#my mental health is deteriorating by the minute

[lynxindisguise]

mcgonagall/crookshanks

you’re all trying to kill me 😆

…

Even in her feline form, Minerva has never paid much attention to other cats. She's a solitary explorer, preoccupied with seeking out the finest windowsill to nap upon, stalking the mice that linger by the kitchens, and occasionally, fucking with her human co-workers.

But this cat was different. This massive orange beauty was clever, her amber eyes alive and glinting with thought. She recognised Minerva for what she was and decided to make her an ally. The partnership they formed was grounded in respect and trust and the urgent desire to knock objects off of flat surfaces.

"I'm sorry, can I just..." Poppy pinches her brow. "You cheated on me with a cat?"

Cursed Ship Game

[swankpalanquin]

i hate hate hate when the main person in a meeting bails like a half hour before the mtg and expects me to just like be in charge, like i only have my stuff prepared so then i look so stupid trying to like run a mtg on the fly

[malachitezmeyka]

One of the singing competitions my grandma endlessly watches featured a song I was learning in singing lessons and was supposed to perform before I cancelled two days prior to the concert, so now I'm like... half triggered, half wrecked with guilt

[averagstupideperson]

Drawing as a coping mechanism is not working for me but I at least drew some bitter ex gfs

[silkythewriter]

Hello! Can I request alastor x reader where the two were married while they were alive, but reader died via illness or something and went to hell (though they never partaked in the cannibalism) and the reunite in hell?

“I'll love you 'til I'm dead”

Warning!: Angst, but eventually fluff! A bit of OOC since I haven’t written in awhile.. (.,.)💧

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note: LONGGGGG TIME NO SEE, HIYA! IM SO SORRY FOR MY HIATUS OF SORTS BUT I FELT LIKE WRITING SUM SMALL ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ I apologize!, I hope you guys enjoy and I’m so sorry for disagreeing yet again!.

Summary!: Spouse! Reader dying via sickness, but reuniting with alastor in hell.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Louise (Louise)

I'll love you 'til I'm dead

Louise (Louise)

Not even if she likes the way you dance

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

First of all, he cherished you to the fullest content. As stuck up as he seems to be smile and all, he was in desperate need of support and attention. And you supplying both of those was all he needed even if he didn’t say out loud the tender touches and moments you both shared alone was enough to tell you everything.

Your relationship was nothing less then sweet and tender, and depending if you knew of his..ahem..little side hobby, it was innocent as well!

He cared for you so deeply, so desperately, to the point where you became his tie to humanity. Of course he knew how to play a role of a sane man, but even then he needed you to tie him to the small humanity and sanity he had.

Although not a big fan of physical affection himself he would in private of course, indulge in your soft touches, and hold. He and there he may quietly slip next to you just so you could softly run you fingers across his skin.

But of course the unviable happen, as the world ripped him of what he held so dear. Maybe as a punishment for his sins and misdeeds, or simply because it could.

Of course in the 30’s medicine was far from advanced, not only that but expensive. So when the news arrived of your newly found sickness all he could do was smile and nod at the doctor as if he wasn’t receiving the most dreadful news.

At first, he genuinely did hope for a recovery, he believed you would get better. Sure a tiny voice in his head was feeding him scary thoughts, and his gut twisted and turned. He felt something was off but surely it was nothing!, right?.

But as your health deteriorated so did his mental state and sanity, even worse then it once was. He put up a front though, for your sake and his, comforting you and saying how you’ll be fine soon, and recover then both of you could go off and do something you always wanted to do.

At some points of repeating this it really turned into him assuring himself. That your not leaving him, no, not anytime soon.

The more you fell ill the more you watched him spiral infront of you. And all you really could do was stare at him with sadden eyes as you gave comforting touches against his cheek or holding him close, even if you could barely pull yourself up from the bed you laid.

You felt your time coming close to ending, and somehow so did he. But unlike you he denied it to the fullest extent.

“Please dear don’t speak of such things, don’t worry yourself. You’ll be fine you’ll see!, now just rest my dear”

He wanted to believe it’ll pass over anytime now, ignoring the doctors he spent fortunes on. And sometimes he does blame them even if they just told the truth. He hated how they couldn’t help you, how he couldn’t help you.

So the day of you passing was the day he lost his final tie to humanity. If not for you, why give such a nasty world mercy?.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

The minute they lowered your casket and buried you with the dirt is also the day he decided to amp up his murders.

He’s not sloppy with his murders their always calculated and tidy but grossem. Even with this, losing you he couldn’t concentrate which didn’t help his case as his blood lust grew and grew.

Each and every murder his mind went blank, thoughts of you kept flooding in that he desperately wanted to rip from his mind.

If a woman that wore you same fragrant passed him. She would be gone in a matter of days.

Nights were colder, harsher, he always assumed karma would catch up to him, but to him not you.

He often questioned what happened how did it happen. How did you even get such a illness?, and why did it have to be you?. We’re you in heaven watching him in his pitiful state? Was there even such a thing?. If there was…he surely wasn’t going to see you he knew where he was damned to go, but you?, he was sure you deserved the Pearl-ist set of wings.

Depending on the days, months or years following your death, he’s like a ticking time bomb.

He yearns for you in such a way he’s humiliated at it in a way. He misses you desperately, widowed too soon, he always assumed it would be you to be in this position, but he assumed wrong.

Even then he couldn’t tell if he could subject you to the twist of his heart and guts. He would beg to die before you, but the pain he feels now is something he would never want you to feel.

Following thoughts of your death was also his. Would he get to see you soon?, one last glance before being damned?.

He never truly moved on, cause you were his only love. Loving someone for him atleast, was rare in a romantic sense.

At some point he genuinely does just continue his murders till his death, maybe it was your passing that truly killed him. After your passing he was a bit hasty, maybe that’s what lead him to be shot in the woods. But who truly knows?

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Now, after his death is where everything truly came together.

His rise to power was fairly quick killing overloads one by one gaining more voices on his radio.

But the lingering feeling of hope stayed in him…maybe you were here? Waiting for him?, But at the same time he hated this life for you, in such a miserable and disgusting yet admittedly amusing place(at least to him)

Now depending on how you found him maybe the minute his radio debuted. Or maybe by a game of telephone by the residents in hell whispering rumors and describing someone all to familiar to you.

Either way! You guys do eventually find each other. By chance or destiny is up to you

The minute he spots you, hears you, even senses you, he freezes. His smile never flattering but static surrounding the area as he processes what’s happening. Is this some sort of trick?, how..how did you end up here?

In a matter a seconds though he’s in front of you, looming as his shadow grows in suspense.

He holds his appearance and self image very important but in this tiny moment of silence. He lets it slip even if just a bit, smile never faltering but I’m his eyes a glimpse of renewed joy. Genuine joy, not form the harms of others but from something warm…something bitter sweet.

Maybe it’s you who pipes up snapping him from observing you like a painting in a museum.

“See?” You said softly grabbing his hand gently like you used to do, as you softly brought it to your face and softly planted it on your cheek. “I’m real” you said with a soft smile (SILENT HILL REFERENCE!!¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Depending on where you are he’s quick to whisk you away to somewhere secluded.

Despite the questions on his mind all he can do is silently stare at you taking in ever detail, even if some changes here and there, you were still you. The you that he missed so desperately for all too long.

Even if not one for physical affection he’s quick with holding you, scared of you being taken from him again, taking in all he can.

Your so much more precious then he leads on, and he’ll be damned to second hell if he loses you again.

In the period of first meeting you again he is keen on keeping an eye one you 24/7, doesn’t matter what powers or how long you survived without him in hell. He can’t risk it, especially not now as he started accumulating enemies so quickly.

He’ll treat you like it’s your first time dating, of course in his old time-y way, but either surprising you with flowers at random times of the day, or watching you get giddy when he kisses the crown of your head.

Now that he knows, and felt the pain of losing you, every moment you have together form than on is cherished more than before. He remembers every day with you like the back of his hand, what you ate, what you said, what you wore, and more!

He know’s…he knows he’s a messed up, and vail man. He understands the gruesome things he’s done with little to no regret. But if he did in somehow and some way do good, something good to earn you back in his afterlife man is he greatful for it.

Some nights he does just stare at you. He’s scared, he will never show it but he is. If he loses you again, for eternity, he’s not sure what’d he do with himself. And that, the fact you weight so heavily on him is the second scariest thing, first being losing you.

Over all, he’s taken aback having you back, but he gets use to it very quickly, your soft comforting touches and your voice that brings back a flood of memories is something he will never forget nor let ago, he isn’t losing you this time, and he’ll do anything to make sure of that.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

WOW THAT WAS LONG, I LOVED WRITING IT THOUGH OH MY GOSH I LOVED THIS IDEA, PLEASE REQUEST AGAIN!!! \(^ヮ^)/

[jezior0]

This fundraiser is vetted by 90-ghost and was reblogged by bilal-salah0

@aya0599924578 had contacted me a few days ago and shared the story of her and her children's suffering. Please, spare a few minutes of your time to learn a little about what they're experiencing daily.

When I told Aya that she can share whatever information she feels comfortable with me to talk with you about, she mentioned:

- the hunger that is widespread across the Gaza Strip. There is a lack of nutricious food. Aya told me that she and her children miss eating chicken and vegetables, as they haven't tasted them for ten months now.

- the fear. The agression and bombing that kills people, leaving their massacred bodies laying on the street and decomposing.

- the significant deterioration of Aya's and her family's mental health, caused by such inhumane conditions.

- the bombardment of their beautiful house, which Aya described as the most beautiful of all houses. It was full of memories. Now, the family is forced to live in a small tent that they made of wood and torn cloth, that does not provide any comfort or sense of security whatsoever. It doesn't protect them from the heat, cold or insects.

Aya's young daughter is also in need of eye surgery, as she was hurt by bombing and there is no treatment for her in the Gaza Strip.

Besides all those horrendous circumstances, Aya's children remain innocent and resilient, fighting for their right to childhood by playing and recreation.

In this video, you can see that her son came up with a new game to entertaing himself. He created it using simple tools and items, making something out of nothing.

As I've mentioned before, those children and their caretakers are fighting for their right to dignified and good life everyday. We should stand up and fight for them too.

