#I am tired of medication trial and error | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sixofpomegranates · 2 years

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"I told you, if i can't fix your problems, I'll just get rid of them."

♜𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠♖— 𝚂.𝚁.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Fem!Reader

A/N: !Skin Color & Ethnicity Neutral! Inspired by a book idea I have.

CW: angst 18+ | Mentions of Spencer's canon TRAUMA/Cat Adams/Murder/Crime Scenes, PTSD, GORE, failing justice system, very vague Sex Scenes,

I'd often found myself in helpless situations. I was kidnapped, tortured, drugged, held hostage, almost sacrificed... The thing that always got me through was my fundamental belief in justice.

I never did bad, always played by the rules. I helped the helpless, I caught the bad guys, and I hated myself for every ounce of harm I had to cause to survive.

I am a good person, and yet it seems to bring me nothing.

She'll be out. In a couple of days, Cat Adams is going to be out of prison.

An error of the court.

The lawyer had been high on heavy pain medication during her trial.

There will be a new court trial, according to everyone involved, but I know better than to believe in it.

The minute Cat Adams is free, she will vanish into thin air. All my suffering, all the statements of myself and my therapist, and all the times I had to stand before court and explain the torture I went through due to her have been for nothing.

I'd held back the urge to scream, cry, and vomit as I was informed about it, and by the time I am home that evening, I solely feel tired.

How much do I have to endure?

How did I always be a good person, following the rules, and yet I'm still getting fucked over?

How do the people, molding their morals as they seem fit and simply doing as they please no matter the harm they cause, always win?

I need a calm minute.

Darkness is clouding my mind; a depressive state starting to numb my bones. If I can't rely on justice, then what do I have left?

As I open the door to my apartment, I'm struck with dread.

The light in my bedroom is on, the half-opened door allowing it to illuminate the dark living room, and soft jazz music comes from my record player.

Somebody is here.

Cat isn't out yet.

It can't be her.

No.

Oxygen becomes a luxury as my body falls into a state of panic.

I grab my gun and slowly walk forward toward the bedroom. I can't hear a thing going inside, can't make out who is in there.

Pressing my eyes shut for a second, I take a deep breath and then storm inside.

"Freeze," I exclaim, taking in the scene before me.

It isn't Cat, yet there sits a barely dressed woman on my bed. A woman I know all too well.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, having her not even look up from what she is reading. She hadn't even flinched as I'd thundered in with my gun pointed at her.

"Put the gun down, Spencer. You're going to hurt yourself," she states, relaxed, going through one of the FBI files I keep locked away in my safe.

"How did you get in here?" I question her, and she finally looks at me.

"You need better locks, baby," she lectures me more than disinterested.

She has never been in my home before... at least not that I know. She usually keeps her distance, keeps it more accessible for herself to vanish before the morning, leaving me to wake up alone in a hotel bed.

"You picked my locks?"

She scrunches her nose, feigning disappointment. "Every novice is capable of getting in here. I almost feel insulted that you're surprised I managed to get in."

I finally lower my gun. This woman is a menace, but my messed up sense of self refuses to let me feel threatened by her.

She is like a dark shadow following me for over a year now, yet, I don't fear her, detest her, or want to get rid of her. Somehow I feel a connection between us – something not only coming from the nights we spent together in hotels across America.

She is almost always where I am. In the beginning, I seriously thought we would just randomly meet every other month, but she is always there.

When I am out there, hunting an unsub, my dark, little shadow follows me; when the unsub threatens to get away or harm me, my shadow devours the threat, leaving them served on a silver platter – more times than not, this happens literally.

Sitting down on my bed, I don't worry about turning my back to her. The fright of might getting stabbed by her eased after the first eight months of our... relationship. I sigh deeply while kicking off my shoes, slumping together like a sack of potatoes.

As I rest my elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands, I feel hers on my back, softly rubbing circles into my skin.

"Where were you today?" she asks, something close to concern in her voice. "You weren't at the headquarters."

I stopped questioning how she knows information like this a while ago.

"Court," I reply as she hugs me from behind, her legs on either of my sides.

"Why?"

I chuckle weakly as she pulls me back, having me rest with my back against her chest. "You can't bare it not to know everything, am I right?"

"Pains me," she admits, wrapping one arm around me, the other running through my curls. "Diana's doing fine, by the way. They have her on this new medication that is very well-spoken of in Europe, and it appears that there are almost no side effects and just positives. They also have this new home-movie system somebody so graciously donated, and now there are many, many movie nights with James Dean, Frank Sinatra, and Fred Astaire for her to enjoy."

Relaxing into her, I smile at the knowledge that at least one Reid is doing well. My shadow had me suspicious of her as I met her as a nurse at my mom's care facility four months into our thing.

That was when I started counting one and one together:

She was at the crime scenes.

She was at my hotels.

She was everywhere.

Wigs, contacts, accents, different languages (I've counted four until now, spoken without any accent, flawlessly), different handwriting, different body languages, different walks, different names and IDs.

My shadow is smart, but somehow I intrigued her enough to come out and play. Meeting me in hotel bars, keeping up her disguises, both of us knowing it is her – me, still not exactly knowing who she is.

"Thank you, love," I tell her, and she kisses my temple.

"Now, why court?"

"Cat Adams," I tell her, triggering one of her almost medically clean information dumps.

"Catherine Adams. Alias's Cat, Miss .45, and The Black Widow Killer. Convicted for murder – over 204 – two attempted murders, one murder by proxy, 2009 attempted murders by proxy, two abductions by proxy, taking hostages, assault with an unlicensed gun, drugging, conspiring against the federal bureau of investigation–"

I interrupt her, "I was in prison because of her. She is obsessed with me."

I feel her tense up but continue her sentence, "Found guilty and to be executed by–"

I interrupt her again. "Court Error. She'll be free to go by the end of next week."

"No," my shadow says, no readable emotion in her voice.

"Just found out about it today. The system fucked up, and she'll be out to roam the streets again."

The woman behind me exhales sharply. I search for her gaze and am met with the cold stare of a predator. "She will come for you again," she states.

I nod, smiling through the tears pooling in my eyes. "I don't think I have a chance of escaping her. Don't even think the justice system is able to fix this mess once they let her out."

Getting up, I start stripping out of my clothes and walk into my bathroom. I step into my shower and wash off the signs of me crying. It has been a while since I last cried due to a helpless situation.

I feel my shadow get behind me into the shower, her arms wrapping around my naked body, her body pressing against my back.

"It's going to be okay," she vows softly, her cheek pressed against my back.

"You can't promise that," I answer croaky.

She turns me around, the warm water now running down my back. I stare at her beautiful face and naked form. I'd like to say I love every single imperfection on her body, but the feelings I have for my shadow are running so much deeper than that.

Rationally, I should avoid her, should inform the team about how deeply we are involved.

I should think of the one time we caught her at a crime scene. How she was standing there between crucified men, who'd been wanted for sex trafficking children. How impassive she was as I put my handcuffs on her, telling her her Miranda Rights.

"We're fixing this, Spencer. I promise I'll help you," she coos softly, brushing my wet hair out of my face. "I'm very good at fixing problems. I swear if push comes to shove, I'll make it go away."

My shadow has an astonishing thrive for justice. She is a dangerous weapon, yet, I am able to feel safe in her presence.

She cups my face and brings my lips to hers. I let it happen, deepen the kiss, and I counter every touch. It's dark and animalistic when we are together; it seems brutal, downright unholy, when I press her face first against the shower tiles and take what I need.

I always considered myself a gentle person, a gentle lover. I always held back, always made sure my partner came first in every instance, but my shadow thrives on seeing every part of me, no matter how depraved and selfish. She provides me with an outlet for all my pent-up feelings. She sees my ugliest, most unlovable self and still looks at me as though I am the most beautiful piece of art she ever laid her pretty eyes upon.

The darkness enveloping me when I am with my shadow is the only time I feel safe without seeing the light. It's the only time I ever consider their to be grey in the term justice.

How often does justice fail to happen, even when brought to court?

How often does a victim do everything right, and yet the perpetrator walks free?

Is my shadow truly a bad person? She never hurt anybody who didn't deserve it. The only thing speaking against her actions is the laws against vigilantism.

Maybe I should've killed Cat Adams when I had the chance; should've ignored all reason and common sense and strangled her.

My hand between her shoulder blades, I press my shadow harder against the tiles. She groans in a mixture of pleasure and pain as I glance at the scar on her trapezius muscle between her lower neck and shoulder blade.

Under the scar is a tattooed number: 1.007

Once she was taken into custody, the team and I came to many realizations:

She had no fingerprints (the skin from her fingers had been professionally and cleanly removed when she was relatively young, leaving her with now healed but fingerprint-less hands), she had no real identity, was in no system, and she was an intelligent and well-trained soldier of whatever kind.

Within two hours after her arrest, Linda Barnes, followed by men dressed in black working under the President himself, had come to get my shadow and every ounce of information we had on her.

Number 1.007 has immunity.

Number 1.007 has many names and identities, but to the nation, she's a number.

Number 1.007 is a weapon that was once chipped like a dog.

I don't know what happened to her, what organization trained her, how old she was when taken in, if she had family, or how she ended up hunting on her own without supervision.

All I know is that my shadow found me, and something within me let her let her guard down. The trained weapon considers me hers, and I welcome her claim on me.

*****

Sent home from a case two hours earlier, I exit the cab I have taken to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

Emily had gotten a call from Barnes. That is all I know.

