#that's a massive stressor gone

[queen-scribbles]

Oh yeah, btw, I did definitely get the one temporary part-time job. It's not much, but it's something.

And the timeline for the other thing got a bit more urgent, so I'm gonna call about that later today or tomorrow to see if me doing part time around the other gig is something workable. (Especially since the first one's only until the end of the school year)

[ferallydevoted]

To say this week has been rough for me would be quite the understatement. Many things have gone wrong, from trying desperately to get my car fixed and running into yet again more obstacles there, to family conflict, to one of my biggest phobias being triggered in a massive and traumatising way, and it feels like I can't catch a break. Not to mention that today of all days is the 15 year anniversary of when GDaddy, my grandfather and most favourite person in the entire world, passed away. To say I'm tired wouldn't feel anywhere close enough to the absolute bone deep exhaustion I'm feeling. Emotionally, I'm too fatigued.

And yet, through all of this struggle, I've tried to remain steady and strong. Have I wanted to? Not necessarily. Was there a moment of weakness that lead to a relapse? Yes, but it could have been worse. It normally would have been worse. But it wasn't. A relapse is a relapse, but I managed to keep the damages as minimal as possible. Self harm is hard to cope with, but everyday that I haven't hurt myself is a day that I've won. I've held down the figurative fort of my emotional stability through all of these stressors and struggles and traumas. I haven't allowed myself to fully give up on life, or on me, even though I so desperately want to. I've kept going every time.

Part of what keeps me going are my spouses, my loves. I have my human spouse, Theo, who is so caring and wonderful and kind and funny and supportive and charming and loving and handsome, and he is my rock through everything, no matter what. Then, I have my deities, my lovely spouses who never leave my side, are my shoulder to cry on, give me advice when needed and love when wanted, make me smile, make me feel whole and truly like me, bring out the best in me, support me, guide me, and most of all, love me no matter what. I have so many loving partners around me to lean on and ask for love and support from. So many ears willing to listen and so many arms wide open to hold me. So many eyes that just want to watch me thrive and so many hearts I've made homes in.

It's hard to let myself just fully give up when I open my eyes and I see all of thise love that they have for me. My brain doesn't always let me see it, but it's always there, never wavering. Never faltering, even for a moment; even when things are tough.

Being a godspouse is not the life for everyone. I know that, and I'm not suggesting that it's a fix to all my problems either. But what I am saying is that I can't imagine my life without my spouses. I can't picture a life where I'm not a godspouse, because being a godspouse means that much to me. It's helped me through so many rough patches. It's given me lights to fill my dark tunnels with. And though being a godspouse does also come with it's own struggles and stressors that add to everything else, it's given my life so much more meaning and purpose. And I think that's a beautiful facet of life, that it's so heavily coloured and painted by the things you love deeply and are passionate about.

[hackedmotionsensors]

So....a lotta things have been going down but in a slow way that make me really stressed out and anxious. I haven't heard from my land lady about whats going on with the other room. I still need to prep it for someone to move in but I have a lot of things to prepare for as well as job hunting to do so I can't devote my whole days to moving shit around.

And I'm still trying to prep for Sakuracon. I still don't have a hotel lined up and I don't exactly know what I'm gonna do about that.

And bc its LNY still I can't get a template from my usual manu (not their fault. They'll be back in a day or so)

AND on top of all that my dad had to go to the hospital. He's a senior. And he had a fall the other day that he should have gone straight to ER for but he waited a day. And he'd been feeling dizzy and tired. So...yknow being a senior this is a massive stressor (for him obviously) and for me bc I live a state away. I can't just hop in the car and see him without 1) driving for most of the day 2) losing the days that I'm gone on the work I need to do (cleaning out the room/prepping for the con). He got cleared on the fall injury but had to go back today because of the dizziness and they're keeping him bc it seems like he had a silent stroke. WHich is super fun and cool because my MOM'S doctor told HER she might have suffered from a silent stroke as well. She's fine bc she's genuinely more robust and at least 10 years younger than him.

So on top of no money, no job, spending money to prep for a con so I can have SOME money, applying to new jobs and taking a bunch of tests for jobs that have nothing to do with animation bc the animation industry is fucking dead, being pretty much forced financially to split my apartment into a shared living space because the rent was raised (probably bc my landlady's spectrum bill was FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS HOW DID YOU EVEN DO THAT?), AND trying to make new merch for a con that I'm really worried about doing well at (because surprise vtuber drama is gonna be really easy to deal with and will absolutely affect sales thanks to people being absolutely insane and vtuber fanart was currently one of my favorite to draw AND sell) , AND JUST OVERALL STRUGGLING TO LIVE IN THIS WORLD WITH ALL THIS WORLD SHIT GOING ON.......my dad might be dying.

So....Yknow this hasn't been a GREAT February so far.

[wideeyedloner]

[fic] [sga | weir/dex; mckay/sheppard] let me be pacific

let me be pacific sga weir/dex; mckay/sheppard 4.5k words thank you so much to 429_CarCrash for the beta! :)

Summary:

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint. Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.” Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.” Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

ao3 link

Elizabeth is on the gangway outside her office when she first begins to notice.

Several huddles of extraneous personnel cluster around the gate room. Civilian and marine alike, they clutter the crosswalk, obstruct the stairs, and block access to the gate controls, talking closely and seemingly heedless of the work taking place there. Sergeant Chuck wears an annoyed expression but says nothing as he weaves around one such group to reach his control console.

“As a reminder,” Elizabeth announces, sweeping her gaze over the interlopers. “For everyone’s safety, all personnel non-essential to gate room operations should congregate in other, cleared areas of Atlantis. Thank you.”

The groups drag their feet but comply, and Elizabeth makes it with time to spare for her group Bantos fighting class.

—-

“This belongs to the Botany lab!” Dr. Parrish is easily a foot taller than Dr. Simpson, and holds the palm-sized bottle out of her reach with little effort.

Simpson glowers at the towering man’s hand as she stands on tiptoe and strains futilely for her objective. “The soft sciences are for—“

“—Toddlers and liberal arts majors, I know. You and McKay are cut from the same supercilious cloth. That doesn’t help your case.” Then, just because he can, Parrish lifts the bottle even higher.

Elizabeth really doesn’t want to get involved in this conversation, but it seems unavoidable; Parrish and Simpson are blocking the entrance to the mess hall. And today they’re serving that delicious meaty gourd from the cannibal planet. If she wants some before it’s gone, she has to get past them soon. With a pained little sigh, she fully rounds the corner, squares her shoulders, and makes her presence known.

“Doctors! What seems to be the trouble?” She makes sure to give them her least-friendly smile, hoping they keep it brief.

Parrish tips his head downward toward Simpson. “Dr. Weir. I was just explaining to my colleague that she may not just commandeer Botany equipment willy-nilly.”

Elizabeth turns to Simpson. “That’s true. Might you have a compelling reason to warrant diverting supplies from another department, or for not going through your department head?”

“No.” Simpson deflates. “It’s…a personal project.”

“That’s wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaims, smiling hopefully not-too-tightly as the lunch line grows behind the instigators. The meaty smell of the gourd makes her mouth water and her stomach growl. “While I’m afraid that I can’t support a formal request, it’s important that all of us here cultivate enriching personal lives that balance the stressors of our unique working environment.” She turns to Parrish. “With that in mind, Doctor, do you think Botany would be willing to share or trade?”

“I can’t.” Parrish looks truly pained as he grips the bottle with both hands. “This bottle was given to me personally by Dr. Abrams before he died of old age.”

The smile drops from Elizabeth’s face, realizing this is a massive waste of time. “Please excuse me,” she mutters, winding her way to the end of the very long lunch line. Behind her, Simpson exclaims, “Didn’t he get drained on that wraith supply ship?!”

