#once again i have given myself diabetes with my own writing

[corrodedbisexual]

Peeling fruits is a love language

Steddie (+ bg Ronance) | G | fluff | ~1200w

AO3 link

A little sketch inspired by this tumblr post, because it screamed Steve Harrington to me.

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Since the kids are hanging out at his place at least once a week, Steve starts buying more healthy snacks, so that they don't just stuff themselves on chips, peanuts and candy bars they bring with them all the time. He makes sure a large bowl in his living room is always filled with some fruits. Unfortunately, with things like oranges or grapefruits, turns out it results in sticky stains all over the carpet as the kids tend to rip into the skin like animals, squirting the juice everywhere (one time, Dustin even got some in Mike's eye, starting a screaming match that made Steve's ears ring).

So from now on, Steve just peels the fruits himself before passing them around. (He even keeps a small knife next to the bowl to peel the apples for El, simply because she doesn't like biting through the skin.)

Pretty soon, he starts doing the same thing for Robin when she's around, because she claims her nails are too fragile and she doesn't want to break one. Steve rolls his eyes and doesn't comment on the fact that her nails were just fine opening that soda can five minutes ago; he's rewarded with a grin as he peels a large grapefruit for her. And by proxy, for Nancy, because Robin hands one half over to her, which she accepts with a shy smile. It's something Robin does every time, Steve soon learns. Sometimes, he wonders what's going on between them, but decides not to pry. Robin will tell him when she's ready.

A week later, everyone's gathered in his living room again. The boys and Erica have their D&D game with Eddie while the rest just hang out, Nancy and Robin painting each other's nails and discussing colleges, Max and El bent over a stack of comic books and skateboarding magazines. Steve, as usual, is on fruit peeling duty, between listening to and occasionally joining various conversations around the room. At this point, he doesn't bother pretending like it annoys him. In truth, he likes keeping his hands busy. And this little ritual has become just another part of him taking care of his strange found family, even in small ways when there is no major apocalypse to deal with these days.

Or, almost everyone. He can't help but notice that Eddie's the only one who didn't ask Steve to pass him any fruits. He wonders, but there could be lots of reasons. Maybe Eddie didn't want to get his notes stained. Or he's allergic to oranges. Or he just doesn't like fruits. Come to think of it, Steve has hardly ever seen Eddie eat anything other than cup noodles or pizza.

But also, Eddie can be really strange around Steve. Sometimes, he's his usual, loud, obnoxious self, making flirty jokes and poking fun at Steve. Other times, he's almost cautious, keeping his distance, barely meeting Steve's eyes.

During a bathroom break in the middle of their game, Eddie approaches him with a teasing grin. "So what, that's a new item on the list of babysitter duties, Stevie? Peeling oranges for everyone?"

Robin grins at him from the other end of the couch. "Oh, not everyone. We're just special. Peeling fruits is Steve's new love language, apparently."

Her tone is teasing, and Steve rolls his eyes, but what she says isn't far from the truth.

And just like that, Eddie goes into distant mode. Nods, mumbles something about needing another soda and heads for the kitchen. And part of Steve wonders if maybe, Eddie doesn't know that this is something he could ask for.

He knows that he loves Eddie. He's still not sure what kind of love it is, it's certainly different from his love for Robin, or Nancy these days, or the kids. But he knows he does. Because of something the man told him himself once, actually, about what a sign of true love is; and Steve knows that if needed, he'd walk into the Upside Down and bite through a thousand more bats for any of the people in this room without a moment's hesitation. Any of them. But the gates are all closed, and grand gestures like that are no longer necessary, so he just makes sure everyone he loves is safe, and fed, and happy, occasional mother hen jokes be damned. And it doesn't sit right with him that Eddie isn't aware that includes him.

So he decides to fix it. Later that night, when everyone's gathering their stuff to head home, arguing loudly over who's going to get a lift from Nancy instead of taking their bikes, Steve asks Eddie to stay another while, have a few beers, watch a movie. And Eddie agrees, as easily as always, even if that strange, distant look is not yet completely gone from his eyes. As he puts on some horror flick, Steve tries not to dwell on the fact that he doesn't actually remember Eddie ever saying "no" to him.

Ten minutes or so into the movie (that looks terrible so far, but of course Eddie insists it's an absolute masterpiece), Steve reaches for the fruit bowl, grabs the final orange from it. Looks over at Eddie, who averts his eyes immediately towards the TV. Aiming for a casual tone, Steve holds it up to him.

"Hey, Eddie. You want one?"

Eddie's eyes are back on him, watching him with an unreadable expression for a moment. "Uh. Yeah, sure." Eddie reaches out, but Steve doesn't let him take the fruit, instead bringing it into his lap and quickly working on removing the skin. He doesn't know why his heart suddenly beats faster.

When he finally looks up, handing the now peeled fruit to Eddie, he's met with the most brilliant smile. Slowly, Eddie takes it, spins it around in his hands a few times, biting his lip, as if lost in thought. And then, he splits the orange in half and wordlessly holds one half of it out for Steve.

Suddenly, with that bizzarre silent exchange, everything clicks for Steve. Like puzzle pieces all coming together. There's the puzzle of Robin and Nancy he's pretty sure he's figured out now. But more importantly, the puzzle that's him and Eddie. His own uneven heartbeat and Eddie's sudden mood swings. His eyes always getting drawn to Eddie like a magnet, following him around the room. Eddie's smiles for him, always soft even when he's teasing. His 'Stevie', like warm rays of spring sunshine against Steve's skin.

Steve only waits long enough for both of them to finish eating their orange halves before taking a leap of faith, shuffling closer and reaching for Eddie's hand. Eddie stares at their joined hands with a look of disbelief, then chuckles quietly and looks up, his smile almost blinding up close.

Their first kiss tastes like oranges, their lips a little sticky, and so are probably their hands buried in each other's hair, but it's not like either of them cares.

(Days later, the first time they move on from couch makeouts to his bedroom, the first time Steve takes the shirt off of a slightly trembling Eddie, he can't help himself. "You know, if peeling fruits is a love language, you're totally my new favorite fruit." It's stupid and corny, but it makes them both laugh so hard neither of them is nervous anymore after that.)

[miracleonice87]

I’ll Take Care of You, part two

a Tyler Seguin fic

a/n: this one’s from Peyton’s perspective. back in the fall when I first started writing fics again, I wrote part one in first person, which I don’t really do anymore, but I’m keeping that consistent for this one. read part one here first if you haven’t already. 

tw: fainting, mention of miscarriage/loss of pregnancy/infertility/periods

“Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this to occur with first pregnancies. It happens more often than you might think. It certainly doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to have a baby. My rule of thumb is to let couples try to get pregnant again naturally for one year without any intervention. Then, if you’re still having difficulties, you can come back in and we can talk about other options.”

It had been eleven months since my doctor had spoken those words to Tyler and me following the miscarriage that had nearly broken us both.

Those eleven months had seen us try again and again each month with no success. I tracked my body temperature and ovulation cycle each and every day before even leaving bed. I’d completely removed alcohol and caffeine from my diet and monitored everything I put into my body, controlling every single factor I could possibly control.

And yet, on the thirteenth day — the unluckiest of days for multiple reasons — of each month, like clockwork, my period arrived. If Tyler was at home when it happened, I simply left the bathroom with a sorrowful shake of my head, curling into his waiting arms as he comforted me silently, holding me close, disappointment weighing heavily on us both. If he was on the road, I texted him only a “🔴” symbol, indicating that my monthly visitor had shown up unwelcome yet again. He replied each time with an, ”I’m sorry, sweetheart,” though he had nothing at all to apologize for.

My patience and determination, along with Tyler’s, were wearing thin. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep the faith — more and more unlikely that this would happen on its own.

I had all but given up hope.

But then...

The eleventh month arrived, and the thirteenth day of it came and went with no sign of my cycle. And then the fourteenth day. And then the fifteenth.

And with that, the smallest sliver of hope glimmered from out of the darkness in the depths of my heart.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. With Tyler on a road trip to the East Coast, I barely slept those three nights, tossing and turning and wondering if I should take one of the numerous tests stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

On the sixteenth, after Tyler had already left for morning skate, I decided it was time. Though I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I also couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting for Ty to return — let alone the thought of seeing his disappointment in the event of yet another negative test.

Thankfully, though, the sixteenth was a Friday — the day that Fanny, Klinger’s fiancée, and I had long ago set aside for morning yoga in my home gym. Fanny, now six months pregnant herself with her and John’s first baby, would arrive at 10 a.m., and I decided that that was as good a time as any to find out what was next for Ty and me — we would either finally start the family we’d always wanted, or it would be time for a different approach.

After greeting one another and stretching over small talk, Fanny carefully broached the topic that I had brought to her, heartbroken, so many times in the past year.

“So how have you been feeling?” she inquired gently from the mat next to mine, bending to the side for a new pose. “Are you on your cycle?”

From where I stood with my arms extended straight out, my face turned away from hers, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and pondered what to say next.

“Well,” I began before clearing my throat, “That’s, um... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

You pivoted to face Fanny, her pretty eyes now wide as saucers. Slowly, she stood up straight.

“Stop it,” Fanny whispered incredulously, joy etched in her expression.

I shrugged a bit. “I’m late,” I admitted softly. “But only by three days. And I haven’t taken a test-“

“Peyton!” Fanny warned through her giggles, hands finding her hips. “You have to!”

I smiled, appreciating my dear friend’s excitement for me while still feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety in my gut.

“I will,” I promised. “I seriously told myself I was gonna wait to do it while you were here. I couldn’t do it alone and I... if I’m not... well, I just can’t bear to see Ty’s reaction again…”

Fanny nodded solemnly. “Oh, sweetie. I understand,” she assured. “Maybe after we finish up? Or not. I mean, we can do it whenever you feel ready.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and attributing it to my frayed nerves.

“God, is it hot in here?” I asked, unzipping my lightweight jacket and throwing it aside, still fanning myself though I now wore only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

Fanny frowned, looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us. “No, I feel fine,” she said.

I tied my ponytail into a high bun to get the hair off my neck, noting a faint ringing in my ears as I placed my feet in position on the mat once more.

As I reached down for my toes, the ringing grew louder, and I suddenly saw stars in my vision.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my now-dripping brow and stood straight up, but apparently too quickly, as the room around me quickly fell from focus, darkness taking its place.

“Fan... I-I don’t feel good...”

Alarmed at the weakness of my voice, Fanny turned to face me and gasped.

“Babe, oh my god!” she exclaimed — the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

_____

The next thing I heard as I came to was my husband’s voice, which sounded distant and faint. I moaned, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights above me as I realized that I was lying on my back on the floor, with Tyler’s face inches above mine. I opened my eyes slowly and heard him draw a deep breath, announcing, “She’s awake.”

I felt him cup my cheek tenderly as I offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” he breathed, relief heavy in his tone. “Hi, sweet girl. You scared us pretty good.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused by the hoarseness of my own voice. I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but Tyler gently pushed my shoulders flat once more.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t get up,” he instructed. “You passed out while you and Fanny were working out. Do you remember that?”

With a furrowed brow, I nodded. I saw Fanny standing behind Tyler, covering her lips with her fingers as she stared at me nervously.

“Oh god, Fan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, still feeling weak and shaky.

Fanny shook her head and took a couple of steps forward, standing over Tyler’s shoulder. “Babe, no, don’t apologize,” she insisted. “I was just worried about you. Tyler came in the door just a minute after it happened but I had already called 911. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, my eyes fluttering closed once more. “That’s okay,” I said softly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door upstairs, and Fanny hurried up the steps to answer it. I rolled my head to look at Tyler, who stared down at me with deep concern.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promised, pushing some hair from my still-damp forehead. “We’re gonna get you checked out and see what’s going on, okay?”

I nodded as I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, and two paramedics followed Fanny to where I lay, still on my yoga mat.

“Hey there,” one of them smiled. “I’m Maria, and this is my partner, Chris. You’re Peyton?”

I nodded as Maria knelt beside me, opposite Tyler, with Chris placing a medic kit on the floor next to him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peyton,” Maria said kindly. “How are you feeling right now?”

I cleared my throat, attempting to blink the fog away.

“Not as bad as I did a few minutes ago,” I half-joked. “But I still feel shaky, and hot.”

Maria nodded, pressing the stethoscope to my chest.

“Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat and drink today?” she asked.

“Um... I had two cups of coffee, a yogurt... and some water during yoga,” I replied.

“Okay,” Maria said as Chris took my pulse, with Tyler holding tight to my other hand and watching their every move. “Any history of fainting before this?”

I shook my head. “No, never,” I said.

“Any blood sugar issues? Diabetes, hypoglycemia?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you currently on your period?”

My cheeks warmed. This certainly wasn’t the way I had planned to tell Tyler of our latest development.

“Um, n-no,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him. I could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind even as he watched the paramedics instead of me.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maria asked gently as she folded her stethoscope into her bag and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

Shit.

“Uh… actually, yeah.”

Immediately, Tyler’s head snapped toward me.

“Wait, what? Really?” he inquired, joy exuding from his whole being.

I simply shrugged, beaming. “I’m late.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Maria’s face. She wrapped the cuff around my arm and began to squeeze the pump.

“Okay, well, that could be the reason,” Maria noted. “Sometimes when you’re early in a pregnancy, your body might not be getting all the extra rest and nutrients and hydration it needs. It happens sometimes, and often, it’s no big deal.”

I nodded, reaching for Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said with a scrunched nose. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, let alone yours.”

Tyler brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he told me with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

I smiled gratefully, and Maria removed the cuff from my arm.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, which doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Again, this can happen. Just to be safe, I wanna take you to the hospital for an EKG and monitor you for a bit, and we’ll do a pregnancy test there too, okay?”

I nodded, looking to Tyler for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he said, knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “I’ll be right there with you.”

_____

One ambulance ride later, with Tyler beside me and Fanny following behind in my car, I had arrived at the emergency department and was being poked and prodded and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. A cardiologist soon confirmed that everything was fine with my heart, and my pregnancy test was then the only result that hung in the balance.

I sat propped up on pillows in the hospital bed, Tyler standing at my side as we waited in silence.

Out of nowhere, tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to swipe at them without Tyler noticing — a futile attempt. When he heard my faint whimper, he stepped closer and gathered me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly. “What is it, baby?”

“I’m scared, Ty,” I whispered, head buried in his chest. “Whether it’s positive or negative. I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, slowly caressing my back. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We’ve been through hell,” I corrected, sniffling as I looked up at him. Tyler nodded and smoothed his thumb along my jaw.

“We just have to believe that everything is gonna work out this time,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “Good things are coming, Peyt. I can feel it.”

After several more minutes, my nurse, a sweet woman named Beth who spoke with a thick Texas accent, entered the room holding my chart. I could actually hear my own heartbeat in my ears, this time not because I felt faint, but because I was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“Well, Miss Peyton…” Beth began with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re gonna be a mama.”

I let out a sob and covered my mouth with my hand immediately, and Tyler choked out a breathless laugh. His hands grasped my face as he kissed me firmly.

“You hear that? We’re having a baby,” he whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “God, I love you so much.”

I giggled excitedly. “I love you, too, baby daddy,” I replied, causing Tyler to chuckle, too.

As Beth looked on with a grin, she wrote a few things down on my chart, then said, “Congratulations, you two. I’ll give you some privacy. Peyton, honey, we’ll be back around to check on you in about half an hour, okay?”

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I spoke. “Thank you so much.”

With a kind nod, she left the room, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.

Before the door was even shut, Tyler’s lips found mine once more, his fingers holding my cheeks reverently. Eventually, I pulled away for a breath.

“You were right,” I told him, nudging his nose with mine.

Still completely giddy, he asked with a smile, “What was I right about?”

I reached a hand up to work my fingers through his curls. “You told me good things are coming,” I reminded, voice quivering. “You were right.”

Tyler was overcome with emotion once again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For the longest time, we stayed that way, embracing with only the sounds of soft, happy cries filling the room.

_____

eight months later...

“Are you the most handsome little man in the whole wide world? Hmm? I think so,” Tyler spoke to the tiny baby he held in his arms. “I think you’re just the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled from my hospital bed, feeling more exhausted and more in love than I ever knew I was capable of.

“And it’s a good thing you look like your mommy,” Tyler added, smirking at me before kissing the baby’s forehead — our baby’s forehead. “Uncle Jamie is gonna say that too. Yes, he is. I might as well beat him to it, huh?”

I chuckled, patting the mattress beneath me and gesturing for Tyler to join me.

“Bring him back over here,” I pleaded. “I miss him already.”

Tyler hummed knowingly and rose from his chair, carefully cradling the baby in his arms.

“I know,” he said. “I miss him, too, and I’m literally holding him. How is that possible?”

I smiled. “Because having kids means your heart walks around outside of your body,” I spoke, kissing our boy’s chubby cheek as Tyler took his place on my bed. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

He nodded. “You’re damn right,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it already. I never knew it was possible to feel this way, Peyt. As bad as we wanted a baby, as much as it hurt when we lost the first one...” Tyler choked up as he spoke of the loss we’d experienced now almost two years ago. After a pause, he continued. “I still just never thought it would feel this incredible.”