I enter the FBI's Assistant Director of National Security's office, being met by her cold gaze and two police officers.

They all greet me professionally. I shake their hands, although everything within me finds it revolting.

I sit down, and they offer me coffee. I decline and question their reason for bringing me away from a case—all three exchange uncomfortable glances.

Linda Barnes speaks first, insisting that she ordered it since she found it imported I'd come here and hear it first from the officers instead of the news. Her cold gaze looks more sympathetic than I ever thought her able to be.

Then one of the officers informs me: Cat Adams is dead.

I don't know how to feel. For a moment, it just feels like somebody pulled the carpet away right under my feet. I am glad I am sitting.

Dead.

They inform me about Barnes having given them my alibi (being in a different state, working on a case). They ask me if I want to see photos of the crime scene, thinking I'd recognize something – anything – as they appear to have nothing.

I agree. Barnes assures me that I do not need to feel obligated to do so, but I agree.

Somehow I don't feel like Cat is actually dead (that the nightmare is over) until I see her body.

Symbolism.

Cat Adams was murdered in an unidentified location but presented on a silver platter in the very courthouse she gained her freedom in.

The scene presents itself right in the grand entrance hall. Right in front of the statue of Lady Justice.

The Lady's scale holds Cat Adams's heart on one side and a stag of papers (her charges) on the other.

Her lifeless body has been gutted and placed kneeling in front of the statue; with a brush in her hands, she (or rather somebody, as she was already dead for a couple of hours at this point) used her blood as ink to write "Summum ius, summa iniuria." Latin for "More law, less justice." on the ground between them.

This is my shadow's work. I can feel her energy radiating from every detail of the crime scene. I don't mention her with any word, though I should. This should scare me. I should feel more than I do.

I can't help the cops with their investigation. Cat Adams had many enemies. She hurt plenty of people. Many were angered as the verdict was revoked due to the court's errors. People had called for justice, but the law had to let her go.

This could be the work of anybody she wronged. Just not me. I have an alibi.

Barns wraps the questioning up, sending me home for a few days.

*****

I already lie in bed when I hear my apartment door opening. My brand-new home-security system goes off, but somebody enters the code and it falls silent.

The door closes, gets locked, and the security system gets activated again.

There are no sounds, and I consider the possibility of her having left again until the mattress behind me sinks in, and she snuggles up behind me.

"What the fuck have you done?" I ask her calmly, making her giggle. "Oh, big boy words."

I turn on the lamp on my bedside table, sitting up. Just now noticing the missing one on her side. How does my shadow manage to smile and be happy although she murdered somebody no 24 hours ago?

"I am serious," I say, angrier than I thought I was. "You killed Cat."

"I told you I'd help you," she says, her smile leaving her face. "Why are you angry with me?"

Pressing the heel of my palm against my eyes, I try to be calm, but my past trauma shows itself in pure anger, annoyance, and confusion. "You realize that this is not a normal conversation I should have with you, right? I should not have to explain to you why killing somebody isn't okay. D-Do I have to worry that one day you'll snap, and then I am next?"

I speak my last sentence without thinking about it. I don't fear my little shadow; I love this mystery of a woman I barely know.

Her face pulls into a hurt expression. "That's bullshit. You know I'd never hurt you, Spencer."

"Do I know? Fuck, I don't even know your name."

"That's because I don't have one," my dark shadow hisses at me, tears in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and then explains, "I told you, if I can't fix your problem, I'll just get rid of it."

She did. She had told me the – for her so logical – plan.

"I didn't think you would go that far... Or do anything at all," I admit.

A sob escapes her. "I- I didn't want to do it." She clears her throat and starts again. "I wanted to do it for what she did to you, but I was willing to simply keep an eye on her until her trial because you like your justice to be legal."

"And yet she wound up dead."

"Because she showed up here. The minute she was out, she came here, and let herself in like she owned the place," my shadow says, adding, "I told you you need better locks."

"So you killed her?"

She looks at me, irritated. "No, Spencer. I tried to talk to her. I made clear that you're mine and that I don't want her anywhere near you. She was the one attacking me. I'm not letting myself get attacked by a psychotic bitch, so I whacked her with the lamp from my bedside."

So that was why the lamp was missing.

"So it was self-defense?" I ask, tracing the deeply dark, bruised skin of her shoulder as she pulls my cardigan (the one I thought I lost) over her shoulder.

"Don't know if I'd call it self-defense since she didn't exactly have the military training advantages I have, but yeah. Sure. But it's not exactly like I could just call the cops, you know?" My shadow lifts her hand as to hint at the fact that she legally doesn't exist, then drops it again. "I didn't kill her with the lamp, but, like, it's not like there was a way to step back from the situation, so I just continued as I usually would."

"And that was the scene before Lady Justice?"

She nodded, stating, "If you can't live as a good example, you'll die as a warning for others following down your path. I tried to do it your way, and it didn't work. I don't regret having done what needed to be done to keep you safe."

Cat Adams broke me. She had me rot in prison for months; she let me live years of believing she raped me; she made me a murderer, let me think my mother was dead, that I'd caused her miscarriage...

Cat ridiculed the trauma she caused me and did what she could to convince me I was just as much of a monster as she was, so I'd let her lay her claim on me.

The woman beside me sobs, a tear running down her face. "You hate me now, don't you?"

"I don't. Could never," I answer. I delight in the knowledge that Cat finally got what she deserved.

The monster haunting my nightmares and messing with my head for so long is gone.

She underestimated my little, dark shadow and put herself in a cage with a monster just as big and scary but way more efficient than herself.

In the end, Cat Adams chose her ending herself. She could've left but refused to let go of the chance to have me. She chose her fate by challenging my shadow's claim on me and forcing her hand to keep me safe.

"I can't believe that it's over," I finally say, realizing I am crying like a child as the woman beside me cups my face in her hands. "It's over."

People say to forgive and forget. They insist on never holding a grudge and moving on, being the bigger person. Forgiveness is a cute idea, but it doesn't change that you suffer the consequences of another person's evil doings.

I laugh through the tears, savoring the relief of justice.

Cat will never again be able to hurt me.

I can move on and heal without fear.

I wrap my arms around my shadow, pulling her into the pillows with me. She cries too. Fair enough, I cry harder, but she clearly sheds tears of compassion, of love.

Who would've thought that the most real form of raw, unapologetic love I'd ever experience would come from someone that officially doesn't even exist?

"[y/n]," she whispers, making me look at her. "I don't have a real name, but I like [y/n]. That- That's all that I can give to you."

"It's more than enough," I whisper back, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

She freed me from the specter haunting me in the only way she seems to have learned how to, and although our future is uncertain, I doubt she even knows who she is herself, and one day my shadow will have to step into the light: I have laid my claim onto her just as much as she has laid hers on me.

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arlecchno · 2 years

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mission accomplished [ scaramouche x reader]

eleven | flashbacks

prev masterlist next

the date for a trial you've been meticulously involved in comes crashing down on you, and flashbacks to the incident keeps flooding in. has scaramouche cared for you all this time?

warnings: mentions of broken leg, blood, gunshot wound, swearing as usual, comfort

a/n: hello, hello! chapter eleven is finally here~ i'm not really sure how courts nor hospitals work, and due to my lack of knowledge i just wrote whatever i know, i'm not even sure if you can send out proposals to court 😔 this chapter is just a continuation of last chapter's incident lmao, happy reading!

grammatical errors may occur so please let me know if i've made any mistakes!

“i got your call. what happened?” childe walked up to scaramouche, who's currently waiting on a chair in the emergency waiting area, head in hands.

scaramouche looked up from his position, eyes fairly red. childe raised a brow at him. he proceeded to take a seat next to the ravenette and looked around, before moving his gaze back to the person next to him. “is y/n okay?” he asked patiently, waiting for scaramouche to reply.

the short male ran his hands through his hair in distress. “i–it's my fault. she's– she's hurt because of me, childe! what the fuck am i supposed to do?!” he stammered, voice breaking through the empty hall.

childe frowned at his friend's current state, deeply worried with how he's dealing with this. “look, it's gonna be okay–”

“how can you be so sure?” scaramouche cut him off, not daring to move his eyes away from the man next to him, an anxious look on his face. “she had to be rushed for surgery, there's a chance she won't survive. the bullet went through her artery— i think. my mind was too hazy to pay attention to the doctor.”

childe took a good look at scaramouche. he was littered with small wounds and cuts all over his arms and face, his black t-shirt covered in your blood. “come on.” childe said calmly, standing up from his seat.

“what?”

“let's get you checked up.”

scaramouche scoffed at childe. “i'm fine.”

childe turned his head back to look at the short male up and down, giving a judging look. “you're clearly not, given how you're covered in wounds everywhere but didn't even bother to get yourself checked. at a hospital full with medical treatments no less.”

the cold dead of the night made the ravenette and orange-haired man shiver, slightly regretting for their lack of layered clothes. the omnipresent smell of antiseptic fills the air in the hospital as the two waited in the hall for you, patience slowly running out.

tick, tock.

another hour clocks in.

it's almost been 4 hours and you're still in surgery. childe was already drifting off from sleepiness, and scaramouche who is now bandaged up, was sighing every second. nurses walk by back to back, their shoes squeaking on the pristine tiles made the ravenette grimace, fully annoyed from the sound it made.

his indigo eyes scanned through his phone screen to check the time. 3:19 am, it read. he sighed once again.

maybe resting his eyes for a second won't hurt, he thinks. he looked around the empty hall first before he took a deep breath. as he closes his eyes, he slowly enters dreamland.

a nudge on the shoulder jolts scaramouche awake. he opened his eyes and turned his head towards the person who woke him up from his slumber.

