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goblinconceivable · 3 years

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braindump: betty/daniel

I’ve been living with them for a while, notes taken, a few stories significantly started but there’s a gelling issue, which I’m hoping is at least partially down to a lack of proper braindumping. So, in no particular order and certainly not comprehensive:

Frankly I also got too hooked on the last 2 eps, which is likely where I’m blocked. It’s an abrupt emotional twist for them (esp Daniel), and in trying to make sense of that I’m losing focus on the 4 previous years.

- I’m a little bit obsessed in the scene where Betty tries to convince Matt she’s fearless by pointing out her bang-less-ness. And then runs into Daniel, who is at that moment half brain-washed, but yet when she asks about her fearless quotient his response is immediate and natural and entirely lacking in irony: “no bangs.” It’s a tiny little moment that shows how well he not only knows her, but understands her. Without judgment, without fanfare. Were I to have a husband, this is the sort of response that would confirm I’d married the absolute perfect guy for me.

- They’re too close for mirroring to be an important indicator, but there are two scenes that stand out in this vein: the first is when Betty thinks he may have pushed Christina down the stares and steals the video. She’s backing out the door, and he follows, matching her step for step. I love the direction choices because from her perspective there’s a sense of menace, Daniel as potential villain is stalking her. But from his guileless perspective he’s talking to her and if she’s moving, so is he. The second is from the penultimate, talking about Trista, where Betty’s rolling back and forth and he moves with her, rather than simply turning his head. It signals his full engagement in the conversation, seeking her attention, and is why the scene plays as flirting rather than their normal banter.

- That bulletpoint was getting a bit long, so second point on the flirting is that it plays against Betty shutting down the conversation “none of my business,” leading to the fight over involvement in each other’s personal lives, leading to the revelation that they know each other at that deep personal level so very, very well. Which was a very clumsy leadup to Daniel’s revelation during Hilda’s wedding speech, that could have been handled so much more deftly but those last two eps were quite rushed, I don’t know when they found out about the shortened season but it feels like they’d planned for more space and had to jab in exposition.

- Becaaaaause: they narratively broke his ‘aha’ moment onto “know you better than you do” while the strength of the message is really in the “do anything to protect them.” Which is, I believe, where they cut to his softened expression. Not coincidentally, this is precisely what a lot of fan-readings of the characters focus on: Daniel will do anything to protect Betty. Bobby might have said he’d throw himself under a bus for Hilda, but Daniel HAS done that for Betty- in fact literally doing so would probably have been easier than publicly shouldering the blame for the Tornado cover and giving away the profits. Due to the fact that he had time to consider the consequences and did it anyway.

- Which is tidy segue into an admission that I’m flying mostly blind on the Molly arc because I basically skipped all her scenes, but it’s my understanding that Daniel doing this was a pivotal moment for them. Ie, she was impressed that he did this thing. I mean, I really appreciate that he spent the whole press conference scene looking for Betty, so the show in no way undercut their relationship. But then they very clearly built the Molly relationship on the foundation of not only the man Daniel had become due to Betty, but choices he was making in large measure for Betty: it’s not that he saw Betty beaten down and resolved the situation: he was upset but lost, she yelled at him, and THEN he resolved the situation by taking the bullet. Did I break grammar by ending up with two colon’d clauses in the same sentence? It’s a braindump, ain’t gotta be pretty. XP

- Quick sidebar that the same thing happens with Alexis. She was expecting to come back to one brother, but then listens in on his pep talk with Betty and finds she’s returned to a different brother. This may be where I got the “an assistant” phrasing, if so, my bad. But basically, she was impressed with Daniel’s actions, not understanding that it was Betty specifically inspiring his actions.

- Follow that a step further and did Molly ever acknowledge how important Betty is to him? Legit question. I think her line here was about him doing it “for an assistant” (?) rather than even “his assistant,” establishing Betty as a non-entity for her. (Quoting a summary but I think I’m in the ballpark.) And I’m sure I’d have read about it somewhere if she brought Betty up during their discussion on who he’d date when she was dead.

- Just one last note on Molly, (okay it’s a multi-part though it veers off her as a character) but a possibly incorrect beef is that I hate the Daniel/Molly relationship because there’s no interesting or even real conflict? It’s perfect? I’m supposed to think this is magical “true love”? Molly has apparently been engaged for years to a man she doesn’t really love (and um... that’s lazy not strong), and helps inspire a vengeance filled betrayal by her ex because she’s so awesome everyone loves her? But she comes out squeaky clean because any emotional cheating on her part is balanced and thus “justified” by Connor falling for Wilhemina. And then the only “conflict” is that she’s dying, and is perfect throughout it? That’s... weak.

-That poem thing WOULD have been an interesting point of conflict but it was resolved by Betty’s intervention, rather than within the relationship. Which actually is an incredibly interesting beat. The problem with that being it’s so entirely consistent with the role Betty plays in Daniel’s life that it’s treated as just another beat, as if it doesn’t MATTER that a fundamental moment of intimacy and growth of vulnerability in Daniel’s very important romantic relationship is a door opened by a third party. There’s a strong argument to be made for something but I broke off to write the next point and now can’t remember what that strong argument is. I might remember later. It may have had something to do with Molly being a stepping stone in Daniel’s arc, but the cult-thing was so long and dominating that it didn’t work, it tied him too tightly for too long and coinciding with a loosening of his relationship with Betty there was flailing.

- Quick one: Daniel’s fast-forwarded and time-bounded relationship with Molly is the analog to Betty’s time-limited relationship with Henry. Which is a discussion I would like Daniel and Betty to have. Esp. noting that Betty and Henry had issues they worked through together (ice cream foreplay being one.)

- Player! So going back to a happy place, when Betty’s on the phone trying to fix the apartment situation and the camera pans onto Daniel just leaning against the doorway: this may be a legitimate little moment of “squee!” There’s so much denial in his laid back attitude at Player, but I still love watching how the informality of the environment reflects in the informality with Betty. He gives her free reign, and there’s many answers to “why,” and I (almost) don’t want to go into them because I totally adore how this Daniel is basically a College!Daniel only he’s latched onto Betty, who, meanwhile, is just being Betty. OMG how different his life would have been if he’d met Betty in college...

- Okay I actually don’t feel like going into whys, it’s just an arc to enjoy. With a small mention of how he TOTALLY was playing with the MODE book and handed it to Betty knowing she’d understand and use it to get them back in. Such a crazy subtle manipulation, to the point where I’m not sure it wasn’t almost entirely subconscious on Daniel’s part.

- The YETI recommendation letter. What I love is that this is another time when Daniel fvcks up, but fixes it, and more importantly displays competence and ingenuity alongside authentic caring and effort. Here’s the thing: YETI wanted Betty, even if it was just a quota thing (which it wasn’t entirely, at least one of the board was generally enthused.) So all that was necessary was to have them re-label her as from Player. Daniel knew this and did this. And told Betty that. BUUUUT that point was purposefully (by script and character) overshadowed by the gesture of the lengthy rec letter he put significant time into. Whose real audience was... wait for it... Betty. He even did a second draft! Which is more time and effort and a cleaner product.

- Also flaking on her practice run. I also enjoy how he (finally...) bounced back into the office clearly having forgotten her schedule, but having mentally shifted from Molly-space into Betty-space. He’s enthused, he’s engaged, he’s sort of bantering and I’d like to see where that scene would have gone if she hadn’t immediately gotten the acceptance call.

- So there’s this moment somewhat early on, pretty sure when Betty’s taking the writing class, and wants Daniel to give her feedback. And he’s all “why?,” coming from his “I don’t actually know what I’m doing” place. She responds that he’s her friend and wants to know what he thinks. And he does a little double-take at that word. Because until that point Daniel totally sees Betty as HIS Friend, and they’ve referred to each other as friends, with a little “f,” and he believes that. But it wasn’t until this moment that he even considered that HE might be HER Friend. Presumably because he doesn’t believe he has anything to offer her, beyond the power he holds as EIC and her boss - ie, “here run this show” and other such responsibilities.

- Which is a recurring theme. Pronounced on relationship stuff especially. When she asks him for input on the Henry vs Gio situation, when she’s trying to date the playwright. His response is always “I’m in no position to offer relationship advice/judgment on relationships.” He sorta dodges the first and is permissive on the second. I don’t know where to go with that so I’ll leave it (for now).

