I did an insane amount of work on the house yesterday for like seven hours straight without stopping (to the point where it looks like I basically singlehandedly fucking flipped the place) and yet im still sitting here like. im so tired my body is aching i am exhausted . but if im not even MORE productive i am worth Nothing and I will literally Die

Secret — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “For Five Hargreeves — can I get 97, 91 28 and 35 for a heavy smut? And 40 from fluff? If it isn’t too much trouble!”

“If it’s not too much trouble could I do 40,53 & 91 from the smut prompts for Five ty honey 💕”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

35. “Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.”

40. “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

53. “Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.

91. “guess i'll just have to cum in you then’

97. “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

Fluff prompts:

40. “Come cuddle.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

Guys, I really understand who doesn’t feel comfortable reading or writing Five’s smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit heavy smut, swearing, fluff too.

— — — — —

It was one of those warm nights, which carry a searing and heaving sensation in the back, which had a malicious tone in the air, which stirs your body to choose bad decisions, making your hands itch and your heart racing for something...intense. It was one of those hours that passed midnight, that breath was heavy with the expectation of something extraordinary, that skin prickled just with the images in mind.

And you were in that state. Heart pounding heavily, yearning for something, caustic breathing, the environment with an energy of lust. Well, at least you was like that.

Five did not share your line of reasoning, or, if he were not oblivious to the malicious moonlight that rose in the sky, he was pretending very well. Sipping a margarita at the bar in the Hargreeves mansion, with calculations in front of him taking all his attention. Normally, you loved that he focused on his own things. But now... you were seething with something that only Five could placate.

It was a few months ago that you went from just being friends with his siblings to someone he fucked hard at night. The sexual energy between the two of you was very strong, and it was very easy to make bad decisions when the bad decision in question was so fucking hot.

Five Hargreeves did things to you. You wouldn't know how to explain it with clear phrases, but his gaze made you shiver, his body made a very specific part in the middle of your legs vibrate, and his voice and that self-centered smile... God!

It was no accident that you surrendered. You would have surrendered to that battle a million times.

“Five.” You sighed softly, taking a sip from your own drink. “Can't you do this tomorrow?”

“No. I am close to solving this.”

You controlled yourself not to roll your eyes. You were never the most needy type, especially with people as reserved as Five, but, damn it, you were on fire. It was logical that you could go out and choose someone to placate that, but that would trigger many things between Five and you. He hated that you were with someone else, even though he himself didn't assuming out to you.

It are a delicate situation, you were friends with all the Hargreeves siblings, and it would be a racket if they knew that their brother was fucking one of theys best friends.

The warm evening breeze came in through the window and collided with the chill of the drink running down your throat, awakening even more lustful anxieties.

“Five..." You purred, got up from the armchair on the counter, still behind Five and slid your hands over his shoulders "Maybe...you might want to finish this later.” You whispered at the foot of his ear.

Even without seeing him, you could feel that he was letting go of one of his arrogant and malicious smiles. Five rotated the seat to be face to face with you, his legs spread wider to accommodate you between them.

“And what are you going to do to distract me?” That same defiant, boastful voice.

But the look he gave you made a shock of desire reverberate through your body. Five wanted to play? Okay, you were going to play a game whit him.

“Why did you…” you leaned forward gently, resting one hand on his hot thigh, leaving your cleavage exposed “don't try guess?”

You realized that he had swallowed hard, even though his posture had remained unwavering. Five looked down at you cleavage, waist, and slightly elevated butt. You approached him a few more inches, your mouth a breath away, the heat of the bodies being shared without even touching.

Five could drive you crazy and screaming, but you knew it could also drive him insanity.

When you leaned over a little more and your mouths were so close to meet, you changed the direction and reached out with your free hand to pick up Five's margarita behind him. You straightened up and away, with a mischievous smile on your lips that revealed that everything had gone as planned.

Five semi closed his eyes at you, a fiery glow going through his eyes.

“Do you want to play with me?”His voice was low, dangerous “You know what happens to you when you challenge me.”

It was a warning, clear and resonant. You were a good girl for Five because you knew the strength that he could fuck you. Fuck, he could break you if he want. But now you were sexually frustrated, aroused, with a racing heart and wheezing from the expectation of something.

A night of bad decisions.

“You don't want to get out of your equations.” You turned your voice into something innocent, soft, provocative, and the strong breath that Five drew was a small victory for you "I guess I'll just get off all by myself."

Your smile was malicious, causticante, but as soon as Five got up from that chair, the perfect posture, much taller than you, and was slowly towards you, like a predator with its prey, you knew you were screwed.

“Do you want to come this much?” His fingers passed gently over your warm neck, and you let out a breath with that stupid touch.

Five moved closer, your chest glued to his, the hot, citrusy breath of alcohol hitting your nose. Something wetted you panties, making you bite the inside of your cheeks to keep from sighing any louder.

“Would you use your little toy thinking about the times that I fucked you so hard that you couldn't walk the next day?”

That was too much for your already sensitive system. Those words went directly to the thread that connected your heart and its pulsating nucleus, causing a burning note to reverberate.

“Five...”the sigh came out, while the memories of Five using your vibrator to push you to the limit, while him fucking you brutally, prowled like a wild beast in your mind.

Five slid the fingers from your neck to your cleavage, brushing the tips of her fingers across the flesh of your breasts. Five stuffed his forefinger into your cleavage and pulled you to him.

You moaned softly, in a purr.

“Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" The whispered floated in your ear, while you put down the margarita at the bar and held your hands in his arms.

You bit your bottom lip, your panties soaked, your heart beating fast in your chest, the atmosphere more wild and fiery.

“You want this?” Five slowly lowered a strap from your blouse, each second speeding up your heart even more.

“Yes...” You sighed “I really want to, please.”

Then Five's touch got rougher and he held your chin firmly, lifting you face to look him in the eye.

“Beg.” It was an order, but your body was sending millions of feelings to you that you were lost for a second "beg!”

“P-please.” You looked at him pleadingly “Fuck me so badly, please.”

His grip got stronger.

“Once again.” Now the other hand slid roughly over your body, squeezing your waist, thigh, ass, anything that Five could mark as his property.

“Please, I'm begging you to eat me.” You really were, your body needed more, and there was no denying it.

So in the blink of an eye, the blue flash swallowed you both up and took you to his room. You were dizzy for a second, you were not used to his tricks. But Five used it as a bonus and stuck his lips to yours, stunning you with the strong taste of alcohol, desire and lust.

You moaned softly, your hands working to free him from his clothes, your lips corresponding to the battle. You managed to strip off his shirt layers and fade his pants, but Five didn't have the same patience as you. He didn't wait to undress you, he tore the thin fabric and opened your bra hungry, in a hurry, as if you were his last meal.

In a second his hot mouth was on your breast, sucking and nibbling at the needy skin aggressively, his fierce hands pulling you out of the other pieces of clothing. Five was not delicate, loving and caring, he conquered, took, owned, his goal was to devour you until his savagery was sated.

“Fi-Five!” You moaned loudly, your naked body now shaking with desire, your heart exploding in your chest.

You would have said something more if Five hadn't pushed you to the bed and made you fall into it. He pulled your legs apart, exposing you completely to him. His eyes burned with a dangerous and brutal fire, and Five slapped down the inside of your thigh. You screamed, arching your back, your hands closing on the sheet.

“Well, since you want to cum so badly…” Five climbed on top of you, his mouth proving the point where he had hit you “why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, his mouth was right in the middle of your pulsating core. Eating, sucking, tasting everything you willingly offered to him so much. You moaned, or screamed, your hands tightly squeezing the sheet, digging your nails into the fabric.

Five ate you at an undisturbed pace, as if you were the last meal in the desert, clasping his hands on your waist to keep you immobile, sinking his mouth deeper into you. His tongue opened its yours walls, circled her clitoris and sucked there, leaving a hot trail of spittle. You moaned loudly, your waist trying to fight the firm grip of his hands to roll in him mouth. You felt a thread about to burst inside you and your heart started to race in your chest.

“F-Five!” You screamed when he sucked your clitoris, and he could feel you pulsing in his mouth, signaling that you were close.

“Come for me, little slut.”

The vibration of his voice in your sensitive flesh was the trigger you needed, you came intensely, your legs wobbly, your breathing heavy, but Five didn't wait for you to finish coming before climbing on top of you, lowering his pants and underwear enough and brutally get inside you in a fraction of a second.

You groaned loudly, your hands clasping his bare shoulders, your walls hypersensitive to the end of the orgasm that was still breaking free. It was too much for you, your eyes stung with tears, your heart was racing a marathon in your chest, and your whole body was shaking.

Five doesn't give you a second to get used to it, or to get down from the sensation of your orgasms, he set a rough, hard, badly rhythm, entering inside you in penetrations that pushed your body upwards. You spread your legs wider and wrapped them around Five's waist, your chest glued to his chest, skin-to-skin contact being the extra to drive you crazy.

It was too much for you to take, too much for your hypersensitive body. Five silenced your broken moans with toxic kisses.

“Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.” His voice was hoarse, breathy, broken, Five drives his dick so deep inside you as possible with every word.

“I...I can't...”You whimpered in his mouth, clasping your hands in Five's hot flesh, sobbing at the strength he put in you, you needed more.

“So let's take care of it.”

Five released an aggressive and rough hickey on your neck, putting an arm around your waist, sticking every inch of their bodies together, and his free hand covered your mouth, drowning out yours screams. You thought it was going to placate his hard rhythm, but Five started pulling your waist down, against his dick, and sinking deeper inside you.

“You wanted me to fuck you, didn't you?” Five snarled, looking into yours watery eyes "Now take it, fuck!."

His dirty words only led you further towards the second abyss. Five fucked you so hard that you couldn't answer, let alone whit the heavy hand on your mouth. Yours hands sank into the skin on his back, yours legs pulling him hips towards you, desperate to placate what was about to burst.

Five could feel yours tight walls throbbing on his dick, signaling that you were going to come any second. He groaned loudly, clenching his teeth on the skin of your neck so as not to make a noise, thrusting his dick as deep as possible into you. He replaced the hand in your mouth with his own lips, swallowing yours moans and trying to keep the sounds of you both low.

“I ... I'm going to...” You cried with pleasure, pain, desire, his rhythm hurt but it gave you so much hunger and pleasure that you could feel the liquid of your arousal soaking his dick.

Five looked at you in a way full of lust and with a very desire to break you. Oh he wanted to destroy you.

He came out of you, making you let out a loud moan of frustration and tears streaming from yours eyes. You whimpered loudly, and Five switched positions and pulled you hard into his lap, giving you no time to straighten up before he pushed his dick into you and aggressively stuck both hands to your waist.

You bit your lip hard to keep from screaming, trembling hands resting on his chest as Five pulled you up and down brutally, thrusting his dick in as deep as possible in you. He did not contain an aggressive groan at the sight of yours breasts jumping on his face, body sweaty and marked by fingers and hickeys, the inside of yours thighs already red by the force that Five shocked the body in you.

“Pl ... please!”

You begged, your face smeared with mascara and tears, your lips red from raw kisses, your hair sweaty. You looked like a goddess and Five wanted even more to destroy you.

“Do you want to come?” His voice was breathless, hoarse, fierce.

You nodded frantically, looking at Five with beg, begging him to let you come. It seemed to have an overwhelming effect on him. Five slapped your ass down, raising his hand to your back and pulling you forward, making your chest lie on his while the rhythm reached new places.

You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, tears streaming down your face.

“If you come in this position, I will not control myself.” He snarled at you.

“I do not mind!” You begged, moving your waist to match his rhythm.

“Guess i'll just have to cum in you then” Then Five kissed you, hard, bad, dropped a hand to your clitoris and applied the trigger you needed to collapse.

You sank your mouth into the skin of his neck to muffle your scream, and soon a hot, thick liquid was filling you to the brim, taking up every inch inside you. You whimpered loudly against Five, hims hips doing the final thrusts to make sure the cum was filling you, his warm hands loosening the aggressive grip.

You both breathed loudly, your legs were shaking, your hair was stuck to your face and it took you two minutes to lift your face and look at Five. He gave you an arrogant smile of ‘I said I was going to break you and I broke’ and you laughed softly.

“I don't think I can get up.” You laughed, and Five removed a lock of hair from your face. “Do you think they heard us?”

“They certainly heard you.” He scoffed.

“Coming from your room.” You snapped and Five laughed, hims chest still heaving and heaving, covered in a mist of sweat.

“Fuck them.” Five said, gently pulling your hips up, pulling the dick out of you, making you sigh a broken moan. “You are so sensitive!” He said between his teeth, as if he had never been satisfied with you.

You laughed, and shook your head, exposing your neck full of purple tick marks.

“You know…” Five took his index finger to the marks, delicately skirting them “you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

You pushed his shoulder slightly, rolling your eyes.

“Can we take a shower together?” Five nodded at you question. “ and…”

“And?”

“You know ...” yours cheeks became more flushed "Come cuddle."

Five laughed, his eyes tame now, an open smile and satisfied energy.

“We can.” he smiled and you gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

Midnight Snacks

pairing: eren x reader 

words: 2058

themes: college au, lots of fluff, eren being a little embarrassing with his gas station order 

requested by anon

Finals week had both you and Eren on high alert and in high panic. Truth be told, you didn’t need to really worry that much; you had prepared yourself for this all semester and had really kept up with your workload. Mostly, you were just stressed about the finals themselves and how, well, final they were. And so close together. A gift and a curse. You’d be done before finals week was even over. 

What really had you in a panic was Eren. The boy, bless his heart, was not apt for cramming. He’d kept up with his work like you had, but you knew him like the back of your hand; he was prone to leaving the harder things until the last minute. 

You glanced at your phone to check the time as Eren flipped back and forth between a page in his biology textbook, grumbling to himself under his breath. It was almost 12:30 in the morning and both of you had been at it all night, cramming and rememorizing things just to be prepared, and Eren especially was deep in concentration. You smiled to yourself as you watched his brows furrow even more than they already were, a feat you thought impossible. Just as you set your phone down to continue your own last-minute preparations, Eren sat up straight with a growl and pushed his textbook off your bed with his knee. 

“I feel like my head’s about to explode,” he complained, flopping over onto your lap. His eyes found yours immediately and he pouted as he reached up to stroke your cheek, then turned his head to glare at your textbook, as if personally offended by it, and pushed it off your bed to join his own. 

“Eren,” you whined, about to push his head off your lap, but he stopped you by reaching both hands up to cup your face. 

“C’mon, let’s just take a small break. We’re probably gonna be at this for a few more hours,” he said, fingers lightly caressing your jaw to entice you into going with his plan. You pondered it, then thought about arguing back with him about needing to study, but then realized he was probably right. All of this endless cramming with no break was just going to end up in you not retaining any of it. 

“Just a small break,” you relented, giving him a warning stare. He sat up, much brighter now, and pulled you off your bed immediately. He stretched his legs out and then reached his arms up to the ceiling for a full body stretch, already in a better mood. 

“Let’s go buy some snacks,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. “That’ll help with the brain juice.” 

You hated Eren’s term, brain juice, but you knew he had a point. You had to keep up your energy. 

“Okay, let’s go to the vending machines and pick something out,” you said, moving to put some shoes on. 

“There’s a convenience store just down the street, babe. Please can we go? Your dorm’s vending machines aren’t gonna cut it,” he said, the pout back again. You rolled your eyes playfully but again relented, happy to just get out of your dorm room for a second. 

“Okay, fine. But you’re not supposed to be here, remember? It’s way past visiting hours. We have to be so sneaky,” you said, voice already lowering to a whisper. If you’re RA found out you’d been holing Eren up in your dorm well past 10pm, she was going to lose her mind. 

Eren made a show of zipping his lips and acting stealthy, which made you snort. You grabbed his hand after putting on shoes and jackets, and carefully slipped out to start your trek to the convenience store. 

You had to admit, it was a nice idea. And Eren was right, your vending machines didn’t hold a candle to all the other savory treats you really wanted. 

The night was a little breezy, but the impending summer weather kept the spring chill at bay. Eren had your hand engulfed in his, fingers laced as he swung your hands lightly, other hand messing with his loose bun. The night wrapped around him beautifully, streetlights casting glows that defined the most handsome parts of his face. 

He caught you staring after a minute of him being deep in thought, and you flashed him a mischievous grin which he returned.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased, the lame phrase making you giggle. 

“Okay,” you said cheerily, which took him off guard. You pulled your hand from his and giggled again at his confusion, before moving to stand behind him, hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders and give a small tug to make him stop walking. He knew immediately what you were getting at and crouched down enough to let you hop on, catching you easily and gripping your thighs as you wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your other hand reached into your pocket to pull out your phone and you wasted no time in pulling up the camera app, jutting your arm out so you could capture Eren’s face right next to yours, the two of you flashing cheesy and ridiculous smiles as you snapped the picture. The automatic flash activated due to the low lighting and Eren whined and blinked, squeezing his eyes shut as the flash went off. 

When you looked at the end result, you showed Eren with a pleased laugh. You looked fine, all smiles and bright eyes. Eren, on the other hand, had blinked a little too soon. His eyes were shut, eyebrows raised, a dopey grin on his face that matched yours. 

“Delete that,” he complained, letting go of one thigh to try to reach for your phone. You were too fast, however, and eased it back into your jacket pocket. “Babe, delete it!”

“Nope! That’s my new favorite picture of us.” 

“I’m not buying you any snacks once we get there.” 

A lie, completely. If anything, Eren would play the little devil on your shoulder and egg you on in just a few minutes, into making not-so-smart choices. Why choose between the chocolate and the gummies when you can have both? 

You moved to hop off once you were in front of the store, but Eren’s grip tightened on your thighs. You angled your head to give him a confused glance, which he ignored, but he turned his head to peck your lips. 

“We’ll be quick. You’ll be my hands,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at his words, but hid your big smile into his shoulder. You knew he could feel the way your lips turned up over the thin fabric of his jacket and even thinner shirt. 

“Alright, what do you want?” you asked him, letting him lead you where you knew he’d go first: the Lunchables. 

“Ham and cheese and crackers, please,” he requested, but you already knew that and were grabbing at it with one hand. He kissed your wrist as a thank you and then asked, “Okay, what are we getting you? The usual?” 

“Yes, please,” you hummed, nuzzling into his neck as he made his way over to your preferred snack of choice. And, after grabbing two drinks, your hands absolutely full, you made your way to the counter to pay. The clerk gave you a bored look, not at all interested in the sight in front of him, and rang up your items slowly and announced your total. 

A contest as always, you and Eren both reached for your wallets. He somehow managed to be quicker, mostly because you were trying your best not to lose your balance as you held onto him with one arm and fished around for money with the other, and you grumbled as he paid for both of you. 

You held onto the bag as you exited the convenience store, again trying to hop off, and again being secured in place by Eren’s tight grip. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you asked him, genuinely curious, but Eren nearly guffawed at the question. 

“Are you joking? I wouldn’t even consider this a warm-up, babe. Carrying Jean’s blacked-out ass home after a party, though... that’ll make me break a sweat. I don’t know how he’s so fucking heavy.” 

You giggled, vividly remembering one of those times, and you rested your head on Eren’s shoulder after letting a yawn slip out. 

“I wish we didn’t have to go back to studying after this,” you pouted, pressing a pouty kiss into Eren’s shoulder. “I hate finals.” 

“Let’s eat our snacks before we get back to it,” Eren compromised. “My brain still feels heavy with knowledge. I gotta let it soak it all up.” 

“Always saying the weirdest things,” you teased him, squealing at the pinch on your thigh. 

Sneaking up to your dorm room was as easy as sneaking out, and you pulled Eren for a quick kiss as soon as the door locked behind you. You tossed the bag onto your bed and then began fishing your snacks out once your shoes and jacket were off and you were both able to situate more comfortably on your bed. Eren held you in his lap as he leaned back against your wall and browsed through his phone, the two of you watching dumb compliations on YouTube while you snacked. It was nice to turn your brain off just for a while, to rest up and come back to studying rejuvenated. 

His hand would occasionally sneak up your neck and grab at your hair, lightly massaging your scalp as he pressed tender kisses to your temple. You shared your snacks and really took your time with finishing, letting yourselves soak in your study break. 

“Thanks for making me take a break,” you told him, leaning your head back against his chest. “I forget sometimes.” 

“I know you do,” Eren chuckled, squeezing you into a hug and pressing you into his chest even more. He noticed yet another suppressed yawn from you and hummed in acknowledgement, and you knew what he was going to say before he said it. 

“I can’t go to sleep, I have to keep studying,” you said, beating him to it. 

“You’re studying for your final tomorrow and it’s not even until noon. You know a really important habit before taking a big test is to get enough sleep before it.” 

Damn it. You hated when he used logic against you. 

“Fine, but just a nap,” you grumbled, sitting up to grab at your trash and discard it in your bin. You set an alarm and gave Eren a tired smile. “I’m gonna drag you down with me, though. You need to sleep too.” 