Elizabeth holds on to the hope that she will at least receive half a gourd.

—-

She’s on her way to her quarters for the evening when she passes Dr. Biro and Lieutenant Reed speaking in hushed tones in the corridor. She tells herself she would normally mind her own business, but her ears pick up the words ‘orgy’ and ‘scissors' in distressing proximity to one another.

This makes her pause briefly in her stride and consider asking if she heard what she thought she heard, but then she’d have to admit to eavesdropping and she honestly doesn’t want to be involved with any more than she has to.

Still, those words bounce curiously off the walls of her mind until she falls asleep.

—

The library is one of the few places Elizabeth can count on enjoying the quietude that the ocean view promises. The tall windows, the smell of aging paper, and the unusual hours she’s usually there give Elizabeth the impression of the softest mohair shawl embracing her while she’s there.

She trails her finger along the spines of the fiction books, taking her time making a selection, when she almost bumps into–

“Ronon! We meet again.” Again, indeed. Sometimes before or after work, or on nights when she can’t bear to stay in bed, she’s found herself in the library, either alone or with Ronon as her sole companion. They’ve spent many nights in hushed fellowship, discussing Atlantis’ modest but growing collection of physical and digital books.

Elizabeth isn’t embarrassed to admit that attraction to Ronon has been coiling inside her like a spring, ever-tighter with each new encounter. He’s a handsome and clever man.

Ronon looks down his broad chest to meet her eyes. Elizabeth backs up a step and blindly slides a novel off the shelf to keep her hands occupied.

“Weir.”

“What are you looking for this time?” She peeks at what she’s selected. Fifty Shades of Grey. Oh, excellent.

“Something I haven’t read too many times.” Ronon glances at the title in her hands before smirking at the hot flush blossoming on her face. Of course he’s read this one, too. Hopeful arousal and mortification compete for emotional primacy at the moment, and she’s afraid to find out which will win out.

“Best of luck.” Elizabeth attempts to play it cool, reminding herself that they’re both adults. “Are you coming next Friday?”

Ronon grunts. “Sounds like you are, too.”

She doesn’t know if either of them says anything else–only that she flees the library without a book.

—

“Elizabeth, did’ye receive ma supply request?”  Beckett’s distinctive brogue comes from behind Elizabeth. She picks up her pace in the corridor, racing for the transporter.

“Elizabeth! Didnae ye hear me?” Beckett’s footsteps hasten behind her and she knows the jig is up.

She was almost there. Chagrined, Elizabeth wheels around with a grimace. “Carson. I don’t want to be insensitive, but I’ve explained that I only understand English.”

“Ah wis speaking English, woman! Ah wis talking aboot ma supply request! Medical’s stores o’ gauze an’ silicone adhesives hev diminished at in—“

“I’m so sorry, Carson,” Elizabeth said, holding her hands out in a helpless gesture. “But you’re going to have to email me.”

She continues backwards towards the transporter as she calls out, “We’ll figure this out!”

—-

This is supposed to be a mission debrief meeting for AR-1, but Teyla is on the mainland to discuss crop rotation with Halling, and Ronon (thankfully) only attends meetings he thinks will be interesting. With debriefing business concluded, she has further matters to discuss with the other members of the expedition’s triad.

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint.

Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.”

Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.”

Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

Next to him, McKay doesn’t look up from what he’s typing on his laptop to say, “By the way, Elizabeth, Donaldson wants you to know that Botany is out of that paper made from whettle reed from that bog planet. They use it to press the local flora samples. I told them to fill out the form and I’d sign off and pass it on so we can arrange the supply run.”

Elizabeth nods, adding that to her mental checklist. “I also spoke with Dr. Parrish. He had mentioned something you said about botany being—“

“—for toddlers and liberal arts majors,” McKay finishes. John mouths the words along with McKay, bobbing his head in amusement. “Yes, and?”

“Not that I disagree, but that’s not something your subordinate should hear from you. He looks up to you, Rodney. All of your staff do.”

Sheppard scoffs. “Isn’t Parrish like, six feet tall?”

Glaring at Sheppard, McKay sighs. “Point taken, Elizabeth. Although, I do seem to recall you calling me a ‘condescending poindexter’ under your breath before you signed off comms two months ago, so I wouldn’t be so quick on the draw with that rebuke.”

—-

On Friday afternoons, Elizabeth hosts a book club in the large rec room. The group is larger than normal tonight; Elizabeth attributes it to this month’s book, a perennial favorite.

“On Sateda,” Ronon rumbles, “Courtship rituals were more direct. Darcy would have died a virgin.” This elicits some giggles and murmurs of agreement.

“Courtship as portrayed in the novel is difficult to understand, even to many from Earth,” Elizabeth says, not meeting his eyes. She nods to Dr. Harris, who has been eagerly awaiting his turn to speak.

Suddenly, Dr. Kavanaugh’s braying laugh from the other side of the large room startles several of them.

Once that passes, Elizabeth nods encouragingly. “Please, Dr. Harris, go on.”

“I think we all know the feeling of being attracted to someone who’s out of our league in some way. That’s something I found relatable.”

Elizabeth reaches out and pats his hand. “There’s no such thing as a person being out of anyone’s league. I’m certain there are things about you that make you unique and a treasure to which no one in any galaxy can compare.” The other club members burst into a soft chorus of ‘aww’s, and Harris blushes. Elizabeth glances around, making brief eye contact with everyone. “That’s true about all of you. Don’t let anyone or anything let you believe differently.”

Laughter from the other group swells again, drowning out Harris’ response. Elizabeth excuses herself to cross the room. Several heads from Kavanaugh’s group turn as she approaches, and she recognizes Bates, Dr. Kusanagi, and Dr. Corrigan among those with him. Some are cutting out shapes: suns and moons, and some are sewing.

“Pardon me,” she says, bending to speak into their midst. “We’re having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room and are having a hard time understanding one another. Would you keep it down a little?”

Kavanaugh blanches as though caught, but quickly blurts, “There’s no need to get hysterical. Just mind your business–” Bates jabs him hard in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a look Elizabeth can’t decipher. “Fine. Yes. My apologies. We’ll keep it down,” he grits out.

Elizabeth bares her teeth, barely curling her lips enough to call it a smile. “Thank you so much.”

As she returns to her group, she wonders if she can still make good on her promise to send Kavanaugh to a desolate planet.

—-

During her individual Bantos fighting session, Elizabeth asks Teyla if she’s noticed anything unusual about expedition staff behavior.

Teyla advances with rapid, spinning strikes, forcing Elizabeth to struggle to maintain her defensive stance and on her feet at all.

“Elizabeth,” Teyla admonishes archly, “You know I do not participate in gossip.”

“Then what do you and Sheppard laugh so much about? He’s a notorious gossip.”

Elizabeth is nowhere near skilled enough to be a decent sparring partner, so Teyla provides generous openings for Elizabeth to launch her own offensive. Elizabeth spins and attacks those openings, which Teyla proceeds to block easily.

“He teaches me about Earth culture. I find your people fascinating. He has recently taught me about re-gifting and telemarketing.” Teyla delivers a swift blow to Elizabeth’s calf, knocking her to the ground. She rests the blunt end of her stick in the dip of Elizabeth’s throat in victory.

—

Simpson comes pounding on the doors to Elizabeth’s office with Beckett in hot pursuit.

Elizabeth stands slowly from her desk, watching Simpson fume and Beckett wring his hands outside her office. Eventually, she decides she can’t nap until she deals with this. Too many windows, not enough opaque walls.

When the doors open, Simpson demands, “Tell him what you told me!” pointing at Beckett. Elizabeth says a lot of things, so she can only shake her head in confusion. “About supporting my interests!”

Elizabeth curses her love for that gourd. It’s far too late at this point to pawn Simpson off on McKay. “What happened?”