“sir...?” a woman in a doctor's coat calls out to him, pen nudging his shoulder. she had a clipboard in hand and was trying her best to wake the ravenette up as gently as she could without startling him.

scaramouche rubbed his eyes, sleepiness still evident on his tired face. “what is it?” he asked, voice hoarse.

the woman smiled awkwardly at him. “ah... are you the partner of um– wait...” she quipped, going through her clipboard. “...miss y/n? you're here for y/n l/n, yes?” she asked, looking back to the man on the seat.

scaramouche immediately went wide awake upon hearing your name, sleepiness completely off his mind now. he stood up quickly, ignoring childe who's currently peacefully sleeping on the chair.

“how is she? is she okay? can i see her? do you–”

“okay, okay. calm down now, sir.” the woman stopped him from popping up more questions, making him frown. “there's no need to worry. she's fine, and the surgery went well for her.” she said calmly.

scaramouche sighed in relief. “archons...thank you, thank you. i wouldn't know what i'd do if it weren't for your help.” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “is it okay if i see her?” he questioned.

the woman nodded, smiling at him. “i'll show you the way.”

the two people then headed to your room, the woman informing scaramouche with the subject of your surgery while doing so.

unbeknownst to them, they've completely forgot about the other person who was waiting for you, who's snoring ever-so-loudly in the waiting area.

guess childe can find his own way to your room.

“i'm afraid she'll need to be bedridden for a few months. even though her surgery went well, she'll still need time to recover from both her leg and shoulder. and even if she is discharged, she'll still need plenty of physical therapy and treatment before she can start doing her daily life routine again.” the doctor informed scaramouche.

scaramouche nodded in acknowledgement, standing by the door of the room with his arms crossed, staring at your unconscious form on the hospital bed. “will she be fine?”

“it'll take some time, but she will be okay. it's truly a miracle she survived, in most cases people don't even have enough time for surgery, they ended up bleeding to death before they can arrive to the hospital. you were the one who actually saved her.” the doctor remarked.

scaramouche took a few seconds to answer. “...thank you, again. i really appreciate everything.” he said, looking at the woman standing beside him.

the woman smiled. “just doing my job.” she replied, already starting to head off her way. “i'll leave you be. i'm sure you want to meet your girlfriend due to how badly worried you were just now.”

scaramouche hummed, before quickly realising what the woman said. girlfriend.

he turned to the hall to deny what she said, but the doctor was too far ahead from his reach now.

your eyes slowly opened.

the blurry vision made you blink a couple of times before you opened your eyes once again, the dull room and its white walls greet you. the occasional beeping sound coming from the machines next to the bed indicated that you were in a hospital.

what happened? how did i get here? you thought to yourself.

you wanted to rub your eyes, and as you tried to bring up a hand, you realised there was something weighing on it. you looked to your hand, and saw scaramouche and his messy lock of hair.

he was sleeping and had his head rest at the edge of your hospital bed, one arm propped up to where his head rests, the other splayed on the bed, hand loosely holding onto yours.

scaramouche was a light sleeper, so it was a little too easy to get him awake. just the shift of your hand made him look up from the arm he was resting on, tiredness still visible on his face.

looking at you who's finally awake, he went wide awake once again and quickly sat up, hand latching onto yours tightly.

“y/n... you're awake.” scaramouche said, his thumb rubbing your knuckles softly.

you hummed, trying to sit up from your lying position but abruptly stopped halfway, groaning from the pain. the ravenette swiftly stood up and helped you up, arm snaking around your waist. you mumbled out a thanks to him, in which he silently nod. he sat back on his chair by the hospital bed.

you looked at scaramouche for a second, then moved your eyes to your wounded shoulder and broken leg. flashbacks flooded your mind to the brutal situation you were in, and just the thought of it made you wince in pain.

you shook it off your mind. this is not the time to be thinking about that right now, you thought.

“...i've got it real bad this time, huh.” you finally said your first words after being unconscious, letting out an airy chuckle, though no amusement laced your voice.

scaramouche was silent, making you perk your head up to look at him. his black t-shirt was covered in dried blood, and he was also covered up in bandages everywhere. a worried expression plastered on your face upon seeing him in such a state. “did you get injured?” you asked curiously.

“i'm fine, these are nothing.” he said flatly.

you frowned at his lack of words. “you don't look like you are.” you commented, looking at his deflated form on the chair. his eyes were puffy and there were visible eye bags under them. archons, how long has he been waiting for you?

he was silent again for a few seconds. you huffed, about to move your gaze to the window before he spoke up.

“...i'm sorry.”

you raised a brow. “for what?”

“you wouldn't have ended up like this if i was quicker.” he said, eyes still on the floor.

you sighed. “scara, it's not your–”

“it is, okay? if it weren't for those guys i had to beat up when you sent me that signal, i would've gotten to you sooner.” he cut you off.

you frowned even more at him. “scara, look at me.”

“if i was quicker on my feet, i would've stopped that man from shooting you.”

“scaramouche, look at me, please.”

he did, with an unreadable expression on his face.

you sighed for the umpteenth time. “it's not your fault, okay?” you reassured. “even i couldn't have prevented it from happening, it was inevitable from the start. i'm just glad i survived from the gunshot, though i don't think i get to leave this place for quite awhile.” you said, looking around at the empty room.

you caught glimpse of the iv drip to your right, its solution traveling down slowly from the long thin tube right to the vein in your hand. you grumbled. i'm gonna be stuck here for at least a month, you thought.

scaramouche was silent once again. you're not sure if he was even acknowledging what you said a second ago, truth be told he's a stubborn guy and he never takes your words seriously.

“did you get the guy?” you changed the subject, eyes still trailing on the iv drip.

“i did, pierro's handling it right now. you might need to be in court for the case though, you're technically involved in this now.” he said.

the chirping sound from the birds on the window of your hospital room indicated that it's already daytime, presumably around brunch time. have you been out that long?

“guess i should've seen that coming.” you muttered. “how long have i been unconscious?”

“9 hours, i think.”

“...and you were here the whole time?” you questioned, eyes landing on his indigo ones.

“yeah.” he mumbled, staring back at you.

“you should go home.”

“i'm not leaving you here alone... not again.”

you sent a glare towards scaramouche. “i'm a grown woman. i think i'd know how to handle things myself. plus, you're supposed to be at work.”

“i took the day off.”

“wha– ugh, nevermind. there's no winning with you.” you groaned.

scaramouche ignored your whining. he stood up and walked over to the table near your bed to grab his phone and wallet. “i'm gonna get some food for you to eat. what do you feel like having?” he asked, sauntering back to your hospital bed.

“anything is fine.” you said, looking up at him.

he hummed, slyly bringing up a hand to brush out a stray piece of hair out of your face, tucking it nicely to the back of your ear. he put up a small smile for you and patted your head affectionately, making you slightly flustered from his touch.

“okay. i'll be back soon.” he retracted his hand, heading off to the door.

scaramouche twisted the doorknob and as he was about to leave, you called out to him.

“scara.”

“hm?” he looked over his shoulder.

“thank you, for everything. i don't know what i'd do without you.”

scaramouche widened his eyes at your words, but relaxed after a moment. he turned back to the door. “just doing what any other person would.”

and he finally left, closing the door behind him to give you some space. you sat there alone in the empty room, just like you've been all these years.

the present

“what do you mean the trial's next month? i thought we sent out that letter to ask for a postponement due to my current case, not getting it moved sooner.” you asked shockingly.

“apparently they declined our proposal on pushing back the trial, and decided to move it earlier since there's an empty slot.” childe said on the other line.

you huffed. “what about the case? i can't just leave my duties. and scaramouche is a witness for me, we both can't just walk out of this. if something were to happen and we missed it, it's totally gonna ruin our case.”

childe sighed in exasperation. “the precint can send out another proposal for you if you want, but if the court still refuses, then there's nothing we can do.”

you groaned loudly in the kitchen. you were too busy with being undercover that you completely forgot the trial for an incident you were involved in over a year ago was coming up so soon.

great, first you have to deal with a serial killer, and now you have to face the person that almost took your life.

you greatly appreciated that you survived through it all, if it weren't for scaramouche you would've been long gone. but now you felt like it'd be much better if you were buried 7 feet under if it means that you won't need to be dealing with these stuff that's making you go bananas.

you took a few seconds to give the orange-haired man an answer. “...fine. we'll send out another letter. thanks for telling me, childe.” you said defeatedly.

“no problem. i'll let you know when i get an update.” childe replied, hanging up the call.

you placed your phone on the kitchen island and sighed once again, both hands on the edge of the kitchen island whilst your head was hanging low.

why do the bad things always keep happening to you?

you woke up one night from a nightmare.

you quickly sat up, gasping for air. one hand clutching your chest, the other bunched up tightly against the bedsheets. your body was sweating from the brutal nightmare you had just now.

ever since the trial's been moved a little earlier than you expected, you've been getting more and more nightmares than usual. you used to only get nightmares regarding the incident once or twice a month, thrice being the maximum. but lately, it drastically changed and you've been getting nightmares every single night.

you've never really discussed about it with anyone, worried that you'd be much more of a burden to people than you already were.

well, except for scaramouche, you guessed.

you told him about it around a week ago, but he's never really pushed you to spare him the details. a curt nod was all he gave when you unravel the information to him.

you let out a breathy sigh. reaching out for your phone on the nightstand, you checked the time.

