#my eyes aren't that severe but i used to have this syndrome of not being able to focus on my hearing when i don't wear my glasses lol

[neviayue]

i'll remember this smell | By Nevi Ayu E.

光の匂いを嗅ぐ. 草みたいな匂い，懐かしい匂い. この匂い覚えとく.

"I'm smelling Hikaru's scent. You smell like grass, a nostalgic smell. I'll remember this smell." Lol at Hikaru getting insecure of his body odour in the midst of Sora trying to engrave Hikaru-that-day's scent in her memories so she doesn't forget how they were, even if things change in the future.

Dialogue taken from Japanese drama, Uchi no Musume wa, Kareshi ga Dekinai (2021) episode 9, written by Kitagawa Eriko.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

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[hyperesthesias]

Can you actually write something smutty for Viktor? Or just a guide on how to? I really want to write some Viktor smut, but I'm worried I won't do his disability justice as I'm able bodied and a dumbass

Of my twelve years on this webbed site, this has got to be the best ask I have ever received lmao

I would be happy to help, friend. I'll answer this in two parts.

Yes, I am planning on writing Viktor smut for Viktor x Anya. I had a lot happen in the year since I made the post you're referencing, but I've finally been able to get back into fandom stuff. I wanted to lay some backstory with them first though, as I am apparently a PWP kind of person lmao. It's coming soon! (No pun intended).

You've taken the first great step in recognizing that your experience and knowledge may not be congruent with potential portrayal, and therefore asking for advice. I don't mean to sound patronizing at all. I am an author and I have seen many professional authors that don't do this, so you're already ahead of the game! I wouldn't consider that dumbassery in any way, shape, or form.

I'll put the rest under a cut due to the nature of this post.

*Disclaimer to this is, of course, I don't speak for every disabled person, this list isn't extensive, and these are my opinions.

I, personally, operate under the assumption that Viktor has Post Polio Syndrome. Looking at photographs (x, x, x) it's pretty clear the animators used PPS as a framework for Viktor's movements and posture, as well as his mobility and assistive devices. People with PPS often develop need for braces, canes or crutches, and treatment for scoliosis -- all of which Viktor has. You are more than welcome to headcanon something different, as I don't believe the writers or animators have ever confirmed or denied PPS, but based on my own experience and research, I would bet money on it.

That being said -- regardless of PPS, or otherwise -- the first thing to consider when writing smut for any disabled character is fatigue. It may not be the obvious thing, as mobility devices often are the first thing to catch an observer's eye. But there is so much that goes on beneath mobility devices. Fatigue is a big one.

Consider the worst flu you've ever had -- all the time, every day, even in your sleep. It can be maddening, like you can't get any relief -- even if you take pain reliever or use other analgesics. Most people with a severe flu aren't exactly in the mood to be frisky, especially spontaneously. Many physically disabled people rely on preplanning. Having a date night where they can plan for extra pain reliever, or where they can schedule the rest of their day or week to conserve energy for a special night. The psychological energy that people need to conserve alone can take a lot of effort. Being disabled is also mentally exhausting, especially when you have a partner and their needs to consider. Giving a disabled person time to prepare for sex (or other tasks) is essential.

Related to that, is the fact the energy levels aren't always consistent. A disabled person and their lover could be going at it like rabbits for a while and then suddenly the disabled partner may need to stop because their "battery" (their physical energy levels) has run out. They may need a break for a few minutes, or they may just need to end the sexual encounter altogether.

The worst thing you (or your character) could do is take this personally. It has nothing to do with their partner, it's their body that is (frustratingly [on many levels]) not cooperating.

Something to toy with (no pun intended) when writing characters with energy level deficits is vibrators. Twice the work with half the effort. Don't be afraid to write smut with toys and vibrators -- it doesn't even have to be kinky. Toys and vibrators are normal and vanilla, all things considered. The only reason they haven't been normalized is because of patriarchal standards as to what sex is and is supposed to be.

The second thing to consider is physical limitations of positions and potential discomfort. I've seen several fanfic writers describe situations and positions that Viktor simply would never be able to do (e.g. lifting his partner onto a table or desk).

Viktor doesn't have a lot of strength. That's not to say he can't be rough or that all smut has to be vanilla. But realistically, it's absurd to think that he can lift someone else or manhandle them with any force, or thrust at the speed of light (💀). He also doesn't have any balance whatsoever post Act I. During Act I, he's able to hobble somewhat without his cane, as long as he has something to hold onto, as seen in episode three. But in Acts II and III, his balance issues combined with scoliosis would make any positions where he has to stand much more difficult.

Therefore, if you're wanting to write a scene somewhere outside of a bedroom (e.g. the lab, his office, etc.), he'd need something to balance himself. Seated sex is a great concept to play with -- very disability friendly and offers many options for all sorts of scenes. Desk/table sex is also realistic, as long as your character lifts themself onto the desk or table, and he's able to lean on it.

Scenes that take place in the bedroom also have their own limitations. He has zero use of his right leg, which means he'd need more time to get in and out of different positions. Missionary would take a toll on his back, I'd imagine, from being hunched over -- not that he couldn't do it at all, but that was more of a sidenote. Having your character straddle him, while his back was supported, is probably the most comfortable position I can imagine. Or spooning. Or maybe doggy, though I think his back and hips might get tired. But I'm just spit balling at this point. Utilizing objects from the setting is important -- pillows, having your character bent over the back of a couch, etc. This is where creativity comes in -- it's just important to keep in mind where his limitations are located on his body: his back and his leg/hip.

There are also adaptive devices for sex and disabilities.

One final thing I want to say is: don't overcorrect. This is common. It's one thing to keep a character's disability in mind, but it's another to make a disability the entire character. Just because Viktor is disabled doesn't mean he can't have the filthiest, most disgusting, raw, life changing, I-should-visit-a-confessional type of sex. However you headcanon him to be in bed is exactly how he can be. If you see him as a cruel Dom, he absolutely can slap the shit out of whoever has the pleasure of being beneath him, while he makes them beg for his mercy -- with his back and leg supported. If you see him as a bratty sub, he can be that, too -- while he lies there with a back pillow to relieve pressure off his spine. If he's the plainest, blander-than-vanilla type of lover, that's exactly what he is -- while he takes a few extra minutes to move from one position to the next. If he's any combination of those things, more power to you.

The point of writing a scene, is the point you're trying to make. Meaning: a lot of writers worry about conveying ideas and settings perfectly and with detail, while losing sight of the main point of their story. Rarely will you ever have to add paragraphs to a piece of writing in order to convey something, especially if it's not the main point. Often, it only takes one or two sentences. Keep the main point of the scene in mind. If you're writing a fic where Viktor and your character are secretly getting it on in the lab, then the point and the idea of that scene is the forbidden sex they are having. Not necessarily his limitations. You can easily acknowledge Viktor's disability by saying something like: 'Viktor sat on a chair at the far end of the lab, away from the door's line of sight. He leaned his back against the seat, allowing his spine to settle, before he coaxed his lover onto his lap. His lover straddled his legs, reaching to kiss his neck, while his hand trailed up their thighs...' You've successfully conveyed the limitations he has in two sentences, while maintaining the focus of your scene, and without reducing Viktor to a caricature of his disability. Less is more throughout your fic.

As a side note, which is completely my headcanon -- and something I've vaguely alluded to in my Viktor x Anya fics -- is that Viktor also has erectile dysfunction as a result of the PPS. Polio is a neurological virus, meaning is attacks the nerve cells, the main cause of the atrophy in PPS. It isn't common, but it's not uncommon for males with PPS to struggle with ED. As such, in my own personal stories, I have mentioned that Viktor takes medication to help with it. Sildenafil (the generic for Viagra) is a medication that specifically targets nerves.

That's my own person interpretation, though, and has no bearing on what we seen in Arcane lol.

To close this off for now, I want to reassure you that your efforts count and they matter. No one will write any depiction of disability 'perfectly'. Disability is unique to every person, and one person's spinal disability will look different to another's. Even people with the exact same diagnosis and prognosis will differ in how they experience it. You're not a dumbass. You're very intelligent to recognize the need for external resources. Enjoy yourself, enjoy the work you write, and keep asking questions.