Eren scoffed, his voice a little panicked when he spoke again. “No way. Unlike you, I have to cram. I’m nowhere near ready for my final tomorrow.” 

“Yours isn’t until the afternoon,” you pointed out, hitting him back with the logic he’d used on you. “Like you said, a good habit is to get plenty of sleep before a test.” 

Eren sighed, but you could tell he wasn’t going to argue with you. He looked just as tired as you and the two of you arranged yourselves in your cramped bed to doze off, if only for a little bit. 

His hands found your hair and he played with it softly as you both curled up into one another. 

“Love you,” he murmured, drowsy already, and you smiled to yourself, head on his chest with your hand tracing loving circles at his torso. 

“Love you too,” you answered, warming at the soft touch of his hand on your chin. He tilted your head up to steal a quick kiss to your lips, then to your nose. You closed your eyes and let yourself relax, about to really drift off when you felt Eren shift under you. 

Your ears picked up the quiet sounds of Eren taking your phone from your nightstand. You peeked an eye open, careful to stay quiet lest you arouse suspicion, and resisted the urge to let a huge grin overcome you as you watched him go to your camera roll, tap on the ridiculous picture you’d taken earlier, and send it to himself. 

Hellish part 3 - reader x cassian - 

reader reports back to the Queens that she has failed her task of killing Rhysand.

"Stop acting like such a child." Amren scolded. Cassian's death glare towards her was enough to make Rhys tense. "Amren, dont you have a book to read?" Rhys asked. She smiled in a way that showed too many teeth, and would have sent a chill down the high lord's spine if he wasn't so focused on keeping everyone safe. Before she could start a fight, she left. Carrying her wine glass laced with blood with her. Cassian relaxed, finally. "I know you're not likely to forgive me for this. But I sent Azriel to watch over her on the journey back."  And Cass' relaxation was gone. His rage lashed out at Rhys. "What the fuck do you mean 'watch over her'? Shes my mate." His words practically rattled the dishes on the table. The townhome seemed too cramped, like Cass' body was too tight, too hot.  "And you'll kill yourself if you follow her back to the Queens." Rhys said simply, pity there in his eyes. He knew his brother well enough to know that logic would be how to win over this fight. He wondered if that mating bond ran so deep that it would counteract Cassian's strategist mind, though. Cassian snarled, but did not protest. He knew he would in fact give himself over to the Queens if it meant you being safe. He'd do anything to be by your side. He'd barely met you and he thought to sacrifice himself. He couldn't wrap his head around the insanity of it. And on top of it all, you were out to kill his brother. How cruel could the cauldron be?  "Cassian, I need you here. There's powers in play that want to see us fall." Rhys spoke gently to his brother. He squeezed Cassians shoulder and finally brought that tense stare to a stop. His jaw clenched, and Rhys saw the war roiling inside him. The urge to protect, to save, to keep you at his side was eating him alive.  "I'll be in the training ring." Cassian gritted out before leaving. + Your journey back to your masters was long and full of harsh sun that beat down on your skin. After two months of adjusting to Prythian's cooler weather, the abrupt change back to heat felt suffocating. Or maybe the hot feeling inside you was from the fact you'd not only failed your mission, but your mate had been one to help defend your target. You had tried to shove the thought of the male away your entire ride, but it was always there. That tantalizing golden light he radiated in the back of your mind.  "Kill the high lord and as many others as you can." The spell rang through your mind as a way of distraction. And shame. The dread that filled you each hour as you pressed closer was not a welcome distraction from the heat that the bond seared through you. You didn't know the consequences of coming back unsuccessful, but you hoped to the Mother that they would give you another chance. That they were merciful because of the information you brought back. The Queens were not known for their mercy, though. Especially the Crone, queen of them all. The one that held your bargain spell in her bony fingers.  The memory of the old crone cursing you made you sweat in a different way than the heat or the bond did. Nerves bundled deep inside you tingled more and more as you grew closer to the sandstone castle they resided in. The ride took a day just to get past their inner defenses. No guard dared approach you, marked with the black banner of the Queens court. Your horse was struggling by the end of the journey, refusing to gallop any longer. The shadows around you darkened when you dismounted. The sun was beginning to set along the desert and clay hills in the distance. Your heart did not sing of happiness at this reunion. The bond in the back of your mind you tried so hard to ignore seemed to flare with your stress. + The wrinkled face of the old crone reminded you of the old man that had traded you for a few gold marks when you were young. The rest of the queens stood by anxiously, watching. Waiting to see what the punishment would be. The spell compelled you to remain utterly helpless against the guards that shoved you to the floor before her. She tisked in disapproval. "Bring the cauldron, and let us unmake this one. Perhaps we will see what it gives us in return for this sacrifice." Her shrewd voice called. The other queens looked to each other with excitement, their shiny hair bouncing as they hurried to summon guards with the cauldron. You whimpered at the crushing feeling around you. Impending doom being delivered straight to you.  She approached the guards that pointed their spears and swords at you. "The spell acted as a bond, hold her down as soon as she touches the water." she instructed as you were lowered to the Cauldron's edge by three guards. Your mind screamed at you to fight, to tear and thrash and kill the ones that were ready to drown you in the depths of the damned cauldron. Even if your hands weren't bound, you couldnt fight back. The terror settled deep and full in the pit of your stomach. But the spell, the bond that insured your protection against the Queens now served as a leash keeping you from fighting back against them. "A life for a life. Let this death motivate the next contender to kill Rhysand of the Night Court." she made a motion with her hands and turned, going back to the other queens. The guards lowered you, and just as she promised, the magic snapped and you began fighting for your life. They struggled to contain you, but the blade through your thigh speared you down, forcing your legs into the water. Cold like you'd never experienced seeped into your bones through the wound. Your blood did not marr the dark water, it only swallowed the lifeblood that surged from you. You grew faint, and the water reached your knees. You knew it was going to be the end of you. The water swirled and pulled, tugging you deeper. Then, a flash of darkness erupted from you. You though they'd pushed you under. But it was an explosion of shadows that had blinded the entire room. You were ripped from the icy water, something cool grasping you under your arms. Then, swirling darkness took you, panting from behind you indicated you were not alone when you landed in the dark forest. + Cassian's wings ached for the feeling of air beneath him. He guarded Rhys at the meeting with Kier though, keeping a straight face even as he sensed the panic from you. His mind raced with the possiblities of what had happened. If you were safe, if you were even alive. Surely you were alive with the thrills going through the bond. Electrifying, and utterly terrifying.   Rhys then snapped, ending the terse conversation with Kier abruptly. "We must be leaving now. We will continue this later." He gave Kier a wave of his hand and began winnowing. "Stay with me, dont panic." Rhys spoke into Cassians mind. His heart dropped to the floor, face leeched of color at the words. With the first glimpse of the vision the high lord sent Cassian, he began roaring with rage. As soon as they winnowed a few feet from Azriel, he was ordering both his brothers to winnow you again, to Madja.  His speaking was dull, but you could feel it in every part of your being. The low rumble of that voice that spoke to your soul. A small smile spread across your face. "Hey Cass-" You choked, trying to make yourself sound strong. For his sake. You knew he could feel it though, feel that iciness that burned your legs. You shook, unable to move yourself. The cold felt like it was creeping up your entire body. He pulled that bond in his mind to him, close. As if he was wrapping you around his mind for warmth.  Then you saw all the beauty there. The beauty that the spell had refused to let you see. And the urge to kill the high lord was no longer present. It was like a weight lifted from you. You let the tears spill over, grateful that in your last moments you were able to experience this kind of relief.  "No." Cassian growled, yanking on that bond again as you felt darkness creeping in on you like a fog. "You are not dying." Rhys' darkness pulled all of you into the healer's apothecary in the center of Velaris along the coastline. The dark waves outside offered no comfort to any of them. Especially Rhys as he watched his brother lose himself over you.  "Azriel, keep an eye on them." Rhys ordered, noting the way his shadow covered brother seemed to be more pale than usual. The plain exhaustion on his face from winnowing so far was hard to look at.  Cassian shushed and cradled you, not daring to look at your leg or the black splotches that dotted your hands from your fight. He nodded a quick thank you to Azriel when their eyes met. Azriel couldn't spare the energy back, and instead propped himself on a rigid couch in against the far wall. Cassian gently laid you down on the exam table, and waited for his brother to return. + "We can let her die, or we can heal her with the Cauldron's poison still there. We dont know what it will do, but it has infected too far to be reversible." Madja concluded with a heavy sigh. Rhys cursed under his breath.  Cassian's moan of terror wracked his brother's hearts. Madja continued stroking up and down your body with expertise. Cassian pulled at his hair. He wanted you to make the choice. He wanted you here to be able to tell him how the hell this all happened. He needed you, he needed to know everything about you. The tethering force he felt pulling back slightly seemed to tug, and he laughed hysterically.  "The entry wound will heal, but the sickness may kill her eventually." Madja's glowing palms were the only light in the room.  "Fix it. Heal her. Now." Cassian said the words in a low growl. Azriel stared at him, astonished even in his state.  "Cass, if she dies-" Rhys began, concern for his brother's fallout after the potential death. "She wont." the icy glare he gave Rhys made him shut his mouth. He hated seeing his brother so ruined over someone he just met. His mate. He tried to remind himself it wasn't just some female. It was his Feyre. He nodded to Madja, giving her the approval.  "Fix her Madja." The high lord's words were final. + It burned. Your entire body ached and burned and at the same time felt totally cool. The cold chill was eating you alive. You tried to scream, tried to push it away. Tried to run from what consumed you. But it only crept further and further up, until it encapsulated you completely.  Your back ached more than anything. You begged for the end of it. for anything to kill you. You didnt care if it was the Queens or the high lord you were sent to kill. Death would be the only relief from this kind of pain.  "The curse...mixed with Madja's healing created.... it made you... new." Cassian said tentatively. He had practiced it so much, he just didnt know how to tell you when you actually woke. The long nights of rippling pain shared with you suddenly became worth it to him.  You tried to push yourself up, but a heavy weight held you down. "Easy..." He said, a small grim smile gracing his lips. His eyes looked bruised, and swollen. the whites around his eyes were completely red, and his hair was a mess. The room was quiet, and cool. The house was completely open to the elements you realised, and it must have been freezing from the cold wind breezing in. He wore a coat over his tunic and hid his hands inside his pockets. His breath clouded in front of him. "What happened?" You demanded, searching for the bond he clutched so tightly to himself.  "Do you want to see?" He held a hand out to you for support and stabilization. It felt as if you were being pulled, dragged down by something.  He pulled the dark wooden framed mirror from the corner and adjusted it slowly, showing you what lay behind you. You felt your mind leave your body, dizziness overcame you. He caught you before you could fall to your knees before the mirror. He avoided the things.... the gargantuan counterweight on your back. The wings that pulled you down. The dark inky feathers that would have killed you if you were a part of Dawn court still. They shimmered under the faelight like raven's wings. Purple and blue mixing in a perfect darkness, even darker than the Illyrian's.  "Madja thinks it's the curse... mixed with healing. She thinks the cauldron intended to turn you into a beast cursed to follow someone forever in the form of a bird. Like Vassa." The words he spoke were just a faint hum after that. Your mind seemed to float further and further from you the more you stared to the mirror. He helped you up, but you could not be led away from the mirror. You stared and stared at the black wings that your body strained to hold up.  "I can help, if you'd like..." He said softly, knocking you out of your stupor. "If you want to learn, I mean." He nodded to the wings and took a breath, trying to ignore the oily scent the new wings perfumed the air with. It was intoxicating.  You turned slowly, going back to the bed. "Leave me." You muttered, trying to situate yourself comfortably on the pillowy softness.  Cassian's heart sunk. "Let me know if you need anything." He said softly, staring at your unresponsive body for far too long before exiting.  You cried. You let the sobs wrack your body the entire night, not caring how stained the pillows became with the salty tears. You cried until your body had nothing left to give, and at last your mind lulled you into a deep sleep. + Cassian's head ached with the strain of trying to comfort the bond. He was astonished at how you'd kept your shields up even from him throughout the healing. He guessed that the training you possessed was the reason the Queens had made you the perfect assassin for Rhys.  "She'll be okay. She can train with the Illy-" Azriel stopped himself mid sentence when he felt the fury rippling from Cassian. He hated the territorial mood swings he was having, but with the situation at hand he figured it was warranted.  Rhys tapped his fingers on the long table, and picked up a small pawn in the other hand. "Why would they make such a direct attack? And without a bargain? Why use a spell?" He let his questions flow out. It did not soothe Cassian to hear his mate being talked about like just some assassin.  "She wont know. She was under the spell the entire time. I can feel her more now, maybe I can-" Rhys interrupted his brother "Cassian I dont want you anywhere near her more than you have to. We dont know what she's capable of now." Cassian stood so quickly his chair fell, clattering against the stone floor. Azriel tensed, ready to break his brothers up from a fight. "She is my mate, Rhys. if I die by her hands then so be it." His voice was low, and dangerous. Azriel's shadows circled around both of them. Rhys' tired eyes did not leave Cassians. The challenge of two males ready to defend what they believed in. "Dare to order me and see what happens." Cassian said with a snarl, then took a plate of rolls and left the two Illyians.  Azriel sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His shadows dissipated, following the cracks in the stone house. He knew how bad the fight could have gotten and was relieved the building was still standing. Centuries of disagreements and he'd seen the two level a battlefield for less. He only intervened twice in all of those years. He didn't like to remember either occurrence. "You will keep watch over them?" "I already am." Azriel grumbled, making his way to his room. + The smell of warm buttered rolls was a welcome scent to wake up to. You didn't miss the lingering scent of him there too. You could hardly crack your eyes open, the swelling from the night before was getting better though. You reached back and touched the wings that had kept you burningly warm all night. The sensation was... incredibly sensitive. And when you pulled your hand away, it left your fingertips coated in oil.  "It'll go away after a few months." His voice startled you, but you were too tired to care much about him seeing you in such a messy state. He was supposed to love no matter what, right? That's what a mate was meant to be? Your mate. Mate. You body ached with the longing of needing him close by. "You should eat." He said around a mouthful of food.  "Are you always so pushy?" Your voice was rough, raw from the night of sobbing.  He smiled, and brought over the plate he was picking grapes from. "Only when necessary." He laid the plate on your lap and nodded to the rolls on your side table. "And drink, too." He sauntered back over to his seat at the other side of the room, a healthy distance apart.  You followed his orders though, picking little bites at the fruit and easily having three rolls. Something eased inside you, like a fracture becoming whole again. "How do you manage... with those? How-" You took a sip from your water and tried not to look at him. "How do you just... deal with these?" You unconsciously flared the wings when you thought of them. It was a strange feeling, like flexing a sore muscle.  "You'll learn eventually. It will take time to get used to it." He eyed you wearily, trying not to show his confusion. You felt it anyway.  "These are...upsetting." You admitted, "They are just like my fathers. Before he sold me for food for my mother. He was convinced she was carrying a winged male." You shook your head at the memory of the wrinkled man that had bought you. He included some spoiled corn in the deal. Your father handed you over without another glance back. Your mother didnt have much of a say. "He sounds like a conflicted male." You glared at him, wishing you had the strength to throw one of the rolls at him. He held his hands up at the stare, defending himself. "Not the selling you part, but doing anything for your mother... I understand that, now." He said slowly, testing the waters. "I have no family. I ally with no one. Working with the Queens was a risk I was willing to take, they didn't mention the part about killing a high lord." You picked at the blanket folded over your lap. The room was much colder than you remembered it being before.  He considered the words, and stayed silent. Waiting for you to say more. "When will he kill me?" You asked plainly, trying to not show your nerves.His face blanched. The bond came roaring to the forefront of your mind, burning with anger and guilt. "No one will lay a hand on you. By my life I swear it." He knelt on the floor by your bed and looked you in the eye. The honesty there, the full integrity of his being was flowing from him. You didn't know what exactly made you want to trust him, but it was irresistible. You nodded and took his hand, letting that connection flow through touch. You felt alight with hope soaring. Like a drug, he called to you. His eyes seemed to reflect the same back. The shame burned further until - a spark. An idea that you could almost feel out. "We can hunt him, together. Your father, if that's what you want. Then we can kill the Wueens. I will go with you." "You mean you'd die with me?" You laughed, the dark humor not scaring him a bit. The finality of the words stung deep in your gut when he didn't flinch. He dared not confirm how many times over he would, in fact, die for you. "They call me the lord of bloodshed. We might have a fighting chance once you figure out those wings." He winked, and you smiled for the first time in a long while.

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

Love Bites

Vampire! Han Jisung x Reader Part 1

**Contains**: mentions of blood/blood drinking, parental abuse, bullying, fighting, slight swearing, emotional abuse, friends to lovers, werewolf Hyunjin, western high school standards, female reader

Flashback =

> Hello

Narrators POV

In today’s society, supernatural beings like vampires and werewolves are believed to be mythical creatures. Few people believe in their existence and have many false stereotypes surround these creatures’ existence. In reality they do exist. Supernaturals or whatever you like to call them, live a life hidden from society. They play the role of innocent humans is a world where they aren’t accepted.

Name’s POV

After a long, stressful week of school I was finally home to relax, or at least that’s what I wish I was doing right now. Throughout my whole life, I always had an immense amount of pressure put on me by my parents. They wanted a perfect daughter. Not perfect in the sense of a loving child, oh no they had their own definition for the word. To be a perfect child by their standards was practically impossible. I would need to have prefect grades, perfect manners, a perfect record, but despite having all those things I was still a disappointment. I wasn’t ever allowed to have friends, they would simply distract me from school. Defying this logic I was required to participate in at least one sport for college credit. I chose volleyball on a whim. I was practically exhausted every day. I had school each day, followed by practice and then hours of homework. Despite the amount of stress I am constantly facing, my parents only ever cared about results, positive results that is.

You see I’m currently in a very dangerous situation. This week I had been so overwhelmed by homework that I fell asleep before I finished studying for an exam. It was understandable. I hadn’t gotten proper sleep in days and staying up till 3am every night doing homework was clearly taking a toll on my health. My parents could care less though. I had scored a 73 on the exam which was just barely passing in my school’s standards. My parents were furious, and I was scared of their reaction to say the least. I had an idea of what was coming.

I got kicked out?

“No fucking way.” I breathed out as I stood with my hands full in front of my house. This is probably the last thing I would’ve expected but they sure did it. Typically their punishments weren’t this bad. They would just yell at me for a while, threaten to take things from me, maybe hit me if they were really mad, and then tell me how much of a disappoint I was. This wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to so I barely had a reaction to it anymore. This lack of reaction seemed to trigger something new in them. If I wasn’t affected by their typical punishments they would have to step up. So they kicked their barely 17 year old daughter out of their house on a bone-chilling Friday in October.

It was nearing 6:00 PM and I had no idea what to do. They had given me barely five minutes to grab whatever items I would need to survive for however long I would be homeless. I had managed to scrap together the bare necessities. I was still dressed in my school uniform but luckily brought a change of clothes. The first thing I did was change. I couldn’t be a bad representation of my school could I? I didn’t have much. I had just enough time to stuff my school bag with clothes, my wallet, laptop, phone, chargers and snacks but I was still frozen to the bone.

My first thought was to check into a small hotel, but I quickly dismissed the idea when I saw the price. I walked around the city area, contemplating who I could ask to stay with but oh, I don’t have any friends. After wandering around for a while I had subconsciously returned home. Maybe they would let me in? Nope. All the doors and windows were locked and a small note was taped to the door.

‘Left on vacation. Be back soon. Name, if you break in we’ll disown you.’ I sighed. Of course they left. I’m even more desperate for somewhere to stay now.

As time passed and I continued to walk around, the night grew darker and darker. I had walked in what seemed like circles for hours and I was even more exhausted than usual. As I was walking in the city, I heard soft growls behind me. Now that I thought about it there were barely any people here. As I glanced back behind me, my blood ran cold. What is that thing?

From the shadows I could barely make out what I assumed to be its face. Despite this a few startling details stood out to me the most. It had beady red eyes that seemingly glowed under the moonlight. It looked to be an animal, having a pure black fur coat that seemingly stood up on edge. The last thing I saw were its insanely sharp teeth that dripped with saliva as it growled. Despite this sudden shock, it didn’t take long for me to realize I was in danger and book it in the opposite direction. I heard louder growls behind me and I could almost feel its hot breath on my legs. It was right at my heels biting at my ankles in hopes to slow me down. With my low energy I knew I wouldn’t last long at this speed. I had to do something to help me escape. Out of pure adrenaline rush, I made a quick turn and with a sharp motion I slammed my bag across its face. As it whimpered in pain I quickly tore open my pack and grabbed out the heaviest school book I had and threw it as hard as I possibly could at its face. This seemed to shock the animal at it rolled over on the ground in pain. I took this as an opportunity to escape and bolted away as fast as I could.