- When he was supposed to be in Rio, Betty wasn’t even at MODE, she was working for the “enemy,” and he was sending her regular postcards? First, they’d have been postmarked in New York and presumably with local stamps, so I’m not 100% on Betty not cottoning on. But it’s super cute that he was thinking of her when he was incommunicado with literally everyone else. Did he want her to figure it out (subconsciously)? It’s an act of reaching out, but also of convincing: he’s created a fictional narrative of being in Rio, fed and embellished by the media and swallowed by coworkers, but it’s through Betty that he’s establishing the fiction in a definitive way. He wants HER to believe it, because if SHE believes he’s there and having a good time, then he can believe it too, with a small piece of his imagination.

- Same convincing as in Player. BTW, how did all those messages on her phone work? He was 99% totally hiding the situation from her. a) why wouldn’t he just call her from his phone, as he always did in the past? b) he was creating another fictional space. Where her “number” was literally on a post-it on his temporary assistant’s monitor. It’s all play: “call Betty” happens many times, and every one is the act of doing it while knowing that he’s not really doing it. c) Betty does not point out that he should have been confused he never heard back, or more to the point, that he never heard her voicemail message. d) he was in a state of limbo waiting for her to come back, nothing is real until she does. At which point there’s lovely dramatic tension since he both wants her to fix it and get them out of there, and wants to draw her into this new reality and thus make it feel viable.

- 100th Anniversary edition. I love the idea that he’s hep on her writing his bio because he needs her name, at least, to be next to his. His identity as EIC is predicated on her being his partner, and needs that shown, even if it’s functionally an “in joke” because it’s not like she can be featured. In musing over his thoughts while flipping through the book right before deciding to quit, I usually come back to a realization of the transience of the role, but I want it to be a gutpunch of how he assumed, without being aware, that Betty would be next to him in picture, and that’s what they were heading for.

- I’ve actually got through most of my notes, so just a couple more. Daniel is super impressionable. He did what Becks told him to in the pilot. He did what Natalie told him in the cult-situation. Both against his better judgment - his look after Betty when he kicked her out for being “drama he didn’t need” - that’s the same look when he told her to clock out and was dragged off by the not-16-year-old. I’m too tired to go check the pilot, but assuming similar look there. He does what he’s told by anyone telling him to do something, but he WANTS to be rescued from the bad influences, who are so often so forceful.

- Final scene: okay so it turns out quick a lot of my thoughts are trying to understand Daniel. His growth is blatant and deep. So a second round will be more Betty-focused. ‘Cuz I identify strongly with her and don’t have a lot of surface questions about her motivations, but I’m LOST on side of the romantic coin. And plus she deserves a close look regarding how she grows during the series.

- I watched at least part of the reunion and very much like how AF answered the question of the final scene versus what EM says. Because I think they each, as actors, see it from the perspective of their characters, which means it was played authentically and grants insight. AF basically says that she saw it as Daniel coming to say thank you, and how it came down to Betty teaching him that he was good enough. Which came across a little funny because her phrasing implied they’d never talk or see each other again or something and that’s an alarming finality. But also implies that Betty really did see moving to London as a significant parting of ways, something that started as soon as she became an editor and their relationship changed. Probably before.

- She then challenged EM as to why Daniel didn’t say goodbye (as if she didn’t know and hadn’t thought about it? I’m guessing this was panel performance: asking the question “in character” and throwing the question to the other relevant actor.) But anyway, EM’s answer was “Because things were just starting.” Which is blatantly a shippy answer, and he even explains Daniel’s “revelation” as when he “really saw Betty for the first time through and through.”

- At some point in these things you’re like: oh but I thought of something else, and only stop when your brain falls asleep.

- I thought of something else. And then I forgot it. My brain is failing! But not yet failed.

- After Betty gets her braces off there’s this scene near the end, at the shoot. Daniel sees her and crosses quite purposefully to talk with her. He wants to banter and share this exciting moment with her. And the scene goes a little strange when Betty kinda goes “yeah, going now bye.” I expected more eye contact, a big smile, more conversation. That’s Betty. That’s them. But instead it’s a little awkward so Something Is Happening Here. Is she self-conscious? Did she see and hear something in Daniel’s look and comment right after she was detached from the bra and isn’t at this moment comfortable with him? Is this all fallout from her dream in which she and Daniel slept together/he thought she was a bad person/rejected her only they chose not to explicate this/cut a useful scene/thought I’d get that right away but I’m obtuse? I don’t think it’s the last one because while I can be horribly obtuse, I don’t think it was coded. But that’s what the obtuse would say.

- At any rate they don’t pick up on it again, next scene (next ep) they’re back to normal.

- But Daniel does immediately chase after Amanda and let go of her. Which is payoff for his convo with Betty earlier where she sort of disdainfully asks if he WANTS a more serious relationship with Amanda. I did sort of wonder if he actually does, but Betty’s judgmentalness is what convinces him he doesn’t. Usually I’d say Betty understands him so well she knows he doesn’t, but they’re not as close at this point, Betty is living her own life much more, so I dunno.

- But I don’t actually think Daniel was falling for Amanda, or that the show wanted us to think that was ultimately a viable path. Because of that moment when he’s in a car, calls Amanda, says “I really need to see you” and she turns him down. It parallels his text to Betty when Molly died. One text and Betty came over. This was an actual distressed voice convo and Amanda doesn’t care enough about him to be there, which is really great development for Amanda even though we don’t see her! She previously went after Matt when he was in jail, she’s interested in Tyler here, she’s not totally pining for Daniel!

- Daniel of course was using Amanda and their earned if mild emotional intimacy as a crutch, trying to fill the space Betty left. Also note when Amanda turned him down for sex and he stayed to “hang out,” - this is not supposed to be an analysis of Amanda but I wanna note I like that moment because it felt like she was pleased to think she wasn’t just sex to him, while still being over him romantically. Because she does care about him.

- Or for pete’s... I have this bad habit of writing notes which I later look at and am like... “huh?” This is a fic idea, from Daniel’s POV: “Betty had moulded him, often by sheer force of her iron will, into being a man who almost deserved Molly. And he'd turned right around and become a man who would never deserve Betty.” And I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT THE SECOND HALF MEANS. Specifically.

- Wedding dancing. Happens twice. Hilda’s wedding, we know what that is. But at Daniel’s wedding. I like that he wasn’t 100% Molly focused, ‘cuz, shipper. And I know why the show had Matt cut in, because gotta keep things moving. But isn’t it a thing that you don’t cut in on the groom/bride? It’s their day. Daniel just sort of nonverbally asks Betty if it’s okay (to leave her with Matt), but can’t help a) thinking he was a bit put out and b) want Molly to see his expression looking at Betty and have some sort of “aha” moment where she - do Molly and Betty have any scenes together? I don’t remember seeing any and I think I did skim through all the eps, but I need to do that again.

- Ooh, one of the things I forgot en route! I like that Betty has revolving love interests, because that’s textual argument for Betty never having feelings (romantic) for Daniel. Which is super, super important in this iteration of the story. There’s a couple moments - pilot and the first bridge scene - where she arguably has a momentary crush, which quickly settles into a developing platonic relationship.

- Jump back to Daniel finally seeing Betty as a true equal = romantic feelings. It’s a thing. Look my brain is deteriorting and wording is hard! So there’s two sided imbalance throughout. Daniel always saw Betty with this veneer of youth, and a great deal of his use for her is helping her “grow into the woman she’ll be.” And that’s the roadblock in him seeing her as a romantic possibility. Which was initially quite awesome because he was sleeping with people younger than her, even the “she’s actually 20″ girl was younger than Betty. And yet always saw her as in many ways more mature and competent than her. And double-yet he still saw how much further she could, and would, grow. His belief in her knows no bounds.

- Meanwhile Betty sees him as... someone who’s also becoming. Who has great potential. Bullying him into it if necessary. And because he’s guided by her, she can’t crush on him, he’s like her pet. Were she to have a crush, much less fall for him, it would have been horrifying. She needs to have a moment when she sees him as a true equal, someone who - look, everyone is always still growing so it’s not like he needs to be fully formed, and it’s a little murkier what the moment would look like when she finally sees Daniel “for the first time.”

