#tentatively (because they came with no diagnoses)
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I was asked to take a pair of 3wk old babies. Ofc I said yes. the person who dropped them to me was like "the boy can't use his back legs and the girl can't breathe. bye!"
#I expected them both to die during the night#the girl had such an awful respiratory effort and each breath was loud and crackly#the boy i thought had a literal spinal fracture#after force feeding throughout the night#and some good rest#they were able to eat on their own#and the girl's antibiotics started kicking in#tentatively (because they came with no diagnoses)#the boy has swimmers syndrome#and the girl has aspiration pneumonia#good vibes appreciated for these kids#splits#crackle#fosters
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Thinking about the Cattonquick "Oliver was truth-warping more than lying" au I'm never writing cause I'm great at daydreaming and terrible at actually executing.
Oliver overdoses instead of Felix. Felix goes with him to the hospital because he's worried and also to spill to his family (because Oliver needs capital H help) so he can wash his hands of Oliver with a clean conscience . Oliver's emergency contact is not his parents but his eldest sister.
Turns out many of Oliver's lies had quite a bit of truth to them.
For example:
- He was an affair baby, so he never lived with his sisters or had a real relationship with them as a child.
- His father was taken to the cleaners in the divorce and his parents' reputation was ruined in the community, they really lived around the poverty line for a long time.
- He was left alone or with neighbors a lot when he was little(neglect)
- He got close to this lady's family in particular(they see each other as family) , and it was her husband who died, the way Oliver described. (naturally Oliver couldn't take leave from Oxford for a non relative)
There are things his sisters don't know for sure, because they only started getting closer to Oliver after they had become adults, but they noticed and suspected a lot of things.
The neighbor lady got contacted by Oliver's sister because she is the person actually closest to Oliver, and when she appears, she confirms and adds further information.
Oliver had actually mentioned Felix to both his sisters and his old neighbors and it must mean something, because he normally deflects, keeps things close to his vest, and generally doesn't let himself be excited about things.
Felix gets told all this, shown some proof, and reassured that, while they also wanted to give him a fair view of Oliver, the point is he deserves to know the truth for his own peace of mind and closure after everything.
Felix gets heartfelt thanks, apologies and contact information before leaving.
Oliver gets diagnosed with a number of things, including depression, ptsd, and bpd.
Afterwards there's a slow burn of Oliver getting treatment, Felix being really torn about things, staying in contact with these women to get updates and info. Telling himself it's for his own peace of mind, but also understanding why Oliver lied more and more and facing things about himself.
( quite a bit more detail including Oliver's childhood, how his parents ended up middle class again, the vacations, why he lied to his parents, how his sisters and him got tentatively closer and how his sisters and neighbors/found family came to know of each other, though it's all a big big mess of yarn inside my head 😅)
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WIBTA if I left my mom alone dealing with my traumatized sister?
This turned out to be very long, there's a synthesis at the end. My (22FtM) sister (8F) has gone to summer camp and, for the first time, slept in a tent away from home. Except that the people looking after the kids for the night (mostly 16-17 yo teens) didn't mention that it was supposed to be a horror night, and my sister (probably the youngest of the group) was forbidden to come home or call her parents, both the night and the following day.
Of course she came back traumatized (considering that she's easily scared too) and began having full blown panic attacks, crying and whatnot. When we asked the people who ran the camp for an explanation, they said nothing was wrong with her, and that's why they called no one to pick her up, thus making it harder to reconstruct what happened to us and straight up lying, but this is a whole other story.
It has been two weeks for now and although she's gotten better, my sister still needs someone looking after her 24/7 or will start to get scared and risk having panic attacks, especially at night. This situation is extremely draining to everyone, but I'm constantly asked to babysit, a lot of the time interrupting whatever I have to do to look after her, or make the activities I was doing kid friendly (as a metalhead this means "no scary music" or if I'm playing games or watching something, it must be suitable for her). This is especially hard on me since for practical reasons I'm forced to share my room with her, and she will often hang around me, and it's not excluded that she may ask me to leave the room so that she can play on her own.
On top of this, my grandfather (my mom's stepdad) is currently in the hospital for heart surgery, which preoccupies my mother further and will take it out on everyone passive-aggresively since she's a really anxious person on her own, let alone in this situation.
I'm reaching a breaking point where I'm struggling to keep it together and not to lash out at everyone, meaning that I get nervous or snappy when tired and will need a lot of alone time since I can't get any during the day (I've been recently diagnosed as autistic, and only now acknowledging my own needs and not just "pushing through" them), to the point my mom is starting to blame the T I take because of my transition for my bad mood or straight up scolding me because I'm "exaggerating" or "not doing enough for the family".
I don't blame her but her behaviour is objectively making things worse to me, but anytime I tried to tell her about my feelings in the past she's been belittling them or storming out of the room without listening to me.
I'm considering going away for a couple of days, but I'm afraid that my absence may actually worsen the situation because I'm the only one in the house who can afford to and is actively putting work/studying to the side to make room for my family's needs, and without the extra help my mom gets the whole thing could become unsustainable for everyone, not just for me.
TLDR: WIBTA if I left my mom dealing with my 8 yo sister's trauma to prioritize my own mental health and my studies?
What are these acronyms?
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I've been feeling inclined to vent about the general concept of "substance use" and "dependency" recently for no particular reason, and it's probably just my own brain finally processing some of the things that happened to me in The Bad Times but what the hell lets go with it.
I was pretty much straight edge until my mid 20s, no alcohol, cigarettes, weed, nothing. Then I got into a series of abusive relationships, nearly died of Mystery Diseases, and a pandemic happened right after. My life went from barely getting by in the world to bouncing between constant crises overnight. I was in therapy and had been for years, I had self care tools and was using them. I was medicated for all of my diagnosed mental health needs (ADHD wasn't on the record yet, so was still unmanaged, but I was doing my best behaviorally to keep on top of shit, obviously that stopped working fast). I worked full time plus going to school part time plus working part time at my internship for a grand total of about 90 hrs per week of work/school related obligations. I lived with several other people who I worked to support financially and who I needed to also support emotionally, and I still managed to run my household for the most part with minimal support except from wifey who was also working about 60-70 hour weeks at her own job to help us make ends meet and was only barely medicated and managed herself. I genuinely don't know when I slept or rested.
The first thing I tried was weed. I used edibles to sleep without nightmares or the anxieties that would keep me up for the rare few hours I had to rest. It also helped with the constant pain I was in. I would get high as fuck on a weed brownie or a pre roll on the one day off I had each month so I didn't have to think or feel or exist because it was the only way I could find to genuinely relax anymore without worrying about the growing mountain of Life Responsibilities that I could never catch up on. Life eased a bit, and I kept doing that.
One day, I had a rare night off, and wifey was going to go out to a club with some friends. I hadn't been anywhere fun in years. I hadn't had time or money or energy. I was desperate to see people and relax and maybe sance a little. A pandemic was on, and the local clubs were having discounts like mad. We went and got shitfaced on cocktails that cost less than lunch at a diner for a round and I made out with a cute girl and I came home laughing for the first time in years. From then on, we would keep a cheap six pack of something in the fridge and every once in a while I would down 2-3 and get fucked up for a bit between that and the weed. Life felt a bit easier and I kept going.
But behind the scenes the cracks kept forming. It wasn't the substances that were causing them. And they weren't even what was making it worse. But they were letting me pretend those cracks weren't there. Letting me run from a reality I knew I couldn't fix. By the time I realized how bad things had gotten, how deep into the pit I was, I was living in a tent in the woods, cooking my dinners on a campfire with my family, throwing back weed and cheap booze like my life depended on it because god what the fuck else do you have when a creek and a rainstorm are the closest you get to a shower and your bed is a pile of blankets in a military surplus tent with all the warm bodies piled together so you don't fucking freeze at night?
I was still working full time though, and for those hours, I had to be sober. No if ands or buts about it. And I was okay with that line, even if it left me riddled with anxiety and trauma and stress 16 hours a day while I worked my doubles in the ER and came home to try and scrub the COVID off in the creek before I went back to the tent. And then a coworker asked me if I wanted to join her on a cigarette break. I did. I desperately wanted to feel normal. To chitchat and talk about nothing important, and feel the breeze on my face. So I bummed a cigarette and smoked with her. That one cigarette became 3 a day. Then 6. Then, a whole pack. A nervous habit of sucking on a cigarette or a vape whenever I needed to fidget or relax while still being sober. It's been 3 years now and I've tried to quit half a dozen times but here I am in my fucking home office pulling on a cigarette like it's my last hope of comfort.
I don't drink anymore though. My body won't let me. Blah blah allergic reactions blah blah. Fine. I kept trying for a while, allergies be damned. But it stopped being worth it. Sometimes the cigarettes aren't worth it either. I choke on every inhale and my body dry heaves like it knows I'm putting in something it doesn't want. On those days I don't smoke. I don't think there have been many days I've gone without weed. I honestly don't know what to do with myself on the days I abstain. Like I do? I can cope. I just. I'm still so tired.