I had been running for what seemed like forever and finally, my body gave out. Once I figured I was far enough away from it I stopped pushing myself and collapsed on my knees in a fit of coughs and strangled breathing. I escaped at least. My only price to pay was the harsh burning sensation that was bubbling up in my lungs and some slight scratches. I was alive at least. The only downside to my escape is that I had No. Idea. Where. I. Was. As I ran, my surroundings seemed to have blended together. The city streets were long forgotten and I was surrounded by lush forest. A forest I had never seen in my life.

Despite my current distress, I knew I still had to find somewhere to sleep. It was pitch black out now. I assumed it was nearing midnight but I wasn’t sure as my phone had died a couple hours before. I was as lost as lost could be and instead of wandering around aimlessly for the rest of the night, I figured I’d just sleep near a sheltered tree. I sure as hell needed plenty of sleep. I laid there on the cold, wet ground for what I could only assume was a couple hours. I was still terrified. I was extremely shaken by my experience from earlier. I was also freezing. The little warmth my clothes had given me was quickly lost due to the freezing water that had seeped into them upon contact with the ground. At some point I must’ve passed out as that is the remainder of the memories I have from that night.

“Hello? Hello? Excuse me miss are you alright? Are you alive? Wow Jisung that’s a smart questions to ask.” I heard distant talking from what seemed to be above me.

I rubbed my eyes in confusion, slowly blinking them open. As my vision cleared I saw a boy. The boy had slightly grown out dirty blonde hair, golden eyes, a relatively short stature and was dressed in sweats. The most shocking detail of all was how familiar he looked, almost too familiar.

The boy blinked in surprise. “Oh! I see you’ve awoken... finally.” He slightly mumbled. “Sorry to wake you its just I don’t see people casually sleeping in the forest everyday you know.” He shuffled and rubbed his neck as he spoke.

I clambered around and began to sit upright as I continued to stare at him. I definitely knew him from somewhere. He seemed to somewhat recognize me as well.

“Ah that sweater! You must be from Maple High as well then, that’s why you seem so familiar!” He explained “Wait what’s your name... ah wait don’t tell me I know it...... is it Name by any chance?” He questioned. Now I knew exactly who he was.

“You’re correct. And you’re Han Jisung right? We’ve been in chemistry, music, and language arts classes together for the past two years. Now I’m embarrassed I didn’t recognize you sooner.” I mumbled out of embarrassment.

“No no its fine! Plus it took me a while to remember your name.” He chided as he rubbed his neck once again. “Do you mind letting me know why you’re stranded out here in the forest? If you’re camping or something then that’s understandable but this area is known for being very unsafe, plus you look dangerously unprepared.” He questioned.

“Ah about that... you see I got lost last night. I was in the city and some animal chased me and I wound up here somehow.” I awkwardly chuckled. I mean I wasn’t being completely honest but only certain people would fully understand my situation.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the way out of this hell hole would you?” I pleaded.

“Now I see what happened!” He chuckled as he seemingly put the pieces together. “I can show you the way out! This forest is practically my second home haha.” he laughed

Jisung had helped me grabbed my things and started to lead me out of the forest.

“Hey Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you know this forest so well? And how did you even find me? I mean its a pretty random location?” I questioned.

“Oh, I come here to hunt.” He blurted out.

“Hunt? Like animals? Isn’t that like really outdated?” I questioned.

“Oh..uh..yeah I hunt like deer...and stuff. I guess my family is just kinda outdated. Hunting is a... hobby of mine I guess....” He trailed off. I found his answer rather odd... I mean he seemed nervous? No unsure? Whatever it was probably nothing.

As he led me out of the forest I managed to slip up and mention that I had to figure out a place to stay. Out of what I could only assume was a mixture of kindness and pity, he offered to let me stay at his house. At first I immediately declined. It was such a huge offer to just give to someone you barely know. Plus I would feel guilty as I had little to offer him in thanks. Eventually he persuaded me to stay with him. My payment could be in the form of chores as he was home alone, his parents away on business. He lent me clothes and let me stay in one of his many guest rooms. I took a shower and once again took a nap.

Stress-based sickness, psychosomatic disorders, and the F word. Fibromyalgia.

Read up or listen up @t-mfrs.com (podcast available wherever you stream.)

Waking up, like I didn’t sleep for weeks. Falling asleep after five minutes on my feet. A pounding head. That sense of dread. Sticky sharp pains through in my shoulders and neck. Brain short on energy, missing a few cards from the deck. Waves of nausea and stomach cramps. Chills and sweats, depending on the body amps. Swollen lymph nodes. Muscle weakness poorly bodes. Insatiable hunger but nothing sounds edible - shit, now desire to throw up is incredible. Eyes shriveling, dry, back into my skull. The aches in my legs, pulsing and dull. Foggy thoughts. Racing heart. When will this end, why did this start?

Did I finally catch the ‘rona? Or am I just past my limit for being stressed out again? Well, I just moved, so this time I know that the answer is very likely… stressed.

So who wants to talk about getting sick? Yeah, among this group, the answer might be surprising. A lot of us do.

Why? Not because we love bitching and complaining when we feel less than ideal - spoilers, that’s every day, there’s really nothing left to say about the raging shit storms inside of us after a few years of it. We’re tired of hearing about it, too… just like we’re tired of living it, feeling it, and fearing it.

No, for us, it’s because it feels like there’s always a surprising ailment right around the corner when we least expect it. One that seemingly has no logical basis or reasonable solution. One that no one else understands. One that feels like it’s born of mental illness, somehow, while being very physically present. One that we don’t even bother bringing to doctors anymore, because no one needs to be shamed and shoved out the door again by their flippant disinterest in anything we say after the words, “Yes, I have anxiety.”

Yep. If you haven’t tried to mingle mental health with western medicine before, let me give you a quick disclaimer: unless you’re missing an arm, don’t bother. In my experience, the only thing you’ll get is an eye roll, possibly a prescription bandaid that somehow makes you feel worse, and a bored recommendation to see a psychiatrist - even if you already do.

All of this, of course, has the effect of only making you feel more upset. First, mentally, as you ruminate over the disrespect of essentially being called a liar just because the doctor doesn’t have enough training. Then, physically, as your increased stress and systemic arousal pushes your body into a new level of overdrive.

Oh, was it a mindfuck just to make the doctor appointment, get yourself there, and deal with the social anxiety of a waiting room for 30-120 minutes? I bet it felt great for someone to then invalidate your health concerns, recommend you calm down, and send you out the door without even looking you in the eye. Feeling more upset, now on a highly emotional basis? Enjoy the shame, hypertension, and lost sleep, as if you needed any more of that.

Today, I want to talk about the stress-central area of my health that hasn’t been completely figured out… and the label that I - embarrassingly - just recently learned is highly applicable to my physical condition.

But also, the outrage that I feel over said label, because, well, it explains nothing. In fact, if anything, it probably does all of us a huge disservice after we’re granted this diagnosis by pushing us into the express lane for being written off. It also separates two issues that are poorly explained, rather than combining them into one full picture that might actually yield answers. Oh, and should I mention that I think this is a larger problem of gender bias in the healthcare system? Yeah, why the fuck not. Might as well air all my grievances as a nice lead-in to another upcoming episode; is mental illness diagnosis skewed by gender?

I don’t want to let my pounding head and aching shoulders deter me too much, so let’s just get started.

History of ailments

I’ve talked about this before, but to briefly cover how fucked up this body is… let’s take a trip back to 2013 when my system failed me out of the blue. And by “out of the blue,” I mean that I had chronically overworked myself running on anxiety, obligation, and starvation for 2 years, leading to physiological revolt.

So, looking back, “duh.”

But at the time? This was all-new. It was crisis-inducing and beyond comprehension that I went from a perfectly healthy, physically resilient, surprisingly strong and low maintenance specimen to a chronically pained, systemically ill, digestively impaired, and constantly exhausted sack of wallowing self-hated.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

You’ve probably heard the “What IS CPTSD?” episode by now, so I’m guessing you’re not a stranger to the details about the common emergence of complex trauma symptoms. Yes, that’s based on a lot of research, but it’s also a throwback to my own experience. I was a long time depression and anxiety lurker, first time complex trauma contributor around age 23, when my brain was suddenly uprooted by a series of new social and therapy-based traumas.

My depression became debilitating negative self-regard and stronger suicidal ideation. Suddenly, my social anxiety became agoraphobia. My new health issues became topics of obsessive and intrusive thoughts… you know, when I wasn’t ruminating about my role in every trauma, my worthlessness as a human, and my recently-unsettled childhood memories. My early twenties were a great time.

And with all the mental strain, came the unresolvable insomnia. Which fed right into the health problems. Which circled back to spark more mental duress. Health anxiety is not a fun way to live.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

To be clear - back in the day I had some very easily detectable physical problems. I understand that doctors have a difficult job when it comes to interpreting the immeasurable inner experiences that their patients detail, but that wasn’t entirely the case here. When your body stops digesting food, well, there’s some evidence to prove that it’s a fact. When a 96oz medical grade laxative used for colonoscopy prep results in zero percent colon cleanse… uh… somebody isn’t doing their duty (pun intended). And boy, did my digestive system just decide that it was DONE doing its only job.

Everything I ate seemed to spark unpleasant physical responses, but moving materials through my guts and extracting nutrients wasn’t one of them. After months of garbage disposal failure, I was basically a walking sewer mixed with a compost pile. I found myself chronically starving, exhausted, puffy, distended, intestinally inflamed, and generally sickly. Your body doesn’t fare so well when it has no sustenance, it turns out.

At the same time, or maybe slightly predating my digestive protests, I started getting ill in weird ways. Things I had never experienced before started popping up, like chronic respiratory tract infections, sinus infections, and gum infections. I was having what seemed like allergic responses to something in my inner or outer environment. I was often covered in hives or my face and stomach were inflating like balloons for no apparent reason. I had near-constant pain in my continually-locked shoulders and neck. My actual skin, itself, hurt, as if I was being stretched to the brink of bursting. My lifelong migraines transformed into something new - disorienting tension migraines that came with horrifying loss-of-vision auras and feverish shakes.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

On top of giving up my impressive life trajectory in the aftermath of the physical breakdown - because I was too fucking exhausted to consider the next steps I needed to take for grad school - this is also where I’ve previously mentioned my drive-aphobia coming into play. When you can’t count on your own faculties, you definitely don’t want to be behind the wheel. And suddenly, life gets very restricted.

I gave up my… anything life trajectory at that point. I went from a wildly social and focused student with a fantastic sense of humor about life and stronghold of self-determination to… Hiding indoors. Keeping isolated. Obsessing over my health. Googling the most embarrassing things late at night. Having no answers. Feeling like a crazy person. Hating myself. Fearing that this was the end. Assuming that my future was over. Guilting myself for fucking up my past. Replaying my tragic story of a rapid flight and a crash, after everything I had fought so hard to accomplish. Giving up.

This is riiiiight about where I pull most of my inspiration for talking about living in perpetual “trauma states” from. Being consistently triggered, out of control, and terrified. Having no answers and no one to even ask. Watching mental illness take over my world without the slightest clue of what was happening. And, oh, the perpetual torment of unpredictable physical breakdowns.

Everyday a new surprise. Every moment the opportunity for a shocking change in vitality. Every night a battle of my brain versus my chronic pains versus sleep.

And so it persisted, throughout 2013 and into several later years… despite the fact that I actually came up with an answer for myself that vastly improved a good part of the sickness struggle... but definitely didn’t fix it all.

Finding AN answer

I’m sure I’ve already mentioned this, too… but eventually I found some respite in my health struggles through no help from modern medicine. In fact, I helped myself thanks to familial clues when I decided to exclusion-diet my way into an answer. My grandpa had celiac’s disease long before it was trendy and I decided gluten was a logical place to start. And what do you know? That helped about 60% of my ailments.

So began years of obsessing over figuring out the gluten free life. Which, contrary to popular opinion, fucking sucks. I get that it became a trendy idea at exactly the wrong point in my life, but goddamnit, I hate the question, "Are you ACTUALLY gluten free, or is it by choice?" It is not a dietary walk in the park when essentially every item is contaminated with some form or another of secret sauce and your body is going to flip out at the slightest dusting.

I remember being so distraught over having these drastic dietary considerations to figure out on my own that I would spontaneously break down into tears in all sorts of places - the fridge, the grocery store, restaurants, social contexts when people kindly asked, “how about you choose where to eat this time.” I can’t choose! I can’t eat anything! I would privately bawl to myself. What a fun time that was.

But that was not nearly the end of it.

It turned out, yes, entirely cutting the glutens helped immensely. I also realized that sugar was not my friend. In fact, processed anything was not going to have a great outcome. But then… there was this other weird pattern that I started noticing in my life… sometimes I was pretty healthy and (relatively speaking) happy with the way things were going off-wheat. But sometimes I was just as sickly and digestively screwed when I definitely hadn’t consumed anything questionable. As if other tried and true components of my diet randomly became gluten analogs that upset me just as much.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

I was still finding myself bedridden and ready to give up on the whole idea of living on a semi-regular basis. Sometimes it was every two weeks, sometimes once a month, sometimes a few months apart. But I never knew why, how long it would last, or how to control the system-wide failures.

And if you want to know how western medicine helped me with any of these continued challenges… it didn’t. I tried to get answers for years before I finally gave up. Every doctor turned me away. Every specialist was critically uninterested. Even the Mayo Clinic neglected to listen to what I said or utilize applicable resources, after I was so sure they could solve the medical mystery of my life.

So. I stopped trying at a certain point. I resolved myself to being health anxious and perpetually confused by myself. I realized that I would never know what any day was going to bring, because my discomforts and continued sicknesses seemed to come and go with the tides.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

I realized that my diet needed to be incredibly tight, and by that, I mean “boring.” Beyond gluten, I cut out basically everything sugary, carby, and processed. I noticed that without a certain variety of physical exercise on a regimented basis, everything started slipping. I prioritized finding ways to get to sleep at night, even if it meant being rigid and assessed as “dramatic” by less slumber-impaired humans. I gave up any activities that caused neck and shoulder strain, and tried to be better about things like stretching. I also noticed that dealing with my emotions was a gateway to pain and discomfort relief, which was an uphill battle all it’s own. And, you know, eventually I learned about this Complex Trauma thing that explained a HUGE part of early to mid twenties, including a majority of the physical ailments.

But, although I began to live like an above-averagely healthy human again… I’ve still always had a few mysteries about my health.

Sure, over the course of many years I’ve figured out how to live with a semi-predictable body after long periods of never knowing what tomorrow would bring. But, unfortunately, there are still times when my system throws me a curveball. During those unanticipated spans of health failure, I’m left ruminating on a question or three that haven’t ever been answered consistently.

One of the most common inquiries is coming at you next.

Stress or sick?

So, even after all my life changes and careful modifications. All my sacrifices and seemingly over-the-top regimes. I’ve still had an ongoing health obsession that pops up from time to time when my shit starts to go downhill.

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

I realized a while back - maybe in my mid-late twenties - that holy hell, I sure felt like I was coming down with the flu more often than it was logical. The thing was, my symptoms only ever progressed to the point of feeling like I was still actively fighting off the sickness as it took hold. I would get the temperature dysregulation, the headache, the muscle pain, the foggy feeling, and oh boy, the exhaustion - that generally serve as your first signs of contagious trouble.

I would be too deliriously tired to get up and do anything. If I made myself go to work, it felt like wading through a dream. Half present, half falling asleep at my desk. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Even my head was too heavy for my neck to manage the task.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get incredibly weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

And I would respond in kind. I would retreat to bed, Nyquil and vitamin C showering over me on frequent intervals, gearing up for the systemic war of a lifetime. I would drift in and out of sleep for a day or two, fending off the weird muscle aches and sweat sessions that come with an emerging fever. Interestingly, many of my old food reactivities would rear up during this period. I would get my neti pot and vomit-bags ready for action.

And then… nothing else would happen. Assuming I chilled out and retreated to a state of forfeit when I actually treated myself with kindness and care, everything would work out. After 1-5 days of being back in my bedridden state, determined that significant contagious sickness was headed my way, it would seem to just disappear overnight. Or, clear up by about 70% overnight, to be more realistic.

It took several rounds of this pattern - I couldn’t tell you how many - before I finally realized… heyyo, my body shuts the fuck down when I’m stressed out. Every time I experienced one of these sudden falls from health, it followed (or ran in tandem with) a period of significant stress, anxiety, and/or depression. And if I let myself relax for a week, it would all be okay. If I tried to push through it because ObLiGaTiOnS, I was signing myself up for a prolonged and far more serious health failure. It happened too many times; I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Like I had postulated earlier in my adulthood - my health seemed to be drastically affected by my mental state. Particularly, my interpretations of stress, obligations, and fears.

And I can tell you, my health anxiety quieted down for a while in the aftermath of the acceptance. Call it immersion therapy. When you’ve experienced the same event over and over again, but A never leads to B, and C-alming your shit makes condition A disappear  back into the ethers... well, eventually you take it for what it is and just stop panicking so much. I think I got tired of preoccupying myself with the whole dumpster fire at some point and preferred to extinguish the flames by letting them run their course.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

And yet, when it’s happening, I also never know for a fact that my stress-based illness is definitely what’s going on. The result is getting trapped in a “will I or won’t I” obsessive spiral of anticipating the worst while reassuring myself that it might be nothing at all. There’s a lot of internal and external conversation about it, as people want to know if you’re sick and you want to be able to warn them that you feel like death… but also have to throw in the caveat, “Iunno, you have to realize that this happens to me all the time and it’s usually nothing, though.”

Of course, this creates the opportunity for my brain to 1) tell me I’m probably fine, quit complaining, pussy, and 2) compare myself to everyone else on the planet, who doesn’t crumble when their brain interprets times are hard. Because, of course, I have to make myself feel mentally ridiculous for feeling physically horrible. Other people are always happy to help in this regard, too. "You sure get sick a lot. I thought you had the flu last month. Wow, it always seems like something is wrong with you." Mhm, I feel the same on all accounts.

And, Fuckers, that’s why I stopped talking about it or looking for answers a long time ago. Instead, I've just relied on the most logical answer and quit worrying. I’ve done enough research on my own, not to mention all my Animal Science schooling, to know how stress responses work. They’re significant. They have the potential to disrupt your entire body through hormonal dysregulation. And they work differently - as far as we can tell - depending on the organism.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

That’s that. Pretty complicated but simple. Try not to stress yourself out and god help you, if you do. Chill for a few days and you’ll be alright, probably. No one knows why it happens. Doctors don’t care. Just watch out for yourself, because no one else deals with this shit.

Unless… they totally do.

So, that’s fibromyalgia

I guess this is where I tell you something that a lot of folks have probably already figured out. Sorry if you’ve been yelling at me through your headphones this whole time - chill, I’m getting to it.

There definitely is a term for everything I’ve described. There are millions of other people who experience it. And, yeah, doctors often still don’t believe it’s real… but the numbers and anecdotal evidence don’t lie.

Ever heard of fibromyalgia?

Of course you have. But have you ever really looked into what it meant? Because… I hadn’t.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Via DM, your fellow Fucker started telling me about being tired all the time, mysterious aches and pains that worsen with stress, IBS symptoms, improper temperature regulation, and over-exertion that leads to required days of recovery. My jaw hit the floor.

You know I hopped online and started doing more research of my own. And all of the information was confirmed and expanded upon in a way that drove my mandible straight into the basement.

Hey, you know how fibromyalgia is synonymous with “widespread pain?” Oh shit, if you dig into it, there is a lot more to learn. Here’s a (maybe, complete?) list of the currently known associated symptoms. Keep in mind, I couldn’t find a single comprehensive resource for this information. This list is compiled of information from the the peer-reviewed article I'm going to read from later, the American College of Rheumatology, the CDC, Healthline, and Medical News Today. And if it sounds like a bit of a "catch all" pile, I think you're right.

Pain and stiffness all over the body

Fatigue and tiredness

Depression and anxiety

Sleep problems

Problems with thinking, memory, and concentration, known as “fibro-fog”

Headaches, including migraines

Tingling or numbness in hands and feet

Pain in the face or jaw

Digestive problems, such as abdominal pain, bloating, constipation, and irritable bowel syndrome

Tenderness to touch or pressure affecting muscles, sometimes joints or even the skin

Irritable or overactive bladder

Pelvic pain

Trouble focusing or paying attention

Pain or a dull ache in the lower belly

Dry eyes

Sleeping for long periods of time without feeling rested (nonrestorative sleep)

Acid reflux

Restless leg syndrome

Sensitivity to cold or heat

Problems with vision

Nausea

Weight gain

Dizziness

Cold or flu-like symptoms

Skin problems

Chest symptoms

Breathing problems

Insulin resistance

Wait, wait, wait. THAT’S what fibro is? Because, I’m sorry, I have literally never heard any of that detail before… and although it gets so ambiguous that I suspect these ailments are all the conditions that just haven't been explained before by medical science... this list just described my life. All the way down to the tiniest detail of dry eyes, as I now recall chronically dumping drops into mine for those same years in my 20s. What. The. Shit.