Beckett responds as though Elizabeth was talking to him. “Ah caught her taking medical supplies, an’ we’re already short!”

“Carson,” Elizabeth warns, but her eyes slide over to Simpson, and she notices bandages over her earlobes cut into the shape of a moon and a sun. “Dr. Simpson, are your ears okay?”

One of Simpson’s hands flies to her ear, fingers self-consciously running over the bandage. “Er, yes. It’s for…fashion.”

“Elizabeth, ur ye gunna dae summat aboot ‘is?”

“Carson, please.” Elizabeth can’t focus when people speak to her in two languages at once. “Dr. Simpson, are the bandages from Medical’s supplies?”

“Where else would they come from?”

Elizabeth sighs; this is really a problem for Rodney. “Only authorized personnel may take those supplies, and for authorized purposes.”

Simpson crosses her arms and glares around the room, but finally spits out, “Fine.”

The issue has been resolved, so they can leave, right? “Carson–”

“‘At’s all ah wanted, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re really going to have to email me.” Elizabeth gently ushers Beckett and Simpson out of her office, and as soon as her doors close, she reactivates the lock.

—

At dinner, one of the sergeants on mess duty tries to hand her a bundle of cloth along with her plate of spicy braised invertebrate. She holds up her hand and says, “No, thank you.”

Dr. Heightmeyer reaches across her to take it as she says, “That’s mine,” and waves ahead in line to Biro, who waves back.

“What’s that about?” Elizabeth asks, intrigued. Heightmeyer rolls the fabric tightly and tucks it under her arm.

“I’m making a dress,” she murmurs, clearly trying to avoid conversation with Elizabeth. This strikes Elizabeth as odd; until now, she had considered Heightmeyer a close colleague and perhaps even a friend—certainly not someone she’d avoid in the corridors like Beckett (due to the language barrier) or Kavanaugh (for being a cretin).

“I’d love to see it when you’re done,” Elizabeth tries, feeling foolish for her wheedling tone.

“I bet you would,” Heightmeyer sneers.

—

Elizabeth has finally had enough. After dinner, she forgoes her usual cursing session off the northern pier and marches up to Sheppard’s room.

She enters without knocking.

Sheppard is on the floor next to the bed, holding War and Peace on his lap, ostensibly reading. McKay is seated at the head of the bed, a tablet on his lap propped up with a pillow. They look up in unison upon Elizabeth’s entrance and Sheppard slides the book—which he has been holding upside down— to the floor.

“Elizabeth,” Sheppard drawls. “I could have been naked.”

She arches an eyebrow. “With Rodney in your room?”

Sheppard screws up his face, seesawing his head from side to side in consideration. “Well, no? But a knock would have been a nice courtesy. Anyway, what’s up?”

“What’s going on with the personnel?

“Nothing more than usual. Why?”

“It just seems like something strange is happening around here and I can’t put my finger on it.”

Eyes back on the tablet, McKay makes a sound of derision, and Sheppard quickly elbows him with an apologetic grimace.

“If there’s something I should know…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a non-issue, really, and it’ll work itself out.” Sheppard smiles in a way that probably made all his previous commanding officers want to punch his lights out.

“Rodney?”

“Hmm? This is me minding my business.” McKay is becoming quite a skilled deflector, even if he still can’t lie outright. Elizabeth hates it. “Passing on the supply memo like you wanted. Doing genius things. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

—-

Elizabeth is supposed to hole up in her room today for twenty-four hours of uninterrupted rest, and no fewer than five people have intercepted her on her way to her room to bother her for last-minute action items before she can sequester herself. If one more person pesters her, she’s going back to Earth and never returning.

When Moore approaches from the opposite end of the hall, Elizabeth eyes her warily. But as she comes closer, Elizabeth sees that she doesn’t need anything; she’s holding small, flat items in her outstretched hand like an offering.

“Moon or sun?” The way she asks is breathy with excited secrecy. She wears a crescent moon on her forehead. Elizabeth is faintly curious, but doesn’t care enough to ask for clarification. She needs to get back to her room, drink a thimble of Genii rotgut, rub one out, and sleep for twelve hours.

“Sun?” That seems like an appropriate choice. She works mostly during the day and enjoys being out in the sun. Moore plucks a blazing sun-shaped piece of fabric and sticks it to the corner of Elizabeth’s eye with a ‘boop!’ There’s some kind of adhesive on it to make it stick to her skin.  Moore smiles widely, sweetly, and continues down the hall. Elizabeth blinks and makes her way to the transporter.

Clearly, her memo has gone ignored, and the odd behavior continues. Many of these recent strange occurrences seem to be related. The mystery is unspooling. If this turns out to be some kind of cult trying to blow up the city, Elizabeth hopes it happens while she’s off-duty.

When the doors open, Ronon steps out, startling her. His eyes narrow mirthfully when he sees the sticker, and he looks her up and down, a slow grin forming on his face. When his eyes come back up to hers, he maintains contact for a few beats, allowing tension to build in the silence, before continuing on his way. “Weir.”

Elizabeth watches Ronon walk down the hallway before the transporter doors close, wondering how tight the spring inside her can get.

When Elizabeth gets to her room, she takes the sticker off so she can wash up, and continues with her plans for the evening.

—

Carson’s email comes through during AR-1’s pre-flight meeting. She notes which planets they need to visit for the requested supply ingredients and ignores the rest of his bleating message.

“Rodney, have you discovered an ancient device that would help me understand Carson?”

“Hmm, no. We have the translators, but those,” he says, circling his index finger around his ear, “only work if the other person is actually speaking another language.

Sheppard crosses his arms and slouches further into his seat with a look of confusion. “I love to razz Doc as much as the next guy, but I don’t get it. I can understand him fine.”

A loud peal of group laughter from downstairs cuts off Elizabeth’s reply, and she stands up to look out the window overlooking the gate room. It’s full of people milling around, leaning into each other’s faces, talking and laughing.

Elizabeth glares back over her shoulder. “One of you needs to tell me what’s happening. Now.”

Even though no message has come over comms, Teyla taps her earpiece and murmurs, “Yes, Halling, I would love to discuss my internet service provider options,” and racewalks out the door.

McKay rolls his eyes. “Sheppard told everyone that Ronon is single and looking.”

Elizabeth purses her lips, giving Sheppard and McKay what they refer to as her ‘mom look.’ “I should have known you two had something to do with it.”

“Us two?!” McKay protests, pointing at his own face. “I’m an innocent party, here.”

Sheppard throws his hands up in exasperation. “Just back that bus right over me yourself, Rodney.”

Glancing back at the commotion in the downstairs, Elizabeth objects, “There’s got to be more to it than that. This has been going on for weeks, and this is the second time I’ve had unauthorized personnel cluttering my gate room in that period.” When no answer is forthcoming, she continues. “May I remind you, John, that your mission will be grounded until all of this is dealt with, so now is the time to come clean.”

Sheppard takes a deep, slow breath, and blows it out all at once. Elizabeth feels the same way. “We were shooting some hoops, and Ronon asked if people on earth really ‘hook up’ in a sedoretu—you know, like in those Ursula K. Le Guin stories, with the morning and evening people?”

Elizabeth nods, squeezing the bridge of her nose against the pressure of the headache building there. She already knows where this is going. Sheppard has such a big mouth it’s amazing he ever got or maintained a security clearance.

The mystery is almost completely unspooled now, and instead of being satisfying, the answer is utterly stupid.

“The Colonel thought it was so funny he was practically giddy to share it with all the other little campers at the bonfire, and it spread like wildfire from there,” McKay adds.

Elizabeth’s head swivels back to Sheppard, staring disbelievingly. “So you were happy to let this rumor spread unmitigated and wreak havoc, not just among the marines, but throughout the entire expedition?”