I curled my hands around his arm and kissed his bicep. “Me either,” I admitted airily. “I’ll never forget the pain we felt then. And that baby will always be our first. But this... this is the best day of my life.”

Tyler beamed, wrapping one arm around my waist while cradling the baby to his chest with his other.

“So, are we decided on this little man’s name?” Tyler asked as I touched the baby’s pouted lips, making us both giggled at his expression.

“I think so,” I confirmed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Are you still thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tyler looked down at me with hooded eyes, full of adoration, and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he spoke.

I’d been sure for a few months now, since the first day that I allowed myself to browse a baby name book, still riddled with fear of the unknown, while also waiting expectantly and with hope for our new journey ahead. I didn’t get far, only to the B’s, when I found the perfect name... one that meant blessed. 

As I peered down at the boy in my arms, no name seemed more fitting than that one I’d whispered into being long ago. 

“I’m sure,” I replied confidently. I cradled the baby’s head in my hand and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Welcome to our world, Bennett Tyler Seguin,” I whispered, overjoyed and humbled to finally have the privilege of having a son to name not only for his daddy, but also for the precious, long-awaited gift he was to us.

“Our boy,” Tyler whispered reverently.

[crystalsmentalhealth]

Talking about the Brattleboro Retreat in Brattleboro, Vermont

I recently spent two weeks at the Retreat and wanted to share my experiences both good and bad about it. 

I arrived at the Retreat in mid-June of 2021 after a four day stay at the Emergency Department of my local hospital. Originally I had not wanted to go to the Brattleboro Retreat because it was such a big campus and I equated that with busy and loud and impersonal. The Retreat would challenge my assumptions.

Getting There

I didn’t drive myself. As I said I spent four days in the ED of my local hospital and so I arrived via ambulance. The ride was stressful and nauseating. I was already stressed and nervous and the mountainous winding roads did absolutely nothing to help. I didn’t lay in the stretcher, but sat in a back-facing seat with no arm rests and with a blood pressure cuff around my left arm. 

The trip took about an hour and except for a few questions from the person riding in the back with me, it was spent in nearly complete silence, which again, did nothing to help my nerves. There was no reassurance or even light conversation.

My Arrival

When we got there, they grabbed my bags for me, probably because I wasn’t allowed to have them yet, and with one person before me and one person behind me, lead me up the stairs to the admissions office. We were met at the door by an admissions person and I was dropped off like an Amazon package. The ambulance personnel left and I was officially at the Retreat.

I was first led to Security. They dropped off my bags with Security, and asked me to empty my pockets. I had none and told them such. Then I was led to an exam room where the woman who was with me found a gown that would fit me and held it up in front of her. I was then told to strip completely. I balked, but obeyed. First went my shirt, then my bra, then I stepped into the gown. Then with that covering me, I wiggled out of my pants and underwear. She gave me a pair of hospital pants to put on so I wasn’t completely bare. Then I was shown a chair and given a pair of huge grippy socks to wear. One size fits all, I guess.

After that the lady took my blood pressure, my pulse, and checked my oxygen levels. Then she took my temperature.  My clothes and shoes were sent to Security with the rest of my things. I had off-brand crocs as shoes so I had no idea what they needed to check for, but off they went.

After the clothing change I was led to an office. I felt so awkward standing in a grey hospital gown, blue hospital pants, no panties, and those huge grippy socks, in front of two nicely dressed office personnel. They let me have a seat and the questions and paperwork began.

What was my insurance? Did I know about the extra inpatient days allowed? Who was my primary care physician? My therapist? My psychiatrist? My case worker? Did I have an Advanced Directive? What are the addresses? Did I want a male or female provider? There were so many questions! 

Then it was sign here, and here, and here, and here, and here.

After that I was given a green folder that said Welcome to Tyler 2 which contained various information that I would need during my time there. My patient Bill of Rights, how to file a complaint or grievance. That sort of stuff. 

Then it was off to another area and now they wanted a urine sample. I had already done two at the hospital and really didn’t need to pee, but I tried. I assume it was for a drug test, but I have no real clue.

Then I was sent off to another exam room, this time for a full physical. She asked me all about my medical history, whether I was having normal bowel movements or not, all about my diabetes, my family history (cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer, heart disease, cancer, kidney failure, cancer), she even checked my reflexes. The ARNP that examined me had the neatest notebook. It was electronic and I was fascinated by it. 

(At the time of writing this I’ve only been home for two full days and I still have a very clingy cat who is currently laying on my left hand so if you catch a typo that kitty has caused me, please let me know.)

After the physical I was given one outfit to wear back, sans bra because my bra was underwire, and I was sent to a seat to wait to be sent to the unit.

The lady who watched over me offered me something to drink while I waited and when she offered milk I took her up on it. Unfortunately it was 1% milk, which I really hate, but hey, milk, so I drank it while I waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. Before long a Security guard and a nurse from the unit I would go to came down and led me down one corridor, in one elevator, through a cafeteria, up another elevator, and finally I was on the unit.

Tyler 2 

The first thing I noticed when I got on the unit was that the bedrooms were singles. Yes! I hate sharing my bedroom in hospitals. At the worst, I’d once had to share with three other people stuffed into a two person bedroom. Two poor souls had had to sleep on cots. So I was very happy to see that I would have my own room.

I was shown into an interview room for yet even more paperwork and questions. All this is the business of the psychiatric hospital and it comes at the literal worst time of your stay, the beginning. When you’re scared and your nerves are raw, and your mental health is at it’s worst.

A three question questionnaire was first. Why are you here? How can we help? What are your coping skills? Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation. I don’t know. Reading and journaling.

Then there was a check list of things that helped when I was feeling bad. I was fascinated to see that laying down in my room was one of the options. Most hospitals I had been in forbade that, with some going so far as to lock the doors to the bedrooms during the day so people didn’t sleep the day away. It was a pleasant surprise, and I checked that off along with a few others that I felt applied. 

Then, the nurse, and we’ll just call her Rose, asked me if I was hungry and told me that they always had sandwiches on the unit and that the kitchen which held milk, orange juice, flavored water, cold water, hot water, coffee, teas, and various snacks was open 24/7. I declined both sandwich and snack.

Finally, I was left alone for a couple of minutes and I had a moment to just breathe. It was a Thursday according to the giant whiteboard that had the day’s schedule on it. Most of the groups were over with.

A little bit later a bag was brought up with my clothes and another with the few things I was allowed to have: my Bible; two coloring books; two books (A Street Cat Named Bob and A Wrinkle in Time); my toothbrush, my hair brush, and my composition notebook; were given to me. The clothes I wasn’t given yet. I was told by a nurse that because of COVID they washed everything that came on the unit whether it was clean or not and I would get my clothes once they were dry.

I was then shown my room. Number 219 was to be my home for the foreseeable future. It was a fair sized room, the walls painted hospital blue, the floor had boring brown patterned tiles, There was a plastic chair, a twin size bed with a single pillow, and brown blanket, and bottom sheet. There was no flat sheet. 

There was a set of built in shelves and a small alcove with an unbreakable mirror and large shelf where I put my green folder as well as my other personal belongings that I was permitted to have. I hung around in there for a few minutes before wandering back out and awkwardly looked around.

It was soon 8:30pm and Rose, who was my nurse that night, offered me my bedtime medications. I accepted and went to bed. 

The Schedule

I slept fitfully that night. I was scared, they checked on me every 15 minutes, and it wasn’t quite dark when I went to bed. I woke up obscenely early the next morning, which is very unusual for me, but I attribute it to the uncomfortable mattress, the lack of my comfort item; a stuffed cat named Fat Cat that I sleep with, and the fact that my room had a double window that faced directly East. The sun rises at about 4:45am right now, so it woke me up at around 5:30am that morning.

I wandered out, thinking it was much later than it actually was, since it was fully light out. I sleepily blinked at the analog clock and tried to decipher it. Inwardly I groaned at the time. To kill time, I awkwardly wandered around the unit again, and I think I laid back down for a little while. 

Eventually I left my room again and it was 7:30am. Shift change. I can’t remember who my nurse was that morning, but by 8am it had become quite the busy place with the morning nurses, the mental health workers, the social workers, and the group leaders milling about the nurses station. 

I noticed that the whiteboard had changed with the day, and so I glanced at the Friday schedule.

8am - Breakfast 9am - Community Meeting 10am - OT Movement 11am - Psychotherapy 12pm - Lunch 1pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 2pm - OT Activities 3:30pm Shift Change 4pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 5pm - Supper 6:15pm - Game room/small courtyard (yellow level) 7pm - Wrap Up 8pm - Free Time 9pm - Relaxation 10pm - Phones/computer/TV off

Yes, we had a computer. Some guy we’ll just call J tended to hog it, but so long as it wasn’t group, before morning shift change or after 10pm or 11pm on Friday night and Saturday night, anybody could use it. Of course Facebook and YouTube were blocked, but Vimeo wasn’t. Can somebody please tell me the difference between YouTube and Vimeo? 

I didn’t really go to groups that first day, and I was on Red level, so I wasn’t allowed outside even if I had wanted to. I did however see the Social Worker, a very nice woman we’ll just call M. and my doctor via ZOOM, Dr. L. 

All of the staff was really nice to me, and the unit, which at that point had a census of 19, was actually fairly quiet for the most part.

When 8am hit, and the breakfast trays arrived, I asked where I should go to eat. I was told I could eat on the porch, the day room, or in my room. Eating in peace alone in my room. Yes, please. I took my tray, got a carton of milk, and walked down the hall to my room. 

When I pulled the lid off my plate, I discovered eggs, home fries, and a corn muffin. I also had some fruit. I cautiously tried the potatoes and found them to be quite good, but couldn’t eat anything else so I took my tray back.

I hovered awkwardly around the schedule board until somebody brought me a chair.

Then it happened. My stomach began churning. I went to the nurses station and told one of the three nurses that I had a bit of an upset stomach and could I have something for it? She looked up something and told me I could have some Tums. She sent me to the med window and used some fancy machine to dispense the Tums. I stuck them in my mouth and chewed. I swallowed. It was then that I knew I had made a mistake. I literally felt the Tums hit my stomach, felt my stomach cramp, and then I was vomiting. 

After that experience and the cleaning up thereof, I got my morning meds at around 9am, and soon found myself back in the interview room, this time with a nutritionist. At least I think that was Friday. It could have been Monday. Regardless, I talked to her about being sick (it wasn’t the first time, I had gotten sick back in the ED as well), my lack of appetite, my diabetes, the medication for diabetes I was on (2000mg of Metformin and .5mg of Ozempic). She gave me some information the nutritionist I had talked to from my doctor’s office had already given me, then ordered Glucerna for me three times per day.

Glucerna is the diabetics version of Ensure for those of you who don’t know.

I slept a lot that day, and I’m pretty sure I refused lunch and maybe supper. They checked on me - and everybody else - every 15 minutes, but otherwise didn’t pester me.

The next day, of course, started the weekend. I can’t remember the exact schedule for the weekend, but it was far, far more boring than then weekday. There was just Community Meeting which I wandered into but didn’t participate in, a couple more courtyard opportunities than on the weekdays, more free time, Wrap Up and Relaxation. Relaxation happened at 9pm, but I already considered that bedtime as that was when I got my bedtime medication.

Sunday was just a repeat of Saturday with one bright exception. Sunday Sundaes. At around 2pm we got ice cream with sundae toppings that we could have on it. I don’t think I got it that first Sunday, but I can’t quite remember.

Monday doesn’t bring any particular memories except that that’s when I started attending a group here and there.

Meeting Nathan

Then Tuesday came, and I met Nathan. Nathan was a Psych intern who is now no longer there, so I’m not afraid of using his name. Nathan did 11am Psychotherapy, but had been on vacation the week before as well as Monday. I liked him instantly. He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, gently, and never pressed for answers if the person didn’t want to or couldn’t.

At first, we only spoke in group, but after one group disintegrated into chaos he ended it early and offered to speak to me one-on-one. The one-on-one time I got with Nathan, which eventually became every weekday, became the best, most helpful part of my stay at the Retreat. Some of his questions were hard. They were either highly thought provoking or brought on strong emotions, but he was very skilled in not pushing too hard and always bringing me back to the present if I got too lost in the past. 

I think I opened up more to Nathan in the week and a half that we spoke than I ever did in the two years I’ve seen my normal therapist. 

The Nightmares

I’ve suffered from nightmares for a very long time. In my nightmares I’ve been raped, had my home invaded, seen demons, had my parents stolen away by a dragon (that one happened twice. Same stupid dragon too.), been kidnapped, been chased around Wal-Mart by paramedics with a stretcher, and so on and so forth. The nightmares I suffered at the Retreat were something else entirely.

The dream I remember most, and let me list off some trigger warnings real quick: blood; abortion; abuse; infant death; decomposition; bad parenting; bad medical professionals, was about this young woman who tried to do some sort of home abortion that got botched. She went to the hospital and they sent her strait to surgery where they cut her open with no painkillers or anesthesia. The baby was tiny, but healthy and viable, so they took her out of the young woman’s womb, and haphazardly stapled the woman’s abdomen back together. 

Then the dream began to focus on the baby, but not in linear time, but rather in snapshots. In the first snapshots the baby was fine. Pink, perfect, beautiful little girl dressed in frills. Then the next day’s photographs and the baby’s face was turning black in places. The next; her eyes turned murky and there was more decomposition. Mind you, while she’s decomposing, she’s still alive. Then her little fingers turn black and fall off, and it continues like this until the fifth day when the baby finally dies.

The mother, who was recovering from her own trauma, couldn’t have cared less about her baby.

The nightmare turned weird after that and I don’t remember what happened next, but I continued to have vicious nightmares during my stay there.

Dr. L tried to treat them with Prazosin. but I found that it made my nightmares more vivid. Then she tried to get me in a deeper sleep so the dreams wouldn’t wake me up, but that only got me caught in the nightmares and unable to wake up. 

We never did figure out how to ease the nightmares and keep me asleep at the same time. Right now we’re trying a higher dose of Gabapentin, also known as Neurontin. I guess we’ll see how it works out.

Strange Characters 

There were some...interesting characters at the Retreat. There was one guy who we’ll call J. You may recall him from my complaints about him being a computer hog. He suffered from delusions of grandeur and I believe psychosis. One time I was in the open area near the nurses station he began staring at me suspiciously. Then, after a couple of very awkward moments he asks me, “are you an Imperial or a Rebel?” I told him I had no idea what he was referring to. Miss J who was sitting near by goes, “she’s an imperial, she’s a good girl.” Then J nods and says  “I know she’s my sister in Christ, so she must be good.”

I still have no idea what he meant by Imperial or Rebel. Is it a Star Wars thing? If so I thought the Rebels were the good guys. I’m so confused. 

Miss J was a homeless woman who had been there for nearly nine weeks. She was very nice to me, but she mumbled a lot and I had to keep asking her to repeat herself. 

M was a strange old lady. She would sit at the nurses station and laugh and laugh and laugh as loudly as she could, then all of the sudden she’d be declaring one of the housekeepers an angel on earth and how he should be protected and how everybody else was basically garbage. She eventually got taken out via ambulance.

A was another strange woman. Having been there since May 27th, 2021, she was there involuntary, She talked to herself a lot, drank loads of coffee, walked in and out of groups, and was best buddies with a woman who liked to be called Rabbit, as her real name, the same name as A, triggered her. A and Rabbit were thick as thieves and fed off of each other’s chaos.

Rabbit liked to sing at the top of her lungs when she was happy and when she was angry she would file a grievance, announce loudly that Obama was her father and that you (the nurse she was screaming at) aren’t her boss. She was nice enough to me, but I went out of my way to be as non-intrusive as possible.

Then there was D. D was 30-years-old, claimed to have 12 children. D was volatile, a substance abuser who enjoyed “a drink, some weed, and some coke”. Pretty sure she didn’t mean the soda. D had a shadow who had to write down what she was doing every five minutes. I don’t know exactly why, for the most part, volatile or not, she was pretty chill. She dressed provocatively and the first time she spoke to me it was early morning and we were on the porch.

She asked me why I was there. I told her depression. She asks my why I was depressed. I admitted that there was a lot of trauma in my past. She tells me she’s been (tw:rape) raped all her life, and then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t be depressed because I was pretty and thin. Now. I’m smaller than D was, because I’ve never had children, let alone 12 of them, but I’m 5′3″ and 210 pounds; thin is not an adjective I would use to describe me. 

She then proceeds to tell me that I needed a better bra. I was wearing a soft low support sports bra, so yeah, my chest area was very un interesting. I told her I was just wearing something I could sleep comfortably in. She told me to shop at Victoria’s Secret for some better bras and I’d feel great. 

After that, D decides to mention the gray in my hair. She says “you should get extensions to make your hair long and pretty, or better yet, shave your head and wear wigs. It’s what the black girls do.” She then went on about how wigs could really look good and how I’d have so much fun with it that I’d forget all about being depressed and how there were some sites where you could buy some good wigs for really cheap.

As I recall, I was fairly unresponsive during her spiel and walked away as soon as it wasn’t rude to. 

The Really Bad Day

I don’t recall exactly what day it was, time blurs for me on a good day, and I wasn’t having any good days while I was at the Retreat, but one day was really bad.