Prior to this research, my symptomatic knowledge of fibro was essentially - pain, of the unexplained and incurable variety. No one ever once has mentioned anything else about the condition to me, or allll the ways that it correlated with my years of health trauma. Not my peers, not my doctors, and not even my amazing, well-informed therapist.    

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

Maybe that’s why I never had anyone clue me in to the diagnosis - I honestly stopped talking about the cyclical sickness a while back, after recognizing that people didn’t respond favorably to the narrative, “I just get too stressed out to function.” Shutting my mouth and writing off my experiences may have halted my potential for hearing a realistic account of living with fibromyalgia. Oh, how the trauma shame shenanigans never stop royally fucking you.

Of course, based on my own recent education, now I’m wondering if fibromyalgia applies to far more of us in the trauma community. Because if I hadn’t found reliable information on it in all my trauma and inflammatory illness research over the years… how many other people are in the same boat?

And this brings me to my next point. I really hate the term fibromyalgia.

Why I hate the term

There’s actually another explanation for why I never heard about everything that fibromyalgia describes. Uh, you’re going to hate me for this, but I didn’t think it was a “real” diagnosis.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

You see, a number of years ago, as a budding counselor with a few years of experience, my therapist friend mentioned something about fibro. Specifically, that it was a common label granted to more seriously mentally affected patients… and it wasn’t believed to be a real thing. I wish I could remember more detail on the context, but the basis of the story is, someone that I trusted - someone with many trauma patients - told me that in her experience, no one took fibromyalgia seriously. People with intense mental illnesses regularly presented with unfounded complaints of pain, and this is the term they were assigned as a result.

There was no proof of their physical discomfort. The patients tended to have myriad mental and physical health issues. They tended to be more difficult clients. Professionals had doubts about how serious the complaints were. No evidence, no respect. It was just about that simple.

To give more weight to the story, here’s one quick excerpt that is actually validating to read, from an article titled, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview.

“People with FM often reported dismissive attitudes from others, such as disbelief, stigmatization, lack of acceptance by their relatives, friends, coworkers, and the healthcare system, that consider them as ‘lazy’ or ‘attention seeking’ people, with their symptoms ‘all in their head’. Such dismissiveness can have a substantial negative impact on patients, who are already distressed, and also on the degree of their pain.”

So… similar to the asshole social associates described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

So… similar to the assholes described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

It took the real life account of someone with the diagnosis to show me all the ways that my previous perception was completely incorrect. I suddenly realized how reductive and insulting the false information had been. Annnd all the ways that I could have really helped myself and a few others a lot sooner if I had just investigated the term on my own, rather than lazily falling back on someone else’s casually-expressed opinion.

So, I’m saying… fuck me. 100%. That makes me really upset with myself. But it makes me even more frustrated with the medical field.

And this is why I hate the term fibromyalgia.

It doesn’t actually explain a fucking thing… and it doesn’t seem like anyone is actually trying to.

At this point, there is no known cause for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

At this point, there is no known cause or organic mechanism for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

Millions of humans have detailed the same experiences, but science hasn’t yet come up with a way to explain them, so let’s go ahead and give them a new diagnosis that boils down to “Not sure what’s going on, but they say it’s unpleasant and it sounds a little something like widespread pain. Cool, let’s call it a day. Nah, we don’t need to educate the medical community or the public - we don’t need a single list of all the known comorbidities - because we don’t get it, ourselves. Let’s make sure we put that disclaimer right in the definition, so everyone knows it’s a controversial topic."

And implicit in saying that doctors and scientists don’t understand the term, comes a negative connotation of assumed delusion or attention-seeking complaints.

Essentially, what I’m bitching about is the tendency of researchers and practitioners to shuttle things they can’t directly measure to the back of the relevancy line. Despite all of the anecdotal evidence from fibro sufferers that corroborate the same causes, symptoms, and outcomes… we can’t see what they’re talking about and we don’t have an easy explanation, so we put this in the “fake news” stack of information - AKA psychosomatic illness.

Now, it’s also worth mentioning that fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma. Something like 2/3rds of fibro patients also have confirmed PTSD symptoms, if not higher. Exact numbers depend on which study you trust. Just know, it is a prevalent, accepted, correlation between trauma and the development of fibromyalgia. And of course, no one has determined the causative or affective relationship between the two at this point in time.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

The medical field’s lack of trauma education is a big problem. Making “psychosomatic” a dirty word isn’t helping millions of folks out there. Being invalidated by the people who could possibly help you is another mental health crisis waiting to happen. And all of this is infuriating to me, following my own experiences and thinking about other people’s.

Should we take this one outrage step further? Sure.

You know that a vast majority of fibromyalgia sufferers are… women. Sorry, about to get a tad feminist. Is anyone here surprised that primarily female voices tend to be written off by medical professionals? Ha, ha, ha. No, probably not.

For all of human history, the ladies have been getting the shit end of the stick when it comes to medical care. We all know that women were given amazing explanations for their ailments, such as having “hysterics” or "the vapors" not so long ago.

Furthermore, there is research showing that doctors do not take women’s accounts of pain severity seriously, in particular. Even fellow female doctors and nurses are given different treatment by staff when they go to the ER, versus male counterparts. And if you’re a minority or socioeconomically challenged woman? The data says you might as well take two aspirin and see what happens the next morning, because the medical attention research is even worse for those demographics. Huge surprise.

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups one way or another… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

Yeah, we haven’t.

We’ve been given a term - complete with a wink and a nudge - that no one wants to meaningfully research or prioritize understanding. We’ve received a new phrase that doctors will “generously grant us” when we’re drowning in unexplained symptoms and pain. We’re then labeled with a word that essentially amounts to “disregard and humor” for all our future appointments. On top of it all, we’re carrying the burden of traumatic histories, which immediately qualify us for misunderstood diagnoses that more or less equate “ghosts in their blood” - because, hell, we can’t quantify mental illness, either.

The whole ordeal makes me really upset. The fact that I was inadvertently pulled into this biased disbelief makes me more upset. It also serves as quite a demonstration of how powerful or deleterious knowledge can be after it worms its way into your head involuntarily and becomes your only “go-to” piece of data, true or false.

One seemingly-trustworthy person mentioning a negative opinion of fibromyalgia one time in my past somehow infiltrated my thoughts to the extent that I didn’t have a second thought for 5 years? And we're talking about a goddamn trauma researcher - with, what I consider - an otherwise open and connection-happy mind?

The power of assumed authority and truth in opinion is significant. If I can be swayed in this way, how could less mental health informed medical professionals stand a chance in responding differently? That’s frightening and clarifying… though immensely upsetting.

So, since biomedicine hasn’t bothered to find any great information for us, despite the rapidly increasing rate of fibromyalgia diagnoses in the past two decades - how can we make sense of the information to actually help ourselves?

Let’s talk about that next.

What we can conclude

So it kindof blows finding out that you probably qualify for a new medical term… only to find out that we don’t actually know anything about said term. I say this, because if you’re waiting for me to pop off with some sweet research on fibromyalgia… uh… I haven’t found it yet. But not for lack of trying. So far every article I’ve seen has been pretty basic and uninspired.

Does fibromyalgia correspond with trauma? It does. Does stress mediate and moderate fibromyalgia, PTSD symptoms, GI problems, and depression? It does. Does it take a long time and numerous appointments to receive medical help for fibromyalgia complaints? It does. Does the comorbidity of post-traumatic symptoms make fibro more uncomfortable and challenging to overcome? What do you know - it fucking does.

(Wow. So enlightening. Having two debilitating disorders is less fun than having one. Who’s funding these research studies, anyways?)

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

Really, the  most interesting things I learned from my reading are that

1) insulin resistance is another associated disorder, which explains even more of my baffling life

2) sex hormones are leached from your system under stress, which, refer to point number one... explains another huge chunk of my existence, and

3) the recommendations for treating fibro long term are the same recommendations I’ve given for getting your trauma life re-ordered.

You know how I always push for people to find out what’s manageable on their own through trial and error, rather than approaching trauma recovery with preventable fires burning in every area? Hey - someone agrees.

Namely, it's recommended that in order to manage fibromyalgia you establish routines including strictly nutrition-based eating habits, non-threatening forms of consistent exercising, prioritizing tons of sleep, and controlling your environment as much as possible for stressful stimuli. Doctors can also supplement your rehab with antidepressants, because, again, fibromyalgia is related to the same underlying hormonal imbalances as depression - but the larger health issues are managed best by changing your behaviors. Just like I’ve said.

I suppose this is no surprise, since this entire time I’ve unknowingly been talking, in large part, about how I’ve controlled my own fibromyalgia symptoms. I just thought it was mandatory trauma pains I was dampening. But the word is out! There's a separate phrase for it. The doctors and I agree; stop treating yourself like a turd, and maybe you’ll stop feeling like one. Whatdoyouknow. Sometimes there are reasons for the things I notice experientially, even if they aren’t originally informed by medical lingo.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

This perfectly aligns with my observations that a terrible work week mixed with a personally challenging month on top of a physically exhausting cleaning marathon will lead to a systemic breakdown every time. And, conversely, those times when life has actually been pretty chill correspond to periods of bodily health and limited upset - the times when I wonder “was I ever really sick at all?” and start to health gaslight my damn self.

Realizing the link between stress and sickness, of course, also begins to explain the correlation to trauma, and particularly, complex trauma.

Now, let me start by saying that there’s some debate over the downstream effects of PTSD - some researchers swear that it decreases system arousal in the face of later stress, others have collected data reflecting that a nervous system hyper-sensitization takes place. From my own trauma involvement, I’ve seen and heard more cases of the latter; we’re quick to upset and easily pushed into stressed territory. I don’t know many, if any, trauma folks who are non-responsive to disturbing life events... but that sounds more like a deep, dangerous, clinical depression symptom to me.

Personally, once I’ve been chronically stressed for a few weeks or months, then I notice the loss of stress response take over. My limbic system gives up, the HPA axis stops responding, and therefore nothing can rattle me. Perhaps you’ve also had the experience of laughing when your car breaks down, because it’s already been 3 months of disaster around every turn and there’s nothing else you can do for yourself. So, sure, people can reach a point where they legitimately don’t respond to the chaos anymore, but I’m not so sure that’s a consistent norm. I think it’s more likely that you turn off your stress reactions if you’ve been adequately prepped to dissociate for the sake of sanity or your chemical balance is so wack that your danger center has powered down.

I can tell you without a doubt that before the point when my stress threshold has been raised sky-high thanks to repeat exposures and wiring disconnections... I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for basically every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses.

I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses

This nervous system sensitization, as they call it, explains a lot of trauma symptoms. I’ve regularly discussed the hypersensitivity problem it creates, when your brain doesn’t adequately filter out or assess neutral stimuli because it considers basically everything to be a threat. This can also contribute to the ADD and ADHD diagnoses that we receive, when our heads are too busy trying to sort all that data streaming in to direct our thoughts in a steady way. Or, the ways that we’re uniquely thrown immediately into panic mode when we sense a risk. Plus, we’ve probably all had the experience of tiny, secret triggers sneakily upsetting our bodies when the stimulation wasn’t even significant enough to pass through our cognitive recognition centers. These are all caused by the same systemic over-sensitization problem.

In general: yes, we trauma folk are sensitive to our environments - inner and outer. We are easily pushed down survival pathways to fight/flight/freeze/fawn responses. We rapidly catastrophize ambiguous information, which can convince our brains and bodies that the worst has already happened. We’re hyperaware and easily overstimulated, often agitated, and regularly on edge.

I maintain, in the face of controversial evidence, that we get stressed out easily. And our bodies react dramatically.

I feel like I should also state that this is especially true, as most of us have read, when we have unresolved emotional strain floating around in our meat jackets. We can be overstimulated and aroused (in a bad way) from the inside, out. Since the majority of us are not skilled in emotional recognition or resolution, we’re often walking around with a lifetime of hard feelings stored in our guts. And there’s been roughly zero doubt in my head about emotional and environmental stress contributing to dissociation, contributing to a vagal nerve shutdown as a big part of the digestive failure that characterizes fibromyalgia, IBS, Crohns, and so many autoimmune disorders.

On top of the unresolved emotional root of stress, this pings another episode that I've previously released. The one about being overly restrictive in your diet and exercise for the sake of appearance perfectionism. If you physically exert yourself too strongly through caloric deprivation or extreme work outs, you can easily stress your body into a survival response. It can't tell the difference between starvation for bikini season and starvation for lack of food. Running your ass off for your upcoming wedding or running your ass off for your upcoming bear attack. Your danger sensing center is sensitive and it overreacts, much like myself.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.  

Again, the authors out of Italy and Brazil who penned, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview, have a potential way to think about that. They state:

“Even if the causes and pathophysiology of FM are not completely known, widespread chronic pain could be explained by a vulnerability due to a perturbation in the central processing of sensory information, named ‘central sensitivity’ or ‘central sensitization’, that amplifies the response of the central nervous system to a peripheral input. Hence, people with FM and/or other central sensitivity syndromes have a lower threshold for interpreting sensory information as noxious. Several factors, such as genetic predisposition, deficiencies in neurotransmitter levels, biochemical changes in the body, endocrine dysfunction, mood states, anxiety, sociocultural environment, psychological trauma and past experiences in general, expectancy beliefs, and catastrophization have been proposed as explanatory mechanisms of patients’ subjective experience of central sensitivity. Current research indicates that abnormal sensory and pain processing is a key factor in the pathophysiology of FM. There is robust evidence that  abnormalities in central pain processing, rather than damage or inflammation of peripheral structures, play an important role in the development and maintenance of chronic pain in patients with FM.”

Interesting, huh? I still think inflammatory responses are a big part of the 1000 piece stress puzzle, but I don’t disagree with the idea that our finely-tuned danger detection systems amplify pain and discomfort signals to deafening levels. Putting all the system data together, you can deduce a fairly complete picture of how strain, physical degradation, and pain are all related.

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

All of my strange health complaints from the past decade have aligned with this new label. And that label corresponds perfectly with my inkling that running on cortisol and overzealous guardsmen have been the major source of my health anxiety sauce. Welp, it’s been validating research for all of my educated guesses, to say the least.

Long story short, there’s not a ton of helpful information about the reasons for developing fibromyalgia or what makes it get worse. But there’s one thing we do know for a fact; stress is the enemy. At least I think it’s comforting to conclude that stress is the root of many of our C-PTSD complaints, as well as depression, anxiety, insomnia, obsessive thoughts, and now… a whole list of common maladies, labeled fibromyalgia.

Whether or not it’s really understood, at least there is a connection between everything. At least there’s something that ties ALL the random, disjointed pieces of torture together. I’m guessing that for many of us, fibromyalgia is similar to complex trauma, again, in that regard.

And, lastly, I can conclude that… I have more questions

More questions than answers

Here’s one last excerpt from the aforementioned article, which is the only one I found that’s worth hearing from.

They state: “FM is labelled, often with a negative connotation, as a ‘functional somatic syndrome’, part of a ‘somatization disorder’, ‘fashionable diagnosis’, ‘idiopathic pain disorder’, ‘non-disease’, ‘psychosomatic syndrome’, dismissing the true suffering of the patients. In the absence of a univocal identified biological cause, subjective reports of symptoms by the patients are often viewed derogatorily and discredited as ‘psychogenic.’”

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Uh, I don’t know what could be more organic than the endogenous hormones in our own bodies creating downstream health effects, but hey, I’m not a biologist anymore, what do I know?

The fact remains - there’s a lot more to understand about the assorted mechanisms that lead from trauma into depression, generalized stress disorder, and physical manifestations of a biochemical system that’s running off-balance. And this is where I have the biggest questions.

First, I have to get this out of the way. I’m wondering about the known gender split in fibro. The numbers are horrendously skewed towards women as the primary sufferers, and that’s not helping the medical legitimacy case. So, what are the chances that men just don’t have fibromyalgia at the same rate as women? Either they don’t get stressed to the same magnitude or their bodies respond completely differently? It’s possible. OR. Is it something else?

It seems to me like this follows another similar mystery - what are the chances that men just don’t suffer from Complex Trauma at the same rate as women? Pretty poor? Probably more of a diagnostic or seeking-help issue? Yeah, I think so, too. Yet, if you look strictly at the numbers, it sure seems like there are more women hearing about C-PTSD than men.

This analogous labeling issue between the genders makes me think of a few explanations…

1) Men don’t seek help for their physical ailments the way that women do, either because they’re less in tune with their bodies or because they’re shamed for not being tough enough if they complain. Just like C-PTSD.

2) Men don’t hear about fibromyalgia, because it is an engendered diagnosis reserved for dramatic women at this point. Just like C-PTSD. They receive other partial diagnoses, like IBS, that are less controversial. This leads me into a whole spiraling rant about several genital-dependent psychological diagnoses that I feel similarly about, but one of them is…

3) Men don’t receive the same level of fibromyalgia labels as women because men don’t often receive Complex-PTSD labels, which would serve as a hint to their doctors, since trauma is a well-known predisposing factor…

This brings me to the next set of questions.

It’s unpopular opinion time, but, frankly, I don’t know that any of these trauma and fibro issues are really that separate.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

First comes the trauma, then comes the presentation of downstream physical and mental symptoms. Presentation, magnitude, and personal recognition of these symptoms varies, just like severity of Complex Trauma does. But under both conditions, our experiences are often so similar - the hard part is that we struggle to describe them and often lean on abstract language which can be used in such diverse ways. We focus on different problems, depending on our own life impacts.

So, maybe we notice and report internal events differently, but it’s hard for me to believe that the two disorders aren’t more than corresponding diagnoses - and are, in fact, one and the same.

I could be very wrong, but I’d sure like to find out.

So, to the small percentage of fibromyalgia sufferers who don’t have trauma… you sure? To the depressed and anxious folks who can’t seem to get a grip on their physical health, but never saw their life as traumatic… want to take another look? To all the traumatized folks with Raynauds, food allergies, hypertension, ADD, aches, and migraines… have you really looked into the full definition of fibromyalgia?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

Is it possible that everything boils down to one underlying event - trauma - that produces a whole host of other biological adaptations down the line? Did we create a separate term for it, simply based on a lack of standardization?

Or is this an exclusionary problem?

Have all the various ways we’ve learned to categorize and describe our experiences actually separated one full disorder into two half-disorders; one that encompasses the brain and another that covers the body? Is it our societal misunderstanding of the connection between our perceptions and our meaty husks, forcing us to separate the issues of mental and physical health that would be better understood together, as one?

I’m not sure! But I’m definitely thinking a lot about it.

Partially, from personal bias. I always considered my physical issues to be part of my trauma life, not separate from it - and that explanation made perfect sense to me. Where do these disorders really split? Maybe it’s possible to have Complex PTSD without the physical symptoms, but that's really not what I hear from people. The most of us have at least some periods of physical ailments, even if they're not persistent. To me, it seems like a distinction that should be made within the trauma diagnosis - with or without physical wellness degradation - rather than piling a separate, largely-ineffective diagnosis on the vast majority of us who have some variety of said bodily ailments.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

If more psychologists actually learned system biology and more medical practitioners actually studied abnormal psychology, maybe we wouldn’t have disparate diagnoses that each come with a half-recognition. Maybe we could have one term that encompassed the full experience of trauma. Maybe these professionals could confirm all the details that we don’t understand by working with a more comprehensive approach to how humans work as a whole, rather than organ by organ. Just a fucking thought.  

Because, I can tell you, if my therapist friend had the same biological education that I did at the time, I guarantee that she wouldn’t have told me fibromyalgia was a “pseudo diagnosis.” If she had knowledge of the connection between stress hormones and bodily breakdown, plus the trauma physiology that determines our sensitivity to stress - there’s no way she would have been so flippant or insensitive with her words. But under the influence of her counseling peers, the diagnosis became a fallacy.

I think this highlights the danger of the problem at hand. It only took one industry-determined void of knowledge to pass along an unfair opinion that skewed at least my perception for years down the line. And, think about it, how many times has one innocently-baseless comment in the psychology or medical fields probably created a lifetime of bias in an up-and-coming professional?

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Depressing! And enlightening.

And that’s roughly where I stand today, after days of fibromyalgia research and very few satisfactory answers. Depressed and enlightened.

More or less, asking myself more questions about the legitimacy of our entire mental and physical healthcare system and all the lines we draw in the sand. Confident that trauma leads to increased stress leads to increased brain and body trauma. Somewhat happy to know that I’m actually not the only one who consistently apologizes for feeling like shit and questions if it’s “valid” or not because it seems connected to my brain. But also, pretty pissed off that we’ve been given a word that comes with no explanations and a hellofalot of medical field judgement, as if we needed more of that.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Hey, the same link exists between socioeconomic status and complex trauma. Hey, it’s another predisposing factor for post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms’ emergence. Hey, big surprise, if you have a stable and predictable physical and financial environment, you’re less likely to develop the terror-based conditions brought on by earlier trauma.