2:37 am.

guess you should get a glass of water, you're pretty thirsty from the nightmare you had.

you slowly opened and closed your door, not wanting to wake up the ravenette from his sleep. the faint sound from the tv can be heard across the living room, making you stop.

is he still awake?

heading towards the living room, you saw that, scaramouche, was in fact, still wide awake. sitting on the couch by himself, he had his eyes glued to the tv screen. only did your presence made him break his gaze away from it.

“y/n? you're still up?”

you huffed, making your way to the kitchen fridge to get some water. “just woke up.” you said, voice still groggy. pouring down some cold water onto a glass, you gulped it all down. the cold drink refreshes your dry throat completely, making you sigh in contentment.

you walked back to the living room with your glass of water to see what's scaramouche up to, sleepiness drifted off your mind.

the short male saw you strutting to him and in return, he scooted a bit to the edge of the small couch to give you space. you placed your glass on the coffee table, then proceeded to take a seat next to him.

you two were sitting a little too close, with one of his arms resting behind your head on the couch, your thighs subtly touching, and faces right next to each other.

neither of you bothered to move away.

“why are you still awake?” you finally said, looking at him. the only source of light in the living room came from the tv screen, its ambient light illuminates the ravenette's features as you stare at him for a moment.

he shrugged. “couldn't sleep.”

you let out a hum, and moved your gaze back to the tv screen. after a few seconds, scaramouche speaks up again.

“you wanna tell me about it?”

“...tell you what?”

“what's bothering you, of course. what else could it be?” he said nonchalantly.

for a moment, you both looked at each other.

grunting, you turned your head back to the tv. “nothing's bothering me.”

he let out a scoff. “you think i buy that? i'm not stupid, y/n. i know something's definitely bothering you, else you wouldn't be sitting here next to me watching some lame movie.”

you pursed your lips, debating on whether you should tell him about it or not.

“nightmare?” he guessed.

well, he took the word right out of your mouth.

you slowly nodded, eyes now fixated on your lap instead of the tv screen. “childe told me that the trial's been moved up earlier than it should.”

“when?”

“next month.”

his brows knitted. “that soon? i thought you sent out a proposal.”

“they declined. i asked childe to send out another one, we're still waiting on an answer.”

he stared at your blank expression, slightly worried on how you're taking this. he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “do you want to talk about it?”

you looked up, glancing at him. “don't really feel like it.” you said, leaning back on the couch. your head was resting on scaramouche's arm, and he didn't move it away, a sign that he's comfortable enough to let you rest on him.

“okay.” that was all scaramouche said. he took the blanket from his lap and draped it over to you, so that you wouldn't freeze from the windy night. he looked back at the tv screen and minded his own business.

you internally thank him for not pushing on the subject further. as much as he is an insufferable ass, he's still pretty considerate of your feelings, never pursuing on the same topic whenever you showed clear signs that you were uncomfortable. it's one of the few qualities that makes you highly appreciate him, even if you hated him to the core.

the warmth of his body that emitted through the dark living room made your eyes droopy, sleepiness slowly engulfing you. the comfort he willingly gave was all it needed for you to be pulled back to sleep.

next thing you know, you fall dead asleep on the couch, head resting on scaramouche's shoulder.

did scaramouche care though?

no— he certainly did not.

indulged in some comfort bc these mfs are so helplessly vulnerable and needed each other

taglist: @beriiov @hopesandlegacy @cloudsandrenoswife @salamiwrites @thenightsflower @bleedingwhiteroses222 @lisiastak021 @yuuki4646 @lez-zuha @ryhie @sleepy-waffle

dm, comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

or if you're feeling shy, fill out this form with your tumblr user!

#h✧˖—mission accomplished #scaramouche #genshin x you #scaramouche x reader #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche fluff #genshin scaramouche #genshin x reader

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notabled-noodle · 2 years

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Ok so the whole diagnostic system is a hyperfixation of mine, and I usually will take any chance to talk about it, but I also am rather depressed and stressed atm, so we'll see how much energy I got for for this ask.

I think my main concern about how people talk about/use the dsm/icd has to do with a misunderstanding of what the diagnostic systems are, the basis of their design, and their intended use. And when I say people I don't just mean laypeople, I am definitely including psychologists and psychiatrists etc in there, too. As a matter of fact, I find these misconceptions most concerning when coming from supposed experts.

The modern version of diagnostic manuals has a lot to offer and a lot of practical applications, but its primary downside is that people (including doctors) largely tend towards seeing it as reflecting some universal truth about humans, and thereby to elevate the diagnostic categories of mental disorders to "biological fact", when in fact, they are more readily understood as social constructs (potentially based in biological facts, as are some such constructs). Now, there are also a lot of people who have understood this, but who take it "the wrong way".

Since people will say that if diagnostic categories are "social constructs", this means that 1) they can have no biological basis/component, 2) the symptoms of these disorders are potentially made up/induced, 3) the experience of having X disorder is not real, 4) biological intervention for mental disorders don't make sense/can't be effective/real.. etc. People will make these kinds of wrong statements based off the notion that diagnostic categories cannot be thought of as inherent biological/medical categories.

So naturally, a lot of people who push against these wrong and harmful beliefs, will end up seeing the idea of "mental illness as a social construct" as a red flag/dog whistle for someone very likely being ableist. For this reason, a lot of reasonable people, end up pushing the agenda of mental disorders/diagnostics being based in irrefutable inherent medical/biological categories, to push back against these ideas.

Therefore personally I often feel that it's difficult to discuss these things, esp in an online setting, where many people aren't looking for nuance, but for snappy truths and statements, that signals them to be "the good guys" to their respective ingroup.

Bc personally after years of formal and informal study and reflection, I strongly agree that the categories are very much manmade and to an extent self perpetuating, but at the same time, they are not based in nothing, and they reflect very real experiences of human beings, that have their basis in biological, social and psychological factors.

And ofc this has implications for how we use and talk about these categories, but ultimately, it doesn't make them not real. Me being bi is a social construct, but the experiences that lead me to identify with the term "bi" are not. And being "bi" is very much a real thing. Humans exist in social space. And so on. (Inherently bad example, sorry, but my brain is tired).

One of my major pet peeves with how esp psychiatric doctors as a group misunderstand their own field, has to do with their logic surrounding psychiatric drugs.

A common example is related to the "chemical imbalance" theory of mental illness. Let's use adhd as an example. We have found, pretty much through trial and error as usual, that central simulants affect and alleviate some of the symptoms of adhd for a lot of people. A lot of these drugs esp boost dopaminergic action at certain receptors/sites etc. Great. But then a lot of people take it a step further, arguing that adhd is "not enough dopaminergic action at these sites". (Similarly, this notion posits that depression is a lack of serotonergic action, psychosis is too much/dysregulated dopaminergic action etc etc). Now, there can be some merit to these ideas or not - they are a valid hypothesis based in an observation. But for the most part, we're struggling to prove any such relationship.

This doesn't mean that the drugs aren't helping though. But the way I see it, it indicates that the drugs have ~an effect on the brain~ which happens to alleviate some symptoms associated with this or that disorder. In other words, the drugs aren't treating any specific disorder, but a (set of) symptoms.

That's fine!! We also use pain medication across many different disorders, and in that sense, the psychiatric drugs are pretty specialized, able to alleviate different kinds of psychological pain etc.

What I don't like is, that many psychiatrists have deluded themselves into thinking that they are treating the underlying disorder/issue, that certain drugs "belong" to certain diagnoses, and that this means the same symptom in two different people, who has the symptom "because of" different disorders, is inherently different, and should be treated differently on every level.. which can be true.. but that can equally be true in people with the same diagnosis... People with depression are unlikely to all have the same underlying biological, social and psychological factors..

On a personal note, this kind of thinking meant that despite me -in a stroke of luck that would eventually win me the argument- having been diagnosed with adhd before I got my schizophrenia diagnosis, I had to fight for years upon years to be allowed to get central stimulant medication, which I desperately needed to complete university. Because "all the symptoms of adhd can be attributed to schizophrenia, and we don't believe that we should/can treat this group of symptoms in people with schizophrenia + it carries a statistical risk of triggering psychosis".

The latter is true, and ofc one needs to be careful with any amount of mixing and matching of drugs, but the idea that if symptoms of adhd aren't strictly obviously only caused by "adhd itself", they will never respond to stimulant medication, is simply untrue.

Anyways uhhhh I have ranbled enough.. I'm sorry this is not very coherent or comprehensive, ... My brain is not in an organized mood ^^"

I have likely said shit that can be misunderstood in an unfortunate way, so please ask me "wtf do you mean by that", or ask about my specific take on specific or edge cases (like autism etc), rather than extrapolate what I might mean, and get upset..

I am notoriously good at putting my foot in my mouth when I'm trying to communicate, so I really appreciate the benefit of doubt ❤️

Have a nice day!!

