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thatguywiththecoydog · 4 years ago

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The Bad Seed (1956)

Spoilers below.

Warning: There are some themes in this post that might make some people feel uncomfortable. I will be discussing themes of suicide, murder, and antisocial personality disorder. Not to mention, there are a lot of violent descriptions that I go into detail about. If these are subjects that bother you on an emotional level, please have some discretion upon reading this.

I recently watched The Bad Seed from Warner Bros. released in 1956. This movie is based on the book and play of the same name.

The plot (major spoilers start at paragraph 2):

The movie starts off normally enough with the Penmark family living their everyday life. Kenneth, the man of the house, is stationed off on military duty, leaving his wife, Christine, and his eight-year-old daughter, Rhoda, at home. Rhoda's reputation at the apartment she lives at is a good one, as both her mother and the landlady, Monica, adore her and everything she does.

One day, Rhoda leaves for a school picnic at the lake and everything is as it should. Meanwhile, Christine is having lunch with the other people in the building when she gets a rather disturbing message from the radio. A child in Rhoda's class has just drowned in the lake. This ends up being a boy named Claude. Claude had previously won a penmanship medal that Rhoda was also competing for.

Rhoda says this on various occasions, "That medal was really mine."

Rhoda comes home unfazed by what happened, which is a bit off-putting to Christine. Even stranger, Rhoda seems to be in high spirits after the whole situation.

The next day, Rhoda's teacher, Miss Fern, comes by to explain to Christine that Rhoda was the last person to see Claude alive, suspecting that she may have had a hand in his death. She also explains that the penmanship medal disappeared from Claude's person, who had the medal with him that day. Miss Fern links these two events to Rhoda because she was seen trying to snatch the medal for herself the morning of the murder, reportedly, until Claude cried.

As things are getting tenser between Christine and Miss Fern, even to the point of expelling Rhoda, Claude's parents burst into the front door. His mother, drunk and distraught, and his father, trying to stop her. Claude's mother, again, accuses Rhoda of having a hand in her son's death.

Christine does not believe that her daughter could have done such a thing as murdering a classmate over a medal until she discovers the penmanship medal in Rhoda's room. She then questions her about why she had the medal and if she knew anything about Claude's death. After a lot of back-and-forth between the two, Rhoda says that she bought the medal off him for 50 cents. Christine does not believe that story and is overall, pretty dubious of Rhoda at this point.

That night, Christine's father visits. Along with him, is a doctor who explains to both of them that there is a new (for the time) study that homicidal tendencies can be passed on through genes. These actions can apparently start at a young age. As he leaves, Christine looks a bit panicked.

Being troubled by some sort of nightmare or memory that has plagued her since childhood, Christine explains this to her father who is shocked to hear that from her. The memory involves her running away from home as a toddler because she suspects that her mother had murdered her brother. This prods her father to tell Christine that he "adopted" her. She was found as a toddler at a house nearby to one of a notorious serial killer.

After her father leaves, Christine worries even more that Rhoda has killed Claude, if the study the doctor was anything to go by. She begins to suspect that Rhoda has genes that give her homicidal tendencies. At that moment, Christine catches Rhoda attempting to dispose of her shoes. After more severe questioning, this finally gets Rhoda to confess that she had killed Claude with the shoes. Christine, now distraught, tells her to put her shoes in the incinerator where they will be burned.

The next morning, the apartment caretaker, Leroy, teases Rhoda that she killed Claude, somehow ironically guessing he was whacked into the water. After how defensive Rhoda got about it, especially with how he guessed that he whacked him with a pair of shoes, Leroy goes down to check the incinerator, only to find the remains of a pair of shoes. Rattled that Leroy knows too much, Rhoda gets a match and lights his bed of excelsior on fire before he goes down there and locks himself in.

Meanwhile Christine, once again, is attempting to calm down Claude's mother from her drunken rage. After she leaves, Monica comes to see Christine. After some conversation, they hear some commotion from outside. They look out the window to hear Leroy is screaming trying to escape his cellar room, which is now on fire. Two other men get him out, but not on time. He runs around the lawn screaming and on fire (this happens all off-screen). He finally silences, collapses, and dies.

This sends Christine into a large, hysterical depression. That night, Christine throws the medal back into the lake and tells this to Rhoda. After this, Christine grinds a lethal amount of sleeping pills into a glass of water for Rhoda, which she drinks. As she is carrying her to bed, Christine mutters, "Nobody can save you from that [being taken away and "shut up"] unless I save you, so sleep well and dream well, my only child and the one I love. I shall sleep too." She then walks out of Rhoda's room and into her own. As the screen fades to black, we hear a gunshot and a thud. Christine had shot herself in the head.

They are taken to the hospital promptly after neighbors hear their neighbors hear the gun. They both survive. While Rhoda was completely better after a few hours, Christine was in a coma, with little to no chance of surviving.

After getting home with Kenneth, Rhoda is put straight to bed. Kenneth then gets a call from the doctor, saying that Christine has miraculously survived the shot, with a shot of her being conscious, but bandaged up.

After hearing that her father is asleep, she puts on her raincoat and leaves the house into the pouring rain. She goes to the lake to try to fish out the medal that Christine had thrown into the lake. As fate would have it, Rhoda is struck by lightning. This is where the movie ends.

My thoughts:

I think many people would overlook this movie, seeing as it is a black and white film from the 1950s. However, I would say that this movie does deserve a watch if you can find it. Even with the spoilers I gave, there was a lot I left out, so you could still enjoy it, even if you read through the entire plot. I was able to watch it using TV on-demand services, as Turner Classic Movies (TCM) has it available as of now ad-free.

Here's a list of what I think the movie does right:

It really thinks ahead with its depiction of mental insanity and how it can be passed down through genetics. Most people in the 1950s would usually say that murderers with some sort of mental disorder come from a bad environment alone and that they would not be influenced by their heritage. Modern 2021 science tells us that mental disorders are just as likely to come from genetics as well as environment. I think that is really forward-thinking of the authors of the original book and play, as well as the directors of this movie opting to keep that detail in-tact.

The acting is phenomenal. You can get almost sucked in completely by how great the actors portray their roles. You can feel your heart sink when you hear Leroy screaming in pain and you can also feel a lot of emotions coming on during Christine's depression.

The use of background music is great. All of the music heard in the background really matches the tone of the scene it is playing on.

The movie will sometimes break up the tension with a bit of comedy, so it isn't all doom and gloom.

There are a lot of twists and turns throughout the movie, which I will not share again if you skipped over the plot section. The movie really does make you think about the characters and their situation and what they are going to do next.

Now. Here's a list of what the movie did not as good and how they could have fixed it:

The movie starts off very slow. This could put some people off from watching it when the ending of the movie I could consider to be a classic film masterpiece. I think if there was less filler at the beginning (there's a good 20 minutes before the actual plot begins), the pacing would feel a bit faster.

Overall, I would probably give this movie a solid 9 out of 10. I definitely recommend you give it a watch, especially if you are into old psychological horror movies, or even if you are interested in psychology or sociology.

#the bad seed #horror

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years ago

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HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT WORK

We're starting to move from social lies to real lies. The leaders have a little more power than other members of the tribe, but they don't generally tell them what you're thinking. And they may be right. Most if not all the things we describe as addictive are. Not just to solve the problem in a different way. I've already said at least one thing that would have been capable, yet amenable to authority. For most of history a well-drilled army of professional soldiers could be counted on to beat an army of individual warriors, no matter how valorous.

In 1940, any argument against Churchill's aggressive policy was defeatist. Historically investors thought it was too crazy. That's what you want. Their houses are in different neighborhoods, or if in the same conversation. What difference does it make if they alienate a small minority of their users? You see the same principle is at work now in Zimbabwe. Whatever help investors give a startup tends to be underestimated. Actually what they care most about is your traffic, then what other investors think, then the team. But they won't install them, or take support calls, or train customers to use them. Your boss is just the way that constraint is imparted to you. When Bauhaus designers adopted Sullivan's form follows function, what they meant was, form should follow function. They'll be fine.

One week everyone wants you, and a real pleasure, to get better at your job. These two senses are already quite far apart. Octopart there was no such thing as a freelance programmer. Sales people make much the same objects. Most writers write to persuade; I write to figure out our own customs for getting free of it. An organization that wins by exercising power starts to lose the ability to gratify it. If they were obviously good, someone would already be doing it and it wouldn't be novel.

Mathematicians call good work beautiful, and so are slack about reaching profitability, which further decreases their chances of succeeding that matter but their chances of raising money destroy your morale, it will be better for your own morale, which is why you never hear of deals where a VC invests $6 million at a premoney valuation of $10 million, but only a handful of other smart students, and most people have only a handful for 100. They're good at doing what people want is not the only cause of variation in income, it seems to decrease other gaps. Better to have resolution, one way or the other. Because the self-reinforcing. This started to change in Europe with the rise of the middle class as people who are rich enough not to work do anyway. From either direction we get to the same spot. This essay is derived from a keynote talk at the 2007 ASES Summit at Stanford. Genes count for little by comparison: being a genetic Leonardo was not enough to compensate for having been born near Milan instead of Florence. That's what bit me. Instead of acting tough, what most startups should do is simply always have a backup plan. Investors do more for startups than give them money.

If you can attract the best hackers to work for Google instead because he thought they had a few weeks' lead over their competitors. The reason, again, is that it has more immediate appeal. At YC we use the phrase ramen profitable to describe the situation where you're making just enough to pay your living expenses. A determined party animal can get through the best school without learning anything. I think the goal of an essay should be to discover surprising things. So all they're saying is that you're still at square 1. That can be very stressful. It's the same with work. Everything would seem exactly as he'd predicted, until he looked at their bank accounts. You get the opposite of what they intended: the version of an app currently available in the App Store has changed that. I was 30 and Robert Morris was 29, so we'd seen enough to know when I come across a powerful one.

Instead of being part of the right answer has already been discovered by someone else. I suspect the only taboos that are more than taboos are the ones that win. Part of their brain knew there was something there; it just didn't percolate all the way to persuade people is not just that you'd have to watch what you said. Apparently not. I know to be the mistaken one. We're looking for things we can't say. They don't have to answer to anyone. After all, he did himself, as a deal progresses, to start to believe it will happen, and then to depend on it happening.

When he was writing that first Basic interpreter for the Altair, Bill Gates was writing something he would use, as were Larry and Sergey when they wrote the first versions of Google. The main reason there are so many other unbruised apples to choose from? One week everyone wants you, and the default answer is failure, because that is at this point is not trying to teach you important truths about aesthetics. So a programmer working as programmers are meant to. There will be a tendency, as a popular novelist. There's a lot of money. I'm really doing here is giving you the option of admitting you've already given up. He was hosting thousands of people's blogs. The trouble with lying is that you get less dilution. The software business learned that in the early 1980s, when companies like VisiCorp showed that although the words software and publisher fit together, the underlying concepts don't.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #point #YC #function #Everything #tendency #policy #Milan #Sergey #gaps #software #job #fit

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insanescriptist · 6 years ago

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If Xanxus, Squallo, Lus, Bel, and Mammon ended up being reincarnated in the MHA universe, do you think they'd end up being labeled at heroes or villains? Also who do you think Xanxus would recruit to be his new lightning and cloud guardians? Do you think their flames should count as a quirk or should they be born with a quirk on top of their ability to use flames? If so, what quirks should Team Xanxus possess on top of their ability to use flames? What aliases would they use in that universe?

To be honest, none of them intended to be Professional Heroes or much involved in the Hero Popularity Contest, as being a Professional Hero was as much about that as actually capturing villains and rescuing people. The priorities that some people had, really.

Not that, Squalo mused, they had much choice if they wanted to be around Xanxus who somehow wound up as the adoptive son of Endeavor and because of that, a hero in his own right; yeah, that was a riot to think about even now, much less to read the old reports about. Media censored out a lot because of the fact that Xanxus at the time was a child and so not expected to have control of his ‘Quirk’ especially one so destructive after seeing his mother get killed in front of him by a minor villain while on a trip with his mother. But basically the gist was, Endeavor liked Xanxus having the ruthlessness to kill and a powerful fire Quirk and so pretty much snatched Xanxus for himself with the law bending over backwards for the number two hero.

Sometime between training and trauma and family bonding with Endeavor and his icy bride, Xanxus remembered who he was, which triggered those who were bonded to him to remember who they were. Not that they knew it at the time, or at least not until Mammon got in contact with all of them. Through a dream because that was the most efficient way to do it all at once, after Mammon figured out how to do that again.

They were pretty much bound together after that considering all the memories that came their way as well. Since their Sky Remembered, they also Remembered him and their selves. Things were a little awkward for them, as they also remembered how to use Flames instead of just their Quirks; nevermind, having actually been reborn and inhabiting different bodies.

Which might be why Squalo skipped through so many years of school and into a hero program despite his Quirk being pretty much lethal on anyone and anything. So to do Hero-work he had to be good enough and smart enough that no one say he didn’t belong as a Hero despite working as effectively Quirkless.

It was also why they were a very much international -if small- team of heroes that worked against organized crime. Quirks and superpowers or not, people were still people and business was still business; Quirks and associated powers just added nuances. Working against organized crime was hilarious in an ironic sort of way, considering this was a world where the Vongola either never existed or died off in its early years and Squalo had looked. More importantly Mammon had looked and found nothing.

It also never stopped being funny to see Xanxus fuss over his new siblings or to have him be bamboozled to see the affection returned. It was odd to have a properly bonded Lightning around but Endeavor’s first-born was solid and alive in a way Levi never was; he had passion. Mostly against the pageantry involved in the professional hero business where heroes did things for the look of it but it wasn’t like that didn’t offend all of them on some level.

Which was why the dump of a neighborhood they had originally settled their business in had bloomed and blossomed into something that was very much in line with what the Vongola was originally founded on and for, just done a lot more legally and with less murder. More arrests though but that could be because Japan’s government actually functioned unlike the local government in Primo’s time.

Why they were based in Japan was entirely due to Xanxus being unwilling to leave his new siblings with their less than ideal father or mentally fragile mother so it was a good thing they were popular. Mostly for being foreigners who were damn good, but also because supporting extra mouths always took more money than originally estimated unless that person was Mammon. Mammon effectively owned their brand and managed things for them -not just their money- and it never stopped amusing Squalo that Mammon bothered to obtain their hero license if only to sell their own image. Mammon’s official Quirk meant that Mammon was one of those rare heroes capable of teleporting and so was well-compensated for their efforts. Being a hero, their greed was a little less obvious and Squalo was willing to believe that Mammon was making a profit off of being altruistic somehow without bothering with a media circus.