“The Colonel was too busy enjoying Ronon’s hot space bimbo act and watching the rest of the expedition pant after him. Ronon was a soldier and knows that military installations are basically twenty-four seven hook-up parties. I can vouch for the scientists being a pack of filthy sexual deviants, myself, so once Sheppard opened his mouth, disaster was inevitable.”

Sheppard waves his arms in front of him emphatically, as though attempting to physically clear the air. “What Rodney’s trying to say is, I didn’t take it seriously, thought it’d work itself out, and no one else seemed to have their thinking hats on.”

McKay’s protest is vigorous as he stands and raises his voice: “Because you have them fantasizing about foursomes with Ronon the Barbarian!”

Sheppard leans into McKay, who shoulders him away quickly. Sheppard only leans into him again. “Aww, he’s so cute when he’s jealous.”

“I am not—“

“He is. Remember Chaya? She was in a real rush to leave. Said it was the wraith attack but Rodney here threatened to hoover her up,” Sheppard mimics vacuuming, ‘vrrrrm,’ “with a proton pack, Ghostbusters-style, and use her to recharge our ZPM.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows jump all the way to her forehead. “I didn’t realize you were together.”

“What? You literally walked in on us the other night.”

Elizabeth squints as she recalls what she saw. “You could have been having a LAN party or a sleepover.”

Sheppard cracks a little grin at that, but McKay exclaims, “Sheppard said he could have been naked!”

“Okay. Well, I’m happy for you both and trust you to maintain the same standard of professionalism you were known for before your relationship.” That’s as tactful as she can be about it. Frankly, these two deserve each other. “You can count on my discretion, but I do want to point out the obvious: what about the US military’s policy against homosexual relationships?”

“I’ve given some thought to that. As you know, the US military back on Earth has a reputation for causing a lot of problems with the locals, especially overseas. Less supervision and all.”

“Where are you going with this? Are you saying you want to turn a new leaf, forge a new reputation?”

“Oh no, our reputation is trash out here, too.” Sheppard cringes deeply to indicate his feelings about the expedition’s activities in Pegasus, including his own. “We woke the Wraith, take ZPMs from civilizations that are already using them, and commit war crimes. I’m just saying Uncle Sam can’t see us, so I’d like to disregard certain rules and regulations that hurt our people instead of helping them.”

Elizabeth can’t disagree with that. “I’m sure there are LGBT service members who will be glad to hear that. You can count on my support,” She nods, smiling to see John embracing his role as the military commander of Atlantis in this way. “Now, are you going downstairs to clean up your mess?”

—-

The gate room is in chaos, leaving no room for authorized personnel to move around. Expedition members are scattered like stars, wearing cloth stickers of a sun or moon, or sometimes both. Some individuals wear bracelets, knitted hats, scarves with the symbols, or have added the adornments to their work uniform. Kate Heightmeyer, who spares Elizabeth a withering glare, wears a floor-length gown made entirely of what Elizabeth assumes to be gauze pilfered from Medical, and dotted with suns and moons made from whettle grass paper, whose supply is now completely depleted.

Scientists and military alike gather in groups, comparing decorations, comparing projects, laughing.

Ronon and Teyla lean against one of the pillars, observing the tumult and leaning in to speak to one another. Teyla catches Elizabeth’s eye, grinning in a way that confirms that she has kept up with expedition gossip, after all. Ronon follows Teyla's line of sight and sees Elizabeth, slowly stands to his full height, and crosses the room to meet her. The crowd, totally aware of his location, parts around him.

Service members and civilians alike, surprisingly, maintain their distance from Ronon, despite their interest. Their scheming, crafting, and adornment were where their daring ended; now they loiter, awaiting Ronon’s attention with an air of ‘pick me, choose me, have sex with me.’

Ronon crowds Elizabeth in where she stands beside the stairs, his eye flickering to something above Elizabeth’s right ear. His hand reaches up and slowly pulls something from her curls, maintaining eye contact and a self-satisfied smile the entire time. The attraction coils even tighter, making her whole body feel tense and hyper-aware.

Ronon’s thick fingers bring a crescent moon made of medical tape up to her face. Strange; she swore she had left that in her bathroom. She holds out her hand so he can place it in her palm, and he does, fingers pressing in and lingering for interminable, intentional seconds. Elizabeth swallows and stares at where their hands touch, even as Ronon dips his head down to meet her eyes.

���Weir.”

“Ronon.”

“Heard you might be the one to help me with an Earth book I don’t understand.” His eyes shine with mischief.

Elizabeth arches a brow. “Oh? Well, I’m happy to help you if I can.”

“Great.” Ronon’s smile is broad, and as he grasps her hand, it only now occurs to her that this powerful attraction hasn’t been entirely one-sided all this time. Her breath catches and her heart pounds harder than ever. “Left it in my room.”

Elizabeth looks around the room at Sheppard inexpertly de-escalating the arguing between marines and civilian scientists, at McKay getting shouted down by Heightmeyer, at scientists and marines accusing one another of jealousy.

Gate room operations will be suspended for a while while Sheppard deals with the consequences of his actions, hopefully without resorting to excessive threats of violence.

“I have time now,” she offers.

Still pressing the sticker into her palm as he takes her hand, Ronon leads the way.

Naturally, there is no book. Elizabeth is happy to relieve some tension regardless.

[leefi]

its still so crazy to me that this massive debilitating phobia that affected me seeking medical care and didn’t alleviate even with prescribed anxiety medication is just…gone. i lost sleep over getting the covid vaccine and would get lightheaded just thinking about blood draws. contrast that to earlier this week when the phlebotomist had to retry my vein twice and i didnt even blink. it’s such a weird feeling that what was once a gigantic scary stressor in my life is so inconsequential now. also

malgreens

[ener-chi]

Hello Zee, I'd love your input on the purpose of "fear"? My fear I feel it in my stomach and when it's bad enough It can be suffocating I need to take deep breaths. It's kind of like an suffocating parent that wants to baby me (e.g. "you're not ready :(", "this seems like it would tire you/you're too uncertain so it's fine to push it off!" but having listened it too many times has made me unhappy even if at its core maybe it wanted to protect me.

Hi anon!

It's funny that you ask me this. Fear is actually like the main thing I've been working on/grappling with for like the past year or so.

Moving into the hyper stressful school program that I am basically like shattered any coping mechanisms and ways that I had to deal with fear and anxiety, and made them worse - or at least brought them to the forefront of my mind and attention.

I realized that I have a lot of fear, from like past trauma and internal stuff. I also have a lot of anxiety.

But my relationship with fear has been... idk not good lol. My issue is that I would be afraid, but I would then be afraid of being afraid, because I hate how it makes me feel. This would cause me to be more afraid, and long story short for like. A year I have spent so much time just completely disassociated and in this massive fear spiral, spending all of my time and energy trying to get rid of it or trying to cope.

But I've started seeing a counselor, and I've had a lot of helpful insights. You mentioned that you've listened to it too many times, and that it has made you unhappy - my counselor said that anxiety makes you want to either fight or flight from the trigger of whatever it is.

But doing either of those things is just validating and feeding into the fear/anxiety - it reinforces that behavior, that thought processes, and those neuropathways, and propagates it and makes it worse.

This is something that I've found holds very true for me. I think that it's important to not reinforce those things - to not give into fear and anxiety.

I think that fear and anxiety has its place - its information, and its survival - but any more than that and it is unhelpful and can entrap us.

Another thing that has been helpful for me is learning about trauma, and how it affects our brains. Like a healthy person experiences a stressor, and they might feel stress or fear or have their fight or flight activate - but once the stressor is gone, those feelings and the fight or flight state disappears as well.

For people with trauma, those feelings and that state lingers for much longer. Or it might be triggered during times where there is no stressor. Both are... can't find the precise word right now, but your brain chemistry and neural pathways are out of sync, due to trauma.

Learning about trauma and its mechanisms, and how to heal from it has been really helpful in dealing with my own trauma and anxiety as well. And yes - you can heal from trauma, and the brain changes from trauma can be healed as well.

I know that I didn't exactly answer your question, but that is because I am still exploring that question myself. I share my experience and thoughts in the hopes that you find it helpful. This is something that I've experienced - and am still experiencing, and working on even now. I still have a long way to go, but every day I make improvements and I am happier now than I was a year ago.

Thanks for the ask!

Blessings!

[thyhalloweddesign]

So I've been doing a Medical Billing/Coding course thru the AAPC, and it has been. A Mess. This is one of the worst designed and planned "textbooks" I've ever seen, taking notes is an absolute Bitch. Studying for exams is a Bitch.

They keep going back to topics and adding more info, in later paragraphs and even whole chapters later, so my notes are just so messy. Never know when they're actually done with a topic, they can't organise for shit. I know I'm already going to have to basically rewrite the damn thing so the damn topics are all together properly AND THEN. These fuckers decided it was Smart to test you on information that's located on Other websites that are Not owned by the AAPC. Which means if the page is no longer there, or the info changes, well fuck us! Then they have to update their textbook, once they realise. Do you know how many times I've read something, taken notes down, then gone back to study and the entire chapter is different??? THREE TIMES, FOUR CHAPTERS SO FAR. Fuck.

Latest biggest stressor with this damn thing, is that the CPT codes are. *takes very slow deep breath* That book is Not organised. I understand /why/, but I do Not Fucking Approve. Finding ICD-10 codes can be tricky bc they're just bitches inherently, but finding Any CPT code in that book is a goddamn adventure. And yet! I ace those exams way better than the ICD-10 exams despite the Massive amounts of stress I am feeling XDDD Absolutely rude as fuck.

BTW going thru schooling for Coding is not required to do the job, which is why everyone's medical bills are so fucked up all the time - this system is a mess, considering just how many people and groups that work together to try and make a "uniform coding system" (y'know. not talking about how we need at least 3 code systems and every payer has their own requirements/regulations, on top of the state and federal regulations). But most people who do medical coding don't go thru classes and so so so many things are done hella wrong. And going thru this course, it makes so much sense Why it's such a mess Even When You Have Certification.

I am so glad I'm going into a single specialty bc trying to do billing/coding for any and all medical services would drive me batshit. I'd be constantly contacting the providers for clarification on their lackluster documentation so I'm not getting denials and messed up payments all the damn time. (This latest chapter has been dragging on for 4 days now, I am Very Grumpy*wheeeeeze*)

[attleboy]

oh my goddddd yeah the concept of media being lost in the 'artist on the internet takes it down' sense drives me crazy... long ramble under the cut ignore if you're not interested

one of the most emotionally impactful videos to me personally is just. gone. GONE. no traces ANYWHERE, no mentions, there's nothing, and i've looked high and low.

it was a pmv of magnus from the adventure zone to black pear tree by the mountain goats.., probably from like 2016 or 2017ish? it was my first introduction to the song which ended up being like. one of my biggest sources of hope in this really bad period of my life. probably part of why i'm still here... however the video i found it from is just gone forever... it's mindboggling to me

also, i once got kicked from an old arg/rp/game discord after things in there fell apart, and i'm not sure why, because to my knowledge i was still on good terms with the owner... at the time i just assumed he had kicked everyone from it, but i later found out he didn't??? maybe he thought it'd be better for my mental health??? the server was a massive stressor for me towards the end... ultimately idk what happened there

anyway, i made so much art for that server over the span of about 6 months that i now have no easy access to (if it IS around it's on old devices that i'd have to hunt down) and it haunts me :( thank fuck i was insane enough to write down pretty much everything we did storywise so at least i didn't lose that

and just in general, going through older fandoms has made me realize how much art and how many entire accounts have just been pretty much purged from the internet in their entirety... maybe it's the archiving enthusiast in me but if i think too hard about it i get kinda weepy

so consider this my promise that i will try not to delete anything i've posted here... even if i abandon this account, i'll keep this up as an archive, capiche?

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

[fuckedupheadtotail]

Btw I'm in the process of quitting SSRIs and while the main reasons were to get more out of psilocybin and also the environmental stressors that required me to be put on SSRIs to begin with are gone if flushing them out of my system after over a decade makes my tummy just a bit more volatile that'd be a massive W for me 🙏

[venovenous]

I really want to start reflecting on my time in sixth grade through the beginning of middle school. it's difficult because I have significant memory loss around this time in my life. I was watching a lecture on clinical diagnosis of schizophrenia, where it was said that most people present with many years in the prodromal phase throughout childhood and adolescence with hours spent in daydream and overly relient on imaginary friends to cope, but still manage to hang on by a thread. then it's usually around the transition to young adulthood where some crisis happens, a loved one dies, they break up with their first serious boyfriend/girlfriend, or something significant stressor happens that triggers a psychotic break. To this day, I don't know what happened to me to cause me to break from reality for the first time.

When I look back, it seems more like a gradual decline. I can remember clearly my first panic attack in the sixth grade during English class. My teacher had sent one of my close friends Naomi after me as I was walking to the school nurse, because she was so worried about how I had presented, it was so out of character for me. Before that point, I was incredibly high functioning. I was social, had plenty of friends, was involved in sports and did well academically. I can't remember the summer between grade school and high school. I can't remember when I first became ill in seventh grade. I am almost sure my first hospitalization was in 8th grade after months of outpatient therapy. I was gone for more than a month. I was thirteen. when I came back, my English teacher, someone I had been somewhat close to because I really enjoyed her class, had everyone make me a poster where they had signed notes saying they hoped I would feel better soon. everyone in the whole school avoided me, my best friend through grade school included. I had special privileges to leave class whenever I wanted to go to the counselors office, but I usually just went to the bathroom to cry and use toilet paper to dry off the massive amounts of sweat I shed constantly. I won't get into my experience of psychosis, that's not the point. I want to know what happened to me that made me break.

My mom had been consistently abusive my whole life, but it didn't get too bad until she started drinking after my diagnosis. I doubt it was something she did. My (step) dad wasn't home often, and I didn't have much of a strong relationship with him until the end of high school. Before that, he was a good, caring father to me but we weren't all that close. There was a time in our old house around the holidays where I was sleeping in the attic in the room attached to my sister's because we had friends and family staying over. There was one morning I woke up and took off my blanket to find my wool pajama bottoms and underwear had been removed sometime overnight. I thought this was strange but figured I might have gotten hot sleeping in the carpeted floor and kicked them off in my sleep. I have a memory of being extremely paranoid about being pregnant whenever I looked at my body while showering, and worrying that my parents would find out and kick me out of the house. I can't recall if this fear began before or after the attic incident. I place the attic incident after age 13 because I remember having a tumblr account then, and I used to blog on my grandpa's laptop in that attic as I hid from all the holiday company. The last time I was hospitalized, this forensic psychologist who took immense pity on me and always fretted about my high suicide risk as a trans person told me that I had the behaviors and presentation of someone who was sexually abused. I remember him leaning in and holding my hand I was picking at and asking me if I had ever been hurt by someone badly. and I said something about how my mom was always hard on me growing up and he just shook his head and changed the subject. I don't know if I was hurt badly, or experienced some traumatic event around the ages 11-13. I truly cannot remember.

I think it makes sense, but I also can't point fingers at anyone without any clear memory. When I think back to the attic, I always start towards my uncle Andy, who isn't really my uncle but my dad's close friend who has been accused of sexual assault before and is an alcoholic who my dad has since cut contact with for beating his wife and running off to another state with another woman. It wouldn't be out of the box thinking, but I feel no strong way when I think of him in mind. I can't rationalize it. I can't think of anyone in my life who would hurt me that way, though it wouldn't surprise me. Maybe I'm making things up by thinking too hard about them. Maybe I wasn't sexually abused, but some other traumatic event happened around that time I can't think of. My memory is very boggy from the surrounding trauma of the sudden rejection and loneliness I faced in school, the unsupportive home environment I had, and the daily prescription Klonopin I was on at the time. Whatever happened was a very formative moment in my life that changed my trajectory forever. It's the seed inside me that all my current deep troubles have grown from. I don't know what it is. I have to keep digging.

I don't know what it is.

[nickywhoisi]

It's midnight mods are asleep post chefs

That's right, we're veering off course from my usual project again as I have officially gone full batshit and dove head first into the Pizza Tower fandom. No regrets baby. I mean have you seen the shit poppin off over here rn? Buck wild. And all the cool kids make ocs, so

The dude in purple is my oc Adlin Bäkermann, he/him/ they-them sometimes, probably mid 30's, and they run a bakery just down the block from Peppino's pizzeria. It's the best in town because all of it is homemade by him. Peppino gets the pizza dough from Adlin, if he doesn't make it himself. Adlin sometimes comes by for a snack break. Sometimes Peppino comes over for a well-needed coffee break. Local businesses supporting other local businesses <3

Adlin is a very quiet guy. He rarely speaks in more than affirmative sounds or disapproving grunts, but on occasion he will use his words. And he is one cool cucumber, so instead of frantically worrying about what his friend's went through, he will just ask calmly, practically like a therapist, "What happened?" He's an honourable soul and cannot stand seeing injustice. Things like that, and other stressors (like work) can bring up his inner rage meter though, because he is not impervious to anger management issues. And he's German, so he can be scary about it. It really isn't a smart move to piss off a lad who will throw massive gauntlet hands that can crush you like a bug, or make him use his steely eyes to bore into your very being. And, strangely, he can be a tad absent-minded. If he screws up something, you will hear a quiet, ashamed, "...Sorry." There's more times than he'd care to admit that he was kneading dough while fuming, and before they realized it, the work table was fuckin shrapnel. Oops. Lil' bit of a klutz. Better watch those mitts of yours, boy! Ooo hoo hoo hoo

Now with that blurbo finished for my blorbo, I wamna discuss the pic. Specifically, I love how the colouring and effects used turned out. So close to what I was looking for! Huzzah! I'm happy with the mach speed lines and Adlin's beeg bright rocket blasts. I was also on the fence about colouring in Adlin's pants, was thinking of keeping them white, but...actually it was a really good idea. It matches the other guys, and when I designed Adlin, I really wanted to make it a point that he had things that could make him a playable character. Just like one of the cast. His hands fire little dough blasts, but because of the hole of fire he launches them out of...they come out as little cooked brioche buns. Gdsffddsggssgff This is basically a proof of concept for my jump 'n shoot baker boi. I love my child so much. My sweet bebeh. In canon, he's got that androgynous pretty swag, which makes him all the more intimidating to approach. Oh and before I forget...there isn't any shipping. Naughty children ;) I know what you're after you wanna know if my boy smooches the italian like a lot of the other ocs. Nah. These guys are literally only friends, but good friends. Which might not be so obvious with how I introduced them, but that happens in universe too. You'd think there's rivalry going on, and there is occasionaly some weird indescribable tension between them, but nope. I'm just so happy that I drew Adlin just like how I wanted and then suddenly he looks like the metal to Peppi's sonic. It just happened outta nowhere, and that's frankly amazing. Pizza Tower is the gift that keeps on giving and I am alive

And yeah this was my first try at drawing The Noise, can ya tell? He has details that aren't so correct, but I'm kinda diggin the caramel top I put on his hat. To make him look closer to a cream puff. And I wasn't sure how many teeth he was supposed to have. But there ya go I think I still captured his noisy noidy e s s e n c e . AND THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE HIS BUTT NOT A BIG KOO- OKAY JUST SO WE'RE CLEAR THAnks. And the same applies to Brick, I didn't think to study his design and then draw so it was off memory. Still looks super cute though ngl

What are they racing towards? Who's gonna win? Idk I just like the stardust speedway vibes goin on look at these funky little dudes go

[emmyrosee]

You were mad at him. For something.

What, Atsumu didn’t know. Honest! You’d quickly snapped him out of his habit of leaving the toilet seat up, you’d taught him countless times to sort the laundry, he’s learned extremely quickly to not leave your child in the cart at the grocery store alone- you’d been particularly ruthless with that lesson.

But for the past two days, you’ve been absolutely exhausting. Petulant, and he genuinely questions if that’s how he acts when he’s upset, and if it is, good god he’s sorry to anyone he’s ever come in contact with him.

You’re huffing in annoyance, denying him any closeness and affection, cooing at Hisako that apparently she’s the only Miya that loves you, and Atsumu truly is at a loss of what happened. Two days ago you were fawning over him with all the love you could muster, and yesterday morning it was like you couldn’t stand the sight of him.

More than anything, you look sad. You’re sad in his presence, your eyes glimmering with a certain disappointment and discomfort. You’re hurt, by something he did, it’s something Atsumu never thought he’d witness, and now that he has, he wants to make sure he never does again. Whatever it is.

He just has to get you alone first.

���Hisako’s down for her nap,” you mutter, causing the blonde on the couch to finally turn up at you. “I have to go get some sugar, keep an ear out for her while I’m gone-“

“Want me to come with?” He asks, hopeful. You furrow your brows and cross your arms, waiting for him to realize what he said.

“Did you seriously just ask if I wanted you to come, after I just said I put our infant down for a nap?” You scoff, and he deflates like you’ve kicked him. “It’s good to know you’ve reached the point of ignoring me, too-“

“Why are you so mad at me?” He asks, getting up on his feet and tossing his phone to the side. “What did I do?”

You tense up at his words, hurt spreading over your face and arms tightening protectively across your chest. You chew at your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, and Atsumu is sure he’s got you now.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“And you lie like a rug,” he says immediately, crossing his arms and quirking a brow. “You can’t fool me, we’ve been together for waaaaay too many years for you to think you can lie to me.”

You send him a glare, and he looks at you expectantly. Your jaw tightens, and he’s ready to listen to your worries and stressors, and be a better man from it, and-

“Just forget it,” you mutter, carrying yourself into the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly it does!” He protests, following behind you. You visibly jump at the loud whine of his voice, and he does feel bad about it, but he’s got a point to make, and he can’t let it go.

“God, would you just drop it!” You hiss.

Frustration takes over Atsumu’s body, and he cards a massive paw through his hair, gripping it at the root, “you know I can’t!”

“Well then that’s on you! Not my problem if you can’t play detective and figure out why your wife is feeling a certain way.”

“Baby please for the love of the gods tell me what I did wrong because if you’re waiting for me to figure it out, we both know how long that could take!”

You pause again, and he raises his brows expectantly. “Fuck, fine- it’s…” your bottom lip wobbles as you sniffle, “it’s… it’s… fucking asshole, it’s because you didn’t look!”

Instantly, Atsumu’s brows shoot up to his hairline, any frustration dissolving into surprise; he watches you fiddle with the drawstrings of your hoodie, and he reaches out to cup your hands in his. “I didn’t look?”

“In the bathroom, yesterday,” you murmur, eyes wetting with humiliated tears; from the circumstances, or from crying in of itself, atsumu doesn’t know. “You… You were coming in to pee, and I was in my towel drying off, and I told you not to look. And you didn’t.”