The part of me that broke all those years ago and said fuck it, lets see what drugs do, is still recovering. It's still resting and healing. Some days are better than others. Some days it does fine and it says "lets fuckin rawdog the day my mans" and I do, and it's great. Other times it's so small and frail that I know if I tried I might break it again, and I just can't risk that.
I've been told before that this is dependency. Maybe even misuse. I've been told by others that this is the point. If it's helping, then let it. I don't know what the answer is. Some days I resent not being the person I was before I started using weed and cigarettes to get through the day. I've tried other things too, and they've never done much for me, so I never went back. Does that mean that I'm not "dependent" I'm "self-medicating"? Is that a good or a bad thing? Does it fucking matter? I honestly don't know. I wish it didn't feel like it mattered. I wish that I could go through my days and feel like I had more of a choice. I actually miss being able to get high lol. Like weed hasn't given me an actual high in years, it just. Helps me get through things a little better. But how much am I really willing to keep living that way? How much of my life do I *want* impacted by whether or not I can smoke or have some thc? Some days it's fine. Some days I'm bothered by it.
The thing that gets me every time though is how at every single point when I made the choice to pick up a new "substance" it was because I was desperate, overwhelmed, and completely without alternatives. I knew full goddamn well every time what I was doing. I had years of both anti-drug war knowledge and addiction/recovery knowledge in my brain and I understood that I was at my most vulnerable, I was my most at risk. That making this choice could be fine or could be life changing or could be somewhere in between and it was worth being self aware as I did it. But I just. I was so tired. I was so broken down. I just needed to rest. I needed to feel something other than the stress and fear for a while. And no one was offering me anything else that made a dent. Trust me. I tried.
I don't say this to suggest to people that Drugs Are The Answer. I genuinely don't think they are. I still wish every day I had never picked up that first cigarette. I still wish that I felt well enough to live my life without needing help to rest and recover. But I can't blame anyone who makes the choices I did. I can't doubt the feelings of need and desperation that often drive us to interact with our support tools the way we do. I've also found over the years, that it's not just "substances" that people will turn to for help with avoidance the way I did. Avoidance is so very very human, and the way I skirted around acknowledging how beyond my capacity for repair my life was getting (even while actively working to resolve those things) had more to do with mh inability to acknowledge that I was failing people I loved than what tool I was using to avoid the acknowledgement. It could just as easily have been my work, or video games, or shopping, or gardening, or anything else in the world that allowed me to isolate myself in a world that felt smaller and simpler for a while so I could take a break from problem solving the way the rest of my world was steadily crumbling around me. I chose weed, alcohol and nicotine. Other people will make other choices. But maybe we all sometimes run away from problems we realize we can't solve until one day we're backed into a corner we can't run from. Maybe that's just human. Maybe the drugs just made me feel less like shit while I ran. And maybe that's part of how I survived to make things right for myself.
I really don't know. I can't know.
What I do know is that I left the relationship that was destroying my life. I'm safe now, and wifey and I are doing much better now that our communication isn't being actively sabotaged. I'm doing much better now healthwise that the food in my home is consistently safe to eat for me and I'm not being left without any food at all on a semi-regular basis. I *am* still the primary breadwinner of the household, but it no longer feels as though I have to run the household itself on top of that, and I *am* consistently supported (encouraged even) to rest when needed, even if that is still hard for me to do. I've stopped drinking, and that does feel better. I spend less time and energy seeking substances and I *do* smoke fewer cigarettes less often even if I do still smoke sometimes. I feel happier and more stable than I think I ever have. My life is. Mostly working? And pretty good now. The cracks have been able to heal in ways that are, if not structurally sound, at least working up to it. I am fragile, but making progress. Does that mean I made the right choices? The wrong ones? Will I ever know?
I dunno comrade. But. We all do what we can, what we must, and what we can figure out. Maybe judgement and shame about all that just doesn't help.
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BABY JOHN HEADCANONS
not like baby baby but like he's MY baby yk? my babygirl as a baby before he was babygirl when he was a little baby boy
• When the gang gets John - cuz let's be real, they get him the way one gets a puppy or a case of smallpox - he's fresh off that attempted hanging. It was more of a lynching than anything, an impromptu eye-for-an-eye killing after John shot a feller with his own god damned gun. What made a twelve year old mad enough, scared enough to kill, and how'd he manage to grab the guys gun? Kid won't say
• kid won't say much of anything, really. The gang had a disgraced doctor running with them at the time, a guy so hooked on his own cures and tinctures you wouldn't trust him to diagnose a hole in the head, and he said the noose had crushed John's larynx. Sure, the boy can still talk, but it ain't ever gonna sound the same and for the first lil while it'll be hard as hell, but he should be able to. So why don't he?
Doc says maybe the lynching, lack of oxygen to the brain made him go daft cuz just look at him, ain't a thought behind those eyes.
But Dutch, he has faith, he knows.
I think just the fear and trauma after the incident sent John to a pretty rough place and he went nonverbal for a space of six or nine months. Not right after, maybe, but in the following days and weeks - enough they got a name out of him, an age (he said 12 but he's got the stature of an eight year old, not nearly enough meat on his bones), a little bit of a story. "Where's your daddy, boy?" Dead. "And yer mama?" Dead.
• John was always told his ma was a lady of the night, knocked up on accident and dead in childbirth. He came out with the cord around his neck and his ma bled out before they could even untangle him.
There'd been a picture, though he'd never had the courage to ask his father about it, drunk and angry as he was. A young woman with round features and hooded eyes, long dark hair parted in the center and braided, his father's hand resting gently on her shoulder, both posed like a portrait.
(john is métis/mixed indigenous and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead fuckin hands)
• in the winter john is so small and skinny he gets too cold at night and Arthur begrudgingly is like "FINE you can share with me" and so they share a bed until John is like 16 fjjfbfbf way too old to be sharing but imho John is a bit of a late bloomer and sort of, not a mamas boy but just kind of a baby yk?? Arthur is like "dontcha think it's time you got your own tent or something?" and John's like "No." and just walks away and Arthur is like "AT LEAST YER OWN COT??"
• john is reptilian in his search for heat he just wants to be warm ever since they got him he's crawled into Arthur's jacket whatever chance he gets
• during that first year especially, John was clingy and strange.... after a particularly terrible bathing experience (Susan is great but she's fastidious about personal hygiene and if water goes above John's navel he starts to freak) Arthur is just posted up by the fire with John sat between his knees, tucked into his jacket as they sit in silence mutually brooding... and John reaches up to rub the stubble on Arthur's jawline as a way of like, stimming n self soothing and Arthur would stop him cuz it's weird but he feels those boney little shoulders loosen and John says something, and he never says Anything so Arthur knows it's a big deal... so he just let's John keep doing it after that
• Susan is highly against taking in a child when they first bring John around - maybe because she thinks the main childcare duties will fall to her, or because she doesn't trust the gang to be a safe place for a kid - and this manifests as a little bit of short-temperedness towards him. it's not unusual, she's kind of a Bitch on the best days, but she's cold towards him at first... and I don't think anything Happens, per sé, no big event, just over time she sees he's a damaged boy in need of mothering and that's a part of herself she tried to kill a long time ago... but he brings it out of her. She nags him to cut his hair but brushes it out for him anyway; she'll share an apple with John if no one's looking, peeling it and quartering it and sneaking him a piece. She'll complain about the food - "God this stew is terrible what's in it? Rat meat? Here John, you finish it" - because sometimes good food is scarce and he's a growing boy and she sees his hungry frame, remembers how he used to steal and hoard food in the early days. They almost always have enough but she wants him to have more than enough. She reads to him, and then when he's learned to she gets him to read to her. A damp cloth on the forehead when he's laid low with fever, maybe a soft lullaby if she thinks no one's around...
• at age 12 John has a smoking habit. I don't know if this is unusual for the era or not and I dont know what the gang thinks of it but the kid loves his tobacco
• in fact John rolls his own cigarettes and, when he's young, that's primarily how he earns his keep - those tiny little kid's hands did a great job and he ends up getting the chore foisted on to him from everyone fndbbdf ( prerolled cigarettes had been invented only 7 years prior)
• at agw john also unfortunately loves to drink. I don't know if this was unusual for the era but I'm sure Hosea and Susan and even Dutch had something to say about it
and I think that's all I got in my head for now fellers.... thanks for reading mister....
#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#red dead redemption#john marston#OMFG I just saw my old tag#john marstons adult braces#uGH thats such a good HC too#love himmmmb#rdr2 headcanons#he's just a lil squinkum he's just a lil guy!!!!#and Arthur and him have a super close relationship even if they argue often#its not til after john leaves that they majorly fall out and lose the close relationship they have#arthur being cock blocked because his little brother insists on sharing a bed until hes fuckin 20 years old#they just go into the woods to jerk off its fine
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For the 'not so nice asks'. Betrayal, mask, mistake and secret. I wanna ask this for Tobias, but he's not an OC. Vivian would be my OC choice, I will leave it up to you. :)
Hey there! Let's be clear on one thing... I am ALWAYS willing to talk to about the Carricks. I will talk about them all day, every day! lol So thank you, and I'll answer for both! From this list
Warning - the first one is LLOONNGG lol
betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?
Tobias: In many ways, he was betrayed by people he should have been able to trust from the very start. Tobias grew up straddling two contrasting worlds in the same city. On one hand, there were the mansions, prep schools, and perfect landscapes (at least to the public eye) of his white father's family's rich and powerful family. On the other, there were the modest homes, Sunday church services, regular struggles, and warm love where his black mother was raised. Save for a couple of relatives, his father's family never fully accepted Vivian or her two sons. He was too young to understand all the dynamics at play, but Tobias knew he wasn't wanted by many and was despised by others who were supposed to be his home base, the place where he found sanctuary.
On the other hand, he lived with unconditional love and acceptance with the Johnsons. He was happy there, despite their world not having the comforts and privileges of his father's. His fondest memories of childhood were summers spent at his grandparents; most of his cousins were there as well. They'd play ball outside until the streetlights came on, then sit in the yard with the old folks until it was time for bed. Sunday meant attending the church where his great-grandfather had been the pastor and prominent community leader (also where Tobias sang in the children's choir.) With rare exceptions, his father's family betrayed all family was supposed to be from the start - his mother's family was where he found his home. Until...
When the cousins approached their teens, it was harder to mesh his worlds together. Tobias had wealth and privilege his other cousins couldn't imagine; he was attending school with the children of world leaders, he wanted for nothing - whereas many of his maternal cousins - his best friends - attended inner-city public schools dealing with the myriad of problems that came with them. As the close-knit group approached adolescence, there was resentment and division. Eventually, many of his closest cousins essentially ghosted Tobias. It hurt like hell and left him feeling he had no home base.
When it came time to attend college, Tobias decided to attend Howard University, an HBCU (Historically Black Colleges & Universities). His father was not happy with his choice, mostly because he wanted his son to attend an Ivy League university because he knew the value of having an Ivy degree. But Mr. Carrick didn't approach it the best way, and Tobias felt it was just his father pushing him into the "white" world and denying him the opportunity to connect with his own identity. Tobias saw this as a major betrayal, and he and his father were estranged for years, only making tentative peace when his father was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. In denial, Tobias did not make as much of an effort as he should have; when he died sooner than expected, it impacted Tobias deeply.
(I told you it was long - but this is my baby! lol)
As to Tobias betraying someone - in canon - he betrayed Ethan during med school by attempting to sabotage his placement at Edenbrook. Tobias felt terrible about it - but their competition had turned toxic (on both men's parts), and he was reading from his father's death. But he held on to that for over a decade, partly due to shame.
Vivian: (I'll try to be shorter! lol) Vivian met her future husband Charles while the two were attending George Washington University - it was true love, and they knew it from the start. They knew they'd face resistance to their relationship, but she never expected to receive it from her parents, and it hurt her terribly. She understood their reasoning; they were afraid for their daughter, but young and in love, Vivian didn't want to hear it. She and Charles split up for some time, but in the end, they knew their love was true, and they eloped. The only person she had told was her best friend since childhood. Worried about Vivian, she told her parents after she and Charles had left, and Vivian was crushed by her betrayal. She forgave, but it took a long time.
Vivian is a woman of her word, so betrayal isn't something she does. However, sometimes we do things and don't realize we are. The thing she feels the most guilt over is not being there for her children as much as she feels she should have been when they were little. Part of that was because she and Charles were so determined to be successful and thrive in the DC social scene, especially since his family disowned him, and Vivian felt she needed to use her position to help elevate others. While that was noble, it did take time away from Tobias & Jordan, the two people who mattered most to her in the world. In later years, she understood how that hurt them, and she's done all she can to make it up to them.
mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?
Tobias: Not now, but he did. The sarcastic, charming playboy life he led was authentic to a degree. He was handsome, grew up with wealth most of us would never know, and he had a bit of a God complex, no doubt. But a lot of the bravado was an act. His father's death impacted him in the worst way, and he ended up cutting himself off from all but a few of the people who were closest to him in the world. On one hand, he thought he was God's gift; on the other, he felt unworthy. It was better to lead a hedonistic life without depth to protect himself and, to a degree, others.
Age and maturity play a part in his changing; part of it is falling in love for the first time (and not knowing what the f*ck to do with that!), part was Casey's near death, which took place after she dumped him and was not speaking to him. All of this made him realize, he wanted more and he needed to get his life together.
Vivian: With her family and friends? No. Never. She is as authentic as they come - sometimes to a fault. The only time she wears a mask (so to speak) is when she's rubbing elbows with the power brokers of the world. Vivian is quite skilled at making power brokers part with their cash to help her passion projects - mostly educational programs for underprivileged youth. She has worked hard to improve arts and science education and create programs that expose children to careers they wouldn't have known otherwise.
mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?
Tobias: His biggest was not reconciling fully with his father before he passed away (more on that above). His second biggest mistake was stealing Stefanie (Casey's patient) from Edenbrook - this cost him his relationship with Casey and the fallout that took place after led to the chemical attack in Book 2. Logically, he knew that wasn't his fault, but deep down, he felt he started that chain reaction.
The worst part of the mistake with his father - there is nothing that he could do to fix it, Charles is gone. It also led to a huge rift between Tobias and his brother, Jordan, that took years to repair. He started going to therapy after the chemical attack, and that helped him begin to make peace. However, having a child of his own both hurt and healed Tobias in many ways. He never fully moves on, he will die that regret, but he does find some peace.
As to the issue with Stephanie, his healing was becoming a better person, living to his full potential, and, later, receiving forgiveness from Casey and building a life together.
Vivian: It was not spending enough time with her children when they were younger (see the first question above). She does make peace with it and reconciles by being the best mom and grandmom she can possibly be. She has a wonderful relationship with both of her sons as adults.
secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?
Tobias and Vivian: Lumping this because it's kind of the same for both of them. The answer is nothing. While both of them have had things they're not proud of in their lives (who doesn't?), they're very forthcoming and "real." They'll admit their mistakes and learn from them. They're happy to share their experiences if they think it will help others. So no skeletons they're terrified of unearthing.
Thanks so much, and bless you if you read this all! LOL
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Today was Rough
(Pet health, tentatively okay)
Had to take my 13yo dog to the emergency vet today because he would not eat, was lethargic, and had tremors (all the “something is very wrong” signs”). Ended up waiting there for 9 hours because several critical patients came in after us (my dog’s symptoms were Scary but the vet considered him stable).
Tentatively diagnosed with pneumonia, which is one of the less scary things the vet could have said.
Don’t want to jinx it.
We were able to bring him home and he even ate some food!!
I’m exhausted. I feel like I spent the day standing on that beach that makes you old. I love this dog a lot
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Scars - Chapter 7
Oh man, it's been forever.... I promise I'm actually done with this story mostly I was just off tumblr haha
Chapter 7 - Valdez, Stop Stealing My Fire
Leo felt his ears ring when the hammer clanged down onto the piece of metal in front of him.
He cursed when a spark from the metal fell on the exposed skin of his arm. Pain shot up his arm, but only faintly. Leo turned back to his creation, a mini metal centaur that shot arrows.
It was supposed to be for the flies, but apparently Leo looked appetizing enough. When he clicked the button for it to turn on, it immediately betrayed him and started firing arrows everywhere, at godspeed. It fired its minuscule little arrows everywhere, and Leo hit the deck, but not without getting shot with at least 10 of those god-darned needles.
Leo tentatively stuck out his hand from under the table and tried to navigate uncharted territory. After getting stuck with about 10,000 arrows, he switched the mini-centaur off.
He stood up, letting out a huff, and started picking needle-like arrows out of his skin when he heard a familiar crackling noise. He whimpered quietly and clenched his teeth.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut as a cold feeling of dread washed over him, and forbade himself from turning around and facing the fireplace. But of course, Leo’s self-restraint showed absolutely no boundaries, and he turned around, letting his eyes snap open.
Miraculously, one of the arrows had struck the on-button for the fireplace spot on and had created a small flame in the little groove.
But Leo didn’t care for the near-impossible statistics of turning on this fatal fire. No, this itty bitty flame had Leo under a trance, and he inched closer and closer to the fireplace, reaching his hand out hesitantly.
The rational side of his brain was screaming at him to stop and take control of his body, but the searing fire was drowning the warnings out.
Just a little more. Leo’s fingers barely grazed the licking flame.
So close.
~~~~~~~~~~
Leonidas Valdez was diagnosed as a pyromaniac.
It was not something he went around telling people proudly. And it all started when Leo was 6.
His best friend, Piper Mclean, had just left after one of their play-dates. His mother had waited patiently for Piper to leave, and then seemed really anxious to get what she was about to do, over with.
She sat him down and lectured him about staying true to oneself, and she told him that she loved him.
Leo returned the sentiment with confusion. Esperanza Valdez was never so… jumpy. It was only later that Leo understood why.
They were just locking up their small garage, and it was really late because they were held back by an urgent customer. Leo and his mother were just laughing and having fun when they heard a crash from the storage room of the garage.
Esperanza got a distant look in her eyes, and ushered Leo outside, giving him a flashlight and telling him to wait for her.
And so he waited. And waited. And waited.
After half an hour or so, Leo started to grow concerned, and he tried to unlock the door to the garage, but it was locked. He pulled so hard that he fell onto his butt when he let go of the handle. Starting to panic, Leo tapped out a message in Morse code, at the same time yelling, asking if she was okay.
“She can’t hear you.” a drifting voice said, almost like it was asleep, “She can’t hear anything.”
Leo gasped and whirled around, facing a woman with earthy brown hair and sleepy green eyes. But she looked evil. With her black clothes and dark purple lipstick. She extended her hand towards Leo.
He shriveled away from her, and she gave him a tired grin. Stumbling back, Leo bumped into a wall and found a lighter in a hole in the wall. Not even bothering to wonder where it came from, he grabbed it and lighted it, pointing it threateningly to the woman.
“D-don’t come any clo-closer!” he said, voice trembling, and flinched back when the woman took another step at him.
“You need not worry, young boy,” she drawled, “I won’t be doing anything to you. Yet. For it's not your time.”
Then she grinned wickedly, “It is, however, time enough for your traitor of a mother!”
Leo saw the blow coming but was helpless to stop it. It wasn’t even the lady, but an unknown person connecting their first with the side of Leo’s head. He lost consciousness instantly.
When he woke, there were sirens all around him. The woman, gone. The mysterious helper, gone. The garage, gone.
The policeman with the gruff voice informed him that the garage was burned down, with his mother still inside. What hit Leo when he was down was what they said after:
“And you did it.”
They had no filter. They didn’t bother to sugarcoat a story for a 6-year-old and instead told him that he killed his own mother.
Leo was sent to a foster home, for none of his so-called “family” wanted anything to do with a killer. And he ran away. Many, many times he ran, but they always found him and brought him to a new couple who didn’t want a psychotic Latino boy. It was the same for two long years.
Then his father appeared. Out of nowhere, apparently.
Leo was a bit wary, Hephaestus Valdez was never there for the first eight years of his only son’s life. Leo gave him the cold shoulder for the first couple months, but then realized that he should be grateful that his father even wanted him.
They’ve coexisted peacefully since then, and it was nice for Leo to have an actual parental figure in his life. As a plus, it was his real dad, not some rando with sickly sweet smiles and their stupid candy boxes.
The only problem: his father worked in a forge.
A forge meant fire. And when Leo was first shown fire since the incident, he was weirdly attracted to it. There was no explanation, he just wanted to feel the element that killed his mother.
Hephaestus looked away for one second, and that was when Leo struck. After getting rushed to the hospital, the doctor looked at him with pity and told him and his father that he was a pyromaniac.
Since then, Hephaestus tried his hardest to keep Leo away from fire, but there were always ways. Leo had burn marks all across his arms, ranging from small to severe, running up his arm and onto his shoulder. So now he had a legitimate excuse for not changing into short-sleeved P.E. clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hephaestus walked into the room, grumbling about teenage boys being too loud for their own good, and was about to ask what the heck had happened when he soaked in the scene before him.
The blood drained from his face, and he rushed forward, grabbing Leo’s arm and furiously patted out the fire before it could get any worse.
Leo’s distant eyes cleared, surveyed his arm, and said: “Oh.”
His father rolled his eyes, and spoke in a gruff voice, “C’mon son, it's about time we paid another visit to the doctor.”
Leo bobbed his head in agreement, and they made their way to the hospital for the third time that week. He was getting better, it was usually five times a week.
When they got to the front desk, the clerk looked up for a blink of a second, and said: “Doctor Solace is free right now, go to room E-56 please.”
Yeah, yeah, the desk clerk at the hospital knowing him definitely doesn't earn Leo any brownie points, but it is what it is. They walked down the sterile smelling, boring white hall to their designated room, and went in.
Doctor Apollo Solace was sitting at the desk, eating an apple, and jerked out of the seat when they walked in. You know what they say: An apple a day keeps the doctor healthy. Wait, that’s not it… Leo shook his head. Darn ADHD.
Apollo clicked off his computer screen hastily, and said, “I definitely was not playing Candy Crush. What can I do for you, Hephy?”
Hephaestus snorted, “You play Candy Crush? Don’t call me Hephy. Also, we're here for Leo. Again.”
Apollo’s blue eyes darkened, “I thought I told you to stay away from fire, Leo.”
Leo hopped onto the hospital bed, and shrugged, “I can’t exactly avoid an element of the world forever, you know.”
“I know that, but you could at least try to avoid it for a week at a time.”
This time, it was Hephaestus who responded: “If you can’t remember, Apollo, we work in a forge.”
Apollo waved him away as he got to work with ointments to treat Leo’s burns. The fact that Hephaestus and Apollo both were pretty good friends personally, it meant free check ups whenever they wanted -needed- it.
“Leo, your soulmate ain’t gonna be happy when she or he realizes that you flirt with fire.” Apollo chuckled, and Leo winced.
“Actually… I don’t have a soulmate.”
And it was true, he didn’t have a soulmate tattoo. And whenever his friends would look at him with sympathy in their eyes, Leo would joke it off and pretend he didn’t care. But he did care.
All he ever wanted is to have someone to love.
Someone who would love him.
~~~
It's good to be back!
-Blossom ;)
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rejoice your truth - G - 2k
TK & Nancy - Actual siblings, queer themes, pride parades, canon queer besties, positive queer experiences, loving trolling for @911prideweek prompt one: friends and family
TK and Nancy volunteer to staff a medic tent for the Austin Pride Parade and share some of their experiences through loving trolling.
Read on AO3
TK swings his legs from his position sitting at the end of the gurney. It’s been a slow start to the morning, which is a good thing. The pop-up tent set up just back from the corner of Congress and 6th Street is shading them from the worst of the August sun. The parade already started at the other end of Congress and it’ll be awhile before the first float hits them here. Right now, there’s just the crowd that’s been gathering for the last few hours as they’ve set up.
It’ll get busy later though, TK knows, between people who started drinking far too early and the heat index gearing up for highs around 115°F today. Dehydration and minor injuries are usually the extent of diagnoses for parade treatment. In Manhattan, there was a different parade nearly every weekend day in the spring through fall, and everyone pitched in.
They’ve set up the stations in the tent. Nancy’s finishing up the last hydration station, her neat twin braids mirroring each other down her back. His brain keeps tripping back to a few months ago when Mateo had unceremoniously announced that he and Nancy were ‘knockin boots.’
“How did I not realize you were queer?” TK asks the question that’s been circling since she dropped the tidbit about exes in six-inch heels.
“Cause you’ve got shitty ‘dar?” Nancy quips from where she’s putting water bottles into a tub of ice, not even looking up.
“No, I’m serious though. We’ve been partners forever,” TK says, rolling his eyes behind her back.
“18 months,” Nancy replies.
“And you never said anything. Carlos knew,” TK reminds her, gesturing with his hand towards the street.
Nancy shifts back on her heels and turns to look at him. She’s got a bi flag painted under one eye and a pan flag under the other. “Well, one, Carlos has better ‘dar,” she says with a smirk.
TK rolls his eyes because he knows very well she’s trying to get a rise out of him. “And two, Carlos and I knew each other long before you ever came to Austin, so calm down. I figured he would have said something. And three, you never asked.”
TK remembers Paul’s rule of threes: for every one person you’re out to, you need to assume that they’ve told at least three other people. He frowns, saying, “Carlos isn’t like that. You know that.”
“I do. Again, dude, point three, you never asked. You just assumed.”
Continue on AO3
#911 lone star fic#911 lone star#tnt paramedic squad#tk strand#nancy gillian#tk & nancy#actual siblings#i love them so much#queer besties#tk strand fic#nancy gillian fic#tarlos mentioned#911prideweek#doublel27 writes
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Hershell Hcs
Heya decided to do some more Hcs now for Hershell. I kinda went overboard with this one so sorry about that one. He's just one of my favorites
Orphaned at a very young age, he was far too young to remember his parent's faces or their reasons to leave him behind.
Since he wasn't given a finalized name by anyone, really, or truthfully one one he truly enjoyed going by, he'd decided to name himself
^ First name was because of the meaning; Hershell - deer, his favorite animals and being an enjoyer of nature. And then the last, Panzer, because it was a alias meaning tanks, that as a child he played with a little, old toy tank growing up
^ Embarrassingly enough he misspelled his first name but never felt the strong urge to really change it again and grew to love it in the end
Grew up in an orphanage for most of his life until eventually he grew out of the system at eighteen. Now during that time, he was in and out of foster homes as well.
Has a natural knack for taking care of children as it came easy for him, always having a gentle soft spot for them and being very tentative
Due to this troubled and very rocky upbringing, Hershell wasn't an easy child to handle with the tendency to lash out on any authoritative figure
In order to support himself since he barely got any support he began to work under the table for some extra cash as a young fighter/boxer by underground, illegal fight clubs
^ Soon he became an impressive fighter who was infamously known to play underhanded, dirty tricks in order to win and always be on top
^ This is how he met his best friend, Hj Canterbury where they first met in the ring and he gave the other man a nasty bloody nose. It started to grow from there as he felt guilty and became very careful and protective over his friend
Undiagnosed Adhd throughout his early childhood to adulthood where he couldn't handle staying in one place for too long while fidgeting, struggled to remember things for long periods of time, temper flares and so on
^ He wasn't properly diagnosed and treated with such until a few years after joining the military, in his early to mid twenties
^ Before becoming a parent and quitting/taking his Adhd medication, he used to smoke weed on a daily basis in order to relax. But for him sometimes it didn't always do the trick
Became a single parent on his own when he was 22-23yo after his ex just got up and left him and their son
Throughout the years he had struggled to commit to long term, serious relationships so often he was either alone or did simple short-lived flings on the side
To his shameful embarrassment yet embraced it later on, Hershell prematurely grayed in his late twenties, used to dye it. It was mostly caused by stress and genetics
A highly experienced Earthbender who self taught at a young age, he was around 15yo when he realized his natural power and ability. Has the most experienced to least in; Earth, metal, sand and lava.
^ His son, Johnny however didn't inherit this ability unfortunately for unknown reasons. Maybe it was genetics that passed a generation, bad luck or something else?
Works out daily, almost every day maybe 4-5 days of the full week if possible and is naturally built like an absolute unit; someone you should never mess with
Also can be good at multitasking, a man of many hobbies and talents? In particular, with more hands-on jobs.
#Ask Away#Thsc Hcs#Henry Stickmin Hcs#Hershell Panzer#Thsc Hershell#Thsc Hershell Panzer#Henry Stickmin Collection#The Henry Stickmin Collection#Thsc Au#Henry Stickmin Fandom#Thsc Fandom
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thoughts on nolan patrick induced brainrot
Oh so many thoughts. All the thoughts. Too many thoughts.
Here’s the thing with Nolan, okay? His story so far has always been fairly synonymous with tragedy. You can argue with that statement if you want, but so much of his career so far just points in the direction of a tragedy, at least in my eyes.
Let me first start this off by telling you that Nolan Patrick can be and has been described by three characteristics: injury prone, second overall, and draft bust. They’re not his only characteristics, but they are the ones used most frequently to talk about him since 2017.
(by the way. this is 2000 words long. so. open with caution?)
Injury Prone – Juniors Version
In his first season after being drafted by the Wheat Kings in the 2013 WHL Draft, he was called up because the Wheat Kings had a lot of their own injuries but he wasn’t able to play during that call up because he had a shoulder injury. In his rookie year the following season, he missed a dozen games with an upper body injury. At the end of his 2015-16 season he revealed that he was suffering a sports hernia he had been playing through. In 2016-17, his draft season, Nolan only played a few games before the Wheat Kings announced that he wasn’t fully healed from the sports hernia and he was out for most of the season (he ended up playing 33 games that season) and missed playing in World Juniors.
Then, after he was drafted, he missed his first development camp with the Flyers because he was recovering from a surgery he had gotten done before the draft.
Despite all the injuries haunting him, he still was a top rated prospect and, fun fact, was actually rated higher than Nico.
Unfortunately, however, the injuries didn’t stop following him just because he switched from the WHL to the NHL.
Injury Prone – NHL Version
He was actually fairly healthy for his first two seasons in Philly. He missed some games in his rookie season after a rough hit, but those were the only games he missed. Again, in his sophomore season he missed a few games but there was nothing super drastic. And then the 2019 offseason came around.
Some time before the 2019-20 season Nolan was officially diagnosed with chronic migraines and he ended up missing the entire season. He might have made a return late in the season, but COVID ended the season early, so we’ll never know. He did play when the 2020-21 season started up but he didn’t perform very well (which isn’t entirely shocking considering he was coming back after a year and a half (?) of not playing NHL hockey and he himself admitted to taking his return a bit more tentatively because he was worried about his migraines).
Then, before the 2021-22 season started Nolan hired a new agent and got himself traded to Vegas (with a pit stop in Nashville for all of five minutes or whatever). He got injured a few games into that season, played a total of 25 games, and hasn’t played a game since the end of that season. Presumably that fact has something to do with injury or recovery but don’t quote me on that.
The point is that while Nolan didn’t deal with the constant yoyoing of injured-healthy-injured-healthy that he was dealing with while in juniors, what he was dealing with after coming into the NHL is ultimately a lot more serious and will have a much larger impact on the future of his career.
Second Overall – The 2017 Entry Draft
I know we were just talking about the NHL but we actually have to drop back to the 2017 Draft and the time just before the draft because this is obviously the keypoint for the ‘second overall’ characteristic.
So, I mentioned that prior to the draft, Nolan was technically rated higher than Nico, which is true. Granted, Nico was rated the second top prospect, so not that much higher, but still. What the important takeaway from this is that the 2017 Draft was genuinely a toss-up between Nico and Nolan. Nico going first generally came down to what the Devils were looking for from their selection (and maybe Nolan’s injury history played a part in the Devils picking Nico instead but I can’t be certain).
Some drafts are more-or-less a guarantee for which prospect is going first (see: 2015, 2016, the upcoming 2023) but 2017 was very much a ??? until the lottery when people could start making speculations about who would most benefit the Devils’ needs.
Anyway, the point is that Nolan was the highest rated prospect going into the draft.
For a solid while before the draft Nolan was considered THE top pick. But then Halifax brought this kid over from Switzerland and he tore up the QMJHL and all of a sudden there was another prospect breathing down Nolan’s neck when it came to FOA consideration.
Ultimately, as we all know now, Nico ended up going FOA and Nolan went SOA to the Flyers.
Obviously going SOA isn’t a tragedy in and of itself but you do have to consider the “what could have been?” if Nolan had gone FOA or if Nico had never come over from Switzerland.
But, to be honest, I’m a huge fan of the general tragedy that haunts SOAs so maybe I’m just focusing way too hard on the SOA part of his story. The reality is that him going second is only a minor blip in the tragedy that is the Nolan Patrick narrative. Him going SOA is just a stepping stone toward the ‘draft bust’ part of his tragedy.
Draft Bust
The facts: Nolan went SOA. He has played 222 games. He has scored 32 goals. He has 77 points. He is prone to injury. He has missed two seasons and is not a guarantee to ever come back.
The other facts: there are some incredible players who are having incredible careers who were selected after Nolan. Just some of those players are Miro Heiskanen, 3rd, Cale Makar, 4th, Elias Pettersson, 5th, Nick Suzuki, 13th, Jake Oettinger, 26th, Jason Robertson, 39th, Stuart Skinner, 78th. And that’s just some of the superstar names. I could’ve also mentioned guys who aren’t superstars for their teams but are almost definitely going to make a career out of being Good and Useful.
(and can we take a minute to appreciate how well the dallas stars drafted in 2017? holy shit.)
Disclaimer: I am not saying that Nolan is never going to come back and turn into a superstar or become Good and Useful. I can only work with what I have in front of me, which is what I’ve presented you with.
The tragedy of this, beyond the fact that he is, at least currently, a draft bust, is that the sheer amount of talent behind him will always be tied to his name. He is never going to be Nolan Patrick anymore and the guys behind him (especially Heiskanen, Makar, and Pettersson) are never going to be themselves. They’re all always going to have their draft order tied to their name. The only difference is that when they speak about Heiskanen or Makar or Pettersson people are going to say they should have gone higher. When they speak about Nolan, they’re going to say he should have gone lower.
I could say more probably (definitely) but I’m already at 1200 words and I did actually still want to talk about the poem even though I don’t expect ANYONE to have read this far LMAO. But on the off chance someone is here because they ALSO have super intense nolpat brain rot… hello. It’s just you and me baby.