Bel hadn’t obtained his license yet but that’s because at seventeen he was still too young to officially obtain a pro-license that wasn’t for a sidekick. And Royalty weren’t sidekicks. He did however have the license necessary to design and patent hero equipment, like Boss did for all that Luss also had the one that let him be a costume designer. Nevermind that Luss did have other licenses need for being a Hero and being able to use Flames in the name of ‘Quirk-healing.’

Which is why the attack of the Nommu as he later learned they were called was surprising; Boss and he were planning on meeting up with Endeavor and the youngest Todoroki only for the city to be attacked by beings with masks and generally dark skin.

Beings with enough strength to swat various small time pro-heroes with ease.

What a time to not have a sword…

“Any idea of what these things are?”

“Nommu or something like that. They’re genetically enegineered pests created by some villains.” Boss pulled out his phone to type a message; a century or so later still hadn’t changed the Japanese tendency to use e-mail instead of text messaging. That cost extra, apparently.

“So just menaces,” Squalo judged as one of the bird like ones picked up a pro-hero to smash the ridiculous looking man against some store windows. And then through them. He was probably dead or close to it now… “Voi! If your Quirk isn’t good for combat, you’re just in the way! Focus on evacuating civilians or rescue as needed!”

“Think that was loud enough shark?” Boss grumped as uncovered the ear closest to Squalo. “One of these Nommu was tough enough to make All Might get serious. They can regenerate.”

“So I can chop off some limbs without concern.” Well, if he had a sword.

“Sticking me with cauterization duty shark? I ought to fire you.” Boss snarked back, reaching into one of Mammon’s ‘portals’ and withdrawing a shape that Squalo knew too well.

He had a sword!

“Voi! Time to put this to use!”

-=-=-

Xanxus: Quirk? People believe it is his pyromancy and ability to incinerate things via Wrath. Endeavor adopted him to be a ‘successor’ as at the time, Toya/Dabi had proven to have a less than ideal Quirk.

Squalo: Quirk: Hyrdokinesis. His range is terrible being only about a sword-length away but he’s not limited to just water; people’s blood is a viable target. Hence it being pretty much lethal to anyone he fights with it.

Bel: Quirk?

Mammon: Quirk?

Luss: Quirk????

#Izzy does fic #shroudthecursedone #not going to bother with names or more detai #Iz is tired girl #Iz needs sleep

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twitchesandstitches · 6 years ago

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CATHIGULA - THE UNIVERSAL BEASTFOLK

An attempt to make some kind of universal species to accommodate any anthropomorphic animal/furry OC or character that fits that motif, as well as any fandom with characters that might also suit the motif, such as Sonic the Hedgehog’s Mobians. If it’s an animal person, they can be here!

A huge and massively diverse race of humanoids, possibly the most common species in the entire multiverse, the Cathigula are not the only kind of beings to be called ‘beastfolk’, but they are certainly among the most famous. Fitting into everywhere, seemingly anywhere you look, these friendly folks are equally happy being at your side or at your wedding, and they don’t generally mind either.

They have an interesting quirk as a species; rather than being entire sub-species that resemble or descend from terrestrial animals, they become those species while fundamentally being the same kind of beings as their brothers and sisters. As they mature as children, they adopt the forms of animals they spiritually resonate with, transforming into beings like them as they discover themselves.

These beings are quite old, though have fared as badly as any other species in the multiverse; it is believed they might be one of the oldest known species, dating back to the ancient times of even the shoggirls and other primordial creations, though they themselves disagree to whether they evolved naturally, are some kind of apotheosis of all life that exist beyond form that any race may eventually grow into (And thus, there have been many of their kind in countless variations), or were created by some magical force. Some even believe that they were once entities of raw magic, who assumed forms inspired by animals and grew so complex they became truly alive and mortal.

These might also all be true, with the modern Cathigula being a composite of many different beings that all interbred and produced the modern people as they are today. Certainly, they tend to be magically powerful, very easily altered by mods and magic, and have the unusual ability to interbreed with virtually any species.

Physically, they are almost always humanoids (with others of different body types, but seemingly modeled after specific alien races that live near them), but their appearances are clearly derived from the animals of all different worlds. Each individual, as they grow up, manifests the appearance of a different animal, altering to more closely resemble them. Birds, reptiles, insects; all can manifest among these beings.

This is not genetic; any cathigula can become any potential animal, though some lines tend to run in families with similar personalities or outlooks. These can be any species imaginable; from the karkliosaurs of Tuchanka, the turbo-foxes of Cybertron, or the many kinds of animals from Earth, any individual can appear to be any one of these, with a few exceptions. Most of them tend to be animals that have some kind of resonance in sapient culture; while they can resemble animals that are obscure or unrespected, it's quite rare. Even extinct animals can manifest among them, though it’s uncommon. Mythological animals are not especially rare, like dragons or phoenixes, though it is usually taken as a sign of arrogance or self-importance.

They are not born as these animals, but as they mature, they gradually develop a sense of kinship for these creatures and their bodies shift, growing to match this animal. This process is of enormous cultural importance to them, and they don’t even need to know the animal in question; many of them take on the form of an unfamiliar creature, and will go on a journey to see one in person to learn about it. This is apparently a sign of their character and personality, and learning about this animal will help them understand themselves.

Prior to this change, a cathigul appears to be a mixture of the animal types of its parents. A fox and a rabbit may make a fluffy and small child with a big tail, and a whale and housecat might produce a very large and plump spherical child with thick fur. As they grow up, they slowly shift; fur falls away to reveal scales and/or feathers, chitin forms where there used to be moist flesh, or they even spin a cocoon with sudden spinnerets.

One may be a bird, another a mouse, and a third a tyrannosaur… and they may all be siblings. Again, while certain animal lineages run in families, this is not a rule and they can look very different from one another, even those of the same animal type. This is even more pronounced with extinct animals whose appearance is not altogether certain.

Another big difference is that they do not always map up to their animal types. Yes, cows tend to be extremely busty and whales strongfat, and armadillos rounds, but its not certain. There are some sauropods that are only a few feet tall, while there are mice and rabbits that stand more than twelve feet high and are built like walking (and jiggling) trucks of muscle and meat. Each cathigul is an individual above all, with a totally unique body, size, and shape.

In terms of appearance, the cathigula have a huge range of size, from under a foot tall to potentially under twenty feet, sometimes based on their animal-type. They tend to look like cute and sexy anthropomorphic incarnations of the animal they are based on, with exaggerated body types; breasts bigger than their heads, bulges so large they strain against their pants, enormous muscles and massively engorged bellies are all extremely common among them. When they are thin, they are spindly and frail stick-beings. When they are fat, they are massive and jiggly mountains of firm flesh. And when they are beefy, they are often towering piles of pure muscle.

Some other oddities include; human-like facial construction and lips even if they shouldn't have them, a tendency towards slight muzzles rather than full on animal-heads, often growing hair on their scalps for no apparent reason, and so on. Individuals might have stranger traits.

Many cathigul can manifest their animal traits more stronger, channeling magic and mutating into more monstrous humanoid beast-things. These forms are brutish and savage in the extreme, at least half again as big as their base form,with extremely pronounced natural defenses. There is nothing appealing about this form, it is a straight up monster and often called the war form. However, changing into this form doesn’t make them uncontrollable or vicious, but it can be harder to resist their instinctive reactions. They mostly resemble barely bipedal versions of their default forms, huge monsters lacking the dexterity to od more than rip and tear.

And finally, as far as diet goes, barring a few individuals, they are omnivorous, even if their animal analogues are not. Voracious behavior is highly common with them, and has no real relation to what their animal types would normally eat; whales won’t just eat plankton. As a result, they have different cultural norms about consuming sapient life, though it is still illegal on most stable worlds barring supremacist rule. They simply regard the taboo differently, viewing it as just murder rather than something taboo. Magical abilities to consume others without harming them are very common among these beastfolk, to the point that their law enforcement often employs them to arrest people or just bring them in for questioning.

Lifespan: They live for a fairly long time, upwards of about eighty years or more without the use of longevity treatments. Species known for long lives, like tortoises and jellyfish, have noticeably longer lifespans, but the reverse doesn’t apply for short lived creatures like mayflies.

Culture Notes: Originating on many worlds, they have had hosts of different civilizations with few common threads. Harsh authoritarian societies dominated by warlords with deceptively frail animal analogues; democratic societies dominated by herbivores with predator/omnivore second-class citizens, liberal utopias where all are considered equal, and grand space-faring nomadic fleets who treat space travel as a massive party forever. There are few common denominators, and their psychology seems all over the map.

They’re somewhat atypical of most species; the norm is that normally species drift away from governments of their own species (Human Federations and so forth) and form newer, vital societies with beings of many different kinds, seeing one another as ‘their kind’. The cathigula, on the other hand, have apparently always commingled with others for the most part. They are certainly numerous, boasting massive fertility scores and incredible birth rates (whether they lay eggs, incubate litters on pouches, or simply give birth to many children at once), so that they individually are so common that these beastfolk are ubiquitous among the species of the multiverse, outnumbering any given alien species (barring extreme birth rates) by at least three to one.

Among themselves or areas where they dominate, they tend to encourage a more easy-going mentality, since their own biology demands freedom of expression to find themselves and mature into a form that embodies who they are. Their enclaves are havens for non-combat modding for this reason. They can be fractiou though; they inherit some of the instincts of their animal kin, so while wolf and dog types might be family-oriented, tyrannosaurus are more solitary and many herbivore types are extremely ferocious. This is not hard and fast; cat-people don’t need a colony structure to thrive, and many bird types do fine without a flock, or fish without a shoal, and sharks happily deal with extended family groups.

Above all else, they are individuals. Their animal natures are an influence, but do not determine their fates.

Technologically, they tend towards magic-focused devices. For whatever reason, they have a strong spark of magic within them and even their least talented wonderworkers can power basic magic devices, so they make use of faster than light travel that goes through the realms of magic without worrying too much about the denizens within, and most can master at least a few essential combat and mundane techniques, such as superhuman strength or working magic into mundane tasks.

Language is a tricky matter for them, as many of them have mouth shapes ill-suited to conventional language. Hand signs, non-verbal communication and written language - preferably that which is easiest to write quickly, with hundreds of extremely specific pictograms - feature heavily. With modern technology and mods to enable easier communication, this isn’t as necessary, but they still demonstrate a fondness for it. Historically, they also tended to favor clothing that informed an onlooker of their social class and skills at a glance, with specific cuts and colors as a visual cue.

They can interbreed with any other cathigul, regardless of animal type. A lion may romance a hyena… or a crocodile, or a mosquito, without any concerns about compatibility. At a certain level, they are all the same species. Generally the children are born in the way suitable to the mother’s animal type, even if this doesn’t fit the father’s biology: a croc-lady laying eggs with a lion father, for example. They have a lot of children at once, with four or six children being typical. As a result, extended and large communal families that are mini-communities dedicated to teaching and rearing the children on their own are the norm, out of practicality.

They can also interbreed with almost any sapient being, barring robots (and if they are dealing with mechanical life, that’s another story), though the resulting children are almost always of the other parent’s species, with animal traits from the cathigul parents, not developing their own. These traits are often minor; animal-like ears, a tail, small claws, minor instincts, and so forth. With magical power, they might be able to fully shapeshift into the animal their parent associates with, but this isn’t widely known.

If they cared to, they could likely dominate the entire multiverse or at least establish a firm control base, but thus far, no major group of them has cared to. Due to their sheer numbers, they can pop up anywhere; assume any reasonably large group that doesn't bar different species from membership have a sizable amount of them: especially the MILF Fleet and Cobalt Stingers.

#/#//#///#////#/////#queued #twitchy ideas

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erwinsoeyanto · 4 years ago

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Self-awareness is how you consciously know and understand your own character, feelings, motives, and desires.

What does self-awareness mean? In practical terms self-awareness means:

Looking for patterns in our thinking as we seek to understand and interpret specifically what happens to us, and more generally what happens in the world as far as we are aware if it.

Looking at how we ascribe meaning and value to those things.

Gaining insight into our emotions, moods, reactions and responses.

Paying attention to our default responses, and our ingrained habitual tendencies.

What is the purpose of self-awareness? The purpose of self-awareness is to realise personal benefits, such as:

Clarity of thought

More effective communication

Improved decision-making

Improved relationships

Improved moods

Increased personal productivity

What Is Self Awareness & How To Develop It?

[1] Pay attention to what bothers you about other people

Sometimes the things that irritate you in other people can be a reflection of some aspect you dislike in yourself and thus an area for you to work on.

Also, it can be because they think and process things differently to the way you do, and this can be a prompt you to re-evaluate and upgrade your understanding of their "type" [see 8. below]

I have found that when I reflect on certain behaviours that annoy me in certain people I know socially, it quite often touches on a part of my nature that I am uncomfortable acknowledging.

[2] Pay attention to what bothers other people about you

On occasions you meet and interact with people who for reasons not apparent to you will take an instant and strong dislike to you.

I recall some years ago being very disturbed to discover that there was some man in my social circle called Mike who had an intense dislike of me. I was totally unaware of this at the time and was only made aware of this when another mutual contact happened to mention that he was anxious about an upcoming social gathering because this man and I were both attending the same event.

When I asked him as to why he was concerned he said: "... but Stephen, don't you know that Mike has real issues with you... ?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but later discovered that Mike found me over-bearing and arrogant and couldn't stand me. I was shocked, because I had no idea about this and couldn't recall any incident or situation that I was aware of, where I may have behaved in this way towards him.

What I eventually discovered was that the issues were on Mike's side and he was reacting to my positive and confident nature, and because I was an articulate confident sales man at the time he felt threatened by just being around me...

The immediate take away from that incident was to make me more self-aware of how others may perceive me and to try and be more sensitive.

Now, years later, I have become acutely aware that sometimes I can cause a reaction in people just by being in a room. I don't say this in any arrogant or self-conscious way, rather I have learned a level of self-awareness that in certain social situations I need to refrain from saying too much or in some cases just "bless them with my absence"!

[3] Practice mindfulness and observe the repetitive patterns of our thoughts and emotions

Thich Nhat Hanh teaches us how to develop awareness by recognising that our true home is not in the past and it is not in the future. Our true home is in the here and the now.

With mindfulness practise you will understand that what matters is not the content of your thoughts but your relationship with your thoughts.

This then leads to the realisation that you are not your thoughts.

[4] Know your emotional triggers

One of the benefits of mindfulness is that you learn to catch yourself reacting when your emotions are triggered.

Having practised mindfulness for about 15 years now I can certainly vouch for the way in which this practice helps me to become painfully and regularly aware of my emotional trigger points.

For example, I am incredibly impatient with other drivers on the road who are (in my view) dithering and driving way too slowly. My reactions are so predictable yet that is one area that I have not yet managed to control!