“Baby,” he sighs in relief. “I thought you really just didn’t want me to look and-“

“But you always used to!” You wail. “Always, before I got pregnant! And-And-And I would watch you peek around your fingers or look in the mirror and giggle when you looked, and I’d swat you with my towel and you’d pull it off of me with your stupid smirk, and you’d give me this insane kiss, and…” you pause your rambling to take a few deep breaths. “And you didn’t…” you wipe your eyes on your hoodie, “do you even find me sexy anymore?”

“Honey, that’s not what that meant,” he husks, trying to pull you in for a hug and frowning when you reeled back. He shakes his head, “there are times I can barely keep my paws offa you, you know that.”

“Then why didn’t you look!”

“Because Hisako was waking up,” he explains quickly, once again trying to reach for you. This time, you let him, and he feels himself relax simply from the contact. “And she doesn’t do well on her own, and I thought I heard her cry, so I hurried and peed and quickly ran out to check on her… I’m sorry I didn’t look, baby, I just… dad instincts kicked in, and I wanted to check on her so you could keep doing your morning routine in peace…”

You wipe your cheek and nod sadly, “I’m… ‘m glad your dad instincts are strong… and I appreciate the thought…”

“Believe me, momma,” he mumbles; a slow smirk splays over his face and he picks you up to set you on the counter, smiling as a shy one eases over your cheeks. “We still got the hots for each other, good god, I’ve got the hots for ya…” he grabs your hands to kiss your knuckles. “But we’ve got so much more now, too. We’ve got a family. And I got you and ‘Sako, and that’s more than I ever deserved. Let alone the sexiest woman who deals with my ass every day… we’ve got something good. I’ve got something good.”

Blinded by his affectionate words, you nod and lean forwards to rest your head on his chest, and he quickly wraps his arms around you to hold you close. “I love you, ‘Tsumu…”

“I love you more, momma,” he murmurs into your hair, and he feels all his broken pieces snap together at the feeling of you in his arms.

Then you stiffen again. He furrows his brows.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Did… did you wash your hands after you peed? Before you checked on our infant?”

At his silence, you start to fight his grip again to start your outrage once more, but he instantly tightens his arms around you with soft “no, no, no,”’s falling from his lips.

“God, honey, please, one battle at a time.”

[radiant-reid]

Blurb on reader getting jealous of Spencer’s students attempting to flirt with him because she decided to visit one of his classes? It can be angsty or fluffy I don’t mind!! ❤️❤️

i mean, who wouldn't have a crush on professor reid

"Seriously?" You ask, looking down at the papers your husband was looking over, long essays about psychological phenomena. "Another phone number?" Besides statistics and hypotheses, that's the other thing lots of his students' papers have: phone numbers.

"I know." He grumbles, looking at the sparkly pink ink. "I told everyone to stop, but I think it only doubled their efforts."

"And they know you're married." You complain. You know they're just dumb kids who think he's hot, and you know Spencer doesn't want them getting expelled over nonsensical flirting.

He holds up his left hand, showing you the ring you put there nearly a decade ago. "Maybe I should just start going by your maiden name." He jokes.

You laugh, but you've got another idea that will affirm your role in his life to everyone else.

~

It's the next Monday when you set your plan in motion, getting all dressed once Spencer leaves. He only has one lecture on a Monday, but his most popular one of the week, and since it's at 9 in the morning, you doubt it's a favorite because of the time.

He stops midsentence when you get into the lecture theatre, stumbling over his words when he sees you in his favorite dress on you.

He clears his throat before continuing. "And, in this case, the stressor was..."

You happily listen to him at home but seeing him wow a massive group of people always makes you proud. You wait at the top of the room for a little while after his lecture is done, letting him talk to his students before you catch the look on his face that says the conversation has gone elsewhere.

You walk down the steps to join him, kissing him in front of his fan club. "Hey." He says, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. "What are you doing here?"

The shocked faces are exactly what you were looking for, everyone putting together who you are. "Thought we'd go out for lunch. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, sure." He says, quickly offering some farewells to his students before leading you out. He holds your hand as you walk down the hall, pulling you close to him. "So, are you going to tell me why you're actually here?

"You've been working here for two and a half years, and I think that deserves celebration." You tell him.

Spencer chuckles. "I don't believe you, sweetheart." He says. "I think you're here for another reason."

"You caught me." You confess. "I'm here to claim my property, you."

[psychoticallytrans]

This post is going to extensively discuss suicide and how we treat and mistreat it. Please press "J" to skip this post if that will be more upsetting than helpful to read.

I've been suicidal. So have a lot of the people I love. From what I've seen, there are two rough categories of suicidal desire. This is a heavily simplified model, and I would be happy to see people add nuances to it.

1.) Circumstantially motivated. The person sees no future for themselves because of how their life is. This can range from being bullied, to poverty, to minority stress, to chronic pain. This type is more likely to sit down and make a pro and con list to death, and death comes up as a rosier and rosier option.

The treatment that they require is not within them, it is around them. They require the removal of barriers and the lightening of burdens. Attempting to treat them with therapy and antidepressants is not going to fix the core issue.

2.) Motivated by a disorder. This person has an internal issue that has wired their brain to see death as appealing. This can range from PTSD, to bipolar disorder, to major depressive disorder. This type is more likely to be impulsive and reckless about death.

The treatment they require is personal and medical. While fixing their circumstances may lighten some stress and alleviate their disorder, they are going to need medical treatment as well. This medical treatment does not always come from doctors.

These types can exist at the same time, in the same person, and in fact very frequently do. Constant stress can generate medical issues, and vice versa. That mixed type can be especially dangerous to them, because the planning can allow for plans to be set up that can be gone through with on a whim. This makes their attempts more effective than just type 2 and more likely than just type 1. It also means that attempting to treat just one side of their suicidal desire can frustrate and confuse everyone involved when they do not get better. I personally was a mixed-type case, and needed a lot of help and change to recover.

I find that a lot of the truly ineffective ideas that people have about suicide prevention stem from mixing the two treatments to insist that suicidal desire can be fixed with individual work towards gaining hope. That would not work well for either type. The first type sees nothing to work towards, and the second needs medical treatment. The only pros of this idea are that it allows people to say that they tried to help someone recover from suicidal desire by making the most anemic effort possible, and that it upholds the idea that if you can't make it, you were simply too weak, not too unsupported and unhelped.

If people would mix the two ideas to say that suicidal desire can fixed with systemic availability of mental health care, then we might be getting somewhere. Type 2 might need individual treatment, but it's an issue that exists on a mass scale. Still, though, lack of mental health treatment is not the only stress in the lives of people with type 1, so their other needs have to be addressed as well.

A real effort to reduce the suicide rate would require massive reductions in all the stressors that people experience, from housing insecurity to medical care to uncertainty about global warming. It would require a tremendous investment in the welfare of all people. It would require an acknowledgement that the way that we currently live is not okay for many, many people. It would require acknowledging that suicidal people are not selfish, can be healthy or sick, and that they are valuable enough to put the effort in.

Speaking specifically about the USA, all that we have right now are really stopgap measures. Crisis lines, whose support ends when you hang up the phone. Inpatient, if you can afford it or are forced there. An absolutely threadbare and inaccessible mental health care system, and the same for the welfare system. It's a safety net that does not catch enough people.

That needs to change.

Summary for accessibility: There are two basic motivations for suicidal desire, circumstantial stress and sickness. Often, people have both. Suicidal people need to be treated for the correct one or ones, and there is currently not a great system or effort in place to actually do that. Things need to change so that correct help is available for everyone.