Aya has messaged me yesterday and told that she most likely won't be able to be very active on social media in the coming days. That is caused by another displacement ordered by the israeli offence forces.

In those next days, we can make something good for her and her family. Something that would help her and her family afford a bigger tent, new clothes and shoes, mattresses for comfortable sleeping and food.

The current amount raised on Aya's Gofundme is €2,706. We should try and at least double it in the upcoming week. The final goal set on the fundraiser is only €15,000. That really isn't much. We can do it.

Please, make sure to spare what you can and donate to Aya's fundraiser. If you can't donate, share this post and Aya's campaign with someone who is able to do so. We need all the help we can get now. We cannot let Aya down.

Remember to also head to her blog, reblog the posts and encourage your mutuals to interact with them as well. I will update this post with how the fundraiser is moving forward.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obediallah at The Dean's Report:

No one can deny that Donald Trump has shown a significant level of cognitive decline since he first ran for President in 2015 at the age of 69 years old to where he is today at 78. But what we’ve seen with Trump is far more than normal aging. Trump—as countless mental health experts have stated—is showing symptoms of dementia.  While people can debate if Trump is in the early or mid-stages of severe cognitive decline, what can’t be debated is that this poses a very serious national security issue for our nation. Consequently, this issue demands far more media coverage. On Monday night, I interviewed, psychologist Dr. John Gartner--the founder of “Duty to Warn” –who was first on my show back in April when he was waving red flags about Trump’s mental decline. In April, Gartner noted that Trump “can't get through a rally without committing one of these” tell-tale signs of dementia, such as saying the incorrect word or “combining or mixing up people and generations.”  

He also directed my attention to a petition signed by more than 500 licensed mental health professions—including best-selling authors and well-respected psychologists—warning that Trump was exhibiting signs of dementia. Gartner noted in April that “we're noticing deterioration almost every day” with Trump. Here we are six months later.  After discussing what Dr. Gartner has observed with Trump over the past few months, I asked this simple question: “Does Donald Trump have some form of dementia?” In response, Gartner answered succinctly, “There's absolutely no doubt.” Gartner explained that on his podcast, “Shrinking Trump,” he has welcomed mental health professionals who specialize in dementia—such as from “Duty to Inform”-- and they reached the same conclusion. “We've had neuropsychologists, neuropsychiatrists on the show who have gone through their analysis” and confirmed what they are observing is dementia, Gartner noted. He added, “When you really talk to the experts and the super experts, it's even more apparent,” that Trump’s exhibiting symptoms consistent with this condition.

Dementia is not a term that should be thrown around whimsically to score political points. Dementia—as Dr. Gartner explained—is “brain damage.” He continued that it’s “a deteriorating organic process in the brain where the cognitive processes start to break down.” He added alarmingly that with people like Trump, “they only go in one direction. They keep sliding downhill.” Adding to the credibility of this diagnosis is that dementia runs in the Trump family. As Donald’s own nephew, Fred Trump III, explained on my show recently, Donald’s father, Donald’s older sister, Maryanne and Donald’s cousin, John Walters all had dementia. And as the NY Times reported ten days ago in an article on Trump’s cognitive decline, “Trump has seemed confused, forgetful, incoherent or disconnected from reality lately.”  They added, “He rambles, he repeats himself, he roams from thought to thought — some of them hard to understand, some of them unfinished, some of them factually fantastical.”

Just look at Trump’s conduct in the past week that provides more jarring examples. At an event at the Detroit Economic Club when he was supposed to address economic issues, he literally began to speak of Elon Musk’s missiles landing, “Biden circles” that were “beautiful” but Biden “couldn’t fill them up” to “we’ve been abused by other countries, we’ve been abused by our own politicians”–all in the same incoherent answer.  I played that clip for Dr. Gartner who commented that it makes “you realize how completely lost Trump is.” In addition, Trump while appearing on a podcast last week literally delivered a 12 minute (yes, 12 minute) meandering answer that was so incoherent it caused the hosts to joke that Trump was not rambling, he was “weaving.” One host added that they “don’t even want to know the answer anymore,” they just want more “weaving.” They were humoring Trump who was not making sense.

And at a rally in Pennsylvania on Monday, Trump told the crowd to vote on “January 5”—not November. That of course could simply be a minor mental flub, but what came next was truly bizarre. Trump told the audience that it was time to end the questions and just listen to music. I’m not kidding. The context was that two people had passed out from heat at the event, to which Trump asked, would “anybody else would like to faint?” Trump then declared, “Let’s not do any more questions. Let’s just listen to music. Let’s make it into a music. Who the hell wants to hear questions, right?”  Then—as the Washington Post reported—"For 39 minutes, Trump swayed, bopped — sometimes stopping to speak — as he turned the event into almost a living-room listening session of his favorite songs from his self-curated rally playlist.”

Yes, Trump stood on stage for nearly 40 minutes at a packed Town Hall where instead of answering questions, he danced. I know it sounds like a Saturday Night Live sketch, but it was real life. If President Biden had done that when he was the nominee, we would’ve seen non-stop coverage exploring his mental state. All of this is why this is truly a national security issue. As Dr. Gartner explained, a person with dementia like Trump could be easily manipulated by “corrupt businessman or any hostile foreign power.” He cited the examples of how devious people have taken advantage of those with dementia to get them to sign a will that makes the person the sole beneficiary. But in the case with Trump, we are potentially talking about Trump agreeing to allow wealthy backers like Elon Musk to financially benefit at our expense. Or worse, allow our enemies to take advantage of him—more than they even did in the past.

Dean Obeidallah succinctly explains that Donald Trump’s dementia is not only a political issue but also a national security issue.

[sunkissedscribbles]

The Beach

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x poet!mentally ill!reader

genre: angst, a wee bit of fluff

tw: mental health issues, swearing

word count: 2008

summary: enzo comforts you when having a mentally rough period

a/n: my soul needed this one. i don't really want to label reader's mental state because in my mind bpd was the starting point but I think it would fit under the terms of depression as well, that's why I haven't specified it in the pairing (and because i'm not a specialist). also, it contains one of my poems I have not yet posted on my main.

playlist: The Beach - The Neighbourhood

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It hasn’t even been a month since the new school year started, only two weeks. Two weeks got you utterly exhausted, and even that was an understatement. It felt like you had forgotten to talk, taking a little too long to answer, to process things – to think. Your head felt heavy with emptiness, your entire body ached as it didn’t seem to be able to release stress, holding onto it deep in your bones, low in your back.

It wasn’t just fatigue, it was emotional and mental exhaustion that made you want to lie in bed all day, yet your sensible side made you get up every day and go to your classes.

Those damn lessons.

You went to all of them, tried to siphon in as much of each subject as you could but your mind was elsewhere all the time.

At how sick you were.

At how tired you were.

And in the afternoons you did nothing other than lie in bed, trying to convince your mind that it was okay, there was nothing wrong with you, and that you needed to study.

Just five more minutes.

Oops, It’s been ten minutes ago.

Anyway.

You’re gonna start studying at next-hour-o’clock.

You didn’t.

At dinner you were only pushing your relatively small portion of food back and forth on your plate, your mind foggy with very negative thoughts as the chatter of your friends next to you blurred into an indistinctive mess of different voices over your head.

You were silent,

and lethargic,

all the time.

It was after dinners when you lay in bed, hoping this was a phase or something you’d eventually get over. But in the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn’t.

And you didn’t really want to, either – you felt so down, so numb that you felt like you couldn’t move in the direction of getting better.

Not properly.

Not permanently.

Lying there, alone, you couldn’t think of anything better than causing your own pain, physically – at least you’d feel something, wouldn’t you? Even if it’d hurt – maybe you’d deserve it. Maybe you’d deserve it because you had spent your entire summer not doing anything valuable, pushed down these feelings of despair, hurt, pain, depression. You didn’t study saying you couldn’t pay attention and you were tired – of course you were when you kept staying up endlessly, only getting mere hours of sleep and not eating enough.

Maybe you did deserve to feel this way.

You missed the affection, just a hug at least, from your friends. But you have been so withdrawn from them and they were all beating around the bush, not knowing how to corner the question of your visibly deteriorating mental health.

It was Enzo though, who paid the most attention to you; he knew you like the palm of his hand, even if you hadn’t realised it. He cared about you, probably more than he should’ve. He’d known all your mood swings, and even when you had better days, he knew you were going to be just as down, if not even worse in just a matter of days.

He couldn’t bear seeing you like this, he missed the carefree, loving Y/N you were. He missed his Y/N. Every word you spoke felt like a dagger to his heart as your tone only made it obvious just how tired and ill you were. Every time he saw you scribbling into your notebook he knew contained your poetry his heart ached, even when it was just two words.

He knew you were starting to give it all up.

Life.

You didn’t cry, and that was obvious – you’ve never been one to cry much or cry immediately when something relatively bad happened, or when it was something that you took too personally, nor when one of the bandages you thought were securely protecting your wounds were ripped off, not suddenly but slowly to hurt even more as it stuck to the surface of your heart. No, you took it, held yourself together, trying to maintain the facade you built so well and perfected over the years of suffering from whatever game your mind was playing with you.

Because the more people knowing you’re hurt the more able to hurt you.

Because the more pain you show the less people will think of you.

Because the more you trust the more leaving you and hurting you in the end, the more betraying you.

You were more on the bottling-up side, but the bottle always spilt in the end when it couldn’t hold more.

More suffering, more floating, more silence, more pain.

So, two weeks after your seventh and last year at Hogwarts had started, here you were, writing a new poem in the Astronomy Tower.

I find nirvana; I’ll exist in eternal peace, you wrote the last two lines, the cool autumn breeze in your hair.

“Y/N?” Enzo’s voice echoed through your ears, and closing your notebook, you looked up at him. This was the day the bottle broke – you’ve been crying before writing your poem.

Startled by your red eyes, he looked at you with concern. “Y/N, were you crying?” he immediately crouched down in front of you, and as he took your face in his palms gently, you could feel the dam break again. You didn’t like this. No, you couldn’t be crying in front of him.

“Just, uh, tired,” you answered in a low tone, trying to convince him – or yourself, rather.

He looks down at the notebook and shakes his head, “Liar. Let me see.”