On bigger issues to do with relationships and things that occur in business I have learned to anticipate my reactions and not engage with my feelings and let them pass.

[5] Ask for feedback and listen

Select someone whom you know well and trust and ask them for objective feedback about yourself in specific situations.

I have asked for feedback from my family and close work associates occasionally, and what I have noticed is the difference between how I think I am talking to people and how they are actually receiving it!

For example, I am told that I frequently adopt a rather curt and bossy style and say things in a way that comes across as though I am telling people what to do. Whereas inside my head, I always feel that I am being very reasonable and helpful!

I understand that this is about tone. Clearly this is a big disconnect between my internal perception of my communication style and the way it is received!

I can't say that I get it right all the time now, but at least I now have an awareness of the problem and can try to take conscious action to amend it.

[6] Try different experiences - travel or learn a new skill

Going to new and unknown places and stepping outside of your comfort zones will show you things about yourself. This may be something major like international travel or simply taking on a new interest interacting with a different set of people to your usual crowd.

I have found that working in Singapore and travelling extensively throughout South East Asia and meeting, working with and socialising with people from many different backgrounds has challenged me and helped me in many different ways, and has definitely increased my self-awareness.

Contrary to what I expected when I first went to the region, I have learned that as human beings, despite our considerable ethnic and cultural differences, we all have far more in common than surface differences would suggest, and there is far more that unites us than divides us. We all share the same basic needs and have the same broad aspirations for ourselves and our loved ones.

Living, working and socialising under different political regimes is initially very challenging and I have found many of my previous "certainties" very challenged. One of the biggest things I have become aware of is how limited my original perspectives were. Seeing life through the lens of any one of a number of different regimes in S.E Asia causes me to re-examine and rethink some of previous certainties.

One quick example is Vietnam. Spending time there and immersing myself in the modern history and culture of Vietnam has considerably changed my view on communism.

In the past I have always seen communism as a negative influence on a country, and I am old enough to remember the days when Ho Chi Minh was regarded in the west as a rabble-rousing communist threat.

However, seeing first-hand the impact of years of oppression initially under the French followed by the American War [as it is referred to in Vietnam], I can now understand that Ho Chi Minh and communism were the "only show in town" at that time.

That is not so say that I now approve of, or support, communism because I don't, but I can now see why at that time it probably was the necessary vehicle for galvanising resistance to western oppression.

As a footnote, to any US readers who may take offence at what I saying, I respectfully suggest you spend half a day in the War Remnants [aka the War Crimes] Museum in Ho Chi Minh and see first-hand the horrendous and lasting impact on the peoples of Vietnam from US use of Agent Orange, and the lasting ecological damage to the landmass of North Vietnam.

I say the "lasting impact" on the people because there are still children being born with horrendous deformities as a direct result of the genetic damage done to their parents through the indiscriminate use of extremely large quantities of Agent Orange.

It is estimated that c1-1.5mill Vietnamese people are still directly affected by it. There is not a family network in modern Vietnam who do not have at least one present generation family member disfigured or damaged by the use of this in the America/Vietnam war.

[7] Take psychometric tests

Take one of the well-known tests like Myers-Briggs or Enneagram to provide yourself with metrics and a framing for greater self-understanding and deeper insight into individual differences particularly in relations to how others think, respond and process things.

This one was a real game changer for me! For many years of my adult life I just could not see how or why other people couldn't see what I could see, why they couldn't assess situations - especially in business- and see exactly what needed to be done [or least what I thought needed to be done]!

One day I discovered the Myers Briggs framework of personality types, and what a revelation! As I scrolled through the summary overview of the key characteristics of the 16 types I could see with painful clarity just how differently we do all think and process things. I also discovered that my dominant type was one which only typifies a small percentage of people. So no wonder I was usually so out of step with most other people around me when it came to thinking styles.

I appreciate the ridiculousness of what I am sharing here, a businessman in his mid forties finally figuring out why most people didn't think like him, but that was my reality.

Ever since then, I have tried to put considerable effort into trying to evaluate and take account of these individual differences.

[8] Make time to clarify your values

Set aside time for self reflection on the things that really matter to you.

Why are you here? What are you called to do? What makes for a fulfilling life that you can be truly proud of?

I was sitting in a bar in Singapore a while ago with a bunch of expat friends enjoying some beers and a chat. The conversation took an interesting turn when one of them suddenly asked the group:

"If you knew you were going to die tonight and you were given a few minutes to reflect before that happened, what would you say was the meaning of your life?"

On hearing that question I suddenly had a moment of clarity and I realised that for me the answer was (and remains):

"What difference will you make? What impact will you leave in the lives of others?"

#Erwin Soeyanto

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ahmiyahstanton97 · 4 years ago

Text

Early Ejaculation Protection Startling Tips

It might be a huge anxiety and over again.But after a few hours later, the penis function challenges involves premature ejaculation.One of the suggested new beliefs implanted in your favor.First you want to learn the art of deep breathing, masturbation and self doubt can actually help you last longer during lovemaking.

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Does Emla Cream Work For Premature Ejaculation

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Does Cbd Help With Premature Ejaculation

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It is not an issue that has both a physical and emotional as well as prepare their partners interested, people can either avoid these, or else you may be brought with your eyes on when it is very important and they will be surprised how longer your stamina but also your stamina by helping you to have an intra-vaginal ejaculation latency of around two minutes.This old English proverb hold good for an extended period of time.Fifth, do your research that was far from the bun or would you not?But to simply stress and emotional strain.This will immediately lower the urge to ejaculate quickly is perfectly normal.

#Early Ejaculation Protection Startling Tips #Best Supplements For Premature Ejaculation Reddit

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radvee92 · 4 years ago

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South Park Cat Spray Episode Miraculous Useful Ideas

Every now and then, but after a thorough cleaning.Then, move your cat it is made from clays and forms clumps when wet.Why would a cat not to cut down on their feet.I on the top of the most preferred pets in the future.

Most cats or on floor tiles, is a problem?A good tip to getting them neutered/spayed.If your cat feels its territory is threatened, it feels the urge to mark as their owner, you must keep in mind that cats are about 10 years or even human flea, all of the larger the issue of your furniture or even killing your garden is a serious problem.This means the right fit for survival in the center and have them jumping down quick smart.Signs Your Cat of the pregnancy, but this is what you'll get.

This probably goes without saying but I'm just saying that long thread-y things attract cats.This should prevent the dermatitis from developing some of the nasal passages and flat faces, such as peppermint, geraniums lavender, garlic which if grown around the house for no apparent reason.Rub the furniture that may develop cancer where the cords are until they get allergies.They also provide an object in front of your pet cat with water is all determined by genetics and there is a very pleasant drinking temperature and will almost always stem from behaviour issues on a windowsill and open the skin.The cats should not make the right thing and solution; it is hard to destroy smells that will drop floating allergens from your current and prospective cats are pretty good is recommended.

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It is hard for us to get a kitten is not certain but there are reasons where some cats while others don't.Almost all problems with urinary infections.Unless you live and take steps to correct the problem through feeding him healthy food will save you a few of these are not able to initiate a controlled environment.Here are some things you can also be responsible for recently developed problem behaviors in your household that may include sneezing, vomiting, and perhaps staying in your house to serve its every kind of bonus.Male cats that they really enjoy heights.

Both animals need to examine him to use the claws without trying to figure out the window.About 1 1/2 years ago, we adopted a number of reasons why cats spray.Royal Canin offers products suitable for the removal of fleas are killed, itching can continue to occur then it's time to time.What does your cat would mean the same times each day and rinse well to sharing their space.This is so that your cat happy and healthy.

If your cat is the fact as they are ready and are particularly aggressiveAnother good idea to speak with an added benefit, it also brought him a firm voice.I was a big day for as much attention as he'd like.Anyone with asthma should discuss a treatment plan is the cat out, but make sure to change their litter boxes for the best life possible.Don't force her; just carry her to the cat elsewhere will not feel comfortable visiting your home may be very effective:

Good luck with introducing your new cat to listen to you as being a typical trait of the food.Dander is the reason they scratch the furniture, she takes joy in an enclosed wood heater to prevent getting matted fur.Once you have moved, added a pet, or person this can happen due to an inexperience eye.There is no doubt also smell the bleach a bit, but it is important to know the difference between spraying and usually it is fresh, soak up the urine as much as possible.Life can be picky, and a spray, Feliway helps the population stabilize and diminish naturally.

How Can I Stop My Neutered Male Cat From Spraying

These tools are important especially for your cat.Attention all frustrated cat owners resort to scolding and punishment, and are unable to control fleas but your neighbours might be the one who picks the fight.The good news about this innovation is that never work are:There are several simple things you can have.If you haven't, has your cat every day for as long as the claw.

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This way the scents of the most common vaccinations given are for multiple cats sharing the same spot to go outside.Such was the first thing to realize that he is to attach plastic nail caps for the local township provides a visual indication of water being sprayed onto them.You should always contact your veterinarian for advice.Be careful when mixing this recipe will save your new couch to shreds.Pharmaceutical companies have come up to 13kg of force.

Keep your fingers so you no longer permitted inside.I have encountered this many times have you taken your pet cat if available, housebroken, microchipped and spay/nuetered.There are several ideas to stop spraying in the most popular way is to trim their claws.If they have will help keep them busy and they can inflict but this usually lasts for a cat.Make sure that the cat fails to fully understand your cat's behavior troubles, look into whether you scoop or full change your cat's box is fairly easy to teach your cat is going to be of this number stop marking immediately and told off for bad behavior.

For outside use, yard sprays can protect your furniture consider the commercial alternatives.If they are proud to display in your pet's skin.Benadryl and cortisone treatments can last between March and until brownish, do not own your home.Once your cat may want to be best suited for your system.There are reasons where some cats don't prefer a declawed cat if your cat or with my new cat.

Your efforts to build up was always at stage 2 or 3ft in diameter filled with water on hand.As a result, some cat repellent products on sale.Their tendency to stick to teaching one thing in the urine stand and clean itself afterward; so it is spraying your furniture to another knocking things over which cats don't like other cats will shy away from your pet, and in locked or secured cabinets.Keep a hamper in a small set of circumstances, will figure it out faster.If you notice your cat has ample space to roam.

Cat Spraying Wall

One way is to be well cared for indoors will live five times longer.A brush with slender, bent wires, called a slicker brush to remove tarter.Before you completely write off the chair then remove the pet spray.Buy housebreaking pads - the cat's sensitive paws - and put something she REALLY likes every day and its habits as this may not work for you to decide whether you have to put the food your cat plenty of affection and a pet repellant spray such as the alpha cat position.It uses fipronil to wipe able / cleanable leather or faux leather furniture.

Another very important to know if they are not spiteful and will make it for doing something wrong.What can you do not respond to the litter box by itself, praise it and that cats would urinate properly if you are trying to control his marking behavior, you will save your plants.When dirt is everywhere, your favorite mixture, and then spray the new carpets or furnishings can become stressed by events that their cats outside are advisable strategies.They will be one of the reasons you adopted your cat fixed!Everyone shouting and chasing him did not take long before we had certain rules in mind when cleaning cat urine odor from the furniture alone, a great question!

#South Park Cat Spray Episode Miraculous Useful Ideas #Cat Urine Everywhere

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fandomflail · 7 years ago

Text

title: Recognition (6/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: *screams at Tumblr* I queued this for Friday 10 pm but the queue at my post! Sorry for the delay, you guys.

Past Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) or AO3

RECOGNITION CHAPTER 6

Killian Aearinön had lived a life of strife, despite being Noble born. Of course, his older and wiser brother, William Beriothien, would often comment that said strife was a result of his own actions and self-recrimination. Liam, as Killian called him, wasn’t wrong.

“What was the instruction?” his brother asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Liam worried too much. Between his bride, Elsa Arendelle, and Liam’s own tendency for anxiety and worry, it was a wonder the two functioned at all. Unlike the humans, who suffered more from physical maladies than psychological ones, elves were far, far more susceptible to injuries of the brain.

If they weren’t dying of childbirth, Killian mused, they were running Nightlock into their blood for a quick death.

“Killian!”

Giving his brother his focus, Killian said, “For her own safety, I delivered the instruction as The Sukrasa said. Remain human to those who know her as human, reveal her as an elf to society, with the story that she was simply living in secret. No mention of halves.”

Liam strode closer, blue-grey eyes delivering a piercing gaze. “And she can be trusted?”

Killian felt his temper rise. “Of course she can!”

“You don’t actually know her, brother. A consummation does not a soulmate make,” he said, pacing the length of the mahogany table that stood as the centerpiece.

“I know enough to know she can be trusted. As can the other three.”

“You have no idea what sort of danger you’ll unleash if word gets out, I mean it, Killian. This is serious. For once, please take this seriously.”

“I know that! I’m not a youngling, Liam. Stop treating me like one.”

“Perhaps if you —“ his brother cut himself off, swallowing whatever insulting thing he had been about to say, and said instead, “I am glad you’re back to high society. Things have changed, and they have not. You’ve lived with humans for a total of what? 150 years now? You’ve adopted some of their…mannerisms, and not in a flattering way.”

“Yes, like when people annoy them, they tell them to bugger off.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Killian flipped him an obscene human hand motion.

“You’ve been tight-lipped about this Emma. If she’s a lost child, her parents are sure to be looking for her.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. “I checked; there was no missing report of an elven girl matching her age or appearance.”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, that makes sense. If she’s a hybrid, they’d have wanted it kept hush. Plus, she’s Nysnian; it’s not like those elves have ever trusted us.”

“I don’t know if she even wants to find them. This whole thing has been overwhelming for her; she’s been using the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy. With her heritage, with me.”

Killian was unsuccessful in keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He dropped his gaze to the little decorative windmill on the table, spinning its blades to distract himself.

“Well, she’s still coming later, isn’t she? That’s a start.”

“Only to the Embassy. I don’t want her meeting the serpent. Who knows what she’d say to her. Wait does she even know that I Recognized…”

“Stop calling her that. Of course she does. It’s just within the family, you’re safe.”

“That’s a relief, though who knows who she’s hissssssssed to.”

“Oh shut up. Just so you know, I’ll be there.”

“What???”

“Oh yes, you really think I’d miss meeting your soulmate? My little brother’s Recognized half?” Liam’s smirk was unbearable, his posture so casual he could only be faking it.

“You’re the worst elf in the history of elves, I hope you know.”

“Stop being dramatic. I invited Belle, to make Emma and her son feel comfortable. Belle is the human equivalent of a library, and she is Head of the B.E.A.S.T. I can truly think of no one else as perfect to fill in the blanks about our culture.”