- ‘cuz as noted, Betty has been there for pretty much every important moment of growth and crossroads in every facet of Daniel’s life. Whereas Betty consistently had many things and relationships in her life Daniel was not involved in. She’s always been way more self-reliant (not the word I wanted, is there one that starts with c?) It’s why they did sort of need to peel away through a chunk of S4, because Daniel needed to learn to cope without Betty propping him up, because it’s like a Miranda-thing:

- “I don’t need Gary. But I want him.”

- Daniel has to be able to be find without Betty before Betty can see him as a viable romantic partner. She has to see something she never has before. Daniel saw that the seedling he’d been protecting was not only strong enough to survive on its own had grown up and bloomed (process begun early in the season when he was being overprotective and she shut that down). For Betty... I guess Daniel... ... ..... it didn’t happen in the show. As EM noted, for Daniel, the ending was the beginning. Because his moment isn’t leaving MODE, that’s just the corresponding moment to Betty shaking him off. His moment is further down the road when he puts into practice everything he’s learned and ... something answered in fanfic because it’s spec and I’m tuckered.

#daniel x betty #detty #ugly betty #meta #braindump #my brain literally has nothing except #i got nothing #what a satisfying feeling #to have removed everything and set it in a magical tardis of a post

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imaginewarehouse · 3 years

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Tate Staskiewicz x Reader || Oneshot

Plot:

Inspired by ‘Something That We’re Not’ by Demi Lovato. Basically, you and Tate hooked up one night… for the second time… and you’re content with that just being a wrap (That’s that! That was good, that’s enough- why push it?). You aren’t a relationship person, you don’t like the commitment. But… Tate has other plans.

Warnings: Hmmm, I don’t think so. Commitment issues?

🔆 🔆 🔆

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Hm?” I look up from my - fucking bottom, - locker and to the table Sarah and Justine are at eating their lunch. Sarah, the talker, is staring at her phone; A deep frown plastered to her lips that causes my eyebrows to knit together in confusion. Justine notices, too, and leans over to see what’s on the phone- and when she does see, her brows promptly shoot up. Oh, boy. That’s not good to see. What’s happened? “Yeah?”

“Did you and Tate really hit it off the other night??”

… w h y? My heart just about stops beating in fear. Why. Why mention Tate. Any mention of a one night stand in that tone is not going to be good. I get up from the floor and rush into the empty seat beside Sarah, looing expectantly for her to explain but she just looks right back. Looking for an answer to her question. “Uhh? Yeah, I guess?? We had a good time. Why! ?” Oh good god, tell me the whole store doesn’t know. What is it?? A video, pictures, a running gag!? Good god, I thought we were beyond slut shaming but I guess not-

Sarah’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Are you dating then, now??”

Now that really causes my heart to feel like it’s skipped a beat. Or two. “What!? No! Why would you say that? It was just sex- Oh.” I look sheepishly to Justine, waiting for the high five or the ‘Heyo!’ that’s classic from her at the word ‘sex’… but receive nothing but an awkward look- her gaze turning to the wall as she takes a nervous sip of her coffee instead of talking. Realisation that this is really not good dawns on me. Jesus christ- Justine skipping the chance to talk sex? Its like a sign of the apocalypse. What’s next? The river Nile turning to blood? “Show me the phone, please.”

Sarah glances at Justine, before letting out a sigh and revealing the screen of her iPhone to me. It’s Tate’s Instagram profile- and it says, ‘In a Relationship’, at the top. I look up, deeply confused to Sarah and Justine.

“It didn’t say that before Saturday night.” Justine explains. The night Tate and I were at the bar and hooked up. “Trust me, I keep a close eye on those kinda status’.” She grins, proudly, before sobering again and adding lowly, “And Tate is pretty anal about how his social media looks, so… “She shrugs, meaningfully. So, he knows that that incriminating, incorrect phrase is printed there in his bio.

Sarah vocalises my assessment. “We can’t see him putting that kind of thing down willy nilly… Also, it says that on all his other profiles, too. Snap Chat, Twitter, even Facebook.”

“Yeah, and I mean,” Justine’s cute little nose scrunches up and her eyebrows knit together as she looks at Sarah who mouths ‘I know, right?’, back. “Who even uses Facebook anymore?? Ugh.”

I’m running through the night in my head, wondering if there was any point that I might have hinted to the pharmacist that I was looking for anything more then casual sex, at all. And I find nothing! I did not treat him any differently to how I would usually treat a person in his position- and that treatment has been carefully strung together and thought out so confusions like this do not occur. And it has nothing to do with us working together, I know that much seeing as Isaac understood just fine!

… well actually, honestly, mayyyybe I shouldn’t have slept with him at all this weekend… seeing as this was not our first time… that might have given him the wrong idea...

But god fucking damn it, Tate’s handsomeness obscured my rational and interesting conversation distracted me. I’m a fucking idiot!

I am not a relationship kinda person! I can’t be in a relationship with, fuck I don’t know… Channing Tatum- much less Tate the Pharmacist! Commitment is not for me; No, no, no-no, no. Fuck, fuck, fuck… I have to talk to Tate.

“I should go talk to him,” I say, excusing myself from the table with a polite smile but freaking out inside as I get out of the chair, kneel down and lock my locker back up, then rush out of the room leaving the girls behind in my dust. As I’m passing Grocery, I’m stopped by Cheyanne and Marcus who have their phones out, and show me a picture of me on Tate’s Twitter w i t h a h e a r t emoji and the tag #bae. My eyes bulge nearly out of my head as I look in horror at it over Cheyanne’s shoulder.

“You know, now that I’m seeing it- you two are a cute couple.” Marcus’ words cause a tsunami in my brain- all the little Inside Out-type emotions are drowning and struggling- and Fear is screaming.

“Yeah you do, but- I didn’t think you ‘did’ commitment, Y/N?” Cheyanne adds, sceptical.

“Uh, I do- “Damn. I slam my mouth shut again. I can’t talk to her about this before I talk to Tate. So instead, I just toothlessly smile, and shrug at the two- For lack of any appropriate words. “Anyway! I gotta go- see y’all later!”

And then I’m off again.

I find Tate exactly where, and in what position, I thought he would be; Sitting behind the lonely pharmacy desk with his feet up on the register bench and his nose buried in his phone rather then working. I approach with caution, but confidence also, and knock on the desk surface by his feet to get his attention- and watch his eyes light up when he sees me.

Oh dear god.

“Hey, love bug.” - Oh god, oh god! - “Nice of you to visit me at work!”

Oh… is it? Is it really? Nerves swallow me whole and I nearly shrink back down because to just go with this relationship for the rest of our lives until we get married and have 4 children together and raise them and send them all off to community college instead of having an awkward conversation, sounds really good. How dare he look so soft- this T a t e. Tate is narcissist and an asshole. This isn’t how the world is supposed to work-

“Hey… “My voice cracks like pubescent teenage boy, and I avoid eye contact like a criminal. “Tate, um- So! I think that… maybe, possibly… we might have gotten our signals crossed the other night?”

Tate tilts his head to the side and sets his phone down- all attention on me. “How so?”

“Well,” Why is my voice so high??? I cough into my fist, trying to clear it and return it to its regular register, but fail. The show must go on, though. “Um, I-I was under the impression, that… what we were doing, was, uh… a one-time thing? I guess?” Tate’s eyebrows begin to knit together. “A-and, I think you might have interpreted it a different way?”

“So… you’re saying, that you were just using me, for sex. And somehow that’s my fault?”

My eyes blow wide open and I rush to amend his reiteration as he gets up from his chair and stands, looking down on me now. And… I… oop. That’s just great “No no! Not your fault, at all Tate!! I was just at that bar looking for… err, well, sex! And I thought you were too, but apparently not, and… do you understand?”

“I understand.” For a millisecond, I begin to relax- before Tate’s eyes narrow so much so that they’re nothing but sparkly, black-lashed slits of death. I wish I was at that bar now- I would order a Long Island Iced Tea and black out. “You’re screwing me.”

“What- No!”