You hesitated – how could you possibly show him what you were feeling? It took you weeks to be able to put it into words, and it’s not too happy. “Please,” he asked softly, one hand caressing your cheek, the other reaching down for the notebook in your lap. And you let him, knowing he’d get what he wanted anyway.

You saw his facial muscles twitch and tense up as he read its title, his hand falling off your face: ‘goodbye.’

His eyebrows knotted in a frown at first, glancing up at your once lively eyes, now missing the bright, pure shine they used to have.

You watched as his expression became sad and even more concerned as he breezed through your lines written.

these lines; I plan them to be the last ones I write and speak, so that I can be free in a world where pain doesn’t exist, where no clouds disfigure the sky. I go tonight; I don’t regret and don’t look back, I’m not afraid to leave anymore, I give up the fight, I end the war. i lie down tonight and drift to sleep, I unite with nature forever, and release the built-up hurt and pain. I find nirvana; I’ll exist in eternal peace.

“Y/N, you–” he shook his head as he lifted his head again, meeting your eyes. But you, you couldn’t look into his, you felt like you’d break immediately. You were afraid of what emotion would look back at you. Hurt? Sadness? Disappointment? Or would he look at you differently?

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking your head, keeping it hanging low.

He cupped your face again to make you meet his gaze, gently yet forcefully tilting your head upwards. His eyes, as always had that caring look in them, mixing with concern, and a sense of fear that he’d lose you washed over him.

He’d lose you, before it was nature’s job to cross your path together, before he could even confess to you.

“...Why haven’t you told me?” he asked in a low, broken voice. Fuck, he couldn’t lose you.

You couldn’t answer him at first – how could you tell him that you’d been feeling like shit for weeks again? That the longer you’re alive the less you’re living? The more days you survive the more of your want to live, and the more of your shine you lose. you took a long breath and with a tremble tugging at your lips, you shook your head while a stray fat tear rolled down your cheek.

“Y/N, darling…” he pulled you in for a hug and as his arms enveloped you tightly, your salty tears started raining down your cheeks again, lading on the fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m sick…” you sob into his chest, not able to hold anything back anymore, not in front of him as your fists clutch the fabric on his back. “And I’m tired too.”

You weren’t fireproof, that was for a fact, and he knew it too, probably better than anyone. You didn’t want to burn in your own flames but you felt it, felt it burning you and spread over onto him, burning him too. You were holding on to him for dear life, hoping your own miserable state of mind wouldn’t murder you.

“...I hope I don’t burden you,” you trembled against his body and he held you tighter.

“You could never,” he assured you, shaking his head. “Never, honey. You’re not a burden.”

You didn’t need to say much, he’d known almost everything already. He just held you tight against him, as if you could just slip away and disappear if he wouldn’t – and the truth is, you could’ve, especially in this state. And you kept gripping his hoodie as you slowly calmed down in his arms, while his heartbeat gave yours a soothing rhythm to follow. 

You were slowly coming to your senses that felt numb all this time – his cologne was a nice mix of sandalwood and citrus which filled your nostrils and made you feel at home, even more at ease, his touch warm and soothing under your sweater, rubbing your skin through the thin layer of your shirt, his voice sending your mind into a state of contentment as he kept whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and yet again, you couldn’t help but wonder what his lips would taste like. You’d been friends for a long time and you didn’t want to ruin the relationship you two have built up over the years.

Then the three little words left his lips involuntarily; “I love you.”

You felt him stiffen against you as the realisation that he indeed said that out loud hit him, and coming down from your surprise, and trying to control your rapid heartbeat, you lift your head from his chest and meet his eyes. How could he love an emotional wreck like you?

“Y-you what?” you asked as if you hadn’t heard it right.

He gulped, trying to swallow his fear of rejection before repeating his words, “I said I loved you,” he led his hands onto your waist under your sweater as you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, but kept drawing you in lightly.

Without any further hesitation, you crashed your lips against his, afraid this was only a dream, hence wanting to enjoy every second of it and take it to the fullest.

His lips were so soft and moved so in sync with yours, and you wanted nothing more than to stay like that forever, wrapped in his embrace, with your lips connected, your tongues dancing around, making your mouths a ballroom, available for only them.

You pulled back just to come up for air and to clarify one thing. “I love you too.”

Your words sent a jolt of electricity and happiness down his spine, and he leaned his forehead against yours before reassuringly whispering to you, “I’m not leaving. We’re in this together and you can count on me, anytime, anywhere. Just- don’t shut me out. Please… I need you here with me.”

You nodded against his skin and let out a heavy sigh. You knew it would be a long way, a really deep dive. But until it was him swimming with you it didn’t matter that you were out in the open. It wasn’t a sudden light, a newfound wave of relief taking you out to the shore, but the beach seemed closer than ever. 

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare

[1-800-kami]

agnes, just stop and think a minute

gojo satoru x reader (1.2k)

" you're gone but you're on my mind, i'm lost but i don't know why. ,,

warnings: CHAPTER 236 SPOILERS, reader and shoko r going THRU it, i wrote this during a mental breakdown, denial, semi-comfort at the end

a/n: when i found out about what happened i just spent 2 hours on social media just. watching everything gojo related and i kind of wanted to reflect my reaction through this word vomit of a drabble. i haven't cried at all but i just feel so devastated and oh my god it's been terrible. rest in peace to my bb </3

based off of one of my favorite glass animals songs (agnes) that i've always associated with gojo.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

it’s a part of being a jujutsu sorcerer. each day, new people are trained to become one, and others die the same day. there are new beginnings, and people who meet their ends. you know sorcerers out there who have completely closed themselves off just so they don’t have to experience the soul crushing feeling of grief. 

it’s like a bud, they say. a bud that forcefully plants itself in your heart, and you can do nothing but watch it grow as it takes hold of every part of your being. people describe the feeling in many ways: a weight on top of your chest that won’t cease, or a part of your heart that’s been ripped away, and nothing in your life seems to fill the remnants of it. 

you’ve experienced grief in your life many times. loss is so normalized as a sorcerer that you’ve almost lost count at this point, but the ones that have hit you the hardest are the deaths of your closest friends: kento nanami, yu haibara, and geto suguru. they haunt your thoughts every day, up until the point where everything feels asphyxiating and you sometimes want to join your friends too.

you think that geto’s death hit you the hardest. 

you remember geto’s disappearance and the night parade of a hundred demons like it was yesterday. the hardest pill to swallow about his death was the fact that it could’ve been prevented. geto’s lifeless eyes made you see parallels from the weeks leading up to his disappearance. he just needed a push in the right direction, but then you couldn’t even do that and you didn’t see all the signs of his deteriorating mental health. you just felt so guilty, even though your friends assured you that it wasn’t your fault.

seeing geto’s body for the first time after 10 years made you wail uncontrollably–and you had to be forcefully pried off of him despite your screams of protest. the most prominent thing about his body were his lifeless eyes–and guilt coursed through your veins as you knew that they were probably devoid of life even before his death.

that guilt stuck with you for a long time, and you felt it until you thought that it would consume you whole.

that’s why shoko was hesitant to show you gojo’s body.

she knows that you would have an emotional outburst again, like last time. actually, she knew this one would be worse, because geto was a best friend to you, but satoru was the light of your life. he was your lover. your soulmate, even. the reason why you were excited to come home everyday. he grieved about geto with you, and you held each other when you both cried… usually when december 24th was nearing again. you think that, without satoru, you don’t know what you would do. you kept each other sane and grounded.

so you don’t understand.

why is his body in front of you right now? why are all your students crying around you and mourning gojo’s loss? it’s all the sorcerers are talking about right now, and you just don’t get it.

he’s the strongest, so why did he fucking leave you behind like this? no, no. he wasn’t supposed to lose that fight. he said it himself. he said he’d win, right? he’d win, and he’d come home, albeit injured, but home nonetheless. he’d celebrate his victory with you, and life would go on. so why did he lie?

that’s the only word coursing through your head. why?

you tried not to think about anything right now… like how there was probably so much crimson red on that battlefield. if you saw it, you’d think that the red would leave an everlasting stain in your mind, to the point where you’ll never forget about it. no matter how many times you’d wash your hands, all that red would still be there, and you hate to think about it.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

people describe the feeling in many ways, but if you had to describe how you felt right now, the only word you’d use is empty.

you feel so utterly empty and hollow, that you can’t even bring yourself to cry or scream.

shoko’s surprised at your reaction. when she told you what happened, you became eerily silent. your eyes and gojo’s were practically identical. both so devoid of life, that all she can bring herself to say is, “im sorry.”

what do you even say at a time like this? what do you say to someone who’s had their heart ripped apart again and again as they watch each of their friends die? for you and shoko, it’s happened four times now. four is too much. you can’t bring yourself to believe it anymore.

no. this isn’t real.

this isn’t happening right now.

you move for the first time in what seems like ages, and you place your hand in gojo’s open casket, tucking a stray pearl white strand behind his ear. you observe him for a minute. he looks so peaceful, now that he doesn’t have to worry about his infinity or constantly being on his guard anymore.

“shoko, i think he’s hungry.” you say, feeling the ice cold veins in your chest stilling.

your words catch shoko off guard. “huh?”

“he’s hungry,” you repeat simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you look away from his body and turn to leave. “i’m going to go buy kikufuku for him.” 

you suddenly remember all of the dates you’ve had with satoru, where you buy many sweets like kikufuku, but he always made sure to save you some. he’s known for his notorious sweet tooth—putting one too many sugar cubes in his drinks, but he’ll always share his sweets if it’s with you. even if it was kikufuku.

“it’s his favorite after all.”

you walk out of the funeral, leaving behind the confused and sympathetic looks of everyone there. shoko sighs at your reaction—she’ll let you go for now. everyone’s processing this in different ways, so she can’t blame you for how you’re dealing with satoru’s death. she’ll just hope you’ll learn to accept it soon.

on the way to get kikufuku, you spot a pet shop nearby. there’s a fish tank on display, and you notice that one of the tanks has a white betta fish inside. it’s the same shade as satoru’s hair, and you feel your feet moving on its own as you walk to the glass. you exhale with a shaky sob, placing a hand on it. i love you, satoru. i won’t say goodbye, though, cause i’ll be there eventually.

you make sure not to say “soon” because you knew that if you took your life with your own hands instead of letting fate choose your death, satoru would never let you hear the end of it. so you’ll keep living. you’ll keep living for yourself and satoru, even though you want to join them. every single day hurts and it also hurts to even breathe sometimes. though you know, somewhere out there, satoru and your friends are cheering you on with every step you take.

wait for me… okay?

the betta fish suddenly notices your presence, and swims up against the glass. so close, yet so far. you take that as satoru’s answer. it was like you could hear his voice directly speaking to you.

i’ll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

you smile for the first time today, even if it was barely a smile. you felt a familiar presence with you on the other side of that glass, even if it was just for a short moment, and it gave you what strength you had left to keep moving.