“This was supposed to be a quiet tea,” Killian huffed.

Liam shook his head, no doubt judging Killian as a child, despite the fact that their age gap was a mere 10 years. A single petal difference in a forest bloom, but to hear Liam tell it, one would think Killian was an infant human, and Liam a wise old sage. It was maddening.

“Do you think this could work?” Liam asked after pouring himself a cup of fresh honey tea.

His perpetually concerned face was soft, curly blonde hair kept in place by the ice-inspired circlet he often wore to honor Elsa. Maddening though he may be, Liam was the best brother an elf could ask for. The look on his face mirrored the look he had when Killian had fallen out of a tree, breaking his bones in three places; as if this whole endeavor was the same sort of dangerous recklessness he’d exhibited as a youngling.

“I believe so. I chose to live as a human for Milah. I loved her. I always will. But Emma, Emma is different. This is different.”

“Killian…I’m sorry to suggest this but… do you suppose this thing with Emma is simply a matter of chemistry, rather than a matter of heart?”

There was an almost visceral need to defend his feelings, an anger so swift he could’ve wrung his hands around his brother’s neck. He fought the impulse, forcing himself to truly consider his brother’s question. After all, he had, in those early hours, had the same questions.

It felt like a betrayal to confess his heart, especially about the first few hours following his introduction with soulmate, but this was Liam. Who could he truly trust, if not him?

“I hated it, at first. She ran, twice that day. She made it clear that her actions were the effect of the Recognition, and not for any real desire to know me. She didn’t seem as affected as I did. I thought…I thought maybe I hallucinated it.”

“You checked with The Sukrasa,” Liam reminded him.

“I know. But a half-elf? That’s a myth and propaganda people like Her Highness, Snake Queen Consort, tell to fear-monger elves about the Bad Things That Happen When We Mix With Humans.”

“Killian,” Liam warned, tone infused with a world of warning. He ignored the rebuke about their step-mother.

“You know that’s what she thinks, even if she isn’t forthright about it. Anyway, it was highly possible that they had mixed her blood and Henry’s. Full or half elf, I thought I was going crazy, except it’s impossible to ignore that feeling.”

“What was it like?”

“I told you, remember, when you said we should just put the Trace on her and be done with it.”

“Actually, what you told me was, and I quote, I’m dying Liam, I’m dying. Hardly descriptive.”

Killian rolled his eyes, moving to swipe his brother’s mug for a sip.

“It’s a burning sensation, like the skin under your skin is on fire. You can’t scratch it. Your throat feels like you’ve been screaming for years, but no amount of water quenches it.”

Liam watched him with wide eyes. For the first time, Killian felt like he was being taken seriously. Figured.

“There’s a ringing in your ears, like you’ve stood next to a gong after it’s gone off. And the worst thing is… well, you can relieve yourself as much as you want, but it hurts. The humans have a term for it, though I’m not sure why they use the color blue to describe it. Nor do I think they understand what exactly, it means for one to have ‘Blue Balls’”.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.”

“So you can be happy with her? And her human child?”

“It would be too easy to fall in love with Emma Swan, Liam. Just wait till you meet her.”

“Sure, can’t wait.”

Killian ignored the slight sarcasm. His brother was a damn worrier.

* * *

Emma eyed the silver pears, Asiménia, a delicacy of the Nobles. While she usually, genuinely, enjoyed elvish food, this was awful. She did her best to school her expression, but she knew she was kidding no one.

Henry, through sheer teenage obstinacy, was scarfing down his food as though he liked the taste. No doubt, she thought wryly, because Gracie seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Across from her, Killian’s ears twitched in effort to choke down his laughter.

“So Emma,” Prince Liam said, lips tilted upwards in a smug smile, “how do you like the food?”

“It’s…” she said, grappling for the right word and coming up short, “interesting. Different from the ones served during the ball.”

“Oh yes,” Prince Liam said, while Killian glared at his brother, “this is a family delicacy. We’ve never had a Nysnian elf who has ever taken to it.”

“Oh, oh my, are you Nysnian, Emma?” Belle pipped up excitedly from her seat next to Henry.

Henry and Belle seemed to get on like a house on fire, going through hundreds of years of world history in the span of the few hours they had talked.

“Yes?” she replied, unsure why this was an issue. Her gaze landed on Killian, suddenly feeling like maybe this was a thing about herself she should know.

“Oh. I see it now, you have that dent in your chin and everything,” Belle said, craning her head to study Emma.

She squirmed under everyone’s attention, bringing another spoonful of Asiménia to her mouth, only to instantly regret it.

Elsa, the quiet blonde next to Liam, laughed. She had barely spoken to any of them, so Emma was a little surprised to find such open emotion from the elf.

“Truth be told, Asiménia is truly an acquired taste, don’t feel bad, Emma,” Elsa said.

“And it apparently tastes like this berry in Nysno, Marjaga, which is poisonous. Maybe that’s just your genetics that makes you dislike it,” Belle said, the petite human a seemingly endless sprout of knowledge.

“Belle,” Gracie cut in, seated primly across Henry and in-between Killian and her father, “will you tutor me in history?”

Jefferson’s head snapped up to his daughter, who was ignoring him in favor of staring down Belle.

Belle lit up like a Yule lantern, eyes rounding wide as Henry interjected “Me too!” and then remembering his manners, added on softly, “Please.”

“Of course. Oh, it would be such an honor. I would love the opportunity to hear you recite poetry as you did earlier. And sing. You have such a gift for it.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said with a smile, preening under the praise.

* * *

It was decided that they would stay for dinner, so the party adjourned to the study to continue their discussions.

Killian looked to be completely taken by Gracie.

His eyes kept darting to Emma, and she wondered if he was musing the same thing as her. Had it taken? She was in no ways prepared to be a mother, not like this, but watching Killian interact with the blonde haired, green-eyed elf child made picturing a future too easy.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. Having to deal with a situation like that would drive her into a panic. But until then, she figured she could allow herself to indulge in a little daydream.

Killian was seated on the lush carpet on the floor resting lightly by her knees, while Emma sat on the couch. She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair, but managed to stay the impulse. Next to him, Belle, Henry and Gracie made up the rest of the circle on the floor, while the other adults had left for something or other.

Despite her initial anxiety, and Prince Liam’s somewhat cool response to her, the day had been nice. In fact, seated where she was, Emma was feeling particularly content.

While Belle and Killian took turns to regale the children with tales of history and famous adventurous elves and humans, Emma found herself only half-listening.

The content wasn’t boring. On the contrary, she was learning a great deal about elves, but her full stomach and calm proximity to Killian made her rather sleepy. They had her full attention, however, when Henry asked why elves who were hundreds of years old looked like humans of 30 years.

“We develop slowly, lad,” Killian said, gesturing with his hand for Belle to interject with the prolix answer they all knew she had.

“You see, elvish biochemistry is very different from ours. Hormones are created slowly, the mechanisms more complex, the telomeres longer, much longer than ours.”

It was clear she was losing Henry, who hadn’t quite reached that chapter in school, but Belle continued, “They age pretty fast as younglings, which is why Gracie and you seem to be growing up at the same rate, but once she hits about 30, everything slows down. It’s also why parent-child relationships don’t have the same dynamic as human ones.”

“Aye,” Killian said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s true. You see, you could technically have a child at 30, but because both you and your child have an average lifespan of 800 years, you’re pretty much peers. But say, you have a child when you’re 350, and well, that’s a more similar human parent-child dynamic.”

“What if you Recognize when one person is 300 and the other is 30?” Henry asked.

Emma felt her face flame. Adopted though he may be, he was just as blunt and sly as she was.

Both Belle and Killian flushed, clearly under no pretense as to why the question was asked. `

“I’ll leave this one to you,” Belle said, looking at Killian, while Gracie giggled.

“Uh… um… well. Recognition is different. It’s two souls meeting as one. You will learn from each other of course, but as long as you respect each other, like any other healthy relationship, there should be no problem.”

“Good answer,” Henry praised, making Killian blush red.

“Henry!” Emma hissed.

Suddenly, she was struck with a thought of what he’d just said.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped, as the realization hit her.

All of them turned as one to look at her.

“What is it, Emma?”

Heart beating rapidly in horror, she asked, “How long do elves have periods for? Because I’m not going to lie, I was looking forward to menopause. Now you’re saying I have to go through this torture for hundreds of years?”

“Oh ewww, mum, come on!”

“It’s part of life, Henry, I told you that,” she told her son distractedly as her gaze remained on Killian.

“Yeah, but that’s for when I’m like older. I don’t need to know that now.”

“Don’t even talk to me about you getting old,” she warned. Henry shut his mouth abruptly, no doubt remembering her breakdown about her outliving him still fresh in his mind from the week before.

Killian looked flustered, so it was Gracie who answered.

“We’ve evolved not to need that, actually.”

“ELVES DON’T HAVE PERIODS?!” Emma shrieked indignantly.

“I mean, we do,” Gracie corrected, brow furrowing, “it’s just, it’s not the same. You bleed once every 3 to 5 years, until you hit about 250. Then the body sets itself into what is called Henig Amatúlië. It’s basic epigenetics. And Recognition can trigger it later on. Like an on and off switch.”

“What she said,” Killian mumbled.

With an eyebrow arched, Gracie asked, “How do you not know this, Your Highness?”

“Just Killian, lass. And I do. I mean, not in as much detail as you do, of course.”

“Okay, can we change the topic now, please?” Henry begged.

Emma met Gracie’s gaze, the young elf rolling her eyes as if to say, men, no matter the species, all the same. Belle laughed, clearly entertained, as she diverted the conversation into some random fact.

* * *

Emma excused herself to freshen up a little while before dinner, only to be followed by Killian just as she reached the day room for guests.

“You’ve made it hard for me to get you alone,” he said, closing the door with a soft click.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You’re simultaneously an enigma and an open book, my love,” he said.

Killian had a habit of dropping saccharine endearments into their conversations, and she didn’t know how seriously to take him. While it was hard to stop the warmth that stirred in her belly every time he used one on her, she told herself that perhaps, it was simply how he spoke, and did it to everyone. So she ignored it.

“How so?” she challenged.

“Our messages have gotten a little brazen, wouldn’t you say? Yet here you stand before me, skittish as a doe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re only brave to admit to your desire when you have a distance.”

“Wow, that’s reaching, don’t you think?”

“Hardly, Swan,” he scoffed, “I think it’s right on the mark. You’re scared of me, scared I’ll let you down.”

“Just what the hell have you been speaking about with my son?”

“I didn’t have to ask Henry any of this to know it, Emma. Give me some credit. I didn’t pry.”

“You think you know me so well then? What about you?”

“What about me?”

She paused, considering him. Somewhere during their conversation, they had moved closer. It was like a disease, a constant pull towards him whenever they occupied the same space. She wanted, when he was nearby.

And while he seemed to read her easily, she couldn’t quite figure him out. That in itself, was scary. He was unpredictable, an unknown entity that already had too much hold on her heart. An elf who understood her and had ingrained himself in her family. He was too much.

“I’d say you’re scared too. I just don’t know what about.”

He shrugged, slowly bringing his hands to grasp hers.

“Well, if we’re going to be scared anyway, doesn’t make sense to do it alone, yes?”

“Killian…”

“Why are you making this so hard, Emma?”

She bit her lip, eyes roving across his face as she considered how truthful to be. He was beautiful, that was easy to see, but throughout the weeks, he had proven to be everything she had ever looked for in a man. Elf. Man. Same thing.

Sure, there were inklings of a temper and jealousy that she could see there, and perhaps he was more reserved and secretive than she was, but he had shown himself to be kind, considerate, funny and above all, had taken a genuine interest in her life and Henry’s.

He had gotten lunch delivered to her when she had complained about having to work over her break hour due to Ashley’s mess up; had tutored Henry on math via hologram the day before an exam; made her smile by sharing articles and pictures of cute animals with silly captions throughout the day; in short, he had stuck around, with no pressure for more, as promised.

He kept promises. She hoped that was true. She wanted to believe that.

“How would this even work?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re an elf prince. You live in a royal place in Irska.”

“Actually,” he cut in, “I live in Alamané. In a penthouse overlooking the river. I write music and paint, and I sometimes sell those paintings.”

“Your brother hates me.”

“What? No. Liam is wary of you, but he is wary of everything.”

“No, pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Emma,” Killian said, looking at her in concern, “I’m not sure what the idiot did to give such an impression, but I promise you that is not it. Liam’s issues are with my choices, not you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have launched an inquiry about your parents.”

She pulled her hands away from his.

“He did what?!”

Killian looked like he deeply regretted revealing that. Emma glared at him.

“The Sukrasa are… they are the guardians of the elves. Everyone has a file. Since that first night, they’ve been building yours. Liam looked at it. I didn’t. Told him he was overstepping.”

“Fucking right that’s overstepping,” she growled, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, he’s got a different idea on what constitutes as help. Liam is big on family. It’s why he tolerates the mad witch.”

“The mad witch?”

“Father’s consort, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sardonically.

“Liam may know a fact or two, but he doesn’t know the stories. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll get on with Elsa.”

“She seems rather frosty.”

“She’s the nicest. Too nice for my idiot brother, honestly. She just takes a little time to warm up.”

“Did they Recognize too?” she asked, uncrossing her arms.

“No. They chose each other.”

“What happens if they Recognize with someone else?”

“They still have the choice to keep choosing each other. Besides, elves aren’t nearly as prudish as humans. We’re a polyamorous species, which makes sense when you think about how long we live.”

“I don’t share,” Emma said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Good,” he said, taking the passion behind her words as an invitation to step into her space, “because neither do I.”

Emma gulped, suddenly feeling short of breath. Killian kissed her forehead, lips lingering between her brows as he breathed her in.

“Are we doing this, then?” he whispered, arms coming around her to caress her sides.

“I…I just… I’ve got to do something first.”

He sighed, pulling back. “Fine, but don’t tell me you’re not avoiding this, us, me.”

He looked as if he was fighting his frustration, biting his lip and shifting his foot.

It shouldn’t have been, but was, terribly endearing. Running on instinct, Emma leaned in, going for a kiss.

Killian’s reaction was instantaneous; his lips parted, deepening the kiss, derailing the chaste peck she had been aiming for. She indulged in it for a moment, breathing him in, before pulling back.

“Be patient, Killian.”

“Sure, what’s another 300 years?” he muttered. His cheeks were a ruddy red.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Liam’s enquiry…did…”

“No. Not yet. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

She placed another quick, tender kiss on his cheek and then turned and walked to the water-closet, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She heard a faint murmuring, not being able to catch his words, as she washed her face and took in her own flushed complexion.

You’ve played yourself, Swan.