If you have financial resources, you’re also less likely to be chronically stressed by the demands of life. You’re probably also more likely to receive respectable medical care. Therefore, meaning that you’re both less likely to have enough perturbation to develop over-sensitive nervous system responses and less likely to be dismissed by doctors with a label they don’t believe exists. Plus, probably more likely to have access to mental health care that could prevent the onset of Complex Trauma presentation, and likely fibromyalgia, altogether.

Oh, look, logic explains so many things. Or, fuckit, let’s just choose to believe that poor people are lazy and always want to complain about something, whether it’s in their heads or their bodies. Whatever the rich white men say.

Big issues to think about.

Like I state way too often on this show, it’s the small things in this trauma life that bring you comfort. And monumental societal failures that make you scream. (Okay, I just added that last part today.)

Wrap it

Okay, let me get out of here before I question more beliefs that are way out of my paygrade. Sorry, medical and psychological practitioners. I know that I’m just a critical observer who, like that kid everyone hates in class, perpetually asks too many questions.

At the bottom of all my complaints, I just wish that we could come up with a way to characterize these disorders that actually helped people understand what was happening. If you know how your body is reacting to what stimuli and how the symptoms are all related, that's a lot more powerful than throwing assorted barely-defined titles at them.

If we can't definitively say that fibromyalgia and trauma symptoms are one and the same, fine. Let there be a distinction. But I think it would be preferable to call fibro something more telling and true to the accepted cause. Call it semantics, but something like Stress Affective Syndrome would be more useful than the made-up word of fibromyalgia. Please, anyone feel free to come up with a better phrase, because I just made "Stress Affective Syndrome" up so I could say "I've got SAS." It already fits the bill.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

Even if I had gotten that information about fibro, would it have helped separate from the C-PTSD diagnosis? Honestly, probably not. I would have just been harder on myself for suddenly being too weak in the face of stress. And after reading that medical professionals doubt the validity of fibromyalgia, in the first place? Well that would have been a whole other source of disbelief, anger, and negative self-regard. Maybe a whole new crisis, once my inner critic got a chance to hammer away at my head.

I suppose that figuring out the patterns of my strange bodily conditions actually needed to happen organically for this Fucker, because any semi-questioned diagnosis would have just been more fuel for my trauma fire at that point when I so thoroughly despised myself. Confirming to myself, for a fact, that stress fucks me up may have been a prerequisite for accepting that I might be “one of those fibro people.” You know, the ones who lie about their symptoms. Ha.

And, again, this says a lot about the potential damage that poorly-described labels can do to people… just as much as it says about my own reluctance to be considered a weak-minded over-reactor by outsiders.

All of this being said, I’m so grateful for finally finding out exactly what all fibromyalgia actually entails. It took too long, but honestly, the information came at the perfect time. Two days after I got it, I was stress-sick. Ahhh, it's fibro time. How’s that for irony?

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

After years of nobody I spoke to having a tale that even mildly resembled my autoimmune breakdown, finding anybody who related to my issues was extremely relieving. Not only was it a common experience, but it meant that I hadn’t somehow brought the discomfort on myself - through mental illness, physical shenanigans, or plain old weakness - the ways that I feared.

Furthermore, it proved that I hadn’t imagined it all. Because believe it or not, you’re surprisingly willing to throw yourself under the bus after all the pain has passed. I’ve spent the past decade telling people, “I think I have the glutens, as I call it... but I don’t really know though, it’s never been explained, sometimes other things bother me, and sometimes it’s really not a big deal, I don't know what it is” as an almost-apology. A disclaimer that I, too, doubt my own memories and conclusions because they weren’t properly validated by who I considered authority figures.

Hearing that other people had digestive disorders and autoimmune disasters in the wake of Complex Trauma, via the book The Body Keeps The Score, shocked me into self-acceptance of my prior experiences. Hearing that all of it can be encapsulated by this term fibromyalgia a few days ago - well, shit. This is a more mainstream occurrence than I ever previously thought.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma feel more applicable than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma are more enlightening than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

Now I know. When I feel a physical breakdown coming on, with the suspected cause being stress… I don’t have to apologize for it. I don’t need to tell people that I just can’t handle the pressure with unfettered shame for my own biochemistry. I can rest assured that what I’m going through is common - far more common than we know - and completely valid. Even if there are people ready to tell you that it's not.

But, to be honest, I still probably won’t tell anyone that it’s called fibromyalgia. I’m not proud to say, I wouldn’t want them to think I’m just being dramatic.

UGH.

Med Rewatch Series (#10)

S3 E10: Down By Law.

Episode Description: Dr. Manning sustains an injury while helping a drive-by victim and Dr. Rhodes finds himself in uncomfortable waters.

Connor being in ‘uncomfortable waters’? I can hear Ava bullying him already.

(also i wrote a little thing abt maggie giving ava a red bull so enjoy that little bit of content)

Let’s get into it.

-barry just yeeted natalie against a car holy shit that’s fucking hilarious

-will needs to chill the fuck out

-YESSSSS

-THIS WHERE CONNOR BRINGS THE WOMAN HE WENT OUT WITH UP FOR MEDICAL TREATMENT. AND THEN AVA HARASSES HIM FOR IT.

-this is one of the most iconic ava moments. (it’s first thing that pops up under the tumblr tag)

-ava overhearing connor not knowing his date’s last name. and ava walking over, already getting ready to make fun of him. barely concealing her smile

-the confidence with which she set down the file. she was too prepared and too excited

-this could just turn into a list of ava quotes

-”It must be hard, remembering all their names.”

“You know I read Derek Jeter used to send his conquests home with a gift basket. But a full cardio work up is... It’s much classier.”

-ava bekker secret baseball fan?

-Connor: “Jeter? You a baseball fan?”

Ava: “Oh, no. It’s much too boring. But I love gossip.”

-interesting. very, interesting... is it weird to anyone else to think about ava liking gossip?

-like the idea is fun and all but i hate the idea of ava being suuuper obsessed with gossip. it makes her seem way too shallow in my book. that being said, one of my hcs about women gossiping about all the shit men do to ava bc they know she’ll call them on it now has a lot more precedence

-i know she explicitly says that baseball is boring but i can’t get the idea of ava being a secret baseball fan out of my head. its just so novel

-HER SHIT EATING GRIN

- Connor: “Well, we will get you in and out of here as quickly as possible.”

Ava: “That’s what Dr. Rhodes is renowned for around here. Quick in and outs.”

Connor: *turns to her condescendingly*

Ava: *two finger salute* “I’m Dr. Bekker, by the way.”

-the lesbian icon jumped out

-also the fact that in the previous episode Ava’s mentor did the exact same salute. idk what it means but it’s not that important

-ava trying to hide her smile when asking the woman if she wanted them to contact her husband

-ava overhearing again when latham tells connor the woman he was with was doing cocaine

-ava smirking when connor says that he thinks the heart attack was from his sex and not the cocaine

-connor thinking he’s so good at sex he’s going to give this woman a heart attack

-he really drives All the ladies wild in EveryWay (sex, suicide. he’s the whole package)

-latham asking connor point blank “did you partake in the cocaine?”

-the ct team gives connor so. much. shit. it’s so funny

-also. ava just chillin at her desk looking at scans? that’s the kind of content i want to see. just her just being there. doing her own thing. that’s what i want

-THE GUY WITH A TEENAGE WIFE IS A REVEREND HOLY SHIT

-counting down the minutes til natalie drops dead (passes out but yk a girl can dream lol)

-sarah. back at it again with her rayon jacket and button up and backpack. the coffee cup only adds to the aesthetic

-connor being surprised that latham isn’t gonna let him do surgery on the women he fucked (twice, he might add)

- whatever you do, don’t think of a brown bear. are you thinking about it?

-maggie dealing red bull to people who need it. that’s a very soft idea

- ex:

Dr. Bekker is sitting at the desk in the ED. Well, sleeping, more like it. Her head is resting on her fist, her elbow precariously close to slipping off the the chair armrest, and her eyes open by just a hair.

“Dr. Bekker.”

Ava jolts awake.

“Maggie,” Ava says, strong accent cutting through, acknowledging the person standing over her. Hastily, she adjusts her jacket and scrubs, smoothing them back into place.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tired.”

Ava shrugs, seamlessly slipping back into easy confidence.

“Rough couple of cases. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Uh huh,” Maggie says, unbelieving.

She sets a can of Red Bull on the desk with a knowing look.

“You need this more than anybody.”

Ava scoffs. “Those things? They are murder on your heart, come on.”

Maggie hums and walks away. Ava watches her leave, and when she’s out of sight, Ava darts forward, grabs the energy drink, immediately cracking it open and downing half of it.

- anyway.

- @punksarahreese that’s on you for making me believe ava loves energy drinks

- let’s continue

- sarah looking at charles telling her not to do something: I am not going to do a thing you said

- go off babe. it was the wrong decision but go off

- all the nurses watching this guy call nat a bitch:  👀 👀 👀 👀

- will being like: god that guy called you a bitch i fucking hate him

- and natalie being like: he is also refusing to let us treat the 14 yr olds cancer but you obviously have priorities

- sarah is so logical. she’s good at talking to people. can you FUCKING IMAGINE IF SHE HAD BETTER GUIDANCE (oh and less trauma)

- this is also the one with that hilarious screen cap of sarah holding a knife

- the way she is so calm about handing this patient a knife gives me anxiety

- THIS SCENE IS SO HARD TO WATCH IT SCARES ME SO MUCH

- sarah just in alone in a room with a man who keeps having visions of stabbing his wife. and her just handing him a fucking knife oh my god i have too much anxiety for this

- rewatching the series and getting completely confused bc norma is 5′7″ but she looks so short next to colin and the guy who plays latham

- AND RACHEL IS ALSO 5′ 7″ BUT THEY BOTH LOOK SO SHORT - WHY EVERYONE ON THIS SHOW SO TALL

- anyway. ignore that that’s not important

- I... the parallels btwn sarah offering this guy the ability to slit her throat (for therapy) and ava cutting her throat... i don’t know what to do with this information

- idk but sarah holding the knife got me feelin some type of way

- the way connor looks at ava with such contempt bc she... does her job (and his but yk) especially during the hug wtf dude honestly just stop looking at her

- this is also the episode where ava pawns off the patient’s hug onto connor. while yeah, it could ava just being annoying to connor by forcing him to hug his one night stand’s husband, but she did give connor due credit. (and something to be said about her being confused and a tad uncomfortable when the patient hugs her, which is why she pawns it off to rhodes)

- she also doesn’t hug the guy back, which is kind of funny, she never moves her arms and just shrugs out of it

- and like after the hug she takes a few steps away from the guy, really not wanting any more physical contact or attention

- there’s something interesting in ava’s expression when connor gets hugged by the guy, can’t quite explain it. i’m gonna go with it’s her trying to keep a straight face while connor hugs a man he just helped a woman cheat on, but that’s not all of it so

- or. okay, I think i got it. i think that that little expression when connor gets hugged is her rolling her eyes at him getting credit when ava did most of the heavy lifting. yes. final answer. i’m satisfied

- and her looking away from them is her stopping herself from laughing, bc connor is obviously not enjoying this

- and he’s so sad and angsty he can’t even play along with the jokes

- and ava smiling at him with pity as she walks in to talk to the patient, bc that’s really what it is. she feels bad for him bc connor is so obviously lonely

- and connor’s annoyed bc ‘dammit she does have a right to pity me i suck rn’

- med pushing the women are tough agenda LITERALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP

- you hate your women characters so much just fucking shut your mouth

- and will being like ‘ i have a lot to learn about women not being objects’

- and nat saying ‘you are way further along than most’ like no, he’s not. the bar is on the ground and he still can’t jump it

- i’m pretty sure this show doesn’t pass the bechdel test. holy fucking shit it doesn’t. you’ve gotta be kidding me. (at least this episode doesn’t)

I can’t believe this episode didn’t pass the bechdel test. The only convo btwn two women were like maggie and sharon and they talk about barry and oh my god this is infuriating god med the bar is so low. And I’m pretty sure most episodes don’t pass the test anyway. Will is literally the representation of med. He gets lots of credit for doing bare minimum things like giving women rights.

Anyway.

This was a good episode. We dissected a lot of unspoken Ava things, which is very good. Ava had a lot of moments where she was there, but didn’t say anything, and when your characters can do that, that’s when you know your characterization is very good.

The moments where Ava isn’t really doing anything to forward the plot of the episode but she’s still just there, doing her own thing, are hands down my favorite. Her sitting at the desk looking at a scan while connor tells latham he didn’t do cocaine could possibly my favorite ava moment in the series, just bc it shows how much of her own character should could’ve been.

I drew an interesting parallel btwn sarah offering the guy to slit her throat and ava’s death. i have nothing for that but go wild

This episode also showed us Ava pitying Connor, another new aspect. she gives him shit but she also pities him. very good ep for little ava moments

as always, thanks for sticking through it

-

read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Extra

﹤𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙰 𝙺𝙾𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚂𝚄, 𝚂𝙷𝙴 / 𝙷𝙴𝚁, 𝙲𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴﹥; * - hello EMIKO " EMI " SATO. long time no see. i know a lot about you. like how you're TWENTY ONE, how you're a CLASSICS major,  and in fact.. how you LIE AND TELL EVERYONE YOU STUDIED ABROAD FOR A YEAR WHEN YOU WERE ACTUALLY IN REHAB. would be a shame if it got out, wouldn't it ? so let's play a game. 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙴 ?

*itzy vc* hey hey hey ! SDBJWBDJW what’s up......its xan aha ... this is gonna be the biggest mess ever ...just winging it as i go. and u know what ? thats on on brand babey ! lets get it ...TW: drug use/mention, accidents/hospitalization ( just in case)

backstory

virginia born and raised babey ! she’s the youngest of five siblings and ...it shows. SJDBJWBDJW growing up would have been pretty chaotic had it not been for the fact that her dad was a pretty well-respected police officer in their town ! him & her mom were high school sweethearts which made no damn sense to emiko considering they’re still happily married...the concept just seems fake to her </3

while her parents had a lot of  mushy love for each other, when it came to their kids they opted to take a more emotionally distanced kind of parenting style bc they didnt wanna like spoil their kids or anything but.....it wasnt exactly the best plan ! emi and all her siblings just learned to be very good liars JDSBWBDJW as kids with strict parents do

being the youngest emi took a while to get into her rebellious phase. for a while she’d just watch her older siblings sneak out and party and do walks of shame and all that jazz...and while she was always down to help them get out of trouble none of them ever really trusted her ? since she was the baby they figured she’d be the most likely to snitch which just made her really ///: bc she wanted to be included so bad

flash forward to senior year of high school and finally emi’s like . okay fuck this it’s MY turn ! her dad had recently decided to get into politics with some encouragement from the police chief so he was busy with his career and her mom was busy helping him. it was the perfect time to do what she wanted since it was less likely she’d get caught

so she goes to this graduation party.....and it’s BAD like she gets fucked up & carried away so she calls her oldest sister ( who had come back into town for emi’s graduation ) to come pick her up & on the way to get emi from this house party, her sister ends up getting into an accident 

she didn’t die though JSBJDSBBWJDBWJDBJWDW just broke some stuff and ended up needing surgery ): and emi obviously got busted that night by her parents which ... wasnt pretty at all especially bc they low key blamed her for her sister’s accident which just made emi feel like pure shit babey ! 

visiting her sister in the hospital is what kinda sparked her fear of hospitals ! bc emi was like super guilty and paranoid that maybe her sister was gonna die or her surgery would go wrong and she’d essentially be at fault...it was just a lot of anxiety that turned into a genuine phobia of hospitals after that

but her sister made it she was okay and her dad used all the buzz and tragedy around his family to kinda boost his political career....which was ugly. her sister had been prescribed some pretty heavy pain killers for the pain & thats where things got.....messy

emi isnt sure when exactly it started but between the guilt she was harboring over her sister’s accident, the stress from her parents as her dad got further and further into virginia politics as well as college anxiety since she was about to start at the universoty of virginia.....she stole some oxy and thats what started what would be a very messy and tumultuous addiction  

as soon as she started college, emi felt as if some of the weight had been lifted. she was living away from her family for the first time and dorming so she promised herself she’d take these four years to grow and figure out who she is......except that didnt exactly happen. instead of exploring herself in a healthy way, emi was using drugs as a sort of escapism from her “old” self. she’s extremely smart and she loves her major, but her professors would often comment her papers had the energy of a “rambling and troubled mind”. by the time she was about to finish her sophomore year she was getting so high people would find her literally passed out in the dining hall. but no one was that worried bc for a good two years, she was a pretty high functioning addict. 

cue the summer after sophomore year when emi overdoses at a party. she woke up in a private hospital room with only her father sitting on the couch, the look on his face something she’ll never forget. while him and her mother knew exactly what happened to emi, they hadn’t told any of her siblings. or anyone at all, for that matter. instead her dad had informed the university emi would be taking a year off to privately study abroad and told emi that’s what she was going to tell people bc he’d just decided to run for mayor ! he essentially guilt-tripped her into thinking telling people the truth would be a selfish act, and one that would basically ruin the family reputation and make everyone really miserable JSDWDBWBDJW he also tells her she’s gonna be shipped off to rehab ! 

so she goes to rehab for a good seven months. everyone at school thinks she’s studying abroad in italy, and emi is literally just counting the days til she can go back home to her dorm bc she’s lonely !!! in rehab !!! and she gets that she should take it seriously but shes just so mad at her dad and herself and the world too ig ... just some good old fashioned angst ! but she finishes rehab and her dad got elected as mayor of her hometown in virginia and shes like good for u can i go back to school please JSBDWJDBJW and he says yes

so she’s back ! ready for the universe to give her a break.....ahaha.....

personality + tidbits

so emi......my baby......she’s a strange one. she’s that bitch that’s super nerdy but in the weirdest way like the stuff she’s into is so specific and just....generally stuff literally no one else would care about but to emi it’s like holy shit this is the coolest thing in the world JSBDJWBDJWBJD she knows a little about a lot so she has the tendency to come across as pretentious if you don’t know her outside of class when in reality she’s just read one too many random facts. also weird in the sense that she’s a STRONG believer in the paranormal and in aliens and in witchcraft and stuff like that as well as believing in things that seem “logical”. it can be confusing to people who view that stuff as silly that someone so smart would be into it. 

speaking of smart.....she’s a polygot which basically means she can speak a bunch of languages ! she’s self-taught, and since she’s a classics major some of her favorites to study include greek and latin ( dead language who ? ). she’s pretty chill about it though and if you wanted to learn she’d be the type that’s 100% down to teach you. she always learns the curse words first just you know....for the fun of it ! she probably has very specific “pet names” for everyone in the friend group in random languages 

anyway she’s also stupid. ASDJWBDWBJDBWJDWJD i mean like in the way that she makes the most .... impulsive decisions that usually have negative consequences. she’s the type to convince herself she knows exactly what she’s then come up with the worst plan you have ever heard in your life. an example of a dumb decision emi has made ? your girl ate a pot brownie the day after she got back in her dorm after rehab bc she convinced herself it was a good way to de-stress. some other dumb decisions include various drunk tattoos ( which thankfully haven’t been too bad save for the words eat me tattooed in small font on her ass ). also owns a stick & poke gun so she’s for sure tried to tattoo friends while intoxicated despite.....not being a tattoo artist ... she’s not even an art student .... SJBDJWBDJW....but she’s very very good at convincing people to join in on her dumb antics so be weary

big on photography !!! she loves taking pictures. always that one friend who reminds you to document the moment and you get annoyed but then when you want to post a picture on insta you’re thankful she was there <3 she has the energy of like .... the dad friend when you need support JSDBWBDJWBDJW she tries to be caring but it just turns into like ... emi high off her ass putting her hand on your shoulder and being like “you know fuck it man you’re amazing” not that good at the emotional stuff like she really wants to be but she legit doesn’t know how.......kinda accidentally turned into an emo kid bc she channels her feelings though some kick ass playlists and the notes app in her iphone instead of talking to people JSBDJWBJDBWJDBJ 

she’s high key struggling but she’s the type to be like no its fine this is fine life is a ride babey better hold on ! tries to keep things flirty and fresh 99% of the time but then you’ll witness the rare emi breakdown which.....involves a whole lot of tweets that will all be deleted within 24 hours and emi will in fact deny they ever existed

really a laid-back girl but the chaotic energy is there folks......she can also very easily get into her youngest child complex if she’s upset which just involves emi being a pain in the ass and everyone having to deal with it JSBDWBDJWBDJWBDJW  she likes to make it hard to say no to her.....not exactly manipulative but sometimes she can get close /: not listed in her fears but she is in fact scared of genuine love and affection ! it’s like she craves it so much she’s terrified abt what will happen if she ever gets it.......so she makes sure she’s never in danger of that by never getting into anything serious.....but then at night shes like damn . kinda want a freak to hold my hand rn and tell me they love me ... JSDBWBDJWBDJWBJDWJDW it’s all fun and games.............

ok thats it im done rambling.................this is so long..............and for what !!!!! i made her more of a clown than i intended but thats okay (: JSDBJWBDWJDBWJ emi might hate clowns but im embracing them ! 