If and when you decide to write your Viktor smut piece, I would love to read it. And likewise, if you'd like to read what I write I'd be happy to send it to you! If you're comfortable coming off anon, you can message me privately and we can talk more!

[eponastory]

Alright let's break this silly argument down a bit shall we?

First off, yes, everyone in the Gaang has trauma. We know this, and we don't disregard that. We know that Sokka and Katara have trauma. We know Aang has guilt over what happens with the Air Nomads when he ran away. We know Toph has baggage because her parents kept her confined because of her disability. That's all been established.

Comparing trauma does not work in anyone's favor because it's different from person to person and the way that it's treated. Hell, there are FOUR types of PTSD and not all of them have to do with existential circumstances. Some of these types have nothing to do with being in a situation that causes panic.

But it's how we deal with our trauma that sets us on the path to healing.

In Katara's case, she had some pretty severe Survivors Guilt. Not necessarily PTSD, but it could be argued that she does have that. It changed her life irrevocably and that is something she had to deal with. She does get to deal with it in TSR but this leads to conflict between her and the group because there is this perception of her that isn't really her.

Sokka has to rise above his issues with being a non-bender and feeling left out. I also feel like he hides a lot behind his humor to deflect how he really feels about things. This is what happens when you have anxiety about meeting expectations. He has expectations he has to fulfill, and it never goes right. He's afraid of disappointing people he cares about and doesn't want to let them down. He isn't a failure, but when he does actually do something amazing, there is Imposter Syndrome. We don't see it much, but we do in NAtLA.

I'm not going to talk about Aang. I refuse.

Toph has been sheltered her whole life because she is blind. She is at home with herself, but she doesn't like anyone to do anything for her. She eventually learns that it's okay to have help when she needs it and that it's okay to have friends. (Not comparing trauma here, but she has the minor character arch out of all of them)

Zuko is... a lot to unpack. At the beginning, we know next to nothing about him except that he is the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, and he's hunting the Avatar to reclaim his 'honor'. He's hot-headed, but we never actually see him hurting anyone. He threatens, but he doesn't want to hurt people. That's the first sign that things aren't all they seem with Sifu Hotman. Throughout book one we get to know him a little better and see that he is Banished from home because of a 'misunderstanding' and he was also brutally abused by his own father. In the Netflix Adaptation it's more nuanced at how Ozai is playing his children against each other for his own benefit. It sucks but it's also good writing (some of the best writing is done with the characters of the Fire Nation) but anyway, we get an understanding of where Zuko's trauma comes from.

He has been emotionally abused by his narcissistic sociopath of a father because Zuko didn't have that 'spark' in his eyes at birth (not the entire reason but I'll get to that in a bit). Azula was the Prodigy, so Ozai put all his focus on to her. Then, his mother literally killed Azulon to save Zuko's life, but he doesn't find out until later. All of that plus the Agni Kai against his father is why he is so invested in finding the Avatar. Ozai seemingly took everything away from Zuko, but Zuko still loves his father and his people.

So why is he chasing the Avatar? Because he wants to go back to everything he knows. It's not just about getting back something that was never really taken away, it was all about getting back everything Ozai took from him.

Zuko never lost his honor, but he had everything else stripped from him and was humiliated for it.

He eventually grows through this and begins to heal himself with confronting Ozai on the Day of Black Sun. That was when he said 'fuck this shit I'm doing this my way' and that royally pisses Ozai off.

So if you don't like that our argument has better standing than yours, I suggest you go take some creative writing classes and learn about character development.

[j0kers-light]

Hi chaos! I hope you’re having a good day!

I saw your headcanons post for joker x reader who struggles with anemia & loved it so, so much! It’s always lovely when we get to see our favorite characters caring for us in little ways like that, especially when it comes to our daily struggles that often go largely ignored by society. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a joker x f!reader with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome sometime? And as always, no pressure at all <3

— 🌹

Welcome my sweet 🌹anon!!

You ask, and I deliver! I had to do some extensive research with my mom to make sure I was accurate with this request! I learned so much via articles and short documentaries! Shoutout to my chronic pain sufferers! Chaos acknowledges you and I loves you!!

If anything doesn't sound right let me know 🌹 anon so I can correct it! I hope you enjoy! There are several sub-types of the disease but we'll focus on hEDS for this head canon 🖤✨

Since your disorder is rare and hereditary, there isn't any known treatment or any medical studies/research done to cure the illness. There isn't even a test done to diagnose its so vastly ignored! 😡😡

Society turns a blind eye to _EDS, simply chalking it up to hypermobility and being non-life threatening. WRONG.

hEDS is life threatening and sources fail to address the lifelong chronic pain and other debilitating issues that the rare disease causes. There are 13 sub types with their own crippling ailments.

Joker would hardly notice anything wrong until you go and hurt yourself, which is rather easy due to your fragile skin and joints.

Your body doesn't heal well after injury so bruises linger, scars are permanent, and dislocations are a common occurrence. Yay to pain. 🙃✨

Growing up, it was cool to show off your double joints and overly flexible body but as your age hit the double digits, you noticed the complications of your parlor tricks pretty quickly.

Muscle weakness was the first indicator followed by scarier issues like weak blood vessels and potential organ ruptures. Chronic pain is a reality that you have to endure since your body fails to function properly.

Life grinds to a halt when you have a flare up and Joker arches an eyebrow when you stay in bed for days at a time and work remotely.

Just moving is an impossible feat and your body punishes you for defying its demands for rest. You still have to live your life! Somehow.

Joker tries to crack jokes but you roll your eyes and ignore him. You’re just not in the mood.

He doesn't understand how you can go from practicing yoga in the sunroom to being bedridden in the same hour so he assumes you're faking being sick and that thought makes you cry.

Knowing that your lover believes that you are acting, hurts more than your aching joints and Joker immediately notices when your mental health begins to decline.

Now he's worried. When you can, you do as much as you're able, never knowing when your body will betray you and confine you to bed. Every moment is precious and Joker will never understand that.

Life returns back to "normal" but Joker demands answers. He's still in shock.

Weren't you on death's door just yesterday? Now you're returning to work, laughing and smiling, as if nothing is wrong. He doesn’t know what to think.

So he disappears to search the internet and after hours of clicking away, he's just as confused as when he started. (I feel you J..)

Joker refuses to believe there is nothing he can do to help his Bunny. This hEDS can't keep you down forever. Right? 👀

Why aren't there any studies, or any institutions pledging to find a cure for this?! Does he have to kidnap a doctor or two to get the ball rolling?

Joker remembers he does have a doctor on his payroll. He calls up Sarai and bombards her with the same questions he typed into Google.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BUNNY?🧑‍💻

Sarai doesn't give him much else to go on except keeping you comfortable, well medicated if you take any, and to continue your physical therapy but not too much exercise as to aggravate your joints.

Great... so he's back to square one!

Joker hears you groan from the next room and goes to check on his poor Bunny. He would find a way to make you feel better himself.

You had dozed off for a long quick nap and woke up to the sound of something falling over in the bathroom.

It still hurt to move but at least it wasn’t agonizing anymore. This current pain level you could tolerate.

You were willing yourself to toss the covers back when Joker appeared in the doorway looking rather sheepish.

“Hey doll. Uhh are ya feeling up to move?” He scanned you over as if he could gauge your pain tolerance by sight. Your small smile gave him some hope.

“Mmm. I gotta get up and fix something to eat.” You were weak and probably dehydrated from lying in bed all day, but that was to be expected.

Joker watched you swing a leg over and rushed to your side. “I uh.. ran a bath. If ya want. A Reddit post mentioned ah.. hoT water being helpful.”

It didn’t dawn on you just what Joker was saying. All you heard was the latter part of his sentence. “You have a Reddit account?”

He smacked his lips while helping you slowly walk towards the en-suite bath. To your surprise, the bath was waiting for you with a rolling cart next to it, hopefully with something to snack on.

You were speechless. “J… you did all this for me?”

He looked away and you got the impression that he was blushing. He still had his clown makeup on so you couldn’t tell for sure.