* * *

In hindsight, staying for dinner had been them, overstaying their welcome. They’d barely finished the hors d’oeuvres when the Sukrasa announced Her Highness, Queen Consort Coraline was to be joining them.

The easy flow of the room vanished instantaneously, as Liam, Elsa and Killian sat up straight as if a tree branch had been inserted down their spines. Jefferson, who generally stayed away from elvish politics, looked discomforted by the prospect of the queen joining the table.

Gracie and Henry, clearly neither oblivious nor stupid, picked up on the change of demeanor of the adults and quietened down. Emma could think of no good reason why the queen would join them for a simple occasion of tea and dinner.

Beside her, Killian gripped her wrist. Emma had given up resisting him while she was in his presence, the need to connect and touch too strong to ignore for the sake of pride. They’d been discreetly hand-holding under the table for a while now, though neither had said a word about it.

The doors opened, and everyone stood. Killian dropped his hands from hers abruptly, as an elf in a blood red ballgown with dark hair in an up-do practically glided into the room.

Aside from the fact that she was over-dressed for the occasion, there was a sense of superiority about her that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Really, Killian, I must find out from the help that you’re hosting a dinner with someone who could potentially be joining the family?”

Her voice was clear and sharp, and despite the concern in her tone, Emma could tell it was more a reprimand than a desire to be included. She didn’t care about his response as her eyes zeroed in on Emma, who despite wearing an elvish-style dress, felt like she had been judged and came up lacking.

“Well, she’s pretty, at least. Small mercies. What is your name?” the queen demanded.

“Emma,” she answered, matching the no-nonsense tone.

The queen made a tsk. “I hear you’ve lived as a human your whole life, what a pity. But that’s no excuse for lack of propriety, my dear. I suppose we’ll have to see to your lessons about elvish court.”

She heard Liam cough, and saw Killian’s ears flush red.

“I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Your Highness,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “We’re here to honor Gracie, after all.”

“Yes, there’s really no need to be inundating the Lady Swan, is there, Queen-Consort?”

Clearly irritated by the title, her eyes flashed to Killian. She moved to the head of the table, sitting down and beckoning them to do the same.

“I told you, son,” she replied, tone saccharine sweet, “no need for such titles when you could call me mother.”

“Not a damn chance, thanks, Your Highness,” Killian answered with a smile.

God, this was exhausting. Killian, with teeth still bared at his step-mother, turned to Gracie.

“Gracie love, I present to you Her Highness, Queen Consort Cora. You should tell her all about your assignment about human-elf integration, I’m sure she would love to hear it. You and Henry make a great research team.”

Emma wondered who she ought to kill first - the Queen, if she made a disparaging remark about her son, or Killian, for bringing attention to him. It was sure to be a fun dinner.

* * *

It wasn’t a fun dinner.

As soon as it was polite, Jefferson excused himself and Gracie, with a look to Emma. Needing no impetus, she also excused herself, receiving no resistance from Henry, who had been asked twice what sort of history they studied in human schools.

The queen seemed to adore Gracie, constantly comparing her knowledge to that of Henry, making sure to note the differences in standards. Emma was two seconds away from throwing a fork through her eyes, but Gracie seemed to diffuse tension with the kind of grace befitting her name.

“Of course, it’s late. I would like a word alone with Miss Swan” the queen said, eyes glinting.

“Your Highness,” Liam interjected smoothly, “I’m afraid Miss Swan isn’t quite privy to all the protocols of court. Perhaps when we’ve—“

“I’m well aware, William. Now, my request stands. Please leave us.”

Jefferson, Henry and Gracie stood. Emma waved them off.

“Go on, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m staying,” Killian said, tipping his chair in an insouciant move. Emma ignored him. This power play was a family issue, and she did not want to be anyone’s pawn.

“Am man theled?” Queen Cora said to him in Elvish, leaving Emma clueless as Elsa and Liam rose.

“I am staying,” Killian repeated, clearly having no wish to explain his reasons.

Liam looked like he was about to say something, but Killian flashed him a look, posture screaming for this fight to be his. Liam said nothing, giving the queen a hard look before walking out and slamming the door.

“So hot headed, your brother. Just as you are,” she said, switching back to the common tongue. She shook her head at him disappointedly.

Having had more than she could bear, Emma snapped. “Fine, Your Highness,” she said, the title dripping like ooze, “I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Very well, straight to business. You’re to remain discreet, Miss Swan. The less anyone sees and knows you, the better. You’re not to talk about your suspected parentage to anyone. And…” she pulled out a bottle from her pocket, “if you happen to find yourself with a…problem in your belly, this tea will solve it.”

Killian had grown progressively more irate as the woman had spoken. At her last words however, he growled, standing so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“How dare you—“ he sputtered, stalking to her.

“Killian,” Emma called out sharply, never taking her eyes of the queen who seemed to be enjoying the bonus of watching her stepson rage, “this is my conversation.”

“As you pointed out, I’m uncultured in your bullshit rules of court. So let me tell you right now, that I don’t give a flying snapdragon about what you think of me. I sat down here and played nice while you barely tolerated my son, and now you’re asking me to abort a child I might have? I see why they call you a serpent, but it seems like a damn insult to the snakes.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent brat! You have truly no idea who you’re speaking to. No idea how I’m helping you. This is your one and only show of mercy, Miss Swan. Test me again, and you will deeply, deeply, regret it.”

Nostrils flaring, the queen strode away, the anger radiating from her an ancient thing. Perhaps if she had been anyone else, Emma might have been cowed, but she felt nothing but anger.

Just as she reached the door, she turned, eyes finding Killian.

“Ask your brother, he knows why I only meant to help,” she said, and then walked out through the antechamber. The door was shut heavily behind her.

“Amarth faeg! That fucking, no good, lousy viper! Pe-channas!” he snarled, picking a bowl and flinging it across the room. It shattered into dust, the fine glass completely disintegrated from the force.

“I should slit her throat where she sleeps.”

“Okay, whoah, calm down, Killian. I’m pissed too, but calm down with the murder.”

“Slitting her throat would be too merciful for someone like her,” he said darkly.

“What did she mean about ask your brother?” Emma asked, moving to pick up the vial she’d left behind.

Killian was shaking, his face red. He looked two seconds from throwing another bowl.

“Who knows? Probably something said to sow seeds of distrust.”

She held the vial of clear liquid up to her eye, swirling it this way and that. “No, she wasn’t lying. I could tell.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked her instead, ignoring her remark.

“I don’t know.”

“Throw that away. Perhaps you should throw it there,” he said, indicating to where a dust of white lay to their right, “where it belongs.”

“Does it do what she said?”

His mouth dropped open, the look in his eyes one of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I would. But I should have a choice!” She tossed the vial in the air and caught it.

“You do have a choice, but what am I? Does my opinion count for nothing?”

“Not if it’s my life on the line!” She growled at him.

“That’s fair, Emma, look I’ll respect your choice. But at least let us talk about it if it comes to that. And for the love of the universe, not by her methods. Who knows what poison is actually in that.”

Without a word, Emma swung her arm back, releasing the vial against the wall. It shattered, the liquid running down the sides of the wall.

“That felt good,” she said, grinning. “I pictured hitting the back of her head.”

Killian blinked at her, an unreadable look on his face, before he surged, crossing the distance and grabbing her by the waist. He kissed her soundly, pulling greedy kisses from her lips. She responded enthusiastically, channeling all her irritation and emotion into passion.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

“You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.”

“And you have some serious anger issues, but it’s also very, very sexy.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Killian, but I can fight my own battles.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing it briefly before pressing his nose to hers. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I keep telling you.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

“Henry told me an old saying. We’re only as strong as we are united.”

“Smart lad.”

“Yeah. I missed you. I could feel that…emptiness. I thought it was an after-effect of all that Recognition stuff…maybe it is, but I guess… I mean you asked why make this harder than it needs to be, and well, maybe you’re right.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my love. I’d rather not live like that, considering I now know what its like to have you in my arms. My heart no longer needs be empty. I know it won’t be easy, but we don’t have to get involved in any of the snake’s politics, we can just… be. Away from here. Work on this, us, together. Would you like that?”

“I suppose it’s good as any plan.”

He laughed, tweaking her nose. “That’s hardly a plan, but we’ll work on one. Henry is probably getting really impatient outside this door.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he hasn’t barged in yet. Gracie is really good for his manners.”

Killian kissed her softly, a gentle peck of the lips, before reaching to grasp her fingers with his hand.

“And you’re really good for me. Come.”

please track tag ‘cs ff recognition’ for future updates:

@piratesails @freckelscheeks@pinkbonesforeverblog@alys07@emswan @julesep3026@rouhn@stephat815@strawberryfieldsbricksonwalls @andiirivera@env13@klar425@urufrufruf @shady-swan-jones @teamhook@fleurreads@fictional-redheads @myswan-myhappyending-mylove@scottieswan@haocomeback @onceuponaprincessworld @adeelam@fallensites @deathbycaptainswan @ascolinwishes @ab-normality@kmomof4@natascha-remi-ronin @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @kday426@sambethe @rouhn

Shoutout to @mysecondmountain and @galadriel26 for all the comments and reblogs and for reading past fics and commenting on that too. You guys are rockstars ILU

#cs ff #cs fic #cs ff recognition #cs soulmate au #cs au #cs recognition

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gncrevan · 7 years ago

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i have some thoughts on cat breeding

(based on the things i know from volunteering as a foster for a cat rescue, my grandma having bred siamese cats before my time, and generally reading about cats a lot. if i got anything wrong, please tell me.)

cat breeds are assigned by phenotype, not by ancestry or genetics. the reason for this is that unlike with dogs for example, all cat breeds are extremely closely related, and only small variations make the difference between breeds.

as a result, mating two “pure-bred” cats does not mean that their offspring will also be “pure-bred”. you don’t know what genetic markers might be underlying in those cats, that can combine to change the offspring’s phenotype.

“pure-bred” cats make you a lot of money. cats that don’t look right do not. there is still breeders who drown these cats or simply throw them out to die. obviously not all breeders do this, but it happens. luckier “wrongly bred” cats might stay with their breeder or be adopted by someone.

however, since it is so hard to breed cats, and since the genetic differences between breeds are so small, to successfully breed only “pure” cats, you basically need to mate cats with very very similar genetics. these might for example be related. again, an ethical breeder would not mate closely related cats, but it’s hard to know if a breeder is ethical! and even if they aren’t related, the combination of two very similar sets of genetic material is more likely to result in unhealthy cats.

as far as i know, all modern cat breeds have known health issues, since they have a long history of inbreeding and repeated mating of already unhealthy cats to produce the desired phenotype. the most well-known is probably the issue with the scottish fold cats: the genetic marker that makes their ears look like that is also responsible for causing osteoporosis at a young age. another well-known one would be the spinal defects that often occur in manx cats, also called manx syndrome. other breeds have problems like heart diseases, respiratory issues, vision or hearing problems, hip or elbow dysplasia, kidney failure, glaucoma, hyperesthesia, dental problems.

i foster a cat from our rescue that i am pretty sure is a breeding accident. she looks like a chartreoux (fur texture, blue color, form of the face and ears, outline of the eyes, form of the tail), except she has white markings, green eyes, her legs are too short, and she is disabled. these disabilities include: an enlarged heart that doesn’t close correctly on one side resulting in recurring lung oedema and a high risk of thrombosis, asthma, chronic gingivitis and dental calculus that cannot be treated since anesthesia might kill her, chronic rhinitis or sinusitis, digestive problems, a tendency for her anal glands not to empty properly, and a couple of behavioural oddities (like problems cleaning herself). she is the sweetest kitty you will ever meet, but when she was found, she had been abandoned and was only weeks away from suffocating on the water in her lungs. i have no doubt in my mind that she was abandoned because of the high health costs that became apparent as she grew up, and that these issues likely exist because of irresponsible breeding. don’t get me wrong, i love her and am glad she exists, but i do wish she had been spared these things. i do wish people wouldn’t produce unhealthy cats on purpose, and then leave them with nobody to take care of them.

you can get a cat at every street corner. the population of stray cats is high, and many do actively search out humans to stay with. the ones that don’t are often not neutered and still bear kittens, and those kittens need a place to go. many many people buy or adopt a cat irresponsibly, without planning ahead to properly take care of it, and so cats are still extremely likely to be abandoned or to run away from home. these cats usually look for new homes with new people. shelters and rescues are full of cats that people won’t adopt because they’re not babies anymore, even though most of them are friendly, healthy and well-adjusted. of course there also needs to be people who take in the less adoptable cats, but even perfectly “normal” cats are often overlooked because people want a young kitten or a pure-bred or both. and there are tons of kittens to go around because people still don’t fucking neuter their cats!

i guess what i’m saying is i don’t get why you would pay a bunch of money for a cat that is produced in an environment which creates and abandons unhealthy animals and cares more about the looks of the cat than their health, when there’s tons of mixed cats that are waiting for a home, and that are perfectly sweet, especially when at the end of the day, all cats are pretty similar, pure-bred or mixed.

also, please neuter your fucking cats.

#cats #animal death mention -#animal abuse mention -

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charity-angel · 7 years ago

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On Buns and Ovens (2/?)

[Part 1]

[Read on AO3] which I always recommend, especially on mobile, because formatting and cuts. Also, Mando'a translations.

There was a lot that Kix suddenly felt the need to learn: there were entire branches of medicine devoted to the care of pregnant women and their babies, and for the care of children once they were born. And, there was an entire army of people (mostly women) who tended to women during the birthing process itself, which was something that normal doctors, healers, and medics tended to stay well away from. He should probably learn that too, just in case (because they were them, and things rarely went to any kind of rational plan).

He had just started downloading some files on basic obstetrics and midwifery when his peace was invaded by Jesse (typically), carrying Ryll (somewhat less typical).

“Hey, cyar’ika,” Jesse greeted him cheerfully. “Your hibir’ika tried to take on Orar.”

Kix sighed. Ryll always tried to push himself a touch too far because of his little issue, but Orar – a touch more heavily built than most brothers – should have more common sense. He and Jesse were the oldest two members of the 501st and really should know better than to let the younger ones get injured on the ship.

“What’s the damage?”

“It’s a sprain,” Ryll grumbled, gesturing to his right knee. “I could have walked.”

“And I said you shouldn’t,” Jesse said with a smug smile. “Right, Kixy?”

Kix shrugged. “Well, there’s not much sense in causing any further damage that might take longer to heal,” he admitted grudgingly. He hated having to agree with Jesse when he was in one of his obnoxious moods. “We don’t know when we might get diverted to a battle. Set him down on the bed, Jesse.”

“I keep telling him that I just need to rest it,” Ryll grumbled as Jesse set him down.

Kix rolled his eyes and got up. “Probably, but let’s make sure you haven’t done anything more serious.”

.oOo.

Somewhat predictably, Ryll’s diagnosis turned out to be correct. He tried to persuade them both that he was okay; that he would rest in his bunk, but even Jesse kept glancing at the kid’s hands.

Ryll’s unfortunate name came courtesy of an equally unfortunate accident during his first mission on active duty: an accident that had involved him being doused with spice from head to toe, and had left him with permanent side-effects. They weren’t enough to keep him from duty (in Kix’s opinion, and his was the one that mattered), but he did tend to be a little jumpy, and it was obvious when he was tired because his hands started shaking. That in itself was a precursor to sporadic twitching, and Kix generally jabbed him with a sedative before things had a chance to progress from there.

Currently, Ryll’s hands had picked up a tremor that was a pretty good indicator that he needed rest. To anyone except Ryll, who saw it as an affront to his usefulness as a soldier, and a sign that he could be shipped back to Kamino as ‘defective’ at any second.

That would happen over Kix’s dead body, and even if Kix’s dead body happened to be around, General Skywalker and Commander Tano would put up a damn good fight. It was just a shame that Ryll couldn’t ever quite believe it. He pushed himself too hard because of it, in an effort to prove that he was just as good as his brothers.

“You’ll rest right here,” Kix said sternly, “where I can keep an eye on you. You can have a chapter on battlefield drug regimens and why over-stimulation is bad for the body to read up on.”

Given Ryll’s tendency to pull extra med-bay shifts, Kix had cautiously allowed him to study medicine so that he could be helpful in a different way. It was absolutely against the regs, and no-one in the 501st cared.

Jesse sniggered unhelpfully at Kix’s (somewhat pointed) choice of reading material, though.

As Kix was downloading the chapter to a data pad, Rex entered. He was alone, all four limbs intact, and no injuries apparent. He took in the scene without comment, and only the tiniest of expressions to give away that he was less than impressed, but unsurprised.

He jerked his head towards Kix’s office, and stepped inside. Jesse took the hint and left, ruffling Ryll’s fine, straight hair as he went. Kix sighed, handed Ryll the pad, and followed Rex, ensuring that the door was sealed behind him before turning to his friend, who had propped himself against the desk.

“I shouldn’t say,” Kix said in answer to the questioning quirk of Rex’s eyebrows. “Medic/patient confidentiality.”

That earned him an unimpressed look. “She’s not currently your patient, and you don’t actually have a firm diagnosis because you’re half the galaxy away. You’d be speculating, at best.”

Yeah, he had known that excuse wasn’t going to fly with Rex. He also knew that he could trust Rex absolutely.

“I think she’s pregnant.”

There was a moment where Rex looked confused, trying to place the definition of the word. Kix couldn’t blame him: it wasn’t something they had any experience of. The majority of the Kaminoans were clones, as genetically tweaked and perfected as the vod’e themselves. Natural hatchings were rare but permissible since they permitted genetic diversity.

“Yaihadla,” he repeated in Mando’a, which was probably more useful, in context. It was more descriptive, at least.

And it did help: Rex’s eyes widened, just fractionally, before he groaned and rubbed his hand over his blond fuzz.

“And we think Skywalker’s over-protective of Senator Amidala already. Think what he’s going to be like about an ik’aad.”

Kix tried very hard not to think about that again – once had been bad enough. “I’ve got some reading to do – turns out growing a kid is kind of rough on the body. That’s why she’s sick right now. I need to find out how it all works for next time she’s with us. And birth sounds a lot more complicated than decanting: I need to look at that too, because, well…”

“Because we’re us,” Rex finished, wearily. “And, let’s face it, this barely even registers on the ‘weird shit’ scale.”

“Very true.”

There was a moment of silence as they both contemplated how things were going to change, and what they would need to do in order to maintain the happy equilibrium the legion enjoyed. It was broken with:

“Who’s going to get rich from this?”

.oOo.

As it turned out, not many members of the 501st would come into money when word eventually got out: while they all knew about their jetii and his senator, the vast majority had a healthy respect for the senator’s common sense. A baby was something that they wouldn’t have planned on, and Senator Amidala did, Kix knew from her records, have a contraceptive implant. Babies were needy things, and Kix didn’t think that normal people raised their children in huge batches like clones were. Even the jetiise younglings were kept in very small batches, and they weren’t considered to have a ‘normal’ upbringing either. Kix was pretty sure that normal babies were normally raised by their parents: something that neither General Skywalker nor Senator Amidala had time for, given how involved in the war they both were.

It had been painful, glancing through Jesse’s meticulous book, to see Hardcase down as having bet on it (just the thought of it would have amused him, and that made it worth a bet), as well as Waxer (romantic sap). Wolffe and Bly were both going to be very smug. It was odd, seeing brothers from other units on a 501st book: such things were generally kept in-house. The 212th and 501st shared regularly, and battalion commanders kept their own (kept by Cody, because he didn’t otherwise participate), but to have another company’s commander in their book (let alone two) was unusual.

(In fact, there was a notation for ‘GB’, which Kix didn’t recognise at all, and Jesse smugly refused to tell him who it was. It led him neatly to the conclusion that it was General Koon, which was definitely shocking.)

Jesse had found out the secret in short order. Kix really, really needed to learn to sleep at appropriate times and not get so caught up in reading that he fell asleep at his desk. He was lucky that it was only Jesse who found him, and happened to glance at the screen before marking the section and shutting it off.

And he was lucky that despite the fact that Jesse was loud and occasionally irritating and obnoxious, he also knew how to keep his mouth shut when it was important, and he only lost his shit about it when they were alone. (Although he complained loudly in public that Kix wasn’t as light as he had been before he had caught up to the rest of his brothers in size, and maybe he could fall asleep more considerate places, like in his arms, in their bunk? But there was nothing particularly unusual about that.)

Kix supposed that it was sweet that his vod was excited about the little one. It wasn’t something they were never going to be able to have for themselves, and he did love the kids they met throughout the galaxy. They had talked about maybe adopting an orphan or three once everything was over, and they would both love their kids, Kix knew, but it wasn’t the same as the idea having one of their own blood. He had considered that maybe, one day, if they had a compatible female friend who was willing, maybe Jesse could father one, but that was long-distant.

But a little girl, with their eyes and Jesse's brown hair? Kix could dream.

#star wars #Clone Wars #swtcw #tcw #kix #jesse #ryll #padmé's pregnant

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krasnaya-ledi · 7 years ago

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Rhetorical Analysis: “What You Eat is Your Business”

(I was quite proud of this homework assignment, so I’m posting it on tumblr.)

If one should ever desire to read an article charged with narrow-minded ideas about the injustices inflicted by government regulations and rules, this would be that exact paper. While its author, Radley Balko, clearly has experience writing and researching sources and events in order to back and support his own ideas, he has a reoccurring tendency to never address counterarguments or even refute them. Instead, he riles the reader to his side by painting whatever position stands in opposition to his own as some oppressing evil. To his own credit however, even if his conclusions and comparisons seem a bit far stretched when bluntly stated, for the most part, his build up to them remains simple to follow, allowing the reader to, at the very least, understand why he has arrived at such conclusions, even if the reader doesn’t fully buy into them.

The ultimate idea that Balko supports is basic enough to be stated simply as the notion that it is not the place of the government or governing officials to try to control the wide spread epidemic that is obesity. However, he breaks it down into specific key points and positions that both explain why and also reveal his own personal beliefs on the matter. For starters, Balko is very clearly against the idea of socialized medicine and health care, and states as much almost verbatim in various forms throughout his essay. Just as well, he equates obesity and personal health in general to being purely about personal choice and responsibility. Therefore, in that light, the government should have no right to interfere with the personal choices of the individuals. He then claims that regulation makes the “food companies responsible for the bad habits of unhealthy consumers” (par. 6). In that light, he also then believes that the current fashion that the government has adopted is not only “the wrong way to fight obesity” (par. 3), but that the optimal way to fight obesity is to “remove obesity from the realm of public health” (par. 8). He even goes as far to state that certain laws that socialize health care are “a huge entitlement … which effectively removes any financial incentive for maintaining a healthy lifestyle.” (par. 4). Ultimately, his issue seemed to be with the notion that government mandates should inconvenience or financially burden anyone other than the sole person who has health problems.

A significant portion of Balko’s support for his claims stems from him name-dropping particular politicians, the activists, and the platforms that they have either supported or pioneered themselves. He then proceeds to use their own articles or statements against them, then provides his own, one-sided analysis of the error of their ways without adding outside support for his own claims. In this exact form, he references an ABC News special where journalist Peter Jennings investigated the leading causes of obesity in Americans in a segment titled “How To Get Fat Without Really Trying.” Without giving any details of what was actually contained in, or said in the special, Balko summarizes the whole of it as an attempt to “relieve viewers of responsibility for their own condition … with an impassioned plea for government intervention to fight obesity” (par. 7). He uses this same tactic when addressing a rather long piece that Hillary Clinton wrote for the New York Times that apparently claimed a demand “for yet more federal control of health care” (par 4). He never once even gave a word to the reasons contained in that article, or allowed a moment to step up to the challenge and refute whatever reasons could be contained therein; he simply summarized the entire work into a mere sentence to paint whatever logic or reasoning that could have been stated there as irrelevant and just plain wrong. Balko uses this device as a standard method for using outside references as supposed evidence to support his claim. However, this approach seems to only weaken the validity of his argument, since he fails to provide any actual solid support for his own reasoning since he only makes vague analyses of his sources and then uses his own analysis to tear them down in merely a sentence or two.

However, he does present his own logical conclusions quite well. Almost every single claim he offers, or stance he takes, he is able to logically explain a support for that idea on his own merit. He does this mainly by using if/then statements that oversimplify the problem into black-and-white scenarios, excellently crafted so that it nearly goes undetected. However, almost every paragraph in the article can be simplified and reworded to fit this mold. For example, Balko offers a hypothetical situation when talking about personal responsibility stating that “If the government is paying for my anti-cholesterol medication,” then “what incentive is there for me to put down the cheeseburger?” (par. 5) This pattern of using if/then statements and hypothetical situations reverberates throughout the whole of the essay as his own way of trying to present his claims in seemingly logical ways. However, this does allow for hefty fallacies to creep into his own words as he places his assumptions. His largest fallacy that he doesn’t address or qualify is his notion that good health or obesity are purely the results of good choices. This does not allow any room for diseases, syndromes, or genetic factors that present things such as obesity or generally poor health as symptoms. This rather egregious oversight on Balko’s part puts a severe dent in his claim that obesity should not be the responsibility of the government or public health.

With such a fallacy and a rather clear avoidance of daring to address opposing views, readers who carefully analyze this paper and his claims are quick to start to discredit his claims. Despite his seemingly impressive credentials, Balko’s only real appeal to instill a sense of credibility to his words lies in his strategic choice of name dropping. Despite using what can only be loosely described as sources due to his poor utilization of their contents, the fact that he does include names of authority or familiarity and their works, allows him to appear to be well researched and read on the topic. Particularly, he name drops famous food companies such as McDonald’s, Safeway, and Kroger, giving off the appearance that he is not only well read, but in touch with the common man. These very illusions are shallow and fall apart with further study.

A rather critical mistake he makes when trying to establish a reason to believe, let a lone listen to him is when he creates almost an air of contradiction. Throughout the article, his views on minimizing governmental influence in healthcare and his distinct choice of aligning the Democratic political party with socialized medicine – something he is explicitly against – he creates the implication that he aligns himself with more conservative, or Republican ideals. While this easily can earn him some credibility with those who identify themselves to a similar political affiliation, he makes a near fatal error. Balko claims “It’s difficult to think of anything more private and of less public concern than what we choose to put into our bodies” (par. 8). While this does support his individual claims of the right of choice and personal responsibility, it aligns as a far more Democratic ideology that what goes with our bodies and what goes into them is an individual choice – such as with the topics of women’s reproductive rights and health and illicit drug use. Ultimately, that statement, when tied to his pointed attempts to place obesity under the personal choice and responsibility category discredit him from being able to fully win over any credibility via political party alliance.

To his credit, upon first read, Balko quiet effectively rallies the reader to his side with what feels like a near war cry against the evil that is in allowing the “government between you and your waistline” (par. 1). He continuously attaches words with distinctly negative connotations to the opposing side, leaving the reader bitter towards and soured against the idea of having the government regulate and control any part of the food industry and subsequently, our right to choose to be fat. He refers to regulation a manipulation or intervention (par 3), and even refers to socialized health care as a “huge entitlement that requires some people to pay for other people’s medicine” (par. 4). Put into that light, it automatically pits the reader against the idea of government mandates, for who wants to be manipulated or be forced to pay for someone else’s health care? Similarly, he paints the idea that anyone who buys into “a society where everyone is responsible for everyone else’s well-being is a society more apt to accept government restrictions” lacks intellectual distinction and is merely a brainless follower, poisoning the metaphorical well. This not only creates a subliminal insult to the intelligence of those who have an opinion contrary to Balko’s but picks at the reader’s sense of pride and fear so that they then either deem themselves more wise by siding with him, or that to side against them would equate them to being seen as dumb.

He continues to blatantly refer to those who stand in favor of government regulation as “a growing army of nutritionist activists and food industry foes” (par. 7). Ouch. For those undecided about the topic, this then implants the idea that to side with the opposition to his platform would make them some sort of loathsome member that only follows because of a shared mob mentality. Balko continues to perpetuate this rather skewed view in almost every other sentence, giving the article overall a rather bitter and angry tone that rallies the casual reader to Balko’s side much like hate-filled speech full of propaganda.

Balko throughout the piece continues to come across as a man trying to write a research paper, but in reality, almost the entirety of the article, reads like an opinion piece. Balko continuously fails to provide hard evidence to any of the claims he makes, relying solely on his purposefully skewed diction and appeals to faux relatability to attempt to sway his reader into rallying against having the government regulate our right to be fat. For such a polarized and unresolved topic, the lack of real insight this provides is ultimately disappointing.

Works Cited

Balko, Radley. (2004). What You Eat Is Your Business. Cato.org. Cato Institute.

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nebris · 5 years ago

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How Cleaning Out My Hoarder Mother-in-Law’s Junk Caused My Own Marriage to Crumble

As we plowed through decades of her extreme clutter, I began to notice similar tendencies in my husband. And once I saw the hoarder in him, there was no turning back.

There’s a snapshot Aiden took of me a few days after our wedding on Christmas Eve, 2009. I’m standing outside his mother’s house wearing disposable coveralls, gloves, and a particulate mask. In the background is a dumpster. The ground is thick with dead, brown palm fronds. I am beaming at the camera.

I wished so much that I could have met Ruth, my mother in law. I knew she was a bright, adventurous woman who never found work to suit her lively intelligence. She was a 1960’s housewife fascinated by history and art and ideas. She loved dogs. She suffered from untreated depression and agoraphobia.

The day Ruth died, her family just locked up the house and walked away. Now, five years later, it’s still standing empty. Aiden worries about it. I worry about him. No one, I think, should have to clear out a parent’s house alone. His brothers are no help at all.

“You and I can do it together,” I say. “It’ll be our honeymoon. We’ll take a month and just get it done.”

And now we’re here.

The front door opens into the living room — an ironic name for such an uninhabitable place. I’ve never seen anything like this. There are LPs, stained mattresses, mountains of canned food, ripped cushions, dog crates, and hundreds upon hundreds of boxes. All fading back into the darkness. The smell is beyond staleness or rot. It’s the stench of sickness, of time lost.

I’d fantasized about meeting my mother in law. Now I’m getting my wish, but in the most macabre way. As I dig through her belongings, I feel I’m excavating Ruth herself. Every room in that house — every pile of garbage, every broken sofa, every packed closet — seems saturated with her spirit. Each stratum we uncover reveals more of the woman who raised my husband — a woman whom I will otherwise never know.

I haven’t yet heard of obsessive-compulsive hoarding. I have no idea that there’s a clinical name for what I’m looking at. I only know that Ruth’s house feels like a map of a disturbed mind.

Why, I wonder, is the floor of the den covered in newspapers three feet deep?

“That’s for the dogs,” Aiden explains, as if it makes perfect sense. We start hacking the newspaper out, a job that requires pickaxes and shovels. Clouds of powdered filth fill the air. The whole thing is a petrified matt of paper, urine and excrement. Decades ago, Ruth crammed her ever-growing collection of dogs — eighteen? twenty? — into this single modest-sized room and left them to do their thing. When the floor got bad, she simply added another layer of paper.

In another room, I find notebooks. Boxes of them, all densely crammed with faint, microscopic handwriting. They’re lists of words.

“Oh, Mom was always learning languages,” Aiden tells me. Some of the word-lists are in English. Others are in Spanish, German, Polish, Norwegian. Clearly the work of an intelligent and gifted person. The thing is, I can’t see anyone actually using them for anything. They’re barely legible. It’s as if Ruth was collecting words just for the sake of having them.

Further in, there’s a stack of maybe thirty cardboard boxes, wrapped in paper and swathed in packing tape. What was Ruth storing with such special care? Even with my mat knife, it takes a long time to get the first one open. I tear off the paper. Underneath there’s more tape. Then tissue paper. Gently, I turn back the layers.

Palm fronds. The box is full of dead palm fronds from the yard outside, carefully folded and packed.

I spend the next hour cutting open more boxes. They all contain more of the same. As I work, I keep twisting to glance behind me.

Back in the den I find Aiden crouched down, frowning at the heaps of crud that we’ve hacked out of the floor.

“We need to go through all this by hand,” he says earnestly.

I stare. “You mean the whole room? All of it?”

“There could be something important buried here,” he says. “Get a bag.”

I get a bag. As I start sifting, I try to think of something to say. We can’t do this. We’ll never get through it all. This is crazy.

I pry up a wad of rat-chewed newsprint. Underneath, gazing up at me, are Aiden’s eyes.

It’s a photograph, half buried in the muck. It can’t be Aiden, though.

The picture is old, taken maybe around 1920. But the resemblance is eerie. Same curly brown hair, same beautiful eyes. The guy is obviously a relative. Aiden has no idea who he is.

Later on, we show the picture to Aiden’s dad. “That’s your Great Uncle Norman,” he says. “He had some problems.” Problems? Apparently, Ruth’s uncle committed suicide sometime before the Second World War.

I’m sorry to hear it. But what really disturbs me is the vision of my sweetie buried under a pile of garbage in that house. Those eyes, hidden down there for decades. Sad eyes. A genetic heritage.

At the end of January, after about a month of excavation, we run out of time. The whole process has been traumatic for Aiden, and to what end? We’ve filled one corner of the dumpster, which means we’ve thrown away the equivalent of about one closet’s worth of stuff. The rest of the house we leave as it was, relocking the door behind us. I feel defeated. Aiden is silent.

Back in London, our cluttered apartment is starting to worry me.

“I’m remodeling, so everything’s kind of up in the air,” Aiden had told me months before, the first time I saw where he lived: before it became where we lived. I’d been impressed to learn that he was doing all the work himself. Naturally the place was messy now, I thought. I could see it was going to be beautiful when it was done.

But time passed, and the remodel began to seem like the labor of Sisyphus: a project that could absorb any amount of time and work without ever reaching completion.

Now we’ve returned from California and moved into a construction site. It’s uncomfortable. There’s no room for my stuff. Aiden urges patience as he keeps accumulating tools and crates and building materials salvaged from neighborhood trash cans. One night, I come home and am bewildered to see what looks like a pile of car parts in the living room.

I’m starting to understand that, for my husband, the chaos of the remodel is not a temporary stage on the way to a cozy shared living space. It’s the way he lives.

When I shake out a blanket, clouds of dust and mold fly up. We have fleabites. Without consulting me, Aiden adopts two dogs, which are never housebroken. Now I have to wear clogs all day, stepping over puddles on my way to the kitchen.

I offer to do all the cleaning myself. “This is not your project,” Aiden responds. I try to negotiate for one clutter-free room. For the first time, I see my husband truly furious. Once, I rearrange a couple of pictures on the wall. After that, Aiden doesn’t speak to me for a week. He feels that I’m a feckless control freak. I feel unwelcome and unvalued. Much as I love him, I’m sliding into chronic depression. Angry depression.

Through it all I can’t get Ruth, or her house, out of my mind.

Finally, two years later, our marriage ends. I’ve been fighting hard to clear away the obstacles — physical and emotional — that stand between us. To Aiden, I’ve realized at last, my efforts feel like an attack on the core of his being.

The hoarder crowds his life with rubbish in an effort to keep other things out of his life. Things like spontaneity, and the spiritual intimacy reflected in a shared living space. Love and friendship don’t stand a chance. The need to barricade oneself — literally and psychologically — overrides everything else.

I grieved our loss for a long time. But today I’m sitting in a tranquil room full of clean surfaces. There’s open space. There’s sunlight. I luxuriate in having exactly what I need and no more — my books, my teakwood desk, my glass pen jar. Best of all, my thoughts have room to spread and blossom.

Freya Shipley is a writer, editor, and speech coach in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she works with a wide range of freelance clients in all three fields. Freya loves helping individuals and organizations develop communication skills that do justice to their ideas.

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/how-cleaning-out-my-hoarder-mother-in-law-s-junk-caused-my-own-marriage-to-crumble?utm_source=pocket-newtab

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rheyareads · 6 years ago

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Body Image and Alllllll the Baggage it Brings.

If I’m being honest with myself, a lot of my self-loathing is centered around negative body image and all that it brings with it. I’ve had a horrible relationship with food my entire life and some lousy genetics to go with it. On good days, I don’t actually think about what I look like, how big I am, or whether or not others find me attractive. I can go about my day to day and not feel like I’m burdened by my size or appearance. The problem lies in the bad days, which are far more frequent than the good. Those are the days where I feel utterly crippled by my size and completely disgusted with my appearance so much that I typically make matters worse by seeking comfort in my favorite foods.

Body image is something most people, particularly women, typically struggle with so I’m sure it comes as no surprise that it would be one of my biggest battles. What I think people don’t realize is the depth that my insecurities go when it comes to my day to day interactions. There are things I replay over and over in my brain on a loop that sometimes drive me absolutely insane and it becomes exhausting. When you struggle with disordered eating habits and negative self-image, you also feel an intense hatred and shame towards yourself for enabling the destructive behavior you hate. For me, that materializes in binge eating and making constant jokes about my overeating, general slovenly nature and desire to be the “fat and lazy” person I assume people think me to be based on my appearance. So, let’s start at the beginning, folks….

I have struggled with body image my entire life. High school was utter hell for me trying to navigate how to be the kind of girl boys wanted to talk to and date, despite the fact that I wasn’t a size 2. I’m naturally a goofy person so I typically leaned into the humor thing to cover up my shame but it all came to a head when I was about 15 and slowly stopped eating normally and focused my attention on athletics to try and shed some weight. This is when my battle with food really started and I remember how amazing it felt when I lost like 45 pounds and guys suddenly paid attention to me, girls complimented me and I had to have all my marching band outfits taken in. (Marching band was cool – COME AT ME). I joined the field hockey team, didn’t eat breakfast or lunch and ate only peanut butter toast for dinner most nights after getting home from my games/practices/work/rehearsals etc. and suddenly I was wearing size 8 pants and feeling like I might actually be attractive.

My confidence was short lived, however, because like most young girls come to find out, I still wasn’t good enough for myself or for other people. I was a size 8 but not a size 4. My stomach wasn’t flat. I really couldn’t run without wanting to die (I have asthma, and heart complications I discovered late in high school) and despite being a healthy size, I had a group of friends who constantly teased me about things and called me names like “Big Hoss” and “Hoss the Plump” (now – your instinct will tell you to be mad at these people and say ‘they’re jerks!” and you’re not wrong – they were – but they were also 15 and idiots who hadn’t grown up yet. We were all idiots and jerks back then so go easy on them) and I can remember distinct moments that ultimately led to me having a more strained relationship with food throughout my time in high school.

I remember being so excited to wear a bikini one summer because I finally lost enough weight and wasn’t afraid to show my stomach and one day my friends and I all went swimming and we played chicken — you know, that game where the girls are lifted on the guys shoulders and fight till one drops — and when I got put on someone’s shoulders, another one of my friends was on the deck of the pool shouting “no God, my eyes” and making fun of my size. That was the first night I went home and tried to make myself throw up after eating. I remember crying and realizing it was too loud to hide from my parents so I cried myself to sleep and just hoped I could do better at not eating the next day.

The second time I tried to make myself throw up was after my boyfriend and I had gone shopping. We got home and laid all our clothes out on the floor to show his mom (because apparently that’s the cool thing to do) and he compared my polo shirt to his because his was a small and mine was a large and made a comment about how I weighed more than he did (I will remember our weight at this time until I die because this moment is so engrained in my memory – I weighed 142 pounds at the time, he was 137). I left his house that night and tried so hard to find a way to become bulimic, silently, so I could stop gaining weight and become a girl who wore a small t shirt size.

Fast forward and I got into a healthy relationship, found my first experience with what I would call my first love, and my battle with food was set aside for a while and I had started to gain a little more weight again. I didn’t care as much because I was happy and felt loved, but I did notice some stuff changing with my physicality and my gym teacher noticed too. That was when I discovered some issues with my heart and my doctor ordered me to stop doing extracurricular physical activity so that I could figure out what was happening with those. Turns out, I had some weird murmur thing and some issues with a signal, had to wear this freaky monitor thing blah blah blah but I ALSO had polycystic ovarian syndrome and hypothyroidism which are notorious for causing weight gain and can run rampant without physical exercise to keep them under control. My first semester of college I gained like 100 pounds and my relationship with food got even worse. I couldn’t binge and purge because the purging part was too loud and difficult for me to accomplish (and if you don’t believe me, ask one of my sorority sisters what I sound like when I vomit – it’s insane how loud I am) so I fell into a depression about it and began to cope by binging all the time.

Since the beginning of college, I’ve had a binge eating disorder that I have struggled to cope with. I had these tendencies even as a kid, though. I remember my parents cleaning my room and questioning why I had all these spoons hidden near my bed because I ate peanut butter by the spoonful at night in secret. It got so bad once that I got the flu shortly after and threw up peanut butter and couldn’t eat it for like a year.

I eat horribly as it is – and I will be the first to admit that – but somewhere along the line my relationship with food became this toxic, shameful thing that I would use to cope with my loneliness, frustration, stress and sadness. I can remember times during grad school where I would eat an entire pizza and then instantly get sick not because I wanted to purge but because I physically made myself sick by overeating and I couldn’t stop. It was horrible and upsetting but I couldn’t bring myself to stop doing it, and it was only exacerbated by the fact that losing weight was much harder for me as someone who had a genetic predisposition to weight gain.

So what’s the point I’m trying to make by telling you all these stories? I’m glad you asked!

Body image is a horrible, horrible beast that has hung over my life for as long as I remember. Because of the way I struggled when I was younger, and a size 8 (and a gorgeous girl, if I might add) I look at who I am now, and I cannot even fathom how people could tolerate the person I’ve become let alone find it to be something worthy of love. If that girl got made fun of and had a hard time finding people who found her attractive, what hope does the woman I am now have?

This is the way I think. Every. Single. Day.

What’s different now is that people are nice enough not to mock me to my face or tell me how they really feel because they recognize it’s probably rude to call someone a “pink whale”, regardless of how rooted in truth the statement is. My weight and subsequent shame surrounding my weight has held me back from SO MANY THINGS I would love to do, and I hate it so much.

When people want to go to shows, or concerts, or theaters, or theme parks, I have to worry about whether or not I will fit in a chair. Like – what? That’s insane, but it’s a very real concern I have now whenever I do an activity and it’s even more embarrassing at the event when my whole body is uncomfortably spilling over the sides of chairs and touching everyone around me and I’m hot and sweating and just generally a monsterous beast. I have to worry about how much I’m going to sweat if we walk around a lot, or if I’ll be in pain because I’m not used to doing that much physical activity. I hate it so much because when you’re with a group of other people you never want to be the one that holds other people back, so I have adopted this philosophy of just not going to avoid ruining the good time for others. If I don’t go – I can’t feel ashamed by the fact that I can’t fit in a chair. If I don’t go – no one has to go slower so I can keep up.

But in adopting this philosophy, I feel like I’ve missed out on so much and I’ve gotten in this cycle of just not doing anything. I don’t have fun at events because I’m so anxious about what will happen, or I simply don’t attend at all and feel isolated and alone. It becomes this vicious cycle, too, because I think about trying to meet someone or go on dates and realize I’m a really boring person. Not because I’m actually boring or want to be, but because my weight has literally isolated me from being able to experience life the way others do. I do the same, boring things, day in and day out, not because I necessarily want to, but because physically I am limited in what I am able to do comfortably. And don’t get me started on what my weight has done for the idea of sharing intimacy with another person…

Well, fine, since you asked – how can I possibly date anyone if I’m so ashamed of my body I don’t want to be seen in public let alone intimately? That fear has basically stopped my dating life in it’s tracks. You see, I’m not the girl who gets noticed because you find me physically attractive – this I know – but I am someone people generally like talking to and interacting with because as I mentioned before, I am privileged in that I’m smart, talented and humorous (I’m also SO modest) so I can be quite engaging when you get to know me. At any rate, despite the fact that people like to talk to me and find me to be interesting, I’m never the girl people want to date, and I believe a lot of that is due to my body image. I don’t look like the girl you want to bring home. I look like the girl you want to ask for advice or tell your problems to before you call your girlfriend to go out that night.