TW: Suicide TW: Self-Harm

I was really, really suicidal, and I told the nurse I was talking to that. She asked if I had a plan, and for the first time I really did. I told her I would wait until right after a check - remember we got checked on every 15 minutes - then I would take a pair of my pants and wrap them around my neck and strangle myself. 

Then she asked if I intended to follow through with the plan. I wanted to, I really did, but I also didn’t want to cause trouble, and that’s a huge issue with me, so I told her no. And that was the truth. I was suicidal, I did have a plan. I had a detailed plan actually. But I didn’t really intend of following through.

As you might expect, she had to report that to my doctor. Dr. L. spoke to me about how I was feeling and later, about five minutes after I had gotten on the computer to use Duolingo to distract myself, (See, I was using coping skills.), the nurse I had spoken to, and who I liked quite a lot, came to me and said that Dr. L wanted them to temporarily confiscate my clothes and take the sheet and blanket off my bed. It was to be replaced by blankets that couldn’t be ripped. Nurse E told me it wasn’t a punishment, it was a safety precaution, but I was so embarrassed and felt punished. I was allowed to keep the weighted blanket they had let me borrow, and my pillow, but other than that they took every bit of fabric in the room.

I don’t know if it was a good move or not. I just know that I wanted things back to ‘normal’, as though anything in a psych hospital could be normal, but the next day I lied to Dr. Lambert and told her I was feeling better. She said I could have my stuff back, but for some reason when I asked a nurse later on, she told me that there were no orders about it from Dr. L. 

I asked again the next day and was finally able to get my linens and clothes back. I even got an extra pillow, for which I was very grateful for as my original pillow had been quite flat and hard.

The Road to Discharge

I was originally supposed to have been released on June 29th, a Tuesday, but I had to admit to Dr. L that I just didn’t feel like I could be safe at home yet. Not to mention that we were still trying to deal with my nightmares and sleep issues.

Dr. L and M, my social worker began giving me assignments to do. I was to fill out a safety plan, which I did. M had me write a letter to my regular therapist about the changes I needed her to make to improve our sessions. I am terrified to read it to her, but I really need to. I was given a huge stack of DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) information and worksheets to fill out, Nathan had me write something about a cousin of mine who had passed away due to an overdose of Fentanyl, and so I wrote her a letter telling her how much I missed her, how I was angry she was gone, disappointed that she couldn’t tell me she was back on drugs, how I was angry at her mom for getting her hooked on drugs in the first place, and ways I could have helped if she had just let me.

Meanwhile, people found out that I could make things out of the Model Magic that they had in the Contraband/Sensory room. I made I can’t even remember how many cats for people. I also made roses, and one dragon. 

I was also writing dark poetry, just trying to purge my dark thoughts and get them out on paper.

Nathan continued to have one-on-one therapy with me each weekday, even if he only had half an hour.

I was meeting with my social worker daily, which they normally didn’t do, but when she realized that I wouldn’t go to them if I needed something, she decided to head it off, and meet with me, even if it were only a couple of minutes, each week day.

Finally, we decided on a day. Friday, July 2, 2021. I was so nervous, but so excited to come home and see my furbaby, Loki. 

When the day came, I dressed in the nicest clothes that I had brought, which was a pair of elastic waist jeggings and my pink Cat Mom t-shirt which everybody loved. I only went to one group that day, and that was Psychotherapy, and I had my meeting with Nathan. I had one last meeting with Dr. L. and my social worker. My nurse that evening gave me my treatment plan which had my diagnoses. (Major depressive disorder, severe; Borderline Personality Disorder; and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Just as supper arrived I got the word that my ride was there. 

Final Thoughts

Being at the Brattleboro Retreat was a difficult experience, but it was also a positive experience. In the beginning I was mad I wasn’t at the place where I had wanted to go, which was the Windham Center, but by the end of my first week there, I had decided to make the best of where I was. I didn’t like all the nurses, I definitely had my favorites and those I dreaded, not that they were ever mean to me, but I’m not sure, there’s just people you don’t like, you know? 

I was on a great schedule while I was there. I was up no later than 8am and went to bed around 9pm, I ate at specific times. I got my medicine at specific times, and that routine was very comforting. Did I keep to it when I got home? 

No. It’s currently 12:26 in the morning and I’m working on this still. 

I’m still drinking my Glucerna, no matter that it costs me $40 a week for three a day, but I just don’t want to eat. Oh, I nibble. I’ve eaten some chocolate graham crackers and sipped on a 20oz Vanilla Coca Cola over the last four days. I just don’t eat. 

I learned, while I was there, that it’s okay to speak up, to take up space, to have a voice, even if it’s quiet, I learned that it’s okay to get angry or ask for help. I can ask people for what I need. I don’t know how well I’ll be able to apply what I learned, but that’s always the hardest part of learning any new skill. 

I know that this has been a huge amount of reading, but I wanted to give you a detailed example of what a psychiatric hospital is like. I hope that it informs you and I hope that if you’re heading to a psychiatric hospital or treatment center that maybe after reading this you’ll have less fear and anxiety because you have some clue as to what to expect.

I would also like to let my readers know that these are just my personal experiences in an American psychiatric hospital. I have no idea about British hospitals or European hospitals or even hospitals in other parts of the United States. My experiences in hospitals in Florida is a stark contrast to my experience in Vermont hospitals. I find Vermont’s response to medical care and psychiatric care in general is substantially better than Florida’s. I’ll do a post on that later.

Ask for help. Take up space. Use your voice.

National Suicide Hotline: 800 273-8255 Crisis Text Line: Text START to 741741

By the way, if you need me to tag another trigger word, please just send me a message and I’ll edit the tags to take your trigger word in consideration.

[the12thnightproject]

Twelve Lies I Told Shingen Takeda, Chapter Four: Occupational Hazards

Katsuko delivers dessert to Shingen, she receives bad news in return. Also, archery, and a blindfold. TW: Offscreen death

“Halt!”

With his mouth set in a determined line, Yuki barred my progress toward Shingen’s room. Every time I tried to go around him, he leaped to block me like a goalie defending a football net. “Where are you going with that?”

Since I was carrying a handful of messages and a basket of pastry, I thought it should be obvious. “Don’t ask a question you already know the answer to.”

Yuki looked over his shoulder and scowled in the direction of Shingen’s room. “I see he’s already trying to bypass my orders by sending you out for dessert.”

“Your orders?” When did he join the calorie cops? “Why? Is there something wrong with these?” No one in the shop had seemed to have any issue with them.

“It’s not good for him to eat that many sweets, that’s all.” Yuki reached for the basket, presumably to confiscate the contraband, but I scooted out of the way.

“Really? He looks like he’s in good shape.” Really, really good shape. My job is to stay observant, so observing that Shingen is a decent specimen is an occupational hazard – especially given all of the pec airing that he does.

At that exact moment, the Occupational Hazard stepped out of his room, and there’s no way that he could have avoided hearing my comment, so I looked him right in the eyes, and tacked on, “for his age.”

I know. That was petty of me. But I was still angry at that setting me up to be killed thing. On an intellectual level I knew his “black powder test” had been a perfectly logical strategy, but what if I had gotten that powder on my hands by accident? Would he or Chiyome have killed me anyway?

With his back to Shingen, Yuki considered blithely on. “That’s not the point. He refuses to watch-.” Yuki got a look at my face, then sighed. “He’s behind me again, isn’t he?”

I nodded, as for the second time that day, Shingen thwacked Yuki on the back of his head. He eyed the confections. “Thank you, Katsu. I think I look like I’m in good shape too. For any age. Also, your former master was correct in his assessment that you’re insubordinate.”

That could simply be the adrenaline rush of being not-dead.

On my way back to the castle I had considered his distrust of me. If I acted overly deferential, slinking around with my voice quiet and my eyes downcast, that would be more suspicious than if I were just my own, unfiltered, slightly insubordinate self. Maybe it’s a cliché, but in this case, the best defense would be a solid offense.

“Bring that inside,” Shingen motioned to the basket. “I’m dying for dessert.” At Shingen’s beckon, Yuki and I followed him back to his room, where I deposited my prize onto his writing desk (GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLL!). Shingen immediately dug in with the attitude of a man starving in the desert. Then, he tipped the basket towards us. “Help yourselves.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Yuki said. He continued to glare at the confections as if they had caused him a great insult.

The smell of the pastry had been torturing me all the way back from the shop – I honestly can’t remember the last time I had dessert… four years ago… maybe? I gratefully took him up on the offer, picked up the closest dumpling, and took a decent bite. My blood sugar level instantly tripled. Apparently Shingen has the palate of a nine year old boy. “Oh my God,” I managed to say.

Help!

“I know, right? Yuki doesn’t know what he is missing.” He fished around the basket for another sweet bun.

Tooth decay and a diabetic coma – that’s what he’s missing.

“Yuki can live with the deprivation,” said the man in question, who was clanking around in the fire pit.

Shingen pointed out the various treats. “If you like that one, then you have to taste this – they make it with red bean paste.”

“I’m still savoring the one I have.” I took as small a bite as I could get away with. I doubted I could realistically fake an mmmm noise. I’m a great liar – but there are limits to my talent.

Yuki discreetly passed me a cup of tea. Bless you, Yuki. Eager to change the subject before Shingen could ask me for a more detailed opinion on his beloved sugar grenades, I handed over his messages and reports.

I still hadn’t worked out how I was going to manage to secretly pass along the new information from Aki. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary? Shingen had taken the sniper prisoner, so presumably the man was in the castle dungeon. Maybe he had already confessed to the assassination plot. “Have you questioned the man who tried to rob you last night?”

Shingen glanced up from a report he was scanning. “Unfortunately not. His wound turned septic and he hasn’t regained his senses.”

“Oh.” It was a good thing that I was already sitting down – otherwise I might have collapsed. I pictured the sniper as I had last seen him, moaning because an arrow - my arrow – had impaled his hand. I looked down at my own hand, a hand that not too long ago had born the imprint of a tokin. Tentatively I wiggled my fingers, imagining how it must have felt to feel the bite of metal tearing into it. If the sniper’s wound was gangrenous, then he’d probably lose his hand, maybe even-- “Is he likely to survive?”

Shingen looked at me like he was weighing several responses, before saying, “No. I doubt he will.”

So now, in addition to being a liar, I was also a killer.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. I hadn’t meant to kill anyone, but that didn’t change the outcome. It suddenly felt like there were no nerves in my fingertips, but at the same time, internally I was feeling everything – shock, regret, guilt – in a swirl of emotion that roared in my ears. The sweet pastry that had fallen like a rock into my stomach threatened to reverse course.

I killed someone. Someone who was alive two days ago will not be alive tomorrow because of me.

When I re-opened my eyes, Shingen was still silently regarding me. I wondered if he had ever – well, that was a ridiculous thought. He was the leader of the Takeda clan – he had to have killed many in battle. “Does it get easier?”

Yukimura shook his head and responded first. “No. Never has.” He cleared his throat a couple of times, and gulped down his tea.

But Shingen had a different answer. “Killing? Yes. You learn to put what must done in one part of your mind, separate from the you that lives through every day, walled away from your heart. You have to, or one day you’ll no longer be able to function. But it’s still within you.” He tapped his chest. “It’s still within you.”

I understood. I was going to have to live with this. I was going to have to learn how to live with it.

Shingen sighed, and raked his hair out of his eyes. “I won’t insult you by telling you this man was a criminal and probably has harmed or killed many others. You know that. You also now know what it’s like to kill and that will weigh upon you.”

It did. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t tell me to get over it, or offer a cliched platitude like, ‘war is hell, kid.’ He was treating me like the young man he thought me to be – and I needed to respond accordingly. “Yes, sir, it does.”

His eyebrows lifted at my return to formality. “I would have respected you less if it didn’t bother you.”

“I didn’t shoot to kill him, but I knew that every time I picked up a weapon, I faced that possibility. But – I never understood what that knowledge meant. I hadn’t expected the possible to ever become a reality.” I wondered if I could have avoided this outcome. “Maybe if I had aimed at the musket and not his hand,” I said, mostly to myself. I mentally placed myself back in that tree, remembered how excited I had felt at being part of something. I’d even somewhat joked with myself about adding ghostly noises. It had almost felt like a game. Target shooting… except the targets breathed and bled.

Again that tingling in the ends of my fingertips. I scraped my hands across the tatami mat, hoping that feel of the straw would ground me. Something nudged my arm: Yuki, offering me more tea. I shook my head.

Shingen allowed me another moment to wallow, then seemed to come to a decision. He tapped his hand on his desk to get my attention. “If that was anything more than a lucky – or unlucky, depending how you look at it – shot,” Shingen said, his words challenging my dark mood, “I will swear off confections for a week.”

Wait…. What? The sudden reversal in his tone nearly gave me whiplash, shocking me out my emotional turmoil.

I couldn’t let that affront to my archery skills stand. Insult my swordplay all you want, but I’m absolutely accurate with a bow. “That arrow went right where I intended it to go. I’ve made harder shots blindfolded.”

“Get your weaponry then and meet me on the grounds as soon as you can.” He got up and headed for the door, his long legs crossing the distance in three strides.

Once he was gone, I looked at Yuki, who had been quiet through this entire conversation. “Did he just challenge me?”

“Not sure, but if you win, I’m holding him to that no-dessert-for-a-week penalty.” Yuki thumped me on the shoulder. “So, you’ve gotta win.”

***

Not a duel. It was much, much worse than that, I discovered a short while later, when I arrived to face what appeared to be at least half the residents of the castle, and a field set up with five targets in varying sizes placed further and further back.

With a dramatic bow, Shingen addressed the spectators. “Greetings my friends and” … another bow to Mai who was cuddled up with Kenshin, “Goddess.” He then gestured to me. “My newest recruit has been bragging about his prowess with a bow. And since it’s such a beautiful day outside, it seems a perfect occasion to test him on this.”

No pressure there. Thanks boss.

Yuki, who had taken the whole “no-dessert” thing to heart, was pacing out the distance to the targets. Not exactly necessary, but since he’d been getting on my nerves, bouncing around my peripheral vision like a boxer’s trainer before the title match, I told him to go for it.

“Katsuhira will demonstrate the skills of accuracy and distance.” Shingen continued, while the vassal who this morning had held the bets was already running a book on this show as well. I noted Sasuke was first in line, and hoped that this time, he was betting on me, not against.

Yuki trotted back to me and said, “forty paces for the small targets, going all the way back to 150 for the big ones in the back.” Not even 100 meters, then. The targets Aki had had me practicing on were closer to 150, so this shouldn’t be a challenge – I mean, it wasn’t like they were asking me to bullseye whomp rats from a T-16. However, I would have liked to have been warned before this whole thing started, because I was getting tired of warlords and spymasters making decisions about my life without consulting me, but…details.

“Thanks Yuki. Better go place your bet and get that no-dessert thing in writing.”

While everyone got in on the betting action, I stood there trying to shut the world out. It was easier to pretend I was back at The Mountain, staring at the targets set out in front of the pear trees and the stables that I would have to repair if I missed a shot. There wasn’t any wind today, which was one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about. There was, however, a caterpillar crawling across my toes, but having killed one life form this week, I wasn’t about to compound that by killing another, so I ignored it.

I progressively narrowed my focus until it was a straight line from me to the first target. Then, without turning my head I said to Shingen. “Ready.”

“Not so fast.”

What? What now?

With my tunnel vision destroyed, I turned to look at him. He smiled and there was a hint of mockery in that look that boded ill for me. He turned to Mai, who handed him a long strip of fabric. “You did say you could have made that shot blindfolded.”

I had said that, yes indeed. Note to self. Stay away from hyperbole when discussing your skills.

I have trained a lot blindfolded, as Aki’s got an entire Jedi Master type philosophy when it comes to archery. But this was an unfamiliar field, and I needed a warm-up. “Practice shots first, without the blindfold,” I bargained.

“Fair enough.”

I turned back to the targets and sent ten arrows in succession zipping toward the targets, trying to set muscle memory. I missed my second and seventh shots, but hit the rest. Ok. I could do this. I would prefer not to have to do this in front of an audience with less than thirty minutes warning, but… I can do this.

“Ready,” I said again, this time not moving an inch from where I was standing, keeping my mental focus trained on where I felt – no, where I knew - the targets were. The tranquil air settled my senses, keeping me detached from everything except my bow and the inner vision of the targets.

Then Shingen stepped behind me, nearly as close as a hug, his body radiating heat, to tie the blindfold around my head. His breath and voice glided into my ear asking if I could see. Then he tightened it for good measure, and… there it was, a jolt that I felt when those warm, calloused fingers accidentally brushed across my face.

Reverb.

Ok, hormones, you and I need to have a long talk about choices... and timing.

Full text of the chapter posted on Tumbr this time; this chapter, previous chapters and prologue available on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32812042?view_full_work=true

[ravioliwings]

Honestly I’m glad that I’m never touching a man again for the rest of my life but I still can’t get over how absolutely busted some men’s perception of the world is

This is hopefully just anecdotal, but I’ve been in relationships with men where it was like all of their thoughts/feelings/actions were based off of things they’ve seen in media. 