“Yes! You want the rig, but not the rest of the machine.” Does he know what a rig is?- Either way, I solemnly, apologetically, shake my head. Well, yes, he’s correct, but I also don’t want to lose the, uh, machine! I really like talking to him when I’m stuck stocking shelves in the pharmacy! I don’t want to lose that? Then, suddenly like the changing wind, Tate’s eyes widen and a ghost of a smirk flickers across his face. “Oh, or- its more than that.” Hold on what. “Cuz Y/N, this isn’t the first time this has happened, you know? The first time, fine. I get it, you need a release. We all do- especially working a lowly job like you do, unlike mine. Heh. But you came back. To me. You could’ve approached anyone else at that bar and gotten the same results… but you came back to this one.”

Now I narrow my eyes and furrow my brows, leaning back from the self-absorbed chemist. “… what are suggesting, Tate?”

He lets the smirk come out, now, and the only comprehensive thought that passes through my brain is: ‘shittttt’.

“You just can’t get enough of me.”

“What!?” I gape, jaw dropped. Ridiculous!-

“I’m Y/N-Nip.” Oh sweet jesus. The thought genuinely seems to please him. Of course, it does. Ugh… No way. This cannot be right. I do not want a relationship! No way no how! “So it doesn't really matter if you don’t want me right now- because you will. We both know you will.”

“I- Tate! You’re cracked!”

He chuckles, dipping hands into the pockets of his lab coat and shaking his head slowly. “Love you too, babe.”

“TATE!”

“Yeah... you keep screaming my name like that. Good practise.”

“Oh my god!” I exclaim, covering the bottom of my face and closing my eyes, a grin hidden behind my hands at how ridiculous this is. He’s too cute, oh my god! “How have you twisted this, you insane person. I do not have feelings for you!- Well, romantic feelings.” I cross my arms across my chest. “I do not have the romantic feelings, for you. All the feelings that I have for you can be simply summed up by whatever insane, terrible illness that kept putting Lorelai and Christopher together.”

“Gilmore girls?” He grimaces.

“Yes.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead and his eyes light up even more, despite his apparent aversion towards my chosen American favourite, and I immediately regret my analogy. “So, you admit there are feelings there?”

“Yeah- raw, animal sex-drive! That’s it!” I try to explain, looking away to avoid his eyes and feeling my cheeks warm up.

“But you like talking to me, too, don’t you.” Its not a question, its a statement. He knows! And... it is not totally wrong. I do like to talk to him. He’s a narcissist and he’s smug but I happen to find that funny on all but bad days, and he keeps up with my antics like no one else. But so does Sarah. So does Jonah. So do Mateo and the guy on Echat so charmingly called ‘B1gHairyDucksRunTheW8rld’- long story short; I’m darling and lots of people like to talk to me!

“Oh, Tate. Since when has an amusement by intelligent conversation been considered a for sure indication of desire for a romantic relationship?”

“Oh, its not. But combined with the ‘raw, animal sex-drive’ that you so aptly named, it kinda does.” He leans closer a little bit over the desk towards me. “Also, you’ve said my name no less then six times while you’ve been here.”

I laugh out loud- a definite sense of nervousness laced through the sound. “That means nothing!”

“No, no-no. It means... “ He raises his eyebrows again at me and sets me with a wise look, like somehow he knows the deep secrets that hide out in the recesses of my mind. “Something.”

Maybe he’s right.

“No!”

“Oh, believe what you want, love bug.”

“This is crazy, Tate. We are not in any kind of relationship and I do not have feelings for you!”

“So I’ll see you tonight?”

“No?”

“My place? 7?”

“You will not see me tonight!”

“Do you think you’ll end up staying over? Just because, man of riches and luxury that I am, I need to change the sheets if you are to set the right mood.”

My jaw drops. He’s lost his mind... and maybe I am too a little bit, because for some reason I’m leaning towards agreeing and going to his place tonight. Is there anything that I can say to him to dissuade him from these delusions of me being in love with him? Because I don’t!

But... I wont lie. This is the most stimulating conversation I’ve had in forever, it feels good. It always does, with Tate. But again still, I am not commitment girl. He is commitment guy. He may not seem like it, in fact he has the complete guide and tool set to be a grade-A douchebag, but he isn’t and he apparently somehow likes me which is not a horrible feeling and I do not want to let him down. I... really don’t.

Sighing, I collapse against the register and roll my eyes back. “Tate... I might like you. A lot.”

“Oh. Shocker.” He rolls his own eyes, pressing some buttons on the register. Oh, he thinks that he’s funny. Hm.

“... but I want you to hear me now. Okay? Listen.” Thankfully he looks up and focuses on me, blue eyes meeting mine. “I am not relationship compatible. I cant do it. I’ve tried it before and I couldn't hack it. Its not in my genetic make-up!- please don’t push this and make me ruin what we have.”

He takes a deep breath, and sighs it out... before reaching over and holding my hand on top of the desk. He sets me with a reassuring look. “... I’m a Pharmacist. We don’t ruin things.”

BONUS:

“... Jesus Christ you’re self absorbed.”

“Maybe you can work on that with me at my place at 7. Now I have to get back to work, pharmaceutical business waits for no man.”

“Oh boy.” I’m dating this guy...

#Tate Staskiewicz #Superstore #Tate Staskiewicz x Reader #Tate x Reader #Superstore Tate #Superstore Tate x Reader #Oneshot #Superstore Sarah #Superstore Justine #Justine Sikowicz #Superstore Cheyanne #Cheyanne Lee #Marcus White #Superstore Marcus

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 28

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 6540

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Effects of poisoning, Overstimulation, Mentions of abandonment

“He’s home, L.” Virgil mumbled into his shoulder.

“What?” Logan glanced down at Virgil and swallowed anxiously, watching his friend struggle to walk down the narrow path. He gripped Virgil tighter, unsettled by how gaunt Virgil had become on the short walk from the castle.

“He's—” Virgil inhaled with a pained hiss and his legs gave out. Logan stumbled, barely keeping both of them standing as Virgil’s weight dropped out beneath him.

“Vee!” Logan breathed out urgently as he came to a stop. He wrapped his free arm around Virgil's chest to keep him upright. “Are you okay?”

“Hey—don't worry, L. I'm okay.” Virgil smiled faintly up at him as he regained his footing. “Just hurts.”

Logan’s chest ached with guilt as Virgil slurred his words with exhaustion. “I'm sorry, Vee. I should have—”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, L.” Virgil growled as pointed down to the path. “Patton’s house. He's there.”

“Sure thing, Vee.” Logan whispered slowly, taking a long breath. Emotion swelled in his chest. Despite his current condition, Virgil still insisted on keeping an eye out him and that kindness was truly beyond his comprehension. He shook his head, trying to refocus. “Why’s he home anyway? Shouldn’t he be working in the greenhouses today?”

Virgil hobbled along in silence for a moment before he letting out a loud sigh. “He's upset with me, L. We fought last night and he decided not to go into work today.”

“What? Why?” Logan stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.

“That's why I was late this morning. Gods, what a shit morning to be distracted,” Virgil let out a breath as his face fell. “but I can't sleep for shit when he's mad at me.”

Logan frowned, hanging his head as they started to move forward once more. He stared down at Virgil's sad eyes as he hobbled down the path. He'd never seen Virgil looking so despondent. Virgil was always so composed and it broke Logan's heart to see his friend in pain. “Why's he upset with you, Vee?”

“I—” Virgil groaned, clutching his stomach in pain. “He's—he's right to be mad. I fu—I messed up, L. I've been keeping secrets that weren't mine to keep.”

Logan squeezed him tighter, as they reached the stairs to Patton’s house. “I'm certain that Patton will forgive you no matter what happened, Vee. He doesn’t seem to be the type to hold grudges.”

“It's—it’s not Patton that needs to—” Virgil mumbled, wheezing as he tool each step. They paused at the top of the stairs as Virgil caught his breath. “I'm sorry, L. Not now. We'll talk about this in a minute.”

“Of course, Vee.” Logan put a hand on Virgil’s chest, steadying him from both sides as his friend swayed, eyes closed as he nearly lost consciousness. “Whatever you need. I'm going to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, L.” Virgil looked up at him with a tired grin. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Logan nodded seriously, watching Virgil fade in his arms as he clung to him side. He held his friend tightly, supporting him as he reached up to pound on Patton’ door. He took a long breath, holding his hand to Virgil’s chest as he listened to Patton moving on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door popped open and Patton’s head popped out. His face scrunched in confusion “Lo—”

“Hey, Pat."

Patton's eyes widened as he caught sight of Virgil hanging off of Logan's are

Virgil eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into Logan, but he continued speaking calmly. "I know you’re mad at me and all, but I could really use some help with—"

“Virgil!” Patton didn't hesitate to rush toward him, sweeping Virgil’s arm over his shoulder as he helped Logan lift him. “What happened to you?”

“Got hit with a minor dose of poison—” Virgil grunted, limp in their hands as they pulled him through the door.

“What kind of poison?” Patton pressed, carefully glancing down his friend's fading expression.

Virgil chewed his lips nervously, fighting to think through the haze in his mind with a sigh. “I don't know.”

“So, you don't actually know if the dose was minor—” Patton chided. Logan couldn’t help but notice the edge in Patton’s usually chipper voice.

“Well, I'm not dead. Am I?” Virgil muttered as they lowered him into the chair.

“Don't joke about that, Virgil!” Patton scolded him harshly and Logan could see Virgil flinch at his tone.

“Patton,” Logan whispered. “Perhaps now is not the time to increase Virgil’s stress more than is necessary.”

Patton paused, looking down at Virgil. His head was bowed to his chest as he forced deep breaths and his muscles were tensed as the unknown substance flowed through his body.

“You’re right,” Patton smiled sadly, kneeling down beside Virgil and brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry, kiddo. I just don't like seeing you in pain and not being able to help. Poison’s aren't my specialty and if we don't even know what kind it is—"

“Wait—” Logan interrupted as realization hit him. His friends stared at him in confusion as he started fishing through his pockets and carefully pulled out the small dart Remus had dropped earlier. “—Yes. We do.”

Virgil's eyes focused for a moment as he stared at the dart with suspicion. “Where'd you get that, L?”

Logan looked up at his friends. They stared at him with wide eyes and he dropped his gaze nervously, closing his hand around the dart. His eyes shifted back and forth between his friends as he considered what he was clearly intended to do. “Remus dropped this at my feet before he left us in the corridor. You were unconscious, Vee, but he—he said he wanted to see if I was more than a one trick pony, which is a stupid phrase. Horses are clearly trained with more than one purpose in mind—

"Oh, kiddo." Patton reached out to him to reassure him as he began to ramble anxiously.

"—but perhaps, it is an accurate comparison because I'm entirely useless in this endeavor and—"

“Stop, Lo. It's going to be okay.” Patton hushed him as he stepped toward him. Logan could feel a slight tremor in his lip as Patton gently touched his arms. “We're going to figure this out.”

“Pat, he wants me to do the same thing I did for Roman,” Logan clenched his hands and gritted his teeth bitterly. “but I can't do it. I don't know how I did it the first—”

“Hey, Lo.” Patton held a hand out gently, watching Logan's hand carefully as he slipped a leather glove off the desk next to Logan. He smiled gently at Logan as he pulled on the glove and held his hand out.

Logan looked down at his white knuckles clenched tightly around the dart. He shivered, gently loosening his grip on the dangerous weapon. His muscles went limp with a new wave of panic as Patton took the dart from him. “I don’t know, Pat. I just don't know."

“Good job, kiddo.” Patton whispered as he examined the dart. “ Now, Lo. Slow down. What don't you know?”

“I don't know how to fix this, Pat,” Logan whispered as he caught a look at the beads of sweat forming on Virgil’s forehead as he shivered violently in the chair behind Patton’s shoulder. Logan dropped his gaze, ashamed of his own incompetence. “With Rom—" Logan's breath stopped as Roman's name passed his tongue and he had to stop and take a breath before continuing. "—W-with Roman, I knew as soon as I had the dart in my hand. There were complex procedures with precise measurements I needed to be sure the antidote was safe—" Logan glanced at the dart in Patton's hand bitterly. "—I don't know anything about this one, Pat.”

“We're going to figure this out, Lo.” Patton put a hand on Logan's forearm. “You, me, Virgil and Roman are going to—”

“Not Roman.” Logan interrupted abruptly, sucking in a breath as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“What?” Patton paused, looking up at Logan. There was a long pause when Logan didn’t respond and Patton tensed, glancing back at Virgil. “What happened to Roman?”

Virgil groaned, leaning forward in his chair. He propped his elbows on his knees holding his head in his hands. “They've got princey, Pat. The fae that took Logan kidnapped him this morning.”

“What?!” Patton straightened. “ What happened, Virgil?! Why didn't you—”

“Patton, please—” Virgil whispered breathlessly. “Please—I can't handle you being mad at me right now. The king is looking for Roman. I promise I made sure someone was out for him before anything else—”

“Oh, sweetie. No.” Patton spoke after a moment and kneeled next to Virgil, reaching a hand to his cheek. “I'm not mad at you. I know things got a little rough last night, but I’m not angry. We're always in this together, Virge.”

“I did what I could, Pat.” Virgil wheezed between shallow breathes. “I did—"

“Hey now. I know you did everything you could. You always do so good taking care of us and I'm so proud of you, kiddo.” Patton hushed him with a subtle smile. “Let’s get you fixed up. Okay?”

Virgil hesitated before giving Patton a quick nod. Logan couldn’t help noticing the sunken look in his eyes as he finally took a breath. “I didn't mean to snap at you, Pat.”

"You were hurt and I was making it worse. You had every right to tell me to stop, Virge.” Patton whispered with a smile, slipping a glove on his other hand as he looked down at Virgil. “Now, let's get this figured out so you're not hurting anymore. Okay?”

“'Kay.” Virgil looked up at Patton and Logan could see guilt in Virgil’s eyes as Virgil choked in a strained breath. “Thank you.”

“You've saved me so many times, Virge. It's about time I return the favor.” Patton smiled as he twisted the base of the dart. The mechanism gave a small click as the dart's chamber opened. He wafted the dart near his nose and a smile spread across his face. “and maybe this is going to be easier than we thought.”

"What?” Virgil looked up at Patton and for the first time Logan caught his gaze. He shivered, staring absently at Virgil’s dilated eyes. The world fell away as guilt settled into his stomach, seeing the poison's process continuing to take hold of his friend.

“Logan?”

Logan blinked, coming out of a daze. He looked up to see Patton staring at him. Straightening up, he traced Patton’s arm down to where he held the dart out to him. He looked up back up at Patton, confused.

“Smell, but don't inhale.” Patton instructed sternly. “Tell me what you think.”

Logan eyes the dart suspiciously before leaning into Patton’s hand, letting the scent waft into his nose.

Wait that's—

The thought was abruptly interrupted as the overwhelmingly acrid taste hit the back of his throat. His face scrunched uncomfortably and he stuck out his tongue as he desperately tried to force the taste of his mouth.

“I told you not to inhale, Lo—” Patton chided softly, pulling the dart back.

“That's hemlock,” Logan choked out between breaths. “but there's something wrong with it.”

Patton stared at him for a moment before wafting the serum past his nose again. “What do you mean? Hemlock smells awful but I don’t think there’s anything unusual about this sample.”

Logan stared at the dart for a moment. He flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, considering his words. “I am intimately familiar with hemlock, Patton. It's the most common poison in the meadows north of the castle. At the apothecary where I worked, I treated cases at least weekly where farmers brought in sheep that had accidentally consumed—”

“I'm not a sheep."

Logan abruptly looked down as Virgil’s pained voice interrupted his rambling and a wave of guilt washed over him. Logan crossed his arms and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Vee. I know you’re not, but I'm certain this is wrong. We could—we could hurt you if we make the wrong decision.”

Patton stood up, moving closer to Logan with a curious look in his eyes. “How sure are you, Lo?”

Logan hung his head, clenching his hands around his elbows as he felt his breath speed up anxiously. “As sure as I was with Roman. Don't ask me how. I don't know, but I'm sure and I just need you to trust—”

“Hey, kiddo.” Logan jumped as Patton's hand brushed his arm. “Why don't you take a seat?”

“I can't—”

“Sure, you can—”

“Virgil—”

“—is going to be fine.” Patton smiled patiently. “I know what we're dealing with and how we can figure this out.”

“What?” Logan’s head shot up to him.

“Sit down, kiddo.” Patton gently nudged him backward toward the bed. “We need to talk.”

“Patton, if you know how to help Virgil, we should be helping him—” Logan resisted, trembling as he looked at Virgil.

“I am, but I need your help, Lo. To do that, I need you to sit down and listen to me.” Patton smiled warmly at him as Logan finally relented and dropped down to the bed. “Now, I'm going to tell you something that's going to be hard to hear—”

“Pat, is this really the time for this?” Virgil moaned, clutching his chest.

“No.” Patton muttered bitterly. "The time for this was days ago when you figured this out, Virge."

Confused, Logan looked up at Patton’s serious expression before turning back to look at Virgil as he deflated in the chair behind Patton.

“Pat, you said you weren't mad—” Virgil whispered.

“I'm not, Virgil. I'm really not. I know you didn't know what to do,” Patton sighed impatiently. "but this can't wait any longer. We need Logan's help and the only way he can help is if he knows what’s going on.”

There was a long pause before Virgil nodded. “Alright, Pat, but I need to be the one to tell him. I want to make this right.”

“What's going on?” Logan started to shake as Virgil stood up, groaning as he moved towards them. He sucked in a sharp breath, on the verge of a panic attack as Patton caught Virgil's shoulder, helping Virgil towards him. “What did I do—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo,” Patton smiled at him softly. “and none of this changes anything. No matter what you've heard from any of us. We love you and you always have a place here. You’re family, Logan. Forever. Okay?”

“Okay.” Logan responded numbly. He stared at his friends and shivered, tightening his arms around his chest as Virgil stumbled his way over.

A million worst-case scenarios pushed for attention in his mind as Virgil dropped down next to him with a grunt. Logan lifted his head and he could see his friend's muscles were tense from the poison, yet still, as Virgil looked up from the ground, Logan could see his intense focus overshadow the pain as he looked apologetically up at Virgil. “Lo, you got to know I didn’t keep this from you on purpose. I need you to know I trust you completely, but I wasn’t sure until just a few days ago. I—I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, L.”

“Say anything to me about what?” Logan glanced nervously up over at Patton as he dropped down on his other side. He jumped as Patton put his hand on his back, not realizing how on edge he was. Patton smiled at him gently and Logan forced himself to relax as Patton rubbed circles into his back.

“L?” Virgil waited until Logan turned back to him. “That first night after we met and I stayed with you at your place. You had a nightmare and I rushed in to calm you down. Do you remember?”

Logan bit his lip, eyes flitting over to Patton as a touch of embarrassment burned on his cheeks. “Yes, I remember.”

“It was storming that night.” Virgil continued, watching Logan's reaction closely. “Like a full-blown storm with lightning and everything?”

Logan nodded nervously as his friends leaned closer.

Virgil looked up at him seriously. “At the time, I passed it off as a reflection of the lightning, but, um—that night your eyes glowed, L. They glowed bright blue.”

“What?” Logan opened his mouth to protest but his throat was suddenly dry and he couldn't seem to force the words out.

“—and then again, after Remus got into your dream. It was storming and I thought I was catching the light in your eye when the lightning flashed and you needed help so I didn't focus on it at the time—”

Logan tensed as Patton's hand stopped moving on his back. He slowly looked down at the ground, clenching his hands together as Virgil continued.

“I didn’t know for sure until a few days ago when Remus dropped you back in Roman's room after they'd taken you. I stayed with you while princey and Patton ran for medical supplies.” Virgil paused, watching Logan’s expression fall. “When that amulet lit up and you got hurt, your eyes glowed. The sky was clear and there was no lightning for me to blame it on this time, L.”

Virgil's implication settled uncomfortably in his stomach and his head fell to his chest, avoiding his friends' gaze as he felt his hands start to shake. “That's not possible."

"Listen, L." Virgil flashed him a faint smile, wheezing as he rested a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “After you lit up Roman’s chambers in blue lightning, I think it's pretty undeniable.”

“Blue lightning?” Patton stared at Virgil in shock until Virgil smiled and nodded up at him. Patton beamed, gently wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist as he stared numbly into space. “Oh, kiddo. I don’t know how you don’t know, but you're an elemental fae—a storm fae.”

“I'm not—” Logan shivered, suddenly cold from shock. “That can't be— How can you trust me?”

Virgil gently reached a arm around Logan's shoulder. "Not all fae are untrustworthy, L. Some of my underground contacts are fae and I'd trust them with my life. Just like I trust you, L."

Logan's shock was interrupted as Patton’s arms tightened around him. “Lo, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still the same person.”

“But Roman—” Logan felt his breath catch in his throat as his muscles seized. "Roman said—"

“Roman was blowing smoke because that bastard hurt you, L. Nothing more.” Virgil’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. “What he said doesn't mean anything. None of us are going to think any different of you, including him.”

Logan stared at him for a moment before nodding and taking a breath, easing in his friends' arms. Leaning back into their warmth, he blinked. “How could I not know—"

“I don’t know, kiddo, and we'll help you figure it out later.” Patton squeezed him tightly before sitting up. “but for now, we have to—”

“I know, Pat—” Logan nodded, trying to shake the feeling of shock as he turned his head to Virgil. “What do I have to do to help him?”

“The Master Botanist I apprenticed under taught me so much of what I know and she knew more than I think I ever will,” Patton smiled fondly at the memories. “But most relevant, she taught me about the fae. The fair folk are natural herbalists. It's in their blood. In fact, It's nearly impossible to poison a fae because they have an innate sense for the properties of flora.”

“Get to the point, Pat.” Virgil growled, leaning into Logan. “Now's not the time for the long version.”

Patton held up the dart and smiled at Logan as he sealed poison in its compartment. “I think his dart is useless. It's a decoy.”

“What?” Logan put an arm around Virgil to steady him.

"This is normal hemlock. I'm sure of it, L," He held up the dart. "I think it smells wrong to you, because you're focused on healing Virgil and Virgil was poisoned with something else. This dart was meant to challenge you by throwing you off the trail."

"Patton—" Logan's hands were shaking as Virgil leaned tiredly into his shoulder.

“I don't think poisoning Virgil was an attack of opportunity,” Patton paused. “I think that other fae wanted Remus to poison Virgil, so that you would be forced to use your power to save him.”

“That has to be the poison. If that's not it, it could be anything.” Logan breathed. "We'll never figure it out."

“No, it doesn’t,” Patton stepped forward. “because you can figure it out without the original poison. He wants you to use your abilities to figure it out on your own, Lo.”

"Dee—" Logan shook his head, turning to look down as Virgil swayed, eyes fluttering closed on his shoulder. "You bastard—"

“You need to use your abilities.” Patton pressed him to focus. "I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but you can do it, kiddo. You can save him."

Reaching up to his chest to steady him, Logan turned sad eyes up to Patton. “I have no control, Patton.

“You have to try, Lo. Those are the stakes.” Patton bit his lip, gesturing to Virgil. “You have to figure it out or we lose our friend.”

Logan stared helplessly up at Patton for a moment before nodding. “Okay, Pat. You’re the expert."

“Just focus, Lo. They wouldn't give you something they didn't think you could handle. He wants you to succeed.” Patton trembled as he put a hand on Logan’s back. “He doesn’t benefit from seeing you fail.”

Logan nodded nublyly, focusing his energy on Virgil. He reached a hand down to Virgil's face, lifting his head. “Vee? Are you awake?”

Virgil mumbled inaudibly into Logan’s hand, not opening his eyes.

“I need you to talk to me, Vee.” Logan spoke slowly and clearly, trying to break through to his quickly fading friend. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Tired…” Virgil muttered.

“Good, Virgil." Logan swallowed nervously. "What else?”

“Hurts—hurts real bad.” Virgil exhaled slowly. “Hard to breathe, L.”

“Open your eyes, Vee.” Logan guided Virgil’s face up to look at him, but Virgil merely moaned. The lids of his eyelids flittered and remained closed. “Stay with me. I need you to fight it and keep your eyes open.”

Virgil grunted, prying his eyes open. His fist clenched onto Logan’s shirt from the effort.

“You’re doing exceedingly well.” Logan paused, staring into his dilated eyes. “I'm going to fix this, Virgil. You’re going to be fine.”

“I know, L.” Virgil’s words slurred as he faltered, nearly drifting asleep before looking up at Logan. “I know you won't let anything happen to me.”