Undo my ESC - 2019, SF1

Hello there, folks, and welcome to the first part of Undo my ESC, where I take a look at the field this year and, for each country, make a feasible change – as small as, for example, minor tinkerings with the staging, or as big as a different song completely winning a national final. It’s all light-hearted and just my opinion, of course. Allons-y... Cyprus: We start off completely in the deep end. I loathe “Fuego”, and this repackaged Fue2.0 is no better and is indeed perhaps worse to me given that I hate desperate attempts to catch lightning in the same jar. I also find Tamta a very unsympathetic character. I don’t know what I’d do to improve this, other than replace the internal selection with a national final with some songs actually in Greek and with local character. Montenegro: Things do not improve... but at least the solution is easier! Montenegro had a decent national final in which literally any other song would have been a better choice. I particularly liked “Nevinost”, and so did the unfortunately out-voted expert jury, so would be tempted to give D mol’s ticket to Tel Aviv to its artist, Ivana Popović, instead. I do find D mol to be sweet kids though, so the other part of me would be sad to rob them of their time in the limelight and would instead have taken the 90s throwback and bizarre random background sound elements out of their song, replaced the score with one that emphasised the traditional musical elements, and kept the lyrics in Montenegrin.

Finland: Three strikes and I am almost out. I really struggle with the new UMK format – I understand the logic behind it, just as I did when it was a thing in the UK in the early 90s, but I think it only really works if an artist has a wide-ranging repertoire. If not, then you end up with 3 samey songs that only appeal to people who like the music styles that artist makes. I’m not an EDM fan and I would have taken the relative flop of Saara Aalto last year as indication to return to a multi-artist UMK. Plenty of artists from previous years who could be worth a spot in one such.

Poland: I was disappointed by the disappearance of Poland’s national final, but I can’t say I was too surprised after a few underperforming years. I have to commend the Polish broadcasters for going for something popular within their own country, without being overly preöccupied as to how it would play outwith their borders. Pali się is one of those entries that I don’t like much but which I respect. My changes would be to remove the pointless English intro and outro, which, if one were not paying attention, one might not notice actually being in English. I’d also try to make the song a little less linear, as the song feels mostly confined to one pace.

Slovenia: Finally, we come to a country where I can change next to nothing. Many people I know were disappointed that “Kaos” was not elected as the Slovenes’ song. Whilst I found it an earworm, I really didn’t like her haughty, “I’m only in EMA to promote my new disc” attitude – and I really preferred the delectable, contemplative and intimate “Sebi.” It’s pure elegance in simplicity, and I wouldn’t need to change a thing.

Czechia: I appreciate the Czechs’ creätive way of bypassing the expenses of a traditional national final – whilst still giving fans a choice – by holding their selection online. Really cute this year was the way they tried to equalise differences in funding by making the candidates’ official video be a low-budget affair filmed in their flats. I liked quite a few songs of their selection, with the eventual winner, “Friend of a friend”, middle of my rankings. I would, of course, opt for my #1 of the NF to win instead, the delightful slice of “Bohemiana del Rey” style that was “True Colours.”

Hungary: Hungary’s A Dal has the cachet to attract a number of returning artists, so it was not surprising that, eventually, it would be won by someone who’d triumphed before – and I’m delighted it was Joci Papái, one of the biggest revelations of the Hungarian NFs for me. Yet, as is often the case with folk coming back to take a second bite of the cherry, the sophomore effort comes short of the first – “Az én apám” is lovely, touching, but lacks the bite and edge that “Origo” had. I might have JP come second and hopefully return for a second victory in 2020/1 with something a bit stronger, and send in his place the soaring but melancholic “Madár, repülj”.

Belarus: Life is too short to do some things, and whilst I try to listen to pretty much every national final song, one of the things life is too short for is intensively following the Belarusian national finals with their hundred-odd auditions. I saw a few, though, and they were a rum lot. Musically, Aura’s touching “Čaravala” was probably the best of those I heard – but was also strangely won over by the unpretentious, fun ode to tubers that was “Potato, aka Buľba” and depending on my mood, I might give it the nod either.

Serbia: Beovizija had a great lineüp yet again, and there were a number of songs I would have been happy to have gotten the win, including the eventual winner, but also those of Saška Janks, Extra Nena and Ivana Vladović. The latter’s beautiful “Moja bol”, with strings to die for, was my favourite on the night, but in retrospect, I’m not sure I’d replace the equally stunning “Kruna.” I’d be tempted to send it in its acoustic version though, where Nevena’s lovely voice stands out even better.

Belgium: Ô, Belgium. I adored “City Lights”, and so my expectations were really high. This is nice enough, but a bit beige, and doesn’t quite deliver, especially the way the enjoyably tense verses lead to an anticlimactically limp chorus. I’d change that with something that actually feels like a pay off to the verses and the Walloons would have a better shot of shining again.

Georgia: I have to say that, once again, I find myself being one of the few people I know who has some love for Georgia. Whilst it wasn’t truly my cup of tea, I appreciated and enjoyed Iriao’s song last year on some level, and the same is true of Oto’s – he has a powerful voice and it’s a strong, if rather unsettling song. I think, though, that I prefer the darkly ethereal Sevdisperi zgva, which sounds like what I imagine would result if Björk were tasked to write a Bond tune.

Australia: After a few years of rumours, Oz finally jumped on the national final train, and, credit where it is due, it was one of the most intriguing national finals of the year. It was as if SBS had decided to atone for its aggressively MOR pop picks of previous years by actually showcasing some musical diversity. Unlike a lot of folk, I don’t dislike “Zero gravity” – it has a meaningful lyrical background and some quirky charm. But there’s no question about whether I would replace it and with what. I still get chills every time I listen to “2000 and Whatever” – the sheer, irrepressible burst of positive energy and the power of its “kulila miranyi” still give me goosebumps. Damn straight one of the best song of the entire year.

Iceland: Given the amount of hype Hatari have received – and how fans flooded videos of its competitors with comments about how they shouldn’t “fuck up” by picking them instead – I may be one of the very few who would change the result there. Yet, I almost definitely would, even though I typically like lesser-heard genres at Eurovision and like the heavier, industrial musical style. And yet, I find this quite trying. It seems like a very knowing, art school student pastiche and I’m not here for their “above the contest” feel or the BDSM gimmickry. I’d be tempted to replace this with the low-key but lovely “Hvað ef ég get ekki elskað”, or to at least pare back the OTT disdainful irony.

Estonia: It feels almost like another era when I was a firm exponent of the idea of Eesti being Beesti. Three years of immense disappointments will quench that type of fire. Whilst leaving behind the stunning Spirit Animal in 2017 and opting for a generic poperatic vocal exercise in 2018 were excruciating, this might be the biggest let down yet – a land of so many talented musicians having to rely on an Avicii pastiche sang with no small difficulty by a reedy-voiced Swede. I found Eesti Laul very slim pickings this year, and found the other two frontrunners to be rather bland too – even the delightful Sandra Nurmsalu came with a tune that, whilst pleasant, sounded less nomadic epic and more toilet tissue commercial backing track. I would have gone for Kadiah’s delicate “Believe” as my pick instead.

Portugal: FdC was once again one of the best national finals, and the one for whose result I was perhaps most anxious. There were a few songs I really liked, like “Pugna”, “Mais brilhante...” and “Inércia”, but when the dust settled, there was only one song I wanted to see winning – “Telemóveis,” of course, which I was delighted to see prevail. I have some real worries about the bizarre staging distracting from the message and emotional power of the song, though. There’s so much going on, and it might be enough to push people from being entranced to being weirded out. I’d get rid of the spoons, sort out the clothes and try to make things impressive without being so extra.

Greece: I actually really like Greece this year, even if I’m still pissed off at what they did to “Don’t forget the sun” in their dubiously axed national final last year. Her voice is beautiful, the music is uplifting and anthemic, the æsthetic is curious and a bit culty, but at least memorable. The one thing I don’t like? The lyrics, which sound like a bunch of motivational Instagram quote clichés loosely knitted together. Sing something actually meaningful, preferably in Greek.

San Marino: Lord, I’m not going to start because if I do, I shan’t stop. All I’ll say is that San Marino’s “troll nation” status is wearing thin for me. Unbelievably, hundreds of talented people came out in numbers last year willing to represent them, and yet they went with a song written supposedly in 5 minutes but probably in half that. I’d have invited Sara de Blue back instead to make up for the bizarre fiasco that was last year’s 1in360. And the automatic qualifiers:

France: If France’s national delegation aren’t rethinking their voting system after this year, then they ought to be. It’s the opposite of Sweden, where the juries really have the power and the televote is scattered – all you need is a frenzied following to overturn a low jury placement. I liked a great number of Destination Eurovision’s selection this year. I would have taken pretty much ány single one of them over the snivelling, bombastic, self-aggrandising drivel that is Roi. With regards to what to send in its place, I’m torn between the powerful “Là haut”; the adorably, quintessentially French “Allez leur dire”; or the energetic, indefatigable earworm that was “On cherche encore”.

Israel: Boy howdy, Israel sure want to do their level best to avoid fluking a 1979 and winning on home ground, eh? I heard there were many big names who sent songs in, though I’m unsure if any of them would have helped to make the stormy Kobi seem more sympathetic. I think I would have opted to let Ketreyah perform for the hosts instead.

Spain: After a great national final last year, I was really disappointed with the subpar quality of the so-called eurotemazos which were anything but. Miki’s song was the best of a bad lot and at least he didn’t have the hideously negative attitude some of the other people, who seemed surprised and aghast that the winner of a contest related to Eurovision could end up performing there. I’d try to give Miki a song that matched his energy with at least a bit more lyrical depth.

Join me in some days when I evaluate what I would change with SF2!

Day 10. Flowing | H&J

This prompt was supposed to be about Leo and his addictions, in the framework of J&H. I didn’t want to write that. Maybe another time. Instead, we get my self-insert character. She seemed easier to slip into and deal with.

Today was also Mental Health Day! Take care of yourselves you fucking eggs.

Osmosis: a process by which molecules of a solvent tend to pass through a semipermeable membrane from a less concentrated solution into a more concentrated one, thus equalizing the concentrations on each side of the membrane.

The concept was something Steady knew they’d gone over in high school AP Bio class. She could picture it, as if a mere decade hadn’t passed her by at all. Mr. Brett who was a portly and pleasant man with a full, pepper-salt beard who always referred to himself in the third person. They were setting up an experiment that involved potato slices.

Damn if Steady could remember what the results were. Just one thing stuck out to her: homeostasis and equilibrium. Needing to have a balance.

And as she sipped from her coffee mug - laden with irish cream and vodka, her fingers feeling heavy and mind slipping even farther away - she considered that. Mulled it over. Fixated on the idea.

Having a balance. Two solutions. One lacking and the other too much. Too much of what varied. Energy. Electricity. Food dye. It didn’t matter what - it was just Too Much. A lot. Excess. It needed to be burned off, in the case of energy. Spread and shared around in the case of dye.

One side, flowing into the other. Filling in for the lack and spreading out what was too much. It sounded...nice. Peaceful. The type of ideal tranquility that would strike her on some odd Thursday night, an ordinary day out of ordinary days, and make her begin to weep, curling in on herself.

Steady watched, eyes languid, as Mr. Brett put the potato slices in the water, then took another sip of the syrup, letting it sting her tongue pleasantly.

One time, just before college started, Steady had been struck by the idea that she needed to go camping. Had made it to the door with her old tent pack gear, a couple days’ worth of food and a fishing pole. She didn’t even know if there would be water where she was going. Didn’t even know where she was going. Said as much when her mother asked. Both parents had flown into rages at that, thinking she was running away. Hell if Steady even knew where she was running to, let alone away from, just knew she needed to run.

It happened another time, when she was still working in Detroit. This one had an impulse. ‘New York State of Mind’ by Billy Joel came on the radio, cutting through the static of the afternoon and information technology article write-ups. Steady had to go to New York. Could see it so clearly, her sitting on a bench, watching the taxi lanes clog up, observing the people on their phones and in their nice clothes with her darting eyes. She’d only seen the city on the news, for New Year celebrations, in the older shows before the century.

She got to the receptionist when he’d joked: “Taking a second lunch?”

She’d frozen, hand raised to push the handle, but not quite touching it. The spell broken, she laughed at him. “Just putting my bag in the car. Thinking of taking a walk to wake up.” Nodded. Accepted. Normal response.

She had to be more normal.

There was that other time at college, her mind pivoted to next. She’d stayed up, drifting into hour-long naps once every 24-hour period because, distantly, she knew she needed some rest, and all she’d been doing was writing. Writing writing writing until her wrists were aching with the force of creation.

Then, she crashed for 32 hours, unable to move. When she woke up, groggy and head stuffed full of pain, she’d called home. Explained what had happened.

‘Oh honey, you’re just creative.’

But this was different than all-nighters in high school. Each new idea had been something to explore, a compulsion she had to explore. It was frightening, getting swept up in a tide of creation. Usually the process was freeing. This...this was something else. She was skipping class, realizing only when it was dark out that she hadn’t left to go to the dining hall, that someone - her roommate - had asked if she wanted to go. Then snuck a plate back. Bought a sandwich using Steady’s ID. Put a bottle of water snugged up on the pillow with a smiley face on a sticky note and Steady couldn’t answer her own question: When had that gotten there? When did you last drink water? Shower? Eat? Use the bathroom?

People joked. ‘Who’s your supplier, eh?’

Who knew how long Reese had been standing there. Not Steady, that was for sure. She jumped when she noticed him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and a slight crease to his brow. “Heya,” she said, chipper.

“You do this often?” he asked, processing something.

Steady looked around the kitchen. “Cook? Yes. I need to eat food, Reese,” she snorted, going back to slicing the peppers.

“Are you cooking for an army? Was there a new upgrade I didn’t know about, where androids have to eat too?”

Steady bristled a bit. Reese wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t brushing it off. Which meant she’d misstepped. Shit.

Taking inventory of the counter, she tried to think if this was excessive. Was it too much? There was the crockpot with the chili simmering away on low. Had been for the past three hours. Still needed another five or so, which meant it would be ready for her to take to work. Then, she still had pepper left, so she was slicing those up to fry for a fajita mix she’d cook up once the chili vacated the crock pot.

This all had a logical, clear progression.

Steady looked confused at Reese, to see if he was going to fill in any gaps she was missing.

“Are you going to eat that all tonight, or will you be feasting in your dreams?” he asked, holding out his hands at the mess.

Steady followed the hand motions instead of looking at Reese’s face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. Whenever she did look at him, she found herself drawn to his chin, or maybe the wave of his hair or the tattoos he had. Or just the knife in her hand - that was a good idea - to keep an eye on that.

“I mean,” she said, mumbling it now. Voice lower than she needed it to be. Had to pitch it up. Sound like she wasn’t affected - like she normally was. “I’m just not tired. Must be the coffee, whoops.”

Reese frowned. Folded his arms. Watched her. “You...last cup of coffee you had was this morning.”

The blade skipped on the pepper skin. The blade was dull. Knew she had to watch it, or she’d graze her knuckles, slide a fingertip. “Should cut it out entirely,” she replied, smiling ruefully. “Last doc suggested I go straight decaf if I needed to have my hot drink fix. I never went back.”

Reese nodded. Didn’t say anything until Steady was working on the third and final pepper to slice. The pile was consuming the counter space, thin, uneven strips of it falling off the cutting board. “Well, are you going to need help cleaning up…?”

He moved to the sink and Steady jolted. “No.”

Her cry rang out. Probably alerted Rose and Aria. She winced, sucking air through her teeth as she bowed her head over the pepper. “Don’t. I’m good. I’ll clean up after myself.”

“That’s a lot of mess,” Reese started to protest.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.” He relented easy, likely had only been offering to be polite.

Steady eased up, then scooped the peppers up, dropping them into a waiting, warm pan. She turned up the heat, added a dash of butter, then turned to the flank steak. She’d used about half for the chili. Could sear it nicely with the fajita mix. Keep that on low for another-

“It’s nice to see you up and about. Last two weeks you spent on the couch,” Reese said.

Steady shrugged. She was missing something. Something about this scene was odd to him. She had to figure it out, smooth it down, fill in the crack somehow.

Reese patted the island counter. “Well, looks like you’ll be a minute or two. Mind if I…?”

“Go for it,” Steady said, smiling. Forgot why she’d been worried anyway. Probably just paranoid. Nothing to worry about. She busied herself slicing up the beef. Methodical. After a couple of minutes, her mouth began to move of its own accord. Filled in the cracks. And Reese listens. Listened to her story about high school AP biology as she trimmed the fat from the meat. Soaked it in when she relayed the story about camping back in Detroit as she stirred the peppers, appreciating how they were sweating down and charring the bottom of the pan. Tilted his head as he considered her story about wanting to travel to New York.

“Is that why you’re here now?” Reese asked.

“What?”

“New York. Now. Rose hasn’t mentioned how you two met yet.”

“Oh. No. That’s not - I’m. That’s something else, I mean. I always wanted to go to New York, who doesn’t. There was this one time we were going to see a Broadway performance, actually, but the trip just didn’t work out so we went to the local Apple Diner Theater in my hometown instead. Gosh that was such a good - my friend was in it? She was great. Knew her from high school. She used to sneak out with me during lunch breaks. Always smoked. I never did. I mean the harder shit. Sometimes I get a nicotine hit.” Steady shrugged, pushed the meat into the pan. “Wonder what happened to her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean, we had a falling out. People always have falling outs with me.” A tightness overtook Steady’s chest and her eyes stung. Must be the peppers. No - that was onions. “Misunderstandings and the like. They get tired. But…” Where had she been going? Right, the play! “It was Wicked! She had the role of the witch…”

And as Steady bustled about in the early hours of the morning, limbs, chest, fingers, heart - mind - racing with electricity, Reese listened. He inclined his head this way and that, shrugged, flashed his palms, wrinkled his nose that caused the burns around his brown eye to crinkle.

Outside the night pressed in, chilling and tran - We should decorate the house for Halloween. Just the inside should be fine. Not too attention grabbing. I can go shopping after work and- quil in its absolute pitch blackness.

And things felt just right.

You said you have a person on trial. How do you test someone to make sure they are trustworthy enough to run your blogs?

I run a 2 week-1 month trial from the moment they start posting on the blog to see a few things. but before that, here’s what I do. This is based off of how I also handle other social media pages as someone who handles 5+ facebook pages as a chat/post moderator, 5+twitter accounts, and 2+instagram accounts. According to fans/followers who follow our professional work, it helps them feel safe to interact with us as staff doing our job (radio/reporting) and interact with fellow listeners/viewers consuming media, processing it, and discussing it. The same can be applied to other public spaces like these fan blogs. 

1. What’s the person like?

I check out their blogs/have seen them interact before with other people in other online spaces in and out of fandom. This means how they interact with other fans, with interacting with staff/voice actors in public spaces. I love Voltron as a show, I just personally focus my love where it counts. Lots of people complain when interviews come out, hate what happened in canon. Can you be critical of things said? Sure. But the thing is, it feels weird to take anything said at face value when Voltron as it stands is not a completed project so things can change and how we see them as the missing pieces come together. I take everything with a grain of salt and see where things go and I hope the people I work with are the same way and are cordial when interacting with others on their thoughts on characters, ships, the show itself and when interacting with the kind people working on Voltron.

More for what I look for and how I run stuff is under the cut and the standard I try to set for myself and for others who wish to work with me cause this is more volunteering to help out, it’s not technically our content to own, its fan run, and nobody is paid. But if you’re gonna do it, you gotta give it the love it deserves.  

2. Enforce set rules.

I got common sense stuff like don’t let bigotry slide when it’d directed at us as mods and people interacting on the posts that are hosted here. Block ant!’s on site since they are a source of a lot of why our fandom is accused of being garbage vs any other group within the fandom that’s chill, especially those who still currently openly hate/dehumanize other fans minding their business. Block them if they interact with the blog via reblogs/likes if you catch them cause that stuff spreads to other blogs who assume our fandom experience is for them — it’s not. For the most part, blocking is good if I’m/the mod running a blog is just tired and doesn’t wanna deal with inane bs or things we’ve already answered if a user or anon didn’t do their research to look through my history of asks and whether or not I’ve addressed their question/didn’t read our response because they’re not looking for our actual answer, they’re looking for something else. I don’t deal with people spreading misinformation like pushing br0ganes which is currently confirmed never a thing by staff repeatedly, pushing whether or not a ship is canon (I have even politely said that I appreciate sheith’s bond over at pics of sheith but never said it was canon as a ship), and I definitely don’t like individuals that shit on characters/ships or how others express their excitement over content or their interpretations or fanon fun. And I don’t appreciate when people get upset with staff for saying something wrong when the show is not completed and they can only say certain things in a certain way if they choose to answer questions at all then attack other fans and justifying it because they’re upset. Nobody gets to throw a tantrum and hurt others. Take responsibility for shitty behavior

3. Choose your battles - carefully decide what discourse to address.

I understand that a lot of people don’t have the time or mental energy to do what I do when I happen to bring down people who claim to have some higher morality/authority to speak from. Sometimes it’s outright bs and I block immediately, not giving my attention, move forward, nobody has to know about it unless I want them to. Maybe I joke about it. But that’s it. I’ve actually just skipped out and blocked some IP’s on this blog cause it was a “nah” kind of day. But I make sure to get a screencap, maybe even post it to my main blog because my main blog is linked in the description of these blogs so people can dispute why they were blocked from interacting with the blog. Then we can examine how I misunderstood a message if that’s the problem, cause that happens. It’s the internet so people’s tone of voice is lost, people might have brain issues that cause them to type up the wrong stuff or they insist they said what they said and I have to see if I’m not the only one “misunderstanding" it cause we’re all trying to communicate here, in the common English language which his a clusterfuck anyhow. It happens where I just can’t read shit but I have and try to rectify my mistakes.