The Poem – Frame by Frame (except for the ones I skip)
Frame Two: “it’s the same when love comes to an end” with Nolan facing the camera and the rest of the Flyers facing away, in the background.
Fairly self-explanatory I think, but sometimes OP places the text in specific locations that make my brain explode and I needed to emphasize the importance of specifically putting “when love comes to an end” over the Flyers.
Once upon a time, the Flyers were Nolan’s team and Nolan was supposed to be the Flyers’ future. Their highest draft pick since 2007. Things fell apart and the organization fell out of love with him (did they ever have enough time to fall in love with him?) and he fell out of love with the organization.
Frame Three: “or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake” over an aerial shot of Nolan over the Flyers logo.
I mean. All you have to do is change some words, right? The draft fails, people say they knew it was a mistake.
Draft bust.
Need I say more?
And the solo aerial shot… because who bears the emotional pain of being a failed top prospect? That former top prospect and no one else. He is alone in his knowledge that he wasn’t good enough and he alone must face the words people say about him in the aftermath.
Frame Six: “like being there by that summer ocean on the other side of the island while love was fading out of him” over a shot of Nolan and some other Flyers on the bench, waiting to give high fives to their teammates.
If I want to overanalyze this I could talk about how ‘the island’ is the Flyers as a team, ‘on the other side’ refers to how he felt distanced from the team or like he was never truly a part of them (because he felt like he was a disappointment?), and ‘while love was fading out of him’ could refer to the fact that Nolan very probably requested his trade out of Philly.
On the other hand, if I wanted to break my own heart, I could talk about how the person whose love was fading out of them is actually the Flyers organization and fans as a vague entity who, once full of love and hope for their first SOA in a decade, were now turning sour on the failed top prospect whose future will probably never stop being shaped like a giant question mark.
But I don’t want to do either, so let’s pretend I said nothing, okay?
Frame Eight: “the stars burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last” over a shot Nolan in a celly with the team.
I actually included the lines on Frame Seven to provide context because I, once again, just want to talk about OP’s placement of the words. Specifically the “they would never last” that sort of outlines Nolan’s figure.
If I think too hard about it I will get sad so just take a second to think about how bright a SOA must shine for a fanbase and a team and how much everyone always expects from a high draft pick and then just take a moment to appreciate the beauty and pain in OP outlining Nolan with the words “they would never last” and let’s just all agree to move on so I don’t get even more sad.
Frame Nine & Ten: “I believe Icarus was not falling as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph” over a shot of Nolan leaving the bench with TK still on it (9) & Nolan in a celly with the team.
I lumped these two frames because they’re important to go together, right? Not just to keep the full quote intact, but also because it shows that Nolan’s time in Philly wasn’t just a tragedy.
He had guys like TK, who became like a brother to him (at least from the way they portrayed their friendship to the fans) and he had his team who loved him, regardless of the expectations the organization had laid out that he was failing to meet.
I call his story a tragedy, and I genuinely think it is one, but it is probably wrong to reduce it to solely a tragedy. Maybe his time in Philly contributes to the overall tragedy of his story, but on its own? How can I reduce the love he found in Philly to only a footnote in the overarching tragedy?
#i promise i do also actually talk about the poem too. you just have to scroll a bit 😭#i just had to get all the brain rot out first#asked and answered#anonymous#sorry dude idk what happened you just brought up like. a combination of some of the things im most insane about#nolan. the tragedy that is a SOA. the 2017 draft class. ops poems.
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36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?
I end up on the fence on the 'write what you know' advice. On one hand, I do it constantly, but on the other hand, I'll go learn things so that I can write what I now know. It's that whole 'method writer' thing for me -- which is, undoubtedly, what I am, because I argue I'm more a storyteller who sometimes writes things down than a writer. Anyone who has spent significant amounts of time with me in Discord has gotten to hear headcanons and scenes and dialogue which may or may not ever be written. But I digress...
What do I know... I feel like I've lived a very blessed life in many regards because of all I've had a chance to experience. I am or have been all of the following: musician, artist, teacher, librarian, retail clerk, professor, politician, advocate, genealogical lecturer, consultant, writing coach, life coach, event coordinator/scheduler, manager, newsletter writer for a historical society. I ran my own business twice. I've worked in the public sector, private sector, and as an independent contractor. I've had many opportunities and had a chance to see things from many facets -- in theatre, for example, I've been a musician in the pit, an actor on the stage, and director behind the curtain, and a playwriter who should have been in the audience but knew the stage manager and got to hang out in the wings.
I seize opportunities - sometimes, I end up a little overwhelmed, but I (usually) overcome the obstacles and succeed. Where we came from and what we know makes us who we are. I was poor twice and middle-class twice. There's a big difference between eating ramen because it's what I could afford and eating ramen because I want to eat ramen (I'm eating ramen right now). All of those experiences start to seep into writing. When I was four years old I almost died. I spent the better part of a week in an oxygen tent. Since then, I've dealt with neurological and muscular issues that suck, but are better than the alternative. I didn't sleep, really sleep, until I was 35, when I was diagnosed with apnea. Sleeping scared me the first time I got a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. 8 hours of unawareness. Nightmares were worse -- no one should have their first true nightmare in their mid-30s. That shit was really hard to unpack. My therapist should have been paid double the going rate for that year. (I'd had some weird fever dreams prior to that -- around ten years earlier, I had a second 'shouldn't have lived through that' experience when I rocked a temperature of 106 for several days -- but those were nothing compared to actual nightmares.)
Fanfiction is a much cheaper alternative to therapy (and, solidly gets an A+ from my therapist as one of my top coping mechanisms). It's journaling about life, it's sharing ideas, it's documenting daily journeys, it's fun and relaxing, and I've been doing it since I was 8. That is a significant stretch, really. The first piece was turned in as a school assignment. I used to write fanfiction for Super Mario Brothers, Rocky & Bullwinkle, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and of course, ThunderCats. And I'd read it to classmates during class time, voices and all. I got to do my junior year cultural paper on Klingons, and I gave a lecture senior year on literary sources and their connection to the themes and storylines in ThunderCats. I have continued to read fanfiction in public at open mics and other events - it's the best way to mainstream and normalize it, and gosh darn it, it's been a far easier nerdom thing to normalize than furry bowling nights were. (I do miss furry bowling night, though. But I digress.)
So I do end up writing about things I know, and I've lived long enough to have a whole bag of holding full of experiences and memories to draw from -- and when I don't know something, I (usually) want to go and learn about it. I took up kickboxing and karate in college so that I could learn how to better write fight scenes. I spent a month of driving on my own to places I'd never been before to get into Fingon's head a little more (because you know, rescuing Maedhros was not the first time Fingon up and left on his own). I keep a bow at the door, next to my red shoes, because I think that's what Beleg would have done. I took the golden flowers growing at the house we live in as the sign that we should buy that house, even though it was a short sale and a pain in the ass to get through, because I was going to find a way to live in the House of the Golden Flower even if it took all summer (and it just about did). Then we planted strawberries there, for Samwise, because you know he and Rosie would absolutely have strawberries growing in their garden. (I can't take credit for the fox that lives in our yard - he showed up on his own - but it's as good of a second confirmation sign as any that we did end up in the right place.)
So that's a lot, and my lunch is almost over, but I almost feel like the question is less what do I know and more what do I not know. Everyone draws a line somewhere.
Horses. I do not know horses. Middle-earth has a lot of fucking horses in it. He's got a horse, she's got a horse, this elf over here's got a war horse, this other one has a war horse but it has jingle fucking bells on it... yeah. Lots of horses. Now, I'm in a state with lots of farms. Fair amount of horses. I see five different horses on my drive to work every day. Why is horses not a thing in the what we know category... well, I'm pretty convinced that with a head that size, you never know when one is going to open its mouth like an alligator and eat you. I'm not taking chances. Don't talk to me about logistics or physiology. I didn't make it this far in life to be eaten by a horse. So we're going to play it safe on this one and just read a book. I have a bunch of books about horses. Riding horses, fancyass dressage books, horse identification. People see my books, they say, wow, you must like horses! Hells no. You ever hear the whole 'keep your friends close, keep your horses that might eat you in two bites closer' line? Well, now you have. So that which I do not know and do not experience comes from books.
The end.
Thank you for your question, Anonymous.
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1)Social workers, police, doctors, therapists, teachers, *anyone*.... please educate yourself on RAD
2)RAD family members... you're not alone
my adoptive brother has been diagnosed with Reactive attachment disorder (RAD), as well as Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD). However, there is hardly any knowledge of the subjects by most people. The following is a short memoir that I wrote to a social worker involved with my brother.