[wovenstarlight]

and another rant i have built up over jinjae is their everything around food. the first instance i can remember is the courtesy chocolates SHJ brings HYJ after the Babar dungeon, when he's in the hospital (chapters 80/81), which he says is for HYJ due to the stress he must be feeling over HYH. and then immediately kills any goodwill in the very next sentence by going Wowww you're so useful and i'd love to acquire you etc etc. HYJ's not even the one who accepts them from SHJ, that's BYR, and later HYJ says he only eats them because he has nothing better to do (no other option than SHJ, huh...) and even then the Dokkaebi ends up eating half the box. gift that's barely accepted.

the next instance i can think of is post-human trafficking auction in chapter 127 where SHJ makes him eggs, but. well. literally as he's cooking they have this exchange:

(this got so fucking long i had to put it under a cut. takes your hand come with me on this journey)

[SHJ] “I’d like for you to stay unharmed until I grow bored. Mentally, I mean.” [HYJ] “And my body doesn’t matter?” [SHJ] “If your bulk decreases, you’ll be easier to carry around.”

so "i'm making food for you" but also "i don't care if your health deteriorates and/or you lose weight, as long as you're useful". an interesting combination of messages to send, given that HYJ's also struggling in this scene to figure out what SHJ wants from him, what with seemingly looking out for him and his loved ones by lending Sillekia to BYR for fighting HYH, but also still continuing with this "my item" shit and only looking at him for his usefulness. but this instance IS notable in that it's the first time SHJ cooks for HYJ. a slight turning point in their relationship...?

it does seem so cuz after that... HYJ becoming sick of orange- and apple-flavored mana potions because he chugs them so often, and SHJ responding to this in chapter 185 (birthday arc, before HYJ admitted he stole his memories) by acquiring swiss chocolate-flavored mana potions for him. already he's started with the little treats.

and then. sorry i'm feeling the 216 feelings. 1 minute. Okay normal. and then. yes once again it's chapter 216, when SHJ first starts making readably genuine attempts at kindness towards HYJ, starting the entire interaction by making him a drink that "looked like it was just juice, but it was actually sweet. Tasty." normal behavior from SHJ to rent out the entire rooftop pool and bar to show off his bartending skills to HYJ btw.

then the VR dungeon arc, where SHJ can't see HYJ until he installs the first disc, but the moment he does he starts being absolutely unbearable, the relevant part being when HYJ's reached Achates and is stressed out over HYH's treatment to the point of losing his appetite, at which point SHJ sends him the "Must Eat Well" quest to coax him into eating, rewarding him with chocolate-flavored mana potions, which HYJ himself admits remind him of SHJ:

‘But why are they chocolate-flavored?’ It made me think of that person. It had tasted good.

we're told in chapter 249 that SHJ needs to expend tremendous effort to give HYJ quest rewards and that whatever he gives usually gets cut down (he's talking about point conversions there but i suspect it applies to other rewards as well). so to specifically seek out two potions, especially ones he knows HYJ will prefer more than the common fruit-flavored ones... [puts on my large jinjae-shaped sunglasses like that shit they sell for new years]

and ok i jumped ahead to 249 for the rewards thing but come back to 245 with me and look at that series of cooking quests SHJ sent HYJ to guide him through cooking dinner for himself and HYH. copying over my discord messages from when this chapter dropped for this part of the analysis:

ALSO SPEAKING OF SHJ that chain of quests at the end. he is driving me crazy but yes the cooking quests. like. okay. I mentioned before [...] that I considered this a jinjae scene chapter because. the layers of it all right. he sees hyj wants to cook for his brother but can't decide what to make/how to make it cuz the decision paralysis is hitting after the longass day he's had. so he goes ahead and picks a meal and gives him step by step instructions. overly specific so hyj doesn't hit some dumb roadblock like "idk where the spatula is" and lose it for real. it took multiple quests to give the instructions it might've been easier to give him a prepared meal from whatever store he's picking these rewards from but he spent that time anyway because I'm pretty sure going through the process soothed hyj. normality after the Everything of it all. and then at the end of it because he Knows hyj is prone to not eating when he gets stressed he baits him into eating with rewards. like. Bro. Bro like. OUGH. he cares. he cares.... AND ALSO THAT LAST FUCKING QUEST "made with a spoonful of your partner's love" IS NOT SOMETHING THE SYSTEM WOULD SAY SHJ I KNOW YOURE LEANING INTO "OH NO THE SYSTEMS ALTERING MY MESSAGES DW" AND LETTING YOUR FEELINGS SHOW. YOUR PAPER THIN MASK overemotional over cooking. god. god and even after the cooking thing knowing that hyj would freak upon waking up and not seeing hyh and so keeping an eye on hyh and sending him a quest to tell him where he is.... like fuck dude. FUCK!

ok that's enough of that excerpt this is starting to derail from food analysis. wait hold on actually 249's point about the cost of sending quests and rewards makes the cooking quest series even more impactful because how much did SHJ spend to go to that level of detail and care for HYJ!!!

anyway back to food analysis. 256 where HYJ dies to the inscription process and SHJ purposely serves him bitter tea and sweet cookies to point out that he shouldn't take rewards that come at great costs. SHJ you really love communicating things to people through food, huh? but the fact that the second he's understood SHJ takes away the bitter tea and replaces it with something less bitter and more savory. the fact that when the scout finds him, the last thing SHJ does, even after draping his coat over HYJ to protect him from the shards of falling sky, is refill his teacup. the fact that HYJ drinks it and thinks about how it's warm.

GOD!!! do you see my vision. do you see. SHJ and HYJ and cooking and eating as an act of caring. an act of love.

[spectreofgreengables]

My First Actual Post And of Course It's Stolitz Fanfic

Anyway here's the beginning of the Stolitz fic that came to me in a dream :)

Synopsis:

17-year-old Blitz is one of the top circus performers in Hell, and that should come as no surprise, since he’s spent his entire life performing with his father’s circus. Behind the facade of dazzling glitter and daring feats of strength, however, the circus was no place for a young imp dealing with deteriorating mental health after the loss of his mother. Blitz’ father is determined to hide his son’s worsening mental health and confines Blitz to solitude when his panic attacks manifest. 

Meanwhile, as Stolas approaches the date of his preordained marriage, he begins sneaking into the circus to spend his last moments of freedom watching his one and only friend shine on stage. One night, he notices that one performer fails to make it on stage during the second act, and decides to find out what has happened to his childhood friend. On discovering Cash's cruelty to his friend, he helps Blitz escape his dangerous home life.

...

Fifty feet in the air, suspended by nothing but a hoop on a wire and his own strength, Blitz was in his element. His entire life had been spent swinging from ropes, scaling daunting poles, and diving into open air to the uproarious cheers of the circus audience. He’d been able to suspend his own body weight from his arms before he’d learned to walk, and for the past decade he’d been drawing crowds every night to witness the Amazing Blitzo fly through blazing lights illuminating the vast drapery of his father’s big top.

Why then, was he now filled with dread as he prepared to execute an acrobatic routine that he could have performed in his sleep? Blitz took a shaky breath and offered a coy smirk to the crowd below, though from this height he could only see vague circles indicating the hundreds of heads gazing up at him, rapt by the bold imp’s performance. 

“Two minutes and thirteen seconds of music,” the boy reminded himself, “and it’s not like you’ve ever missed the hoop,” he added, muttering under his breath. 

Blitz wiped his sweaty hands on his jumpsuit, covering his anxious habit with a flourish of his arms, and swung himself under and around the hoop, preparing to execute a complicated maneuver that required splitting his legs and letting go of the hoop, using his momentum to fling his body around before catching himself back on the cold metal ring. He exhaled as he released the hoop, timing his momentum with his breath, but as he reached to take hold of the metal once more, his breath caught in his throat. His vision danced. The sounds around him faded as though he had been submerged in deep water. Suddenly he couldn’t focus on the hoop. His music was gone. A flare of panic seared through his body, all at once hot and red and undefinable. 

Then it was over. 

His hands reached to grab the hoop, just as they had done hundreds of times before, but never before had he been so shaky, palms coated in a sheen of sweat. He grasped for the ring, but his left hand slipped, unable to find purchase on the unforgiving metal, and he was left suspended, dangling from one arm high in the air for all to see. 

“Dammit, Blitzo,” he chided himself, the gravity of his predicament setting in. His body swung wildly until he was able to reach the hoop with his tail and swing himself back into the relative safety of the ring. From there, he just had to finish the routine. Once he was back on the floor, he could worry about his father’s outrage. 

 He spun himself, twisted, swung, and dove to catch onto his partner’s arms before swinging safely back to his platform at the top of the tent. From there, it was time for the girls below, dancing on horses in sequined leotards, to draw the audience’s attention back to the floor and away from Blitz, who now sat, chest heaving, against the pole at the top of the tent. 

“You absolute idiot,” he thought to himself, “If Papa saw that, you'll have to find a new costume to wear to cover the lashes on your back.” His stomach dropped, dread coiling its frozen tendrils through his skin. It had been months since he’d messed up badly enough for his father to take off the belt, but Blitz knew from experience that messing up during a performance could mean sleeping on his stomach for a week. 

Since his mother had died, the beatings had become more frequent, and Blitz had less and less control over the manifestations of his own anxiety. It was easy enough to keep himself out of his father’s scornful eye during the day, but mid-performance, with all eyes on him, Blitz couldn't hide the fact that his panic attacks were becoming frighteningly consistent. The last time he’d broken down in public, his father hadn’t let him back on stage for a week, until he’d sworn he could stop “freaking out,” and Blitz fully intended to keep his promise. Embarrassing his father was the last thing he wanted to do, if not out of hope for gaining his father’s approval, at least because his mother would want him to be strong. 