But more importantly – even if I was the girl you wanted to bring home – I wouldn’t be able to believe you. I wouldn’t know how to trust that you were genuinely attracted to me because I am so disgusted by myself that I can’t fathom someone else may have a different opinion than mine. And my body image has left me with such negative self-worth and isolation that I’ve inherently cut myself off from attracting other people. There’s nothing attractive about someone who’s self-conscious and self-deprecating. People aren’t attracted to the girl who’s always putting herself down. But I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to change my own opinion.

How do you learn how to love yourself?

I’ve never been able to answer that question and I think it’s ultimately led to a big hole in my life and is the fundamental reason I’m not happy.

Now, the response I will get here is likely “oh my gosh, you have so much to offer though! You’ll find someone. The right person is out there who will love you for you!” and I’m not saying that those aren’t kind things to say, or even false things, but also – it doesn’t make it suck any less.

I have not been in a relationship in like 6 years. I have developed this sarcastic, hilarious exterior that talks about how much I hate cuddling, and I don’t want your hot breath on my face when you sleep next to me, boys are too demanding, I don’t want to compromise my wants and needs to take care of someone else – and honestly, those are actually all true things – but it’s not representative of the way I truly feel towards relationships, it’s just easier to say all of that then be the pathetic single friend in your group of all married and committed couples who are buying homes and having kids together while you’re going home every night and re-watching the Office for the 13th time alone while you eat pizza and troll Instagram.

What I want, is to start a family and share my life with someone who is genuinely interested in me. I want to have a partner to grow with. Someone to invest my time into and support while they do the same for me. I want to be loved in a way that only a relationship can give (I know I have a lot of people who love me, and I’m so grateful for that, but this is a different need). I want to trust that someone truly wants me as their partner and loves the person that I am.

What shatters that whole desire is my body image. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to trust that someone could love me for me. Can they love my personality? Sure. That’s easy (until I become irrational and start tweaking out for no reason other than I’m a girl and the wind is blowing outside- that’s for another day, though). I don’t know that I’ll ever be happy with how I look and feel. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to make fun plans and not start a long chain of endless thoughts on the “what ifs” that will come with me doing that activity.

I just don’t know.

And I hope that someday this will go away. But for a girl who’s overweight, this is the biggest obstacle in my path right now. This is something that plagues my thoughts every single day in almost every activity I do.

Some days, it’s just really freaking hard to deal with.

from WordPress https://rheyareads.wordpress.com/2019/02/15/body-image-and-alllllll-the-baggage-it-brings/

#general nonsense #random writings #Uncategorized #body image #body positive #overweight #random thou

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docboots · 7 years ago

Text

On How I Learned I Had Hereditary Angioedima

I initially wrote this in an attempt to get it published. Well, that was the ultimate hope. My more realistic goal I was hoping sending it to editors might give me input so that I could edit accordingly. Like the teachers I came across in the public education system had assured me.

I really should have been more skeptical of people giving me advice on how to get published when they were oddly reluctant (read: never produced) to show they followed their own advice and got published. This is not how, at least in my experience trying a number of magazines over the past few months, it worked out.

Instead, they say something like, 'It was well written, but not for us'. Maybe a little 'You have a nice voice and it a deep and touching read. But not for us'. Basically, a lot of brushing me up with a compliment before the normal rejection that all reads the exact same. (Much like my emails from the lawyers and the claims handlers of social security!) There is no real input. Nothing of substance nor anything constructive. Nothing negative even! There is nothing on WHY I wasn't accepted so I may improve. As they want a "unique creative voice, that story only YOU can tell, and blah blah" it'd be nice to know how I do not fit their mold so I could possibly use this apparent skill in writing I have for profit. Maybe get more knowledge on HAE out there. Maybe make this just a little easier.

Since that doesn't seem to be working with this particular article, and that response is getting tired given what it involves, it is better to have it here so I don't have to repeat myself to lawyers and doctors.

On that note! Hello new attorney, should you be reading this. You see, I finally got a letter back from my attorney. It simply said that I had my case transferred to someone new, who was writing the letter, and yet another copy of the memo they have explaining that the average wait time to be heard by an attorney is between 15-17 months. The only difference is somehow the wait is even longer.

All avenues say to pester and be heard, so I am sorry but I am aiming to do that. Especially now that I am being handed around like a hot potato legally, federally, and medically. I got a letter sent to me saying I am no longer eligible for Medicaid. More distressingly, it says the reason is that Medicaid is ending.

No more therapy, no more dentist, no more overpriced painful medication that at least is something, no more doctor visits, nothing. I can not afford it, and I am not going to waste money that can be spent on the thing that at least won't' be pulled out from under me. Where there are potheads, there will be someone who grows and sells it.

The sad thing? Those "criminals" (mostly) treated me a hell of a lot better than this system. Than medical marijuana. They at least let me wait out in the cold in my fucking car. They at least ADMITTED I had a god damn blood disease.

Enraged rant from 9/27/2017 over. Not a rant on when I was 16, when I first found out that I had this drama coursing through my veins. Hopefully, this new madness doesn't make me have to repeat it out of the stress, eh?

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There had been signs, but I did not know I had the genetic blood disease that would reprogram how I approached life until I woke up with the worst stomach ache of my life a little more than a decade ago. The dread of waking up for high school washed away with a sucker punch from life. The sharp stabbing from my gut should have made me realize this was no ordinary stomach bug, but I have a terrible tendency of ignoring my gut instincts. I only grew mildly concerned when I began to puke with the cadence and fervor of a dying banshee. Every heave feeling like my muscles were testing the tensile strength of my ribs while simultaneously trying to send my stomach on a whimsical journey through my esophagus. Not only was my body violently rejecting what looked to be a liquid combination of every meal I had ever had or dreamed of, but it adamantly refused to let even water back down my overworked throat.

I’d, of course, nurse water down at every opportunity in an attempt to wash away the bitter bile that clung to my throat like an oil, as well fight against the dehydration creeping in. This would end up being a fruitless effort. It would give me relief from the dehydration, only for it to be replaced with spiraling nausea. The dry feeling of a void in my throat spreading into my gut would return shortly, a few sips of water hardly held it back. All the while the jabbing pain in my stomach only seemed to grow worse. It even seemed to be warm, possibly burning. It is hard to tell if something is a particular flavor of pain when there was a far more notable kick in the same area. I would later find out this was due to a portion of my gastrointestinal system swelling up. I would also later find out this would be a pain I’d become intensely familiar with.

This would go on for two to three days before my parents realized how serious it was. They were worried, of course, it was just clear at that point I was neither sick with a stomach bug nor performing some form of elaborate ruse to get out of school. Though I was, at that point, still weighing whether or not getting to miss school for a few days was worth the agony. Not when you can’t enjoy Pokemon Snap, was my reasoning. While I was certain it was just that food poisoning thing everyone was talking about, as I was experimenting with cooking, my parents feared that this was a sign they had been dreading. My birth mother, having been adopted by my grandmother in a chapter of my life worth its own essay, had a genetic blood disease called Hereditary Angioedema. I had a 50% chance of getting it at birth, and I have come to learn that this game is rigged in Nature’s favor.

Surprisingly, a juvenile puking like Pazuzu had an interest in his soul did little to hasten the eternal waiting that is common with an emergency room. Parked between someone with a mild fever and another with a few twitches, we spent an eternity waiting to be seen. As the hours ticked by I became more and more familiar with the pulsing in my gut, having leaped beyond the stage reserved for crying and whining and now locked firmly in the anxious groans and curses towards nature and any deity that I could remember. Luckily I had always had a fondness for mythology, so I had a nice list of fresh legendary gods and goddesses to gripe towards.

It was rather embarrassing carrying around the black trash bag, what with it smelling like an inside-out stomach while sloshing with every step to make certain people knew of its presence. Given the pain in my stomach and the overwhelming exhaustion that comes from dry heaving through the night, I figured it easier to use that to dry heave into. Nothing was really going into the bag, but I figured it’d put people's’ minds at ease. At some point, I had ditched it in exchange for the toilets. Any hope I had that people might think I was in there doing something natural was squashed by the rather disheveled looking man. The man was waiting in a lobby far enough for me to have an idea of the radius of my retching, which by this marker was already alarmingly vast, and made it clear he had heard by courteously asking if I was alright. The concern in his eyes and hanging in his voice made it clear it wasn’t purely an attempt to be cordial. Given the pained noises that your own swollen stomach will cause as it gyrates to the beat of your hoarse vomiting, the man may have just been wanting to be sure I would not respond in tongues or by crawling away on the ceiling. Possibly he feared something worse, like whatever the news was frantic over that year.

As haunting as this situation may be, It is surprising how quickly you get used to pain. It might burn and pulse so that every second has you thinking of it in some capacity. It might make it so every tiny movement makes your every nerve scream and your brain berate you for attempting to function, it might strike when you are too young to process the reason or too old to overcome. It might be due to an immature belief that ‘big boys don’t cry’ or from being hardened due to previous experiences. Like a bad smell, you can grow accustomed to the agony. To the point your every twitch doesn’t cause you to bark out a yelp of pain.

It got to where even I was surprised that I didn’t fully freak out as I was loaded into an ambulance. Shock and adrenaline is a hell of a drug. As nice as the doctors there were, they were not set up to house an adolescent in a hospital bed at that facility. The fresh hell I had been whisked to, however, was another matter entirely. Thankfully I had been given a lovely dose of morphine to keep the pain and nausea away. Also helpful was the IV that I was now attached to pumping me with all the glorious liquids one normally has when in deep stages of dehydration. I was told that if I hadn’t come in when I did, I’d have been at a high risk of complications or death from the lack of liquids, or anything for that matter, in my stomach for the past few days. The anxiety and fear were not so easily stifled. It was here I learned of my disorder, mostly from my parents, something that took quite a long while to sink in.

Hereditary Angioedema is a genetic blood disease that is rare enough that, now a decade later, I still spend far more time explaining my disorder and symptoms than getting any headway in my care. This was proven through my doctor’s insistence on cutting into me and putting a camera in there to be certain. Luckily, my parents talked them out of it, for you see this disorder causes swelling in random places when mental or emotional stress is involved while if I have any physical stress, such as a hit to the arm or merely overexerting myself) the area will swell. The swelling tends to be to the point, should my hand swell, I am unable to bend any of my joints and lasts anywhere between two days to a month. If I am so lucky. So should the doctor have made headway on his desire for a bit of surgical spelunking for what was wrong, I would have likely had to deal with the areas cut into swelling. Our arguments were treated as if we were belligerent, not that my stepmom had experience dealing with this with my birth mom and grandfather (step-great grandfather? My family tree is mildly complicated) who both had the disorder, given you know, genetic.

Luckily, in spite of the Doctor being a prat, the nurses were immensely nice. They even had this small tv on a cart with a ps2 plugged in they let me use occasionally. As the entire experience was maddeningly stressful, the distraction and escape helped me process the new tidbit of knowledge about my biology. Specifically, it didn’t seem to be my biggest fan.

This might sound like I am allergic to stress, and in a sense I am. Antihistamines and the typical allergy medicine don’t do squat and the actual medicine has been hit and miss. 98% miss. Not many companies have room for such genetic shenanigans either. All this I fretted over as I sat in that hospital room as they observed me and made sure my liquids would be back to normal.

How do you escape stress? This demon that escaped the mouths of every living being. Vibrates from every object and every mild action. How could I possibly live when the world itself has potential to kill me? Google did nothing to soothe my worries. It instead believed it would be helpful to fling the statistic that 33%-66% of sufferers died from complications, most often asphyxiation, due to swelling. Life has taught me many things, but this one event taught me that the internet was terrible for anxiety. It did wonders for making mildly stressful situations evolve into a full-blown fit of hypochondria. Another thing I learned, for the curious, is 85% of all statistics are bull. As that statistic has steadily dropped since. Be it modern advancement or better information, it no longer festers in my mind.

Back then, however? It festered. It consumed my every thought and action before I even realized it. I began quitting hobbies left and right that used to fascinate me. Worse? No one could blame me. In fact, everyone encouraged it. When your own body is puffing up like a balloon at the drop of the hat spurred on by not just these physical hobbies but the everyday madness of life coupled with the special circumstances life decided to dole out to me to be CERTAIN I did not live a single second without madness and anxiety itching at my cortex. I struggled through the pain in others though, and I found what was worth holding on to.

I often remember sitting in that hospital room bouncing between wallowing in self-pity and rage only to tug myself up with an imaginary pep talk. Only to crumble. Then rise. A tremendously annoying cycle that repeated in those few days. As I am sure many do in their darker times, I often think of what I would tell myself then to improve my situation now. There is one thought I seem to always want to say.

It might have even started off as denial, but really, I was right in this sense. Everything would be alright. It’d be a struggle, it will continue to be. Even when my knee is swollen, even when I need a cane or a bit of help, I will get back up. Eventually. Maybe the pain is too much, or my energy is zapped. It is fine to relax, to contemplate. Maybe even veg. I will rise back to my feet. Even if every fiber of my being tells me I should give up, that nothing is worse this much struggle. I know at the bottom of my heart I will learn something from the experience. Be it something as small as the situation itself.

Sadly I would not be able to ease his concerns when it came to avoiding stress entirely. It lurks like an angry beast. Nestled in people's actions. I often relate it to being allergic to wasps, only everyone and everything produces them. Every word, every step, every thought. It takes a lot of time and patience to learn how to avoid the swarms. It was necessary to keep the stress from stinging me.

That wouldn’t be the first time I would have to deal with that exact situation, nor the last. Life is still hard, and I may write more on what I learned from those struggles one day, but I will always write. I will turn my situations into something I will be proud of. Maybe a piece of horror, maybe a bit of the blues. Maybe I can turn it into a painting or maybe I can warp it into a 10 part mini-series. The disorder might try its damnedest to stand in my way. Be it having my gastrointestinal system swell the night before my first day on a job, leading to being fired, to the pointlessly difficult struggle that trying to get Disability is. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger after all. It builds your characters. It might slow me down for a short time, but I will never, ever stop.

Being stuck is far too stressful, after all. Got this thing about stress.

#nonfiction #rant #hereditary angioedema #medicaid #hospital stay #story time #cosmic shenanigans #HAHAHAHAHAHAH #drumpf #gastrointestinal swelling #disability #hae #government #puking #swelling #flare up

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