And when I do address it, I do so point by point, concisely. That’s what I get for having a mother who is a paralegal and helped write legal arguments, deconstructs her child’s stupid arguments when he got in a dumb ass fight with her. I learned from it and now I can frame my arguments properly to follow logical structures based on truth, understanding how the English language works to examine what they said and what it sounds like, and show the true meaning of what was said which is often something pretty screwed up. They usually (as far as I know between one anon and the next) never come back to bother me again. Mods have to be able to have the stamina to handle it, and run it by me to make sure the argument is sound because we try to keep ourselves and everyone else safe.

4. be open to opportunities

If they continue to argue with me on my main blog which is where I’m fine dealing with discourse unless it turns into violent threats/harassment, I’ve already blocked them across the board at all the picsof blog urls I have in my account. But let’s say this person has come to understand why they are wrong…then I can find their name, unblock them hopefully, and everything moves forward and I keep tabs to show that they’ve changed their behavior. Hopefully because tumblr tells me if i block an anon, that i can’t ever undo it but I’ve also heard it’s still possible so who knows really on this broken website?

How I run this tight ship and expect others to run it (no pun intended).

1. Screencap for an hour or two - organize by character/ship -> season -> episode folders and number the images so that it’s in order frame by frame, then play around with the same image and crop accordingly just for fun. This gives random choices and variety for the next part.

2. draft and tag - for characters I use canon voltron legendary defender names

#keith #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld

vs keith kogane which his defender of the universe. I’m a stickler for canon which is why i also tag

#shiro (how he’s often referred to) #takashi shirogane (in written canon and uttered by his own character in the dnd episode) #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld

for a ship blog, i follow a similar formula but people get upset if they are looking for 1 character but don’t care for the ship so i try to be courteous and leave out characters and focus on the ship - hence the following:

#sheith #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld

then as a mod, i have fun and put my thoughts into the screencap at the end of all that when I feel like it, for example #keith looks cute here / #shiro just [redact] me / #wow they hold each other so tenderly

Do this until i get between 90-200 posts in my drafts, then hit queue at random to scramble up the order in which they queue. Will the blog visitors see a screencap from episode 1? or episode 10? nobody knows. But it gets boring if i just queued everything in order which is why I do this. Predictability is boring.

3. Set queue post to 3 posts a day and leave, this is a fucking hobby and isn’t your life - focus on what needs to be done, this is just low maintenance fun. (Look at me rhyming!) Follow the stuff above with how you handle discourse and of course the mod who should obviously love the blog of their focus can have fun with any individuals asking about headcanons/ideas about ships. I wouldn’t give someone who doesn’t ship Allurance because it will show in their work that they don’t care when they’d rather have Shance and vice versa. Or a Pidge fan running a Hunk blog when they’d rather do Pidge. For these other blogs outside of the 3 I’m managing right now, i might have teams of people simply because we can all keep tabs on each other and be held accountable for our actions if we make mistakes. 

Close the Curtain - Chap 5

@reynardinepttr​ this angel completed the beta only a few hours after receiving my email, yet I took three days to post it. Work. You know.

@sissannis​ is a menace and the alpha reader.

@honeyweeds​ just because I feel like it. *shrug*

AO3 / FFN

Luke Nott obviously overestimates his influence on her. It might be her fault for indulging him, but Hermione is not ready to admit it. Age gives her experience, self assurance, and patience, but she still detests admitting being wrong.

So, Luke Nott has a larger ego than she expected. Big deal. All her life she’s been working with men with egos the size of the Pacific Ocean. It’s depressing how many of them are out there.

Currently, the young and handsome egomaniac is going through her notes on their research. Behind her back, no less.

“Mr. Nott.” She finally made a sound after watching him for five minutes.

He jumped ten feet from the floor. To his credit, he’s not flustered at all. “Ms. Granger! I didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously.” She nodded to her desk with her notebook open.

His demeanor changed. It’s amazing how some people can do that. He went from this innocent and curious apprentice to a predator in the blink of an eye. Hermione blinked again just to be sure.

“Now, now. Hermione.” He stepped closer to her slowly, elegantly. She stood her ground. “You know it’s no way to treat an academic partner by shutting him out.”

She smiled. “You should know your status is considerably lower than that of a partner.”

He’s still moving closer, eyes flashing dangerously. “Oh really? But Malfoy is?”

“Neither of you has the capability.”

It’s terribly arrogant of her to say that. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Hermione would have been mortified if this came out of her mouth twenty years ago, but now it’s a different story. She knows what she’s capable of and she’s not afraid to set the rules and draw the boundaries anymore.

Apparently arrogance turns Nott on, or whatever twisted mechanism he’s operating by. He flashed a bright smile to her, canines white and perfect, making the smile a little wolfish. His breath is by her ear since Hermione refused to back off during the whole power play. “I so like a woman with confidence.”

She put a hand on his chest to prevent him from moving any closer. “They are the most difficult kind to manipulate.”

He laughed a little. She can feel the low vibration under her palm. “But the best kind to win over.”

She’s almost excited at that moment. It’s been a while since someone seriously flirted with her. The fact that there’s no real feelings attached to this makes it even better. She thought of another man in a back alley, almost a silhouette, devouring another woman with so much concentration and sadness. She didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need to say anything. She understood him almost immediately without any verbal exchange. She knows what he needs, but she can’t help him.

Not now.

Her palm is still pressed against his hard chest. She pushed him away slowly, looking him in the eye. “Get out of my office.”

He let her push him, smile still on his lips. “Why are you so eager to make me leave, Hermione? What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid the amount of audacity in this room is over the Ministry suggested standard.”

He laughed, dodging the accusation, and closed his hand around her wrist. “Let me in.”

“Back off, then.”

“I can help you with this. I have the expert resources. I have my family library. We can make groundbreaking discoveries! Together. Hermione,” he said eagerly, eyes shining, “We can do this together.”

She sighed. “This is exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”

A little confusion and amusement. “You’re avoiding success?”

“No, I’m avoiding you getting overzealous and fucking it up.”

“Passion is what makes things come true!”

She touched her finger to his temple. “Intelligence is what makes things come true. Hands off and butt out, Mr. Nott.”

He pouted and made puppy dog eyes.

“Not working,” she said.

“I can’t believe you.” He shook his head. “You know this is big! I need this more than that Malfoy prick!”

“I thought he’s your father’s friend?” She asked.

“Doesn’t make him my friend,” he said sullenly.

“That’s neither here or there.” She moved around her desk and started to reorganize her files. “He has his role, and you have yours. Stay in it.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his role then? Your fuck buddy?” He said acidly.

She paused. “I beg your pardon?”

He turned to her, eyes burning. “How long have you two been sleeping together? Do you seriously think you could get away with it? We have the same titles but you’re playing favoritism!”

“You’re out of line, Nott,” she said calmly. “You’re dismissed for the day.”

He stood there in utter disbelief, and abruptly, he left the room in a few strides.

She stretched her back and sighed. Brilliant.

She’s lying in Draco Malfoy's bed, smoking.

“I must repeat that I resent being used like this and you smoking in my bedroom without taking your clothes off.” His eyes are as hard as can be.

She just toed her boots off without replying.

“I hope that’s just a start.”

“Who knows.” She inhales deeply, frowning.

“Hey.” He turns to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

She didn’t say anything until the cigarette’s gone. Draco was almost asleep when she said, “What if we really manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“You know what.”

“I know this, and I know that, and I think I know something not wholly relevant but still interesting, but I have no idea which one you’re referring to.”

“Well I said ‘what if’ and I said ‘we’, didn’t I?”

“Huh.”

“So. Your thoughts?”

“I must say I’ve never believed that we could really do it.”

“I might be close.”

He propped himself up with his elbow. “Seriously?”

She hummed.

“Wow.” He plumped back down. “Do you realize what that means?”

“Chaos,” she said. “Death. Distrust. Mental disorders. Ethical dilemmas.”

“Good. I see you haven’t lost your logical mind.”

“I’m not going to do anything. I’m just thinking about it.”

“Thinking about doing something?”

“Twenty years ago? Definitely. Now?” She tapped another cigarette out. “I have too much to lose now.”

“Really? I thought you have less to lose now.”

She slapped his chest without looking at him. “That’s low.”

Her hand stayed there. Warmth sinks into her skin slowly. Her cigarette stays unlit.

“Granger?”

“What?”

“Wanna fuck?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

It feels good to be here. In Draco’s bed. She never expected herself to feel this way, but life works in mysterious ways, or God, or whatever or whoever up there. She stared at the ceiling, brain turning and turning. This is ending soon, but it has a high chance of ending ugly. She’s the only one who knows the chilling truth and possible consequences. She can take it. She’s not so sure about Harry. It’s comforting to know that she has an ally who’s just as cold and heartless as she,, then, whose bed she’s currently lying in.

Except that he’s not cold or heartless. At all.

She’s still the only one who can do unthinkably cruel things with her bare hands.

And it’s exceptionally lonely.

She climbed out of the bed. “Do you think they’ve left?”

He didn’t move. “I bet they’re still there. You might have to use the floo.”

She looked out through the crack between curtains. Yes, they’re still there. Lurking in the shadows with alarming patience and professional skepticism. For a moment she feels like she’s the prey instead of the hunter. Strange feeling, that. Hasn’t popped up for decades.

“Or you could stay.” His voice is sombre.

She thought she’s already past the age of apologizing for her actions, but apparently not. Apparently people just can’t stop hurting people no matter how much experience they’ve had. Even if you know better, you can’t prevent it from happening. Every decision has its repercussions. If you’re afraid of hurting people, you may as well do nothing.

But she’s never good at standing idly by while letting others get their hands dirty.

“Draco. We talked about - ”

“Yeah.” He turned aloof in one second. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

She walked towards him. “You bothered because you care.”

He remained silent, watching her move around the bed and sit down besides him.

Her fingers held his hands tightly, as if trying to force him to admit something terrible. Something horrifying. Something that can tear him apart or make him complete, all depending on one answer.

It’s not happening today.

“You ready to go?” He asked her.

She sighed, her eyes boring into him with traces of sadness and understanding. “You stay. I’ll be using your library.”

He saluted carelessly behind her back.

She stood in front of the fireplace in Harry’s house. It has been Harry’s house for years now. She rarely thought of Sirius during the war. A war has the power to suck you into it, leaving you little energy to dwell on the past. And then she left, relocated, started all over again. She kept writing letters to her friends, asking for forgiveness. She got a job and then a better one and then another. She fell in love and fell out of love and went through all five stages of grief. She discovered so much about herself and the world that the war is not the biggest part in her life anymore. It lost the power to control her perspective. She moved on from it, gaining the strength to look back whenever she wants. She thought of Sirius when she was reading a novel and a woman in it said, “The tragedy of life, Howard, is not that the beautiful die young, but that they grow old and mean.”

It was a beautiful afternoon. Sunlight cut through her window and drew everything in her apartment in shadows on her floor. She suddenly let go of a piece of herself that’s been stuck in that night at the end of her Fifth Year. A piece of that girl (barely a woman, really) who’s so afraid and confused, mostly confused. Life bowed to her, smiled maliciously, and pulled open the veil to reality.

Why did he die?

What sense does that make?

What’s the meaning of it?

If not everything is logical, how am I supposed to protect others? Or myself?

How am I supposed to win if this world doesn’t play by rules?

She forgot her doubt in the run, in the adrenaline, in the torture and fight and killing. And years later, oceans away, she held a book that answered her through the dust of time and space. Unintentionally, of course. And she thought of Sirius Black. That’s the day Hermione Granger lost her fear of death.

“I’m sorry.” She touched the photo sitting on the mantle piece, in which the old Order is laughing and waving and living. “Now I’m back.”

“Do you regret it?”

She turned around. Harry is leaning on the opposite wall, a glass of water in his hand, ankles crossed.

“No.” She didn’t hesitate.

Harry gave her a very, very slow smile. “That’s the Hermione I’ve been missing.”

She snorted. “Admit it. You hate me.”

He nodded. “I hate you. I love you. I miss you. Who says I can’t do them at the same time?”

She would really love to know what those feelings would be afterwards. It would be so convenient if she could play human minds like Arithmancy formulas, working out what would happen if she made different choices at the next crossroad. If she could do that, if she did, would the “I hate you and I love you and I miss you and I hate you most of all” today become “I love you and don’t leave me and don’t ever leave me again”?

She just leaned on the wall next to him and handed him a Galleon coin. “I love you, too.”

He eyed the coin curiously, and then recognition settled in. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” she said in false cheerfulness. “Everything’s gonna work out."

GAMERS! Episode 07

So.

Last time sure happened.

Let’s see where things go from here. It’s GAMERS!, episode 07! Here we GO!

-We begin, with loading the game save for up to this point. Whoever’s playing this game is very irresponsible with their save data, you always cascade down the list, never lock into a single save file. That’s just too risky.

-But into the actual show! A bus, where some generic anime boys, so standardized you can’t see their eyes, watch. And they can see HIM, the fucker who managed to get Karen…And Keita is just trying to ignore them, even as he deals with the frustrations of people disconnecting on his mobile game and not actually playing…

-Opening! After PUBG, our next game reference is…It’s Super Mario Bros. You know Super Mario Bros. I did an entire writeup for the game’s historical relevance for Nintendo back in the lead to the Switch’s release as part of the 30 Days of Switchmas. Crazy successful, redefined the platformer genre after Nintendo themselves essentially invented it with Donkey Kong, was originally designed as the peak of a cartridge-based game with the Famicom Disk System rapidly coming up…None of this is news.

-DAY 07: Amano Keita and Karen’s best entertainment

-To the class! Where Keita is talking to Tasuku, and has decided to, and I quote, “stop indiscriminately blowing up normies”. Tasuku, who slept like shit, has no idea what he’s talking about but good for you, man. Also, people are all staring at Keita. Because of what Tasuku did, in part. But hey, hey. Tasuku had no idea it’d turn into a relationship! Of course, Keita thought Karen was more into stylish guys like Tasuku…

-And Tasuku is also dealing with the rocky state of his own relationship. Aguri’s been…Well, it’s been messy, since the guy she’s into is with Karen now. But, Aguri likes Tasuku, so Keita can only assume that Tasuku really was two-timing his girlfriend! This is horrible! No wonder he has no idea how to talk to Aguri about it!

-Which explains everything, including Karen accepting a confession from little old him! It’s all to try and build up a plausible deniability. …He needs to get out of this. His head is full of deep, weighty thoughts as he goes to the restroom. He doesn’t want to be part of breaking Aguri’s heart, she’s a sweet girl who deserves better. Maybe he’ll ask Karen to let him rescind his confession…

-And when he comes out, he runs into someone, almost literally! Oh, sorry, he wasn’t…Oh god it’s Karen. And then Karen has a freakout because the boy she’s super into, who is now her boyfriend, is heeeere…But oh dear, something seems wrong! Are you okay? You look pale…

-Um, er, he’s, um, he’s gotta get back to class he’ll talk to you later bye! And then he’s gone, leaving Karen confused…And as Keita starts to head back, everyone mumbling about him…That’s when Chiaki spots him and waves him over into an empty room! Oh lord what do you want, Chiaki? Can’t you see his day is going wrong as it is?

-Can’t You see why Karen stuck her neck out for you, you idiot?! Well, yes, of course he does…(Oh god one of you use your words) Good, good! But that was a crazy move, and should keep that pink-haired fiend from…What was that? Nothing nothing forget she said that part! Look the point is, they might be enemies, but she respects you enough to not want to see you hurt. And that Aguri girl was never gonna be your girlfriend.

-Well, yes. He knows that. Oh, good! You’re moving on really well, Keita!

-Cut to after class. Keita has a long string of furious emojis in his texts, and is across from Aguri, who is…Really not happy with him. Also she has a really crazy looking drink. But, but she’s sorry. She’s mostly not mad at you. She’s mad at Tasuku, who’s two-timing her. Keita tries to use his logic, because the only evidence that Aguri has is the guilty look Tasuku gave her, but why ELSE would a guy give such a look to his own girlfriend?! Huh?!

-…Okay you have him there. But uuuugh. Her life’s gone to hell ever since she met you! That’s…Harsh. But all those floozies hanging onto Tasuku only met him through you, ya damn enabler. Well, well, it was Tasuku who used him and egged him onto talking to…both of them…Keita quietly ‘realizes’ that he might have been used as a cover for all of Tasuku’s cheating. And now Aguri’s got to try to pull out of this nosedive and convince Keita that Tasuku really is his friend and not just using him from the start. But Keita’s gone into a deep depression.

-FOCUS DAMMIT! Karen accepted your confession! Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? He’s…He’s gonna tell her the full truth of what he knows, so they can break up honestly, and handle this maturely. (God you kids are the furthest thing from mature. The only way you could be less mature is if you were using mud to inoculate yourself against the terrible spread of cooties.)

-Well. Good for you. But how do YOU feel? And are you really gonna let someone else decide something that matters so much? …You’re right. He’s got to decide this himself! And then she realizes how fucking gross this drink is now that all the layers have mixed. She’s…She’s gonna go buy a new drink.

-New scene! Karen is up on the roof freaking out because Keita asked her to meet him here oh god what’s going to happen? Is this about their new relationship? Is it going to go sideways? Was that confession some kind of mistake? Is she about to be dumped, on the eve of her confused but delighted triumph?! No, FOCUS, girl! Don’t let him see you sweat…! But she’s terrified of how this could go…

-And then Keita arrives, and OH GOD PANIC! She doesn’t want to look at him and face the end…And so he finally just asks, if she hates him. No, never! Then, then why won’t she face him?

-W-Why don’t you?! …But he is. Y-You want to stop dating her, don’t you? She, she gets it, she’s seen how people around school are acting…You can take it back, she’ll, she’ll just…

-She’s not speaking from her heart. Deep breath. Be honest with herself…

-As Keita admits, he’s glad to hear she doesn’t hate him. He thought, with the way she’d been almost avoiding him…But…But he’s got to ask something difficult. Of course. Can they go on a date?

-And there it—Wait what? Wait what?! Karen is so shocked that when she turns around she’s in a fighting stance. Oh you adorable little dork, never change. So Keita says it doesn’t have to be right now, it can be whenever she’s free…And Karen is so confused that her world turns to crayon drawings. She doesn’t know how to parse this. She expected a rejection, and got confessed to. She expected a retraction, and got asked on a date. None of this was fitting her worst-case scenarios, or the Plan, either.

-Well…They’re, they’re in a relationship…Right? And just hearing that from Keita sends chills up Karen’s spine as she goes tomato red. As Keita panics a bit, and admits that yes, there will be hardships, and of course people are saying shit behind his back…And…And he knows he’s got no chance against a bishonen like Tasuku. He’s going to lose out in the end. But…But dammit, you don’t rage quit, you play the match until the end! He’s not giving up until it’s over!

-And oh, Karen just glows she’s blushing so bad. You could just put Karen in a dark room, repeat that line to her on a loop, and her blush would give enough light to read by. But she manages to catch herself, and try to act like the Magnificent Tendou Karen-san, as she accepts his offer as nobly and honorably as she can manage. As she also insists they do this in the right order, like a proper relationship! A-And they should disband, for today! Wow this managed to get weird, as Keita lets off a salute from her authoritative tone. but this isn’t what she had in mind and oh god this just got weird as she barely manages to get past him before she panics and flees to the stairs.

-Commercial break!

-And we’re back! It’s date time, and Keita and Karen are at the bowling alley, slash karaoke place, slash arcade, slash…well it’s a big entertainment center is the point. Karen dressed her best, Keita’s best is his usual outfit, and he’s kind of freaking out a bit as he tries to be all cool and make this work…Until finally she just tells him they can just goof off and have fun and not make this too crazy.

-So…I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.

-Keita fucking sucks at analog games. Karen beats him in ping pong, he manages to get a dart stuck in his thigh when they play darts, and he takes a cueball to the face though I think that might have been Karen’s fault, and he loses terribly at bowling. By the time they stop for lunch, Keita’s energy is drained, and Karen is at full power. But even with how draining this is, Keita is finding it really fun…And Karen has to keep herself from admitting how much being here with him is making it fun.