This time, however, his freak out hadn’t just impacted his performance; it had nearly led to a fatal accident in the middle of a show. 

The cold, hard reality of the very tangible fear of his father dissolved the remaining effects of the panic attack and Blitz scurried down to the circus floor and readjusted his costume, ready to make his final bow at the end of the show with the rest of the performers.

 Safely back on the ground, he dazzled the crowd with a roguish grin and flick of his tail, making young imps blush at his posturing. Blitz’s mind wasn’t in it at all, though. The panic from the trapeze had wiped his energy, and he felt as though he was floating behind his own body, watching the world go on around him, watching his own body perform without him. As he followed his showmates backstage, he dug his fingernails into his palms so hard he felt blood begin to prickle from his skin. Good. It was much better to be firmly grounded in this reality than floating along in a haze of some unspoken worry. 

“Boy!” The summons came from the corner; gruff, unwavering, and sent a pang of dread through Blitz’s exhausted body. 

“Here. Now.” 

Blitz obliged, rubbing his hands together to disguise the gore that he’d sliced into his own hands as he made his way over to his father. 

“The fuck was that, huh?” Cash Buckzo growled under his breath. Blitz flared his nostrils, but fought to keep his nose from scrunching. The words were unmistakably laced with the reek of booze. 

“According to the posters, we call it a circus,” he retorted, not sure exactly how much of his blunder had been seen by his father, not wanting to admit aloud how perilous his situation had been. 

“Think you’re being clever, huh?” Cash growled under his breath, and Blitz tensed. “You certainly didn’t look so clever when you fucked up that aerial act tonight. Nearly dropped to the floor, you did. And with a fuckin sold out audience, too” 

“I didn't -” Blitz began, but his father held up a fist. Blitz immediately quieted. 

“I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve got goin’ on in that idiotic head of yours, but I swear to Lucifer if you don’t straighten up and get over your pathetic ass, Fizarolli is in for a hell of a raise.” 

“I -” but the words were gone from his throat, gone with the breath and and the world around him again. 

No no no. Not now. Blitz fought to keep his composure, but his father’s face was swimming through an inky whirlpool. His hearing was pulsing from distant and heavy to loud and sharp and biting. Somehow the stitching on his costume was digging into his skin and simultaneously pushing him out of his own head all at once. 

“No boy of mine is going to embarrass me like that in front of my live audience.” A hand grabbed his forearm and suddenly he was pitched headlong into an empty stable. Had they been walking outside all this time? 

He was falling, and just had time to fling out his arms before he collapsed into the rough concrete, skinning his knees and palms. 

“What do you want from me?” He screamed, voice pitching in his throat as the coldness, hardness, and sharpness of the world refocused in his mind all at once. 

“You’re embarrassing me.” His father replied, shortly. “If you’re going to act like a fucking addict to your own selfish woes, then you’ll sit in here alone until you can behave.” 

Blitz registered the irony of the accusation, but the words stung nonetheless. His father was cruel, yes, but had always taken out his anger with a bout of violence. A few lashes, a blow to the leg, a smack on the cheek if he was really drunk. But then it was over. 

Not this time. 

“Something is up with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I let the fits slide when your mother first passed, but it’s been months. This is ridiculous. If you’re going to keep having these… episodes,” he spat the word out like a wad of stale gum “then you’ll have to sit here and work out how to stop them. Man up, or get out.” 

Blitz looked into his father’s face, searching the cold eyes for so much as a hint of empathy, compassion, parental worry, anything. Instead, he was met with a face of stony sobriety that would haunt his mind until the day he died. 

“You’ll get over this bullshit, or you’ll go to the streets. Either way, I’m done looking after your pathetic ass. My employee you may be, but you certainly aren’t worth calling my son.”

The wooden door of the stable slammed into place, iron bars rattling in place, a mocking grin against the lamplight from the street outside. Blitz sat on the ground, unmoving, until the light flickered out and his legs had gone numb from the unforgiving concrete beneath him. Then he backed himself into the corner of the stall and held his breath, feeling silent sobs wrack his insides while hot tears slid down his face. 

“I will do better.” he whispered to no one when the crying finally relented. Then he faded into a fitful sleep. 

… 

“Three months left,” Stolas whispered to himself as he crossed out another day on the calendar pinned to his wall. He wondered vaguely if any other boy had ever dreaded his 18th birthday with as much apprehension as himself. As he sat on the side of his bed, staring drearily at the makeshift countdown he’d created to his own wedding, Stolas felt his eyes begin to sting. He didn’t want to be a prince. He didn’t care about performing some kind of grotesque masquerade of royalty for the other Goetia. He wanted to read; to learn about the world around him. To experience life without the shroud of upholding some ephemeral ideal of wealth or class or prestige. He wanted to feel alive again like he hadn’t felt since the day he’d learned of his betrothal to some frightful,  indistinct princess. 

He wanted to feel alive like the circus imps. 

Stolas still remembered his first visit to the circus, all those years ago. The way he had felt watching the actors dance, flip, twist, and contort like nothing he’d ever seen before. The raw energy of pure excitement had been intoxicating to the young prince, and he’d spent most of his teen years searching for something that could replicate the feeling of elation he’d felt with the swell of the music, the dazzle of the costumes, and the aura of the performers all those years ago.

He’d tried running away, but he was never quite able to feel confident on his own outside of the safety of the palace walls. 

He’d tried to make friends, but nobody was interested in listening to him prattle on about his lessons, and he could never quite bring himself to care about anything the other kids around him were interested in. He wasn’t excited about girls, or planning camping trips, or bragging about how much he could knick from convenience store shelves. 

Sighing, Stolas slid from the edge of his bed to the floor, crashing rather more abruptly to the ground than he had intended. 

Somewhere on the other side of his bed, he heard a thump and the tinkle of breaking glass. Stolas stood to find whatever he had broken in his moment of melodrama. He stepped around the corner of the bed to find that a small crystal pendant had fallen to the floor from where it had been suspended on the wall. He bent down to pick it up, and realized with a pang of nostalgia that it was one of the decorations he’d gathered from around the castle on the day he’d spent playing pirate games with the imp boy from the circus. 

“Blitzo,” he whispered, the name equally as foreign to his lips as it was familiar to his heart. 

Stolas straightened up with a start. Blitzo had been his friend for an entire day, and he hadn’t been boring at all. The imp from the circus had been crude, to be sure, but they’d had fun together — a real, silly, honest, and authentic kind of fun that he hadn’t experienced since. 

When his father discovered that Blitzo had convinced Stolas to help him steal from the castle, he’d had the imp thrown out and grounded Stolas for a month, but Stolas hadn’t minded. He already spent his days locked in the library whether he was allowed out of the castle or not. It was the fact that, for the first time in his life, he’d actually had fun with another kid that had been the most exciting part of his birthday. For a while, calling Blitzo his friend had been enough to keep him going, hoping that one day he’d be able to reunite with his childhood friend. 

But as the lonely weeks turned into months and then years and his funny, brazen friend never returned for more mischief, Stolas resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to see the imp again. 

Now he sat alone on the floor of his room, counting down the last days of freedom before his wedding to Princess Stella, grasping for memories with any trace of genuine joy or connection he could hold onto in the days to come. He allowed himself a moment to imagine his once-friend performing outrageously daring tricks in his father’s circus as crowds watched in awe, dazzled by the imp’s talent. He knew Blitzo would have grown up by then, just as he had, but could only picture him as the young boy he had been as they raced, giggling through the palace on that one lovely afternoon. 

“Stolas!” came the shout of the butler from the hall, breaking him from his reverie. “Your father is waiting for you in the sitting room, and I believe you’d find it prudent to not keep him waiting.” Stolas listened for a brief moment more, waiting for the sound of footsteps to recede down the passage, away from his room, but he could only hear the thumping of his own heart inside his chest. He groaned, not caring to stifle the sounds of his annoyance. Then he pulled on a shirt, heading into the hallway to face whatever incessant, performative task his father had for him today. 

When Stolas entered the sitting room, he found no one. He glanced over his shoulder at the butler, who just nodded and indicated that he should take a seat on the sofa facing a rather large mirror on the opposite wall. As he did so, the mirror shimmered and his father’s face appeared, wearing an expression that could only be described as utter apathy. 

“Oh good,” came the voice from the mirror, all at once booming and eerily flat. “Glad you could make it, ah, son.” 

“Stolas, Dad,” came the muttered correction from the sofa. Stolas did not meet his fathers gaze. 

“Right, right. Stelis, of course.” The king glanced down at something not shown on the mirror’s surface. Notecards, maybe. 

“Well, as you know, your engagement period is soon ending, and it’s my job to make sure that you are well prepared for your new responsibilities.” 

Stolas continued to look down at his lap, determined not to make eye contact. 

“ I just wanted to make sure you’d finished reading that book we gave you, and a reminder that you are obligated to produce at least one heir in this marriage. Stella assures us that she is excited as ever for your union.”

Stolas huffed, letting out a puff of air from his beak so strong that it ruffled the feathers on his leg. 

“Hm. right. Well, I believe that is all I’m legally obligated to say. I will be in attendance at the wedding next week and —”

“Next week?” Stolas nearly choked out his surprise. “No, Dad. I don't turn eighteen for another three months.” 

“Right, right, and we know that. But Stella is eighteen next week, and it’s really only the bride’s age that matters in things like this, so I  will in fact see you at the wedding next week.” 

There was a distinct Shhhtikk as the king tapped his notecards on the desk in front of him, and the mirror went blank once more. Stolas was left staring into his own reflection, realizing with a start that the face in the mirror looked far too young to be getting married. The round face before him belonged to a scared little boy. Stolas shook his head, ruffling the feathers around his face as he did so, which only accentuated his juvenile appearance. 

He stood abruptly and ran from the mirror, racing through the entryway, past the courtyard, and through the gate at the end of the driveway. 

Stolas ran down the street, ignoring the ache in his side until his legs were jello. He stumbled into the first business he found with an open door.

 It was still early in the morning, but the cafe smelled like warm cinnamon toast and roasted espresso. Stolas drifted up to the counter, ignoring the stares from the cafe patrons around him. 

“Good morning!” came the cheery albeit well-rehearsed greeting from the barista. “What can I get started for you?”

“I..I don’t like coffee.” Stolas admitted quietly. The girl behind the counter looked him up and down. 

“No worries! I have just the thing.” She smiled. She turned away from him and started pouring, steaming, and mixing away behind the bar. Stolas just stared blankly out of the windows, looking through posters from local businesses taped to the windows to the street beyond. 

“Here ya go!” The bright voice brought the prince back to the present. 

“No coffee. I promise.” she pushed a cup into his hands and turned to help the next customer. 

Stolas found a seat in a corner of the shop near the bathrooms and collapsed into the booth. One week. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Nobody had said anything to him about his marriage since the first time his father had brought it up on his tenth birthday all those years ago, and now, they had decided to change the entire timeline of his youth without so much as pretending to consider his feelings.

Not that anyone ever gave him a choice. His entire life had been prescribed for him, and he was just expected to go along with it. Constantly. Not to mention the fact that his own father couldn't even do him the decency of remembering his name. 

Well, if he was going to be married in the next week, then the next six days were going to have to be entirely his own. Stolas took a tentative sip of the drink in his hands, and instantly felt warmth seep through his body, reinvigorating him. 

“Hot chocolate!” He tittered to himself, and looked up to give the barista a grateful smile. As he finished sipping his drink, Stolas found himself absentmindedly looking over the posters taped to the window in front of him. One in particular stood out to him amongst the clutter. A poster with alternating red and grey stripes arranged at an angle, fanning out from the center of the ad like a sunburst. “The Greatest Circus in all of Hell!” the text proclaimed, displaying a location and series of showtimes in smaller text near the bottom of the ad. Stolas smiled and pulled down the poster, pocketing it before anyone noticed it was gone. One of the times was listed for that very evening. 

[tacticalgemini]

so uh…it’s been a HOT minute since I last posted. I genuinely have to take a moment just to apologize for not participating in cringetober, I had a LOT of personal matters I can’t get into and my mental health was just deteriorating by the second..Just wanted to make this post as an update to all my followers/mooties that I’m alive and well!!1!1! I’m gonna go back to regularly posting for now, love you all for continuing to interact and support my dreams of being popularrr <333

-TG.

[loth-creatures]

I’d love to hear your wall of text about the Sion’s voyage!

Aight, so if there's one thing I hated about the show it's that the journey to a whole ass new galaxy felt like it took 5 minutes. So in my star war it takes roughly 7 weeks and it fucking SUCKS

Disclaimer; this is just a huge mess from my head, nothing is set in stone, and I'm only really planning to comicify the last few parts ;)

Also cw for some implied self-harm ideation, terrible coping mechanisms, deteriorating mental health, violence and injuries (just mentioned, not in detail)

To set the scene, they're using the training/rec room as Sabine’s prison bc Wolfbine is too big for the actual brig lol. Much to the entire crew's irritation. The first week or two they just handcuff her in a corner at blasterpoint whenever they want to use it I guess, and find a closet to lock loose equipment in. At least she gets some entertainment. She probably also gets beat up a few times (you should see the other guy) for commenting on people's techniques. But eventually they decide she probably won't try anything and stop caring she's there, so she's left alone for the most part.

She spends a lot of time working out, bc otherwise she is strongly considering bashing her head into the wall. Having to sit alone as a human and pace in circles as a wolf for days on end with the weight of her decision and all kinds of fresh guilt is doing terrible things to her head...She is also spending a lot of time trying and failing not to sob and scream in the shower when no one's around. There is also a viewport in the rec room and Sabine spends an unhealthy amount of time staring into the rainbow swirl of hyperspace. She can't tell whether or not she's hallucinating the strange shapes that occasionally drift into view, singing strange songs that she can feel more than hear. It reminds her of the ocean and she shudders and dreams of drowning, being crushed by the depths. And she dreams of Ezra alone and lost in this void. There's no easy way to break free of such thoughts when she's essentially trapped in a fish bowl.

Meanwhile, Shin hates Sabine even more now for making her a Wolfwalker. She is not adjusting well to turning into a giant beast every time she tries to sleep and on a cramped vessel with little space to stretch those legs. Having been bitten only just before boarding the Sion, she hasn't had the chance to run wild for miles with the wind in her fur; all she knows is that the journey feels twice as long and horrid when she's consious 24/7. Baylan, on the other hand, is like DO YOU REALIZE HOW AWESOME THIS IS?! YOU SHOULD BE THANKING HER. He's not jealous persay, but. Well. Careful what you wish for...

Wolf Sabine and Shin are both getting major zoochosis smh. It's a miracle Shin hasn't killed a random crew member yet. Wolfbine behaves for maybe a week before she starts chewing up the flooring and howling and screaming husky style just to be a little shit. See how long it takes before someone threatens to shoot her, muzzle her, throw her out the airlock (not long). She can't afford to antagonize the crew too much bc there is only one person on the entire ship who wants her there and he has limited authority. Baylan is quick to remind her of this.

He also makes several attempts to talk to her and get on better terms, as he would like to learn more about the wolves. He tells her of the old fragments of stories of Wolfwalkers he found in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and his facsination with them and how chasing such tales lead to his other ambitions. Lowkey info-dumping about all the fairy-tales and mythalogical stuff that Shin never took an interest in. Sabine is deathly bored enough to tolerate it to extent, but she is not forgiving him for 'killing' Ahsoka, for digging in her head, for putting her in this situation, and she is absolutely kicking herself for having bitten Shin. For letting anyone affiliated with the Empire close to Lothal's secrets. Too her it's put a deep crack through her promise to protect Lothal, perhaps not as much as having given Thrawn a way home, but she's going to try her damnest to undo that one, and shoves that looming guilt aside as best she can, instead spiraling about the fact that she made Shin a Wolfwalker and short of killing her there is no undoing that. So most of her conversations with Baylan end with telling him to go fuck himself.

Just now realizing I've never gone into detail about why Sabine bit Shin. It was a complete accident. Split second reaction out of pain after taking another small slice from Shin’s lightsaber during their fight on Seatos, which she was able to heal herself but it slowed her down enough for Shin to escape. With a nasty little nip to the arm.

That all said Sabine does not want to kill Shin, in fact she's just starting to feel sorry for her. Shin might be all MY ARCH NEMESIS SABINE WREN, but from the beginning Sabine is just like ugh can this random chick stop making my life harder 🙄

And if she's this miserable as a wolf rn, she can imagine what Shin's going through as a first timer, which is all her fault :( plus the fact that as wolves they are instinctively drawn to other wolves and each of their suffering seems to exacerbate the other's. They are both so lonely. 2 weeks in and (human)Sabine is bored and desperate enough to try heckling Shin into sparring with her, on the rare occasion she passes by (Shin’s been avoiding that room). 3 weeks in and Shin's gotten bored and desperate enough to accept the invitation.

I hc that during a friendly match, most Force-users will refrain from using the Force against a non-Force-user for the most part. Shin is not interested in friendly and absolutely hammers Sabine unless Baylan is there to remind her to play nice. Sabine is fine with this. She wants Shin to use the Force (come at me bro). If anyone's gonna be holding back it's Sabine. She wants to get as familiar as possible with Shin's fighting skill and habits without revealing the full extent of her own, while also slowly learning to anticipate and work around Shin’s use of the Force. That way she'll have an advantage the next time they fight for reals. It's difficult to impossible to hold back though, while still presenting enough of a challenge to keep Shin coming back for more.

While Sabine is more experienced, with a wider range of techniques and more refined skill, Shin is still skilled and powerful and it's hardly a fair fight without her armor and gear. She gets her shit rocked.

Sabine is very rarely able to beat Shin when she's using the Force. But she can withstand her. Many of their fights don't end with a quick, decisive victory so much as Shin just wearing Sabine down until she physically can't fight anymore though she refuses to tap out or surrender. Because for one, it's pissing Shin off, which is fun. And for two, ending the fight means returning to the hell that is sitting alone and staring out that window until it makes her sick in the head. She would kill a man for a single can of paint.

While Shin is toying with Sabine and using her as a bunching bag on the basis that she asked for it, keeps asking for it, doesn't know when to give up, and totally deserves it 😤, she is no easy opponent and Shin is continuously shocked by Sabine's ability to survive her. She was supposed to be just another enemy to tear through, yet has survived two murder attempts, and Shin is now stuck with her on this godforsaken ship for some reason, and she doesn't even have the grace to admit when she's defeated. Unstoppable force has met unmovable object.

Shin simultaneously resents and admires her, though doesn't quite respect her yet. And she definitely fears her a little (though she would never admit that). I kinda get the vibe that Shin’s never really lost a fight, has never truly been left for dead at the end of a battle, and the thought terrifies her. Either she is invincible or she is dead. Meanwhile Sabine can be coughing up blood and she'll be like 'cool see you tmr'✌️😎 The fact that Shin probably deleted one of Sabine's kidneys on Lothal and she seems hardly intimidated is well. Intimidating. And annoying. And hot.

I feel like at some point Baylan would point out that Shin could probably learn a thing or two from Sabine if she would stop beating the shit out of her for two seconds. Shin is already aware of that but doesn't want to admit it.

Meanwhile Sabine just doesn't care anymore what happens to her as long as she lives long enough to get off this accursed vessel, doesn't care how hurt she gets, as long as it passes the time and distracts her from her spiraling thoughts. She's offered a medic multiple times and refuses each time. She doesn't want them seeing the full extent of her injuries and then finding out she can heal herself with the wolf-magic, bc the Empire doesn't need to know about that. She only heals the worst injuries and then gaslights Shin about it. 'You did not break any ribs lol I'm fine quit flattering yourself.' Shin’s like how the fuck are you still standing.

This routine of brutally taking out their frustrations on each other is gonna get old though, and is completely unsustainable. Eventually Shin’s convinced that Sabine is just using her for pain. Which isn't wrong even if it's not the only or even primary reason Sabine keeps asking. Sabine calls her out on fighting like a coward and enjoying hurting her anyway. Shin goes and sulks for a few days after that (not without punching Sabine in face first).