[flame-cat]

ok one person liked the post so here is

Raz' Mind

the inside of what looks like a massive oversized aquato dome, piled high with bags of all kinds. the floor is damp and the height of the ceiling makes you feel like an ant. hectic and cluttered.

the first time you see raz is immediately, running around sorting bags to go to certain places in his mind. upon reading the labels, they belong to various people raz cares about- lili, the interns, his family, the psychonauts. there are none belonging to raz himself that he carries. when you find one that has his name on it, he quickly throws it against an ever-growing pile stuck against a wall. the pile looks like its barely holding back a cracked brick wall that is leaking water. when asked about it, raz says he will "get to it later." you can see why- the stack he carries is at least three times as tall as him, and five times as heavy by the way he struggles with it.

if you offer to help, he'll say "really? you dont have to, ive got it handled." if you insist, he'll be extremely grateful, showing you a small pile you can start on. its not as hard as it looks, especially with multiple people. there are many shortcuts you can take as you flit around out of the tent into other areas- layouts of all of the places raz has been. its all surface-level and nothing seems wrong. the only caveat is the lack of other people.

the "raz" pile shudders ominously.

once you go through a pile, raz will thank you and give you an item- the item varies based on how many piles youve gone through. each time you sort through a pile, you need to go back to raz and ask to help again. each time he will thank you profusely, still leaving most of the work for himself. however, once a pile is sorted, another will quickly take its place; a never-ending litany of responsibilities and distractions that raz has to deal with all by himself. there is no end in sight. when asked, raz will say hed rather do this than... and trail off as he glances at his own pile.

if you try to go through the pile labelled as his, he'll quickly stop you, shouting that he can take care of that himself later. if you insist, he will be extremely nervous but say you can if you really want to- before youre suddenly accosted by enemies! hes been holding the censors, doubts, regrets, bad moods, panic attacks, and judgements back so they won't attack you, but this stressor has finally let them all out.

once you clear them out, a leak will spring in the pile. then another, and another. the tent is flooding, and raz is desperately trying to plug the holes. at this point he will finally try getting you to leave, because you "dont need to deal with this." the only sure way to move forward is to take one of the bags in the pile and open it. once opened, youre transferred inside, and you get to see whats really going on in here.

Bag #1: the Beginning

the first bag is the memory of when raz decided to run away. you enter in complete darkness, the only light coming from underneath the tent flap in front of you. you hear muffled arguing. if you go out, you see raz and his dad arguing, mr. aquato holding up a flyer. you hear the argument play out, finishing when Augustus rips apart the flyer, saying "youre no son of mine." raz looks stricken and then runs off into a tent, presumably his own.

if you follow him, you see the inside of his tent. raz quietly tells you how much that rejection hurt him, how he tried to just forget about it and move forward. he shifts aside the entrance flap of the tent and shows you a slideshow of himself alone on the road, desperately searching for the camp and eventually making his way inside.

"i made great new friends. i saved the world. i proved him wrong. he even said he was proud of me. so... why do i still...?"

he closes the entrance, and plunged into darkness, you emerge from the bag.

Bag #2: Pressure

the second bag is more of a rapid-fire collection of scenes. it begins in the rebraining room with ford. hes telling raz hes the only one who can do this. raz looks conflicted for a moment before nodding.

the scene shifts, and now we're outside of the asylum with lili. the building begins shuddering and falling apart. a giant piece falls, rushing forwards to crush the preteens-

raz falls through the darkness into the meat circus. his dad is there, much larger, and the room is flooding. if you go up the ladder, a massive chopping knife almost cleaves you in half, wielded by ollie's massive monster dad. he swings downwards again, the knife obscures your vision-

raz opens his eyes in loboto's laboratory in the rhombus of ruin. the water is climbing, hes still strapped down, and no one else is able to help. the camera zooms out, out, out. hes alone in here. the camera goes up, and you emerge from the water...

now youre in trumans grotto. truman is telling raz that he cant tell anyone about maligula. the scenes only alteration are the puppet strings truman holds tied to raz. the boy nods. the camera turns, going behind truman, and he turns into...

ford cruller, this time at green needle gulch. once more telling raz he's the only one who can help him.

raz turns and sees the deluge. he runs into the forest, narrowly dodging water and heavy objects. raz's voice cuts through the cacophany:

"i know it doesnt matter now, but..."

a hand reaches towards him from a cyclone, yanks him in, hes drowning, hes...

the scene fades to black. raz's voice, again, hesitant and small:

"... i was really scared."

and out of the bag you go.

Bag #3: Judgement

the third bag is small and short. raz is sitting alone in a void, curled up, knees tucked close to his body. he looks very small. in the background are voices, all things hes heard before.

"... only problem was YOU..."

"... wouldnt have FOUND you..."

"... betrayed the family..."

if approached, raz says this:

"i have to be better."

and out you go.

[licncourt]

I believe Cumberbatch channels Louis's energy of intelligence being a facade in Sherlock. But they both do have the extent of Analytical intelligence to back that claim. It is very Paul Dirac.I have met such people in real life of startling academic records and questionable morality who have gone places in life. I would like to know more about your ideas on the intelligence part.

Ngl, the mention of BBC Sherlock in 2022 threw me for a loop, but yeah I have a lot of thoughts about Louis and intelligence.

Even in his mortal life, I assume Louis was far more of a thinker and intellectual than most, but it becomes really interesting once he becomes a vampire and Lestat enters the picture. In their relationship, Lestat really has all the power. He's physically much stronger than Louis (age plus Magnus and Akasha's blood), he has a great deal of knowledge that Louis needs in order to be independent (whether or not that's true is irrelevant because that's what Louis believes), and eventually Claudia comes along and Louis feels trapped with Lestat out of concern for her wellbeing. The power imbalance is massive, so what does Louis have to fight back with?

That's where the intelligence angle comes in. He clearly knows he has the upper hand over Lestat when it comes to education and culture. He points this out several times over the course of Interview, so by emphasizing his own intellect he can maintain some type of advantage. We learn in Interview and TVL that Lestat is very sensitive about his mortal illiteracy and poor education, so it would make sense that Louis would want to hold that over his head, play up his intelligence and schooling to make Lestat feel stupid or inferior to him, the way Louis feels in all other aspects. His situation is so out of his control, but his own mind is the one aspect of his being that Lestat can't interfere with or take from him even if his physical autonomy is restricted.

The only defense Louis has against Lestat is the ability to lord over him intellectually, both to cause pain and probably as a comfort to himself. Those mental pursuits, reading in particular, double as an excellent escape from what is essentially a toxic marriage. Louis' intelligence is as much armor as Lestat's cruelty, the only weapon he has against the way Lestat treats him and the only thing he can hang his self-esteem on. Louis is smart and cunning and educated and very good at using that to his advantage. He also doesn't seem to have much of an ability to emotionally disconnect from like. Anything ever. So the methods we see him use to cope with painful situations are this cerebral persona that helps him defend and distance himself emotionally from stressors, or later the total detachment/borderline dissociation we see after Claudia's death. His toolbox is...small.

Outside of his specific relationship with Lestat, Louis is still a fairly weak vampire in terms of physical strength and supernatural gifts, so I would imagine that facade remains important to him. He's clearly dismissed by other vampires in the later books (I don't know if that was an intentional choice on AR's end or just part of her bizarre hatred of Louis, but I'm going to pretend it was A Character Choice). He has Marius infantilizing him, Armand being condescending, D*vid T*lbot being a total asshole in every way, Lestat dismissing his concerns, and that's just major characters. He's still not being taken seriously or treated as an equal, so I kind of think he ends up with the vampire version of Gifted Kid Syndrome where intelligence is the only thing others praise or respect him for (besides being beautiful), so he uses it as a crutch and a source of control within his relationship, his larger community, and even to cope internally.

I could go on, but that's my take.

Tl;dr Louis is extremely intelligent in a genuine sense but also very good at using that intelligence as a defensive persona to gain control and power in situations where he feels helpless.