I see where you’re coming from for sure. this is a really difficult conversation to have for sure, because it’s way too easy to push too far in one direction or the other. I grew up hearing that mental illnesses weren’t real, and so I tend to push back against that in a very “worship the science” way (I’m trying to get better at seeing the nuance here!)… so if any of my response seems unnuanced or whatever, that’s probably why

but as someone with a lot of mental illnesses, a lot of neurodivergences, and a lot of physical shit, I can see how it gets messy quickly. I can never know fundamentally if my migraines are different from what people experience with a different disorder, but I do know that the recommended treatments are similar. meanwhile, I can also never know if my anxiety is the same as my sister’s, but I can know that treatment that works for her is not at all working for me

I think this balance has to be struck in all social sciences between the generalisation and the individualism.

so. generally, a combo of drugs and ERP is the gold standard treatment for OCD. but if a psychiatrist/psychologist goes into that with a one-size-fits-all approach, it’s not really going to work that well. as time passes, people are starting to figure out that OCD and GAD aren’t actually super different from each other, and so some people with OCD benefit more from the kinds of treatments typically given to someone with generalised anxiety

I can see how it can get really messy though. you’ve got some people who have OCD because of genetics, and some people who have it because of trauma, and that’s going to end up changing the underlying issue. my OCD is probably going to continue being bad until I sort out the trauma part.

I’ve never been a huge believer in medication in general (for myself), because of some of the reasons you talked about. I don’t want to be treating symptoms without looking at the underlying cause. and maybe that’s pig-headed of me, but what can you do

the biggest thing for me is that I think some people have the tendency to ignore the underlying causes and motivations of different disorders when they talk about anti-psych type arguments. two disorders can look like they have similar symptoms, but then come along with completely different internal experiences, and that’s kind of what matters the most

I don’t know! the DSM/ICD are not pieces of scripture. and I think actually universities and other training facilities need to work with mental health professionals on how to look for the causes, rather than just the symptoms (this work is probably already happening, just definitely not at my uni (I’m not taking psych but I have friends who are, and our program is a dumpster fire))

I’m sorry if this makes no sense, it’s starting to get late here… but I just wanted to get these thoughts out because yeah! it’s complicated! and I understand both sides here

(I am interested in autism as an “edge case” actually! you don’t have to answer straight away, but it would be cool to hear your thoughts)

#sorry if I misunderstood anything #but yeah! interesting conversation #asks #tw drugs

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 1 year

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nothing to do with your writing but your skin looks so healthy 😍 ... what's the secret

OK, I'm literally going to cry because I've been struggling with cystic and hormonal acne since 2020! And every since then I feel so self-conscious about my skin and have just recently (maybe close to a year now) haven't had any cystic type breakouts. I'll post my products & pics at the end, no one has seen these pictures btw because I just feel so embarrassed! I only took them for my doctor! But anywho, here's what's been working for me the past couple years!

Consistency is key! I never miss my cleansing/skin care routine. No matter how tired, drunk, upset I am. I do it. With that being said, a simple routine will help you commit to it:)

African Black Soap - when I first started using this I bought that "fake" one from target. I believe shea moisture makes it? But literally after a month or so I started to see a big reduction in my break outs. I recently switched over to the authentic one. I literally bought it in a little natural remedies shop in the DTLA Alley outlets district for $10. The only advice I was given was to not apply the soap directly on my skin. So I use a little cleaning tool instead of my hands (which is how i used the target one)

Double cleansing - According to the internet derms this is a scam, but I personally started to notice the biggest change in my skin when I stopped using makeup wipes and started to double cleanse with a makeup balm. I wear full face makeup every single day basically and balms are by far the best way to get it all off. I rinse the balm off with luke warm water, cleanse with my soap, and then rinse with cold water. Cold water rinsing is also life changing.

Derma-planing & exfoliating! I certainly used to over exfoliate before, maybe did this like once a week with a face scrub. Now I've minimized this to about a once a month thing. I'll gently exfoliate with a little face sponge & my soap & then derma-plane with the suds still on my skin.

Face Masking - These masks changed my life. I will only use hydration sheet masks from a Japanese brand (2x a month) and then if I start getting breakouts really frequently I use a Lush mask called cosmetic warrior once every night for about 10 days.

Water & veggies - this is pretty self explanatory. But increasing my water and vegetable intake has also helped give my skin the nutrients it needs to stay healthy.

Better hygiene habits - I've gotten into the habit of washing my pillow cases every week. And am trying to implement more frequent makeup tool washes. Right now I clean my beauty blender after each use, but my brushes about once a month, which I'm not sure if that's too little lol, but I feel like I could do it more haha

No scented products - I've found that scented products irritate my skin a lot. Even if they didn't they have tons of additional chemicals that don't serve a purpose, so better to keep it bland.

And lastly, it's important to remember that everyone's skin is different. Medicated things & pills didn't work for me in the slightest like they do for some people. And there was a lot of trial and error and mixing and match products before I found a routine that worked and helped my skin heal. So just pay attention to how your skin reacts to things and do a little research on what type of acne you have and what products can help with that:) Now products I use...

Now, this was me in 2021... It was painful and uncomfortable and just so shameful for me. I had never had acne before! I got acne as an adult after they switch my BC:(

And this is me as of tonight! Obvs I'll still get spots every now and again but I haven't gotten anything like the pics above since I made the changes to my skincare routine:)

I hope this helps someone 🫶

#0nlythrowharrybeaux selfies #misc ask

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theemptyhearsesys · 2 years

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I'm angry and sad at the same time, you might ask me "why?" It's because the doctors I go to don't listen to my issues and my grandparents constantly invalidate my need for a mobility aid. I'm also angry and sad because it's now a constant battle between me and my body.

I'm TIRED all the time, I'm HURTING all the time, and I can barely walk nowadays, the pain has gotten so bad I can't even get up most of the day. I struggle walking to class with my cane, I even struggle using one at home. I have to push my body past its limits to do basic things I need to do. I'm sick of it to say the least. I can't even defend myself anymore if something were to happen to me or my friends.

"Look on the bright side!" They said, "I'm sorry," they said! But I sit here at the middle of 3am contemplating my own existence because I can't do a lot of things now. How selfish am I for crying out loud? I just want the pain to end, I want to be diagnosed properly by a doctor who will listen to me and make sure I get my medication that I'm prescribed and taking it properly.

All they'd tell me at an urgent care center is that I have a sprained ankle. It's more than just a sprained ankle, my legs and hips are always hurting, but it's now almost impossible to stand for me. We don't think our insurance would even cover a wheelchairs expense. My fiancé is offering to help when he gets the money, but I feel so guilty having to depend on him like this.

I'm so exhausted and I'm close to another breakdown. I need advice on something but I don't know if I'm prepared for it. I'm just desperate for a diagnosis at this point. They refuse to diagnose me with Chronic Migraines for example too but I've had a bad bad history of them since I was 10 or 11. Trial and error, for years on end with over the counter medication..

I don't know what to do anymore, but I'll try to keep going, I need to try at the very least..

-Arson, the Host of the system.

#vent blog #physical disability #actually disabled #mentally drained #cane user #genderfluid #struggle #disability awareness #ashamed #invisible disability #disabledcreator #disabled community #disabled witch #chronically ill #chronically tired #chronically disabled #did system #osdd community #mobility aid

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chaneomma · 10 months

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The next person to tell me socialized medicine would make wait times for doctors longer is getting kicked in the shins.

I am currently suffering from an unknown stomach condition. I have been for about 20 months, and during this time I have been in the ER and my GP’s office at least 6 times. I have not been able to eat a real meal and not throw it back up in nearly a year.

Finally, FINALLY, I got a referral to a GI specialist. I was so excited when they called. For a second I really thought I was finally reaching the end.

5 months. That’s how long it’s going to take me to get in to see one, and that’s just a consultation. It doesn’t include follow up visits. It doesn’t include any procedures they might have to perform. That doesn’t include the unfortunate trial and error that is taking medication.

I have another test coming up, and, as crazy as it sounds, I hope it comes back positive for the bacterial infection that could also be causing my symptoms because I am so tired of this bullshit.

You should not have to spend 15 hours in the ER. You should not have to wait 6 months to see a therapist. You should not have to wait TWO YEARS to eat like a normal person.

Fuck everyone who says socialized medicine is bad. It can’t be worse than this

#rant #not K-pop #i’m exhausted #politics #medicine

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beone0fus · 1 year

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silly little mental health vent/dump :-) tw ed

now that i am an adult that can make my own appointments and has half-heartedly tried to get her body and health regulated after years of multiple birth controls, disordered eating, and never having her teenage self taken seriously when it comes to mental and emotional health... i truly am terrified to even begin the trial and error stage of medicating. i feel like i really need help with my anxiety and depression that for literal years has gone undiagnosed and untreated, but i don’t want to gain weight, lose what little sexual desire i do have, or it completely backfire and i end up even more unstable. this all started with me trying to lose weight. i gained over 70lbs throughout college, and i’m truly just trying to lose about 50 of those bc at my lowest weight i did not look healthy, nor did i get there in a healthy manner. of course i am insulin resistant and probably have pcos (which no clue yet bc my gyno appointment that was set for august has been rescheduled twice now) but i am tired of feeling like a failure bc 5+ months of being on medications to try and reverse it has barely helped. i haven’t even lost 20lbs since june and i still have little energy or self-motivation. between my weight, skin, anxiety and depression, and lack of libido (which has gotten a bit better since stopping bc) i am just exhausted. plus i have grown to hate my job and the fact that i am 30k in debt for a degree that i have yet to find relevant employment with, stuck in retail where the workload keeps piling and i truly hate interacting with people anymore, and feel like a failure of a family member and friend half the time bc the days off i do have i want to just stay home. i dread socializing and have to even force myself to follow through with what plans i do make. being around my parents bums me out and i am on edge and tense being around my in-laws. my husband is so, so supportive and tries his best to encourage me, but i can’t even believe him most of the time. i feel like i fail him because i suck at emoting, comforting, reciprocating, and have grown to just want to get it over with even if he does worship this body that i hate. i care more about us sharing experiences together bc i tell myself those mean more than any wrapped box of junk we don’t need this christmas, but deep down inside i know that i’m just trying to escape the mundane reality because it really doesn’t make me feel “refreshed” like most people think it should. i’m so exhausted. i’m tired of masking.