“Thank you J. I mean it.” He helped you sit on the nearby wooden bench after you kissed his cheek. “Um. I can undress myself.. if you need to—ah! Okay! You’re seriously doing this.”

Joker started with your socks and worked his way up until not a single thread of fabric was left on your body. You felt so exposed sitting there nude while Joker dipped his hand into the bath water.

It was hot enough to be medicinal but not scalding. He snapped his fingers and dashed over to the storage area to grab your bag of epsom salt before dumping a few cups in.

You got to see a rare softer side of Joker hard at work. No one would believe you if you reported this. The Joker, Gotham City’s worst nightmare, was preparing you a bath with the greatest care.

“All-right-yyy ya ready pretty girl?” Joker’s voice snapped you out of your daydream. He playfully flicked some water at you to get your attention.

You couldn’t flinch away and huffed your displeasure.

“I couldn’t resist, Bunny. Now in ya go! Hold onto my shoulders, yeah?” He picked you up as if you were made of glass and gently lowered you into the bath. “Easy doll, I know it’s hot. Just relax.”

Joker shushed any whimpers you made and held you steady underneath the water. For the next few unbearable moments, Joker was right there whispering sweet nothings to calm you down.

Finally you relaxed with a deep sigh, “This is perfect.”

“Good. If ya want, you can rest a bit. I’ll keep you.. well you know.. from drowning. But ya do need to eat something first. Here.” He dried his hand off and fed you a [insert favorite snack].

You felt like royalty and Joker had no issue helping you adjust to the role. He fed you piece by piece, offering you sips of water in between while holding your hand and rubbing soothing circles on your skin with his thumb.

The contact warmed your heart. Joker may not know much about your medical condition, but he would always be there to support you.

You couldn’t ask for a better partner.

[etherealspacejelly]

hiya dad. I've done research and taken some online screening tests and I'm fairly sure I'm somewhere on the autism spectrum, but I don't know if my symptoms are "severe enough" to qualify for a diagnosis. and I don't know how much of it is the autism and how much of it is other stuff. so idk what to do and I suppose you could say I've got some pretty strong imposter syndrome going on. any advice would be quite appreciated

-🪨

if you haven't already, i would suggest taking the RAADS-R test. it is a screening tool used by professionals when diagnosing autism. it is not equivalent to a diagnosis, but it can help with that pesky impostor syndrome!

also, the autism spectrum is not a straight line from mild to severe. there's no such thing as mild or severe autism. autism is a collection of traits, and the spectrum represents how much each of those traits presents in you.

here is an example from i screening test i took a while ago (this is not the RAADS-R btw). because i dont have too much difficulty with eye contact, social interaction, or abnormal speaking patterns, i might seem like a 'mild' autistic to a casual observer. however, i really struggle with overstimulation in public places, and can have internal meltdowns because of this. i get obsessed with my interests to the point where i struggle to think about anything else, which impacts my schoolwork.

oftentimes words like 'mild' and 'severe' are used to refer to how much an autistic person inconveniences those around them, rather than how much they are struggling internally. no one is more autistic than anyone else. we all have our own unique struggles and strengths, because we are people, and thats just how people are! there is no way to be a 'little bit autistic'. you either are or you aren't. spectrum =/= sliding scale!!!

and yes, symptoms can overlap a lot between diagnoses. i think there should be less emphasis on "Do the things i struggle with align perfectly with the way people with this condition struggle?" and more on "Will the techniques designed to help these people make my life more bearable?" and if the answer is yes then use them!!!

you dont need a diagnosis to wear sunglasses indoors or use fidget toys or noise cancelling headphones/earplugs. there is no such thing as being 'disabled enough' for accommodations. if they make your life easier or less painful/uncomfortable, then do it!!! and this goes for other mental disabilities and physical disabilities too! and even non-disabled people!

i think as a society we have placed so much judgement on disabled people that it is seen as a personal failure to need accommodations. using a cane or walker is seen as 'giving up', when it can actually be a preventative measure for many physical conditions!

if something makes your life easier, then do it. regardless of whether you have the 'correct' or 'severe enough' disability for it. suffering is not noble.

[ghostieagere]

I usually don't ask...

But i tonight my legs hurted so much at each movement i did and i couldn't calm down...

Can you write about Mountain having problems with his legs but not wanting to ask for help because he's strong enough (he's the one who care about everyone not the one to care about, he can't be weak,no?) to deal alone with that, suffering in his room till Aether founds him?

[i dont know if it's a good idea for writing but... feel free to ignore this 🥺, sorry to bother]

hi, loves <3 i'm sorry to hear both of you have been having a rough time recently :( hopefully this can help you both a tiny bit <3 (and you aren't bothering me at all, anon !!)

cw: mountain struggles to walk, severe leg pain, mountain loves fried rice, brief mention of accidentally skipping a meal, regressed (child, not toddler) mountain, cg aether. mightn't be the easiest read for littles.

~

The hill leading up from the greenhouses to the Abbey is a decent size. Mountain has never really thought of it as big, but he knows the littles get adorably exhausted trying to climb back up it at the end of a long, exciting da with him in the greenhouses. He always delights when their faces light up after he offers them a piggyback. When it's him who's struggling to climb back up the hill with no one to offer their help however, he thinks it's much less adorable.

Each step he takes has his knees screaming at him for putting them under so much pressure, joints wobbling dangerously in their sockets as he moves forward and upward. The path under his feet is slippery with loose stones and gravel, which means that with his weakened legs, every step he takes sends him sliding back another two. It's always an impossible task getting back to the Ministry on a bad pain day, but Mountain doesn't remember ever having quite this much difficulty, even when he regresses.

Speaking of, as he gets more and more frustrated for not being able to make his way up the hill, he feels his mind slipping slowly into a horribly familiar void of fog and annoyance; a mirror of his actions when his legs give out under him and he slides back to the bottom of the hill, all his progress lost. Again.

He tries again and again, and each time ends with him falling flat on his face, knees giving out from underneath him as he cries out in pain over and over again. Once it's clear he's not going to make it if he walks, he tries crawling up, but the path is so rocky that he scrapes his hands and knees barely five metres into his attempt.

He curses himself for not bringing his crutches or his cane down to the greenhouses with him earlier. Not that they would be much good on the sliding, unstable gravel, but maybe if he'd been using them during the day, his legs wouldn't have become this painful. Alas, his imposter syndrome never stops reminding him that he doesn't need mobility aids all the time, therefore he shouldn't be allowed to use them at all. It's a thought process he's trying to break, but he never seems to have much luck with it. One day he'll be able to break it, and he can only hope that day comes soon; he's getting tired of having to spend his nights alone in a freezing greenhouse.

He sighs, tears of annoyance in his eyes as he slowly makes his way back into the main greenhouse. His knees buckle and legs give out under him at least twice, but the earth ghoul is so exhausted from trying to climb back up the hill that he can barely keep track of putting one foot in front of the other, let alone how many times he wobbles on his feet.

Once he's inside the greenhouse, he collapses, sobbing. He hadn't properly registered it while he was walking, but now that he's stopped, he hurts. His knees ache, feeling like they're on fire and pressed up against dry ice all at once, the hot and cold mixing not to create a perfect balance, but a hellscape of pain and sensation. Once the sobs subside, Mountain crawls very slowly over to his makeshift bed on the greenhouse floor and tries to get comfortable; this happens often enough that he's had to create a space that's comfortable enough for him to sleep on several nights a week.

The bed is a humble thing. Straw, spare bags of fertiliser and layers hessian bags make up the mattress, and Mountain has brought down his least favourite pillows and blankets to keep him relatively comfortable throughout the long, painful nights. Usually, this is fine, but the fog clouding his brain hasn't gone away—if anything, it's getting stronger with every movement of his legs that shoots pain right through his whole body—and all he wants is comfort; his favourite blankets, his non-lumpy pillows, maybe even the weight and warmth of that microwavable plushie Sunshine bought for him the other week.

