too damn LOUD.

Listening to music w/ earbuds or headphones is a great way to balance out background noises, especially if you can find soothing playlists that help you concentrate. Also useful to put in just one earbud when you need to pay attention in class/at work.

Pro tip: if your hair is long enough you can wear wireless earbuds without anyone knowing.

White noise, rain noises, ocean noises etc can be helpful! Some people like whale songs although personally this activates my primal fear response

Active noise cancelling headphones: the reason I wrote this post to begin with—I finally bought a pair! As in, a really good pair! As in, a depressingly expensive pair with noise cancelling technology that actually WORKS, holy shit. I probably need to wear them a little less at home (bc overprotection causes problems in the longterm) but they have absolutely transformed my ability to go out in public and i never ever want to take these suckers off again please take a power screwdriver and nail these to my head, bury me in the sweet sweet shroud of silence. holy canoli and cream puffs I want to marry form a civil partnership with these headphones. Plus they have a bunch of features, like being able to control the level of noise cancellation, so I can hold a conversation or be aware of some ambient noise for safety reasons.

Oh, and also they play music I guess?

Sorry sorry I promise this post wasn’t supposed to be me shilling for Big Electronics. I’m just excited, I’m an excited flabby little ball of expired flubber. ANC headphones aren’t a perfect solution, and I still sometimes wear earplugs underneath, and I will always be uncomfortable some of the time, but for me it’s been a big step.

Unfortunately the cost of good quality ANC technology means this isn’t an option for everyone, and the (much cheaper) gunshot protection earmuffs I mentioned earlier still provide an impressive amount of protection and bang-for-your buck (maybe even an equal amount of protection, if you can find ones that fit well). But if noise consistently prevents you from enjoying public space and life in general, and you’ve already tried earmuffs & earplugs and find they don’t offer enough comfort/convenience/protection, and if you’re in a position to save up for a one time non-necessity purchase of $150+, noise cancelling headphones are an option to be aware of. (Please always check the return policy so you can try before you buy. I ended up buying and returning 2 pairs before finding what worked best for me. And please look for a retailer that offers an extended warranty. You want those motherforkers to last).

There are cheaper options available, including some under $50. The ones I tried didn't work as well as my hearing protection earmuffs, but some people report good experiences, so that is something to consider. it's always good to know your options! Passive noise canceling is another affordable alternative.

Medication: A final tool in my toolbox, which for me personally has helped as much as every other method combined. Like, a lot, it’s helped a lot. It turns out some anti-anxiety medications can also help sensory issues. There’s not much research on this, and I only discovered it firsthand when a medication my doctor prescribed for anxiety ended up significantly helping my sensory issues. I no longer need medication for anxiety, but my psychiatrist still prescribes that same medication off-label for my sensory stuff. Ask your psychiatrist to research your options (they will probably have to do some digging to find relevant research, but you deserve to know all your options, even the obscure ones). Fyi, the medication I use is in the benzodiazepines class, but there are other options for those concerned about dependency or side effects.

(I'm also told anti-anxiety supplements may be helpful, though I haven't tried this yet. If you're on prescription meds, always talk to your doctor about contraindications before taking anything over-the-counter.)

So there you have it, my main coping strategies for sound sensitivity! They are not a replacement for medical treatment (except that last one which is in fact...medical treatment), but I find them helpful and I hope some of you will too! I’ve struggled for a long time, and I’m very pleased to have reached the point where I can just do things in public. Eating out in loud restaurants? I can do that now, and even enjoy it, holy shit! I can comfortably travel in cars for hours at a time, and walk around shopping malls and grocery stores with overhead music, and, and —and just exist. It is so so freeing, to feel like maybe, after everything, you are actually allowed to just exist in a world that wasn’t really designed for you.

Again, be careful not to overuse hearing protection—the goal is to allow you to be less uncomfortable and to function better, but if you find you are becoming more sensitive to noise, it is time to dial it back a notch. Or maybe consider listening to music (at a reasonable volume) to block out background noise instead.

*(This also includes people with hearing loss and related issues, btw. While that’s not my area of knowledge, I would welcome it if any of my HoH followers want to share their experiences.)

**A sign of sensory issues that parents often miss is when a child complains about music being too loud—but has no problem listening to their own music at high volume. This is because music that is already familiar to the listener (and that the listener enjoys) is much easier for the brain to process, since it knows what pattern of sounds to expect. Loud music that they get to control can be soothing for people with sound issues, especially when it blocks out background noise and sensations. This is why repetitively playing the same songs can be a helpful form of stimming.

***(working on this blog, actually. since it’s my only source of income, my 2020 income tax return literally lists my occupation as ‘Tumblr Blogger.’ Oddly, my parent didn’t feel this achievement was worth including in the holiday family newsletter.)

bonus fun fact: Charles Babbage aka “father of the computer” may have been autistic and hypersensitive to sound. He definitely had a huge problem with public noise pollution, and spent his later year waging a war on street musicians (and organ grinders in particular).

(bc like, yeah. screw organ grinders.)

Sometimes when I’m out in public and the overhead music is particularly unbearable, I’ll take a moment to look up to the sky and scream out: “HE TRIED TO WARN US! THE FATHER OF COMPUTERS TRIED TO WARN US!!! we should have listened, sweet heaven we should have listened!”

except i don’t scream it, i say it very quietly under my breath

(i have issues with noise)

so yeah that is my short essay. and here is the ko-fi goal

k ciao i gotta go pick out glitter stickers for my headphones

[weaselle]

It’s time to believe in magic again.

But that’s dangerous. Because what else might I start to believe again? What if... other things... are real too?

Wait. Back up.

a couple years ago I spent a year depressed. Flat-on-my-back depressed. 

Every day for a year, I would wake up and once again refuse to let suicide be an option. So. I would force myself to eat enough to stay alive one more day, and wait for tomorrow. Because I do not. give. up. So stay alive one more day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow.

And somedays maybe tomorrow meant maybe tomorrow it would get better. But somedays it meant, maybe tomorrow I’ll let myself give up and rest forever, so maybe tomorrow, but not today. Never today.

Yet somehow, somehow I seem to have died anyway.

When I left that darkest place, in the year and a half since then, I’ve been a zombie. As I slowly wake up from that state, I’m realizing. The old me was an illusion. This pile of pieces that used to be me... they were all duct-taped together and crumpled into a shape I called whole. But that was never a real person. And now they’ve died, fallen to frankenstein pieces that I’ve swept into a pile, ready to remake, but completely unmade.

Surely these pieces fit together into something amazing.

Someone magical

I’ve experienced magic. My grandmother was gifted. There’s a reason that word is used, because, it’s not like she had powers, just, sometimes in her life she was given a gift. Knowledge of the future, or the ability to alter reality for a moment. These were not things she could do, they were occasional random gifts from ... wherever.

Grandmother had a birthmark on her back. I have the same birthmark. Grandma was there when i was born and when she saw the birthmark she made a minor prophecy. Nobody in the family has ever told me what it was, just that she made it. Sometimes that’s the only way these things will work.

I have also been gifted on occasion, and felt that magic work through me. 

But i was given to scientists to raise.

I realize how this sounds, but it’s not fiction. My mother died when I was young and I was given to my aunt and her husband, an ER nurse and a doctor of internal medicine. And they believe in Science with a capital S.

Which is fine, I too believe in science, and think that every haunted house should be tested for carbon monoxide leaks before getting all spirit-y about it. Science is real there is no doubt.

But at some point I took the entire mystic, magical nature of the universe, and I labeled it all UnKnowable Mystery, and I boxed it all up, and set it aside, like a problem I had solved. It’s all beyond human understanding, i decided, unknowable to the human mind, no need to think about it ever again.

Yet the science of aerodynamics may remain unknowable to the bird in flight, may it not?

So I am determined to unwrap that too-tidy box, and resume my exploration of its mystic contents. Not to know things about how it all works. Just to fly.

But.

Some dark nights, when I remember that I have believed in magic, I find myself ready to believe other things as well. Things that would get me locked away and force-fed medication. Things about aliens and time-traveling government agents and parallel universes. Things about entities watching me, or searching for me, or trying to prevent me from becoming involved in. Something. Vast conspiracies enacted by agencies that make use of messages sent through movies and television. You know, schizophrenic things. And the magic in which my childhood was steeped folds in neatly right along with it all.

But my life has been.. made of many miseries. And if I had to choose between miserable sanity and crazy fulfillment for the rest of this life... I feel ready to choose the second.

So I stand over this pile of pieces that used to be me, and I wonder, what shape shall I build them into this time?

I think it’s time for magic

[prof-peach]

My little kirlia loves to have tea in a garden, so I've been thinking of planting some flowers around a little table outside, I'm not very good at it myself though, and do tend to be forgetful. Any recommendations on easy to care, yet pretty flowers? Do any flowers/plants have special effects on Pokemon that I should be concern/excited about?

ok, so we had a little chat about the weather you get, and I now know you have cold-ish climates, but a good bit of sun, so this is what I can suggest for you and your dear partner, to get the most out of your garden without too much work.  SO, first things first, Grasses. They come in so many shapes and forms, all different colours, heights and can often tough out even the most bitter winter. The only real work I find you have to do with ornamental grasses is at the very end of winter, cut them back to the ground, and they’ll grow back nice and lush come spring when the sun starts to shine. People cut these grasses down quickly because they see them as scruffy, but I encourage you to avoid this, as the grass itself is so important to small bug types, and feeding bird pokemon who need nesting material, grubs to eat, and generally cover from predators. plus bonus, less work for you.

Grasses can create a privacy screen too, so if you're overlooked by neighbours, or your garden is very open and gets a lot of harsh wind, then plating tall tough grasses will not only give you incredible textures, but also some well deserved cover from prying eyes or bitter winds. They also help smaller less tough plants shelter, and can help keep the other things you plant in the space safer. They naturally clump and spread, and you really don’t have to do much other than sit back and watch their beautiful seed heads blow in the wind, creating movement, sound, and giving a great depth of texture to any garden. Plus who doesn't like to see sweet little pidgey feeding on seeds?

Pampas Grass: Super tall, beautiful foliage, real winners, Extra tough plants. ^

Zebra Grass, tall, dense, beautiful stripes, easy and tough ^

for a more Tropical vibe, perhaps try some bamboo ^

 some folks are nervous about it because its fast growing and harder to control, you can stop its spread by planting in containers, OR putting bamboo into the ground, but line where you want it to grow with pond liner, a thick durable plastic, that the plant will struggle to grow through. If you plant a few in a lined trench, they'll fill that space in no time, giving you a thick wall of tough evergreen grass, that literally can be left all year round. makes for pretty foliage in cut flower mixes too.

Ok thats the backdrop laid out for you, now the fun stuff and colour! So heres some of my favs, which i know come in a range of variants.

 ^ Hardy Hibiscus, a shrub, known for their reds, whites, pinks and purples, and yellows, with lovely foliage and a mass of flowers big enough for the combee, cutifly and even butterfree to frequent. they arent overly sweet smelling but very pretty and need little care once established. You can even plant them in pots and they’d be pretty happy if you just feed them.

Hydrangea ^, known for pinks and purples, blues, and whites, their flowers (when not fed specific colouration feed) will change based on how acidic or alkali your soil is. If you want the flowers to not change colour, then get a white one (which is far prettier in my opinion haha). The white ones don’t change colour and will stay no matter your soil type. You can get special feed for them to keep them a certain colour, but its a bit of a faff and not for everyone. these plants can be delicate (see Hydrangea ‘limelight’, or ‘bluebird’) or bold and big (Hydrangea ‘big daddy’ or ‘annabelle’). Should you have a wall and some cash to splash, you can even get a climbing Hydrangea, which is quite stunning.

^ Lilac. Tough, easy to care for, and SO sweet smelling you’d think you’d died and gone to heaven. They come in whites, pinks and purples mostly, and have a robust nature you’d not expect from such a sweet smelling thing. I cannot stress how good and tough these plants are, and once established they can get incredibly aged and majestic. 