On the less harmful but still annoying side, those men would perform “romantic” gestures for me as if their only exposure to relationships was through romance movies. I’d received roses several times (which I don’t particularly care for, especially not around valentines day), chocolate (I’m not big on chocolate), a “promise ring” (I am very vocal about my hatred of promise rings), lingerie (that I never wore because it would have made me dysphoric), poems (if a man is not actually a poet and he says he wants to write you a poem, run for the hills), and I’m sure plenty of other things that I’ve blocked out of my memory. There was also a time where one of them almost bought an engraved “promise ring,” for my birthday or something, but he was acting super nervous about it and saying that I might hate it, so I had him tell me what it was, and he was right; I hated it.

And the thing is, is that some of these men knew me for a WHILE. Like they should have known what I liked, what I actually found romantic; but instead it was all stuff you’d see in a movie. Almost every single time a man has ever given me a gift, instead of being grateful and happy that they were thinking of me, my stomach would sink. Because it was as if the gifts were for a totally different person. It’s like every one of them bypassed the thought of “hm what would this individual appreciate” and went straight for “[girls] like roses and chocolate and empty promises, so I’ll get those.”

And it’s so fucked because you can see them as their own person, meanwhile they’re thinking of you as a category. They’re thinking of you as whatever they want, as opposed to what you are. I just really can’t wrap my head around the thought of dating someone and telling them you love them while also apparently not knowing anything about them? And not really wanting to know anything about them that doesn’t affirm whatever character you’ve decided you wanted them to be?

It was like I was smart when they wanted me to be, dumb when they wanted me to be, nerdy when they wanted me to be, not nerdy enough when they wanted me to be, funny when they wanted me to be, unfunny when they wanted me to be. There was one time when I was hanging out at someone’s house with one of my exes and he was gassing me up to his friend, talking about how “oh I’m so smart” blah blah blah, but behind closed doors he would never believe a word I said. Anything that I knew that he didn’t had to be wrong. He wanted everyone to see that I was intelligent while he acted like I was uneducated when it was just the two of us. 

Another one of my exes would constantly tell me that I was funny/unfunny. Sometimes it would happen within the same day, where he’d praise me for being so funny and interesting, and then an hour later I was “the most boring person to talk to” and I wasn’t funny at all. This one was kind of the opposite, because most of the time he would praise me behind closed doors, and degrade me in front of his friends. 

The most recent one had a complex about being a “nerd;” when all that really meant was that he fawned over every single marvel movie and watched dragon ball z as a kid. And sometimes he’d find it great that we were both “nerds,” but sometimes he would feel threatened by the fact that I liked things that were less socially accepted as the things he like and I didn’t have a nerd complex. Once again, it was a man who felt that his identity was threatened by my own. I was a nerd when he wanted a nerd partner, but not the right kind of nerd when he wanted to feel victimized.

Shit, this even goes back to like the third person I dated? Where in public I was so good at art, but in private I was really terrible at art. That’s a little more forgivable though because we were both like 15.

And it’s funny, because these men would always try to fit me into whatever box they’d picked out, and then be shocked when they realized I wasn’t in the box at all.

Like the same ex that tried to give me an engraved ring; near the end of our relationship (this was essentially the last of many straws for me), he was going off on some tangent about wanting to get married so that “people would finally see him as a man.” And that enraged me pretty quickly. Because not only did he apparently think that’s something I would have done, but also because he thought that would actually work. He was the type of guy who would bitch and moan about things but wouldn’t ever try to change them. And he was upset because other adults didn’t take him seriously. Which they had every right not to; he couldn’t do anything for himself (cook, clean, laundry, fix anything), all he ate was sugar (he was also diabetic, that didn’t stop him), all he drank was monster, he smoked a pack a day, he had a car with like a 24% interest rate, and he blew all of his money on yugioh cards. He was like if a middle school boy worked full time and had to pay taxes, with the maturity level to boot. 

He was surprised that I didn’t want to get married (I was 18) and that I also didn’t really respect him as an adult. And he was still surprised when I finally broke up with him after 3 years and didn’t buy his promises of change anymore. 

My most recent ex from 2 years ago wanted me to be more passive than I am. And it’s funny, looking back, because I was definitely more passive back then than I am now.

It was like he wanted a “proper” girlfriend but still dated me anyways. He would get irritated if I opened a door for him, or if I took the lead when we went places, or that I preferred to be the one driving. Actually, the taking the lead part was actually one of the reasons he broke up with me, and to this day it does not make any sense. And I guess as he got to know me throughout the relationship, the more he decided he didn’t like who I was. Which at the base level, is fine. But he realized this after like 4 months of dating, while we continued to date for another 6 (so only 4/10 months he actually had feelings for me). And he told me that only when he broke up with me after 10 months. So nice of him.

And the thing is, is that men want so badly for me to be terrible. They want me to be mean, to be cruel, to be heartless, so much so that they’ll even tell me that I need to be more compassionate and understanding after treating me worse than I treat strangers, and after using me.

And they say these things because sometimes I wouldn’t put up with their shit. Because I would talk to them about their behavior towards other people, and how they shouldn’t treat others that way. Because I wouldn’t recoil in fear whenever they threw something or tried to tip a fridge over. Because I wouldn’t coddle them when they “felt bad” for hurting me.

They’ll preach compassion until the cows come home, but really they only care about it when it can benefit them. They won’t show an ounce of compassion to another person, but as soon as they’ve done something wrong, all of a sudden you’re the most cruel person in the world for saying “hey, when you said x it hurt my feelings” and then not consoling them when they say they’re “sad now because you brought up how they hurt you.”

Idk I really got away from what I started writing about here. 

And I know not every man is like this, but I’ve encountered enough of them to where I am no longer dealing with them if I don’t have to. I consider myself lucky to be bi because at least I still have the (better) option to date women and nonbinaries. Honestly wish stopped dating men sooner, but whatever. The past is the past now, no sense in beating myself up over it.

[mingethemerciless-blog]

The trials and tribulations of minge.

I’m a very scruffy person, when I was 13 I went through the usual teenage trial of having my teeth straightened, they had to take 4 molars out because they were pushing the others into such bizarre states of wonk that the orthodontist barely knew where to start.

I wore those badges of adolescent awkwardness for near enough two years. My friends all came out with american style smiles. Mine, although slightly straighter, remained resolutely, stereotypically british and scruffy.

Twenty years later I was walking at a smart pace down the track to the bus stop. I had washed and styled my hair, picked out an outfit which I hope said “responsible” and “in full control of her mental faculties” By necessity it included a slightly impractical maxi skirt, but I had learned over the years, that this was the best uniform for my current endeavour.

On the bus my reflection in the window told me that my luxuriant shiney bob had inexplicably flattened in places where I needed volume and frizzed up at the points where I had taken hours to smooth it out, the former gelam now looked distinctly greasy.

I fiddled nervously with my hair and the collar of my shirt until I arrived at the hospital.

This hospital is where I was born. Sitting at the top of a hill, it has one of the best views over the city that I have ever seen. I stared out of the window and almost calmed myself down, this might be the last chance I got to convince these people to help me...

My name was called, I shook the doctors hand.

“I hear you’ve been having some trouble with your periods” he understated.

Since the age of 23 I have been winning awards, if only in my own mind, for “worlds longest period” and “most blood lost without fatality.”

I launched into my unflinching and well practised description of the ping pong ball sized blood clots. The time one fell out of me in the shower and was so huge and heavy I was convinced I’d just given birth to an alien, I picked it up to check if it had a face, bits of it fell off and clogged the drain. I calmly recounted the years and years of seeping dread, the fact that I hadn’t gone swimming, worn white or finished a meal without a sickly slug of feroglobin in years.

I wasn’t scared any more, Cancer had suggested itself in my mind on and off for several years, but, as a nurse once blandly put it: “If it was cancer you’d be dead by now.”

My mind was throwing out tendrils of thought about my other dread. Pregnancy. When I was 18 I calmly accepted what I was told when I said I didn’t want children: 

“You’ll change your mind” they would say in a funny sing-song way.

 I’d probably want them when I was a proper adult, say, 25 years old.

25 came around, I was in no way a proper adult nor did I yet want children. No problem, there was plenty of time for me to want them, I’d just think about it a whole lot and then I’d want them.

30 came around, and I could no longer deny, the thought of pregnancy repulsed me. To be a host body to a parasitic bundle of flesh, to have my blood drawn away from me and into this other being. The idea of my cunt tearing open, a living thing coming out of me. A living thing with my weak jawline? With my scruffy hair? What if I didn’t love it? What if it turned out to be as intolerable a little shit as most of the children I’d ever met were? What if it grew up and went on being an intolerable little shit...come to think of it like most of the adults I’d ever met were?  What if, instead of doing something which changed the world for the better, it just became another consumer. Oh god what if it voted for Rees-Mogg? What if that apocalypse we’ve been promised actually happened and I had to raise an intolerable little shit in a cave whilst fighting off mutant tories and puerperal fever?

A more realistic and terrifying thought was never far from my conscious mind: What if I was raped? What if an abortion was too traumatic or, in the sadly likely event of an NHS sell off, too expensive? What if the current trends continue even further and an abortion was simply unavailable? Would I find someone clean and steady handed enough to do it on the kitchen table? Could I find the right hedgerow ingredients? Would I survive that?

“Do you want children?”

I was very glad that this came up.

“Definitely not, in fact I’d like to ask for a tubal ligation.”

“That won’t help with the bleeding”

“I know, it’s a separate issue, but I think it’s relevant…”

On the young man's face I saw faint hint of the bemused horror I’d seen on my GPs face when I had first asked, almost the beginning of a nervous laugh, although none had gone so far as to laugh at me yet…

My GP had looked at me the way teachers would look at me when I told them I’d lost my library card or forgotten my essay. Faux shock, the kindly-meant disappointment of a grandparent seeing you make a youthful blunder. His voice had come out with just the merest subtle hint of a condescending laugh in it when he told me he could refer me to a specialist but it was unlikely they’d give “someone like you” such a “drastic” operation.

Someone like me? Scruffy? Irresponsible? Disorganised? 

And how was maintaining my personal status quo drastic? Surely having to fire a fully dependant, sapient life out of my pelvis was far more drastic than just...carrying on as I was?

In any event, none of the appointments that GP had made had referenced my desire to get the snip, almost as if he didn’t even write it on the request he sent...

The current gynaecologist shook off the uncanny look he had given me for asking the forbidden question and asked if he could “scan me” Oh great, another date with the dildo-cam…

I’ve had this scan done so many times, my cervix is directly connected to the pain centers of the brain, one mere prod and all hell breaks loose in my nerves, it’s no good telling doctors this, they adhere rigidly to the “some women experience discomfort” school of thought.

The young nurse was wonderful, allowing me to squeeze her hand when the probe swept over my diva of a cervix and white stars of agony danced on the ceiling above me.

“You have a very large ectropion on your cervix, it’s probably causing a lot of the bleeding”

“Yes, I’ve been told that many times…”

“Hmm, we could get rid of this ectropion with silver nitrate, it might help stop the bleeding?”

Holy shit, you mean there was a way to get rid of that thing all along?!

I consented as calmly as I could.

The next thing I knew he was jabbing my insides with chemical soaked lollipop sticks, but I was more than willing for this to happen after 10 years of inaction and casual shrugs at my wayward cervix.

I was told to brace myself for “gritty discharge” as bits of burnt cervix dropped out of me along with all the other nonsense going on down there.

Later, pants back on, veins blossoming with green bruising from the “hormone level” blood tests, my innards were laid out in bland yet descriptive medical descriptions.

My womb had a “septum” which immediately made me think that it had a face, a scornful, angry face I would dearly love to punch for the years of ruined underwear, bedsheets and dates.

My right ovary was polycystic,

“This can lead to diabetes and heart disease later in life so you’ll have to be wary of gaining weight…”

My body type is made up of circles, I have rounded hips, boobs, thighs and face, when I was younger I worried briefly that I was chubby, but I was active and I ate well, I could still see my ribs and I could power walk up the hill to my house without so much as a sweat. I gave the doctor a blank look, he still hadn’t discussed my tubal options yet...

The doctor now took on a slightly lower, more cautious tone, evidently more scared of upsetting me with this next information than he had been by talking about my weight.

“You may find it slightly harder to get pregnant...but it’s by no means impossible”

I did a double take. 

“...That’s really not a problem for me...what with the tubal ligation request and all…” I hinted cheerfully.

He made a neutral sound and moved on with a list of my uterine shortcomings.

My left ovary was “very mobile” (my mind gave it a beard and a bindle stick) and showed some evidence of endometriosis.

“I’ve never had any symptoms of that…”

“Again this can lead to some minor complications in conception and pregnancy…”

Was I speaking klingon? Was I mispronouncing “tubal ligation”? Was IVF so much cheaper than the lady snip that they’d rather I reproduced despite my clear desire not to do so and regret an actual living human?

“You have some signs that there may be polyps in your uterus, that’s not harmful but they may be contributing to the bleeding, in which case, we can remove them.”

I was booked in for a hysteroscopy, which sounded painful in spite of the “some women experience discomfort” platitude, and a review in 3 months time.

“Do you have any questions?”

I took a deep breath, I knew this was a separate issue but I had to bring this up whenever I could because there was no obvious way to request it otherwise.

“How do I go about getting the tubal ligation?”

The look of horror came back, much stronger this time, the poor sod had run out of things to distract me with, his face turned to a look of utter defeat.

“I wouldn’t even consider doing that until you had exhausted all other contraceptive options and had fertility counselling, have you considered the mirena coil? It’s progesterone only and most women find it very good…”

My mind flashed back to the last “progesterone only” treatment I’d had: Migraines had hidden the worst of the symptoms for the best part of 6 months, by the time they were under control again the real problem became tragically apparent. My sex drive was so low that I could barely tolerate a hug, in desperation I had the little plastic rod dug out of my arm with a scalpel, but my libido never fully recovered, don’t try telling me the effects aren’t permanent…

A further flashback to the copper coil. The way it dug itself into the side of my womb, the way it hurt, exactly how much and how long it hurt for, How there had been no one in my local GP surgery willing to remove it for me (grab the string and pull, I refuse to believe that this requires a specialist qualification on top of medical training.) The serious thought I gave to yanking it out myself, only stopping when the prospect of a torn cervix put me off. 

A rich history of contraceptive pills danced through my brain, mood swings, swollen boobs and most memorably a migraine so bad that I called NHS Direct and was told to monitor myself for signs of a potentially fatal brain haemorrhage...

The time they’d tried to stop the bleeding with anti-inflammatories and discovered my allergy to this group of medications when I broke out in a measles style rash.

Those memories don’t blur with time, at least they haven’t yet.

“Statistics show that you would regret being sterilized, you don’t have a family”

For a brief second my imagination took me to an episode of The Twilight Zone. I don’t have a family? Shit! What happened to them? My siblings? My partner? My parents? My friends?

The anger when I realised what he really meant seeped through my mind like a blood clot through a pad.

“You don’t share DNA with anyone who came out of you therefore you have no family”

“You haven’t had to push your family with your pelvic floor therefore they don’t count”

“If you eventually decide to adopt that won’t count either”

“Everyone you currently live with, love and rely on will reject and abandon you because you didn’t give birth to them.”

Blood clots, along with anger of that magnitude tend to flood the sanitary pad or mind.

Luckily, I have had years of practise at crossing my legs and trying to discreetly aim my crotch at the driest part of the pad. This, in effect, was how I ordered my mind at that moment.

“Don’t yell at NHS people, they have enough problems. The poor man was just working off a script, of course they have to be careful, one litigious malcontent could set these heroes back years…”

I left, with no clearer an idea of how to get my tubes tied and no idea why this was the first time, cysts, polyps and septums had been discovered after so many tests over so many years.

Back home I attempted to find out how much private hospitals charged for tubal ligation. “Anywhere between $700 and $10,000 depending on your insurance provider”  ecosia informed me in very american and somewhat unhelpful terms.

An inquiry to Spire healthcare yielded an unapologetic result of £3000, that’s a lot of minimum wage hours and late rent payments, besides £200 of that was for a consultation in which they might refuse me anyway. 

I wondered if those places in Turkey where they do cheap facelifts might consider my case...Would having scalpels jabbed into me in a country where I couldn’t speak the language followed by a cramped and cheap flight be more or less unbearable than a kitchen table abortion? Either way the word “botched” was never far from my mind.

When the day came for my hysteroscopy I steeled myself for another try. The gynaecologist was a lovely, calm young woman with curly hair. She spent a long time reassuring me that I was in control and could stop the procedure at any time. She told me that she would take a biopsy from my womb lining in addition to shoving a camera up where no camera had gone before. She showed me the camera. I wish she hadn’t.

“See, it’s very small.”

It was slightly smaller than a pencil. Small compared to a baby maybe. But I knew exactly how big that thing was going to feel in my stupid nervy cervix. Turns out I was wrong.

It was far bigger and far sharper and far more white hot than I thought possible. 

The nurses squeezed my hand and told me it would be over soon.

I never stopped her, I wanted this done, I wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me. I wanted to show what a good patient I was, how in control of my mind and body I was, how I would take the responsibility of dealing with sterilization without regret...

I learned just how exponential pain can be.

When someone said “This will take another five seconds” I discovered how long five seconds can feel.

I found out, to my displeasure, that passing out does not necessarily stop you feeling pain, it simply stops you moving. I learned just how wonderful the overworked and underpaid folks of the NHS really are when they brought me water and later tea and let me sit in a comfy chair and shake without telling me that they needed me to get a grip and move on because they had a full waiting room…

The results were discussed with me. There were no polyps, there was no septum, what's more, my womb was perfectly shaped to receive a mirena coil…

Sterilization wouldn’t stop the bleeding, it was a separate issue. The mirena would stop the bleeding and stop any pregnancy. Sure I’d have to have it ripped out of the most sensitive, nerve rich part of me and then stuffed back in broadside first every three years, assuming I hadn’t emigrated and the NHS was still there that is. And the progesterone might...exacerbate certain things, but that would probably settle down...

 I sighed, drained my tea and smoothed down my faithful maxi skirt. 

Alright uterus, you don’t like me and I don’t like you, but it looks like we’re in this together. Here’s another burning hoop for us to jump through, lets give these folks the show they’ve been waiting for...

[2isted-chocol8]

Heeeey💓💓 do you have fic recs for zackray??

I do!! And like, a lot! So prepare yourself! Though not all are *explicit* Zackray, they all show their relationship in different ways! These are a lot of my favorites in no particular order:

Oneshots / few chapters

Last resort by sukikobold - Complete

Now that they’re out of the building and the cops have (mostly) given up chasing them, Zack and Ray discuss what they could do for income. Unfortunately, they have very different opinions on what is acceptable.

I like the characterization in this one, as well as their interactions. I had a few laughs, and the second chapter is quite sweet despite the circumstances.

Graveyard shift by reaperzack - Complete

Rachel is pretty sure the guy who always comes in around three in the morning to buy a large coffee with a triple-shot of espresso is a serial killer. He also tips ridiculously well, though, so she doesn’t really care about things that aren’t her business.

This one is hilarious and one of my favorites. I read it again from time to time, and had a good laugh. Is a simple au that works. 

Touch Starved by redawilo - Complete

Although it wasn’t too surprising when she thought about it, Zack had been oddly familiar with Ray ever since he rescued her from the rehab center. There was nothing indecent about it, of course, but she was starting to wonder if he was capable of not being in physical contact with her. Not that she minded.

If you want a good dose of fluff, this is your fic.

Worth a Thousand Words by sukikobold - Complete

Zack had a lot of fun playing with that camera on B3. He figured it might be even better now that there weren’t any more psychos trying to kill him. But there’s one thing he absolutely refuses to take a picture of.

This one is so short but so sweet! It explores a different face of Zack and I loved it so much.

Outcasts of the abyss by Gottemorto - Complete

“Teach me what it’s like to be human." Neither of them were human in the slightest - but out in that vast ocean where they were nothing but outcasts in the eyes of their own kind, a strange promise shall form between an apathetic mermaid and a monstrous land-dweller.

This is a mermaid AU that strangely works. Also the writing is A+

A Little White Christmas Lie by MarshmallowBirb - Complete

It’s Christmas Eve and Zack and Ray have a little bit of money to have their Christmas meal at a buffet. The catch is, they have to pretend to be married to get the best price.

I remember I laughed with this one, and it is really a fun situation to observe. Liked it!

That Which We Call A Rose by kiichandesu - Complete

“ Isaac Foster ”That’s the first name he’s ever given. He doesn’t know where it came from and what it means, but he quickly grows to hate it. A study of the many labels Zack is given, what he thinks of them, and how he lives with them.

I’m a sucker for this type of fics and this one delivers well. Really well.

Moondrop by Sasaria - Incomplete

“There have been sightings of pirate ships lately. Especially that pirate ship, the one that only appears on nights with a full blue moon. Have you heard of it? It’s called the Angel of Death…” Rachel Gardner’s never believed in fantastical pirate stories, but one stormy night, while aboard her parent’s cargo ship, she’s kidnapped by a sinister pirate named Zack. “I needed a token, a sacrifice,” he says with a glint in his eye. She can smell death on him as he touches the knife’s blade to her throat. “You fit the bill perfectly.”

It has only one chapter so far, but the writing is amazing and I’m a sucker for pirate au’s. 100% recommend.

After the Story Drabbles by Redawilo - Complete

A collection of drabbles that are more things I wanted to get out of my head than actual fics.

Four short chapters, sweet, and full of fluff. What more can you wish for?

I Love You by reicherufosuta - Complete

Zack can’t sleep. He thinks about the truth he could be unaware of.

Really short, really sweet, and completely worth the read.

Multichapters / Long fics

Between Silence and Sound by Sasaria- Incomplete, 23k words

Having escaped the strange building, Zack and Rachel steal a car and remain on the run for several months after. It’s on long stretches of road and under diamond-bright stars that they realize there are so many things to be discovered about one another. —「 Road Trip · Nonlinear Fic · Character Study 」

For the love of god read this fic. It is REALLY good and I love how the author makes the characters feel real, and the writing is AMAZING. Can’t recommend this one enough.

Quiet like a fight by shanatical - Incomplete, 70k words

The odyssey of Rachel Gardner, who isn’t actually as Quirkless as she once thought and has zero compunctions against using that to get what she wants. Being stuck in Japan is a bit more of a hurdle than a death sentence and a high-security institution, but she and Zack have dealt with steeper odds, she’s pretty sure. Plus Ultra, as they say.

Okay, this is not a Zackary fic, and is a my hero academia crossover. But it’s stupidly good, I’ve read it twice and since it’s my rec list I’m putting it here. The writing is really good and all the characters are amazingly written too. Go read it.

Scaring darkness away by LinkedSoul - Incomplete, 250k words

There’s a corpse into Zack’s dumpster - his usual hideout when he’s chased. And he’s chased, so no choice, he hides into the dumpster with the corpse. Who turns out to be a living girl called Rachel Gardner, who comes from a fucked up place like him. He should have killed her before, but he thought she was a corpse and now it’s too late: he’s already beginning to get attached to that brat. What a mistake. It might as well be Zack’s most beautiful mistake.

This one is pretty known and has a slow start, but I’ve been enjoying the latest chapters more and more. A really nice au that explores Zack’s and Ray’s relationship. Really good if you want a really long read!

NSFW (because of course) 

(I’m really picky with these lol)

A Perfect Life by MarshmallowBirb - Complete

After a night out, Zack attempts to take a bath. But Ray isn’t going to let him take it alone. 

Okay, I’m gonna be sincere- This one’s my favorite nsfw one. The characterization is amazing, the writing is really good, and I enjoy the way it’s handled. It’s one of those that I re-read from time to time, so, I really recommend it.

Ecstasy of the damned by Marshmallowbirb- Complete

Rachel Gardner has been the only one able to see a certain black-winged angel for as long as she could remember. When her parents shipped her off to a convent, she thought she’d never see him again. But she might have underestimated the lengths Zack would go to be reunited with her.

I’m really picky with explicit works, but this one did the trick for me. Also I’m a sucker for fallen angels au’s so there’s that.

Pillow Talk by ShipperTrsh - Complete

Their oath still replays in his head from time to time, he knows damn well he isn’t a liar, but he feels more at peace next to her. The timing never feels right. Zack wants to keep seeing more and more of her expressions. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this – whatever this is – with her, but he just keeps running with it for as long as he can. God he’s never felt so relieved and disorientated at the same time.

This one is sweet. Like really really sweet. So sweet it will give you diabetes. And you won’t regret it.

Authors with various Satsuten related works that I enjoy and u should definitely check and see if they have something of your liking

Sukikobold

Linkedsoul

Khymer

Reicherufosuta

Reaperzack

2isted_chocol8 (yes, I will shamelessly put myself in here because yes)

Anddddd I think those are most of them. Have a nice read!

[vrijschrijven]

I am reflecting on the past year but mostly on the past couple of months. I think it is important to realise that maybe about a month and a half ago I would have tremendous trouble seeing myself in this situation. You see, over the past couple of months I have lived in a haze, though the haze is getting slightly clearer, it has taken a lot of work for me to get to this point. But let’s start at the beginning. (tw for a lot of things beneath the cut including but not limited to; suicidal thoughts, self harm, negative thoughts, medication and therapy)

In hindsight, I think my downward spiral started somewhere around August. After an assault when going out I was reminded of a situation I had suppressed for quite a while. A situation in which someone I trusted took advantage and I was too scared to say or do anything about it. To this day, I have no idea if he knows what he did, if he remembers it, and I have concluded I do not care. The fact remains that he did what he did when he should not have. After the incident in August I was reminded of the feeling of helplessness and anger, both with myself and with the people involved. I felt, in both situations, that I should have done more than I did, though my therapist thinks I did the “safe” thing in both situations. I still wish I had kicked someone in the balls.

I hadn’t been my best, even before this happened. I couldn’t really remember the last time I cleaned my room thoroughly, my dishes were covered in various states of mould and I made sure people did not visit me. I was ashamed of what was happening but I was mostly angry with myself. I told myself I was lazy, a fuck-up, that any “normal” person would be able to do these things and that I was failing as an adult.

I went on vacation with one of my best friends and due to what had happened in town I felt uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed as him even though I trust him with my life. This made me feel terrible and on-edge. I did not want to think these things about my best friend but it did happen. I started to get into my own head, which is something that happens every once in a while, but this time it got worse and worse.

I wanted to run and hide but I had nowhere to go because I was still on holiday. I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom. Luckily Ted gave me space and I called my dad, crying and panicking, because everything felt so useless. I could not see a future in which I would be happy.

The end of August came and went, September was no better. My whole life was, quite literally, a mess. A mess which I did not want to share with the world so I pretended everything was okay. I went to work, I went to a pubquiz on Sundays, I hung out with people but made sure to do it at their place or in town. I was broken on the inside but showed no cracks. And then September 25thhappened.

I have kept a blog on and off throughout my life, and when I couldn’t sleep this night I started to write again. I felt myself back at a point where I had been for quite a while but was too scared to admit to. I was back at feeling like I did before I started taking antidepressants. I felt like I was back at the bottom of a cliff and everyone is above me shouting the climb is easy but all around me are rocks falling and I cannot for the life of me see a path to get up there to join everyone. It took everything in me not to step out from my place and let a rock crush me. I was scared, scared because I had started self harming again. Only minor things, like pushing my nails into my arm just so I could feel that pain instead of all the noise in my head. But I was scared I would become tired of evading the falling boulders and stop and just give up.

I went to work that morning, went about my day. But in the back of my mind there was still this voice that kept telling me that it would not matter if I was no longer here. That it would be easier for everyone because I was a burden anyway. And when I woke up the next day, after having suffered a panic attack at a concert I attended with a friend (the first one since starting medication) I came to the startling conclusion that maybe I was not just a lazy fuckup. I was passively suicidal.

You see, I did not care anymore. I could not envision a future. I had no goals, and if I had them I would be convinced I did not deserve them or would ever get to them. I could not see myself in the next three months, let alone three years. It felt as though everyone around me was going on with their lives and achieving things and here I was.

I did not want to clean, I did not want to do anything because I simply did not see the use of it. I went to work, because it was expected of me to do so and I was afraid of disappointing my colleagues and I did not want to burden anyone else with my problems.

On September 26th,I hit my breaking point. And a lot of people will tell you they’re glad I did. Glad I broke at this point because it could have been so much worse. I went to therapy, crying behind my sunglasses all the way in the bus. I was sobbing uncontrollably by the time I got into my psychologist’s office and with her help I called my parents. I was scared and ashamed. Because it meant that I had to show them, and the world, what was going on and the mess that my life had become.

My parents came over, we cried a lot, they helped me clean the shitheap that was my room and I went home with them. The following day my dad and I came back to clean some more. I was a crying mess, still so ashamed of what had happened, what I had let happen. That evening Lotte came from Utrecht to visit me in Hengelo with my parents and we cried around the kitchen table. Because I had given up on life. Because I had no idea what to do now. Because I was scared of the future. She cried because she loves me and hated to see me like this, wishing I could see myself the way she sees me.

I went to therapy three times the following week. My parents joined me for one session. It was easier to tell them why I try and solve everything myself with my therapist there. I don’t want to disappoint people. I constantly feel like I’m doing just that and talking to them about what is bothering me will only make that worse.

It went okay for about two weeks after that. I worked half days, slept through most of the rest of the day, did not feel the need to do anything. Even though the physical mess was gone from my room, the mess in my head continued.

I fell down the wormhole again halfway through October. I didn’t trust myself anymore, I was panicky and started hurting myself again. I couldn’t fall asleep and when I finally did I would wake up several times a night because of nightmares.      

I texted friends, not trusting myself enough to be alone. I am so blessed to have an insanely great support group around me. Within minutes on of them came over, another called that she would be there after an appointment she had and a third just came over later. I was panicking, I was not seeing the fucking use in living. I had no motivation. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. You see, I still wasn’t activelysuicidal, but my reasons for not being that were suspicious at best. I would think about not waking up the following morning and how great that would be. Or maybe I could get hit by a car. I did not want to do anything ‘active’ because people would feel guilty about it, they would say they should have done more to prevent it from happening. I did not want that. So, if something were to happen, something that was out of my own hands, they would not have to think those things and I would still get what I wanted. I didn’t want to die, but I did not want to be here either. I just wanted to disappear.

I called my psychologist but she had the day off, so another psychologist talked to me and told me to call my parents to come and pick me up. I felt like a complete and utter failure again. I talked about getting institutionalised with him and when I told my friends later that I was seriously considering it, one of them cried. I was beyond this point. I was confused as to why she was crying, but I understand that her reason was much the same as Lotte’s was.

The following day I spoke to another psychologist twice and the day after I went to see my own psychologist and the psychiatrist. I was relieved but still dejected at the same time. The psychiatrist concluded that I should up my dosage of antidepressants and we could re-evaluate after two weeks if maybe antipsychotics would be a good idea too. As of right now, we’re still looking into it.

Taking more medication feels like failing. It’s not the first time I had to up my dosage, but it does feel like the most important time. I keep having the same discussion with both myself and the psychiatrist about why it is okay for a diabetic to take medication but not for me. And I cannot answer that question properly. There’s a feeling inside myself that keeps saying that other people can manage their lives without these pills and I can’t even do it withthem.

I am reminded of my first psychiatrist who told me he was surprised I wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol. At times like these I have to agree with him. It would seem the easiest way to shut everything up inside my head. Instead, I push my nails into my arm and hope I can refrain from slamming my head against the wall just to shut myself up. I am too scared to lose control to start doing drugs and using alcohol to keep myself from feeling things would mean I have to suffer the consequences the following day at work and make it other people’s problem. So I suffer through it and against all odds keep thinking maybe some time in the future I’ll feel better. I have my good days, my okay days, but they do seem to fade in comparison to the overall prevailing feeling of misery.

I feel like I am not allowed to feel this way. I feel like I have nothing to be sad about, to be upset about, to have that feeling in my stomach like I can start throwing up at any given moment. I yelled at my psychiatrist that I just think it is fucking unfair how there are so many people who go through life without feeling like I do for one single day. Whilst I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I do feel like it is fucking unfair that I feel like this every single fucking day.

Having good days is a weird thing, because I immediately feel like I don’t deserve it. Like if I have a good day, it negates the fact that I feel so shit most of the time and people will think I’m overreacting (or worse, making it all up) when I have days I don’t want to get out of bed and just want to lay there crying. Maybe not even want, it is not that simple. I do not want to, but I have no grip on wishing it would go away. This is also because I have no actual clue how I’m supposed to feel.

And so here we are. Halfway through November. Three months on from slowly realising I was killing myself. Am I okay now? Definitely not. I am seeing my psychiatrist every two weeks, my psychologist basically every week. I go to group therapy every week. I am still unable to work full days, I am managing 6 hours and this frustrates me immensely because I want to be able to be a functioning adult.

I still want to run and hide. I want to get hit by a car and stay in a hospital for a couple of weeks, the car hitting part is mostly so I have an excuse because it feels like the way I am feeling is not good enough reason. My psychologist thought institutionalising me would not be a good idea, because it would not solve my problems and I would be confronted with a lot more things than I would be able to handle (I am, after all, a people pleaser and I always want to help people so the environment would not benefit me).

I panic when I think about the future because I am still having the most insane trouble seeing it. But I guess I am managing. I made it this far. I am tired of fighting, of struggling uphill, and if I believed in a God I would probably say that he is testing me. But alas, I do not, and as of yet it just feels like I somehow deserved this and maybe it would be easier to just give up and give in to this invisible draw of futility by not doing anything anymore.

I haven’t yet, I am moving millimetres away from it at the time.

[redsletterday]

The Difference

#26 In this generation, reaching 2 years in a relationship is either a triumphant achievement or a worrying feat.

When I gave thought to how I should write my anniversary Tumblr post (which Babie always remind me to do! Sorry only got to it now), I always thought of writing about how we made things work to reach two years together. To sum up my thoughts about it, we were and are a complementary pair. Babie was always up in the clouds from the way she would act and speak to the ideals and traits she possesses. I was on the other side of the coin. Babie would be the loud one always stuttering excitedly sharing a story. I would be the silent one listening to the story processing what I hear. Babue would have these intense emotions giving her a hard time putting them into words. I would have this unwavering tenacity to find those words for her. I could go on and on, and as is, I intended to write less about this than I already have. I don't wish to write about this now because this was the topic of my 2nd anniversary with Yela and I said the same thing - that we were complimentary opposites.

No, Babie is different. So many things are different which is why now is not the time to write about it. But what I would like to start writing about is that difference.

Whenever they ask how my relationship was with Yela or how it all ended, I would immediately reply "it was toxic" as if it was my second nature to reply tnat way. While it straightforwardly answers the latter, I would fail at making it clear that the toxicity was not always there throughout the whole time with her. At a point, we did grow. After all, I learned a lot from her and hopefully she did too from me. The toxicity, I believe, began on our second year together. The eight months after that was just us trying to save what we already knew was going to end.

In a few months after our first year anniversary, the whole situation of having and losing Max was what shook and tested our relationship. Nearly everyone from ViARE found out about it because Yela got drunk in in her birthday party at her house. I wasn't able to go because I didn't have the same freedom back then and that I needed to attend a cousin's debut (which, if the same scenario happened "again" this year, I would've ditched it anyway). Long story short, I got judged hard by the people and the verdict was understandable - that they advised Yela to break up with me. This was an interesting case too. Yela stayed with me despite it. I had nothing to offer. I was only a 2nd year college student that came with a lot of naivety and immaturity. Both of which I did not understand until then when Yela told me the reasons for our friends' verdict on our relationship. I hated them for it. Told myself that they merely misunderstood my motives. I would fall into the trap of self-pity to make Yela stay with me. Add in to how she has this sense of messianic complexity and you're in for a recipe of a Titanic disaster. I would think that this boat would last a hundred years only for my naivety to be exposed and be broken by a mere iceberg. The sink would last for several months until the boat is finally underwater and Yela finally decides to give it up. I'd get constant reminders that Yela tells me that our friends and even some respectable higher ups would want us to break up. The way I saw all of those was like taking candy from a baby. Only that the baby had diabetes and that the baby can't understand how that's any better for him because of how he associates happiness with the mere feeling of pleasure in whatever form - from holding the candy, knowing he has it, or the taste of it. I am that baby.

I need not to go on further explaining events that led to our break up. Suffice to say that I'd cling on to her and bet on the feelings aspect to make us last long. I explained my situatuin with Yela quite lengthily and ironically this is supposed to be for Babie. But it is with this in mind that I know that Babie and my time with her is different. After all, if there is one thing that both Hum and IMC agree to, it's that "content is king, but context is King Kong."

In my second year with Babie, I unfortunately fortunately found myself in a parallel situation with her. We get too intimate close enough to almost have another "Max" situation. Real close, if I may say. But I was given a second chance of not repeating the same sins from the past. I finally learned how to stop my urges. With that, I let go of feelings and know how and why to choose to stay. No longer do my choosing to stay be motivated by feelings alone. Of course, there are many counter arguments that my mind has come up with. Valid arguments, I believe.

One of which is the how the choice to stay might only be motivated by my sense of fear of Babie's parents. Had we found ourselves in the exact situation with Yela, the consequences would be more unbearable as guilt will definitely consume me knowing that most of my achievements in the past few years was almost entirely because of their support financially. However, I've moved past those thoughts in two ways. One, financials was not a problem for Babie's parents. After all, if it were, they should be bugging me about paying it soon but not once did they say anything about it in the past year. Two, even if I did stay for the sake of fear and compensate by cheating on Babie - and may I mention thay I had many chances to do so - I still don't find myself being able to do it. At the end of the day, I come back wanting to be with her.

I put emphasis on "at the end of the day." And by "day," I mean it even on a day filled with outings with friends as opposed to a day filled with just staying at home because Yela wouldn't leave me alone with my friends. Even if I hang out with girls alone with some girls she knows that like me and I know I find attractive (outside physicality too), I end up finding myself turning around and wanting to go home where Babie. In fact, if you haven't noticed it yet, this leads me to another point. That she actually allows me to be out doing a lot of things that many other girls would already end up calling their man worrying if they've somehow secretly cheated. I used to hang out with Jayce a lot. I'd have friendly lunch or dinner with Rensa. I'd do many things alone with my friends like partying or 2am drinking sessions and yet she's fine with all that. It's in the trust that she gives me that makes me trust myself.

That said, of course, I'd allow her to do the same. I never found myself getting extremely jealous of guys she hangs out with (unlike me towards DJ back then). In fact, I'd even want her to hang out with her friends more. After all, it's in the freedom of our individuality that we grow together.

It's like taking video games from a teenager because his grades are getting lower. Only now the teenager understands because his parents were finally able to properly negotiate with him that it's for his own good and the teenager understands. That baby from before is no longer a baby. That baby has grown. I have grown.

Happy 2nd anniversary to the 2nd and last person who reached the 2nd year with me. I love you. 🙇🏻‍♂️

P.S. As I've promised to write more, comment on my posts about what topic you'd want me to talk about next. It could be a person, a thing, a concept, idea, anything. Of course, that's aside my usual posts!

[realwomanleader-blog]

Imagine being homebound for 3 years by no choice of your own - what do you do?

It was a dark and stormy April 1 (no joke). I’m delivering pizza for extra cash, working now 2 weeks beyond my 2-week notice, when my life takes a sudden turn for the much harder.

By now all I’d known all my life is work.

I was the caregiver for my mother from the day I could walk, and she gave thanks by killing my father when I was 19. I’ve never known a soft place to land, and spent many years homeless.

Fast forward to that fateful evening in 2016, and I’m feeling pretty hopeful about my life. I’ve made steady forward progress the last 7 years. Though I’m still suffering with crippling panic attacks every morning, this side gig delivering pizza did its job - we’ve finally moved out of the congested city into a place that was at-long-last big enough to more than just live, in the smallest town in NH by land mass. I felt like I’d actually achieved something.

In fact, April 1 is the first day of our lease. I’m looking forward to letting go of this side job real soon - maybe even tomorrow - and just focus on rebuilding the business I lost in a massive case of writer’s block way back in 2007.

I’m backing out of the coveted spot for drivers when my 5-speed transmission gives its usual kickback and hops out of reverse - the old Hyundai wouldn’t last much longer. Slowing to a stop so I could get it back in gear, I catch a flash of white in my rearview.

NOT GOOD!

I slam the transmission into first and rev hard to avoid colliding with what was certainly my co-worker’s Jetta, once again parked illegally at the ONE PLACE without lights - in front of a dumpster no less! He’d been told numerous times by the landlord to not park there for that very reason, but once again, he hadn’t listened.

I felt no bump other than my old Hyundai popping out of gear (besides, I was traveling so slow my speed-o hadn’t registered at all), so I went about my deliveries. But when I came back, I was greeted by Manchester’s finest, in classic interrogative form.

Turns out, I did make contact. The dent was about the size of my hand, on the driver’s side rear door, maybe half an inch deep.

I didn’t have ALL my insurance information as they required right then, but I was working for the pizza shop right there - in all my 10 years working this gig, I’d always been instructed to direct insurance queries to my employer, which is what I did.

I was called the next day and told I wouldn’t be on the next week’s schedule. The next 6 weeks were marked with constant harassment, and zero assistance from my former employer. The co-worker apparently put it all on his personal insurance, and was allowed to keep his job another 300 days.

All kinds of wrong kept happening. When I asked for a lawyer, I was escorted out the back door. When I was pulled over in June and my car impounded (new to me car, might I add - owned only 2 weeks by then), I put in to have the decision rescinded because I was never notified - but the DMV is its own system. This wasn’t a “decision” in the legal sense, and it would not be rescinded.

The School of Hard Knocks Offers a Master’s Degree

Apparently agreeing to pay restitution to my co-worker for his out-of-pocket expenses is what screwed me, and made this no longer an employment law matter. So much for “doing the right thing.”

There was nothing I could do or say to combat the $4,870 insurance levy, nor point out the clear insurance fraud (what the heck does a passenger-side tail light have to do with a 3-mph nudge to the driver’s side?!). And every lawyer I called either never called back or claimed conflict of interest.

I’ve been homebound ever since.

In the smallest town in New Hampshire.

Without a support network.

Taxis don’t come out here. There’s no such thing as public transportation. The nearest grocery store is a 30-minute drive away. To Uber it, would be $40 one way - not counting the added fees for rural service.

My husband at the time wasn’t any help either. Two years before that happened, he’d told another woman he was falling in love with her. Three months after he said that, my first and only friend died. I was utterly alone in the world when this happened.

Losing my license only served to further degrade our nonexistent bond.

So I Helped Myself

July 1, 2016 was my last anxiety attack. I networked my butt off to land a job back in my field, as marketing director for 1 of 4 people in the world with that expertise. July 2018, I left that job for an invitation to “test” his suitcase of sex toy inventions, and the sudden 180 on every bit of advice I ever gave - but only because it now came from a 15-year-old male.

I took it as an opportunity to rebuild my business, having tried for the last year with minimal success because I had to schedule meetings around a 9-to-5. Less than 30 days later, I landed my first good client - but it wasn’t enough according to my then-husband. October 2018, I made the decision to leave him. Being homeless again was better than living with someone who would never understand what it means to love an entrepreneur.

Then the Universe conspired to help me. Someone I served in a previous job, took me in to his home. A previous client who owed me 3 years in hosting fees suddenly cropped up, wanting access to their domain. I played hardball with their lawyer - and won, just in time to get some oil for the furnace in the bitter December cold.

January 2019, I was approached by a traditional publisher interested in my non-fiction work. That turned into a 2-hour phone call with the proprietor of 4 companies, and a contract gig doing exactly what I always knew would be my destiny.

Roses Smell So Sweet - But Beware the Thorns

You might not think working from home is all that hard - until you realize it’s 90 hours sitting at a desk, and that I was born with rheumatoid arthritis. I was told at 12 that I would be walking with a cane by 20, and wheelchair bound by 30 - but doctors don’t know everything. I’m 34 as I write this, and still a very capable dancer, hiker, swimmer, and sports enthusiast, because I’ve been extremely proactive about my health.

It’s also become apparent that I’ve been managing diabetes all these years too - when my diet changed for the move into another household, I kept getting light-headed, even passing out once, and my feet began turning purple. I’m managing that, too.

The person I’m living with is 5 years younger, without the life experience I’ve had - so even when he wasn’t working 6 days a week, being dependent on him for absolutely everything has resulted in little more than frustration.

In fact, 10 days ago I suffered a total mental meltdown. Someone I hoped to call friend longer than these last 2 years broke a 5-month-old promise to visit - and it was my last hope. When the last day of her week-long vacation came and went without a plan, I spent the evening in hysterics - banging my head against the carpet in my home studio.

The next day, I picked myself up again.

I can’t say that I have nobody.

I have me.

And I am grateful for this life, because I am clearly being groomed for something magnificent.

What it is, I haven’t the slightest clue - and I love that. Life is a mystery we unfold one minute at a time, and I am so very curious.

This past Saturday, I went surfing for the first time. It’s been a lifelong ambition, and I did surprisingly well given my horrible track record on snowboards, skateboards, and plain walking on flat ground.

“Tomorrow is always too late.” Even though I don’t have much for resources, I saw an opportunity to do something I’d always wanted to - and did.

Was I afraid? Sure. But fear is the least of my concerns. It’s all in my head - and if I’ve learned anything at all by overcoming anxiety in 5 years, it’s that -I- am in control of what happens between these two ears.

Aloha Hā’awina, Māhālo Kūmū

The belief I hold which serves me so well, is very simple:

There is always another way, and better places.

And I will find it.

Last night, I started putting together a speaker one-sheet. I’ve had a great deal of success working with this company since January. Every book that has launched under my watch - every single one - has made bestseller, making 23 bestsellers for our traditional publishing arm as I write this.

I’m getting out of this house, and will see the world - one way, or another.

Follow my journey here on Tumblr, LinkedIn, and Instagram.

[keyhala]

So... about life.

I've been wanting to write this for a while. I just haven't had the time, the energy, or the willingness to accept 'defeat'.

It's a long one, so below cut for length.

Some of you might remember a post I made back in 2017, which dealt with all the things that happened to me and Shortstuff between 2014 and 2016, leaving us to leave the house we'd bought, move one and a half hour away from my working place and just... destroyed us with how her mother could not behave like an adult and had to villainize us for... well, nothing.

For those of you who haven't, the post is here. Please feel free to read it.

At the time, I expressed a hope that things would get better from there on out. That we could manage the years we'd promised to rent the house out for, and things could... get better.

They didn't.

The brother said he was going to buy the house after renting it, but a few months in, he decides he doesn't want it. It has too many problems. He complains the bills are too high (I just send him the bills, I don't forge them, idiot. You pay what you use in electricity and gas) and he complains that we're stealing money from them (We're not. They're paying EXACTLY what the house costs every month, not a penny more. Nothing for upkeep, nothing for renovations, or new utilities, that's ALL on us), and proceeds to NOT PAY HIS BILLS for several months.

At the time, the mother at least steps in and pays what's due, so it's all okay. 2017 is going okay, for a bit.

Then Shortstuff's student funding is pulled in August. She gets nothing. I say it's fine, you are only studying 50%, finish school. I'll fix the money for now. She get's sick leave 50% FINALLY after years of talking with her psychiatrist, and the next hit hits.

She isn't getting any sick pay, despite being away the 50%, because she's studying, and will be getting her sick pay from her student funding. But... her student funding is zero. She gets nothing. So we go to social services, as for social funding.

She doesn't get any, because I earn money, and I can support her.

In the same breath as this, I start feeling bad. Really bad. I wake up with fevers, shaking, throwing up. I go to work, I feel disconnected, I fall asleep, I get fevers, I feel disoriented. More throwing up, more fever. I call in sick, go to the doctor. They find nothing. Rest up until fever is gone, back to work. Two weeks later, same thing.

This keeps going for a few months, until eventually I decided to make an appointment with the closes emergency psychiatrist as well. She finally connects the dots. I'm burning out, and fast. I'm so stressed I start forgetting things, I get so stressed I get fevers, I am so stressed I can't sleep. Everything is just piling up. She suggest I take 100% sick leave and rest up.

But I'm the only income we have. I can't. I make $2000 and the bills are $1600. cutting out 20% that full sick leave does will put us in the red.

In December, they convince me to take 25% off, and get a sick day in the middle of the week (Wednesday) and see if that helps. 25% means after sick pay I'll have $1800. Just enough for the bills.

But the Government takes its sweet time.

We can't cover our bills. We keep burning through our savings. Stuff at the house breaks, the brother doesn't pay his bills, the MOTHER starts not paying the bills. We go about $1000 in the red one month. Shortstuff decides to try working 10 hours a week despite her inability to do both that and study with her own sick leave, but she does it for my sake. It's not enough, we keep losing savings, we'll go bankrupt if this keeps up.

We decide to sell the house.

WW3 ensues. No, seriously. The mother is FURIOUS, she starts calling, yelling, blowing up. The BROTHER blows up, starts stealing furniture, stops paying bills entirely, tries sabotaging things for the sale. Things get worse at work, too, for Shortstuff.

At work, her mother is there. Her mother who harasses her, makes her feel unsafe, and just generally treats her bad. She gets pulled into the changing room and yelled at for personal stuff, AT WORK and can't say anything back because her mother is a group manager. She get's shoved, told to work more, told to not loiter the moment she stops a second, and just generally feels unsafe and stressed.

She gets home sick, and her mother LEAVES WORK UNANNOUNCED just after lunch to take the one and a half hour trip to our apartment, barge her way in, and proceeds to lecture Shortstuff (40 degrees Celsius of fever, sinus infection and drugged down on fever inhibitors) on what a horrible person she was, how much of a traitor she was, and that she should know that if her sister (who has late-diagnosed diabetes, and also an eating disorder, and who REALLY shouldn't be living with the mother considering how she's acting and behaves) DIES, Shortstuff would have to live with 'having murdered her sister'. She leaves after demanding she show up on Christmas, and stating she wants her 'kind and caring' daughter back.

She just wants her TOOL back. The daughter who you could get money from, put all your subscriptions on, rest your entire future on and DEMANDED would take care of you for the rest of your life.

Granted, this isn't helping matters. Shortstuff doesn't want to go back to work. I understand. We talk to the management at work about it... nothing happens. As always.

I can't get ahold of my doctor in January to prolong my sick leave, so I go back 100%. Fall sick 10 days later, stress. Finally get ahold of my doctor again in February, and she sets me back to 25% sick leave, and sends me to a psychiatrist for a proper evaluation, since my therapist says she can't seem to help me with my stress.

I keep going on sick leave 25%, being free Wednesdays and... it kind of works? It kind of works. I don't get sick every two weeks, but I still go to bed every day immediately after work. I know I'm going to Japan in June for Tales of Festival but unless the house sells and we get money in, we won't afford it. It makes me sad, makes me want to sleep and never wake up. It feels like stuff will never end.

I make calls daily. To real estate people, to bank, to government about shortstuff's rejected sick leave, to government about MY sick leave, about insurances, cutting down on things to save money, selling stuff online to get money, doing commissions—

In March, my computer dies. Not a problem for 7 years, and one day I'm drawing, it lets out a high-pitched shriek, and dies. Motherboard fried. Everyone online is the same: no use repairing, better to buy a new one.

New one is $4000. I borrow the money from my mother, and cry as friends online send me a few $100 in helping pay her back.