He sighs. Wishing for any of these things won't make them magically appear. He'd better get as comfortable as he can with what he's got here. As soon as he tucks himself into the bed, pulling the scratchy blankets up to his neck, his stomach rumbles. He's hungry; hasn't eaten since breakfast, accidentally continuing his work in the greenhouse well into the afternoon until it was too late to go back up for lunch. It's a choice he's really starting to regret now. Unable to climb the hill and return to the Ministry, Mountain won't be eating tonight. He lets out a decidedly kit-like whine at this realisation; normally he'd be embarrassed but since there's no one around to hear or help him, he can't find it in himself to care.

When another rumble sounds from his stomach, he wraps his arms around his middle and curls in on himself, crying quietly. He's all alone, and no one's going to come help him. Even if they did, how could they help? He's in too much pain, he's crying, and everything is so big and so much that he can barely stand to think about it, let alone handle it.

He's so in his head, vision so blurred by his tears and hearing obscured by the sound of his sobbing, that he doesn't notice Aether until the quintessence ghoul is crouched right in front of him.

"Oh, eden, what am I going to do with you, hmm?"

"Ae– Aether...?" Mountain doesn't want to sound too hopeful. He's partially convinced that the ghoul in front of him is some hallucination provided by his mind to give him some comfort. Either that or the fumes from the fertiliser are starting to get to him.

"I'm here, sprout," Aether assures him, reaching out to gently caress the earth ghoul's cheek. "I'm here."

Mountain breaks down all over again, sobbing so hard that his head begins to hurt. He's so relieved that someone is here. He's not going to be left alone. He's safe now.

"M– My legs are hurting and I– I couldn't get up the hill and then I am crying and– and– and–" He cuts himself off, heaving big breaths in between his sobs and sniffles.

"Hey, shh, love. Slow down, one thought at a time, little eden," Aether reminds him. "Breathe with me, c'mon. Yeah, that's it, love, iiiiiiiiiiin." Aether inhales slowly, and Mountain does his best to mirror the quintessence ghoul's actions. "And now we breath ooouuut..."

Mountain lets go of his breath in a huff, making Aether chuckle.

"You need to breathe out a bit slower than that, eden. As slowly as we did when we breathed in. D'you want to try again?"

Mountain nods, biting his lip as he stares up at Aether.

"Okay, follow my lead again. That's it." Aether leads the two of them through the cycle of in's and out's as many times as it takes for Mountain's tears to slow and for his breathing to even back out. When they're done, Aether smiles at him widely and leans down to press a gentle kiss to Mountain's forehead. "Well done, little eden. I know you're hurting, and you're being so brave."

Aether's praise brings tears to his eyes all over again, and he only just manages to keep them from spilling over. "Th– Thank you, Aethy..."

"You're welcome, love." Aether kisses his forehead again, pulling a quiet laugh out of Mountain. "And, oh!" Aether exclaims suddenly. "I almost forgot! I brought something for you, love."

Mountain cocks his head in question, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to imagine what Aether could have possibly brought.

The quintessence ghoul reaches behind him and pulls out a tupperware container and a fork. Mountain's eyes widen and he sits up immediately. "You broughted food?"

Aether hums the affirmative and opens the lid to show the little earth ghoul the contents of the container. "Rain and Cirrus made fish, but I know that's not really your favourite, so I swiped some fried rice from the main kitchens."

Mountain barely lets Aether finish his sentence before he's grabbing the container and messily scooping the dinner into his mouth. "Iths good Aef!" He says, grinning around a mouthful of rice.

Aether smiles. "I'm glad. I figured you'd be hungry, you skipped lunch, eden."

Mountain has the good sense to look ashamed as he swallows his rice. "I know... Wan'ed to finish my plant things... 'M sorry, Aethy."

Aether hums and reaches out to stroke Mountain's hair softly. "I know your plants are important, but you're important too, little eden. You gotta take care of yourself as well as your plants, even if it's hard."

"M– Maybe," Mountain considers. "Maybe if I had comed up for lunch, I would not be stuck in here now...?"

"Maybe," Aether says. "But it's best to not think about what might have happened, yeah? Better to think about what's happening now, love."

"Well, I have got my rice and my itchy blankets and my Aether now," Mountain grins. "But I do not have, um... Being warm...?"

"You don't have being warm?" Aether clarifies, clearly amused as he continues carding his fingers through the little earth ghoul's hair.

"I don't have being warm!" Mountain repeats. "I wanna go in the warm, but I can't go up the hill..." He can feel the pout in his voice as he leans into Aether's hand on his head.

"Well..." Aether starts. "How about I carry you up the hill?"

Mountain gapes. "You can do that?"

Aether assures him that he can, pretending to flex his muscles and making Mountain giggle uncontrollably. "I know the hill's very steep, but if we need, I can get someone else to come down and we can carry you up together, okay?"

Mountain nods, already excited by the prospect of not having to spend the night in the cold, damp greenhouse. "Can I eat my rice more when you carry me?"

"If you can hold onto me and eat your rice at the same time, you can absolutely eat the rest of your rice as we walk up," Aether assures him. "But if you can't hold on, you need to promise me that you'll drop the rice, okay? I'd rather have to clean up rice than clean my little eden up from off the ground."

"I can do that!" Mountain says enthusiastically. "Do I drop the fork too?"

Aether nods. "You're all over this, love! A master of fork and rice safety, that's what you are."

Mountain grins and puffs out his chest proudly, holding his arms out ready for Aether to pick him up.

"This might hurt a bit while I get your legs in a comfy position, okay, little eden?"

Mountain nods, wincing as his legs change position when Aether gets his hands under the little earth ghoul's armpits and lifts. He lets out a quiet cry of pain as Aether repositions him in his arms, but once he's settled, the pain disappears. Without the warmth of his blanket covering him however, he starts shivering in the quintessence ghoul's arms.

"You ready to go, love?"

Mountain nods, burrowing further into Aether's arms for warmth while simultaneously still trying to eat his fried rice.

Aether laughs affectionately at his antics. "You comfy now?"

"Uh huh. 'S good."

"Great! Alright, my little eden. Let's go get you warmed up."

[gender-collecting-forest-goblins]

I never realised how hard it is to exist with plurality when our trauma isn't really defined as trauma.

TW:Death, mental health issues, physical issues, self harm, body dysphoria, suicide/suicidality, medical trauma.

So like, nan died when we were five, I don't have many childhood memories, but seb was the first to "exist" other than me. Then there's the bullying and masking of autism, ADHD, and the trauma of having a post alcoholic parent trying to be a parent again. All with the struggle of things a kid shouldn't have to deal with that mom didn't know how to keep away from us, such as money stuff and food issues. We lose marmalade, a beloved family cat. Then we lose Monty her daughter not long after. The memory of her being cradled in my brothers arms as she has a seizure from the stroke and falling down the stairs, forever imprinted on my mind. Skip to a few years later, it's gotten to the point where we don't know how many we are, because our mental health has already reached the point of passive suicidality and everything that goes with it. Age eleven, deciding whether or not to jump into traffic before school. We form a protector with no name, a shadow figure. He later becomes void. The trauma of not knowing if I'm autistic was way more present around that time. It got way worse and then of course, we didn't know that autism was something to consider, we just thought we were broken. Never mind the trans trauma of being plural and a traumatized child with trust issues, seeing people that aren't there and being terrified of losing my "friends in my head". The bullying gets really bad. We realise we're trans. We're in denial. We think "Oh what if we just come out as non-binary?" It doesn't go well. We are severely suicidal at age 13, finally diagnosed with autism and ADHD. Hospitalised multiple times from then on. Everything is blurry. There are times where I can recall the trauma timeline perfectly, but today is not one of them. This is all quite vague but I think the protectors are ok with that. I needed to get this off my chest. Many have come and gone. I still don't know everyone and everything about the system. I don't know if we'll ever be diagnosed as a system. For now, I just want my life to get easier. We are in constant physical pain. We have hypermobile joint spectrum disorder, recently confirmed. Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome is also suspected. We use a walking stick just to get around the house. We can't stand for more than five minutes. We're still masking our system from our family and friends. Mom thinks we have a dissociative disorder of some sort. The trauma is too complicated even for us, to explain to her how "broken" we feel. Being plural with trauma that is probably nowhere near what people would consider enough to form a system is exhausting. It feels invalidating. Like we shouldn't be this way because we weren't sexually abused or groomed or beaten or tortured or something. We have trauma, it should be enough. So this is me, getting this off my chest. I needed to vent. It hurts so goddamn much. I'm always fronting. I never switch out unless something major happens, like if seb triggers a switch for our safety or if Kai is triggered in due to talking about a memory I'm not supposed to know about to keep me safe. I'm always co-fronting with somebody. I barely know who I am, let alone the fact of being plural making it even harder. What I do know is that, my plurality has saved me. Even if I wish sometimes I wasn't plural. Even if sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could remember all of the school trauma and the hospital trips and the self harming and the surgery from when I was a kid to fix my eye that I only sort of know about from void. I'm just tired. The body is always hurt or ill or in pain. We never get a break. We mask constantly. We can't even call ourselves we. It's I or me or single anything. We aren't diagnosed with anything system based or plural based. The only reason I have some knowledge of how our system might work is because of the helpful information from other sysblogs on here. Like the info about p-did and median systems and autism based system stuff. Hopefully, we'll get to a good place mentally. For now, we'll just have to take each day as it comes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know it probably doesn't read very well or make much sense. I might redo our system intro at some point. Its kind of outdated now. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

[thebleedingeffect]

I feel that both SS and botw/totk zelink aren't toxic but that they have very good potential for it. The potential is rife for co-dependency, impostor syndrome, obsession, strong separation anxiety, goddess-related trauma, etc. "I don't know who I am without you" type beat. Love so deep it swallows you whole. Pre-calamity also has fantastic drama potential in the need to keep secrets, etc.

YEAH THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN I UNDERSTAND YOU!! Canonly? Yeah they're not toxic at all cause I very much doubt nintendo would ever be brave enough to make Link's and Zelda’s relationship questionable in any way lmao. But like... the potential is there, there's so much of it, and the worst thing is that it's not unbelievable at all to interpret that they could very easily slip into toxic tendencies. I also agree with you I think sksw and botw/totk zelink are the two with the biggest risk of becoming toxic lmao.

I made that joke post thinking about sksw zelink cause I just could not thinking about of the sheer amount of implications about their relationship in that game. Surface level? Yeah it's pretty sweet, very much classic 'gotta save my love from evil' sorta deal, but there's SO MUCH going on besides just that!! There's an entire conversation where sksw Zelda straight up says 'I emotionally used you and purposely stayed away from you because I and this world needed a hero. Hylia decided this for you and I'm currently experiencing an identity crisis because I'm not sure if I just fabricated your love for me, but either way I must take advantage of it.' LIKE WHAT THE HELL??? HI??

Like just fucking, personally I think Link would be a more victim of the codependency, separation anxiety, and maybe obsession? Idk I see that as something that I think Zelda would go through actually, along with goddess-imposter syndrome, and severe trauma towards fate and all that. What's even worse is that once you start digging into sksw and botw/totk zelink's relationship there are so many things that are borderline concerming if anyone decided to expand on them. Tbh I also completely agree with you about the pre-calamity thing I think they would hide SOOOOOOOO MUCH SHIT FROM EACH OTHER !!!

Personally I really like to imagine that botw Link actually did hold some resentment for Zelda because he was jealous over the fact that she was able to avoid her fate for so long. From what we're told in botw it's very heavily implied that the opposite happened to Link, the goddesses had chosen him when he was just a kid. Also the idea that Link had been purposely given extremely difficult and near-abusive training for years to prepare him for being Zelda’s guard and Zelda never knew <333 and he never told her <333 so he has even MORE buried resentment <333

But those are just my ideas cause my favorite zelink relationships are when they're emotionally MESSY and FASCINATING TO ME sjsidjd they don't even need to be romantic, platonic is actually totally fine for me, I just love messy bitches.

But yeah I totally agree, I think while they're not toxic in the text itself, I think they very much have the potential to be. The potential for being so intertwined with destiny that it becomes as much of a slowly corroding force as much as salvation. You love them so much, you can't imagine a world without them, you hate them, you resent them, you wonder if they actually love you or just what purpose you serve, you wonder if they love you or if they've just been broken down and told to. You panic if they're not by their side, your skin itches with the need to run away, you can't look at each other in the eye, did you ever love each other if you were never given a choice?

I think zelink has a ton of potential, BUT I think it's more toxic flavor just deserves to be explored way more cause there's no way sksw/botw/totk are HEALTHY in the SLIGHTEST

[primrosebitch]

my allergist highly suspects i have a condition called mcas (mast cell activation syndrome) and i agree with her cause the symptoms match and antihistamines (which is commonly used to treat mcas) work to lessen the frequency and severity of my symptoms, the reason i don't have a diagnosis of it though is because not only is it extremely difficult to definitively diagnose but a significant number of the symptoms do also overlap with a few of my other conditions (which funnily the conditions i have that overlap with mcas are nearly all also comorbidities with mcas)

And dear god is mcas annoying, if you haven't heard of it basically when you have mcas your body just randomly decides to have an allergic reaction to whatever the fuck it wants with no consistency. I am lucky enough to have it somewhat mildly (though it can and likely will get worse over time) but some people who have mcas can get anaphylaxis because of it, which is fucking terrifying, like nearly anything has a possibility of triggering anaphylaxis and you have no way to know what

anyway some of my mcas symptoms include being itchy nearly all of the time, brittle nail and longitudinal ridging on my nails (which i had no idea was abnormal till i looked it up cause i didn't know what it meant), chronic congestion, tinnitus, chronic build up of fluid in my ears, throat irritation, chronic post nasal drip, frequent headaches, tics, difficulty recovering from infection (it usually takes me around 2 weeks to recover from a minor virus but on one memorable occasion i was sick for 3 entire months), tremors, i get eye irritation that feels basically identical to when you cut onions, and the only cool symptom dermatographia aka skin writing

Now of course those are only the symptoms i get that aren't also symptoms of my other conditions, i could go on forever if we include the symptoms that overlap

[ahhvernin]

A dream of magic user college.

I had wild dream last night of being enrolled in a magic user school. One that is filled with DND style classes who want to have intense magical training. So you have a whole slew of bards, druids, clerics, mages, knights, paladins, rogues, rangers, monks, etc. It starts off with me entering my dorm room and dropping my bags on the floor and walking towards the dorm window to look out. There's a war going on down in the fields. Two warring sides created by two bickering professors. The west side called themselves Ragnorok and the East side called themselves Papyrus. It was a strange thing there was a time slot where all the students go and attend classes like normal, and afterwards was spent on the battle field. It wasn't a mock battle nothing about it felt like it. There were weapons clashing, screams, shouts, magic being tossed and thrown and colliding with people. Medical units discharging and scrambling around the field to bring in their injured peers. There weren't any referees, no score boards, just a total onslaught. The only thing that resembled a sports field were the two large tents that were set on either side of the field, where the students entered and exited for check in and check out. I didn't want to go down, I wasn't scheduled yet, but I was dreading going down there. I thought the whole war was stupid, some people called it The Games, but it was a war. Then something catches my eye something above the whole half of the Eastern field began to swarm. They were small and white and suddenly a cyclone slammed down and surrounded the field, the impact and the intensity even made it to the dorms. The students in the dorm began to scream, some ran away, others laughed at the windows, others hid, some dipped down into secret passages or portals.

The strange thing about this dorm was it was incredibly modern, well not "modern" but modern in the sense that they had the gaudy golden wooden doors and cabinets you'd expect in your grandma's kitchen or an older office building, with that uncomfortable bright but yellowish light and overly shampooed low pile carpet. I ducked but peered slightly towards the windows and then popped my head up and saw several slap onto the window "They're dragonflies, they're paper dragonflies? What???????" either way the whole east field was retreating and students were falling, flailing, misfiring, running, as the west side barreled in with swords, bows and staffs drawn.

The room I was in was suddenly busy, as a group of girls entered and saw me and called me a name, a title that was too grand for me, and I dreaded. Something in the effect that sounded like a powerful magic user but didn't feel it was me. A joke, or stolen valor or imposter syndrome or something like that. I clutched my cloak closer and realized I didn't have my swords. I needed my swords. I went to the hallway and looked around for them, they were on the ground on the other end of the hall. A group of armored men and women passed with their swords and axes glistening and ready for battle when I rose up with mine, one of them snickered and asked if I was bringing flimsy practice swords onto the battle field, I said they were just fine and rated for battle, they scoffed and said "its fine I guess…they have more swords you can use, but those playthings aren't going to do anything." Then the group went on to question my title and the weapons I carried, laughing as they went down to their tent

Finally, it was time, the alarm went off and I had to drag myself down. Oh the carnage, students were battered, bleeding, and suffering from spells that were lingering on their bodies. I watched a small group get carted off and outfitted with gear. Then I saw another group get pushed to another side of the tent, but before the first group went the second group said "We have to buff them!" So a group of 5 students casted the same spell, and over to the armored students 3 of them were granted the the buff, indicated with little puffs of clouds above their heads. One of the students getting 2 puffs.

I was greeted and I immediately asked, weren't buffs suppose to go equally towards the fighters? The staff member looked over and muttered quietly, "Some student's magic aren't as strong yet, and either the buff fails, or that the receiving party has a charm that redirects a buff away from their teammate and towards themselves." The staff member looks up and sees me, leans back with a smile, with a "Hey~!!! Well isn't it the Grand Caster of the Fields, the Harbinger of Flames and Deforestation." I can feel my face tense and my lips purse, "That's NOT me." I muttered harshly. She shrugs her shoulders and says "Ease up, its a fun name isn't it? Besides….making a name for yourself is fun. It rallies in the troops."

I lean into the table, "I am not either of those! I don't even have proper swords, do you have any swords that I can have?! And what is that??" I asked pointing to a group of returning students transferring a small charm to the now leaving group, a tattered looking hair piece. It seemed like there were a few groups that had them, though very sparse. The staff members looked over and said "Oh..That…well…they're birds. For some reason the students who carried these specific bird charms were protected from that giant swarm before. But no one has time to make one for everyone so they're just passing along the ones they have to anyone else going onto the field. Here are your swords."

I watched group after group transfer one small trinket to a new one, typically one item per group of 10. Injured and tired and every group entering with a dreaded look on their face. Papyrus was not doing well, we were failing, we were losing severely. Then something dawned on me. "That's it. That's why!" I grab my swords, "I'll be right back!" "Wait! Hold on! Where are you going!? You're on in 15!!!" "Be right back!" I shout as I run back and burst into my dorm. My dormmates scream as they are showering and I'm pulling at my drawers and pull out a sleeve of tissue paper. The same stuff you use for gift bags. "This'll work!" I hear one of my roommates shout, "What will work?! Why are you bringing paper to the the field?!!?"

I run back down and catch one of the students right after they transfered their necklace to another user and asked "What was the incantation?" They look up at me with a weary look and a groggy, "What?" "What was the incantation for the necklace that you gave that guy?" "Oh the charms? Some group a few days ago made them for each other and you recharge them before battle, the original makers are all in the ICU." "Okay but is the incantation?" as I shuffle my handful of white tissue paper. "May Papyrus Be Protected and Attacks Be Deflected." "Thank you!" I spout before the student grabs my cloak and pulls me back and warns me with a "It's weak though! It doesn't work well with large or multiple attacks, the field swarm…" they gesture to the flurry that was still rushing the concourse. "Its only really works whenever that shit is comes down for a concentrated hit. They got a whole group of casters controling them!"

I smile at them with my tissue paper, "Its fine! It'll work! Its because they're birds! It worked because they're birds!"

The group gives a twisted look of confusion, "Ragnorok swarm spell are paper dragon flies! We just need birds!" I dash across the line and join a crew that is just about to leave and tell them to hold back for a moment and begin ripping my paper and handing a stack towards all of them. "Please I need you all to draw with me for a second, it doesn't matter how bad your drawing is. Just follow me." as I conjure up a set of ink brushes and pens. At first they protest but one looks at me and asks me if its for a spell, and why I hadn't prepared it before hand, to which I tell them "Its because I just thought of it now and I need multiple hands to make them." They comply and they follow my instructions with two strokes and the camera seems to pan into how the ink is transferring through the multiple layers of paper. I tear more paper and hand it to them all and tell them to go find groups on the fringes and instruct them the same, to share the incantation and to tuck the paper somewhere safe on their body and I tell them we have 20 minutes tell as many groups as we can. And that we needed to position ourselves on the field for maximum coverage to which one of my team members suggested a solution and we agreed then scattered.

The rest of my dream has me dodging between attacks and running through the field, searching for groups that have hidden away from a moment of rest or a group that are all laying on the ground. All this time my mind is racing for the perfect type of bird, and I was panicking because I could not choose. But the sky began to gather with Ragnoroks swarm. Ragnorok was cheering and fist pumping as Papyrus began to scream and some of them began to run back towards the tent. Then it began to descend, the sound was like of a torrential down pour and high low pitched buzzing.

I felt a surge of fear before I threw and scattered my crumpled fist of papers and somewhere along the lines of "Flycatchers, Swallows and Kites, protect Papyrus and ascend like the Southern Lights!" came out of my mouth, and like a wave of a rising flock out from across the field a undulation of white paper birds burst forth from ground level clashing and snatching at the Dragonflies with a flurry of hunger before the larger ones turned to dive bomb the opposing team, pushing them back towards their tent. This gave time for Papyrus to rise and charge using the sudden surprise to fight back.

But before we could push them all the way back for victory, the ground rumbled and suddenly began to fracture apart with a booming voice filling the stadium, "MY DEAR PROFESSOR---" A static crackled in my ear, "IMITATION IS POOR FORM! AND A DISGRACE TO EVERYONE HERE! SO I DONT THINK YOUR STUDENT'S LITTLE TRICK IS ACCEPTABLE , FALL BACK!!!" And the dream camera zoomed into this sleezy looking chad like brunette man with a tiny microphone, raising up his hand and slamming it back down causing the earth to buckle and create a wave that threw all students indiscriminately away from the tent and back towards the middle of the field.

And my dream ended with me flailing falling from 40 feet in the air and some guy falling towards me with their spear pointed directly at me.

[starry-skies-116]

Rant-ish, from a Transneutral/Agender/Librafem Intersex "woman" with Hyperandrogenic PCOS because Ori Devuda-

Just heard from someone that people with PCOS can't be considered intersex/hermaphrodite, and... I digress- we're gonna have to agree to disagree, buddy- respectfully, I mean.

"YOu nEEd tO hAvE amBIguOUS gEniTaLia tO bE iNTeRseX" well tell you what buddy I'm not telling you what's in my pants but I still do fit said requirement. And even then, what gives to you trying to tell me I'm "still a woman"? Who gave you the right to tell me MY identity?

PCOS does fall under the intersex umbrella, in fact, because it involves chronic high testosterone levels and other male characteristics that aren't present in regular perisex females/AFAB individuals. People with PCOS, including myself, deal everyday with symptoms such as not ovulating, high levels of androgens, cysts on the ovaries, near-episodic anemia from FUCKING RARE but RIDICULOUSLY HEAVY periods, EXTREMELY irregular and rare periods, terrible acne breakouts, oily skin, excess hair growth, random weight gain and loss no matter how hard I try to maintain a somewhat healthy lifestyle, and the list goes on.

Imagine my face dropping and my eyes tearing up when my doctor says, with a disappointed face, that I'm at a higher risk for diseases like cancer and diabetes. As if this shit is MY fault entirely.

Here's the cold, hard truth: the medical industry doesn't give a shit about women, or AFAB individuals, and doesn't even LISTEN to intersex people with female genitalia, they just give arbitrary treatments like birth control. Oh, just eat 0 FUCKING carbs a day and workout even if you feel like shit and physically are stuck in such deep dysfunction you can't do anything! Get some laser treatment for your facial hair while you're at it. Oh, you're in severe physical and emotional pain and are chronically tired? Doesn't seem serious, everyone is, get a grip and cheer up! After all, your disorder is a fucking joke. A sick joke for everyone to laugh at while you suffer and nobody gives a shit or cares.

Yeah- let that sink in. Doctors only care about us losing weight and shaving our beards.