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 3 years

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

Here’s a hug for the ones who can’t sleep.

Sleeping problems are something a lot of people underestimate. Laying awake in the middle of the night is not fun and you’ll be tired the next day, sure, but at least that tiredness will make you sleep extra well the next night. After a bad night, your body will just catch up on sleep all on its own... right?

If you ever got stuck in a whole row of sleepless nights, you know it’s not that easy. You may be so tired that you can’t concentrate, so tired that it gives you a headache, even so tired that you start to shake and cry at the tiniest thing - and you no longer trust in your body to take care of that on its own. When you lay down the next night, it feels like your brain doesn’t even remember how to turn on sleep mode.

Instead, you may find your head full of racing thoughts centered around sleep “Will I sleep tonight? Will this be another bad night? Did I do enough sleep-friendly things this evening? Is this my own fault? What if something is wrong with my brain? Oh gosh, it’s 4 am again, I will be so tired again tomorrow. I am the only person in the world who is too stupid to sleep. Maybe that’s why nobody loves me...”. It’s a irony that not sleeping leads to thoughts about sleeping that in turn can lead to you not sleeping. It’s an evil circle.

Sleeping problems can take a real toll on your emotional and physical well-being. It’s not a “luxery problem”, you’re not just being “a whiny teenager who doesn’t know real tiredness yet”. Not being able to sleep sucks, at any age, in any situation.

So, what to do? Well, there are the classics - avoid caffeine, try to find a nightly routine that prepares you for sleep (reading, skin care, meditation, journaling etc), avoid blue light from your phone late at night, try valerian or lavender, get your daily dose of magnesium, get a new pillow.

But if you are no stranger to sleep problems, you may already have tried all of that. In fact, it may feel like your whole day is now about creating the perfect sleep enviroment and you constantly find yourself analyzing if you’re behaving the right, sleep-friendly way. If that’s you, my main advice for you is to get out of that evil circle - and there’s no easy way to do that. “Just get a new pillow” is much easier than “Just get out of your head”!

Your solution needs to work for you, there’s no right or wrong. For some people, it helps to get up and do something - even if it’s 4 am, get up, turn on the light and read or puzzle or make a tea or do laundry. This can help you stop spiraling from “I am still awake” to “Everyone hates me”, like in the example above, because it directs your thoughts elsewhere. Other people find it helpful to write down everything that races through their mind, so they can put that piece of paper aside and deal with those emotions in the morning. Other people find that a “Screw this” approach works for them and the best thing they can do is actually tell themself NOT to try to sleep. Other people may benefit from talking to a doctor about medication. And so on!

It can take a lot of trial and error - but I believe in you. You will sleep again.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+#not really lgbt specific but guess who has been dealing with sleep problems again #this is for you as much as for me maybe it will help us both

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do-you-have-a-flag · 2 years

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i don’t say it much because it ultimately isn’t a HUGE deal and more of a pet peeve, but (heavy talk warning)

god while i love to complain and vent it’s mostly for the fun of complaining and generally i’m a pretty optimistic person and nothing annoys me more than how often the people i like and care about around me fall into patterns of really negative talk like

i’m not a toxic positivity person! i love when people trust me enough to bitch at me or commiserate! i think we have to experience our negative emotions and acknowledge when a situation is shitty before we reach any kind of positive action! but i Will Not enable self pity or pessimism from those around me!!! i’m exhausted by it! i did not work through that shit in my teens and early 20s to let other adults continue to put themselves down or only focus on the negative!

like i spent the last two years putting everything i learnt about taking care of myself during a low period into action! there was so much shit going on and i felt awful about it every day for months and i didn’t ignore me emotional responses to my situation but i didn’t wallow in it either. I KNOW how fortunate I am to have reasonably manageable problems, things that were awful but that i was able to get through, and a support network. but on top of those very basic advantages i put in the work to get mental health assistance and medical assistance and kept myself physically healthy and in communication with others and doing activities. a lot of it was me running on autopilot and taking breaks to cry but it was how i was able to cope with my situation and actively help myself not just survive but recover. and i did all this DURING A PANDEMIC like none of what i mean was caused by the pandemic the pandemic just made circumstances more difficult and dangerous and limited my options!

and i’m proud of myself for that! i would have been proud of myself if i got through it by laying in bed for 8 months! but I like that i was able to utilise positive actions to deal with a pretty bleak situation.

so i feel bitterly angry when the people i like and care about don’t appear to value themselves enough to fight against their own despair. i can only encourage and support so much from the outside and i am happy to do it. but it’s exhausting when it’s a one sided effort. I am not falsely cheery, i accept the hand life deals out and go “well how can we get the best out of this bad” but you cannot survive on grim determination alone. i threw that mindset out when i stopped being motivated by spite and superiority.

Survival for me is about creating the opportunity for joy in your own life, and you need to have some idea of what those joys are so you can have them as goals. like not to get prosaic but you have to light your own candles to see in the darkness sometimes!!

and i’m not saying like “if you’re mentally ill just try feeling better lmao” that’s not it! i’m saying that everyone has the capacity to do little acts of kindness for themselves even when they feel like shit or like they don’t deserve it. you have to take it as a responsibility to yourself at least logically before you can emotionally connect to it i think. and i’m so tired because it is very upsetting to watch people fall into pessimism even if they think they’re joking. to see people greet every situation with the downsides first before you’ve even had the chance to enjoy the upsides. happiness and sadness are not choices but we have more power over them than we think even if it takes months and years of work and trial and error.

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razorblade180 · 3 years

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Self interest

You know what’s worse than humiliation? Getting saved from it. Normally that’s what people want but not for Summer. Not when it came from the most insufferable people around. All the smarmy attitude and all the ego they’d bring was enough to make her stomach turn. She’d rather take a stab to the side; which is exactly why she was lipping through the snowy forest with just that predicament. It wasn’t so bad. So what if she was bleeding? No big deal. Could be worse. Her failed snowboarding trick could’ve sent her splintered board through worse areas or she could’ve flat out broken bones. Well….her knee did hurt, a lot. Okay maybe this was a bad situation.

Summer:Note to self, bankrupt that snowboard lodge for shoddy craftsmanship.

“Maybe you’re just trash?”

Summer:Oh I really…really don’t need this right now Shiva.

Summer activated the flame dust in her clothes to stave off any unwanted commentary. Unfortunately….

“News flash, that isn’t gonna work right now. You see the thing about body temperature and blood loss-”

Summer:I know! *winces* this isn’t my first puncture wound. You of all people know that. Just….let me think quietly for once?

“You don’t think critically on a good day. I’m not trusting your intelligence when you’re bleeding on fresh snow. Switch with me.”

Summer:You’re funny.

“And you’re actually dying.”

Summer:Heal it then. You’re good at that at least.

“This isn’t one of your idiotic cuts. You have a puncture wound. You’re in no shape or state of mind to- fucking stop being so useless all the time! Why am I explaining shit you definitely understand?! I’m not gonna let you die some pathetic death.”

Summer:Is it pathetic, or upsetting? It’s your self-preservation that’s making you act so don’t act like you give a damn. I’m perfectly happy ruining your life today.

“And the lives of your family apparently, or did the blood loss made you overlook that?

Summer:I……

“Sucks doesn’t it? Personally I don’t care much about their feelings towards you, but you have feelings. Annoying ones that attach you to them; preventing you from doing everything possible to get rid of me; well…most days anyway. How’s it feel knowing the only person who doesn’t give a damn about you is you? Even I have more interest in your own health.”

Summer:…..I need you to be absolutely true with me right this instant. You’re only interested in getting me safe right now? Do you plan on leaving immediately after?

“Nope.”

Summer:Oh for the love of-”

Her sentence was cut off by a snow covered branch that sent her falling forward. Pain radiated in her gut and the warmth it brought made her breathing raspy.

Summer:Can you at least not hurt anybody!? It wouldn’t even be in your best interest. How much can you do with a pathetic body in this state anyways.

“Huh, I guess you can think with a lack of blood. Very well, you have my word.”

Summer:Your word is shit.

“I think I like you when your like this.”

A strong chill washed over. The injured girl took a sigh of exhaustion, giving up resistance and waking up in her head. Still tired, she dared not move. For once her head felt comforting.

Outside, Shiva pulled out the wood. The shock was nothing to her and the blood froze within seconds while the wound began closing. A show of good faith made her take the broken board along as she continued walking. Her leg limbered up step by step. Before long, she started running. Feeling the wind hit her skin and cold nip her nose was like paradise.

Shiva:Finally! Being outside is much more pleasant when you’re not pestering me 24/7.

“That thing you just said, yeah, that’s how want to feel all the time!”

Shiva:Ah so that’s the feeling? Oh well, only one of us gets that.

“Why are you running?”