I finally get my evaluation from the psychiatrist. Undiagnosed for 28 years, I have ADHD and Autism. It's likely why I've been unable to handle 'normal' stress and why I've burned out. It explains SO much stuff about myself I always thought was weird. She suggests we prolong my sick leave of 25% still, and I agree.

I tell my mom. She says she doesn't think I have anything, 'anyone can get a diagnosis if they try' and she scoffs at me saying the medicines will help me. It hurts. I don't tell my dad.

medicines help. I feel more at ease, I don't procrastinate as much, I feel like I can start and finish stuff. The first few days I keep looking over my shoulder, because for once, my head is silent even when I'm not 100% engulfed in something.

We keep trying to fix stuff at the house. House showcase is set to May 3rd and May 6th. We get the photographing done, clean up (while trying to avoid the people still living there who aren't even paying the bills anymore) and get it up on the web.

First showcase is a success. 3 people interested. One person calls the realtor and asks him what we want for it. I explain we want 10% above asking price to let it go. I hear nothing back. Friday we're heading up to Stockholm for a comic convention we agreed to months before and I managed to make nothing for since I've not had a productive day for months. On our way to the train, we get a call. The person interested is willing to buy it for 10% above asking price, if we sign immediately.

We're heading to Stockholm, though, and I explain that. Realtor mentions his WIFE is working at a place close to the station, faxes the contract there and we head there in a hurry to sign, then head up to Stockholm.

The sale goes through, moving in date is 11th of June, the day before we're to head to Japan.

We book time for cleaning, reiterate to the mother and brother that they have to move out by May 31st (as stated in the contract we wrote them in February). They're not happy. I don't care, I just want the house sold. We're burning through our savings fast and will have NOTHING for Japan unless this goes through.

Zelda, our sweet, darling cat, falls sick again. We decide it's time for her to go. 6 wonderful years with a kitty no one thought would survive the first night we found her. She fell asleep in my arms out in the sun on May 23rd.

When we arrive back at the apartment (that we're renting from Shortstuff's father, who's held a VERY passive role in this... thus far), we are met by her eldest brother (not same one as who's renting) and the father. They tell us we need to be out of the apartment by June 30th.

They KNEW we were heading to Japan on the 12th, they KNEW we wouldn't be back until the 27th. They KNEW we had stuff with the house all the way up to the 11th. THEY KNEW WE JUST PUT OUR CAT TO REST.

Worst of all, they complained we 'only' gave them 3 months to find a new place to live. They gave us 1, a month we wouldn't be able to look for a place for 3 weeks of the time.

We know now, later, that the Mother was given the apartment, the 'poor thing' because we had 'ruined her life'. Also, she has been spouting to everyone she owned a 3rd of the house and we've scammed her... y'know.

We lent her $7000 in October 2016 to help with Shortstuff's sister's care. We didn't get any money back from that. They didn't pay any bills the last months, putting us back about $5000, they sabotaged stuff in the house (breaking stuff, ripping electrical sockets from wall, cutting off TV cable, letting the pool pump be out in freezing temperatures so it broke) putting us back EVEN MORE in costs for the house... but we scammed her. Sure.

So suddenly we have two weeks before going to Japan, no time to mourn our lost family member, scrambling to find an apartment.

Luckily, my dad came to the rescue. A friend of his' daughter was going to rent an Apartment just half an hour's walking distance from my job, but her job offer fell through so she had just told them she couldn't take it. We got the number, called, asked if it was still up.

It was. It's more expensive than the other apartment, slightly smaller, but it's liveable. We're told we can move in July 4th. That makes us homeless for 5 days, but dad says we can stay with him if so.

I have a meeting with a nurse at the psychiatrists office in end May, talking about how the medicines are working. I remind her they promised to prolong my sick leave and my current slip ends May 31st, and she promises to fix one.

It doesn't happen, for some reason.

We DO get the house in order (even if they moved out 2 days late, ruined stuff, and left furniture, rotting food and everything in disarray so we had to pay EXTRA for the cleaning), we get the papers signed June 11th, we get our money, pay off our debts (Mom for computer, sister and her boyfriend for covering our lost revenue on bills)... and we go to Japan.

Japan and Tales of Festival gave me life again. I met people, I laughed, I had FUN, I didn't have to WORRY for ONCE. Tales of Vesperia got so much love and I was overwhelmed when they announced the party, I looked at Shortstuff and she just went 'go'.

I love Shortstuff, so much. Without her, I wouldn't have been here today. My psychiatrist agrees. She still wonders how I'm still alive.

Japan was fun, but coming back home hit me hard. We didn't have time to think, packing everything up, and moving. We manage to pressure the father to let us stay until July 4th, since they gave us so little notice AND they overstayed their welcome in the house.

We move into the new apartment July 4th, but the previous tenants had apparently been a hassle and moved out too late too, so the electricity hasn't been wired (they were replacing old wiring) so we only had electricity in the kitchen. It would take a few weeks, he said.

It took 3 weeks of us living in only the kitchen of our 2 rooms and kitchen apartment before we had electricity. During this time, Sweden was still mid up in its '100 days without rain' and 35+ degrees outside. The apartment was 28 degrees. It was torture.

First week of living there, I get word from the government. They're denying all my sick pay from December to May, because they don't see how I can work 75% but not 100%, and why I have to have a free day midweek ('How is your work capability 100% some days and 0% some days???') which means the money I thought was gonna come in, isn't. The sick leave extension I was going to get for June (and late July) also didn't happen, so I have no choice but going back to working 100% from July 2nd. I call my doctor's office about appealing and seeing about continuing sick leave, and they tell us they'll arrange a time.

...That went as well as we thought it would.

I planned a trip to Japan September 5th to 18th for the Tales of Vesperia Anniversary Party, and in the time from July 2nd to September 5th, I've been sick home from work 26 days. 26 days out of 47. My boss is wondering if everything is okay, I tell him it isn't. They know everything that's going on, and they nod and tell me to take it easy and just say if I need help with anything.

Shortstuff comes back to work since her school is on pause, and her mother is on Vacation. It works fine for a while, and when schools tarts again she goes down to 50%. School is set to end in October.

But her mother comes back, and she gets sick. VERY sick. She gets a sick leave of 75% (because she wanted to bring in some money) in beginning August, then meets her psychiatrist again in end August, who immediately sets her to full sick leave, and antidepressants, because she's considered suicidal.

Work wonders why, I reiterate that her mother makes her feel unsafe, and that Shortstuff has been feeling bad all year from seeing me have to struggle to bring in money while she does 'nothing'. That she's had zero income since October 2017, because the government sucks.

The government still hasn't approved her sick leave.

End August, I get terrible side effects from my medicines. I feel like I'm dying, my heart beats so fast I can't breathe, and I get clammy and nauseous. I get ahold of a doctor in beginning September and they ask why I haven't called earlier (I have) and they tell me they scheduled a time for September 19th. They also tell me to cut my medication. I extend my vacation to the 19th, because I know I won't have the energy for both work and doctor's appointment that day.

Second to last day before I go to Japan, I cry at work all afternoon. I barely make it through the day and go home, I cry hysterically all evening. i just want to give up, I don't want to fight anymore, I can't. Shortstuff feels horrible, and I feel all the more horrible about making her feel that way.

I go to Japan. I spent the first few days trying best I can to just get out of bed and do the things I wanted to. I spend more money than I should, because currently, the only joy I get is from buying things. That's the only time I feel excited or happy.

It's fun, though, but I can't sleep. I Skype with Shortstuff every night when it gets too late so I can fall asleep with her there. I can barely get out of bed, I barely eat. But I try having fun. Anxiety fucks me up several times per day and I cry hysterically every evening, but I try to have fun.

I feel like giving up.

The Anniversary Party was the best day of the year. Maybe my life. I had tickets to both shows, I got to see everything, and I had a few hours of NO worry, NO real life... just Love for my absolute favourite game. I've preordered 6 versions of the Definitive Edition.

My mom would tell me to not spend all the money we got from selling the house, but I DEFINITELY need 6 versions of the remaster of my favourite game. Bite me.

I come back home. I sleep. I go to the doctor.

I break down. She can't understand why it took so long for them to book me a meeting since I called in July, she can't understand why I got denied sick pay, especially since I was set to be 100% sick but decided to try fighting because I couldn't afford being sick.

She writes a long, long list of descriptions of my burnout, my ADHD, my Autism, why they make me unable to work, why we're appealing. She prescribes me new medication, she writes me another letter. I'm on 100% sick leave from that day. She asks me if I'll be okay money wise or if we should try 75% again, and I just hell her I don't have the energy to fight anymore. I've barely gotten by for a year because I couldn't afford full sick leave and that just made it worse and I STILL couldn't afford it so 100% might be just as well.

She looks honestly sad and upset when she writes the prescription, and tells me she'll send me a copy of the Note to the government once she's finished it. She mentions she's set the initial sick leave period until the 31st of December.

I tell my boss the next day, I tell my coworkers. No one is surprised. Everyone knows what's going on, everyone knows what has happened. No one can do anything about Shortstuff's Mom being at the workplace even though she's probably 70% of the reason why Shortstuff is on antidepressants (yours truly and her guilt about that being the remaining 30%) and about 50% of the reason why I am, because it's 'difficult' to fix a situation like that.

I understand, but I also don't. On Shortstuff's Note it says 'unclear' on the question if the doctor thinks she can ever come back to work. I am on sick leave until the end of the year. But her mother gets to keep her job, gets a free apartment, and complains how 'everything' is against her and how people never care about her.

I hate her.

I got my note today. I'm crying. I'm crying now, as I'm writing. My doctor is so angry, she's describing my issues, how much Ive struggled, how much I've TRIED to work despite needing to be full sick leave, how hard I've fought to need as little government support as possible, and she CAN'T understand how they could deny a patient with that much issues.

On my note, it says 'unclear' on if I can ever go back to work.

I... I'm 28 years old. And they think that this... all this... might have damaged me so much I can never work again.

But sure, Shortstuff's Mom is the victim.

She gets away scot free and more... but she's the victim. She's alienated Shortstuff from her entire family. None of her siblings talk to her. They threw their baby sister under the bus for an abusive and manipulative mother, even after telling her they'd be on her side.

And for what?

The ONLY thing we ever did, was saying we wanted to move to a place of our own.

If that's a crime worthy of ruining two young people's lives over, then wow.

Wow.

I'm just babbling now. This has been incoherent but...

I feel horrible about this too but... I have a donation thing on Paypal. For now we still have money left from the house sale. But we've signed for a new apartment end next year... and we hope that moving there, we'll be able to get our life together. Live again.

So... if anyone has the ability to or want to, please consider dropping something in there. I might open a Ko-fi too if anyone prefers that rather than PayPal.

I'll also make some sales posts later but... yeah.

I've babbled enough. Just... I wanted people to know why I've been... on and off, and what's going on and...

Just...

Yeah.

[kuskakhtar60-blog]

Waraire Boswell Grungy Gentleman Compilation.

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[littlestloaf]

maybe around a month ago, i’d had to watch christopher nolan’s memento for my film studies module, and i’ve had a piece titled “memento: remembering to forget or forgetting to remember or simply doing whatever the fuck you want because reality isn’t real” sitting in my drafts folder since then. i’d really wanted to review it, because it’s the first time i had Thoughts after watching a nolan film. (in all fairness i’ve only ever seen one other nolan film which is inception but it was too much mindfuckery and i Did Not Like It.) i know never to procrastinate my writing because once i lose inspiration it’s Gone For Life (i have no reason to be capitalising random words but it is adding an Effect i cannot explain.) anyways. memento review not done, and it’s probably the only film i enjoyed in this module so far. go figure. 

last night, because of eye redness and pain that should be diagnosed as chronic at this point, i found myself throwing an ice pack we used as kids to break fevers into a green hello kitty handkerchief we also used as kids and slapping it onto my eyes to relieve the itchiness and scary red veins. while praying that this better not be linked to my diabetes or turn me blind, i decided to pick back up on my recent public transport hobby - listening to podcasts. the title was “why did two parents murder their adopted child?”, from the guardian audio long read. (highly recommended by the way, especially if reading long articles turns you off.)

and i thought, yes, why?!?!?!? i wanted answers. i wanted to know if they were monsters, who made them monsters, or if this was just an elaborate media conspiracy. 

this could be a spoiler if you plan to listen to the podcast, but also not very much so if you are an avid reader of keigo higashino’s books. which is that you pretty much do not get the why. there are speculations of course; the calm british male voice narrating the podcast points out that investigators thought the couple were selfish, narcissistic individuals, adopting the girl in a bid to elevate their already elevated upper middle-class nice friendly neighbourhood couple status. psychologists state that the mother was slightly mentally impaired by her depression and anxiety. the overarching theory was that, whatever reason they adopted the child for, they’d gotten tired of the effort required to raise her, the mental energy necessary to lavish on a pre-adolescent girl whom they’d already spent so much money and time on through ballet, violin, french, chinese, piano lessons. she was an intelligent, precocious young girl. months and weeks prior to her death she’d complained of giddiness, of feeling like someone was trying to kill her. it is unknown whether she was aware that, if the investigators’ theories were right, her parents had been trying to poison her with lorazepam for months, so much so that traces of it were found on the first 3 centimetres of a strand of her hair. 

if you’d watched memento you’d know that the basic premise of it is about this man who suffers from extreme short-term memory after a blow to his head from the murderer-rapist of his wife who is, by the way, yet to be caught. so he takes the investigation and revenge into his own hands. but the catch is, he can never remember anything for more than a few hours at a time. so he uses badass homemade tattoos on his body, polaroids, and little notes to self written on those polaroids to give him a narrative to return to whenever he forgets. except nothing is at all as it seems and you should really watch the film if you haven’t because it’s probably nolan’s best movie even if other people won’t tell you that. 

the similarity between memento and this podcast is that both tell the story backwards - nolan quite literally, and this author in retrospect through tracing the lives of those involved. and because they are backwards, you are sitting at the end of an event with all the evidence laid out right before you. yet, there is a strange unknowability to all of it. it disturbs me that you can never really get down to the root of anything, no matter how much you investigate it. maybe you’ve convicted a murderer, and they said they killed their victim out of jealousy. all evidence could point to that fact, they get convicted, etc. but did they really kill out of jealousy? did they even kill the person? what if all the evidence is only circumstantial and happens to point towards them in a very bizarre coincidence? honestly, that’s between them and god. between them and nobody if there is no god. 

i’ll always want to know why. i’ll always want honesty in a world where there is no objective reality whatsoever. maybe it has to do with wanting comfort. if i knew why they did it i could prevent anyone else from ever doing it again. maybe it’s just plain, simple curiosity. but it just sucks, for the lack of a better word, that i’ll probably never get any closer to the big, capital T truth. 

people who knew the couple expressed shock upon knowing they had become convicted child murderers, while members of the public accused them of devious heartlessness. i thought investigators were supposed to be neutral. calling someone selfish and neurotic isn’t neutral. my main point is that everything is so mediated, so filtered through something else, that perhaps by the time it gets through to you it may be unrecognisable. a large scale game of telephone. 

kurosawa plays with this premise in rashomon, coining what we know now as the rashomon effect, which occurs whenever two or more witnesses give competing interpretations of the same event, thereby preventing listeners from determining the objective truth. other forms of media which deep delve into the idea of public enemies, like miller’s enemy of the people and the untamed, similarly point out how perspectives are circulated, warped and destroyed. how power frames things one way and then another. 

even if my dreams of living in a world where everything can be simply Known will never be fulfilled, it’s nice to have these things that shine a mirror right into your face. our culpability can never be underestimated; we are all a node in a great big game of telephone. no message can hope to survive to the end, and can only die trying.

i guess this should be salient given the era of fake news and whatever but i am mostly thinking about how all of us are these tiny little beings in a large world, forever, strangers to the workings of it, to ourselves and to one another. we just...never know, you know. ha. (apparently my sister and i use “you know” so much at the end of sentences that L has started to imitate us. how do i let him know that nobody will ever know.)

[stephicness]

A Question For You... (Tag Game)

cSo for this one, I was tagged by @misaki-kurenai, @sahara-rose, and @fangsoflightening. So I’d figured I’d just put these questions all into one post. c: Spare you the post spam. Here we go!

I’mma put my tags and questions up above the read more, that why I won’t bore you with a massively long post. :D Instead, I’ll give you really descriptive questions!

1) You’re walking home one day, and you suddenly stumble upon a man dressed in over-the-top clothing and a giant hat. He offers you the chance to have one wish granted, but at the expense of your loved-one perishing in the process. Would you still take the wish? What would you wish for?

2) You’re going to be featured as a character within a novel! However, the catch is that you have to write your character’s introduction to the story. How would you write your introduction and description?

3) Given the circumstances involving a successful project being completed and your work/school being collateral damage, you’re given compensation for your time and efforts: $1,000,000! What do you decide to do with said money?

4) You’re minding your own business and drinking your beverage as you work when suddenly someone comes up and kisses you. When they pull away, your heart skips a beat because you notice just how beautiful they look. What do they look like?

5) You’re trapped in a plain white room with nothing more than a box of materials of various kinds. Your captors give you a goal to work towards: fill up one of the walls with anything you like by any means you desire to. You can draw, paint, write, and more. How do you go about filling up that wall?

6) Of all of the books this library can contain, you’re only allowed to enter this library and pick up three books of different genres to forever keep as your own. Because once you claim your books to read, the library will disappear. What are the three books that you wish to read from this library?

7) You’re chosen for a higher purpose, they claimed. Your talents and accomplishments will make you the leader of a new revolution of ideas, and it all starts with the talent that you have. What is the talent and accomplishment that will lead you to start this revolution?

8) The world is slowly coming to ruins and it seems that the only goal in this new and twisted reality is to survive. Survival comes at a top priority, but you have to keep your loved ones safe as well. What will be your plan for survival when you must help others as well?

9) An artist found you as the muse to their work, and so they ask to paint you as their subject. Once the painting is complete, they reveal it to you and claim that they captured the perfect aesthetic for you. What is the aesthetic that was captured and how was it captured?

10) It seems as if the life that you’ve wished to live in was only but a dream. A dream that must soon come to an end as you return back to the reality you reside in. What was the dream that you were trapped in?

11) ‘All hail your new ruler!’ The cheers from the crowd below overwhelm you as you step out and admire the kingdom before you. A world where you possess an unimaginable magical power that only you and your linage has carried. What is the power that you possess?

And let’s tag... @itshaejinju, @birdsandivory, @lhugbereth, @chimeracuddles, @mistress-light, @destiny-islanders, @fulgurians, @lizibabbles, @blossattic, @fabulanova-ffxv, @chaoticmimzy

*thumbs up* Have fun with the overly detailed questions! Feel free to read the questions asked of me below~ :D

fangsoflightening’s Questions

1: If you could pick one fictional character to hang out with, who would it be?

Probably Prompto, actually. c: I’m a bit boring in my routines and all, so having someone as energetic as Prompto as a buddy would be pretty cool. Adventures whenever possible, perhaps!

2: Favorite tv show or anime?

I watch obscene amounts of Law and Order: SVU. To the point where I’ve watched all of the seasons 3-4 times... *coughs*

3: Is there a particular trope you really love?

Tsundereeeeeeeeees

4: Favorite movie?

Scott Pilgrim vs the World

5: If you had the chance to do anything you wanted without limits, what would it be?

Is infinite pho and sushi an option...?

6: Favorite kind of weather?

Super warm partly cloudy days

7: You can have one superpower. What do you choose?

Mental to physical recreation. That way, if I have a really cool idea for a drawing or design, I can instantly draw it without it looking derpy.

8: Favorite food?

I really like soups and sushi. Like, alot of soup and sushi.

9: What is a pet peeve of yours?

Being talked over.

10: Do you have a favorite saying?

“People are people, and people are dumb.”

11: When it comes to shipping, is there a particular dynamic you especially love?

I like ships that have a dynamic where they aren’t really in love at first, or they aren’t together for a long time, and then suddenly there’s some dramatic revelation of event that brings them together in a cute and genuine way. Kinda like a one-sided affection that ultimately leads to the other being all ‘I don’t like affection, but your affection is nice.’ Cute sappy stuff that gives me diabetes, please. :D

sahara-rose’s Questions

Favourite colour and why?

Purple. It’s always been a color associated with regality and power, but it’s also a color that can be associated with moodiness and darkness. Kinda like behind every strength is a weakness. It’s pretty neat~

Do you hate someone that you have a thought about doing something bad to them? if so why?

I resent alot of people in my life, but I don’t really ‘hate’ them. I forsake them alot and say things like ‘I hope you eat a stale bagel,’ but I’d rather let karma take-over for me.

Have any plans? like going on a vacation etc

I’m moving to the Roseville and Sacramento area around April and May...?

Have you ever confess to your crush?

I have, yes. Never turns out too well in the end though~

Happiest moment in your life?

Every day where I’m not wishing to kill myself and suffer is a happy moment. c: Yay for self-damnation!

What about a person that attracts you?

I find myself most attracted to a person’s intellect. If they’re smart and have a good and open-minded perspectives on things, then they’re usually someone I grow fond of. That, and roman noses for some reason.

If you have one chance to marry your favourite character. who would it be and why?

I mean... Ravus is my favorite character, but that’s because I like the moody bishies tsunderes. c:

First game you ever play?

The first game I played solo and beat was the Sims Bustin’ Out. Yeah, I was a completionist with that game. It was terrible...

Do you have bad habits that you want to get rid of?

I pull out my hair whenever I have anxiety, so it’d be nice breaking that habit.

Favourite animal? Why?

Owls, because they’re majestic angry birds. Tsundere birds probably.

Be honest, would you rather go back to the past or see your future? why?

Probably the past, so I could benefit my future/present with minor things. Of course, butterfly effect politics, but I’d more rather help shape the present than see the future to come. Only leads to more stress and anxiety.

misaki-kurenai’s Questions

1. What’s your current song obsession? 

I always listen to Jump and Shake by Timeflies on the way to work. :D

2. How are you doing in life so far? Struggling? Me too. 

Kind of in a bind for money, and I’ve been lacking in creativity and motivation, but yeah. Beyond that, I guess it’s going okay? Perhaps moving will help shake things up!

3. Do you quote lines from Vine sometimes?

Oh god... A bit more often that I’d wanna admit.

4. If so, which ones? :3

I say ‘watermelone’ alot, because I really like watermelon. I also quote that one vine where they’re singing ‘Suck a dick!’ That one resonates with me alot.

5. What time do you usually go to bed? 

Somewhere between 1 AM and 3 AM.

6. Do you or have you done commissions before?

I do/have done them, yes! I’m a lazy artist though, but I really wanna take more commissions again! I just gotta resolve what’s going on with my desktop. e.e;;

7. Are all of your social media accounts under the same/similar username?

Typically, yes. Stephicness is my default in most cases, like on Xbox, Youtube, and Tumblr. UdonDude/UdonTitan are my PC game names. And gawsh-adaarn-it/gawshadaarnit was my ex-tumblr name and used for Spotify and stuff like that.

8. Who are your top 5 celebrity crushes?

Um... I don’t really have any celebrity crushes, to be honest... I scream alot whenever I see Benedict Cumberbatch though...?

9. How much makeup do you wear when you go out (in general)? 

I actually just started wearing makeup for things, but I only really ever use it when I’m going out to do fancy things. So little to none, because I only ever really use foundation to make myself look like tired.

10. What’s your hidden talent? :D

Uh... I used to be really good at Jeopardy and trivia games...? I can also twist my arms around and Grudge crawl after people. :D

[edwardiansnow]

2017.

I said I would eventually try to write something about 2017 and whilst this might not have been the form I thought it would take, I think maybe this is it.

2017 was tricky for various reasons, personally and professionally. However, the two dovetail neatly when I consider perhaps the thing that cast the bigger shadow over the year: my health.

I also wonder if writing it out and 👀 it in type might help me with my own comprehension of it.

In 2017 I was diagnosed with a chronic, autoimmune illness (non-curable, as is typical with these things). It’s IBD. No, not IBS. I confused the acronyms too. IBS is a functional disorder syndrome (which can be damn nasty in itself), IBD is a disease in which my body, well, attacks itself. (There are two “flavours”, I have colitis. No, I hadn’t heard of it either.)

IBD is always there though at certain times it “flares”. During a flare, the most unpleasant of the symptomatic effects (I won’t detail them, you can google if you want) are there for weeks, sometimes months at a time. This has happened to me twice in a substantial way (though thankfully, nothing so severe that I had to go to 🏥 or anything. But still, it’s really, really unpleasant. And humiliting. And demeaning. And debilitating). The first time I thought I just had a terrible case of food poising or some gastro-something-horrid virus. The second time I knew I had to go back to the doctor and submit myself to the necessary “investigations”. Yeah. I lost a lot a days to them in 2017.

I bring this up as it appears – and I’m so desperately hoping I’m wrong – that I am heading into another flare. That means the past two weeks have been full of horrible white bread and plain 🍚. I can’t eat anything remotely “healthy”. As a vegetarian which a family disposition towards type 2 diabetes, that’s really not fun. Having to explain to people that actually, you’ll just eat a plain brötchen and saying yes, I know I usually 😍 coffee, but not right now please isn’t great. 

All that is deflating in itself, but what is really getting me down is the realisation of all this. This is how life is now. The periods of feeling well are overshadowed by the fear of When It Comes Back – which is the wrong way to think about it as it never actually “goes away”, it just becomes less apparent. I managed nearly a year of remission until now but even so, during a test in the middle of that period, the inflammation was still there. That is the first thing I need to get my head around.

The second thing I am struggling with is perhaps the hardest thing about all this: fatigue. 👀, if people do know what IBD is, because of what the B stands for (guess what: “bowel”) the assumption is that you essentially have bouts of Bad Food Poisoning or tee-hee-lots-of-bathroom-time periods. Which in a sense you do.

But the thing is, my body is spending a good chunk of time and energy quite literally attack itself through chronic inflammation. I am struggling with accepting how much of my energy level hard drive space I am having to give up with no choice. I felt absolutely exhausted for large stretches of 2016 and 2017 (so much so I went to have my thyroid tested etc).

Before I really started getting ill, whilst never the greatest morning person I would set my alarm on weekends (once I actually get up, then I am fine to get going), open the 🚪, pick a direction and just… walk. Nothing has ever given me greater happiness than Doing That in This City. It’s hard to articulate how important that has been for me. And still is. But it’s not achievable as it once was before. That quietly devastates me. I am determined to maintain as high a level as I can but it’s hard. I have now become aware of this which has helped me a little bit.

I also worry so much about how this has/still might affect my professional life. I am a freelancer which means a degree of flexibility but, on account of the areas I operate in, it also means the opposite - you Don’t Want To/Can’t Say No to Work. I worry that it will hold me back in terms of trying to really get competent in German, that it will hod me back in my ultimate mission to stay here (which has now been granted a Brexit subplot mission: demonstrate your worth/ability/desire to stay here). I worry about the stress of having to navigate tests and treatment in a foreign language, about health insurance admin and, well, What The Hello To Tell People.

Moving here required a lot of personal 🚀 fuel. But it wasn’t difficult because I so wanted it. And I still DO, more than ever. I just hate feeling like the tank is empty every now and then. More than that, I hate the thought that it will never, ever be full again.

I’m not sure why I share this here. Perhaps because I know I have to start accepting and adapting to this more willingly than I have done so to date. And to be very honest, because I want to be less alone with it and want someone to understand.

For anyone reading this who struggles with anything autoimmune/chronic/similar: you have my solidarity and meine herzlichsten Wünsche.

Thank you if you read this. It’s not terribly well written but there it is. More building, 📚 and berlin spam as normal to follow.

[mysticalmindblog]

How often do you ask yourself, "Why can't I ever feel any sense of peace in my life..?"

It's a good question to start off this blog article. The quote states you do indeed possess inner peace, always have, always will. Does that sound right to you..? I can tell you that for a good percentage of people, it doesn't at all feel that way. So what is the contrary alternative to inner peace that seems a lot more prevalent..?

Anxiety: Anxiety Disorders affect 18.1 percent of adults in the United States (approximately 40 million adults between the ages of 18 to 54). - National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH). Current estimates put this number much higher - approximately 30 percent - as many people don't seek help, are misdiagnosed, or don't know they have issues with anxiety.

According to The Economic Burden of Anxiety Disorders, a study commissioned by the ADAA and based on data gathered by the association and published in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, anxiety disorders cost the U.S. more than $42 billion a year, almost one third of the $148 billion total mental health bill for the U.S.

Anxiety can be defined as a feeling of concern, worry, nervousness, or panic. It is mostly associated with an imminent situation, especially events and situations that have a variety of uncertain possible outcomes. Basically this definition shouts volumes given the state of mind that the vast majority of people live in on a daily basis. The keyword is 'uncertain'.

I could go into a lengthy ramble about uncertainty, and how we humans have this strong urge to be able to predict the future, but instead, I will just say that through a regimen of meditation, it is possible to deactivate that obsession, and instead live mindfully 100% in the present moment. A future blog post will cover a quote about it in-depth, as I have wrestled many times with the uncertainty in my life, to the point of despair, and have a lot to say about it. Getting back to 'Inner Peace', and acquainting yourself with your own inner worlds, I can promise you that regardless of how much stress and anxiety you have in your life, you absolutely can achieve a state of mind where you feel deeply peaceful. Don't let your stress and anxiety deceive you.

The Deception with a Stranglehold on your Mind

The first deception is that if you are facing a situation with unknown results, you can "Figure things out...", if you give enough time to thinking (worrying) about them. Truly, it will never work. If you worry, or if you don't worry, the outcome will be the same. While wanting the best and most beneficial result, we tend to always imagine the worst possible scenario as the one that will most probably happen, and we then magnify the dread we feel, and it becomes a tightness in the chest, and a lump in the throat. The tragic thing is that so many individuals live in a perpetual state of anxiety on a daily basis. Regardless of your age, stress and anxiety can lead to high blood pressure, a loss or increase in appetite, diabetes, hair loss, heart disease, and even a stroke. All because of a 'State of Mind' that we have the power to overcome, but don't, because we have become so used to suffering in that form that we regard it as normal.

Danger

Anxiety can arise over the simplest of things, in the view of others, but not to you. Something simple to one can be another's mountain to scale. However, there is also the kind of anxiety which I call 'Infectious Anxiety', an example of which could be if you are unfortunate enough to have to work in an atmosphere where there are individuals who consistently act and communicate negatively, and carry around their own anxieties for all to see. You can quickly end up becoming just as negative and anxious as them simply by virtue of not guarding your mind adequately enough. We humans are hard wired to be creatures of instinct, with knee-jerk emergency environmental responses; in other words, we carry the capacity via the sudden release of the hormones adrenaline, norepinephrine, and cortisol to swiftly react to a crisis situation, especially when that situation appears to involve danger, such as a threat to our life, or to the life of a loved one.

The problems arise when we feel like we have to constantly be on alert, that if we aren't vigilant then a looming catastrophe will befall us.

It's like we are running around frantically trying to see into the immediate future, imagining it to be full of monsters and disasters - so we are perpetually in a state of heightened anxiety and stress, expecting that crisis situation. Subsequently we can burn out daily as a result of the hormonal imbalance resulting from the anxiety.

So what's the solution..?

Allow me to throw one word at you: ACCEPTANCE.

Life will surely be unpleasant for everyone, at some point in time. It's just like that. As the old saying goes "S**t happens!"

Worrying will not stop it. When I used to whine and complain about something I was worried about, as a teenager, to my Father, he would never fail to remind me, "Son, if you worry, you die. If you don't worry, you die. So, why worry..?"

Of course, it wasn't until years later that I would recite that to myself as a mantra, fully understanding it's profound depth, and simplicity.

OK, so, stop worrying, and accept that life is intrinsically challenging, and that if things can go wrong, they probably will, right..?

You have it partially right. Yes - stop worrying... Yes - life is intrinsically challenging...

Now, whether or not things can go wrong - an individual only has so much control over the inanimate impermanent things around him, and the results of situations playing out can rely upon an almost infinite amount of variables that control is impossible, especially when other people are involved.

So I should just stop caring about what's around the corner and hope for the best..?

No. Definitely not. Care enough about the next moment that you give this present moment 100% mindfulness. Simply, live for the moment you are in giving it all of your attention and mind power. If you have a test paper to write, that needs to be turned in tomorrow, don't delay; get yourself sat down with your laptop, put your 100% mindful concentration into the task, and focus on nothing else until you finish. Once, finished, mindfully review it several times for errors and mistakes. Once satisfied, and document is saved, close the laptop, and move on to whatever is next to do. Just keep your mind clear and mindful, toss out noisy thoughts that hinder you and your progress, and throw your 100% concentration into whatever task you are working on next. Some call this 'Living Life Deliberately'.

The concept of living solely in the moment you are living was extensively studied and practiced in Taoism and Buddhism in ancient times, and there are vast volumes written and translated about the practice - however it definitely isn't a difficult concept to understand - it just can take time to perfect, as with anything; practice makes perfect.

- Right, I get it. I will try that. But how do I find this inner peace and get to enjoy it..?

Acceptance. As I said, accepting yourself for who you are, accepting the fact that you will always have challenges, accepting that you need to think more of the present moment, and not of the next or previous moments.

Take some time to sit down quietly, close your eyes, and just relax, clearing your mind of noisy thoughts. Embrace the now, embrace the current moment, and deliberately quieten the mind. This in essence is what meditation is, quietening the mind, being in the present moment but doing nothing but being still, and fully conscious, while throwing out all the mental noise, random thoughts, and questions.

What is left is a peaceful mind, pure consciousness with no nonsensical distractions or noisy thoughts. There's your inner peace, it was always there, buried under layers of noise, stress, worry, and anxiety. Welcome to your inner world.

Stay a while, and visit often.

Did worrying ever help..? No.

Footnote:

Do you still worry sometimes..? Yes, only now when it occurs, I see it as an invasive feeling, and quickly shut it down, turning back to what I am doing in the present moment and focus.

Again, I want to take the opportunity to recommend meditation as a vital tool to dealing with your mind and the various tortuous thoughts and fears that can plague it. Until you take your last breath, your mind will attempt to clutter up with noise and imaginary crisis scenarios, anxiety is a tricky, nasty state of mind, deceptive, and always causes suffering. There will be times when you will just have to find some 'solo' time, and quieten the mind while mindfully focusing on the very moment you are in.