-As he looks over the map, seeing what else they could do today…There’s a pool. Swimsuits. NOPE DO NOT GO THERE. He immediately covers it with his hand, and oh, hmm, there’s basically just the arcade left…

-But she saw a huge pool on all the maps.

-…Oh. So you did. Well…Um…They could just go check it out for fun! Unless you don’t want to see her in a swimsuit? D-Don’t be ridiculous! But now she’s all blushy because he called her bluff and oh god this got nerve-racking. Keita’s low self-esteem comes out but Karen can only hear the parts where he doesn’t want to be at the pool with her and now he’s gotta pull up pull up.

-And that’s how he ends up at the pool in a rented pair of trunks, waiting for Karen to come out. He has truly betrayed all humanity. And then out she comes in a cutesy but revealing bikini and Keita’s brain just kinda…

-Poof?

-Poof. He feels like he just lost a precious life in a video game from the sheer impact of that outfit, and things get awkward again as she has to guide him into being at least mostly normal.

-When Karen spots a couple playing splashy games in the pool, and kind of wants to do it too. But some clear rules to keep it safe! It’s a turn-based water attack game, and whoever gets the other’s hair wet first wins! You’re…You’re ridiculous. And as soon as they’re in the water, this becomes legit serious competition, a war of water that looks like something out of Jojo and then Keita is splashed and down. VICTORY IS KAREN’S!

-And then they see the couple who are, you know, goofing off and having fun and just being silly. …Suddenly they feel like huge nerds. To the arcade, where they belong? To the arcade.

-But that’s when Keita and Karen spot…is that Chiaki? It is! Some guys are trying to harass her…And when she spots Keita, she races for him, needing someone she knows, enemy or not! She clings to him immediately because save her! Er, that is, she’s gonna, help, you…With…Give her a minute she’ll think of something good.

-The guys leave, though, not wanting to cause enough of a scene that they actually get noticed by someone who might do something about it…And trying to get a girl who’s here on a date would definitely cause a scene.

-There’s just one little problem.

-Keita’s here on a date with Karen, and she’s…really not liking seeing this blue-haired strumpet cling to her Keita. So you know, Chiaki, he’s KIIIIND of on a date, so…So you are, Keita! SO WHY DO YOU KEEP TUGGING HIS ARM INTO YOUR CLEAVAGE?!

-Okay, fair. She should not have interfered in a date from a fake relationship.

-Okay now Karen is more mad. Chiaki, what would you like your gravestone to say? I’m thinking…”With my last breath, I curse Keita”? Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

-But soon everyone’s sitting down and talking and Chiaki has the good grace to apologize for all of that…But why’s she here on her own, anyways? She’s not! Her sister invited her aaaaand then ran off on her own. So she’s gotta find the kid…Well, they’re willing to help. And Chiaki realizes there is an honor in Keita, one she can respect!

-But, no, Karen will do all the helping. Keita, you don’t need to be looking for a cute little sister. Please go to the arcade and wait for her at once! YES MA’AM! AMANO KEITA, GOING FORTH! Jeez. Chiaki is a little scared now.

-Eventually, Karen arrives to the arcade, with a Chiaki whose sister apparently already went home. And as Karen goes to find a game to play, Chiaki pulls Keita aside and do you get why she’s here with you, you stupid idiot?! Do you understand the favor Karen is doing for you?! You need to do something for her! …You just want to join the games, don’t you. Sh-shut up.

-But Karen’s date-mind has been overtaken by her game-mind and YES THEY CAN PLAY BIG MULTIPLAYER STUFF INSTEAD OF 1v1 NOW COME ON CHIAKI

-And that’s how they end up playing totally-not-Mario-Kart. Where Keita spins out right at the start, but starts to learn the mechanics, holding close behind the others in third place…When he gets the mighty BOMB ROULETTE! It’s so exciting that even the children in the arcade are watching!

-The bomb roulette, the ultimate chance item…A flip of the coin. Either you explode…Or everyone else does. Will he dare to use such a risky item, especially on this track, so close to the finish? He…He lines up with them both, and SLAMS IT DOWN! And whatever way the bomb went, all three got caught in it.

-Karen is just silent until they get to the bus…When she finally just breaks down into the giggles at how ridiculous of a play that was! And that it still ended in him losing when he could have pulled a solid second or even first place if he hadn’t bothered…But she also sees something about Keita. He didn’t use it so he could win. He didn’t throw the match, either. He went for the interesting option. He did the crazy thing that would, win or lose, make for a good story, that would excite the kids watching them play…

-And she’s finding she likes that about him. That wild spark in him…While Keita, Keita respects how she always goes all-out with him. There’s never any going easy…And that’s what he likes about her. As now she’s all blushy and nervous…And he ends up asking if she got that new game Fire Tactics? Of course she did! She’s wanted to talk to someone about it! And so everything relaxes, as the two fall into a shared passion.

-Credits!

You know, these crazy kids might just make it all work out…

…I mean, if it weren’t for the other three people in their life. Between Chiaki, Aguri, and Tasuku, someone is gonna fuck it up. We’ll see who breaks the whole thing next time, in episode EIGHT of GAMERS! Wait for it!

#personal

Life is kind of entering the dark side of the moon hidden under the shadows of the holidays.  I’m taking my mom out for Xi’an food on Thanksgiving day.  We went for Cantonese food last year on Christmas.  She is definitely the more nontraditional side of the family.  My dad is chill too.  He’s relayed to me twice how he doesn’t pay attention to the news.  When his wife turns on the tv he plugs in his new airpods and listens to Shania Twain or something.  Navigating both relationships over the holidays allows me to take comfort in the uniqueness of my situation.  Nothing in my life is very simple and then I sort of take it all in stride.  Both my parents often remark about how proud they are I turned out.  I was always a very quiet and shy kid up until I had to stand up for myself.  Even then I don’t really ever want to be a bother.  But a certain amount of respect for myself has developed over time being left out, passed over and ignored.  So the deafening silence I have for the past is more about moving on out of the shadows and towards the light.  I’ve spent the last twenty years at this point working in a progressive arts environment.  I’ve hit plenty of guardrails trying to stay in my lane.  But I know where I belong regardless.  After awhile what used to frustrate me about self control actually fuels my path forward.  Somebody made a comment about how robotic I respond to everything at work.  It was a low key sleight and I took it that way but wasn’t totally untruthful.  I don’t react much in realms where I don’t control the narrative.  I quit Facebook and Twitter awhile ago.  I don’t feel as hardwired to share everything in my life.  I do take boring pictures on IG to prove I exist.  I was walking down the street the other day and somebody motioned to me and said loudly “So he is real.”  I don’t use tinder so I don’t know what it’s like to justify my existence every ten feet on my lunch break or commute by swiping right or left.  It isn’t like I don’t share my thoughts or bare my soul every Saturday morning on Tumblr.  People have grown to appreciate that this is how I engage with people who really want to know what I’m thinking.  Everybody in real life just talks at you.  A persistent water cooler conversation that goes nowhere.  People announce things in a circle about what they’d do if they had super powers or ran for office and it goes nowhere.  Roleplaying is fun I guess.  I play World of Warcraft.  I’m a Warlock named Overbite.  Over the summer some Christians called me a witch for walking past their protest at the abortion clinic.  It helps me to get into character when I play a paladin.  Really get into the mind of the self righteous you know.  Understand their power.  Freedom of speech in America for what it’s worth doesn’t really get in my way when I realize nobody is listening to anyone but themselves.  I talk a lot openly in my kitchen to myself and my cat about all this.  I played Magic the Gathering the last two years a lot to practice my public speaking.  At least when you announce the rules on a card people have to listen.  These days people are too busy to play so I’m left with these funny games in the street.  In America it’s becoming more like Outback steakhouse.  No rules and too many people leaning to the hard right.  The left hand path is kind of secluded.  Perfect for a moonlight stroll.  As dark as that might be at four pm in the dead of winter.

For what it’s worth I’ve been watching a lot of Watchmen and listening to Nine Inch Nails by myself.  I like to read and work on my finances in a cloud based spreadsheet.  Most of what I read is online.  When it’s not the news or the history of places I barely know it’s quest text or lore on a computer screen.  I’ve been a lot more at ease in some ways.  I’ve been mostly trying to figure out the feeding schedule for my new house guest.  I forget I’ve been feeding that cat twice a day for over a year outdoors.  Surprisingly or not so she is pretty much on the same exact schedule as I am.  The electric bill is sixty percent lower than it’s ever been.  I’m assuming part of that is a more energy efficient refrigerator.  My downstairs neighbors Christmas lights don’t even make a dent in the meter.  My life is kind of peaceful and boring at home.  When I step outside the threshold it can be a different story.  In terms of guardrails I’ve become at peace withjwhere I belong.  Staying out of trouble.  I’ve been swerving around the planet safely for years.  I’ve been transparent on the internet as well.  You can try to cover your tracks as much as you want.  But I don’t believe you can hide from yourself.  A friend on here posted this tweet from Cher talking about Epstein.  It was a pretty strong opinion about creepy rich old men that I respected.  The other part of it struck me a little harder.  Something about powerful and strong men holding on to that power.  Which leads me to think about what it means to be a powerful or strong man in modern times.  For the record I’ve been made to feel just like everybody else quite the opposite.  That none of the good I do ever really matters.  That how I choose to behave online and off however in sync is not seen as power.  And I’m aware that most men have never had to defend themselves or their privileges.  I’m also aware that I identify how I identify.  There’s no need for me to beat you over the head with any of it.  I’ve been online for years and you can ask around.  I’m not saying it wasn’t hard work to be a better man.  I’m not saying anything really.  That’s not for me to prove at this point.   I have nothing to defend other than the power of the identity I live in plain sight.  In truth being open and honest does get you taken advantage of often.  But you learn to handle yourself in dangerous situations.  Some of people’s ideas of friendship and trust can be a little naive.  I’ve been there.  Part of the reason I walked away from making music and performing it was the environment around it.  I found I was locked out and walked away from it out of boredom.  People already know who I am for better or for worse in more places I’ve never visited.  Imagine if I was a piece of shit behind the scenes.  My dirty laundry would be everywhere on the internet by now.  And these days it’s pretty apparent that being a Warlock in Christian America isn’t the same as it is on a PVP server.  War mode is always on if you want it to be.  And the battles go nowhere.  The only random drops I pay attention to are the sale prices on Gore-Tex Chuck Taylors.   The real power being how I manage my finances responsibly.  And nobody here listens unless you’ve got your wallet out anyway.  I don’t have a line item for any of that in my budget.  So I stick to carving out a safe space for myself in a sustainable way and be quiet.  Men have spoken enough at this point.  I amplify the communities and voices that have shaped my thinking on things.  I signal boost and I stay under the radar at the same time.  Unless of course you’ve got Airplay sharing enabled.

Every day I log on to this community I have a conscious choice to share.  I am mindful personally about what kind of message it sends out.  I don’t really judge other people’s curation.  I can say sometimes I’m not into certain things.  I’m not particularly sensitive to a lot of imagery.  I’ve spent twenty years servicing an art school.  I’ve seen plenty of fucked up shit outside of my comfort zone.  Everything has context in a community.  And here online I think we operate with the notion that we are trying to explore the boundaries of our own identities.  We are also trying to conduct this experiment in a safe way.  A lot of people might say I’m a little too cautious.  A lot of people also probably say that I’m a little too straight behind my back.  I guess I know my audience and vice versa.  But I don’t think of this place as an audience.  I’m not out here trying to sell things for profit.  I’m trying to signal boost the things that inspire me aesthetically in a complex way.  Some things I like.  Some things I love and care about dearly.  Some people know exactly what I mean when I hint about things.  And some people are lost and not even paying that close attention.  Some people pop up in my dash and their opinion means the world to me.  The togetherness of being in a place where people understand the nuance and context is freeing.  Nobody asks too many questions.  The interactions I’ve had with people online are always genuine and terse.  I’m not trying to secretly infect myself into people’s lives.  I’m not actively trying to interfere with anyone’s life or image.  I’m also aware that people are appreciative after all this time to trust that.  That kind of responsibility and accountability is an asset in complex and troubling times.  You know you can always count on somebody to be a good person.  There’s a real kind of power there when every other man out there talks the same shit but betrays their words through their actions constantly.  I wake up every day at five am and wander into work at seven thirty.  I’m there an hour before everyone else.  I give people rulers and staplers while I check my mail and post pictures on the internet.  I’ve been attacked over the years more often than anybody will ever realize.  A lot of it was unfair and misinformed.  Years later people know exactly why.  And years later people appreciate why I keep my mouth shut and mind my own business.  I judge myself by ethics nobody ever asks about.  I don’t go with the flow often and yet somehow I’ve travelled the world silently for years by myself.  I got around on human kindness and honesty.  You can never betray that in yourself.  Especially if you are a Warlock.  I’m sure the demons would consume you if you did.  It seems like simple enough logic and mythology.  I do this and stay me however complex that seems because I care.  It’s not conditional on an outcome.  I’ll be truthful I don’t know where any of this is going.  I’m lost in the dark completely.  And yet no one on this planet can be me.  And I know how powerful that is.  It has never been easy.  But It’s worth it for me because I have love in my heart.  The people that I really share it with deeply know just how much of that there is to go around.  It’s something I protect because it’s worth fighting for.  A safe place to be free online as well as off.  Let’s keep fighting that battle first and foremost.  It’s always been the same for me and will be for the immediate future.  It may be dark but I see the light at the end of this tunnel.  Seasonal depression nothwithstanding.  <3 Tim

Mile 71

So never got on that followup post. That was Sunday night. It’s now Thursday morning and I do need to get my ass to the office, but I think it would benefit me to process some things first. For context, it’s production week, and I’m so weary. I feel like I could sleep for three days. I may also be moderately depressed? If that’s possible? Bc I feel low on motivation. I dunno maybe I’m just moping. Things are so...active...lately.... I dunno. Like I’m not even sure where I am anymore. I keep trying to go with the flow, but the flow is...so new and I sometimes feel like I don’t know how to keep up with it. It’s not bad necessarily. Just... I guess I’m still trying to sort out where I stands between the social, dating (I had another first date last night. what the hell?) woman and the homebody watching movies and hanging on her husband’s words. Ugh and I definitely don’t want to go back to her. But also I haven’t written much since I moved in; there’s S who has been sidelined more lately, there’s my professional development that has been shelved, I haven’t been spending as much time with my mom of late...these things are all not like me. But maybe they are? How to move forward and not lose the good parts of the old? The thing about dating is that I’m trying to represent who I am, and I’m not even sure who that is fully at the moment. It’s a bit confounding.

So first, there’s J. I saw him again on Saturday. It was rather different because I had to be back for my friend’s wedding that evening so I had a deadline and drove up in the morning and then back in the afternoon. So there was some element of rush to it. Also, it rained, and that mostly kept us indoors in his apartment. And it’s funny. Bc I certainly had a good time, as always. He was certainly as wonderful as ever. But I can’t think about it without unease, discontent, melancholy even. I can’t help feeling that I did something--not wrong, not wrong, not WRONG she says for her own self worth---that freaked him out a bit. Which I know, is his problem. But it makes me sad if this is going to end. Just because it seems so good. If he feels at all like I do then we generate happiness when together...and of course *clock clock fssssteam heat.* And then of course the less brave part of myself, the one I am always working to master feels like I was more vulnerable this time, more open, and that glimpse of me in my truest sense is what made him retreat; and that’s rejection--my personal kryptonite. So I wish I could say I haven’t wept over him this week; but that would be a lie. I wish I could say he didn’t affect me like this; that I was stronger and grounded enough that I could put this in perspective and lower the damn stakes. That I didn’t take three days to recover after seeing him and experience an emotional roller coaster after each date. But again, that would be untrue. Something I need to examine with my therapist when next we meet (next week at last!) is why I have such a pull towards romantic relationships; why I have this sick addiction, why I run full speed at them even if it means it will be too much too fast and then leave me with whiplash and overtax the engine or whatever. Much ado superquick about ultimately nothing because I couldn’t chill out and pace myself. 

I keep telling myself this. But also this song keeps playing through my head:

“His eyes light up and how can I complain? I did not know the rules do not apply...”

The more I get to know him, the more I am endeared to all his little idiosyncrasies, as his strengths and weaknesses. I can gush here bc noone is listening, noone else wants to hear this. But yes, his smile makes little warm sensations bloom in my stomach. I like his chuckle and the timbre of his voice. I like the line of his jaw and his temple--I always want to touch it, run my fingers over the line of it. I love his overlarge polish nose, esp, when it is pressed to mine as she kisses me, as I gasp against his mouth. And then of course there is his mouth...such clever lips that turn me to complete jelly; but also I can’t explain, it’s not just when he’s kissing me...I love the way they shape around a jest or an explanation, his smile... He will yammer on and on about a point until its complete conclusion; he’s scientifically logical to a fault--he must accurately qualify things--and I find it delightful.  He worries that he is an old man; talks wistfully about the days before his autoimmune started to limit his actions and energy and I just want to wrap him in my arms and kiss him all over and assure him that he isn’t old; that he can fall apart and I won’t judge him; that he can rest in me and I will be there as loyally as ever. I wish to help him find his way back to that self he misses, all the while adoring the current version of J.  

He has a terrible patch of hangnails on his right thumb, and I find it endearing. Why is that? He gets droopy after he eats, and I find it endearing. What am I doing? When we are in the process of sex, he will catch my fingers in his and run his thumb along my wrist...and it reaches into my heart and tugs on it. But I know he doesn’t mean any of it the way my poor embattered soul takes it. I know he doesn’t feel the same way, that he’s not thinking about me right now, that he hasn’t memorized my expressions; isn’t obsessing about my fingers or whatever. The sex is great, because it feels like he lets down his guard some and that he wants me in some way. But once it’s over he pulls back again...it’s almost transactional. He’ll never admit to enjoying my company without me saying something first, he never compliments me, and if it weren’t for physical tells I wouldn’t know that he desired me either. I mean, in his manner he is amenable...but he won’t touch me, or kiss me, unless it’s related to sex.  I cannot tell how much he actually enjoys  my body as much as enjoys playing it like an instrument. It’s not like with other men who have told me how muh they want me...I tried this time to give him that; to be open about how much I desire him, how much I want him. If I tell him I like him or am fond of him one more time he may vomit. 

At one point were making out, etc. And I thought “God I adore his smile. He’s so handsome,” and he saw this on my face and asked. And I didn’t want to be weird so I was trying to tell him and not be weird and I don’t want to scare him away, and he said “It sounds like you’re trying to tell me you’ve fallen in love with me but you don’t want to scare me away.” And I responded “Oh no! I’m not there...that’s...” (Very articulate. This is true though. Love is something I cannot swear to this early, and it’s a big ass deal after last time.) And part of me wonders...what would he say if I said yes? Was he trying to tell me something? “But all he said was” (Ragtime? anyone?): “We wouldn’t be here (having sex) if I wasn’t interested in you.” Right. Interested. That’s what a girl wants to hear. Conclusion: he is not where I am. He’s not over sentimental. He’s being careful and grounded, and also. I’m not the amazing person he is. So of course he’s not in my thrall as I am in his. I’ve known from the beginning that once he got to really know me, he'd realize I wasn’t for him. “Don’t you know that time is not my friend, I’ll fight it to the end, hoping to keep this best of moments when the passions start. Heaven help my heart the day that I find suddenly I’ve run out of secrets...” Another moment: He was...engaging in an activity that was very nice for me (don’t want to be cliche, but he touches me in a way I’ve never experienced before and...bloody hell...) and he was coaxing me with endearments and I know that was just sex talk, but some part of me wanted it to be real. I keep hearing the word “love” fall from his lips, and I think “wouldn’t it be wonderful to be cherished by such a man? I don’t know what I can give him in return, but it would be so beautiful to be loved by him.” 

In some ways I just wish he could be candid. “Listen A, I’m not into you like you are into me, and your pushy oversentimentality is kinda freaking me out. I may want to bang you, but I don’t want to start calling you sweetheart. Ok?” It’s probably a good thing I can’t see him again for a month. (In the meantime I’m going to see S, so that’s a whole other bundle of what the fuck am I doing? “Look at your life, look at your choices.”) Anyway, this time I’m going to try (we shall see if I succeed) to sit on my hands and not contact him, not present him with dates; to let him ask me. And maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t miss my company and that will be that. Except that I will be left with his birthday present. 

So that was Saturday, and that night I was at my friend’s wedding and I flirted shamelessly with one of her friends and then he got in touch with my friend and got my info and asked me to dinner which was last night. I said yes partially on principle--I need to remind myself that J is not the only man on the planet. This fellow, P, is nice, but there’s not the same crackle there that I feel with J. He may also be a bit more cowed by my recent history and child. But I may see P again. I would never have thought this would be me. I’ve never spent so much time flirting with different men in my life. Also, my libido is way up. That’s new. I blame J. 

Parting song for today: