#but sometimes i feel like people get trigger happy sharing such horrific things

[circular-bircular]

I hope it's alright to ask a question like this! As a system who hopes to work with children in the future, I'd like to ask if you've found that having childhood trauma affects how you work with kids or how it feels to work with them. We get scared a lot that working with kids might somehow trigger us or make us feel unhappy just because we had a bad childhood, and while I know you and I do not have the same childhood and probably won't have the exact same experiences I think asking someone about this could give us some good insight :) However I know that this could be maybe an uncomfy question? so please don't feel like you're under any obligation to answer!!! I hope you have an amazing day!!!! - Sleepy of @endless-hourglass

I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to you! I joined a group blog recently and my inbox got absolutely buried!

Childhood trauma has absolutely impacted my ability to teach kids. It's been... so terrifying and so interesting and so useful, being the way I am. I'm actually going to plug this under the cut, because it can be intense, looking into all this, and I'm also about to RAMBLE. Teaching and how trauma impacts people are the two biggest passions of mine to discuss.

Trauma has impacted how I teach massively. I will say, teaching is absolutely my passion, and I adore my job. I'm so happy I get to be there for these kids, that I get to take care of them and help them grow and become better people.

Note: TW for trigger talk, trauma mentions, and mentions of depression, sui, and sh.

It is also hard as shit and I amaze myself each day for being able to handle this garbage.

Teaching in a school is absolutely triggering. You have to deal with ableism constantly, reminders of your past that you'd rather forget about, and kids being kids. Sometimes, it's not even shit you can help. I've had students who share the name of one of my abusers, many times, and just seeing that name was enough to make me dissociate horribly.

... However.

That does not make it inaccessible. It just means you have to adapt.

At work, the majority of staff (and by that I mean, those who speak with me and the relevant administration) know that I have "memory problems" and need "additional reminders." If ever asked, or if I felt the need to share, I've mentioned that I have a "mental disorder that impacts memory acquisition." I've been incredibly upfront about having autism, and I've shared with a handful of teachers that I have "an incredibly severe/what is considered one of the most severe trauma disorders." One teacher knows I have dissociative identity disorder -- she's a bestie of mine.

The reason I shared these things? Accommodations. My work has been incredibly happy to work with me, particularly because it's obvious I'm willing to do what needs to get done to not only appease the standards, but do my best for the students. I take this shit seriously, I get good results, and so they need me to stay. If that means sending a few more reminder emails than is usually expected, all the better.

This, obviously, doesn't cover for everything. I can call my administrator to get 5 minutes out of class because, "I'm triggered right now and need a breather," but that doesn't negate the effects of the trigger on me, and I still need to handle it. So I do. That's the beautiful thing about teaching for me: I can not only learn to handle my shit, but I can teach the kids how to handle theirs.

For instance: The student I had with my abusers name. I saw it and I immediately dissociated pretty harshly. I couldn't handle seeing her name. It hurt too badly and brought out our protector (who, funny enough, hates teaching. He deals with it since we all enjoy it, though).

So, here's what I did: I got good. No, literally. I mean, it would've been horrific for that poor child if I asked her to use a nickname in my class, or if I avoided her name entirely. People deserve to be called by their names. So I worked on overcoming that trigger. I meditated, I spoke with my parts, I spoke with my therapist, and I internalized, processed, and compartmentalized the shit I'd been through.

This doesn't mean the trigger doesn't affect me anymore. It sometimes still does. But I got good enough at taking a breath and saying, "She isn't her, and she will never be here, and it'll be okay" that I can now handle seeing the name on my roster.

This goes for all of my school based triggers. They still affect me -- I'm still healing, after all, and that'll be a lifelong process -- but I don't let them impact my value.

The thing is, even when I was dissociative, I could manage that. I might not be the Best Teacher Ever, I might not do everything correctly, but I do know one thing well: emotional regulation and how to display that.

I have a lot of stress toys in my room, and I let my students use them. I let them know I use them myself. I show the kids how many grades I have at any given moment, to remind them that I am only human and can only do so many at a time. I have a flip-plush octopus that goes from sleepy to angry, and I use that to show the students MY mood -- "No, this doesn't necessarily mean I'm angry, but it does mean I'm having a ROUGH day, and so I want you to know that if I'm snappy or mean, it's because my octopus is flipped and I need to calm down." The kids can see instantly that I"m not at my best, *I* can see I'm not at my best, and by the end of one class period, it usually ends up being flipped back, because (and never let yourself forget this fact)... the kids care.

They care so damn much about you. A lot of them try not to show it, or will actively rail against it, but when you treat them like the people -- not children -- that they are? They will give that back to you. And the thing is, as much as it sucks to admit, these kids are absolutely going through trauma. These are students who have come to me about self harm. About depression. About being a DID system due to child abuse. They are eleven and they write me poetry about death. I've had to mandatory report numerous times, helping a child escape horrific domestic violence because of it.

It's triggering, yes. But I also know what to do. I've studied trauma and I've learned how to regulate myself, because I'm an adult and I can do that. These kids can't. Nobody is there to teach them, because the ones hurting them are the ones who are supposed to be teaching them those regulation skills. it sucks, the world sucks, their parents suck--

But you have the opportunity to make it better.

My trauma is a burden. It hurts and is heavy and I'm tired of carrying it. But I will always value the lessons and the teaching I have wrung from it. I am grateful that I can help traumatized students. I am grateful that my trauma-based learning sessions are boring for me, because I know all of it already. I am grateful that I can provide standard practice suggestions for troubled students, that I can say, "Actually, I've noticed that so and so seems to be triggered by being seated with their back to the door," and see the neurotypical eyes light up in shock at that revelation.

You have the power to be someone so special for these kids: you could be the person who understands them.

That's why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place.

HOOOOOO Boy sorry for the ramble!! I just... I have spent so long hating being disabled. Recently, I've found joy in what I"ve learned, at least. I hope things go well for you, anon. <3

#teacher talk #teaching rant #did #osdd #system #actually dissociative #actually did #dissociative identity disorder #other specified dissociative disorder #cdd #complex dissociative disorder #armageddon comes while i’m sleeping #teaching with DID

[permian-tropos]

callout post for me :)

So here’s a fun thing to talk about in the penultimate month of this plague ridden year. I just received this DM warning me that SOMEONE is going around saying I’m a nasty freak etc. etc.

I’m here to say... let me speak for my fucking self thank you very much. No need to talk behind my back.

Look. Here's the deal. I'm a kinky queer, I've had weird kinks literally all my life, and, for the record, I don't happen to have an incest kink, nor am I interested in lolicon or shotacon (in fact I disallow underage in private spaces I moderate because it is an OCD trigger and a bit of a trauma trigger but That’s None Of Your Fuckening Business), but several of my other kinks (which are, I cannot stress this enough, compassionate and playful ways of exploring sexuality meant to occur between consenting adults who understand the cathartic value of this content even though it might seem like a horrific story) have been widely stigmatized by the same corner of fandom that might be squeamish about any "bad sexual content", and so I feel extremely unsafe hanging out with anyone who is part of that crowd. That’s why they don’t like me. Because I am sometimes but not always vocal about feeling unsafe around them. Anyway, they’ve sure proved why I feel that way, huh?

If someone is spreading rumors about me behind my back, out of some vendetta or morally scrupulous neurosis, I would really like to get ahead of the curve and just say “if you take those accusations seriously, leave me the hell alone" but people don't leave well enough alone. I've deleted and kept private some really disgusting harassment I've received, as well as harassment random friends of mine have received (that I cannot share because it was very harmful to THEM first), I focus my blog on SFW and mildly suggestive content, I post smut on AO3 that hasn't been too kinky yet although that might change in the future, because apparently I’m already on the Big Bad Blocklist for enjoying some of my friends’ works that involve dark kink such as noncon (which is an INCREDIBLY common kink btw, please do your research about that, for god’s sake people!).

Hi there!! That’s me!! You’re probably wondering how I got myself into this situation. (blocked out all other names in the service of their privacy)

Since the category I’m under is apparently “on thin fucking ice” just call me the development studio behind Pathologic because I’m going to take up a fucking ice pick. I don’t want to be on YOUR ice, on YOUR terms, fuckhead.  

If you think I'm a monster for not seeing fictional characters as victims of tangible harm when people vent their potentially dark and transgressive fictional fantasies or plot ideas or coping scenarios or morbid fascinations or whatever else onto them, be on your way, I suppose. My opinions about REAL LIFE sex are 100% consent-based. Like a lot of kinky people, I’m MORE fastidious about sex needing to be between people who absolutely understand what they’re getting into.

But I'm not out here trying to HIDE being kinky, so much as I just don't want to be told to kill myself by the cult of abusive fandom zealots who have cropped up over the past half decade, so I focus my tumblr blog on things that still make me happy but also don't attract the kind of maniacs who appear to be housing me in their heads without my paying rent.

Frankly, there is no drama here, except for the fact that I have the audacity to casually interact with "innocent regular people" as if I was *gasp* a real person, while being, amongst my adult peers and friends who understand me better, a kinkster.

So just bear that in mind. I’m not a secret creep. Fictional kink is a flourishing and fascinating subculture that is extremely liberating for a lot of people, especially queer people! Please feel free to inbox me with good faith questions about why my kinks are fulfilling and cathartic for me despite involving sexual horror and immorality! I have a lot of interesting things to say about that topic.

However, I do also expect to be regaled with the usual horrific abuse for speaking up about this. Hope not! Let’s see if you all can keep things civil. 

#cw discourse #long post

[katieskarlette]

Personal update, for those who are interested.  Not happy stuff, unfortunately.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:  infant/child death, substance abuse, mental illness

My cousin’s six-month-old granddaughter died of SIDS over the weekend.  I had never met her just because I was at work when her dad brought her around to visit, but the idea of it, the photos of her, and witnessing the deep grief of so many family members has been awful.  Nothing like this has ever happened in our extended family, and we’ve had our fair share of tragedy.  We’re all in a state of shock as well as deeply saddened.

In far less important but still not fun news, our internet and cable TV service has been having major issues since December.  It will go down for a few minutes sometimes, or seven hours another time.  I can’t count on it staying up at any given time, and playing online games is out of the question even if I did feel like logging in to WoW.  I’ve been playing Sims 3 a lot.  We’ll call a technician to fix it soon, but we haven’t been able to before this because they would need access to a part of our basement that is floor-to-ceiling storage boxes, and required some major cleaning before it was reachable.  [EDIT:  The internet went down while I was typing this, so I guess I’ll post it later.  Oh, the irony.]

We’ve had a significant uptick in incident reports at my library job, as we’ve had a lot of people with substance abuse and mental health issues causing disruptions.  The city bus runs between the library and the local homeless shelter, and while some of the folks who visit us from there are awesome, fun, rule-abiding people who make us glad to do the job we do...others are problematic.  It’s very stressful, and we employees feel unsafe at times.  We do not have a security guard, despite the multi-million-dollar renovation in progress.

Plus, you know, war in Ukraine.  That’s a thing.  A horrific, worrying thing.

And I have aging parents with ongoing health issues.

So yeah.  Things will get better eventually,  but life is pretty darn crappy right now.

#pointless personal stuff #heed the warnings

[kiefbowl]

ew why tf are you dating a scrote

okay this is clearly a troll, but I’ll answer anyway since this seems to be a topic of interest to people lately. I wrote a lot and talked about sexual assault, so go ahead and skip it if that’s not your jam. disclaimer: I don’t have a problem or think there’s anything wrong with people who don’t want to follow me bc of the bf. that’s legitimate! please do what suits you. I think some of my responses have been perceived as snarky in the past but I only try to be snarky when I suspect a troll, I really don’t have a problem with people unfollowing me b/c of the bf or even telling me about it.

I worked with Malcolm for about a year and a half before we go together, but we got together for the first time 5 months after I had a brief but intense love affair with a meth addict that ended in big traumatic ways after he started using heavily again, which eventually cultivated in him raping me (not that it was the only sexual violence I experienced with him but that time was particularly horrific because I was heartbroken and he was high on meth). he was also a man, and the reason I started dating him isn’t so clear to me except that I was looking for a way to live recklessly and self harm. There’s a longer story there but the details can’t be told concisely and it’s no one’s business. In any case, everything that happened with him is not worth recounting, but it was long and complicated and continued even after the rape. To give some context about how bad it was, I also had worked with the meth addict (I’m not using his name on purpose), and part way through our relationship he got a new job. a couple weeks after the rape, he lost that job and got his old job back. yeah, imagine being dumped by a meth addict and the being raped by him and then he starts working with you when you know he is using now. not fun, pretty sad to think about.

I was in a very traumatized state for months. It’s hard to describe what it’s like, except you don’t feel like you’re living. You can feel very foreign to your own life. I felt like something inside of me was constantly pressing against me to get out, and if it did it would be me screaming. Like, my skin had become a suit to mask the babbling lunatic underneath. I would have random outbursts where I would wince in pain and people would ask what was up and it was just that the emotional pain was felt so sharply it became physical, but I felt like I couldn’t be honest with people. I did go to therapy, it felt like life and death. right around the time before Malcolm and I together, so a few months into therapy, my therapist gave me permission to feel okay seeking out love, sex, and relationships, because I was feeling very guilty that I might be using someone if I did. In any case, Malcolm showed up to my bday party, and was one of the last to leave, and I just was ready for the next thing after the meth addict bf. Every day I didn’t have sex, the last person I had sex with was him. I wanted to be normal again. I was feeling a little better, less freakish, but still so sad. So I said, okay Malcolm, come home with me and he did. It didn’t seem so bad to take Malcolm home with me because I wasn’t very interested in him long term, so it seemed like low stakes to end up hurting him. Low investment. Yadda yadda.

Malcolm was also convenient, he lived walking distance. he was nice, friendly, easy to hang out with. our emotional intimacy was very low, it was low low low low maintenance dating. Malcolm felt very safe, he was the polar opposite of the other bf. we had a casual, boring, unintimidating fling for a few months that sputtered out. if the other bf was like riding a roller coaster that was condemned, Malcolm was like taking a nap on the bus back home after a long exhausting day at the amusement park. I know, it’s not very sexy. But it was nice to feel like a human again, have proof I could be normal, proof I could do unsexy things like watch tv and go to brunch and it didn’t feel like I was a freak for trying after months of feeling like I had a neon sign over my head that said “idiot adult woman dated meth addict like it wasn’t going to end up fucking her over HA HA.” I was ready to go out with my new sense of normalcy and have fun with people I might be, er, to be blunt, more interested in.

BUT the most amazing thing was we stayed friends after the break up, which I had never had before. and even though the first few months of dating helped me feel normal again in a way, it turns out being raped by your meth addict ex leaves deep, painful welts. who could guess. Seeking out other relationships from scratch ended up being exhausting. When do I bring up that I’m not even a year from a meth addict raping me? Date two? I tried with other people, and it wasn’t working. I dropped dating, and focused on friends and work instead. But I missed him some days, and as things around me were starting to feel like they were crumbling again, he was there and around. He came over, smoked weed, taught me MTG, let me make him dinner, took me out to bars, listened to me cry, had gentle sex. Soon we were seeing and talking to each other every day. We spent enough time together that it became clear we were dating again, and this time around it was more enjoyable and more intimate. It felt easier to invest in our relationship the second time around because he already knew the baggage. We started dating and eventually, out of the sake of convenience, moved in together. 

But if it makes you feel any better, anon who is probably not reading this, the state of my relationship is not great atm. It feels like we’re very good friends that share a bed. I always had doubts about this relationship from the beginning, I was never really crazy about Malcolm and was tentative about being exclusive. I rationalized the relationship with thoughts like “you don’t know until you try” and “maybe this love is different love, and it doesn’t feel like previous love because I still need to learn more about love.” I don’t think that’s quite it anymore. But, we live together in an unpredicted pandemic, so I sort of made my bed. Plus, it’s hard to decide to break up with someone who isn’t bad just maybe not good enough. Maybe it’s my fault? some days I wake up and think, “oh well am I really giving him 100%? if I tried harder maybe it would be better.” Maybe it’ll get better? What’s life post pandemic and when is it coming, I can’t know. I’ve been depressed, will I get better? Will it change things? I also adore his parents, they’ve been amazing to me, they inspire me. they’ve opened their hearts to me. losing them weighs heavy. I love Malcom very much, he’s been a good friend and we’ve built a nice little life together that has a lot of parts working. How do you decide what day to hurt someone you love? Idk...I guess I entered this relationship to learn.

The Meth Addict has loomed large in our relationship and casts a long shadow. I’ve talked about it with Malcolm but I’m not sure he fully understands it. almost 3 years since my birthday we hooked up. That’s a long time. It’s as long as the relationship I had with my first love. I can’t predict the full story Malcolm and I will have, but I can see a potential break up looming closer. I struggle with it every day. Some nights, like tonight, it’s seems pretty clear cut. If I think this way now it pretty much proves I want to break up, right? But tomorrow morning he’ll make me tea and we’ll talk about our weekend plans and I’ll think “oh this is so nice, what was I even thinking about last night? I’m getting in my own head.” So I don’t know! I think about women a lot. I think about how I talk frankly about my bisexuality on tumblr and yet my experiences with men outnumber that with women. I feel like I’m cheating sometimes, like I’ve lead you guys to believe something that’s not real even though I’m not lying. I think about how I never want to cheat on Malcolm but I get crushes and I want to sleep with women and I wonder if I should be a mom and I think about his parents and it gets confusing. I feel guilty about thinking about our convenience because that’s cheating him and cheating me, but sometimes I wake up happy and much happier than I’ve been in 10 years.

So I guess the reason I’m dating a scrote is because I’m complicated and have a bit of a messy life, and I live day to day, and we make micro choices that lead to macro choices and then we make macro choices that lead to micro choices, and I haven’t pulled the trigger on breaking up with him yet. He was part of the healing journey because, well, he was here. In my real life. It turns out the women we follow on tumblr are very very human with lives far more complex that can be summed up in a few posts on tumblr. Maybe ask me in 50 years why I dated Malcolm, I’ll probably have a better idea why. 

[muddyhippy]

Night Terrors, Chapter 8: Lying in the Dark (11k)

As always gorgeous artwork done by @smolghostings

Lying in the Dark 

Jonny wasn’t in his room.  

It was late, well, it felt late but he wasn’t in his room. That was rare, he was normally easy to find. Only sometimes he was doing something else. But still, she’d had a bad dream and she wanted him to tell her it was alright. He was very good at it, when he said things were alright she believed him. He gave really good cuddles too. She liked sleeping in with him when she got really scared, he made her feel safe and he kept the bad dreams away for the rest of the night.  

It hadn’t been a  horribly  bad dream, or at least, not as horrible as they were back on the ship but it was still a  bad  one, one with screaming and blood and accusations. She wanted him. Wanted to know that it was just her brain telling her lies again. The bad ones couldn’t hurt her anymore and they weren’t hiding on the ship anywhere and her people weren’t cross with her for leaving them behind to live with the Mechanisms. Jonny knew a liar when he saw one he said, he knew a lie when he heard it too so he could tell her that it was just a bad dream and nothing more.  

Nothing to be scared of.  

Lily hummed unhappily, trying to think of where to look. She could wait for him, but she didn’t want to be on her own that long. If she was looking for him then she was doing something to fix it herself.  

She carried on humming, the corridor was quiet but hummed a little bit in response.  

Lily didn’t really notice the change in pitch of it as she wandered along, too preoccupied with a lurking nightmare and looking in each and every door along the way.  

She was so busy investigating the doors to the side she didn’t notice the access panel open at the end of the corridor, when she emerged from the latest room she just assumed it was another open door. Lily wandered in, her search for Jonny far too important to worry about the possibility of getting lost.  

Aurora knew exactly what she was doing. She recognised the child’s humming and responded in kind. The little one was sad, sad and scared and missing someone. Missing Jonny.  

Lily had woken up after tossing and turning and crying out.  

Aurora often watched over the little one, making sure she had someone looking in on her. She often pinged Jonny’s communicator to warn him if it looked like Lily was having a particularly bad one. They’d been increasing in number recently. More crying and screaming from the child which was something Aurora hated to see.  

She liked Lily, the child was bright and made her crew smile, bringing some sort of lightness with her when she laughed and smiled and danced. It made the darkness of her dreams all that more stark.  

Aurora had got into the habit of alerting Jonny whenever he was  awake  and he would always go to comfort the child wholeheartedly without a single  hesitation,  but she drew the line of when he was sleeping.  

She knew her love worried about the first mate, the fact that until Lily he’d been slowly getting colder and harder and wilder. More trigger happy, heavier drinking and going for weeks without sleep. She was worried his descent into extended self-destruction would be irreparable but each time she’d tried to broach the subject she’d been rebuffed as though he had no idea what she’d been talking about even if this had been going on, bit by bit, for centuries.  

With Lily joining the crew it had forced Jonny into altering his behaviour pretty drastically, and to a lesser extent had forced the entire crew too. They were now trying to avoid murdering each other outright, violence in general had dropped to a bare minimum because no one wanted to make Lily cry the way she had on her first night with them. That had been horrific, and whilst they may all be bastards of the highest order, they may be entertained by war and death but they weren’t complete monsters and they didn’t enjoy listening to or worse, being the cause of a child who obviously adored them sobbing her little heart out.  

Lily, latching on to Jonny as she had, had thrown real, serious and immediate responsibility into his lap. But instead of bolting or imploding like almost the whole crew had expected him to, he rose to the challenge. Nastya and Aurora however had hoped the child would have this affect on him, she’d seen Jonny long before the others had been forcibly added to the crew. She knew far more of how he worked, how much he cared.  

Lily  gave Jonny intrinsic permission to care, loudly and openly without a shred of derision or the threat of punishment for caring. She was a little girl who needed love and reassurance and surety. And Jonny provided it, unconsciously most of the time, she was a priority to him and so he gave her his attention and did what he could to make sure she was alright.  

It had pleased Aurora and Nastya no end to see how much Lily reciprocated that even without truly understanding the extent of it.  

Jonny even had somewhat of a routine now, he was forced to talk instead of shooting his way out or he could just leave the room without blowing up if things were too much. He was starting to practice sharing his real thoughts and feelings, both ship and engineer were deeply amused that such an accomplished liar found it impossible to really lie to Lily, omitting some truths until she was older excepting, he answered honestly to any question she asked. Then again, so did the rest of the crew when she had a question, no one had really learned to withstand the eyes yet.  

He put her to bed at night and often woke in the morning to her snuggled against him. He’d eased off on his drinking for the most part, wanting to be semi-sober to deal with any bad nightmares and he’d slept more in the last four and half months than he had in the last four years.  

Aurora was pleased to see that when Lily joined the first mate in his bunk both occupants slept more easily and peacefully.  

Which was why Aurora was loath ever to wake him.  

This time however, Jonny was not asleep.  

Aurora happened to know exactly where he was, he’d got swept up into a spirited argument with about something that was long overdue and needed settling whilst the ceasefire was in place. Aurora would be tempted to eject them both into space if they attempted to hash this out with their usual methods, she nearly had done the last time this was broached several centuries ago. That time Brian and Ivy had killed them both before they got dangerously destructive.    

They needed to actually argue and resolve things without murdering each other for once so she steered Lily away from that cathartic nonsense and guided her instead down to her love who’d been a little despondent of late and could probably use the affection Lily gave freely to anyone who wanted it.  

Lily wandered guilessly down into the depths of the starship, humming along in tune unbeknownstly with Aurora.  

She was just beginning to get worried that she was really very lost when she heard some familiar muttering up ahead.  

“Nastya?”  

The muttering stopped.  

“Nastya?” She called again, a little louder this time.  

“ Маленький ?”    

“What?”  

There was more muttering which quickly flipped to English.  

“Lily?”  

“Nastya? Where are you?”  

The engineer appeared from the other side of a service hatch.  

“What are you doing down here?” She looked about for an accompanying Jonny, surprised that Lily appeared to be on her own, “You should be in bed.”  

Lily suddenly remembered why she was here in the first place.  

“Had a bad dream, wanted Jonny but I couldn’t find him.” The child sniffed, rubbing at her eye with her sleeve.  

Sometimes it struck Nastya all over again just how young Lily was. When she was up and bouncing with the crew it was almost easy to forget, she was so full of life and smiles, bringing out what could arguably be described as the best of them that it was very easy to equate them all together, like she just belonged and fitted in as if she’d always been there.  

Especially since they’d all tried hard to curb their more violent instincts around her.  

Right  now,  Nastya was painfully reminded of her own young self.  

The engineer was never entirely sure exactly how to handle Lily, her own childhood was so very different what Lily had experienced so far both on her own ship and with them. She was free with her affection and care with them all which was surprisingly pleasant after a fashion.  

It had taken Nastya a while to get used to Lily’s exuberant love for the crew, for their lives and especially for her own love, Aurora. Lily had accepted the two of them without a single qualm, only asking Nastya how she communicated and if she could learn to say hello too.  

That, that had stilled her.  

Jonny had learned enough to interpret Aurora’s clearer messages, as had Brian to an extent given he was her pilot and they needed to work together, Ivy and Raphaella, the latter pair inspired by curiosity. Tim too, knew some of her simpler sounds, mainly due to his first few weeks conscious it took him a while to get used to his new multileveled-vision. He kept his eyes closed when he was too overwhelmed. Aurora had hummed to him in the darkness of those confusing weeks because he was nearly as young as her Nastya and Jonny, another boy gone to war too soon and seen too much.  

Brian had an understanding because he felt something of a kinship with her, sentience encased in steel and brass and Jonny because he’d been there the longest, Aurora had done her best to help him when it was just him, when he’d won her from the soldiers but before he and Carmilla had brought on board her love when he was actually, truly, young and lost, scared and very betrayed. She’d hidden him when she could and he’d learned which of her noises meant that she was pleased, annoyed or was offering comfort.  

Aurora had told Nastya that she had composed a lullaby for each of the crew but only a few of them actually noticed. She was still working on one for Lily whilst Nastya had an entire anthology dedicated to her composed over centuries, each created to show her love for her engineer.  

Lily had asked in her second week about Aurora, found out they were in love and beamed. Then asked about talking to her. Lily was still learning, it took a while to get past the basics of different sounds and she wasn’t confident talking to Aurora on her own truly. Nastya had explained that it didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand Aurora’s replies and that she could talk to her anyway. Lily had argued that that felt rude to just talk at someone and not be able to listen properly and be equal.  

Nastya had made the mistake of saying she should sing to her instead then.  

Lily had taken this to mean sing-everything-you-want-to-say-to-Aurora-instead-of-speaking-it.  

It was unbearably cute sometimes.  

Not that she would admit to deeming anything ‘cute’ to anyone but Aurora.  

Aurora had cooed to Nastya about it for three full weeks when it first began, telling her of the stories Lily sang to her in her room. Lily sang to her telling Aurora all about the tea parties with the Toy Soldier, listening to Marius play, reading with Ivy and shooting with Tim all to tunes of her own devising. She sang of science experiments with Raphaella, star charting with Brian, cataloguing and card games with Ashes, all the story telling and cuddling and nightmares she shared with Jonny and mending things with Nastya all rendered with the same piping little voice that showed definite promise. Aurora was delighted to be told things rather than it be assumed she knew anyway, Lily was aware Aurora was the ship and she was alive but whilst she knew Aurora could see everything theoretically, for Lily she was a person who just wasn’t in the room rather than  actually  being  the room.  So,  wanted to tell her about her adventures.  

It made Aurora hum with happiness. And it pleased Nastya to see her love so included.  

Lily sniffed again, “can, can I help please?”      

Nastya was well-versed enough in Lily-speak to know what she was really asking but didn’t want to be demanding.  

“Come on then, I need another pair of hands with this panel.”  

Within moments Lily was stationed on Nastya’s lap small spanner in hand carefully unscrewing the more delicate bolts.  

This went on peacefully for another 10 minutes until the tell-tale wiggling started.  

The movements were slight, reigned in heavily but Nastya knew all about repressed movements, it was her childhood in the palace. Hiding her playfulness and then her constriction under polite curtsies and porcelain smiles.  

Lily was a born dancer, she had grace enough to find a home amongst the ballet and ballroom steps of the cold and haughty parties Nastya had been forced to attend, groomed into the perfect wind-up doll to be presentable at parties.  

But Lily had no place there.  

Lily was a child who was encouraged by them all to feel and share and sing.  

Aurora had shown Nastya footage of Lily with the others, waltzing with Tim, Brian and TS as they sang ‘Hatter and Hare’ to her, learning how to classically ballroom with Marius who might not be a real Baron but certainly knew the steps well enough to pass but beamed the entire time whilst teaching her. Jonny had even been teaching her some square dancing, far away from the others on nights when she was too tired to scream and charge about with her rage but to angry to settle back into sleep, they stomped and swirled and dosy-doed with a vengeance.  

It warmed her cold, quicksilver-fuelled heart.  

So she was an expert in knowing when Lily wanted to say something but wasn’t sure. She found she felt sad that Lily was still unsure of her four and half months into her living with them.  

But then again, she saw her less than the others did, more comfortable in the core of the engine decks than the main living areas it was usually Jonny or Aurora herself who guided Lily down to see her when it wasn’t a meal time. Nastya didn’t always make it up for a group meal but she did now make a concerted effort to join them all at least once every few days, especially when if she hadn’t made an appearance for a while Lily would appear with Jonny in tow bringing a lovingly made sandwich which Nastya dutifully ate ignoring the smirking Jonny who stood behind the beaming Lily, happy at having done her self-appointed job of making sure the crew was fed regularly.  

She saw a lot of herself in Lily and she didn’t know what to do with that.  

The child she herself might have been if protocol and duty hadn’t been forced down her throat the moment she could walk and talk.  

It was one of the reasons Nastya didn’t resent teaching Lily anything she asked to learn about. Everything in her formative years had been prescriptive, the least she could do now was contribute properly to Lily’s eclectic education, encouraging any interest no matter how varied or how ‘unladylike’. Nastya’s lip curled, the term still made her thrum with a raging quiet of fury.  

Nastya was fairly certain she, Jonny, Tim and the Toy Soldier were the only four that had any form of formal education, for her and Tim at least certainly past the age of 12. TS was mainly taught etiquette and the others either had no memory of it or were not keen to share.  

Jonny she knew because he’d confided in her one day when she’d found him hiding from Carmilla’s wrath, her beration ringing through the corridors that she was going to make ‘a backwater dolt like you learn to be a competent assistant even if it takes  centuries ’  

Nastya had silently dried his tears, used her cool hands to sooth his fresh bruises and assured him he wasn’t stupid.  

He’d had to drop out of school at 12 in order to pick up more work to support his mother as his father drank more and more of the household income and hadn’t been confident in his reading, writing or arithmetic.  

She’d started helping him get a hang of the basics when they hid together, enough to avoid the more violent repercussions of ‘failing’ the good doctor.  

Jonny still wasn’t a fan of anything that sparked.  

Still, he, like the others all had useful skills to share.  

Ashes was in a similar situation, the orphanage forced the children in their care into nominal education but they’d learned their most important lessons on the street and then with the Sevens.  

Jonny and Nastya had done their level best to protect the newly mechanised Ashes from Carmilla’s wrath, ensuring their new crew mate’s literacy was up to scratch. As it was, Ashes with their Quartermaster’s mind took to the particular order and meaning of words and numbers Carmilla expected like a match to gasoline.  

All the others were accepted as was.  

Lily was eager to learn to as much as possible, she was interested in everything and it seemed to please all the crew that she wanted to listen to them and valued their skills enough to want to emulate them.  

Which is why she knew how to carefully undo panel bolts and rewire the smaller plugs and transistors under supervision.  

But Lily didn’t come down here to help.  

It was 1:30am.  

She was up and out of bed and clearly upset.  

Nastya wondered where her useless lump of a brother was and how hard she could kill him for leaving her to deal with a sad Lily. Maybe she could take her to Brian or Marius? They were good at this, certainly better at emotions than she was and—  

“Nastya?”  

Nasyta cursed extensively and creatively in her own head.  

“Yes  сладости ?” “Have you killed anyone?”  Fuck everything and its goddamn siblings.  “Why are you asking me that?” “Because everyone else has here.” That was surprisingly matter of fact, for a moment Nastya felt a pang of regret that they had been rubbing off on her. But then again, the child was no stranger to death.   “Yes I have.” She answered just as matter-of-factly.      

“Do they stay in your head?”  

Now THAT was a question. Why was Jonny not here again, the one time she really needed the bastard to be useful and he’d fucked off beyond the seeking of an eight year old. She was going to murder him, he’d got (surprising everyone but her) very good at dealing with Lily’s questions about things like this.  

“No, not anymore.” She paused, that wasn’t entirely true. “Well, the first person I killed did stay for years.”  

“Oh.”  

“Why?”  

“I killed people too.”  

“No, you killed Jonny, that doesn’t count.”  

“It does!”  

“He got back up again though.”  

“The others didn’t.”  

This was something new. Was Lily saying she killed others on her ship? There was no way it was any of the raiders she killed, if she had her nightmares would be different. From what the others had said, almost all of her nightmares were about her fear of those raiders coming back and attacking the Aurora. So obviously she still feared them and hadn’t killed any of them to take that power from them.  

So.  

Had she had to mercy kill her own people? Could she? There was a core of steel in this child. Enough that Jonny had feared when she first joined them that she would be lost to vengeance.  

But Lily had been naught but condensed sunshine during the day and was clearly working through her nightmares during the night, mostly with Jonny and sometimes the others but they’d all been along the same theme.  

Why now did it have to be different? She was absolutely going to murder Jonny and throw him out of the airlock, consequences be damned.  

“What others?”  

“The ones of my ship.” Explained the child.  

“You didn’t kill them Lily.” Stated Nastya as firmly as she could.  

“I did.”  

“No—”  

“I didn’t help them.” Pressed the increasingly upset little girl, “They said so.”  

Nastya swallowed.  

“It’s my fault.”  

Oh not a chance.  

Nastya physically turned Lily in her lap to face her.  

“What did you say?”  

“I said it was my fault.” Came Lily’s surprisingly defiant response.  

That sparked an unexpected jolt in the engineer. “How? How is it your fault?”  

“I didn’t help.” Lily declared firmly, “I hid and stayed quiet and they died. They all died. They all died horribly. Screaming and crying and all I did was hide. I stuffed my sleeve in my mouth so they wouldn’t hear me and hid. I let them all die, all the gunshots and tears and fires.”  

Lily’s eyes welled with her own tears once again.  

“I didn’t come out until they’d been gone a long time and everything was dark and quiet.”  

Her voice was beginning to wobble.  

Nastya was unwillingly dragged back to the palace. The roars of the mob, the sound of shattering glass and crackling wood as the fire began to greedily consume her home, everything was sharp and petrichor, the tang of copper heavy on her tongue.  

She knew what that child had faced, at least, she knew a flavour and she’d been over double Lily’s age when it had happened. She had fought back but only after the fact, after being mortally wounded, terror forcing her blood out of her louder and faster with every desperate beat of her gasping heart. If only she’d  known  it was the last  time   she   know  the feel of true warmth.  

Maybe she would have tried to say no to Carmilla.  

As if that would have stopped her.  

Still, there had been Jonny who held her those first nights, Jonny who’d found her her coat (and kept it in good repair for her despite all his protestations to the contrary) and gave her the first sense of warmth and safety she felt in those confusing and agonising first weeks.  

Whether it was the pain of her body, slowly acclimatising to the quicksilver or the wrenching pain of loss and guilt, feeling that she should have died with them all, that she should have tried to protect them she was wracked with it for months. Or maybe years. It was hard to tell in those early times.  

Jonny had introduced her to whiskey and got her drunk on it in a well-meant effort to help her cope and make her feel warm inside. She appreciated the warmth but not the hangover that made her wish she could truly die. She drank in moderation after that. It still helped ward off the sense of cold and misery to an extent, but sleeping in the vents, wrapped up in her coat and Jonny’s arms as they hid eased her the most. She’d never been all that close with her blooded brothers and now, well, her blood and his heart were a match, they adopted each other wordlessly and without ceremony.  

Nastya paused, it was funny in a way, that Jonny, of all of them, was the one that could and did provide comfort when it was desperately needed.  Oh  he was much younger when it was just the two of them, he was far more the frightened boy to her frightened girl, gone to space too young and become immortal without the understanding what that truly meant than he was now, bitter and jaded and calloused to the universe but he’d still been  there  and he’d protected her when he had no reason to. He could have tried to direct  all of  Carmilla’s attention on to her, the new plaything and spare himself. But he didn’t. He cared and he  protected  and he loved even if he didn’t admit it. He built up quite the guard over the centuries when more and more people kept being added and hurt and he couldn’t stop it. He tried anyway. He was still the first on the scene to console each new addition to the crew when that had generally been appreciated. Apart from Tim.  

But he became colder and harder and more indifferent on the surface and seethed inside with each passing year and each new addition.  

She knew it was by sheer luck that it was Jonny Lily had shot, she probably would have launched herself at whomever she’d killed and then sat back up and Nastya wasn’t sure that Jonny would have been anywhere near as accepting if it wasn’t him she attached herself to, more for Lily’s sake than anything else. She wasn’t an annoying child so no real risk of her being shot but still, Jonny probably would have fought harder to leave her somewhere safe with decent people and not them. She was a good kid after all. But he’d got attached the second he failed to shoot her and she’d clung on. He still, despite everything, couldn’t refuse a hug when it was sorely needed. Even if he never admitted or telegraphed it.  

Lily probably had no real idea how lucky she was, having Jonny on side was like having an admittedly annoying but ferocious and lethal guard dog to protect you. Anyone he deemed as ‘his’ was under that protection. He could mess with those people as much as he wanted but the second there was a real threat, an actual, credible danger to ‘his’ people and Jonny could turn all his violent chaotic bastardry into pure, vengeful murder.  

But also, Lily apparently gave him permission to show that secret softness he hid pretty well most days to the point it had just become accepted that Jonny had a gentle side that he could and did use with Lily. It was nice to see again after so long.  

She’d missed this side of him being as apparent. He saved his real smiles for her which she cherished but still, it was few and far between. Lily had been good for everyone, even if Nastya wasn’t sure exactly how to interact with her. They had such a lot in common in some ways and in others? Completely alien.  

Maybe it was better to focus on their shared love of the first mate, (Never Captain, that was Carmilla and no one should ever be associated with her reign no matter how much he protested.) rather than their entries into orphanhood.  

But first. Lily was upset and it was an upset she unfortunately knew far too well.  

“ Сладости , Lily, look at me.”  

The child reluctantly raised her eyes to meet Nastya’s.  

“We have talked about this before, what you did, hiding in the vents was not only good but it was the right thing to do, your parents put you there for a reason, they wanted you to survive.”  

“But, but—”  

“No, no if’s or buts.” Interupted Nastya in her best, ‘Jonny-I-am-not-accepting-a-single-word-of-your-nonsense-right-now’ voice, “Knowing what you know now about guns and ballistics from Tim do you think you could have stopped them?”  

“No.” Lily conceded, wilting a little.  

“Do you think, knowing what you do now about piloting, angles and speeds from Brian you or anyone on your crew could have got the ship away from the raiders in time?”  

“No.” she shrank a little further.  

“Do you think, knowing what you know now about hull integrity from Aurora and I that could have found a way of stopping them before they breached your ship?”  

“No.” She curled up closer to Nastya as the facts rolled over her. Nastya found herself rubbing the child’s back consolingly, being told you’re wrong is always hard, even if it’s for your own good in the long run and she was still small and Nastya wasn’t beyond giving comfort when it was needed.    

“So I don’t see what the problem is Lily, there was nothing you could have done. It took a lot of courage just to stay alive in the aftermath long enough for us to find you. You were incredibly brave.”  

“But they don’t believe me.” Lily all but whispered.  

“Who don’t?”  

“My crew, my old crew, they’re in my nightmares, they blame me for not helping, that I shouldn’t have left them. That I’ve betrayed them by coming to live with you all.”  

A stream of creative Cyberian cursing torrented across her brain. Nastya took a deep breath and continued to curse Jonny for not being here with her for this. She didn’t want to talk about this, had avoided it for a very long time.  

“I felt the same way.” She admitted in as firm a voice as she could manage.  

Lily perked up immediately, sitting up to face Nastya, “You did?”  

“Yes. Where I am from, there was an uprising. My, my father was not a kind man and he had responsibility over a lot of people. He didn’t treat them well and eventually they realised there were more of them than the people in charge. They attacked our home, they wanted to kill us all. I saw them murder my brothers, my mother and my father and all the people who’d surrounded me since birth. I was older than you, I was 19 at the time but I was so scared Lily, I ran, I got attacked by someone who I thought cared about me. I killed him in self-defence but it broke my heart, he wounded me very badly. After Jonny rescued me I saw their faces in my dreams night after night, accusing me of being a coward, that I should have died with my family.”  

Nastya paused trying to gather the right words to try and get across in the simplest terms she could.  

“And you know what?” she continued.  

“What?”  

“That was my mind lying to me.” And oh, didn’t that feel good to say out loud?  Nasyta  hadn’t realised she needed this for herself even after centuries and continued with more emphasis.  

“My mind was lying to me,” she expanded, “it was the guilt talking, nothing more. Guilt is a natural emotion in events like these, you want to help people you care about but sometimes there is absolutely nothing you can do, no matter how much you wish it. You can tie yourself up in knots about it, you can tear yourself apart over it but it doesn’t matter. You won’t change what happened.”  

Nastya raised a hand carefully and after hesitating a moment, carded her hand gently through Lily’s wild and sleep-mussed hair. It was approaching her shoulders now, as she’d pointed out proudly every so often because she was trying to grow it as long as Raphaella’s.  

“Lily, I need you to listen very carefully to me.” The little girl fixed Nastya with her huge blue eyes. “Those things you see in your dreams, they’re not your friends, they’re not your family. They are lies. You feel guilty and that’s normal, that’s alright, but you can’t let it rule you, you can’t let their lies in. Your mother and father wanted you to live, they wanted you to live with every fibre of their beings because if they didn’t they would have held you close when the raiders came. You need to understand the hardest thing a parent can do is to push away their child to protect them. They knew how dangerous the situation was, they knew they might not survive and to increases your chances of survival the best thing they could do would be to put you out of harm’s way to and hope it was enough.”  

Lily shuffled, looking down as she sniffed. Nastya gave her a moment then tilted her little face back up to hers, she needed to take this all in.    

“And it was.” Stated Nastya.  

“Because you were clever and you were brave, you stayed still and silent and stayed alive. You gave them no cause to search the vents. You did want your parents wanted. You survived.”  

The engineer gently wiped away some of the escaping tears.  

“You survived long enough for us to find you. Do you really think your parents would want you to stay on your ship when you could leave with us?”  

Lily sniffed again, thinking about the cold, dark awfulness of her ship that slowly been smelling worse and worse and bit by bit falling apart.  

“No.” She realised, “No they’d want me safe and warm and with nice, kind people like you all.”  

Nastya didn’t think she’d ever get used to hearing herself and her crew described as ‘nice’ or ‘kind’ without a shred of sarcasm.  

“Exactly. You made the right choice in coming with us.” Actually, thinking about it, Lily didn’t so much as have a choice as ‘clung to Jonny and didn’t let go when he carried her onto Aurora’ Hmm. Well, semantics at this point.  

Nastya paused to look at Lily, really look at her, doubt creeping in because they’d assumed a lot with Lily and she’d seemingly just rolled with it, “Are you happy with us Lily?”  

Genuine shock bloomed across the child’s face as her eyes grew round in consternation, “What? Happy?  Of COURSE  I’m happy with you! You’re all so nice and kind and cuddly and you look after me and don’t ever tell me I’m small or silly and you let me do big important things! I’ve got a proper job here! I cook for you and you all spend time with me and teach me things and play with me and listen to me and there’s no fighting over things like food and you always make sure I’ve got enough. More than enough.”  

Well fuck.  

She was going to have to feed this all back to Jonny wasn’t she?  

Nastya privately was rather pleased Lily’s crew had no further claim on her, they were ill-prepared, ill-equipped, and obviously ill-suited to manage the prospect of a pioneer mission when it came to their most precious consignments. Maybe not her parents but still. From between her own and Ivy’s observations from the ship and the black box they would never have made it to their chosen destination. There were other ships as part of the  mission  but the black box recorded having lost them years previously, their engines had been damaged and they fell behind and never caught up.  

And Lily had clearly been given the impression she was bother, she was tiresome and she was constantly in the way by the other adults in her life.  

Never would Nastya have thought that the Mechanisms would make better care-givers than literally any other sentient being but apparently the universe was still full of surprises.  

“That’s good, I’m very glad to hear it. Do you understand why I asked you that?”  

Lily thought it over. “Because,  because,  I needed to think about all the good things here. About how happy you all make me and how sad I’d be if I stayed behind.”  

Thank fuck she was an intelligent and perceptive child.  

“And what do you think your mother and father would want for you?” pressed Nastya, determined to get this concept across to Lily, she didn’t deserve to have that sort of unwarranted guilt resting on her small shoulders.  

“To be happy. And safe. And feel like I belong.” She stated immediately with absolutely surety.  

The words sunk in.  

“Oh.”  

“Exactly. They would be very pleased you’ve found yourself a group of people who care about your well-being.” She took a deep breath, she wasn’t given to sharing her emotions freely with anyone but Aurora, and Jonny if really needed but Lily was a special case. “And we do Lily, very much so, you’re very important to all of us. We want you to be safe and well with us, even if we’re not always sure what to do or say, we do care about you.”  

Lily gazed at Nastya with all the sincerity of an eight year old.  

“I know. From the first night and you all hugged me even though Marius and Tim came back and some of you don’t really like hugs but you hugged me anyway because I was scared and I was sad and you didn’t have to. Thank you.”  

“You’re very welcome  Сладости .”  

“Can I hug you now please?”  

“Yes.”  

Lily carefully wrapped her arms around the engineer, taking in her scent of oil, grease and delicate musk. She didn’t get to hug Nastya often so she cherished it. “I knew you were kind, you cuddle even when it’s not your favourite thing.”  

“Well I know what it’s like to feel alone, I didn’t want you to feel like that.”  

“But you have the crew and Aurora?”  

“Not when I first joined, it was just Jonny and I.” Nastya was trying to edge carefully along the level detail she could share, they’d not talked to her about their mechanisms yet, or how they’d come to all be together on Aurora. It wasn’t her story to tell alone. That would be an all or nothing tale she felt.  

“And Aurora?”  

“And Aurora,” the engineer latched eagerly onto that as a conversation avenue, “it took me a while to learn how to listen to her before we could truly understand one another.”  

“I think I hear her singing to me sometimes, it sounds different to when she’s talking to me.”  

“That’s because you’re a clever girl and you listen well. Yes, Aurora is singing to you.”  

“She always sounds so pretty.”  

“Yes she does, she’s beautiful.”  

“Have you always been in love with her?”  

Wasn’t that a question, of course Nastya loved Aurora, she had for the longest time, her hums were comforting, warming her to her core. Being Cyberian and Aurora being a cyberian ship she could speak with Aurora from the first days, translating for Jonny when he  asked  or it was particularly pertinent. She and Aurora understood each other far deeper than words anyway, she was what filled her thoughts, gave her purpose and flooded her soul with warmth. “For a very long time, yes. She was very kind and comforting when I was first on board, I was very scared and lost even with Jonny to keep me company.”  

“He’s good at that.”  

“Yes he is.”  

“But Aurora loved you? Right at the beginning? Was it love at first sight? Like in my books?”  

It was sweet that Lily still thought like that when the universe was rarely so forgiving or amenable, “Not quite at first sight, I think love is something that builds up over time, but I believe we mutually fell in love, I with her kindness, her warmth and her spectacular grandeur.”  

“And Aurora?” The child looked up at the panelling.  

There was a deep and resonant humming that broke out around them.  

Nastya allowed her fondest smile to spread over her face, “Thank you my love, she said that she fell involve with my music, with my hands and how I use them work my violin and my tools to keep her in good repair, she says she loves how I listen, how I touch and how I care about things.”  

Lily was enraptured, “I bet she thinks you’re just as beautiful as you think she is.”  

Silver flushed Nastya’s cheeks, “That’s very kind of you.”  

“It’s true, you have such nice eyes that really smile when you see something you like or Aurora says something secret to you.”  

Aurora hummed in agreement.  

“See! I know that means she thinks I’m right!” The little girl beamed.  

It was something Nastya was very grateful for that the child was just willing to accept things, for Lily, Aurora was another adult to listen to and very much a person in her own right. It was refreshing to just be accepted without shred of confusion.  

“Quite right indeed.”  

“Does Aurora sing a lot to you?”  

“Yes she does, she has a beautiful set of sounds.”  

“Would she sing now?”  

“You’d have to ask her.”  

“Aurora? Would you sing a song please? You always sound so pretty.”  

Well how could she refuse a request like that?  

Aurora began to sing, this time a favourite of her love, soft and gentle, reverberating sonorously through her wiring and her metalwork.  

Lily was mesmerised. She leaned back against Nastya chest, soothed by both the song and the rhythmic sound of the engineer’s heartbeat.  

The weight against Nastya’s chest grew heavier and heavier until the sound of tiny snoring emanated from her ribcage.  

She sighed internally, she should have known this, Raphaella had told her how quickly Lily could fall asleep and now she couldn’t move for fear of waking her. Still, it wasn’t too bad, Lily was a little radiator and it was strangely peaceful to be the source of comfort for such a vulnerable being, a little girl that despite everything they seemed to be managing to raise to an acceptable standard. The child was happy, was building up her strength and general health now she had a proper balanced diet and obviously felt comfortable enough with all of them to come to them when needing comfort and reassurance as much as when she wanted to play or help with something. And that she’d managed to comfort Lily when it was clearly something serious bothering her was something Nastya was quietly proud of and more than a little relieved that it had obviously worked. She was rarely counselled for advice beyond Jonny and that was because he didn’t mind sharing his vulnerable side to her, she’d seen him sobbing and bloody and terrified enough to not be deterred by his defensive walls. Nor did he really try. But to help Lily? To reason well with a child? It was very new territory but one, on reflection, she found she didn’t dislike.  

Now she’d calmed down herself, soothed by the sleeping breaths of the child she remembered to be furious with Jonny for leaving her in this situation in the first place.  

Aurora noticed the hitch in her love’s breath and the flaring of her nostrils.  

She interpreted correctly, humming a question.  

Nastya Nodded.  

Aurora pinged a message to Jonny, now that the situation he was in had been resolved, to come and collect Lily.    

Jonny waltzed in roughly twenty minutes later reeking more pungently of whiskey than normal, a sloppy, sappy smile plastered across his face that spread even wider at the sight of his sister gently rocking the sleeping form of the child he was more than a little fond of.    

The engineer on seeing him went from peaceful to furious in roughly half a second.  

“Just where the fuck have you been?!” Hissed Nastya, “Lily has been having breakdown over her nightmares conjuring her dead parents and crew mates to chastise her for leaving them and having the audacity to survive.”  

All the drunkenness drained out of Jonny along with his colouring.  

“FUCK.” Sobriety hit him like a particularly colourful train, “Is she okay? She’s not had an accusing nightmare for a while.”  

“ Oh  you knew about these?” if anything Nastya’s fury deepened.  

Jonny was aware of the danger in her voice but ploughed on regardless, “I mean, yes, she tells me all her nightmares most of them are just banging noises in the dark.”  

“But sometimes she nightmares about her dead parents blaming her for their deaths?”  

“Sometimes?” Now Jonny thought about it, had it been more frequent, more recently?  

“You BASTARD.” It was impressive how much fury Nastya could convey in a whisper, “Why haven’t you told the rest of us?”  

Jonny immediately puffed up his chest in defence, “Because it’s her nightmares, not mine to share and it’s personal.” He hissed back.  

“Jonny she is EIGHT. This is serious stuff that does need sharing. And to dump it on the rest of us un-warned isn’t fair.”  

“I’ve told you the important stuff, she deserves her privacy as much as the rest of us.”  

“Jonny she is eight, not an adult, whilst it is commendable you respect her privacy there are some things that need to be shared with the rest of us, important things. Like this. THIS is important!”  

“It’s just a progression, Marius says—”  

“Fuck what Marius says, this was important and she needs to be reassured properly not just have me wing it and hope for the best.”  

Jonny grinned ruefully, “Welcome to my world, it’s a bitch isn’t it?”  

“No, I, she deserves better than that,” the engineer trailed off.  

Jonny paused to really look at Nastya, realisation dawned, taking in the paler-than-usual complexion and gentle, almost imperceptive trembling, “what’s wrong?”  

“I, she, the palace, it’s similar enough, it, brought up some memories I’d rather forget.”  

Everything clicked into place, Jonny looked horrified, immediately contrite, this was a BIG deal for Nastya after all and she hated being reminded of that time, “Fuck I’m sorry I should have—”  

Nastya was touched at his concern, it helped to calm her enough to start to regain her composure, “Actually, it was quite helpful really, I realised a few things I needed to put to bed and I think I was the voice I needed to hear when Lily’s situation was as fresh for me.”  

Jonny reached out and gently squeezed her hand in sympathy.  

“Are, are you both alright? For now?”  

“I believe so. I managed to convince Lily the words and the people who spoke them were just manifestation of guilt. Nothing more. That she did the right thing in joining us.”  

“She was questioning that?!”  

“Subconsciously. I think because she is growing more at ease here. More comfortable and settled.”  

“That’s good right?”  

“Yes, but it comes with consequences, namely questioning her loyalties to those she’s known all her life and those whom she’s only known for the past four and a half months  

“Well her people are dead, there’s not much choice there.”  

Nasyta closed her eyes, “Please tell me you’ve not put it to her like that.”  

“Of course I fucking haven’t what do you take me for?” Jonny paused, his eyes narrowing, “Do not answer that. I just tell her that her brain is lying to her because brains don’t always get things right.”  

“Huh, I said something similar.”  

He grinned at their similarities, there was reason people assumed they were siblings more often as not.  

She shared the smiled, pleased to have settled the matter and felt more at peace with herself than she had for a while, “Anyway, where have you been all evening that Aurora led her to me?”  

Jonny immediately shifted, looking awkward and closed off, “Oh, uh, nowhere.”  

Nastya cocked a single eyebrow, “Jonny. For an excellent liar this is a piss poor effort.”  

“Fine I was having a discussion.”  

“With?” she prompted, apparently he was determined to be difficult.  

“With Tim.”  

“If you have broken any more of her panelling I will gut you right here.”  

“No, it was civilised thank you very much.”  

“I do not believe it.”  

“Well we did. Go look for yourself.”  

“What could you have possibly been discussing that was reasonable?”  

“I, well, he, we—”  

“Spit it out.”  

“Fine we were discussing how he came to join the crew and the misunderstandings about it. Happy?”  

Nastya froze. That was something that Jonny had tried to do not too long after Tim had joined them and got the hang of his new vision. It had not gone well. As it was Brian and Ivy had killed the pair of them and locked them in their respective bedrooms till they calmed down. Things had escalated. Badly. Threatening-an-actual-hull-breach badly.  

Nastya hadn’t spoken to Jonny for a month.  

Then he’d come stomping down to find her to give her as much of an apology he could give her and then proceeded to rant and rave until she’d slapped him silent. Nastya was not given to laying hands on people, she didn’t like it. But Jonny had been revving up again and that was not explaining the situation.  

As it was it shocked him enough to explain himself properly. He was devastated that Tim blamed him, that he’d tried (albeit very clumsily, Jonny, for all he was a gifted wordsmith for stories struggled when orating things related to him and his own, more complex emotions) to explain that none of what happened was his choice. He wanted Tim to have his ending. That Carmilla hadn’t listened, had killed him and locked him away. By the Jonny broke out it was too late.  

Carmilla had her accident not long after.  

“Are you alright?”  

The bluntness had the effect as the slap several centuries ago and shocked the truth out of him once again.  

“Better than I thought I’d be.”    

“What happened?”  

Jonny took a breath, wanting,  needing  to share it.  

The evening had been normal, less murder-filled since it was getting close to 1am and that was prime Lily nightmare-time. They’d been making cracks at how Lily kept Jonny in better time than their music, a complete lie but intentionally teasing.  

Then someone made a crack about  newfound  responsibility.  

And Jonny had responded that he always was  responsible,  but he just wasn’t appreciated.  

Tim had commented that he was only responsible when it suited him with more bite than had been in his voice previously.  

Jonny rose to it, snapping that he was always keeping an eye out for the crew.  

Tim bit back about only looking out for  this  crew.  

The others went quiet, poised for violence.  

Jonny immediately hit back at who the fuck else was he supposed to look out for?  

Too late the first mate realised what Tim was getting at, too late he realised that Tim had been cleaning Bertie’s gun, which he only did when he was specifically thinking about the Lunar war and what had happened.  

Building the fort with Lily had clearly stirred up memories.  

Tim promptly erupted, getting right up in Jonny’s face.  

Spewing the words he’d obviously been festering for centuries.  

“You only care when it directly relates to  you   selfish  bastard! If Lily had latched on to anyone  else  you’d have been the first to say we dump her! It’s only when you have a benefit out of it!  So  don’t you dare try to pretend you  actually give  a fuck about any of us, it’s just that we all can’t really leave, not permanently, so we have to endure each other!”  

“Don’t you DARE talk about Lily like that, she’s as much your kid as she is mine or anyone else’s! It was you she spent the best part of the last four days building a fort with, not fucking me!  So  don’t you dare! I care about all of you ungrateful bastards, I  have to ! You’re MY crew.”  

Tim punched him square in the jaw.  

The Mechanisms didn’t usually resort to physical violence, usually it was just gunshot, immolation or whatever Raphaella had concocted that week.  

As such it caught Jonny off guard, forcing him to stagger backwards.  

“There! You see! YOUR crew! It’s all about you!  We’re our own people. We’re not beholden to you and you’re lying to yourself like always if you think anything different!”  

Jonny spat out blood and snarled at Tim through gory teeth, “I don’t mean it like that you wanker! And you know it! I’m not HER!”  

“But you helped her!”  

The room dropped about 10 degrees.  

“What did you say?” Jonny’s voice had gone dangerously quiet. Everyone else in the room tensed to leap into intervene, the last time these two got like this they filled the room with so much gun fire it nearly penetrated the outer hull.  

Tim didn’t back down in the face of Jonny’s icy fury, “I said, You. Helped. Her.”  

Jonny was suddenly on Tim, fists in his coat and slammed him against the wall, hard enough to make the gunner’s teeth rattle. Jonny might be shorter than Tim but he was strong.  

“You take that back you piece of shit.”  

“No.” Spat Tim.  

Jonny slammed him against the wall again before he held Tim with one hand and the other snatched for his six- shooter . Then he remembered the proximity to Lily-horror-hours and visibly tried to calm down and withdrew his hand from his holster.  

Tim followed his movement and stopped in his tracking to do the same. Couldn’t be shooting and waking Lily, kid needed her sleep after all, she’d worked hard building all day.  

“Because it’s the truth isn’t it?” He continued, glaring at Jonny, faces barely 6 inches apart, “It wasn’t enough to fuck with me on the moon—”  

“I tried to stop him! You KNOW I did!” Exploded Jonny, “I couldn’t get to the grenade in time, I TRIED to out-run him but he was faster and I was still regenerating from the lasers!”  

“You should have told us!”  

The words knocked the rage right out of him, he let go of Tim, backing away, “Yes.” He conceded, sincerity pouring into his words, “I should have. I’m sorry.”  

Tim stared dumbly as Jonny spoke the words he’d wanted to say for over three centuries. Apparently soothing Lily almost every night had given him some practice at actually communicating some emotions.    

“I didn’t want Bertie to die.” Now Jonny had said those words he’d apparently broken some sort of dam and the words kept coming, “I didn’t want you to die. I wanted you both to survive the fucking war and go home. You two were the nearest thing I’d had to real friends for CENTURIES. I wanted you both to have a fucking happy ever after for once.”  

“Then WHY?!” Tim all but screamed.    

“Why did I help her make you into one of us?” Jonny glared at Tim, if there was a sheen to his eyes then he’d deny it for eternity.  

“I didn’t.” He let the words hang there for effect before ploughing on.  

“I never wanted this for anyone, not one of you fuckers. No one deserves this. No one. I begged her, I fought her, I fought against the bio-programming to try and stop her. She shot me. She shot me so much I woke up locked in a store cupboard a week later and when I finally broke out it was too fucking late.” Jonny sighed, finding himself sadder that he’d allowed himself to feel for a long time, “I’m sorry Tim, really, I never wanted this for you.”  

He ran a hand over his face suddenly feeling every single year he’d lived weighing down on him.  

The others, having frozen in place, poised to haul them away from each other like they had to do over three centuries ago relaxed, now they’d clearly calmed down a bit, that they’d not drawn weapons and that Jonny fucking  apologised .  

Well.  

Things were obviously going to get all  feelingsy  and out of a sense of decorum for some and not being drunk enough to deal with another outpouring of emotions for others the crew that had been present quietly left, ignored by the first mate and master-at-arms.  

“So that’s it, carry on fucking hating me, that’s fine, don’t break the habit of centuries, it doesn’t matter anyway but don’t you fucking  dare think I helped her or had anything to do with it. None of us did. She plucked you from space when she was scooping me and TS up from the debris. Decided to ‘fix’ you up like she did the rest of us poor fuckers. I tried to stop her, tried to deflect, to convince her to let you die but she realised I cared about you. So she did exactly what she wanted. I'm sorry she used you, sorrier than you'll ever fucking know.”  

The first mate straightened his back to cover a sniff, “Now if you’re done, I’m going to go check on Lily because I do, in fact, care about her like I care about the rest of you bastards.”  

He made to move away. Jonny got three paces before a slender hand gripped his shoulder.  

“Jonny.”  

The first mate wheeled around.  

“What?!”  

“I, I didn’t know.” Tim was looking worryingly sincere.  

“Clearly.” Jonny didn’t really know what to do with Tim looking like that, like a grown-up version of Lily’s sad-eyes, eyes that were his natural colour, not focused on anything but him.  

“I wish I did know.”  

Oh fuck, Jonny was really not prepared for more emotion right now, “Well you do now.”  

“I mean sooner.” Pressed Tim.  

Jonny huffed, the resignation stealing most of the bite from his  words, “I  tried to tell you. I tried to tell you when you first made it out of the lab just after Carmilla had her accident.”  

Tim did a genuine double take, “That was you telling me?!”  

That riled him, “Fuck off Tim!” He snapped, “I tried! You started yelling, I started yelling, we started shooting, next thing I remember waking up locked in my bunk.”  

“Me too.” Surprisingly Tim didn’t rise to the heat in Jonny’s explosion instead  he looked  like he might be feeling a stab of regret.  

“I also remember you shooting me in the face for the next five years whenever you saw me.”  Emphasised  the first mate.  

“I did.” Tim agreed  

“And?” Prompted Jonny, his heartbeat beginning to pound in his ears, hoping he’d not mis-judged this, he was still  angry  and he was damn well going to voice  it  but he did want this to be resolved. He liked Tim despite all the relentless violence. He liked their competitions. He’d not taken to someone so quickly since Nastya and Tim (and Bertie for that matter) had been mortal. He’d liked them both. He had wanted them to be alright. If he was honest with  himself  he wanted to have that tunnels friendship again, he’d wanted a brother growing up almost as much as a sister and privately he wouldn’t have minded if that brother had been someone like Tim. It was fine if their relationship was going to stay the way it was, it had been that way for three and half centuries, it didn’t need to change, didn’t have to. But it would be nice if it could.  

Tim sighed, then fixed his stare on Jonny, utterly serious even if it looked like it was paining him to admit, “And if I’d known then I wouldn’t have.”  

That was as good as an apology he’d ever expected from Tim, “Alright then.”  

“Jonny—”  

“What Tim? What?” This was far more emotion that Jonny was really able to deal with in one evening, “I’ve said my piece, I should have said it years ago, I should have tried again before now, I didn’t. I’m sorry for that but I don’t know what else you want from me.”  

“Thank you.” It looked both painful and alien for the words to cross his lips but the master-at-arms  said  them all the same. “I’m, I’m, I’m sorry I thought you’d been involved.” For the first time in years Tim actually looked awkward.  

“Good.” Jonny had no framework of reference for this, the last time they’d been this honest and open was in the tunnels before Bertie died and most of that was now a purposely hazy memory.  “I, er, I’m sorry I gave you that impression.” He offered, hoping that was the right thing to say.  

“Do you—” Tim hesitated.  

“Do I what?” Jonny have never quite understood the phrase walking on eggshells until that exact moment thought it was more like breathing around eggshells. He felt horribly powerless that the next thing out of Tim’s mouth might dictate how they interacted for the next ever.  

“Do you want to get very drunk and accept that this happened and we’re alright but we never have to talk about it again?”  

Jonny breathed a huge sigh of relief, “Fucking YES.” He began to grin before a thought caught him, “Wait, Lily, I’ve got to—”  

A screen descended from the ceiling.  

  ‘If you are seeking Lily  Jonny, she is safe with Nastya next to the engine room. They’re both in deep conversation and are fine, I will notify you when you need to take her to bed.’

Well it was nice that Aurora acknowledged that there was no way Lily was moving off from Nastya once there, the child was like a limpet and once comforted it was like she had an off switch that just flicked the second she was feeling safe and secure again.  

He felt bad he’d missed her getting  up  but this really needed to be said and he was glad they’d had the chance to finally clear things up between them. It had only been several centuries in the reckoning.  

Still, if she was still talking to Nastya then that gave him and Tim at least an hour. No point disturbing her when she’d just fallen asleep after all. Plus, it was good she was talking to Nastya, she needed to talk to the engineer more, Lily spent the least amount of time with Nastya so it was nice she was there. And he really wanted to drink with Tim, it had been a long time when it was just them and the air actually felt clear. Ironically it was in the gas-filled tunnels.  

The two men read the notice and shared a look.  

“Whiskey?”  

“Whiskey.”  

He was grateful that whilst he wasn’t drinking to his previous capacity he could still drink Tim under the table.  

Which was why when Aurora summoned him later into the night he still had enough nouse about him to be able to ease Tim back against the sofa and cover him with his great coat that he’d shucked earlier and make his way down to where his sister and charge were waiting without too much stumbling.  

“So you and Tim have made up?”  

Jonny grimaced, “Don’t say it like that.”  

“Like what?”  

“Like we’ve had some sort of lover’s tiff.”  

“Well…”  

Jonny’s face morphed in a deep scowl, “Fuck off Nastya. You two are the only couple here and you know this needed sorting for years.”  

The engineer sombered, she did in fact know, knew how much it had eaten at Jonny over the years on top of everything else till he grew cold and indifferent, thinking it one last curse from Carmilla to endure.  

“It did, you’re right, and I’m glad. Really. For you and Tim. And Aurora that there’ll be less damage inflicted by the pair of you.”  

“I make no promises.”  

“You will not like the consequences.” promised the engineer.  

Jonny smirked, “No but I enjoy the challenge.”  

“You are such a bastard.”  

“Always,” he agreed easily, “you love me anyway.”  

Nastya rolled her eyes and huffed, looking thoroughly unimpressed, “You are a blight on my life and I despise everything you stand for.”  

His smirk deepened, “I know, I know,” before he allowed the soft smile he saved for Nastya and more recently Lily to bloom across his face instead as he stepped carefully into Nastya’s space and pressed a gentle kiss to her head, leaning against her wrapping his arms around her, lending yet more warmth to her.  

“Thanks for looking after her.” He mumbled against her hair.  

“Well, she’s as much my responsibility as yours to care for.” Admitted Nastya, allowing the affection she felt for Lily flow through her, feeling far more connected now than she ever had before.  She squeezed his hand, enjoying the tenderness. It was still quite rare between them, especially in the last few centuries, and it had been an emotional night for them all.  

Aurora continued to sing, low and warm and loving as the siblings and their child just breathed together and were.  

#the mechanisms #nastya rasputina #lily of many names #jonny d'ville #Night Terrors #Chapter 8 #Soft!Mechs #found family #soft!Jonny D'Ville

[tallstales]

Day 4 Books (13 Days of Halloween)

There are so many books perfect for reading in the fall. Many people read with Halloween in mind at this time of year and I happen to be one of them from about July through mid November. At this time of year, we gravitate towards Stephen King and now Joe Hill or the latest big name. Sometimes we forget about the classics that started it all or we don’t think to look in our own backyard for new favorites.

Today I’m going to share a list of 13 of my favorite spooky classics mixed in with brand new hits on my to read list. And as a bonus, I’m including a list of Rhode Island authors of Supernatural fiction, Mysteries, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Thriller, and more to keep you enthralled as we get closer to Halloween.

Let’s check them out!

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

For those who know me well, they know the special love I have for The haunting of Hill House. Last year I even got the crazy opportunity to direct the play at the Rhode Island Stage Ensemble because they knew of my crazy obsession. I might talk about this book too much. That being said, I will keep it brief today. Read it! Go! No, you have not experienced it through Netflix or even the play. They’re wonderful, amazing interpretations, but they are very different.

To truly know Hill House and the people staying there to study it, you need to read this book and get trapped in the mind of its not quite reliable narrator.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

Speaking of Netflix, on this list is another psychological haunted house thriller that has just been made into a streaming hit in The Haunting of Bly Manor.

The Turn of the Screw is a short but not so sweet story with an atmosphere of slowly growing tension. This is a great quick read for a rainy day home alone to get your nerves just the right amount of frayed for when the trick or treaters start knocking.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Another classic is the travelogue Dracula! With any other title, people would question how a travel journal could be scary, but Dracula needs no introduction. If anything, time and popular culture has added so much to this story that when we go back and look at the original tale we are terrified all over again by the simplicity of atmosphere and characterization over props, costumes, and all the other added layers.

There’s a scary bit of truth to this tale as well, one that even connects back to Rhode Island! Did you know that Bram Stoker was inspired by the story of Mercy Brown? Yes, news of her tragedy and horrific exhumation made it all the way to London! Stay tuned this week for our 13 Haunted RI Tales for more on Mercy.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

While we’re in the Victorian Era and talking about classic monsters, we can’t forget about Frankenstein’s monster! This is another one that’s been taken apart and put back together by so many different writers, directors, and actors that we forget how terrifying the original is.

What really makes this story stand the test of time even past the language changes that can make other stories written in the same period slog along, is Shelley’s understanding of human nature.

We all question the meaning of life and death and Frankenstein has a way of helping our imagination come up with the most terrifying answers.

Edgar Allan Poe

How could we discuss Horror classics without the twisted tales of Edgar Allan Poe? I can’t even pick a single story to discuss for this list, just trust me and get a collection of his stories if you don’t already own one. You won’t be disappointed.

Haunted houses? Evil animals? Disease? Death? Human Nature? Poe has covered all of the best horror tropes and even invented a few himself. If I had to choose a favorite to start with… one that sticks with me and makes me shudder to even think about is The Lighthouse. It’s the rats. They get me everytime and unlike the suspense they bring in The Pit and the Pendulum, the rats in The Lighthouse just bring terror and an overall sense of disgust. Happy reading!

His Hideous Heart Edited by Dahlia Adler

While we’re on the subject of the laste, great E.A.P. I bring you a fairly recent edition to his fandom.

His Hideous Heart is an anthology put together by 13 well known YA authors for a new, contemporary audience. Edgar Allan Poe may be gone, but his works and their themes have stayed with us and in our classrooms with a love their surprising and unsettling nature.

Contributors include Dahlia Adler (reimagining “Ligeia”), Kendare Blake (“Metzengerstein”), Rin Chupeco (“The Murders in the Rue Morgue”), Lamar Giles (“The Oval Portrait”), Tessa Gratton (“Annabel Lee”), Tiffany D. Jackson (“The Cask of Amontillado”), Stephanie Kuehn (“The Tell-Tale Heart”), Emily Lloyd-Jones (“The Purloined Letter”), amanda lovelace (“The Raven”), Hillary Monahan (“The Masque of the Red Death”), Marieke Nijkamp (“Hop-Frog”), Caleb Roehrig (“The Pit and the Pendulum”), and Fran Wilde (“The Fall of the House of Usher”).

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

Continuing to move forward in time, I find myself thinking of Ray Bradbury. Bradbury has a wonderful way of slowly seeping discontent into the reader but with Something Wicked he seems to put pedal to the metal.

This is the only book on my list to feature a nightmarish carnival and Bradbury might be why. I somehow walked away without a fear of clowns or carnivals but reading about them… still gives me the heebie jeebies. Now that I think about it, this book might have something to do with why mirrors creep me out too.

Readers be warned. Something Wicked This Way Comes has all the marks of a beautifully written coming of age tale, but the themes stick with you like a shadow well into adulthood.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

If you haven’t read this book, you have definitely heard of it. That book with the weird typography, with the backwards words and print in the margins and all that weird stuff? Yes, it’s House of Leaves and “all that weird stuff” makes for one exciting and unsettling ride. People I give this book two either firmly LOVE it or HATE it, but I recommend it today because 8 out of 10 are on the love side and passing around their copies to others because it’s hard not too.

As you read, you follow two stories. The main story is about the Navidson family moving into a new home where some very strange things begin to happen. The second story takes place in the footnotes where we follow a man named Johnny as he finds, reads and obsesses over the first story which is referred to in the book as The Navidson Record. Now, I have set out with the mission of not spoiling anything for anyone today, especially since most the books on this list are of the thriller or suspense genre so I will stop here, but know I really, really want to tell you everything that happens and everything I think of it! Go read this crazy work of art and message me. We’ll talk.

Twelve Nights at Rotter House by J.W. Ocker

I said it earlier and I’ll say it again, I have a soft spot for a good haunted house. Now, haunted by people or haunted by spirits… I think both are the best kind. Those who have started reading my series The Monsters Within can probably guess that I love the “Humans are the Monsters” horror trope. And, well, nothing brings out the monsters in humans faster than the particular fear that comes with staying in a haunted house. Or at least, a house perceived to be haunted where your mind can play such glorious tricks on you.

Twelve Nights at Rotter House is admittedly slow to start, but I like and recommend this title because that slow pace is there for a reason. We get comfortable when nothing much is happening, when the pace is slow and friendly. I think it makes everything that comes next that much more exciting. Give it a chance and let me know what you think.

The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher

The Twisted Ones is a delicious cocktail of Suspense, Thriller, Horror fiction, Psychological Fiction, Occult Fiction. It’s everything I wanted M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village to be when the trailers came out back in 2004 and everything it wasn’t for me. Add into it the the main character is cleaning a hoarder’s house in the woods… yeah! Sold, this is creepy and gross and sets off all my alarms, I’m reading it with ALL the lights on.

And somehow, through not being able to put it down and finding myself breathlessly speed reading , I still found time to laugh. There are these little gems in the main character’s personality and the story telling that are so relatable and likeable that it adds an effortless humor on top of the effortless horror. This is the only work I’ve read by this author, but she is absolutely on my follow list and I hope she makes yours as well.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

Some might recognise the name Leigh Bardugo from popular YA fantasies but fear not (or do for that matter) Bardugo can write the hell out of terrifying adult themes. Ninth House is almost impossible to out down in its fast paced, constantly twisting and turning mystery and terrifying ghost story.

[Now, I feel the need to mention before we move on that this is an award winning piece and it is loved by too many to count, BUT if you are on my blog then you may be here because I write about mental health and mental illness and all the emotions dark and light that come with psychology. I try my best to do so in an educated and realistic way that relates back to what I’m going through with good intentions. I try my absolute best to write realistically without including triggers. That being said, as someone who has mental health issues, this story did trigger me. Did I still enjoy the read and do I think you would too, absolutely! I wouldn’t have it on my list otherwise. But if you have anxiety, depression, ptsd, or are overcoming assault you may want to do some further research into the adult topics of this novel before reading. Please feel free to ask questions or leave comments regarding this topic. Thank you.]

The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix

Moving into this year’s releases there is the ever popular The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires. This is another one that seamlessly works in some brilliant comedy into the spooky plot.

Some have compared this to Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias meet Dracula and I’d just like to throw in Buffy the Vampire Slayer as the cherry on that brilliant summary sundae.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

I had the pleasure of studying under Emily Danforth while going after my BA in Writing at Rhode Island College. At that point, she had just published The Miseducation of Cameron Post and I was completely enamored. That being said, I have kept up with her writing and oh man am I glad because Plain Bad Heroines was GREAT!

There are so few great additions to their horror genre that I just want to paste gold stars all over this beautifully written, funny, sexy, and utterly disturbing coming of age hit. I hope you love it as much as I did and if you do, be sure to review! This book is brand spanking new and new book sales depend on reviews to help audiences find them. Get out there and post what you liked or even what you didn’t about everything you read. In the end, even negative reviews help new readers find something they will enjoy.

Supernatural/Paranormal

Lorne J. Therrian Sr.

Jeanine Duval Spikes

Alexander Smith

Elizabeth Splaine

D. R. Perry

Sheryl Lynn Kimball

Lisa Jacob

Paul & Ben Eno

Christine Depetrillo

Roland Comtois

Daniel Cano

J. C. Brown

Horror

Alexander Smith 

H.P. Lovecraft Lisa Jacob

Christa Carmen

Science Fiction

Rachel Menard

Tabitha Lord

R. K. Bentley

Fantasy

J. Michael Squatrito, Jr.

Lorne J. Therrian Sr.

Angelina Singer

Scott William Simmons

C. K. Sholly

Heather Rigney

Rachel Menard

Paul Magnan

M. A. Guglielmo

Heather Dunn

Susan Catalano

A. Keith Carreiro

Daniel Cano

Noel Anne Brennan

Tim Baird

Mystery

Anne-Marie Sutton

Elizabeth Splaine

Dusty Pembroke

Risa Nyman

Rick Marchetti

Jean Kelly

Sam Kafrissen

Ilhy

Daniel Currier

Judy Boss

Julien Ayotte

Thriller

Heather Rigney

Glede Browne

Judy Boss

David Boiani

David Aiello

DON’T FORGET TO COMMENT BELOW!

13 DAYS OF HALLOWEEN IS A SPECIAL TREAT FOR ME AND MY READERS. ON HALLOWEEN, THERE WILL BE A VERY SPECIAL GIVEAWAY I’D LOVE FOR YOU TO TAKE PART IN. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO ENTER IS COMMENT OR SHARE THIS POST TO YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA.

THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING AND BEST OF LUCK!

#to read list #horror #science fiction #fantasy #dark fiction #thriller #mystery #supernatural #paranormal #psychological thriller #psychological fiction #the haunting of hill house #shirley jackson #the turn of the screw #bly manor #the haunting of bly manor #henry james #dracula #bram stoker #frankenstein #mary shelley #edgar allan poe #EAP #his hideous heart #dahlia adler #kendare blake #rin chupeco #lamar giles #tessa gratton #tiffany d jackson

[juliabohemian]

Can We Take a Joke?

Recently I have been thinking a lot about what it means for something to be offensive. A few years back, a favorite comedian of mine lost his prestigious job, working alongside a duck, as a spokesperson for a large healthcare corporation because he tweeted a joke that some people (or perhaps an entire nation of people) found offensive. 

This particular comedian is notorious for joking about topics that are really touchy. I have been a fan of his comedy since the 80s, probably since before I was even old enough to be watching his shows. I have never been offended by anything he's said. The reason being that there is not an ounce of maliciousness to be found there. He doesn't come across as hateful. Just tactless. Almost to the point where it's so ridiculous, that you know he isn't serious.

Gilbert Gottfried is notorious for joking about topics that are really touchy. I have been a fan of his comedy since the 80s, probably since before I was even old enough to be watching his shows. I have never been offended by anything he's said. The reason being that there is not an ounce of maliciousness to be found there. He doesn't come across as hateful. Just tactless. Almost to the point where it's so ridiculous, that you know he isn't serious. 

Gilbert Gottfried has always appealed to me because of how bravely and stubbornly he refuses to yield to social conventions, which I personally find exhausting. Growing up as a neurodivergent (I have both autism and ADHD) I would often say things that offended other people and could never seem to understand where I’d gone wrong. I felt like I was running some kind of obstacle course, in which the rules were constantly changing. I was fascinated by watching Gilbert on stage, being true to himself despite whatever heckling he might endure. It took me years of navigating around other people's feelings to figure out how I could still be me, without causing others distress. I am still working on it. 

Which brings me to my first point, which is what does it actually mean to be offended? We’ve all been offended at some point, whether we like it or not. Basically it means that something another person said or did triggered an emotional reaction in us that we did not enjoy, and after some analysis (or no analysis) we came to the conclusion that the source of our emotion lay entirely outside of ourselves, rather than consider the possibility that some portion of our reaction was the result of our own trauma or emotional baggage.

So, what is it that makes people feel the need to censor other people? It comes down to control. Just so you know, we don’t have any. The sooner you embrace that, the happier you will be. The problem is that, for the most part, we tend to feel helpless unless we take some sort of action. It gives us the illusion of control. When, in fact, we cannot control what other people say or do. Not really. If you don’t believe me, have some children and you should be thoroughly convinced. At the end of the day, we can only control ourselves. And most of us can’t even do that.

That being said, censorship actually began with conservatives and evangelicals. That’s not too hard to dissect. A major component of their ideology involves monopolizing the moral high ground. They devoted a great deal of energy to protecting humanity from such dangers as homosexuality and promiscuity and women wearing pants and having jobs. Things like that. And they had that gig for a few thousand years until, sometime during the last 4 decades or so, there was a paradigm shift. The right passed the censorship torch to the liberals. Or the right accidentally dropped it while they were looking for Obama’s birth certificate. Either way, it now seems that the left is attempting to do what the right could not, which is to police the world and rid it of its ills.

Bearing in mind, of course, that I consider myself as liberal as a person can possibly be. I find that while I often share the views of other liberals about what is and isn’t offensive, I don’t always agree with them about what, if anything, we should do about it.

Which begs the question, when should a reasonably intelligent, emotionally mature person be offended? And I think it really does come down to a few factors, primarily intent and context. These things are really important. Who told the joke and why were they telling it? Who is the target of the joke? Are we laughing AT them or WITH them?

A Jew telling a joke about jews is not offensive. And if you’re not Jewish, you don’t get to have a say about it. A black man joking about what it’s like to drive around a strange neighborhood, while black, is also not offensive. Neither is a white person joking about it, frankly, so long as the point of the joke is how ridiculous it is that a black person even has to deal with that shit in the first place. 

When the target of the joke is a member of a marginalized group and the purpose of the joke is to commiserate with that person, then it’s not offensive. It only has the potential to be offensive when the person telling the joke is a member of a privileged group (male, Caucasian, Christian) and the target of the joke is not. Note, I said POTENTIAL. Because sometimes jokes that fit that definition aren’t offensive. They’re just not funny. In which case, that situation usually takes care of itself.