These shrubs can be controlled to be small, or left to turn to large shrubs, depending on the space you're working with. I would advise putting in your larger plants first, then slowly adding smaller bits, as the big stuff creates the frame for your garden, its like putting bones in first, to support and hold together the spaces form.

after this, its all down to small floral bits. you mentioned tropical vibes up top, so i’d say go for some greens in there too, ferns and large leaved hostas are pretty cold tolerant (hostas can also flower which is lovely), and give a real feel for depthy jungle and texture, and the more green you get, the more the flowers pop against it.

for ground cover and softer smaller plants, think hardy Geraniums, maybe some hardy shrub Fuchias, a personal fav for its fearless defiance to the cold is Erysimum, and then you have age old winners like Aquilegia, Yarrow, and Scabiosa. Do a google, check out the options and hopefully head to your local nursery to pick a few bits up. i’d suggest planting up when the ground doesn't get frost in the morning, to give your new plants the best chance. water whatever you plant into the ground thoroughly once, and only do so again should you get a particularly hot summer day. 

All the plants i’ve mentioned are tough as old boots if you make sure they're ‘Hardy’ thats the word to look on labels with anything you plan to put in. There aren't any plants that I know of that affect the Ralts line thoroughly AND fit the vibe you were gong for that we discussed, but i do know they're easily calmed by scented plants, so go to a local centre, or even public gardens and take some time to smell the flowers. If they plant it in your local park, and your pokemon enjoys it, chances are it can survive your weather and rough soil type. I find the Ralts line is very in tune with their trainers, and so if you enjoy the garden, if you like the sound of the grass in the wind, or the smell of the flowers, or buzz of combee floating by, then they'll join in and be content.

You mentioned your Kirlia likes tea? grab some mint and pop that in a pot for her, don’t put it in the ground, it goes wild and rampant. Also Chamomile is a rather hardy plant to have, and she may enjoy to learn the process of caring for and using that delicious little herby plant. It has sweet daisy flowers and does well in sunny spots or pots, and smells divine, some people even use it as an alternative for a lawn.

Pleeeeeease let me know how it goes, and if any of these names or phrases seem daunting, I am here to help, and can promise you i’ve given pretty easy starting points, and ALL of these plants can handle being in containers or in the dirt, in exposed positions, and none need rigorous feeding or care, other than the odd water, and the dead flowers trimmed off. If you get stuck message in, Gardening is kind of my vibe, and i’d hate to think you’d get a little overwhelmed. Plants move so slowly, you get a lot of time to fix issues and mistake (i know i make a lot of them haha) and they're also very forgiving, so don’t feel like you have to know a lot to get started, its a hobby that gets us outdoors, and brings great joy when the things we care for flower and give results, and we can learn from our decisions if they should fail and die. 

GOOD LUCK!

[twigon0metry]

The Female Experience (Through My Eyes)

 Before I begin with yet another one of my annual multi-paragraph discourse posts, I want to clarify that this is not a coming-out story. I felt pulled to share my thoughts around my own experiences with gender in today’s day and age as a Christian, which is something I don’t see most people speaking about. My desire is to share my experiences in order that other Christians like me can be reassured that they are not alone, and it is normal to doubt. I wish to be the representation I needed back when I was struggling. 

TW I do talk about my faith and how it connects to who I am, however, I am sharing my personal experiences, so I hope it is more accessible than offensive--if you are not a christian, you are more than welcome to engage as well.

Here we go!

 I’ve never felt like a woman. When I was a child, I didn’t feel like a girl, either. I doubt there is a single point in my life in which I have actively felt and identified with what the world deems to be female. I was never distressed, but I did feel different sometimes. Not in the way that one might feel wearing pants in a room full of other girls in dresses, but in the way that I was myself and they were something else. I did things differently, I acted differently, and people could tell. “Quirky”, “Bold”, “Different”, “Confident” are all descriptors I’ve heard many a time, and I’ve been lucky that they’re positive. These aren’t bad things, and I am in no way complaining—just explaining that even people around me could see that I was different.

 Not once did I question myself until I reached the age that the internet became a larger part of my reality. The most I’d ever done was watch my testimony play on the screen in the green room at church, on the day I was baptized, noticing how my mouth moved funny when I talked. Or perhaps, observing my spindly limbs in a photograph, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how differently my body moved in the world. But later on, as I immersed myself in our society, observing its movements in order to understand, I began to feel further and further away.

The only people I saw who were like me, were not women.

 To the tiny part of my lizard brain, this had to mean something, and my OCD latched onto it like a moth to a flame. Any suggestion to this end sent my mind spiraling. I felt an intense need to define who I was by a label of some sort, in order that I might fit in, or perhaps prove myself, or maybe, to truly find rest.

 I had to discover what being a woman meant, because if I didn’t, I was afraid I might not be one. I had to know what a woman was in order to be sure I was one. But finding no connection to what I saw femininity to be, I had no choice but to leave my questioning in the dark, unanswered.

 When I tried to think of the things that defined femininity, I could only think of the warped things I was bent upon rebelling against. Besides being generally uncomfortable with my anatomy, I hated that women were reduced to the sicky-sweet, seductive, rose-tinted narratives I saw all around me. So what was left? Nothing, except my own feelings and how I perceived myself. And when I thought about it, I didn’t perceive myself as a woman, just as myself. There were no “female” feelings to be found, either.

What I’ve finally come to realize, however, is that those two concepts can coexist. Woman, and me—that is, everything that makes me myself.

 If, say, I were to come out as nonbinary, or, agender, the more specific microlabel for those who don’t identify with gender (discovered during one of my obsessive internet searching phases), to be honest, I’m really not sure it would help me. Because I know that no matter what I did to change myself, even if it was no more than try my best to continue being genuine, being myself—the reality of womanhood would always follow me. I would still be seen within the binary of male and female, and my sex would always affect how I was treated by others. And beyond that, I would merely be stepping outside of one box into another—just as society pressures women to be feminine, I have seen how nonbinary people are pressured to be androgynous, to be not female, or not male, or a specific mixture of both that has to be palatable to others in just the right way. If I pursued this path of fitting into boxes, it would undoubtedly be a painful one, because to me, I fit perfectly in neither.

 Soon I realized that the problem, for me, is with the warped stereotypes associated with being a woman, and not being a woman itself. Woman, as a term, was not the box I had always thought it to be—if anything, it was more like a garden, and the garden grows what it will, no matter what I choose to plant.

 I have always been myself. Woman has always been a part of that, subconsciously, as a reality of my existence. But it never did, and doesn’t have to, hold the weight I thought it did. I am a Christian, but if I were to ask myself if I felt like a Christian, that would in turn raise the question of “how do I know what being a Christian feels like?”. I am also 20 years old. I do not feel like I am 20, but the reality is that that is the amount of time I have existed in this world, outside of the womb, for. (Quite frankly, most days I still feel like a teen.) I am also 5.9”, or to be specific, 175cm. But if someone were to ask me if I felt like I was 5 feet 9 inches, I wouldn’t be able to answer that, because I don’t feel like it, it just is.

To me, womanhood is the same. I am a woman, and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than it already does. It doesn’t mean I have to conform to what the world says a woman is like to be one—as a matter of fact, it doesn’t mean I have to act any certain way at all, since it is nothing more than an immutable trait of my flesh. I can ignore it, but I cannot avoid it. Regardless of anything I do or say, it is there, and it is what I was born with. I do not have to hate it, nor do I have to find joy in it—because it simply is, the way it is true that I have arms, I have hair, I have a face. I have a woman’s mind, a woman’s body, a woman’s soul, and to reject that would only hurt me further.

 Don’t get me wrong, femininity is important. I’m still on a journey to find out what it means. But my feelings aren’t the most important aspect of that, and to give them weight would only enforce the very things I sought to avoid.

 When God met Moses in the desert hundreds of years ago, He gave this response to being asked His name—“I am.” God is God. He simply is. He does not prove Himself to anyone, nor does He change Himself to fit one box or another, or force Himself to sit outside of them entirely. He rests in His identity and His way of being, perhaps like a cat stretches out and lies in the sun, its decisions not at all swayed by the musings of man.  

I don’t identify as a woman, I just am one.

 At this point, since I have little understanding of biblical femininity outside of how the world has warped it in misogynistic ways, this I believe is how I can glorify God with my femininity. He made me the way I am, with the things I like, what I do, and how I think. He also made me female. And the best thing for me to do for my anxious, restless mind is to abide in that “I am”—I am who He made me to be, messy parts, clean parts, parts that fit and parts that don’t. Woman is weaved so intricately, gently, within that, as part of who I am and how I experience the world. To reject that would mean I really do believe what society tells me about who I am—nothing but my own thoughts and feelings, crammed into an empty box painted with purple, yellow and white stripes.