"You know that feeling when your heart just freezes for a moment? It drops… and then it begins to beat and pound three times faster than it should and adrenaline kicks in and you tear through the house searching, wondering, unsure where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s stealing from, or if he’s even alive. It’s a feeling I’ve had over a dozen times, a feeling hardly anyone can relate to. The feeling every night when you go to bed not wondering how you’re gonna wake up, whether or not he’ll be there, or whether you’ll wake up with a knife over your face. Because he’s just that unpredictable.
Let me paint a picture for you. He was nearly five years old when he came over, only a few weeks younger than me. He had a hard time with a lot of things, like reading or tying his shoes or coming up with ideas, but I didn’t mind. I liked to help him. We would play legos together, even if I had to whisper to him what to make his characters say because he couldn’t think of it. We would play school, and I would make up little worksheets to help him learn when he was struggling in school. I would make him obstacle courses to go through and tents for us to play in. Sure, he wasn’t a perfect kid. He didn’t always listen. But he was my friend.
Then, he started taking food and hiding it under his bed. Massive amounts of food that he would consume during the night. He was allowed to have as much food as the rest of us, besides being allergic to dairy, but somehow he thought he needed more. I’m not exaggerating when I say he could eat a bathtub full of food. He’d even put things like milk under his bed, so it would spoil because of the warmth, but he’d still drink it.
Naturally, my parents were concerned. They limited his access to the kitchen, and sent him to his room. The next morning he was gone, and so was his bike. Eventually the police found him, after he had stolen from both of the grocery stores in town.
He just kept getting worse over the years. Anytime he got in trouble, he would lash out and do more bad stuff. But it’s gotten to the point that he won’t even accept nice things. Nothing is ever good enough. You can never know what he says is real; one day he would tell me that I was a great sister and thank me and apologize for ever hurting me, and the next day he’d be stealing food and money and running away, telling the police what horrible people our family was. He’s always been known to lie, no matter how small of a thing it was about. It’s practically instinctual.
He tried to poison my brother once. I never know if he could try to do the same thing to me. He’s so unpredictable, switching from trying to be helpful to trying to destroy everything. For the last few months, however, he hasn’t shown his good side. He used to be cheerful and polite to at least the outside world. Now, the only time he speaks to people is to complain to whoever will listen to it. To tell them that he feels unloved, despite the hundreds of hate filled looks he has given to every member of his family lately. We try to help him, taking him to doctors to fix the problems he causes by binge eating, eating what he was allergic to, and eating from the trash, which has given him parasites and illnesses in the past. We try to rein him in, to keep him safe, and he states that it is unfair, and he isn’t happy.
But would he be happy living on the streets? He wants to run away so badly, but he can’t even remember to look both ways before crossing the street. He’ll go out in winter without so much as a coat, planning to live outside. My parents are deemed the mean ones, yet without their extreme measures, he would be dead.
Why is it that he is the victim? Is it because he is small and cute? He’s only six weeks younger than I. If I ran around stealing and hurting people, would I not be blamed? Would I not face legal consequences by now? Perhaps only because I have a functioning brain, but then, all the more reason to use unconventional means on my brother. After all, he is an unconventional child. But he’s hardly a child. So do we treat him like a man, who must own up to every crime he has committed, or do we treat him like a child, who needs help making decisions, and must be under the guidance and protection of his parents? He’s nearly a man, but a man who could not survive on his own. So why can he call the shots? Does he know what’s best? He can’t even feel when he’s full after eating three dozen cookies. So why are we taking his feelings into consideration, over his safety and well-being?
Everything my parents have done has been to keep him safe. To keep him alive. Has he always been happy? Well, when one’s greatest desire is to steal from people and live in garages, should one be happy? Not if his joy is causing hurt to both himself and to others. He could be happy. He was happy, when he was a seven year old kid, playing legos with his sister. But then he decided that he knew better. And it has hurt him so badly ever since.
He doesn’t want relationships. He doesn’t care about me, or my parents, or anyone else. He doesn’t care about you either, and if you don’t give him what he wants, you are of no use to him. He only reaches out to people to see what he can get out of them, and if they don’t give him that, the bridge will burn and he will tear down everything, lashing out, and hurting everyone in his way."
please read. Do your research. The current methods of dealing with these kinds of disorders are tearing people and family apart, and causing physiological damage both of those with the disorders and those closest to them.
If this is similar to your story, remember you are not alone. Whatever hurt you are going through, there are people who understand, people who care. keep going sweets, I know it's hard, ik sometimes life is hell, but you can make it. I'm cheering you on.
*disclaimer: I am not saying that this is what everyone with RAD and/or FASD acts like this. There are different degrees, and my brother has it to the extreme. And if you have it, I am not against you. I want to support you. However, this was my life, my experience that needs to be shared.
#reactive attachment disorder#fetal alcohol syndrome#fasd#adoption#foster#foster care#adoptivefamily#mental illness#family issues#family trauma#childhood trauma#RAD
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October 3rd, 2015
I was a few weeks shy of 14 and I’d had a hell of a year. My aunt’s death had been a wave of ice cold water on my system and my feelings were still frozen when I got the news that my grandpa had died. I didn’t cry when my dad came into my room to tell me the news. I just said “oh, okay” and continued on with whatever I was doing.
I think it was a Sunday night when it happened. If it was, it was on the 20th of September. I always mix the date up, though. My reason for believing it was that day, specifically a Sunday, was because I remember going to school and telling my friends “yeah, we have Friday off of school, but I’ll be spending it at a funeral”. I was in that ICU waiting room eating Burger King onion rings hours before.
I think my mom was thinking heavily about going to a grief camp after my aunt, who you should know was not technically my aunt, but a close family friend, had died. My sisters were at the Detroit Zoo with my grandma when that had happened, my mom calling her to tell her the news and beg her to not tell them. My grandma is a bit of a loud mouth, in all honesty.
My grandpa’s death was sort of the defining factor for it, the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. After he had passed, after the funeral and the absolutely awful experience of that, she had brought up to me and my sisters that she wanted to help us, and that the zoo in my city was holding one for all ages and that she would like for us all to go.
I didn’t want to go. I really didn’t want to go. I was dealing with crippling anxiety that was not yet diagnosed, let alone treated, and insurmountable grief. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it with a ton of strangers. I don’t know how I would’ve spent the time if I hadn’t gone, but I would’ve had more fun with that.
Mom threw out information about this grief camp for days leading up to it. How we would probably get free things (god, I’m a sucker for free shit), how they would provide food, how it would only be for a few hours. I didn’t agree to go until that morning. Ultimately, I wanted to make my mom happy.
It did make her happy, by the way.
By the way, I regret going.
It was October 3rd in the middle of Michigan. Apparently kids and parents from around the state had all come along to attend this event. It was held outside, under tents and while it was windy I think they had space heaters in the tents with us. We were split into age categories. I was allowed in the 14-17 group despite still being 13, because I was close enough. I was basically already 14, it just wasn’t official for another couple weeks, you know?
That’s when and where I met him.
There was nothing remarkable about him and his appearance. He looked like any other teenage boy in Michigan during that time. He had dirty blonde hair in what looked like a slightly grown out buzzcut, wore a hoodie and dark blue jeans with sneakers. He really wasn’t remarkable. I went to school with countless other guys that matched his style.
Apparently I was remarkable, though. To him at least.
It was weeks before I was able to cut all my hair off. I had to keep my long hair until after my aunt’s wedding, because it was long and beautiful and she had already hired someone to do our hair and had the consultation. I instead had it hidden in a bun underneath a beanie, grown out side bangs from my wannabe scene-kid haircut sticking out of the FBI hat I had gotten in DC months before.
I was wearing a leather jacket, I don’t recall what was underneath it though. For bottoms I was either wearing leggings or skinny jeans with slightly heeled boots. I don’t remember much about what I wore.
While he wasn’t remarkable, I knew something was going to happen. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I believe you know when someone is going to have a large impact on your life from the first look. Whether or not it’s going to be good or bad was revealed in time.
We stuck by each other for a majority of the time, along with another girl in our age group. When I saw my mom later in the day she had looked relieved, that I had made some friends. We had exchanged numbers at the end of the event and all went our separate ways, I went home while they had gone to the cities they had come from.
Hours later, while I was out shopping with my grandma, I had gotten a call from a number that wasn’t saved in my phone. At the time, I didn’t have experiences that brought me dread at a mysterious phone number, so I answered. It was him.
I’m not naming him yet, simply because I don’t know if I want to. If I want to put his name out there and be at risk of legal action if someone puts the pieces together and identifies him, or use the nickname I’d used for him online when I’ve talked about these experiences.
We had small talk, most of which I can’t remember. I remember my grandma wondering who I was talking to. I recall him boldly asking me out, over the phone when we had only met just hours before. I remember telling him I didn’t know who or what I was into. That I didn’t know if I liked boys or girls or both.
He said that made me sexier.
Like I had said previously, I was a doormat. Still kind of am, to be honest. I didn’t know how to say no anymore, considering I had already had my first experience with saying no and it being completely ignored. So, I did what any normal confused, sad teenager would do, and I said yes.
He wasn’t my first boyfriend, and not my last, but fuck he’s one of the more memorable ones for all of the wrong reasons. But we’ll get to that later.
My first boyfriend was a friend I had since preschool. His family owned a bowling alley in a nearby town and he was a bit spoiled, if not certainly more wealthy than I was. He had a trampoline AND a pool! It was an easy relationship, despite my mental struggles during that time.
I had later found out he only asked me out because he was too nervous to ask out my friend, but we lasted about a year. I don’t regret the relationship and the times I spent at his house, with his family and our friends playing video games or fucking around on Omegle. I cringe, yes, but it’s not something I regret.
There was a boy I dated for a couple weeks not long after my breakup from my first boyfriend. A friend of mine, although not nearly as long as I had been with the first. He’s the one that didn’t know what the word “no” meant, but this is not about him. Yes, I do regret it.
So I had some experience with dating before him. Not much, not as much as many of my peers did, but this wasn’t my first time dating someone. This was different, yes, but not entirely new. While my two previous boyfriends had each lived a walking distance away, he was in a completely different town.
We were two young high schoolers who couldn’t drive, so it was going to be a semi-long distance relationship. Did I have feelings for him? No, not really, we had met and become friends just hours ago, but why not give it a shot? It couldn’t hurt, right?
Right?
So October 3rd of 2015 was when this whole shitshow of a relationship began. I regret this day more than any other. I wish I had stayed home, rotting in my bed with the lights off. I wish I was comfortable with letting him down gently. I wish I had never met him.
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BBC 0533 6 Feb 2024
6195Khz 0459 6 FEB 2024 - BBC (UNITED KINGDOM) in ENGLISH from SANTA MARIA DI GALERIA. SINPO = 55333. ID@0459z pips and newsday preview. @0501z World News anchored by Stewart Macintosh. Senegal's reputation as a bastion of democracy in an unstable region is on the line as protesters clash with police outside the National Assembly. Inside, lawmakers have passed a contentious bill to extend President Macky Sall's tenure and delay elections after he called off a planned election with just three weeks to go. US Secretary of State Antony Blinken was due to fly to Egypt on Tuesday as part of a Middle East crisis tour seeking a new truce and "an enduring end" to the Israel-Hamas war. In Cairo, Blinken is scheduled to meet Egyptian President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi, the day after he held talks in Riyadh with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. The trip, Blinken's fifth to the region in the nearly four-month-long war, will later include stops in Israel and Qatar. King Charles has been diagnosed with a form of cancer, says Buckingham Palace. Although he will pause his public events, the King will continue with his constitutional role as head of state, including paperwork and private meetings. The type of cancer has not been revealed - it is not prostate cancer, but was discovered during his recent treatment for an enlarged prostate. At least three people have been killed by falling trees as a powerful storm drenches California bringing flooding, mudslides and power outages. The storm is due to an "atmospheric river" effect, a phenomenon in which water evaporates into the air and is carried along by the wind, forming long currents that flow in the sky like rivers flow on land. Rio de Janeiro city authorities have declared a public health emergency in the city because of an outbreak of mosquito-borne dengue fever. The announcement came just days before Carnival celebrations kick off across Brazil. Aid organizations in Turkey says much still needs to be done in rebuilding after the earthquake a year ago. Many people are still living in tents. A unique species of flying reptile, or pterosaur, that lived 168-166 million years ago has been discovered on the Isle of Skye. Its wings, shoulders, legs and backbone were found in a rock on a beach, but the fossil's skull was missing. @0506z "Newsday" begins. MLA 30 amplified loop (powered w/8 AA rechargeable batteries ~10.8vdc), Etón e1XM. 250kW, beamAz 185°, bearing 49°. Received at Plymouth, United States, 7877KM from transmitter at Santa Maria di Galeria. Local time: 2259.
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I don't talk much about real life around here. So I'll start with talking a bit about Kiddo. Kiddo is almost 12, going on 30 I swear. He's wicked smart, funny as hell, and calls me "Mom" and "Aunt Kelly" by turns. I knew Kiddo's Bio-Mom from work (and when Bio-Mom was pregnant, so I've literally known Kiddo from before birth), and we became tentative friends over our retail hell. Eventually (like almost two years in), Bio-Mom invited Spouse and me to LARP, and hearing that we didn't ever go anywhere or do anything, invited us over to their parents' house. We went over, and there sat this tiny, beautiful child who was 18 months old, and who knew NO fear of strangers, as long as they were brought in by Bio-Parents. Within a few times of meeting them, I was getting hugs and cheek kisses and learning how to translate tiny human words. I was WILD for this kid. Spouse felt the same. We flat out adored him.
Within a few months, Bio-Mom's parents had moved across the country, left the house to the fam, and we had moved in to help with bills and all. Kiddo spent a LOT of time with us, because we were the fun Aunties. Our door was always open (within reason), and he knew he could come in and we would love on him and snuggle him and make him watch TV with us (I was early in my Doctor Who era, and there's a post on FB about him and I going back and forth about "My Tardis!" "NO, MY TARDIS!")
Life is funny. Ours might have stayed that way forever. Auntie Kelly and Auntie Sheep (Spouse would go "BAAAAA" like a sheep and then play a Zombie for kiddo, and literally, kiddo would yell "SHEEP!" and "ZOMBIE" just to see how fast Spouse could switch. It was adorable), living in the basement, with the door open and lots of hugs.
But then Kiddo was five, with infant twin brothers, and Bio-Mom kicked Bio-Dad out. In hindsight, a great plan (he is diagnosed as a sociopath, and has severe narcissistic personality stuff going on). At the time, we panicked, because he was going to take the kids, and all we cared about was keeping the kids safe. So we left with him. And then he got the kids, and we moved into a townhouse, and we took care of Kiddo even more. The four hour hair-brushing incident was when we realized HOW bad it really was. We gave him baths, we fed him, we took care of him, and it all came to a head when I told Kiddo's Bio-Dad to get his shit together (meaning 'oh my god, you asshole, take care of your children', but he took it as 'get your shit together and go'). He moved out within a week, and Kiddo's Bio-Mom took custody of Kiddo and the Twins.
It was around a year later that Bio-Mom decided to move where their parents lived. Spouse and I cried so much when they left that both of us almost got sick. We figured we'd see them rarely, if ever. Travel is expensive, after all.
Summer of 2021, we had Kiddo with us for 4 weeks to give Bio-Family a break. It was awesome. We had fun, we laughed and talked and cuddled and at the end of the visit, we cried as he walked to the plane. But when he got home, things were tense (not because of the trip. The tension had been bad anyway, but the break from each other seems to have made things worse). This is the part I'm not going to go into more than this. Just, it wasn't great for anyone involved, and we offered our home for Kiddo to come to. Like, to his Bio-Mom, not just telling him "oh, come stay with us".
We got him here on January 9, 2022. Within a few months, he started using his new name and pronouns, and while it was a pretty constant struggle for all of us to deal with things, he was doing SO well.
Last summer, he and I went to visit the Bio-Family. It was fun, because I don't get to travel much, but we ALL caught Covid, got the version that makes everyone puke, and I wound up with laryngitis for 4 days in the middle of it. There were also a LOT of fights. A lot lot. When we left, we all agreed we needed more time before the next visit. At least a year (and now we're not sure when, if ever, it will happen again. Things with Bio-Family has not gone great in the not-so-distant past)
The year between then and now has been... outstanding. Kiddo is growing by leaps and bounds. We still argue sometimes (he and I drive each other nuts because I'm with him CONSTANTLY, while Spouse has a life outside of the house and works and has local-ish relationships), but we're all getting better and realizing why it's happening and turning things around. Kiddo has less negative self-talk (A HUGE step). He passed 5th grade and moved up to Middle School! He's learning to be vulnerable and ask for help. He's learning to trust (though sometimes he falls back into his past way of handling things, and it frustrates me to no end), and knows he can talk to us about everything.
We're not a traditional family, obviously. Kiddo has two Aunts/Moms at home, a "Canadian Mom", a Father, lots of Uncles, a Mam who adores him (my mom), an Uncle (my brother) who drives him nuts (My brother is old, and very set in his ways. He refuses to use Kiddo's pronouns and chosen name. it has caused ISSUES.), a Bio-Family (Including twin brothers, of course) that gets lots of updates and pictures, and a Grandpa who has never met him but loves him in his quiet way (Spouse's Dad).
I wish I could have made Kiddo's life better earlier, but I'm SO glad we have the ability to do it now. I'm so glad that he's my sweet kid, who drives me nuts but who I love so much I'd happily hurt anyone who tried to hurt him. We're a weird bunch, but we love each other just as hard as we fight.
I'm the luckiest Mom.
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