“I won't.” Logan whispered, watching as Virgil limply leaned back into his shoulder. Virgil’s breathing started to slow as exhaustion settled in as he settled his whole weight into Logan’s shoulder. “I won't let any—”

A soft snore from below him sent a sudden chill through his body—

He can't sleep.

“Virgil!” Logan straightened up suddenly as the thought echoed loudly in his mind. He reached up to Virgil’s shoulders, lifting him so that he could look into Virgil’s eyes. “Virgil, you have to stay awake."

Virgil moaned quietly, but his eyes cracked open.

Logan's grip tightened on his shoulders as he whispered frantically. “Vee, you have to stay awake. You can't sleep.”

"Kiddo,” Patton slid onto the bed next to Logan. He gaze fell nervously on Virgil’s face, but he kept his voice calm, whispering to Logan. “Do you know something?”

Logan glanced behind him, feeling himself shake as Virgil swayed. “We can’t let him sleep, Pat.”

“You’re sure?”

Logan glanced back at him and nodded before reaching up to support Virgil’s face as his head drooped. "As sure as I was with Roman."

“That's good, Lo.” Logan could hear pride in Patton’s voice as he put a hand on Logan’s back. “Stay focused on that feeling. What else can you tell?”

Logan sucked in a breath. Virgil’s mouth hung open as he leaned into Logan’s hand, murmuring quietly. “Patton, I can't—”

“You can, Lo.” Patton started firmly, but Logan could here a tremor in his voice as he looked at Virgil. “He needs you. You have to do this.”

Logan nodded.

He needs me.

He took a deep breath, turning to Virgil and his eyes dropped down. Slowly, Logan reached down and took Virgil’s wrist in his hand, pressing two fingers against the vein until he could feel Virgil's pulse against his fingertipes. He closed his eyes, feeling the blood move in Virgil’s veins.

I have to help him.

The air around him shifted as he took in a breath, catching a bitter scent on the air. He swallowed, disgust evident on his face as he tried to place the smell.

“Patton, it has a bad smell.” Logan whispered, trying to remain focused. “It's not hemlock.”

“Good job, kiddo Keep going.” Patton scurried off the bed toward his bookshelves. He pulled a volume off the shelf, flipping through the pages. “Can you be more specific?”

Logan stuck his tongue out, tasting the air. “It's bad. Like rot—or waste.”

“What else, Lo?

The hairs on his arms stood on end as Logan leaned into Virgil. The sound of Virgil’s pulse echoed in his ears and he could feel the poison moving through Virgil’s body.

Focus.

The air in the room shifted and he feel his awareness expand. Vibrations course through the air and Logan could feel the world around him. He could hear the quiet chittering of a rabbit chewing on the grass outside. Dozens of scents wafted around him as the Patton's collection of herbs drifted toward him. Logan open his eyes and blinked. The world swirled with colors as scents danced through the air. Colors were brighter and more vibrant as his vision blurred before his eye. There were more colors, more than he could name.

He nearly closed his eyes when a soft, yellow glow caught his eye. The glow radiated from Virgil’s skin as he stared. Curiously, Logan lifted his hand up, absently moving his hand through the yellow haze. Images floated through his head and he could see the image a small, flower in his mind. The blossom was pale green and shaped like a candlelight flame. Dark green leaves sprouted from the sides and the light-colored petals swept upward to form a protective hood around the small purple stem. Shivers slowly crept down his spine as he recognized the plant.

Adder's root.

Adder's root was certainly deadly. A single dose was overwhelmingly powerful and Logan knew even a minuscule amount could put any adult in the infirmary for days, if it didn’t kill them outright within a matter of hours. He knew he should be panic, but something was off. Logan passed his hand through the faint, yellow haze once more and a sudden realization washed over him.

The poison is diluted.

His muscles went limp with relief and he suddenly felt exhausted. He looked up at Virgil as he whispered softly. “It's not a lethal dose.”

Patton's head spun around to him as he latched onto the desk. “What?”

Logan sighed with relief and wrapped his arms around Virgil. “It's not lethal. He's going to be okay.”

A soft groan resonated against Logan’s chest and he could feel Virgil chuckle into his shoulder. “That’s great and all, L, but I still feel like crap.”

“I know, Vee. I know.” Logan breathed with relief as he released Virgil. “I think I can fix that, too. Patton?”

Logan looked to him for help but Patton had already swooped in on Virgil’s other side and wrapped his arms tightly around Virgil’s torso.

“Pat, I’m having enough trouble breathing without you squeezing me to death.” Virgil wheezed with a smile.

Patton’s grip lightened but he buried his head in Virgil’s shoulder. “I'm so sorry, kiddo.”

Virgil paused, looking down at Patton. “For what, Pat?”

“For being a jerk.”

“Pat—”

“Virgil, you were hurting and I was awful to you just now.” Patton sucked in a breath. “What if something happened to you?”

Virgil straightened. His head cleared for a brief moment and he smiled at Patton latched onto his chest. “Pat, you’re acting like you didn’t know Logan was going to take care of me.”

Patton opened his eyes smiling at Logan as he held onto Virgil. “I knew Lo could do it, but still, knowing I'd been so mean and I wouldn't do anything help you.”

“Pat, it's okay. You were right to be upset—"

“No, I wasn’t. Logan had a right to know, but I shouldn’t have blamed you for being cautious. I should have trusted you planned to tell Logan when you were sure—”

“Pat,” Virgil wheezed with a frown. “Of course, I was going to tell him—"

“I know now, Virgil, and I should have trusted you. You've never given me any reason to doubt—” Patton sucked in a breath. “If Logan hadn't been here to save you, I could have lost—”

“Pat, relax.” Virgil smirked, pulling Patton closer. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“No, you're not.” Patton smiled and took a deep breath. “Now, let’s get you feeling better, Virgil. Logan, what do you need?”

“Just keep him awake.” Logan could hear the hum of the air around him as his senses flared with a new influx of information. “It's be best for Virgil to remain awake until the effects of the poison start to wane.”

Logan rose quickly off the bed, glancing back at Patton. “I believe I can craft an antidote suitable enough to alleviate your symptoms until the substance leaves your system. Patton, may I use your supplies?”

“Of course, Lo. Do you need help finding—”

“No, Pat.” Logan hummed, blinking as colors shifted before his eyes. Standing next to shelves full of herbs suddenly seemed overwhelming. “I—um, I can see them.”

Patton looked up from Virgil. “See what, Lo?”

“The herbs, Pat.” Logan stumbled as a mix of scents hit the back of his throat. He gagged as acrid, bitter smells mixed with other sickeningly sweet scents in sent a wave of nausea straight to his stomach. “The—um, I can see a colored haze of each herb's scent.”

Patton started to stand. “Lo, are you okay—”

“I'm fine.” Logan interrupted, waving him away. He looked back at Patton briefly as he swallowed down his discomfort. “This happened last time as well. You just have quite a collection and its overwhelming.”

“You—” Patton paused, letting Virgil lean into his shoulder as Logan pulled various packages and jars from the shelves. “You started seeing scents as colors in the air and you didn't think that was strange?”

“More than that, Pat. Everything shifts. My senses are heightened and I can see and feel things I can't usually.” Logan paused, pressing the palm of his hands against his closed eyes as they ached with photosensitivity. I moment later, he forced them open again so he could work, irritated as he struggled with the seal on the package of herbs in his hand. “In retrospect, the pattern is obvious, but at the time I blamed stress. I thought the panic had induced some sort of synesthesia episode. That night I was not in a good place. I was scare out of my mind—”

“Lo, you don't have to get into it.” Patton ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, watching Logan grind at the ingredients.

“I know. Pat.” Logan felt the air hum around him. Closing his eyes, he could feel the vibrations of the world around him, radiating out past the walls of Patton’s hut. A uncomfortable sensation crept across his body as overstimulation seemed to pull at the last shreds of his composure. “That—that’s not what's bothering me. I can rationalize my beliefs that night but—but how could I have been so entirely oblivious the rest of my life? It doesn't make any sense.”

“I mean, if your parents never told you, how would you ever—”

“I didn’t have parents, Pat. My grandparents raised me.” Logan resumed insistently pushing the pestle against the mortar as he ground the herbs. “Although, given the circumstances, it's likely they were not honest about my relationship to them.”