Shiva:I barely get to. Your legs are strangely stiff. I can feel your bones creak like an old door. Drink milk for goodness sake. It might actually make you grow.

“I don’t care about my height.”

Shiva:I wasn’t talking about your height.

“…….I don’t care about that either……”

Shiva:🎶I know what you think about.🎶 Lying is not your strongest skill. By the way, where’s home?

“Just take me down the mountain path.”

Shiva:Where’s that?

“E…Excuse me? I’ve been here plenty of times. How-”

Shiva:I’m not always around remember? You hate being cold so things get spotty for me.

“…How old am I?”

Shiva:Why would I know? Thirteen? Wait…your fourteen now.

“Fifteen.”

Shiva:Huh…good for you. Well not entirely. I thought your pass the age of milk support.

“I’m sick of talking to you.”

Shiva:Your loss. I’ll just…wander around. Down is progress.

Progress was slow and uneventful, but Shiva eventually found a path to follow. Being lost wasn’t an issue anyways. It was nice watching the scenery. Not to mention it was difficult to get lost when you’re sensitive to temperature. All she really had to do is go towards sources of heat. In this case, it was a lodge. Through trial, error, and cloudy information in her head, Shiva managed to find Summer’s room there. The wave of heat that hit her instantly gave her a headache. The inside of her throat became dry. Shiva didn’t even bother trying to get to a bed. She just let the girl’s body fall flat onto the board.

“Hey! What if you broke my nose!?”

Shiva:You wanted to bleed out in a forest. You don’t get to lecture me about your body. A believe a thank you is in order.

“I’m not thanking someone who acted in their self interest and did the bare minimum of something decent, which was not harming another.”

Shiva:And you say I’m cold? Have it your way. This aching, flat chested bag of bones you justify as a body is your problem to wash. *switches back*

Summer:I am not fla…agh….oh, oh this is pain. This is very much the pain of being alive. Of course you healed the wounds but not pain! You walked in this condition!?

“Blame yourself. Either say thank you next time so I’ll consider properly healing you, or be smart enough to take of your own body.”

Summer:….CCT scroll, call Penny!!!!

Penny:Salutations! You called?

Summer:Penny….I need medical care.

Penny:My goodness! What happened!?

Summer:

Summer:A very bad trick.

#rwby #rwby au #summer schnee #rwbabies #penny polendina #rwby twin snowflakes

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i-drink-and-i-write-fics · 3 years

Text

Omega

Chapter 10: Recovery

Summary: Reader wakes up to the aftermath of the battle in DC.

Sound was slowly fading in and out while light began to try to penetrate your lids. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, but you knew it didn’t feel long enough. There was a faint sensation of a tugging at your right side above your hip bone. And breathing was going to be a laborious event for a while.

Slowly, very slowly, the sounds around you began to form into the words of the people in the room. And soon after that they reached your brain and began to make sense.

“You have no right being in here, Ross! Your boss tried to kill her!”

“Back off, Rogers! I risked my life to help her out there while you sat around with your head up your ass!” You felt a squeeze of your left hand. “Yes, I’m hurt she held this secret from me, but that will be between her and I when she’s healthy enough. And clearly I had no idea ____ was a mutant or I would have called off the meeting.”

“Cap, I’m sorry but I have to side with Ross.” You heard Tony sigh. “I may not like that she chose him, but he proved himself last week. You have to let it go, Steve. Our fuck up changed how she viewed you.”

“You can’t just let her-”

“You guys really need to stop talking about me while I’m in the room.” At least, you think that’s what you uttered. You couldn’t feel your lips move so it was hard to say.

“____? Was that noise you?” Damn, guess you didn’t form the words correctly. Tony took your free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Kid, was that you?”

You mumbled again as your eyes struggled to open. When you did manage to pry them open, you let out a growl as the lights pierced your tired eyes. You heard Steve move and the room quickly dimmed. “Thanks.”

“Easy, _____. You’ve been in a medically induced coma for a week. Which wasn’t easy to accomplish. With your super strength, you need a higher dosage than normal so it’s been a fun trial and error.” You could hear Tony try to mask his worry as your vision struggled to return.

“How…” you tried to clear your throat and a cup of water was placed at your lips. “Thank you. How bad is it?”

“You took quite a beating. A couple broken ribs, cuts on your face, and a gash at your waist. We stopped the bleeding as much as possible until Dr Cho was available to set up the Cradle.“

"So that’s the tugging feeling.” Your voice was a mess, low and scratchy as if you hadn’t used it in a month.

“Yeah. She would have been here sooner, but you had been in a normal hospital first. Handcuffed to the bed.” Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I’ll explain better when you’re more coherent.”

You slowly nodded and looked to your left, where Everett was sitting. Near-sighted vision was returning first and you could see he was holding your hand, worry etched all over his face. You smiled faintly. “You’re here.”

“Of course. You saved my life.” He smiled tiredly at you.

“Well, you saved mine first.” You gave a light squeeze of your hand. “Everett, I am so, so sorry. I kept trying to find ways to tell you, but I could never find the right words.”

Everett nodded his head, still holding your hand. “I know, Tony explained to me the pressure you were put under by Howard. And I know it didn’t help that my boss basically threatened your life. Well, actually attempted to take your life. We can talk about it more when you’re stronger.”

You finally looked around at your surroundings as more of your vision came back to you, the room beginning to look familiar. “Where am I?”

Dr Hank McCoy spoke up from the doorway, “the mansion. Tony felt it would be in your best interest if you recovered here under mine and Jean’s care.”

“Sorry, kid,” Tony shrugged. “Healing a mutant is a little out of mine and Banner’s fields of expertise.”

Your eyes began to flutter again. Hank walked over and took your pulse. “Your vitals are getting stronger, but you should rest some more. Jean or I will always be nearby if you need anything.”

“And I’ll be here, also.” Tony tugged at your other hand. Before you could respond, you had succumb to sleep once more.

Another week passed before you were able to actually keep your eyes open longer than five minutes. You blinked and looked around your room again, this time taking in all the details. Tony was slouched in a nearby chair, worry and exhaustion covering every inch of his face.

“He’s been like that for a while. Refuses to leave your side.” You turned your head to see Clint sitting on the edge of your bed. “Hey, plastic buddy! Was wondering if I was going to be the only one to use the Cradle.”

You gave a tired smile and tried to sit up. “How long have I been out?”

“Well, the first time was a little over a week,” Clint came over and helped you shift on the bed. “You had a pretty good gash on your side and you lost a lot of blood when you did your tornado trick. Might want to avoid doing that next time you’re wounded. This last time you were out for a week and Nat had to practically tie Tony and Agent Ross down to chairs to keep them from wearing a pathway in the tile.”

“Everett hung around?” You hadn’t been sure if you had dreamed him holding your hand the first time you woke up.

Clint smirked at you. “Yeah, he took some time off from work to focus on the mess that happened in DC. Any time not spent cleaning that up, has been spent by your side.”

You blinked at this, the news not really setting in. “But…. like, isn’t he mad at me? I hid who I was.”

“He was at first. It was actually funny as hell. He would switch back and forth from being mad at you to being mad at Secretary Ross for almost killing you. None of us could tell what side he was on or whether he’d forgive you. Well, except for Carter and Stark.”

“Wait, Carter? Sharon Carter?”

“Yeah, she still has friends at the bureau and apparently they’ve kept her updated on how Ross had changed since meeting you. He’s still a sarcastic hardass at times, but he seemed happier than he had been in years. Once she heard he had been spending his spare time with you, and in secret, she knew he would end up forgiving you.”

Before you could question further, Steve walked into the room and broke out into a huge grin. "Hey sleepy! Was wondering when we’d get to see you awake.”

“Hey, Rogers.” You pointed at Tony. “What’s with him? I thought he’d be the first to greet me. Not that I’m not happy to see both of you boys.”

“Pepper’s idea. He was close to a nervous breakdown, so she had Jean mix a couple of sleeping pills into his decaf. Before you judge, he had a gauntlet on this whole time and was trying to keep guard over you, threatening anyone who tried to get him to sleep.”

“Caring moron.” You muttered and tossed a stuff bear that was on the table by your bed. Tony only shifted before settling back to sleep. “I hope he was the one who gave me that bear.”

“It was actually Parker.” Clint laughed.

“Well shit, now I feel bad. Kinda.” Just then, Pepper peaked her head in the door, before dashing over to give you a careful hug.

“Oh my god, you’re ok!” You wrapped your arms around her, feeling her shudder as she tried not to cry. “I’m sorry. You’d think I’d be used to this after marrying Tony.”

“There’s only so much being around that train wreck will prepare you for.” You both laughed as she wiped her eyes.

“I heard that,” a sleepy reply came from the near by chair.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it? Fight me?”

“Yup. Just as soon as you can stand and I can keep my eyes open.”

“Right. So a month from now.” Tony’s reply came in the form of a snore. “That didn’t last long.”

Pepper laughed and stepped back from the bed. “I’ll let Hank and Jean know you’re awake. Oh, Clint. Nat has been trying to reach you. Says you’re a dead man for putting your phone on silent.”

“Shit.” Clint sprinted from the room.

You shook your head and tried to stretch your limbs, wincing as you tried to do so. “Mother fucker.”

“Hey, language!” Steve joked.

“Listen, old man, I don’t have the patience for your lip right now.” Noticing a mirror next to the bed, you reached for it to make taking inventory of your facial wounds easier. “Holy shit!”