I can't even go a day without the dull but terrible ache of pelvic cramps that sometimes becomes sharp and causes me to nearly double over, holy shit.

I can't even eat a fucking Reese's cup without someone in my family yelling at me that I'll get fat and I need to swear off of everything even remotely the TINIEST bit unhealthy. I can't even indulge myself on the foods I love.

And the fact that Roe vs Wade has been overturned, and for many women and AFAB intersex or otherwise individuals with PCOS or other infertility/vaginal syndromes/disorders, this will mean they could potentially get arrested for something OUTSIDE of their control. Think about that.

And the less commonly-heard-about shit I and many others with PCOS have to deal with is random bouts of feeling angry, hungry, thirsty and high-libido all at the same time, not to mention the chronic PAIN and FATIGUE and sheer amount of HEAT that stems from the pelvis all throughout the fucking body. I'm PARALYZED with pain sometimes in that area that I literally cannot move due to joint inflammation, my skin can be literally BURNING and I could be CRYING because I'm in so much pain and so hot and BURNING ALL THE FUCK OVER EVERY PORE OF MY BEING, and my Mum scolds me for 'not being characteristic of a woman' because of a disorder I can't control. Sometimes I eat less than I need and STILL FUCKING GAIN THE SAME AMOUNT OF WEIGHT.

I know polycystic ovaries themselves don't cause pain, but still- the disorder itself is terrible shit to deal with. It even spreads to places like my neck, back, legs and joints? And I have to hobble and crawl around like some old fossil sometimes in the midst of executive dysfunction and disabling pain and fatigue?

What the ever-loving shit??

This intersex umbrella covers an incredibly vast and wide range of “individuals born with a hormonal, chromosomal, gonadal or genital variation which is considered outside of the male and female norms,” and PCOS CERTAINLY meets that definition.

Stop pretending intersex people with PCOS don't exist. Women and AFAB/intersex people with traditionally AFAB genitalia with PCOS may or may not consider themselves intersex/hermaphrodite, but I am. And nobody gets to say otherwise, lest they want this post shoved down their throat. /hj but STILL MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK GUYS CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS SHIT-

[storytelller-drabbles-english]

«Supernatural». Michael/Adam Milligan. Hell

I write in Russian and use a translator. If you find any errors, please let me know about it.

Soulmate!AU: Soulmates can treat each other

Written under Three Days Grace – Time of dying

In my mind, Michael in a Cage has the appearance of a young John Winchester.

Types of rib bruises

The classification of bruises includes three degrees:

First degree. Signs of such an injury are tolerable pain in the chest or back, which can increase with sudden movements. If the patient is at rest, there is no soreness. With such damage, a bruised rib without a bruise is usually diagnosed, the symptoms of which are only minor pains. In this case, you can use an analgesic ointment. A first-degree injury is not a threat to the health and life of the victim and does not require special medical measures.

Second degree. The victim complains of severe chest pains. A hematoma is diagnosed. With any active activity and physical exertion, the pain syndrome worsens, and the patient's condition worsens.

Third degree. The patient has a severe pain syndrome. The victim needs help with bruises of the rib of this degree. The clinical picture may be mixed in such cases, the symptoms will depend on the presence of damage to internal organs. Often, with such an injury, the lungs are squeezed, which makes it difficult for the victim to breathe.

Source: https://bitravma.com/rebra/ushib-reber#section-2

____

Michael defended Adam. Always, while they were in the Cage, he almost did not take his eyes off him, tried to cheer him up, although he himself almost did not believe that they would be able to get out. When Lucifer got tired of torturing Sam, he switched to Adam, but Michael always came to his aid. He wouldn't let his brother even get close to his vessel.

 "Michael, tell me, aren't you tired of this yet?" Lucifer drawled boringly, glancing rapaciously at Adam, who was curled up in a ball in the corner of the Cage and trying not to look at the archangels.

Michael didn't feel well, but there was determination in his eyes. He was ready to defend Adam to the end.

When the archangels clashed, Sam and Adam, sitting on opposite sides of the Cage, almost simultaneously covered their ears with their hands, and then their eyes, although the bright, bright light coming from Michael and Lucifer penetrated under their closed eyelids.

Michael was exhausted somehow unexpectedly quickly. It would seem that one moment he was standing firmly on his feet, and a moment later he already fell to the floor of the Cage, immediately taking on a hail of blows.

Lucifer punched Michael in the ribs several times. The elder archangel's face was distorted with pain, but the fallen one did not stop. He was smiling so broadly, as if what was happening brought him incredible pleasure.

Finally, Lucifer got tired of his occupation, and he finally kicked Michael, and without paying any attention to Adam, moved to the Winchester that was sitting in the other corner of the Cage.

Adam felt a burning hatred towards Lucifer. How could you so mutilate your own brother, who loves you very much?! Milligan quickly crawled up to Michael, while Lucifer switched back to Sam, and took his hand.

"Michael?"

The archangel opened his eyes with a quiet groan and looked at Adam, weakly squeezing his hand in response, he did not have enough strength for more.

Adam touched the archangel's cheek with his other hand, looking into his eyes. He regretted that he was not a powerful being, because this way he could, if not heal, then at least take away the pain from the archangel, and so he could only sit and hold his hand tightly, hoping that he was even stronger than he seemed and would not disconnect from the pain.

Milligan glanced at the body in front of him. He didn't like the sight of the mutilated archangel. Michael breathed heavily, hoarsely, with a whistle, but he breathed and winced every now and then from the pain in his damaged ribs, and the bruises and abrasions did not go away. Adam quickly unbuttoned Michael's shirt, looking, as he hoped, at all the damage. He was afraid to turn the archangel over, because he already saw how serious his injuries were, although, of course, he could not imagine the full picture.

Adam couldn't do anything for the archangel, so he did what probably everyone would have done if someone was on the verge of life and death and there was no way to help him: he began to pray. Silently, without moving his lips and closing his eyes, he prayed without knowing to whom, but for some reason he was sure that he would be heard.

Suddenly, he felt a warmth that passed through his entire body and remained in his palms, which became warmer and warmer until they became so hot that Milligan was seriously afraid that he would be able to do some harm to the archangel.

Mentally, he imagined Michael's injuries, which he had already noticed and he felt uneasy. Forcing these thoughts away with an effort of will, he focused on helping the archangel.

After a few minutes, the heat began to fade and Adam opened his eyes as soon as the heat was completely gone. Michael still lay with his eyes closed and seemed to be asleep. Adam decided not to disturb him, but he didn't dare to go far, so he just curled up next to him, trying not to touch the archangel's body at all, and also closed his eyes, hoping to fall into a sleep unrelated to the Cage.

It was terribly cold in the Cage for a person, or so it seemed to him, but after a couple of seconds he felt an archangel move next to him, and after a few seconds Adam felt that soft warm wings covered him. Milligan moved a little back to Michael, it was warmest there, and the Archangel's arms embraced him, pressing him closer to himself. Hot breath burned his neck and then his ear, causing Adam to get goosebumps.

 "Thank you," Michael whispered, nuzzling Adam's neck, "thank you…"

Adam closed his eyes. The silence that enveloped them was simply deafening, but Adam couldn't sleep without figuring out one detail.

 "Are you okay?" he asked in a barely audible voice, but in the silence it was heard just fine.

Michael's arms tightened around Adam.

"Yes," he answered quietly, "thanks to you."

Adam carefully turned over to the other side, because it was uncomfortable to lie with his back, he could not see the expression on the archangel's face.

"Close your eyes," Michael smiled faintly at him.

Adam intertwined his fingers with Michael's fingers, his eyes closed and he fell into a dream.

Michael admired Milligan's serene expression for a few seconds, and then lightly kissed him on the forehead and also closed his eyes.

[discordofsound]

Done. If you are one of the people who followed me to keep up to date with my mods, I'm sorry to let you know that I'll no longer be making updates on Tumblr. I am a mod author who's worked on all sorts of mods, primarily helping others fix their own mods, but I have a few that I can call my own, just not publically released. Yet. These past several weeks have been tough for me. If you're unaware, there's a nationwide shortage of Adderal in the United States, so it's one of the necessary medications I need to function on a semi-normal level. I take a LOT of medications due to being a victim of CSA/CA/SA/R, and other diagnosed illnesses I've been fighting. And, if you're genetically female and have inattentive ADHD that went undiagnosed because it used to be a boy's only syndrome, which we now know is not the case, then you can relate when your brain and eyes aren't on the same playing field. Sometimes missing sentences, or chapters in books, always forgetting names, dates, and times even if you were told it one minute ago, having low/no motivation for work and fun, easily getting overwhelmed, and the constant fear of rejection and being far too hard on yourself. None of that is fun, and I will never understand the romanticization of ADHD by others. I have a few things that really bring me joy, modding being one. Another is the study of entomology. Bugs. It really brightens up my day seeing bug posts, especially people handling safe insects with care and respect. Well, one such post came across my feed the other day and I was just all excited because I, being in the US, found two of those insects quite randomly. It was a real treat and I did a lot of reading on them and kept them for a short time before returning them to the wild. Except... this was an insect that looked nearly identical to the one I had found. Mind you, it was late at night, I am losing my eyesight (which scares me), and my unmedicated brain did not see any tags at the time. Well, it's very, VERY common to misidentify insects when they tend to mimic each other, and I'm always ok with correcting any information with accurate updates. Except... the comment and tags from the poster before me, Endivinity, were less than... kind... in their response to my post. In fact, the tone came across as demeaning, which is a bit of a gut punch since I've been a fan of their Deathclaw artwork for a few years now. Sadly, that's no longer the case. I try to be courteous to others in the way that I interact with them, and we all make silly mistakes, but their admonishment for me not "reading their tags" really can't be taken as any other context but "you didn't read MY tags, are you stupid?" Well, no, I have a developmental disability that impacts my daily life, and without meds, it's 5x worse. Sorry for not seeing your tags? I guess I was under the false pretense that Tumblr was more understanding and inclusive to people with disabilities, and the way we spoke to each other reflected the fact that many of us here have been abused/discriminated against outside of the online world. Who wants to perpetuate that? Easy mistake since people still find the mask of anonymity emboldening. But, it's not really what I'm interested in seeing or engaging with. I'm almost 40 and still trying to heal from trauma, so I'm going to take this interaction as a lesson. I'm still going to work on my mods, but I probably won't post updates here any longer. I'll figure out where eventually lol. Thanks to everyone who was following me to keep abreast of my projects, you guys rock.

[the-sweetest-little-angel]

It also makes difficult cause ocd and schizospec affect how see. Ocd worsen impostor syndrome. Have horrible moral ocd. And schizospec with my experience have me almost never really in reality. Plus being system and easily influenced worsen it. It makes hard to tell what real symptoms and what just in head. And then get convinced things experienced since young aren't real symptoms. I even doubt my ocd even tho I've had rituals and obsessive and compulsive behavior since young. Like ocd always been really severe since child. Yet still doubt it and tell self wrong for suspecting it. (Diagnosis has always been informal. Just a "yeah that sounds like ocd" then nothing done. At least have meds and they help intrusive thoughts.)

So whenever suspect anything, especially stuff not understand and trying learn, make self feel crazy and bad and wrong. Even ehlers danlos and pots like "no can't have that, you don't know what is" and then like...I literally have them. (Did get diagnosis of ehlers danlos, pots not been discussed since focus was on joint paint. TvT)

And with being medically neglected, make self feel so frustrated. Want help. Want get checked and tested or whatever right word is. Want to have access. But it such fight. Mother tried deny inhaler. Mother ignored asthma symptoms. Mother let chronic pain and joint problems go for years. Parents not want disabled kid. Mother say not really autistic. Not even tested for sleep apnea when literally been told I probably have it for over year now by multiple doctors and we should get tested for it. Partly insurance, mostly mom.

It frustrating. Knowing medical stuff wrong. Having some general idea of what wrong. Keeping eye on stuff and looking into it and making list so can get help in future. And then have ocd say you are terrible person for even thinking about it. For even considering have things like ehlers danlos or be system. For even considering this or that.

Makes hurt. Cause all want in end is understanding and help. To be able to know how mind and body works. But stuck in severely neglectful home that not want disabled child. And not sure when can move out. And feel so trapped and alone. I no wanna be responsible for self anymore. I no wanna have do endless research when make brain hurt and so tired and can barely care for self. I no want have be own responsible self.

Can't do it anymore. Can't. Never could. Did out of desperation for answers. To not hate self and demonize self. To know why was "born wrong" because that how others make us feel. Want actual help. Want be able get help and have answers. Hate self diagnosis forced. Hate that had to do it just to understand that not bad person and have disorders. That pain real and not made up. That breathing difficulties real. Gives me bunch of information about many different disorders, even ones not have cause did look into those too. But just so tired. Never wanted self diagnose. Never want to feel so alone. Everything so tiring. And not knowing when diagnosis possible even more tiring. Cause knows need help. But alone. No one to help. Dependent on people that hurt and ignore us. Always at risk of trigger bad meltdowns or bad emotional problems. Always overwhelmed. Always tired. Always stressed. Always not understand. Always struggle. Always alone. Just want help.

[blizzposts]

me but its an email to my english teacher that reads:

"hey sorry i didn't do the reading response, five sets of workshop comments, seven daily warm-ups that could be a whole assignment on their own, and essay based on extremely vague prompts that convey nothing about what they actually expect from you (a traumadump in MLA format) that i have to read aloud to eight classmates i've genuinely never spoken to before-----

i'm too busy thinking about every step i take while getting on and off the bus so i don't collapse and faceplant into the concrete, remembering to take my adderall in the middle of a busy school day, hauling keyboards that when in their cases are legit taller than me and possibly as heavy as me, taking 2 makeup tests for gov, practicing for 2 hours a day as required by audition prep, learning how to work a needle and syringe on myself, making sure my hands aren't doing The Thing because they started tingling randomly for the third time since lunch, continuing to put away benches for jazz band despite being fully aware that all the color has drained from my face and i look and feel like i'm actually going to drop dead on the tile floor, trying not to make a face when the orchestra teacher plays one of them real high notes badly just for funzies, noticing that my teeth have moved, ignoring the random flea-bites feeling every 2-5 minutes (there are no fleas, i always check), concentrating on doing my best Normal Guy smile every time i accidentally make eye contact with someone, trying to remember anything that happened last night, trying to remember anything that happened this morning, trying to remember my interests and the events of my own life, attempting to meet the deadlines (next week) for a drawing and a painting, thinking about my sister, trying not to think about my father, figuring out how to tell all my friends i started testosterone, putting words together like legos to attempt to convey the infinitely complex thoughts in my head, saying a bunch of complex words about the kindergarten level thoughts in my head, figuring out what to do for my gov midterm, reminding myself to ask my stand partner what order the songs are in for the 2 upcoming concerts, figuring out why my music maker ipad app won't let me use certain sound packs without wifi, checking if i actually turned my headphones off or if i just thought about it, hauling my ass to bed on time, trying not to just start actually rocking back and forth in my chair in english class (source: nervous, autism), deciding if my fun fact is cool or if it will freak people out, finding out if someone actually called my name from down the hallway or i just hallucinated it, remembering that whipping out the pocket knife to cut my fingernails because they were hitting the keys when i was playing piano is Weirdo Freak behavior, apologizing to my mom for making us late to the bus stop in the morning and not changing the behavior because the behavior is called having ADHD and chronic fatigue syndrome, hauling ass out of bed every morning, trying to minimize the loud obnoxious squeaking of the (broken) wheels of my backpack shitty target suitcase, finding out which teachers know about which diagnoses, finding out which teachers give a shit, reminding the sophomores in my painting class that i am in fact several years older than them, constantly apologizing for the possibility of sounding mean because i genuinely do not know how my words and actions are interpreted by other people, holding back tears like an idiot while apologizing seven consecutive times to my mom who got mad at me for "my really mean tone" that i genuinely was not aware of, being suddenly constantly aware of my tone of voice when i'm speaking (but still having no idea if it's the Right One), and trying to remember all the dwindling reasons why The World Really Is A Good Place.

all with a brain designed to see image and make a silly noise.

tragic apologies,

-marco"