Ok time out. What the hell is Shin’s deal anyway. I have only some half-baked ideas about Baylan and Shin’s...thing. They're like the closest thing we've gotten to 'grey Jedi?' I guess? I've been operating under the assumption that that's what they're essentially trying to be (though it's not what they'd call themselves), something more than Jedi, Baylan says, and that 'more' is just chasing power. They will inevitably fall completely. Probably need to watch the show again to get a better read on them tbh but I would rather not. It will hurt my feelings again :( Baylan is like the mountain. He's calm, he's steady and the darkness erodes him slowly. He thinks he's successfully toeing the line with the dark side, but his faults are most evident in Shin's training. She is like a hurricane. The Force rips through her, chaotic and volatile and her control is iron yet brittle. She hasn't known inner peace a day in her life. She just taught herself restraint in the sense that she suppresses her power until she needs it to plow through her enemies. She will fall far more quickly than her master. Baylan's teachings follow the Jedi's to an extent but once the darkness is let in, those lessons become skewed and contradicted, and Shin is a mess because of it, only mirroring her master's control on the surface. Baylan isn't the worst teacher but he is not a good one. While Shin loves and trusts Baylan, she is getting tired and frustrated following his mysterious whispers of legends to an end he never explains clearly. And she is afraid.

ANYWAY, once Shin’s done sulking, one of these days her and Sabine are gonna have a genuine conversation or two and maybe agree to an actually friendly sparring match in which they agree to not just blindly pulverize each other. They take breaks and drink water and tend to their wounds like adults. And Sabine is like you know, we could just. Hang out. As wolves at least. It would suck sooo much less if you'd come play with me as a wolf xoxo. They slowly transition into a more definitive Truce.

Shin does start hanging out in the rec room as a wolf. Sabine still isn't volunteering info on the wolf magic but she does talk about what its like being wolfwalker in general. They tussel and chase each other around, often getting too rough but also loud enough that someone will come yell at them to stfu before they really hurt each other. It's much easier to take naps as wolves too after they've had a chance to burn some energy which makes the entire ship more peaceful.

However, you can't just be the first vessel in centuries to cross between galaxies and not have some kind of disaster right? Well it turns out the strange shapes out the viewport were not hallucinations. The Sion is essentially traveling through the cosmic deep ocean and there are bigger, older things than even the Purrgil out there. Nothing has an interest in attacking the Sion, but at some point something very large drifts close enough to jolt the Sion off course and shorts out the entire system. This ends up forcing them to drop out of hyperspace in the middle of absolute fucking nowhere.

It takes a few days to get the ship running again and recalculate the jump. And here's where Sabine gets to be a hero and earn some respect around here, bc most of their mechanics are droids which also shorted out and lost power. Seeing as they are at risk of losing life support, they let Sabine help with repairs and turns out she's one of the best mechanics on board, even considering the newer technology she doesn't have as much experience with. This also allows her to get more familar with the ship and find the best places to hide out when she eventually makes her escape, while simultaneously giving the crew more reason to let their guard down on her. Including Shin.

That first loss of power is the worst but there are several more blackouts along the way. Human Sabine and Shin are almost getting along now. They still don't like each other but they are hooking up (it does not fix them), and playing card games by flashlight and truth or dare. Maybe Shin even scrounges up some art supplies for Bean. Now she can pass the time hiding sharpie dicks all over the place. They are almost friends by the time there are three days left in the journey and Sabine is preparing to make her move.

Baylan was probably the one to initiate letting Sabine have her lightsaber to sparr occasionally. He wanted to test her metal as well. I think it would be interesting if they sparred a couple times. Baylan is much more chivalrous than Shin and also goes into teacher mode about sword fighting. Sabine isn't a novice anymore but he's still far more experienced. Shin is like no no no we are not adopting her Dad NO-

So anyway escape day comes, Sabine almost cronches Baylan to death, and Shin is beyond angry. Mostly at herself for letting her guard down enough to allow this to happen, she didn't really expect Sabine to not pull something like this in the end right? It's stupid to feel betrayed when it was so inevitable. She is still 100% gonna take it out on Sabine though, especially for almost killing her master.

Despite the escape attempt, Thrawn lets Sabine go as he does in the show, in the hope that she'll lead them to Ezra’s human body. He figures if anyone could find him, it would be a fellow wolfwalker who considers him dear enough to risk the fate of her entire galaxy. Everyone else is like you're just letting her go?? After all that??? And Thrawn's just like lol what did you expect from her? That's Sabine Wren. They probably do attempt to scan the ship for sabotage but it's so huge and her kyber bomb is so small and rudimentary that they don't find it.

At this point, Sabine is run utterly ragged. Bedraggled even. Having not slept in 2 days,(no room to wolf in the Sion's walls so she just had to stay awake 💀) suffered a heart attack at Baylan's hand, and got beat up by WolfShin again. She's visibly about to collapse and Thrawn's probably like 'do you...want to spend the night before you go? And a medic?' He knows he's most likely sending her to perish in the wilderness anyway, but was hoping to give her at least a chance at finding human Ezra for them. Sabine says hell no I'm getting out of here before you change your mind.

She rides until she actually does collapse, hides her body as best she can and continues as a wolf. She figures they let her go for a reason, and plans to run in erratic circles all night every night to hopefully throw them off, only later investigating any clues she finds as human for a few sporadic hours in the day. Thrawn does send Shin to track her at a distance. If she happens to find the trail of Wolf!Ezra first, kill her. This hunt through the wild will go on for several days at least, before there's any sign of Ezra.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: PITT

Published: Sep 30, 2023

Our son recently started graduate school. He began hormone therapy during his final year of undergraduate education. Because he began to identify as a lesbian, transgender woman at 20 and showed no sign of gender dysphoria before that, we never had a chance to reflect – or advise him – on his choices. Going through the published medical research on the effects of estrogen made me aware that psychologically, excess estradiol in the serum causes depression among males, and physiologically, there are potentially much more severe side effects, including some impacting the brain and the immunological system. More of that in a minute.

Fast forwarding to the present day, before our son left for graduate school at a University with one of the country's most renowned medical schools. I decided to write to their student health center and share the studies I had found and, more relevantly, the psychological history of our child. What follows is the text of the letter and, after deleting potentially identifying information, the response from a high-ranking official within the health center. They are, for the lack of a better phrase, quite revealing.

First, my letter (I have not disclosed the name of the university and have changed the name of our child here, with apologies to the real Jonathans of the world; furthermore, apologies for the triggering usage of pronouns – I did not want to be dismissed as the “usual, hateful, bigoted transphobe”; rather, I wanted to be considered as the deadly serious parent who would do anything in their power to prevent their child from coming to harm):

-

Dear Apex University Health Center,

Our child, Jonathan, who is joining the graduate program at Apex University this Fall, identified themself as transgender during their sophomore year in college (2021) and started estrogen therapy in early 2023. Since every one of these interventions is off-label, I have been looking up the peer-reviewed literature on the effect of estrogen and whether there are any risks that our child needs to be aware of as they continue on this path. My findings, which I summarize below (and link to the sources), have been alarming. Several endocrinologists – some who publish extensively – have told me they were unaware of the new literature. I have also been in touch with the Endocrine Society, and their response heightened my alarm.

While we respect our child's identification with their gender identity, we felt that they exhibited several psychological symptoms right before identifying as a lesbian, transgender woman (Jonathan was assigned male at birth and did not show any inclinations to identify as female before April 2021), and these co-occurring symptoms were not considered at all before he started on the prescribed medicines. Most tellingly, just before identifying as transgender, Jonathan's romantic advances were rebuffed by the woman of their affection. Subsequently, Jonathan also lost every friend they had, thereby remaining completely alone in their dorm room for the greater part of their last two years of undergraduate education. However, these psychological symptoms were never explored. Jonathan was recommended to start on estradiol and spironolactone immediately, which they did – and their physical and mental health symptoms have deteriorated since. Jonathan is also quite depressed, spending all their time without emerging from their room.

That is not surprising since, when it comes to the recent research on estrogen in natal males, excess estrogen in the serum in natal males has been associated with depression – studies among adult men and adolescent boys show that. Clinical studies (i.e., studies that recruit actual subjects and follow them clinically rather than rely on anonymous, online, non-probability surveys) that promote gender medicine fail to show any improvement in psychosocial outcomes among natal males. For example, the New England Journal of Medicine study from early 2023 concluded that hormone therapy is psychologically beneficial for transgender youth. However, in the main text, the study finds no improvement in depression, anxiety symptoms, or life satisfaction among natal male youth (the relevant paragraph is at the bottom of page 244 of the journal issue).

Thus, psychologically, there is ample evidence that excess estrogen is associated with depression among natal males. Physiologically, recent research shows that estrogen might have far more deleterious effects. A study showed that 12 months of estrogen treatment among transgender women leads to a decrease in serum BDNF levels. That is significant because a separate study shows that this decrease in serum BDNF level is associated with increased risks of developing MDD (or major depressive disorder).  Lower levels of brain BDNF levels have also been associated with neurodegenerative disorders and found in the brains of patients with Alzheimer's, Parkinson’s, MS, and Huntington’s disease.

A high-quality rodent study shows that estrogen therapy among adult male rats leads to changes in their brains that resemble the changes in the brains of trans women. (There have been several other studies (2 links) among trans women that have shown these changes, but the rodent study indicated the mechanism by which these changes occurred in the brain.) Specifically, estrogen seemingly reduced the water content in the astrocytes and thereby disturbed the delicate homeostasis in the brain by increasing the relative concentration of glutamate (the brain's most abundant excitatory neurotransmitter), leading to glutamate excitotoxicity. As the Cleveland Clinic informs us, an increase in glutamate in the brain is associated with higher risks of neurological disorders like Alzheimer's disease, ALS, and many other diseases like multiple sclerosis. The research also showed that estrogen decreased brain cortical thickness and volume (which other studies have linked to patients with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder and lower levels of general intelligence). Furthermore, it was found to reduce cortical white matter integrity (which is related to cognitive instability). There is also empirical evidence of the lowering of cognitive abilities among transgender women that was presented at the EPATH conference in April 2023 (in Killarney, Ireland) - the researchers noted this decline among long-term patients at Amsterdam's famed gender clinic.

Research in the last few years shows that estrogen therapy among trans women has been associated with higher risks of various autoimmune diseases, from multiple sclerosis (recall, too, the association of MS with an increase in glutamate) to rheumatoid arthritis and many others in between. It has been associated with increases in the risks of prostate cancer and breast cancer. It increases risks of cardiovascular diseases (2 links), often by as much as tenfold compared to their cisgender counterparts.

Empirically, we see a much higher incidence of many of these physical and neurological diseases in the transgender population. It is perhaps not a coincidence, therefore, that population cohort studies (2 links) show that trans women, on average, die decades earlier than either cisgender men or women.

When I approached the Endocrine Society with what I had found and pointed out that many of these findings came out after the publication of their guidelines in 2017, I received an email from their Director of Clinical Practice Guidelines that they are currently fast-tracking a revision of those guidelines. She also mentioned that their evidence evaluation criteria have changed since the guidelines were published and that they now use the GRADE criteria for evaluating evidence. This is encouraging, but I have no idea how long it will take for the new guidelines to appear.

I point all of this out because Jonathan has the chance to start afresh and be reevaluated at Apex University's healthcare system. We increasingly see them stumbling with their memory, something that we could not even think of a year earlier – Jonathan used to have a photographic memory ever since they were a child. Having heard so much about Apex's medical school, we have high hopes that Jonathan's evaluation at Apex University's medical system will be more thorough than it has been so far. Let me be clear: We have no doubt about their gender dysphoria or their intense discomfort in their traditional gender role – we worry about that all the time. It is just that we have observed that medicalization has not brought them any balm so far – in fact, just the opposite. While the absence of any upsides (and the possible significant downsides) in the literature – psychological or otherwise – heightens our alarm.

After all, it is not only a lone voice like ours, but even mainstream media like the Economist (their April 5 issue with the cover story “The evidence to support medicalized gender transitions in adolescents is worryingly weak” comes to mind) and storied institutions like the British Medical Association and the systematic reviews of the literature from national medical associations of very transgender-friendly countries like Sweden, Finland, Norway, the UK, and (most recently) Denmark that are raising the alarm on the lack of high-quality evidence of any benefits from hormone therapy. (And these reviews I mention above cover only the evidence of the psychological effects of the hormones – they do not even consider the long-term physiological consequences.)

If all the evidence from the past few years is to be believed, there is now quite a body of evidence of genuine harm from administering estrogen to the natal male body (I have not researched the effects of excess testosterone on the natal female body, and so I cannot comment on that.)

As one of the world's leading lights in healthcare to nudge society toward better outcomes through research, Apex University will be well placed to lead the march for evidence-based care in gender-affirming care.

Thank you very much for reviewing the evidence that I have found and considering our child's health as they start their journey at Apex University. Please let me know if you have any questions. I look forward to hearing back from you.

With warmest regards,

XXX

-

A few days later, I got their response. I have highlighted the relevant portions of their email and annotated them within brackets [all formatting mine]. As I said, it’s quite revealing.

-

Dear XXX:

Thank you very much for sharing your concerns about your child with us.

…Apex U's Student Health Center (Apex SHC) is not directly affiliated with Apex Medical School and we do not provide care under the umbrella of the hospital. [Is the respondent making sure that the medical school is not implicated if something goes wrong with our son?] However, we do collaborate closely with our colleagues at the hospital and medical school, including in the management of our student receiving gender affirming care.

…

Gender affirming care is a unique process in medicine in that we are not aiming to treat and eliminate a disease process. [Ah, an admission that there is no real goal of treatment through this care. Finally! But read on…it gets better.] Instead, we are using the tools of medicine to help individuals achieve very personal and sometimes nebulous [nebulous? WTF? After all these years of "settled science," all we have is “nebulous?”] physical and emotional goals. Success is not based on a clinical metric but usually involves a better quality of life balanced with potential risks including morbidity and mortality. [So, finally, an explicit admission – success is not based on any clinical metric. That makes complete sense to us inconvenient parents. After all, how can there be? There never have been any metrics, ever. At. All. All we have are some "nebulous" ideas of "better quality of life" – as decided by the patient right now, with no consideration of what might happen in the future as a result of the free dispensation of off-label medication. And oh, by the way, that "better quality of life" includes morbidity factors and dying much faster.] We at the Apex SHC make every effort to ensure that our patients are well-informed [in other words, make sure that they have signed the informed consent forms!] about each decision that they make and have time to consider these impacts without pressure [The irony of the sentence – “have time to consider these impacts without pressure.” Wow! really?]

Should your child decide to engage with us in care, our commitment to them is to prioritize their safety [oh, the irony, once more!], the elements of their well-being that we can support [the rest – whether caring for them for the rest of their lives or paying for their illnesses and hospitalizations, with a big fuck you to your dwindling retirement funds – is up to you, you bigoted parents!], and to help them make a bright future for themselves.

Very best,

AAA

-

As I read and re-read the email, all I could think was – Wow! What an amazing letter! AAA has no qualms admitting that there are no clinical goals of treatment when it comes to gender-affirming care. This is really quite convenient if you think about it—if there are no aims, any outcome is fine! No wonder these physicians get all flustered when we inconvenient parents ask them about clinical goals and outcomes.

All that these caring physicians want to achieve are some nebulous (which the dictionary defines as unclear, vague, or indefinite) goals. Oh, and please remember – once again – that those are personal goals, so please don’t ask about evidence of well-being. (An inconvenient question, though – why should such personal goals be funded by others, whether it is the government or private insurance?)

And what if, as a result of those nebulous goals, the patients go through psychological, emotional, and physical distress for the rest of their lives, as detailed in the medical literature? Really, shame on you, you bigoted parents! Always such a nag! Always the party pooper. Why do you have to ask such inconvenient questions? Haven’t these caring physicians already made it clear that these are personal goals and that it really doesn’t matter that young children who are distressed might have no idea how to make a rational choice about the future? Who cares if they become hyper-fixated about something, as young children are wont to?

But then again, really, there is no pressure. No pressure at all. These kids are otherwise well-adjusted grown adults who know exactly who they are. Probably from the time they were toddlers. (What? You want evidence? This is getting really tiring. Give it a break, will you?) These are kids who are not immersed online, who do not gulp down narratives about “gender euphoria.” They are stable, rational human beings with a very clear idea of what the future holds.

All these well-meaning saints – these gender-affirming physicians – want is to give these kids a bright future: a future so bright that it will probably include that intense bright light these pitiable young men will see when they die decades earlier than their non-medicalized peers. Who are you parents to stand in their way?

==

This is quite a remarkable admission. If there are no metrics and the objectives are "nebulous," then that's the very definition of not-scientific, not-medical. How can this be "necessary," and even "life-saving" if it's also "nebulous"? God is both real and undetectable?

How can it be "settled science"?

You're letting people self-diagnose and self-prescribe in order to chase something nebulous? What the hell?

[monetsfog]

making the most out of the winter break; uni student edition 🎄☃️

phew you made it through exams! now you have a couple weeks to yourself, what to do with all that extra time? i know i’ll personally be focusing on slow productivity and reconnecting with myself, my loved ones, and the present.. below are some tips on how i’ll be doing that and i hope it gives you some ideas if your stuck on how to make the most out of this short blissful break

reflect on the semester— i’m lucky that i’ve kept my journal entries from the beginning of the year, so i’m taking a moment to look back and celebrate my wins but also see what mistakes i could learn for the next semester. i prefer to do my introspection through the journal & pencil, but anything works. some questions i’ll be considering:

what were some initial goals for the semester? how do they compare to the outcome?

what study sessions did you find the most effective? is it a certain location, time frame, or method?

did you learn anything really interesting from your courses?

did your schedule provide the time and energy to take care of your mental & physical health? if not, what would you change to make that happen?

setting winter break goals— having 2 or 3 goals to work towards can help keep you productive. i usually allocate 2 hours to work on these per day. personally, i’ve been focusing on rebuilding habits. with habits, i believe the biggest challenge is today.. just simply being able to show up today. below are some ideas of some goals or habits to work towards:

language learning

digital certificates

exercising

daily journaling or meditation

getting ahead with year-round courses

stay connected with loved ones— go ahead and message your friends for a meet up. it can be inviting them to your home, a local cafe lunch, visiting a muesum, or window shopping. also i am also doing my best to help my family and spend quality time with them.

reconnect with mindfulness— i’ve been practicing mindfulness to heal some of the anxious tendencies from exam season and return back to a peaceful state of mind. some activities i love to do:

reading: associated with focusing processes in the brain

breathwork

free-flow yoga: without any tutorials and just listening to your body

to learn more about the stress-reducing effects of yoga and reading: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/229431397_Stress_Management_Strategies_For_Students_The_Immediate_Effects_Of_Yoga_Humor_And_Reading_On_Stress

meditation: any duration of meditation is extremely effective for handling health-deteriorating effects of stress

a study on long-term 20-minute meditation practitioners found that the brain decreases oxygen usage, lowers bp, and lowers heart rate (https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/15564357/)

rekindle your love for your field— podcasts, books, movies. all might bring some childlike wonder when approaching the boring process of memorizing hard facts. i’m a biology student, and if you are too, you might enjoy some of these recommendations:

uzma ali (on youtube)

house, m.d (tv show)

a natural history of the senses by Diane Ackerman

the light eaters: how the unseen world of plant intelligence offers a new understanding of life on earth by Zoë Schlanger

ologies podcast by alie ward (on spotify)

XX 💓

[meatonfork]

hi guys! little life update at 3 am bc i woke up and can’t fall back asleep lol.

ummm i’m planning on quitting my job!! i hate mine currently and it’s so bad for my already deteriorating mental health 😽🤞 honestly, im surprised i’ve lasted this long hehe

and i plan on maybe going to college at my grown age of 21 but we’ll see!

umm also!! learning the very hard way that being a lesbian that’s finally ready to get into a /healthy/ relationship is very unlikely in a small town, so moving is also on my to-do list 😝

i’m currently on a little trip to my friends’ place bc they live 2 hrs away from me :// but i unfortunately go home later today bc i do work tomorrow </3

i’m sure there’s tons of other things i could yap about, but i’ll spare you 😻😻

here is me!! and for those of you who have been here a hot minute, here is beefy girl 😻

and here is me crying over my stupid fucking job