“Sorry, we should have warned you.” Steve looked down at his hands.

You had remembered that you had a cut on your cheek from the fight, but what you hadn’t known at the time is that it was longer than you thought. It ran from above your left eyebrow down to your jaw, leaving a pink line through the eyebrow and luckily missing your eye. Your right side was sporting a black eye - no doubt from when that sentinel back handed you into the wall - and you had a cut across your lips. “Welp, I look like a dumpster fire.”

“Hank and Jean are unsure if you’ll end up with that scar being permanent on your face or if it will fade away. They do know you are lucky that whatever cut you, didn’t touch your eye.”

“Tell me about it.” You gingerly reached up and ran a finger down the line. “At least it will make for an interesting story.”

Steve slowly walked over and sat at your hip on the bed. “I’m sorry this happened to you and we weren’t able to help.”

“So what ended up happening? Clearly I missed a lot while dodging for my life.”

“SHIELD and the CIA scrambled to find a way to shut down the sentinels while you were fighting them, but only their creator had full control.”

“Goddamn Trask.”

“You know him?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard stories from Charles and Logan. Please keep going.”

“The team showed up moments after you passed out, luckily. Unluckily, rather, as clearly you needed them sooner, but Vision was there to safely carry you to the near by hospital.”

“Where apparently I ended up cuffed to a hospital bed.”

“Yeah, that’s a story for when you’re head is clearer. Just know you’re not being held on any charges.”

“That’s oddly comforting.”

He sighed and tilted his head back. “I failed you. I should have been out there fighting, but every time I tried one of those robots shot at us. And yet there was Ross, taking the obvious route.”

“Steve, I’m not mad nor disappointed in anyone. No one saw this coming.”

“I should have thought to find a jet.”

“Please stop beating yourself up over this. It’s over and if I’m lucky, the program will die a painful death. And if I’m very lucky, Secretary Ross will die a painful death at my hands.” You shifted on the bed so you could pat him on the shoulder. “Besides, unless there were two jets there’s not much you could have done. Everett got to it first and it was shot down.”

Steve glanced over at you, noticing how you casually used the agent’s first name. “Are you… are you dating Agent Ross?

You sighed. "We had started to, but who knows now with my secret being exposed before I had a chance to-” closing your mouth, you shook your head. “No, that’s not right. I had a chance to tell him. Four fucking months. But I could never find the right words, the right time, or the right way. I wanted to earn his trust so I wouldn’t be some freak in his eyes or some ready made weapon for the government. I trusted him, but… you can trust someone with your very life, but when you tell people you have an active X-Gene, all their trust for you flies right out the window.”

“I still trust you.” Your head snapped up to see Everett in the door with a vase of flowers. “Steve, can we have the room?”

He looked like he wasn’t going to move until your cousin stirred from his chair. “C'mon, Capsicle. Let’s find out from Hank how much longer ____ needs to be here.”

Tony walked over and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gently guiding him from the bed and out the door. Everett walked over and placed the flowers on the table by your bed. He looked uncertain for a moment before finally settling on sitting on your bed like Rogers had. “Hey, _____.”

“Hey, Everett. Thank you for the flowers. And for visiting while I was unconscious. How are you doing? Did you get hurt during the fight?”

He gave you a rueful smile, “a little whiplash when I ejected from the plane, but nothing else.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh at him. “Well just send the medical bill to my cousin.”

He gently reached out to touch your face, first caressing your scar and then the cut on your lips.

“I know. I’m what the kids call a ‘hot mess’.”

“You truly are,” he chuckled before turning serious. “Though you look a lot better than the parking lot did.”

You grimaced at this. “How much trouble am I in for that?”

Everett looked at you in surprise. “Trouble? You’re not in trouble. You were defending yourself from an unlawful army.”

“Really? I pretty much destroyed government property.”

“True, but it was for the survival of you and everyone in that building.” Everett cupped your face and stroked your cheek and you leaned into the touch. “I was so ready to be mad at you for hiding who you were. But when you came close to dying…. I realized that this whole thing was a product of how Howard raised you. It will take time, but I want to work past it.”

You covered his hand with yours. “I would really like to try.”

Chapter 11

#fanfic #fan fic #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #omega #everett ross #everett ross x fem!reader #fem!reader #stark!reader #mutant!reader

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aaetherius · 3 years

Text

A tiny update under the cut (one of the personal/mental health/medication variety - it’s not negative, or venting or anything like that)! This is primarily for those I speak to OOC (though can apply slightly to the dash as well)!

I never know what I should share or not, but I do try to address things when it’s something that impacts things related to threads or ooc communication (plus I sometimes think it can be nice to hear about things sometimes). This isn’t anything bad, more so just a heads up!

Most of you who I am in ooc communication with know I started medication for my ADHD. I am also on depression medication. The issue being that we’re having a bit of a difficult time getting things to work/work together (I’ve actually always been very resistant to medication for some reason so this isn’t too unusual for me). So tldr, I mostly just want to slide on to say that the medications do influence, greatly, how much social energy I have available.

The ADHD medication tends to make me more talkative, less tired, and more active on the dash (via ooc posts or just interacting with the dash in general such as sending memes, liking ooc posts, and whatnot). So, when the effects of the ADHD medication are active I can be very social (this is especially true on Discord/if I’m comfortable with someone) - reaching out on Discord/responding to ooc messages/whatnot. Normally I’m pretty shy/reserved and rarely message first ooc because I have terrible social anxiety and don’t wish to be a bother and am usually extremely tired. So I do worry that when I’m in a better and more social mood I might come off as too much as I can type/talk a lot/can be excitable (and sometimes I send cheesy pictures that remind me of people or I think you might like/find funny haha) when I’m usually very mellow, and if I do you are free to tell me you’re not in the mood to talk or just ignore me until you are (you do not have to respond to ooc messages quickly by any means)! So, there are times when I reach out multiple times or days in a row when this is happening.

And, then, the depression medication does the opposite (see where the issue is coming in hgdufgkf), but helps me with focus/stopping my brain from going 100 miles a minute. It utterly exhausts me to the point where I, someone who has never taken a nap in their life, fall asleep randomly and can stay asleep for hours (aka I can totally pass out mid-conversation, and have fallen asleep at work. Thankfully I am a super light sleeper and pretty functional after just waking up so the phone ringing in my ear is enough to save me hguidflghu). I tend to do more writing when the impacts of this one are stronger. However, I also tend to be very reserved. I may not like things on the dash, send in memes, or might be slow ooc, and I’m very unlikely to reach out ooc first, and may get tired and leave you hanging during a conversation (that said, you’re always free to message me ooc and I will do my best to respond just know if I don’t or if I’m slow or if I stop after a bit it’s not personal, my social energy just died rhgkdu). So, in short, when the depression medication is kicking in, I could go a few days or longer without reaching out to someone if you’re someone I usually speak to/reach out to or, if I seem to like your posts randomly and then there are other times when I do not like them, it’s the medications flip-flopping on me.

So, we keep trying various things to kind of control it/adjust it as needed. There was a time when I just took the depression meds, and a time when I just took the adhd meds (if I talk to you enough you might be able to guess because I kind of vanished ooc for a bit and I am so sorry gffjgkdgvg). Now we’re trying them at once (in the morning and at night), but that’s making my insomnia flare up despite the depression one being the one at night and tldr there’s a lot going on with figuring out the best system for me and it effects my ooc communication a lot. So, when I’m super active ooc vs when I am not active ooc at all are very random at the moment. Some days I will be, some days I won’t be. I couldn’t tell you the when or the how, we’re trying to get all sorted out, but it’s obviously trial and error.

So, in short, I just want to say that if I ever go quiet on anyone or I seem to be less active on the dash in terms of things that involve social energy, I’m not mad at anyone and it is very much not personal at all. And, if I’m ever super social and being a bother, I am also sorry, you can always stop responding (there’s never any pressure or even just tell me you’re tired!). I’m me regardless, of course, it doesn’t change anything other than the amount of social energy I have basically which is why sometimes I seem super active on the dash and other times you can message me and I seem dead to the world ghruidfglu.

Hopefully this explains things well enough/makes sense, I have zero knowledge of how medication works I just know how it impacts me personally so I just tried my best to put words to that so those who speak to me ooc know why I seem to flip-flop between being social and not being social!

Also not super related, but for some reason I make more typos when the adhd meds are active I have no idea why, you have my apologies for that as well.

Thank you for understanding, as always! I love all of you very much, and I hope your week is a wonderful one!

#| ☩ Out of Time (OOC) ☩ |#| maybe tbd |#| tw. medication mention |#| tw. mental health mention |#{ Neither is mentioned in a bad light nor is this post written to be negative! }#{ I just feel like I should post something/explain my social energy a bit }#{ so no one I speak to ooc thinks I'm upset with them or anything when I vanish for a few days and then come back with #a vengeance seemingly randomly and gush at you for a few days and then slink away again gfudkgue }#{ There's no reason for it well there is it's the medication there's no actual other reason for it rhdjgkrf }#{ like no personal reason I mean like nothing's wrong frudgkud }#{ when the phones are down at work I might as well make use of it lol }

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me.

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less).

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever.

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term.

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes.

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me.

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

#this is a post #im not entirely sure how else to describe it #just that it is not necessarily the post that it looks like beneath the cut that it looks like above the cut #so all I've got is: this has been a post #make of it what you will #lololol #its....whatever #ANYWHO

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