I have found that almost all comedy can be divided into two categories: drawing attention to that which is obvious or doing the exact opposite of what people are expecting. Most stand-up comedy falls into the first category. Which is why stand up comedians talk about things like relationship woes, airplane food, having kids etc. Because poking fun at experiences that large groups of people can relate to is a practical choice when you are dealing with an audience of total strangers. Especially when those strangers are your primary source of income.

The thing about comedians is that most of them don't genuinely believe what they are saying. The audience knows this. Or at least, they should. Comedians often adopt a persona when they take the stage, which differs drastically from their real life selves. Do I think Gilbert Gottfried is happy that Japanese people lost their lives to a horrible tsunami? Not for one second. Do I think that he was amused by the events of 9-11? As a lifelong resident of Brooklyn, I seriously doubt it. I think he was doing what he's always done, what we ALL do, which is to make jokes about things that are uncomfortable, in order to alleviate the discomfort. That’s what comedians do. In fact, we RELY upon them to do it. We RELY upon humor to help us cope with tragedy and trauma.

Which I can relate to on a very deep level because I have been through some pretty horrific shit in my life and I have always been the first person to make a  joke about it. There have been times in my life where I have been telling a story about something terrible I went through and the other person was clearly uncomfortable with my making a joke about it. I could tell, just by looking at them, that they wanted to be offended. They wanted to claim that moral high ground and let me know that I was being inappropriate. But they couldn’t because it’s MY LIFE AND I WILL JOKE ABOUT IT IF I WANT TO.

Getting back to how to know whether something is offensive...I was watching a documentary called Can We Take a Joke? which was specifically addressing the topic of people being offended by comedy. Within the documentary there was some footage of a young man at a college doing some (and I use this term generously) stand-up comedy in which he was disparaging women's studies as a major, after which a woman in the audience (who he called a loud mouthed cunt) ran on stage and told him to shut up. 

This is a perfect example of when intent matters. How is this young man different than a comedian who is simply joking about something uncomfortable in order to alleviate discomfort? Simply put, he believes what he is saying. Not only does he dislike women’s studies, he dislikes women in general. He is drawn to the stage out of a desire to have a platform for expressing that disdain. And that came across in his act because, well, he didn’t try very hard to hide it. 

Can the concept of women's studies be funny? Absolutely. There are many jokes we could make about women's studies and gender studies and other similar academic majors. I could probably do an entire 30 minute routine just on social sciences in general. But this young man wasn't drawing attention to the obvious, which is that often these majors don't lead to any specific career path. He was simply expressing disdain for women. 

Is that offensive? Well, yes. Disdain can be funny, so long as it isn’t the product of bias towards an entire group of people. Disdain for having a cold, for instance. Disdain for being stuck in traffic. Disdain for women, however, isn’t worthy of laughter.

But is the appropriate response to run on stage and demand that he be quiet? No. The level of anger expressed by the woman in the audience was, shall we say, disproportionate. She seemed a little unhinged. Although, it’s possible that she already knew the young man or that they had some sort of personal history. Either way, the solution, if there even is one, is to ignore him and stop giving him attention. Is it fair to be offended by someone who seems genuinely hateful? Absolutely. But it isn’t always appropriate, productive, or even possible to take any sort of counteraction. 

Not only that but I think there is no real danger that this kid will ever break into the comedy business for real. So, he will likely have to look to some MRA themed subreddit for further validation of his misogyny. Unless the next loudmouthed cunt that storms on stage kills him, of course.

When Mr. Gottfried made that unfortunate tweet about the tsunami in Japan the internet crucified him. People actually said he should die. Which, to me, is a far worse statement than any jokes the comedian has ever made. I was furious, not only with the general public, but with other show business personalities who refused to speak up on Mr. Gottfried’s behalf. In hindsight, I realize that they were probably terrified that they would be next on the chopping block. Which says a lot about us as a society, I think. 

But I don’t think the problem is that people are too easily offended. The problem is that too many people lack critical thinking skills. We need to be willing to ask ourselves whether something is genuinely offensive, or if the topic of it simply evokes negative feelings for us because of our own individual experiences. We need to be willing to step away and resist the urge to take everyone else with us. We also need to accept that sometimes there are genuinely hateful assholes in the world and that silencing them is not always an option. 

If something genuinely is offensive, what should you do about it? 99% of the time, the correct answer is nothing. Now, I'm not talking about hate speech. I'm not talking about propaganda. I'm talking about some comedian, shock jock, TV personality making a joke that you found offensive. You can certainly blog about it, if it makes you feel better. But after that you should avoid that person, their material, their show etc. Because, clearly it is not the right entertainment for you.

I feel that way about King of the Hill and Family Guy. But since I am capable of acknowledging that those things are amusing to other people, I am able to refrain from launching a campaign against their creators under the guise of making the world a better place for everyone.

TL;DR Gilbert Gottfried is a national treasure and should be protected, like the Grand Canyon. AFLAC knew exactly what they were getting when they hired him and merely fired him due to the pressures put in place by late stage capitalism, which dictate that anyone working for a profit seeking entity is at the mercy of public opinion. Shine on, you crazy diamond.  

#gilbert gottfried #aflac #aflac fired gilbert gottfried when they realized they'd hired gilbert gottfried #stand up comedy #people who are offended #what does it mean to be offended #offensive comedy #the difference between comedy and hate speech #free speech #leave gilbert alone and let him enjoy his life #op #juliabohemian rant #juliabohemianrant

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(via A "Rational Suicide" Note. Ft. Anne Örtegren.)

November 9, 2019

This is a “suicide” note left by a ME/CFS sufferer who sought and found relief from her suffering via legal, medically assisted suicide.  She says this manifesto took her months to write, which I do not doubt a bit: it is long, detailed and polished and was written when she was feeling terrible.  She wrote it with the intent to describe her almost indescribable pain and experience, and to convince others to take action on behalf of ME/CFS sufferers, both of which are lofty communication goals when anyone is seriously ill.

Describing and convincing have been my most impossible endeavors since I’ve been seriously ill myself and I think I have mostly failed, judging by others’ reactions to everything I’ve managed to gather the physical and emotional grit to attempt to communicate: that I am seriously, hopelessly ill with an incurable, progressive disease, that there is no bottom to how bad this can get, and it matters not what anyone thinks about it.  Some things are just true regardless of whether anyone believes it.

In this note, ME/CFS patient Anne Örtegren describes symptoms and dilemmas I have experienced myself and she foresees logical outcomes to her predicament, something sick people and especially sick women are never allowed to do because catastrophization. For example, she knows that her heightened sensitivity to light and sound will make treatment or recovery in a hospital setting impossible where the standard of care in that environment requires constant activity and interruptions, and provides no privacy and no escape from the harsh industrial lighting, interrogations by (allegedly) well meaning staff and the general hustle and bustle of capitalistic money making on the backs and bodies of sick and dying people.

That is but one example of a sick person making informed prognostications regarding likely outcomes of the things other people want to do to us, and as someone who shares these sensitivities to light and sound (and therefore an aversion to hospital settings) as but one example of our shared experience of being seriously ill, I appreciated her spelling it out.  I also feel extremely sad that she had to, and furious that no one who allegedly cared about her wellbeing including medical professionals who should be fucking sensitive to the actual needs of real patients could make the leap themselves.  There are many such examples in this letter.

See for yourselves, and understand that as illuminating and raw as this letter is, it’s also been edited by the publisher and a so-called suicide prevention expert because the bottom line everywhere appears to be that there is no such thing as rational suicide or euthanasia because well people and people who make money off of the long-term sick and dying say so.  And because living in this capitalistic, patriarchal nightmare is so hideous for so many people that “suicide contagion” exists, where just knowing that someone, somewhere had whatever it took to end themselves is likely to cause untold numbers of happy, healthy consumers with bright futures to do the same damn thing.  Yeah that’s it, let’s keep telling ourselves that.

The letter as published is reprinted below.  The unedited letter supposedly exists online somewhere if anyone cares to look and has the energy to figure out how and where the edited version differs from the original.  Comments are open below.

Farewell – A Last Post from Anne Örtegren

Nobody can say that I didn’t put up enough of a fight.

For 16 years I have battled increasingly severe ME/CFS. My condition has steadily deteriorated and new additional medical problems have regularly appeared, making it ever more difficult to endure and make it through the day (and night).

Throughout this time, I have invested almost every bit of my tiny energy in the fight for treatment for us ME/CFS patients. Severely ill, I have advocated from my bedroom for research and establishment of biomedical ME/CFS clinics to get us proper health care. All the while, I have worked hard to find something which would improve my own health. I have researched all possible treatment options, got in contact with international experts and methodically tried out every medication, supplement and regimen suggested.

Sadly, for all the work done, we still don’t have adequately sized specialized biomedical care for ME/CFS patients here in Stockholm, Sweden – or hardly anywhere on the planet. We still don’t have in-patient hospital units adapted to the needs of the severely ill ME/CFS patients. Funding levels for biomedical ME/CFS research remain ridiculously low in all countries and the erroneous psychosocial model which has caused me and others so much harm is still making headway.

And sadly, for me personally things have gone from bad to worse to unbearable. I am now mostly bedbound and constantly tortured by ME/CFS symptoms. I also suffer greatly from a number of additional medical problems, the most severe being a systematic hyper-reactivity in the form of burning skin combined with an immunological/allergic reaction. This is triggered by so many things that it has become impossible to create an adapted environment. Some of you have followed my struggle to find clothes and bed linen I can tolerate. Lately, I am simply running out. I no longer have clothes I can wear without my skin “burning up” and my body going into an allergic state.

This means I no longer see a way out from this solitary ME/CFS prison and its constant torture. I can no longer even do damage control, and my body is at the end of its rope. Therefore, I have gone through a long and thorough process involving several medical assessments to be able to choose a peaceful way out: I have received a preliminary green light for accompanied suicide through a clinic in Switzerland.

When you read this I am at rest, free from suffering at last. I have written this post to explain why I had to take this drastic step. Many ME/CFS patients have found it necessary to make the same decision, and I want to speak up for us, as I think my reasons may be similar to those of many others with the same sad destiny.

These reasons can be summed up in three headers: unbearable suffering; no realistic way out of the suffering; and the lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs.

Important note Before I write more about these reasons, I want to stress something important. Depression is not the cause of my choice. Though I have been suffering massively for many years, I am not depressed. I still have all my will and my motivation. I still laugh and see the funny side of things, I still enjoy doing whatever small activities I can manage. I am still hugely interested in the world around me – my loved ones and all that goes on in their lives, the society, the world (what is happening in human rights issues? how can we solve the climate change crisis?) During these 16 years, I have never felt any lack of motivation.

On the contrary, I have consistently fought for solutions with the goal to get myself better and help all ME/CFS patients get better. There are so many things I want to do, I have a lot to live for. If I could only regain some functioning, quieten down the torture a bit and be able to tolerate clothes and a normal environment, I have such a long list of things I would love to do with my life!

Three main reasons So depression is not the reason for my decision to terminate my life. The reasons are the following:

1. Unbearable suffering Many severely ill ME/CFS patients are hovering at the border of unbearable suffering. We are constantly plagued by intense symptoms, we endure high-impact every-minute physical suffering 24 hours a day, year after year. I see it as a prison sentence with torture. I am homebound and mostly bedbound – there is the prison. I constantly suffer from excruciating symptoms: The worst flu you ever had. Sore throat, bronchi hurting with every breath. Complete exhaustion, almost zero energy, a body that weighs a tonne and sometimes won’t even move. Muscle weakness, dizziness, great difficulties standing up. Sensory overload causing severe suffering from the brain and nervous system. Massive pain in muscles, painful inflammations in muscle attachments. Intensely burning skin. A feeling of having been run over by a bus, twice, with every cell screaming. This has got to be called torture.

It would be easier to handle if there were breaks, breathing spaces. But with severe ME/CFS there is no minute during the day when one is comfortable. My body is a war zone with constant firing attacks. There is no rest, no respite. Every move of every day is a mountain-climb. Every night is a challenge, since there is no easy sleep to rescue me from the torture. I always just have to try to get through the night. And then get through the next day.

It would also be easier if there were distractions. Like many patients with severe ME/CFS I am unable to listen to music, radio, podcasts or audio books, or to watch TV. I can only read for short bouts of time, and use the computer for even shorter moments. I am too ill to manage more than rare visits or phone calls from my family and friends, and sadly unable to live with someone. This solitary confinement aspect of ME/CFS is devastating and it is understandable that ME/CFS has been described as the “living death disease”.

For me personally, the situation has turned into an emergency not least due to my horrific symptom of burning skin linked to immunological/allergic reactions. This appeared six years into my ME/CFS, when I was struck by what seemed like a complete collapse of the bodily systems controlling immune system, allergic pathways, temperature control, skin and peripheral nerves. I had long had trouble with urticaria, hyperreactive skin and allergies, but at this point a violent reaction occurred and my skin completely lost tolerance. I started having massively burning skin, severe urticaria and constant cold sweats and shivers (these reactions reminded me of the first stages of the anaphylactic shock I once had, then due to heat allergy).

Since then, for ten long years, my skin has been burning. It is an intense pain. I have been unable to tolerate almost all kinds of clothes and bed linen as well as heat, sun, chemicals and other everyday things. These all trigger the burning skin and the freezing/shivering reaction into a state of extreme pain and suffering. Imagine being badly sunburnt and then being forced to live under a constant scalding sun – no relief in sight.

At first I managed to find a certain textile fabric which I could tolerate, but then this went out of production, and in spite of years of negotiations with the textile industry it has, strangely, proven impossible to recreate that specific weave. This has meant that as my clothes have been wearing out, I have been approaching the point where I will no longer have clothes and bed linen that are tolerable to my skin. It has also become increasingly difficult to adapt the rest of my living environment so as to not trigger the reaction and worsen the symptoms. Now that I am running out of clothes and sheets, ahead of me has lain a situation with constant burning skin and an allergic state of shivering/cold sweats and massive suffering. This would have been absolutely unbearable.

For 16 years I have had to manage an ever-increasing load of suffering and problems. They now add up to a situation which is simply no longer sustainable.

2. No realistic way out of the suffering A very important factor is the lack of realistic hope for relief in the future. It is possible for a person to bear a lot of suffering, as long as it is time-limited. But the combination of massive suffering and a lack of rational hope for remission or recovery is devastating.

Think about the temporary agony of a violent case of gastric flu. Picture how you are feeling those horrible days when you are lying on the bathroom floor between attacks of diarrhoea and vomiting. This is something we all have to live through at times, but we know it will be over in a few days. If someone told you at that point: “you will have to live with this for the rest of your life”, I am sure you would agree that it wouldn’t feel feasible. It is unimaginable to cope with a whole life with the body in that insufferable state every day, year after year. The level of unbearableness in severe ME/CFS is the same.

If I knew there was relief on the horizon, it would be possible to endure severe ME/CFS and all the additional medical problems, even for a long time, I think. The point is that there has to be a limit, the suffering must not feel endless.

One vital aspect here is of course that patients need to feel that the ME/CFS field is being taken forward. Sadly, we haven’t been granted this feeling – see my previous blogs relating to this here and here.

Another imperative issue is the drug intolerance that I and many others with ME/CFS suffer from. I have tried every possible treatment, but most of them have just given me side-effects, many of which have been irreversible. My stomach has become increasingly dysfunctional, so for the past few years any new drugs have caused immediate diarrhoea. One supplement triggered massive inflammation in my entire urinary tract, which has since persisted. The list of such occurrences of major deterioration caused by different drugs/treatments is long, and with time my reactions have become increasingly violent. I now have to conclude that my sensitivity to medication is so severe that realistically it is very hard for me to tolerate drugs or supplements.

This has two crucial meanings for many of us severely ill ME/CFS patients: There is no way of relieving our symptoms. And even if treatments appear in the future, with our sensitivity of medication any drug will carry a great risk of irreversible side-effects producing even more suffering. This means that even in the case of a real effort finally being made to bring biomedical research into ME/CFS up to levels on par with that of other diseases, and possible treatments being made accessible, for some of us it is unlikely that we would be able to benefit. Considering our extreme sensitivity to medication, one could say it’s hard to have realistic hope of recovery or relief for us.

In the past couple of years I, being desperate, have challenged the massive side-effect risk and tried one of the treatments being researched in regards to ME/CFS. But I received it late in the disease process, and it was a gamble. I needed it to have an almost miraculous effect: a quick positive response which eliminated many symptoms – most of all I needed it to stop my skin from burning and reacting, so I could tolerate the clothes and bed linen produced today. I have been quickly running out of clothes and sheets, so I was gambling with high odds for a quick and extensive response. Sadly, I wasn’t a responder. I have also tried medication for Mast Cell Activation Disorder and a low-histamine diet, but my burning skin hasn’t abated. Since I am now running out of clothes and sheets, all that was before me was constant burning hell.

3. The lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs The third factor is the insight that the risk for further deterioration and increased suffering is high.

On top of the nearly unbearable symptoms it is very likely that in the future things will get even worse. An example in my case could be my back and neck pain. I would need to strengthen muscles to prevent them from getting worse. But the characteristic symptom of Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM) when I attempt even small activities, is hugely problematic.

Whenever we try to ignore the PEM issue and push through, we immediately crash and become much sicker. We might go from being able to at least get up and eat, to being completely bedbound, until the PEM has subsided. Sometimes, it doesn’t subside, and we find ourselves irreversibly deteriorated, at a new, even lower baseline level, with no way of improving.

PEM is not something that you can work around.

For me, new medical complications also continue to arise, and I have no way of amending them. I already need surgery for one existing problem, and it is likely that it will be needed for other issues in the future, but surgery or hospital care is not feasible for several reasons:

One is that my body seems to lack repairing mechanisms. Previous biopsies have not healed properly, so my doctor is doubtful about my ability to recover after surgery.

Another, more general and hugely critical, is that with severe ME/CFS it is impossible to tolerate normal hospital care. For ME/CFS patients the sensory overload problem and the extremely low energy levels mean that a normal hospital environment causes major deterioration. The sensory input that comes with shared rooms, people coming and going, bright lights, noise, etc, escalates our disease. We are already in such fragile states that a push in the wrong direction is catastrophic. For me, with my burning skin issue, there is also the issue of not tolerating the mattresses, pillows, textile fabrics, etc used in a hospital.

Just imagine the effects of a hospital stay for me: It would trigger my already severe ME/CFS into new depths – likely I would become completely bedbound and unable to tolerate any light or noise. The skin hyperreactivity would, within a few hours, trigger my body into an insufferable state of burning skin and agonizing immune-allergic reactions, which would then be impossible to reverse. My family, my doctor and I agree: I must never be admitted to a hospital, since there is no end to how much worse that would make me.

Many ME/CFS patients have experienced irreversible deterioration due to hospitalization. We also know that the understanding of ME/CFS is extremely low or non-existent in most hospitals, and we hear about ME/CFS patients being forced into environments or activities which make them much worse. I am aware of only two places in the world with specially adjusted hospital units for severe ME/CFS, Oslo, Norway, and Gold Coast, Australia. We would need such units in every city around the globe.

It is extreme to be this severely ill, have so many medical complications arise continually and know this: There is no feasible access to hospital care for me. There are no tolerable medications to use when things get worse or other medical problems set in. As a severely ill ME/CFS patient I have no safety net at all. There is simply no end to how bad things can get with severe ME/CFS.

Coping skills – important but not enough I realize that when people hear about my decision to terminate my life, they will wonder about my coping skills. I have written about this before and I want to mention the issue here too:

While it was extremely hard at the beginning to accept chronic illness, I have over the years developed a large degree of acceptance and pretty good coping skills. I have learnt to accept tight limits and appreciate small qualities of life. I have learnt to cope with massive amounts of pain and suffering and still find bright spots. With the level of acceptance I have come to now, I would have been content even with relatively small improvements and a very limited life. If, hypothetically, the physical suffering could be taken out of the equation, I would have been able to live contentedly even though my life continued to be restricted to my small apartment and include very little activity. Unlike most people I could find such a tiny life bearable and even happy. But I am not able to cope with these high levels of constant physical suffering.

In short, to sum up my level of acceptance as well as my limit: I can take the prison and the extreme limitations – but I can no longer take the torture. And I cannot live with clothes that constantly trigger my burning skin.

Not alone – and not a rash decision In spite of being unable to see friends or family for more than rare and brief visits, and in spite of having limited capacity for phone conversations, I still have a circle of loved ones. My friends and family all understand my current situation and they accept and support my choice. While they do not want me to leave, they also do not want me to suffer anymore.

This is not a rash decision. It has been processed for many years, in my head, in conversations with family and friends, in discussion with one of my doctors, and a few years ago in the long procedure of requesting accompanied suicide. The clinic in Switzerland requires an extensive process to ensure that the patient is chronically ill, lives with unendurable pain or suffering, and has no realistic hope of relief. They require a number of medical records as well as consultations with specialized doctors.

For me this end is obviously not what I wanted, but it was the best solution to an extremely difficult situation and preferable to even more suffering. It was not hasty choice, but one that matured over a long period of time.

A plea to decision makers – Give ME/CFS patients a future! As you understand, this blog post has taken me many months to put together. It is a long text to read too, I know. But I felt it was important to write it and have it published to explain why I personally had to take this step, and hopefully illuminate why so many ME/CFS patients consider or commit suicide.

And most importantly: to elucidate that this circumstance can be changed! But that will take devoted, resolute, real action from all of those responsible for the state of ME/CFS care, ME/CFS research and dissemination of information about the disease. Sadly, this responsibility has been mishandled for decades. To allow ME/CFS patients some hope on the horizon, key people in all countries must step up and act.

If you are a decision maker, here is what you urgently need to do: You need to bring funding for biomedical ME/CFS research up so it’s on par with comparable diseases (as an example, in the US that would mean $188 million per year). You need to make sure there are dedicated hospital care units for ME/CFS inpatients in every city around the world. You need to establish specialist biomedical care available to all ME/CFS patients; it should be as natural as RA patients having access to a rheumatologist or cancer patients to an oncologist. You need to give ME/CFS patients a future.

Please listen to these words of Jen Brea, which sum up the situation in the US, but are applicable to almost every country:

“The NIH says it won’t fund ME research because no one wants to study it. Yet they reject the applications of the world class scientists who are committed to advancing the field. Meanwhile, HHS has an advisory committee whose sole purpose seems to be making recommendations that are rarely adopted. There are no drugs in the pipeline at the FDA yet the FDA won’t approve the one drug, Ampligen, that can have Lazarus-like effects in some patients. Meanwhile, the CDC continues to educate doctors using information that we (patients) all know is inaccurate or incomplete.”

Like Jen Brea, I want a number of people from these agencies, and equivalent agencies in Sweden and all other countries, to stand up and take responsibility. To say: “ME! I am going to change things because that is my job.”

And lastly Lastly, I would like to end this by linking to this public comment from a US agency meeting (CFSAC). It seems to have been taken off the HHS site, but I found it in the Google Read version of the book “Lighting Up a Hidden World: CFS and ME” by Valerie Free. It includes testimony from two very eloquent ME patients and it says it all. I thank these ME patients for expressing so well what we are experiencing.

My previous blog posts:

From International Traveler to 43 Square Meters: An ME/CFS Story From Sweden

Coping With ME/CFS Will Always Be Hard – But There are Ways of Making It A Little Easier

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt I: The Facts – Plus “What Can We Do?

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt II: Why it Takes 20 Years to Get 1 Year’s Research Done

Take care of each other.

Love, Anne

Comments Open.

#finance #health #Healthcare #medicine #autoimmune disease #capitalistic patriarchical medicine #family and friends #ME/CFS #research

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(trigger warning: reference to past child abuse)

Title: Home

Time and time again, Angus McDonald found himself in situations like the one he is currently dealing with. People around him who don’t know him, can’t see him, won’t talk to him, or just ignore his existence altogether. Honestly, it was no longer a bother to him, it was simply an inconvenience for a detective. The train had proved to be a great means to an end and there were very few people aboard the train which made it easier to deal with the stares they sometimes shot him.  He will admit to himself that the stares are the worst part of his situation. No matter how masculine he may dress, how short he may cut his curly hair, how low he keeps his golf hat, people could always only see ‘female’ when they look at him. It was frustrating knowing that they see him as one thing when he is absolutely another.

When he saw Taako get on the train in all of his long blonde, wizardly glory, it was shocking for the young boy.  This man was dressed in feminine clothing, had a very high pitched voice, and was almost certainly mistaken for a woman all the time, yet he had such an air of confidence about him that people were staring at him in a different way than they looked at Angus - in awe.  Something was fishy about the three travelers, but Angus found himself wanting to speak with the man if only to confirm his suspicions that he was just like him. They approached him first, trying to act discreet about what was obviously supposed to be an undercover mission but they were failing horribly.

The mystery of the train prevented him from asking Taako outright, but he knew, if only in the way he carried himself.  There was the confidence, the suave nature, and the natural charm, but there was also the quiet self doubt, the mind that was thinking five steps ahead of his companions, and the hesitation every time he spoke.  Angus had known Taako for only a few hours, but he already knew with 100% certainty that Taako was just as trans as him.

Angus’s decision to join the Bureau of Balance was spurred by multiple instances.  Of course there was his investigation into the disappearances, but if he hadn’t been told that the trio he had met on the Rockport Limited were part of the B.o.B. he probably wouldn’t have seriously considered it.  In fact, he most likely would have refused due to not wanting it to be a conflict of interest that could harm his detective work. But here he is. Since joining the Bureau, he had felt safer and more at home than anywhere else in the world.  No one ever stared at him, no one gave his feminine pitch any second thoughts, no one even winced when we offhandedly mentioned that he had been having really bad cramps recently. Lucretia had actually given him some medicinal plants she said she had used for cramps when she was his age.  It was treated scientifically instead of him feeling like a freak. This place felt like home.

When the boys were on their mission to Lucas’ lab, he had never felt so anxious in all his life.  He didn’t really know the trio all that well, and all they had done when knowing him was tease and bully him, but something in the way they teased and bullied was nice, almost familial in a way. Taako was the biggest culprit of the family-type teasing. His goofs never seemed to be intentionally harmful in a permanent way, they were always harmful in a goofy dad type of way, and he knew none of them would ever say anything that would actually hurt Angus.  But having those three go completely off the grid for so long had Angus panicking. Lucretia was with him, but she was on edge and seemed horrifically close to breaking down, which only served to further Angus’ anxiety, because if the Director was nervous for the three men she barely knew, he knew something must truly be wrong.  When their voices finally came back, Angus could see the tension leave her body and he could feel his anxiety melt away. He had known these men for such a short time, and yet they had caused him a great deal of stress.

Their story was one of epic proportions.  He couldn’t understand most of it outright, but he saw flashes of what he needed most.  He saw Taako and his twin sister, Lup, laughing side by side. His sister was like him too, but she, like Taako, was more confident in herself than Angus had ever see anyone be.  Angus saw them fighting back to back, kicking ass and taking names. He saw Lup launch a volley of fire at boards high in the sky. He saw Lup become a lich in front of her brother’s eyes, and only saw the terror and worry in Taako’s eyes for a split second.  He saw Taako and Lup and then he saw himself in the two of them. He saw how similar they truly were, and he finally, finally saw that he was nothing to be ashamed of. Despite what his parents thought, despite what his family thought, despite what the world may think of him, he was special and he wouldn’t stand for anyone to look down on him again.

After the Day of Story and Song, Angus had to figure out where to go.  He had no home aside from the B.o.B. and Lucretia had disbanded it promptly following the defeat of the Hunger.  It had been the closest thing Angus had ever had to a real family and now it was gone, just like that. But he still had them.  He knew they still loved him, no matter how far apart they got. When he told the main trio that he had no idea where to go, Magnus immediately offered for Angus to live with him for a while, until he found his family.

“Oh no sir, my family is dead, they have been for a long time,” Angus said.

“What about the grandpa you were headed to back on the Rockport Limited?” Taako said, cocking his head to the side.

“That was a clever ruse on my part so no one would question why a little boy was travelling alone!”

“So you’re all alone then?” Kravitz said.

“Yeah, but I’m used to it!  I’ve been alone for a long time!”

“Well you’re coming with us,” Taako said, arms crossed over his chest, “I can’t be held responsible for teaching you magic and then having you go off and go nuts with it!  That would be irresponsible. Kravitz, let’s find a home for 3, got it big guy?” At the proposition of living with Taako, Kravitz’s dark skin grew red, but he grinned and nodded all the same.

“If you ever need a break from those two,” Magnus said, “call me.”  Angus just smiled a soft smile, one that didn’t show just how shocked and happy he was that Taako of all people was taking him in.  He couldn’t wait for his new life to start.

Taako and Kravitz spent a long time looking for a place.  During this time, the three of them stayed at various inns and hotels where many people refused to accept Taako’s money because they all knew who he was.  On the surface, Taako took it with grace and thanked them, but he would always leave the proper amount of gold on one of the beds when he thought Angus and Kravitz weren’t looking.  When they finally did settle down, Kravitz and Taako had found a home that was far too big for just the three of them, but was big enough to fit the whole IPRE crew. When Kravitz and Taako had been talking with the realtor, she mentioned that the house had belonged to a wealthy couple that had been a part of the massive casualties of the Hunger.  Both Taako and Kravitz were sympathetic, but the realtor assured them that the couple ‘had it coming’. At that phrase, a moment of disbelief and confusion crossed Taako’s face, but he remained poised and collected, he did love the mansion after all and the massive kitchen it had in it. They sealed the deal and moved in as soon as they could. Angus got a huge room all to himself with his own bathroom even.  Taako and Kravitz shared the master bedroom of course, and they had 5 vacant rooms for when the IPRE visited and bathrooms attached to each one.

For Angus, the home felt eerily familiar.  He found himself trying to walk quietly, peeking around corners before walking around them, and trying to make himself as small as possible.  Whenever Taako or Kravitz noticed, Angus would apologize and shake his head, unsure of the reason why he was so jumpy in the home. Naturally, he had to investigate.  He went to the neighbors to ask about the previous owners, and the elderly woman had said they were a black couple with no children and a large family that lived elsewhere that would visit during the holidays.  She had also told him that they had once had a young girl around the manor that looked very much like him, but the girl had died a long time before the Hunger came. Angus delved deeper into the history of the house and even contacted the local sheriff to get more information.  All the sheriff would tell him was that he had gotten many noise complaints over the years about the couple yelling so loud the neighbors could hear. Still, Angus’ curiosity wasn’t satisfied. One morning, he was going over his notes before Kravitz was ready to teleport him to school when Taako came and dropped off his breakfast.

“Whatcha got there Ango?” he said.

“Just some notes on a mystery I’ve needed to solve.  I want to know who used to live here!”

At that, Taako’s eyes grew slightly bigger for a split second before he blinked and looked away.  “You don’t remember?”

“Huh?”

Taako sighed and set down the pan he’s been serving breakfast from.  “Angus, shit, let me get Krav in here, I’m not good at this shit.” As if by magic, Kravitz walked through the dining room door.

“Hey kid, ready for school yet?”

“Krav, we gotta talk,” Taako said with a grimace.  Immediately, Kravitz looked concerned, but he regained his composure and smoothed his shirt down.  Taako sat across from Angus while Kravitz pulled up a chair next to him.

“We thought you knew, but didn’t want to talk about it.  Fuck, dude, I can’t do feelings and shit like that.”

“What Taako means to say,” Kravitz said, shooting a light glare Taako’s way, “is that we didn’t want to pressure you into talking about something you don’t want to talk about.”

“What?” Angus said.

“Look, Angus, this house belonged to a couple called the McDonalds.”  And, just like that, all of the memories he had blocked out for years came rushing back.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember that, you grew up here,” Kravitz said, reaching out towards him.  As if Kravitz was throwing a flame at him, Angus flinched backwards and sat up a little straighter. Kravitz retracted his hand, but a look of concern was plastered on his face.  It was as if he had a permanent scowl now.

Taako opened his mouth, Angus knew he was saying something to him, but none of the words were actually entering his brain.  He was watching his memories come flooding back almost like nightmare. His mom walking with him through a dress shop when he was maybe 3 years old, making him try on frilly dress after frilly dress.  He came out in one with a frown on his face and he pointed at the suits asking his mom why he couldn’t wear pants because pants would be easier to play in. He heard his mom telling him that ladies don’t wear pants to formal events.  He asked why. His mother smacked his mouth. He saw his father tearing apart a drawing Angus had done of himself in pants instead of a dress when he was 5. He had drawn it because he knew pants were more comfortable. He wasn’t allowed to wear pants from then on.  His father had made him turn around and Angus was spanked for his actions. Angus saw himself in a frilly white and pink dress with long, fluffy curled hair when he was 8. He saw his mom applying light makeup to his face. He saw himself get grabbed by a man at the party and dragged away by his hair before he was luckily seen by a butler. He saw himself, that same day, with a knife cutting his hair in the bathroom as short as he could manage so no one could grab it again. He saw his mother and father screaming at him, calling him a lady, and telling him that ladies couldn’t have short hair.  He saw himself bruised.

“Angus?” Kravitz said. Angus blinked, realizing with a start that his face was wet and he was holding his breath. He let it out in a blubbering sigh as Kravitz scooped him into a hug with no warning. Taako was there soon too, hugging him and holding his hand so tightly that he almost couldn’t breathe.  Taako was muttering things, thing Angus knew he said to Lup when she called in a panic because she had woken up in darkness from a nightmare about black curtains, things that were somehow grounding him in the current reality. When he finally stopped sobbing, Kravitz’s shirt was wet from his tears and there was a mark on Taako’s hand where he had been squeezing it.

“Can you tell us what’s happening now Angus?” Kravitz said, patient as ever.  Angus only nodded slowly, as if he was only just now truly absorbing all the shit he had been through.

“My parents, the McDonalds, were…” he paused “they were…horrible.  They-they hit me and called me a lady and hit me whenever I didn’t act like one. I ran away when I was 10 and started doing detective work because I had always been curious. I cut my hair. I’m a boy. Not a girl. I was never a girl, but they called me a girl.” Taako’s fist clenched and Angus could see the rage building in his eyes, but his face remained neutral.  Kravitz, however, was looking at him with sympathy and love. Anger was there, it was definitely there, but Kravitz was much better at masking his emotions than Taako had ever been.

“They aren’t here to hurt you anymore.  We will move too, so you don’t have to live where they were.  You will never have to think of them again, okay?”

“I don’t want to move.  I want to live here with you two and Magnus and Merle and Lup and Barry and everyone.  You guys loved me when I needed it, even though I didn’t really get why at the time.” Angus wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and sniffled a little.  He nodded, mostly to himself, and reached out to hug Taako and Kravitz as best he could with his small arms. They responded instantaneously and wrapped their arms around him securely.

“They aren’t my family anymore,” he whispered.

“Yeah, fuck those fuckers, we are your dads now, shit lil dude, you’re fuckin adopted,” Taako said.  His voice was final as he spoke with no uncertainty in his voice. Kravitz only laughed and squeezed the two of them tighter.  Angus breathed for a moment, afraid, but happy, and for the first time in his whole life, he knew he truly had a family that loved and accepted him for who he was.

Life continued as normal after that day.  Taako insisted that Angus see someone and talk about 'the bullshit he went through’ as he had put it, and it seemed to help Angus a lot.  He was able to talk about everything to a total stranger. Sometimes Taako and Kravitz would come and listen whenever Angus felt comfortable letting them in.  Truth be told, Angus was comfortable with them from the beginning, but Taako was insistent that the first few sessions be his and his alone. He got happier and felt safer than he ever had before, and he continued learning magic at Lucas’ school.  Taako teased him endlessly about attending his rival’s school instead of his own father’s, but the teasing was always light hearted. Lup and Barry built a small home attached to the mansion the three of them lived in, so they were there frequently.  No one outright told Angus why, but he assumed that it was because of the nightmares and the fact that being separated stressed them both out. The rest of the IPRE and the BoB came for holidays and the anniversary of the Day of Story and Song to celebrate and to confirm that they were all still alive and okay.  Angus thrived in his home with his family and friends that he had grown to love more than anything in the world. Angus was truly and completely happy.

What Angus didn’t know, however, was that the day after he had told Taako and Kravitz his life story, the two of them plus Lup and Barry had gone to the Raven Queen and asked to see Mr. and Mrs. McDonald.  All knowing as she is, the Raven Queen summoned the souls from the lake without question and watched as Kravitz yelled louder than he ever had. He told the McDonalds that Angus was never their son, that his son was going to be happy and that they would never get the chance to see him succeed and be happy.  They had tried to tell Kravitz that they only had a daughter, but Lup had cast a fireball that left their spirits extinguished forever.  She had gotten a slap on the wrist from the Raven Queen for that one, obliterating souls was very against the laws of nature, but nothing more.  They were, after all, horrible people to her grandson.

But hey.  What Angus didn’t know, would never have to hurt him.

#itsstillyou #rockindragonz #queercandlenights #taz #the adventure zone #angus #taakitz #blupjeans #fic #submission

[kiwisfics]

Vampires and Assassins - Chapter 4

A/N - Guess who is watching The Greatest Showman for the tenth time as I write this? Yeah, that’s right, I’m Hugh Jackman trash. ANYWAY, as for triggers, the whole branding thing, but that should be it. As always, let me know if I need to add anymore warnings.

Summary: Kady Lason had dealt with enough in her life to think she deserved a pass when it came to the dangers of walking alone at night, but her bad luck doesn’t show any sympathy and she finds herself facing a world of myths as a captive. A world she would have never thought real doesn’t take long to reveal it’s vines tangled in her own world tighter than anyone would have guessed.

  I never understood romanticizing fire. All it offered was destruction and pain and I had plenty enough of those without fire perforating my life.   In a way, I'd come to see fire and men as one in the same. Both offered warmth and comfort until the moment you stepped too close, then you were burned.   Sometimes the flames exploded before you could even get close.   Like the one who had threatened himself if I didn't accept him.   Like the ones who had cornered me and offered nothing but heckling.   Like the one who'd grabbed me off the side of the road...

×

  I'd always been a fan of categorization and, when it came to my fears, I kept a list pinned to the front of my mind. The list had no shortage of ridiculous and pointless fears sprinkled throughout, but the top three were avoided like the plague to the best of my ability.   Men, fire, burns.   The fear for fires and burns came hand in hand, even though I'd never experienced the trauma of a large scale fire or horrific burn. My fear for burns was simply that. The pain caused by burns even slight raised a sickness in my stomach and made me dizzy and shaky, and that was accidental short-lived burns.   What they planned to do was in no way accidental and would—undoubtedly— leave a far more questionable scar than any and all other burns I had suffered.   Blood smoothie and self aware cattle: that was what I had been reduced to in the matter of hours and, despite the feeling of panic becoming a permanent fixture in my mind and body, anger was peaking once again.   Connor spent only seconds trying to pry me off of him, but I left my own marks in that time. If I couldn't dig my nails into all of them, by all means I'd give him the whole of my rage and fear.   I sunk my teeth deep into his arm before he finally pushed me onto a wooden table.   I was panting. My eyes darting around the room and the moment one of them moved, I was prepared to run.   But there were six of them.   I was hyperventilating, struggling to catch my breath and failing. The harder it became for me to breathe, the more panic began to envelope me.   Finally, Jacob tilted my head back and met my eyes, before his eyes flashed he placed a hand on my shoulder, preventing me from falling backwards when I went limp.   I twitched when the bottom of my shirt was lifted, my nails digging into the surface below me as I prepared to turn, but Connor quickly took Jacob's place, his own eyes doing nothing to dull the fear, but keeping me in place as the remains of Jacob's ability continued to still the fear if only slightly.   One of them ran their fingers over the area, numbness immediately following.   To be fair, they could have told me that was something they could do.   For all my thrashing and dramatics, I had to admit that the false peace did make the pain—what was left after the numbness—from the burn less extreme. I jumped more from the cold chill of the ice pack one of them pressed against my back after it was done.   Jacob was rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand. Even though I was still aware that the calmness I felt was false, I couldn't say I didn't appreciate the gesture.   Even though I shouldn't. I knew that.   Its an act. Its an act. Its an act. Don't be stupid.   "What order are we going in?" My head snapped in Edward's direction—though snapped was probably an exaggeration in my exhausted and manipulated state.   "I'm first!" Jacob exclaimed childishly, tone and volume both earning a jump from me.   "Since we're sharing you, you'll stay with each of us for a week. On the first night, whichever one of us you are with will drink from you, the rest of the week you're free from any other responsibilities." Matter-of-fact. Altair had a blunt way of speaking, but, at least, that seemed to make him more truthful.   "Have to keep your strength up." Edward's words gained a huff, the most I could muster in response.   I was sure I made a face. The calm and numbness were both slowly wearing off, as they did, the brand began to burn more and the idea of being food for them was growing less and less desirable - enough to spark another panic.   Am I in a coma?   I jumped as Ezio clasped a hand on my shoulder. "You shouldn't worry about it, Bella. The pain only lasts for a moment."   That didn't change anything.   "Kady."   And whatever mark they'd put on my body didn't change the fact that I'd never give them the satisfaction of having me act the part of property.

×

  I was far from thrilled to meet their other slaves, but, knowing they weren't human, I was glad to know that there were other humans in the mansion. Not to mention other women being present at least made me feel less surrounded.   The group was split evenly between male and female. The men all seemed either completely uninterested in me or more interested than I appreciated.   I didn't need any more men beyond the six that now owned me giving me heart attacks, but I wasn't going to hide behind one of them as if they were any source of comfort.   I'd deal with them if any problem arose.   A few of the women offered me smiles, which I couldn't help but return. The smiles calmed me slightly, at least they didn't give me the unnerving look the women at the auction had.   Those at the auction had looked at me like I was competition. That wasn't something I was used to, considering I'd always been the ugly girl, not that it bothered me much anymore.    At least, it hadn't in the months leading up to my kidnapping, commitment frightened me enough, let alone commitment to a man. I was more than happy to avoid the attention poured upon other women.   A group of three girls that appeared to be around my age offered me nothing more than cold glares. I attempted to ignore them as my gaze wandered over the rest of the group, but when my eyes returned to them to find them still glaring daggers at me, I returned the look.   High school all over again.   "There won't be any fighting." Altair's voice didn't betray his words as anything more or less than what they were. That wasn't a suggestion or a command, that was a threat. His gaze was on the group of three at first, but soon switched to me.   As soon as his eyes moved to me, my head jerked in the opposite direction.   "That includes you." I nodded quickly.   Now I wanted to start a fight.   The line between fearing men and doing everything in my power to go against what they told me to do blurred sometimes.   Especially when I really wanted to plant my fist in someone's face.   "We need to go."   Confusion took the place of my dangerous thoughts as they all walked to the door. Ezio called over his shoulder for one of the other girls—Kelly—to keep an eye on me.   With that, they were gone.   As soon as they were out of the door, the group began to dissipate, the only exception being who I assumed was Kelly, the group of three, and a man who looked around my age.   Kelly looked to be in her mid-twenties and, despite the situation, she grinned at me genuinely. She held out her hand and I took it, unable to resist returning her smile with a nervous one of my own. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the circumstances." Her smile fell slightly, but I wouldn't have noticed had I not learned to pick up on subtle changes such as it.   I nodded in agreement, though my attention had diverted itself to the group who, instead of glaring, were now whispering and pointing to each other. Considering all I had heard, I could make a fair assumption that the girls had been trained, I guess snootiness extends to all walks of life.   What was with these trained people? To be fair, they might not have been trained, but they bled the same aura of the auction girls.   "What's their problem?" I questioned, jutting my chin in the girls' direction.   Kelly made a sound between a snicker and a scoff, "They're jealous."   I raised an eyebrow.   Jealous? That was something.   Come to think of it, the men were attractive, but I must have overlooked that in favor of the concern of losing my freedom, and—of course—the small matter that I was literally a food source for them.   Blood smoothie. Blood smoothie.   Eventually that thought was going to slip into the open if I didn't cut it off.   I had far more important things to worry about than their looks—they were attractive though, I wouldn't lie.   "Just to be on the safe side—not that I think you can't protect yourself—" she was quick to assure me of such, flashing a nervous grin.   Category H.   What in the world was a category H? And why, if that was the cause, did it make her so nervous?   "-but," her emphasis on the word regained my attention, tearing it away from the momentary tangent,  "you should probably avoid them." Kelly glanced to the group and then back to me. "They were raised in this life and are used to the punishments, you on the other hand, aren't."    I felt a shiver go down my spine, but refused to show any indication of it, not when one of them could be looking. "They'll... punish me even if they start the fight?" That word put a bad taste in my mouth. This entire situation made me hyper aware of any word or statement that could be used for an animal and I didn't like it.   "They don't appreciate breaking up fights, and..." She glanced to the side and hesitated, I could tell she didn't think she should say what she was about to say, "Vampires in general are... possessive. They don't like anything they feel entitled to being... marked on by anyone other than them." She glanced back at me, clearly trying to judge my reaction, but her eyes betrayed the fact that something in that statement was a lie, but I could only guess at what.   Making the vampires that towered over my frame and could easily rip me apart—could they do that? Did I even want to find out?—angry wasn't the best idea, but a small part of me didn't care, at least, not when they weren't there. Some small part of my mind, that I was trying my hardest to ignore, kept reminding me that they had to have had a blood slave before me and what could have happened to make them need a new one other than the obvious?   I was going to die.   And, that being the case, why should I not go out by being the most insufferable version of myself I could?   I could start a fight.   I could run out that door.   "What are you thinking?" Kelly's voice was suspicious, maybe even a little nervous.   After being brought back from my thoughts, I was questioning them myself.   Hope for the best. Benefit of the doubt and whatnot.   This day had been too much. I needed to get some sleep before I really did snap and toss my life away.   What do you really have to live for anyway?   I gave my head a definitive shake to push away the thought before tossing a final glare of my own in the direction of the girls, "Is there somewhere I can take a nap?"   Kelly seemed relieved to be getting me away from the potential trouble that the group posed, her tense shoulders falling and clenched hands relenting. "You can use my bed, come on." She gently nudged me toward the steps, chatting to me about random things as she led me up them.

#vampires and assassins #fanfiction #assassins creed fanfiction #assassin's creed fanfiction #assassin's creed au #vampire au #connor kenway x oc #ezio auditore x oc #assassin's creed x oc #jacob frye x oc #edward kenway x oc #desmond miles x oc #altair ibn-la'ahad x oc

[dxmedstudent]

hey! thoughts about going into medicine when you have social anxiety?

Hello! I will always stand by the belief that nobody should tell anyone that medicine is not for them. Everyone has the right to try for themselves, and to see if whether it works for them. To be honest, everyone is different. If we see human behaviour as a spectrum, then rather than just viewing things in terms of ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’, or ‘neurotypical versus ‘neuroatypical’, rather that we all show a wide spectrum of behaviours, ways in which we think and ways in which our brains have grown to function. A doctor I saw recently regarding my own mental health reminded me that even feelings of anxiety are normal and not inherently irrational; what differs is their severity and the effect they have on our lives. Even taking people with the symptoms of anxiety compatible wth what we’d describe as social anxiety, there’s a spectrum in terms of how it affects people. So for this reason, I could never give one answer as to whether medicine is right for someone with social anxiety, or whether everyone with social anxiety would be happy with medicine. I’m sure that some would, and I suspect that some would not. I’ll be honest, medicine does involve a lot of contact with people. Quite a bit of talking to strangers. Lots of phone calls to colleagues you’ve never met. The phone calls get less horrific; they used to be scary, now they’ve become routine. Lots of ‘presenting’ a patient’s case to seniors or peers, and learning to put the most salient information first. Sometimes persuading people to do things. Actually, it’s mostly persuading people to do things, in various guises. Sometimes it’s arguing your case against other colleagues. Being silvertongued would be really valuable in medicine; you learn to be persuasive as possible. That’s not actually the hard bit; if you don’t persuade someone, you don’t. The scariest bit is when people don’t see eye to eye, or when people aren’t very nice. But you can have horrible bosses or customers anywhere; medicine is no different in that respect.  These are things that many people can work towards overcoming, and I’m sure that with the right support some people with social anxiety would do very well in medicine. But what is good for someone, and what someone can tolerate, is different for each person. I wouldn’t want anyone to feel that they had to subject themselves to something that made them miserable. Speaking from having followed the stories of friends, colleagues, and medics who talk about their experiences, there are a lot of factors that can influence what the right decision is for someone. Some people might need extra support; speaking to the GP to assess how bad the anxiey is, what the triggers are, and what can be done to manage it or work towards making things less of an issue. Having it recognised and discussing with university can also make a huge difference in helping to manage problems as they come up at university. The difficulty with struggling isn’t often just the struggling, it’s the way in which people judge you when you do. And the assumptions people make about your competence when they don’t know you are ill can cause problems in themselves. People can be quick to judge others or think them incompetent when what they really need is help. People can be harsh on divergent behaviour, and in those cases having it recognised on paper as a disability or illness can be really helpful in forcing people to take it seriously and treat people fairly. Some people manage to study and work in medicine despite their mental health problems; in fact it makes them more reflective, understanding docs. Others need extra support and accommodations. And some people find that they are happier in other jobs, or that what they need for their mental health is different. And that’s OK. I do think that people with all sorts of conditions and ways of looking at the world have probably always gone into medicine.Bearing in mind that diagnosis and self-diagnosis used to be less prevalent (there was no internet, no webMD, no tumblr for people to share experiences), it’s hard to know how many people struggled, and how many people did the best that they could, scraping by.  Each story is different, only you know what yours will be like Take things one step at a time, and remember that help is always out there. I hope this helps :)

#ask dx #askdx #sagirlstudying