“Stop, L.”

Logan paused, staring down at his herbs as Virgil’s voice echoed in his ears.

“Don't do this to yourself.” Virgil muttered breathlessly. “Don't go down that road.”

“How can I not, Vee?” Logan's shoulders slumped as he resumed his work. Using the flat side of a blade, he began to crush the stems to draw out the small amount of liquid he need. The subtle rhythm slowly eased the tension in his shoulders until he finally sighed. “Everything I've ever known is a lie. No one cared enough to ensure I knew what I was. Even if the people who raised me didn’t know or didn’t care, clearly the people who were supposed to care, my parents, couldn't have been bothered to explain before they dropped like a sack of—”

“Lo, stop. This can’t help you.” Patton spoke sternly.

"Help me?" Logan muttered bitterly. “What would help me would be to know that someone in my damn life actually wanted me around.”

“We want you around, kiddo.” Patton said softly. “Me and Virgil and Roman. We all—”

“Not Roman.” Logan interrupted, keeping his head down as he turned to walk towards them. “You can't presume to know how he will feel when he learns what I am.”

“I can, L.” Virgil’s hoarse voice broke the silence and Logan couldn’t help glancing up at him lying tiredly in Patton’s shoulder. “I know princey better than I know myself and you've got nothing to worry about, L. I'd stake my life on the fact the you being fae changes nothing in his eyes.”

Logan paused, looking up at his friends as he sat down next to Virgil. “Thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your reassurances. I just—I know how selfish this may sound, but I wish I could hear it from him.”

“It’s not selfish, Lo.” Patton smiled at Logan, supporting Virgil as Logan turned to face them. “It’s human—” Patton blushed as Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Oops, I just mean its normal for you to want to know what he thinks, but you don't have to worry, Lo. We all love you.”

Logan paused. His lip curled into a faint smile as he lifted his head to look at his friends. He shivered as the air around him warmed as the quite hum of his friends' love filled the air. “Thank you, Patton.” He glanced down at Virgil. “Are you ready, Vee?”

“Have at me, L.” Virgil smirked at him.

“The taste will probably be quite unpleasant.” Logan smiled at him, slowly mixing the solution in his hand.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you hadn't made this before.”

“I haven’t,” Logan smiled, slowly stirring the solution. “but I can smell it.”

“Great. Well, bring it on.” Virgil growled, pushing up off Patton. “Nothing's going to disgust me more than seeing that rat bastard's face today anyway.”

“Fair enough.” Logan smirked holding a spoonful out to Virgil. “One spoonful now and then another in about an hour."

Virgil grimaced. “Do I have to stay awake for that long?”

"You seem to be fairly awake at the moment, Vee." Logan tilted his head, looking him over.

"The exhaustion comes in waves." Virgil muttered in irritation, running his hand through his hair as he swayed gently.

Logan nodded sympathetically. “After the second dose, you can sleep but it would be best if you could stay awake until then."

Virgil rubbed his temples in irritation. “I don’t know if I'll be able to do that on my own.”

“We’ll help, Vee.” Logan reassured him.

Virgil gritted his teeth and nodded, allowing Logan to lift the spoon to his lips. He swallowed it in one gulp, immediately gagging as he taste swept over his tongue. A retching sound escaped Virgil as he curled over on his stomach. Still tense, he glanced up at Logan. “Start talking, L. If you don’t distract me, I’m going to throw this crap up.”

Logan froze, suddenly feeling the pressure to keep the conversation moving. “I, um—I don’t know what to—”

“Figure it out, L.” Virgil groaned, closing his eyes. "I need a distraction."

Logan bit his lip, feeling his mind go blank as Virgil put him on the spot. A moment passed before a thought crossed his mind. Something to keep Virgil focused. “Actually, there is something I've wanted to ask you, if you’re willing to discuss the topic.”

“Shoot, L.”

Logan shifted on the bed, watching his friend. “When I first told Roman about Remus, we needed to keep him silent. You called in a favor with Roman.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed in on him. “Yeah, I did. He owed me.”

“You don’t have to disclose this information if you don't want to, but I am curious.” Logan swallowed, watching Virgil. “Why did Roman owe you a favor?”

“Years ago, he asked something of me and he didn't have time to explain why he needed me to do it. I could have been arrested, but I did it for him.” Virgil smirked as he swayed, tilting back into Patton’s arms. “The deal was I'd do that for him, but he'd owe me a favor. Anytime and for any reason, I could call it in and he'd have to do whatever I asked of him without asking why."

Logan blinked. “What did he ask you to do?”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as an unreadable look crept into his eyes. The sight unnerved him, sending chills down his spine. “He asked me to kidnap a kid, L.”

“What?” Logan froze, staring down at Virgil’s unsettling expression. “Why would you—”

“Virgil, that's not really what happened.” Patton whispered and Logan let his gaze drift up to Patton's serious expression.

Virgil shrugged, sliding back so he could lean against the wall. “If I’d been caught, that’s what I would have been charged with.”

“Roman would never have let you take the fall for his decision.”

Logan looked up curiously as Patton’s voice trembled.

“At that point, it was our decision.” Virgil said offhandedly. “We both would have been punished.”

“It wasn’t a kidnapping, Virgil.” Patton’s voice was filled with thinly veiled emotions and Logan could see his hands shake as he addressed Virgil. “Not when I went with you willingly.”

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @bluerosesbleedred @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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elorastory · 3 years

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Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans--A Conspiracy

Tales of Arcadia/Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans—A Conspiracy

I’m expecting some pushback from this. Yes, it’s my opinion based on my personal understanding of the current state of society and the world. No, it is not intended to be offensive; merely thought-provoking and releasing for me personally.

Preface: Tales of Arcadia is still one of my very favorite shows ever. SO much good came from its existence. Nothing, not even a less-than-satisfactory ending, can take away what this series contributed to my journey.

Trigger warnings (yes, my rant has trigger-warnings): this post confronts the possibility of malevolent agendas and secret societies for which Netflix and Hollywood and Disney could be mouthpieces/mediums for mass brain-washing. This post also mentions transgender/gender-queer/gender-dysphoria in a neutral way (does not diss, but mentions possibility of using its acceptance for sterilization purposes), so lovely sensitive beautiful souls, please be prepared. Alludes to but does not outright mention Netflix’s “Cuties” documentary. Harsh and vulgar language ahead. Scattered and incomplete thoughts galore. Read between the lines and do your own research (if you still can in today’s cancel-culture).

The creators of Tales of Arcadia set out to revolutionize animation and push graphics to their limit. Congratulations to them. They absolutely, indisputably achieved their goal (seriously, guys—GORGEOUS visuals).

Unfortunately, instead of applying their passion and talent toward telling beautiful stories with empowering morals to children (the show’s target audience), the creators chose to “step back” and permit the existence of Rise of the Titans (from which the original writers are a little too quick to distance themselves, in my opinion).

It began with Jim’s INCREDIBLY disappointing transformation at the end of Trollhunters, season three. His metamorphosis recanted the show’s original moral of “you, a human, have everything you need inside of you to conquer your greatest fears and darkest demons BECAUSE you are human,” and instead, taught us we do not; we require intervention and enhancement to be worthy.

At first, I didn’t pay too much credence to the idea that this creative choice could have been tied to a trans-humanist agenda (or even a push for mass-acceptance of surgical/hormonal alterations for transgender/gender-dysphoria); however, after watching RotT, I’m drowning in paranoia.

Steve getting pregnant and giving birth on screen was positively treacherous. I am DAMN PROUD of our fandom’s overwhelming pushback against this particular aspect of RotT and I want all of you speaking out to know that you are the REAL Trollhunters here.

Not only is he HOW old (Aaron had enough foresight to make a comment on Twitter a few weeks ago that magically absolved the characters underage status and the writers of their responsibility—how convenient for them), but it’s not like the adults DON’T know (or, at least, suspect) what this concept (probably) parallels in reality.

It’s important to note, ToA as a fandom has expressed a high need for LGBTQ+ space and acceptance (and I am among the individuals requesting this need be met). I believe the creators included enough subtext for the audience to reasonably conclude that Steve is, more than likely, a bisexual himbo, especially for Eli (whom I hoped would come back from A5 a total babe and make Steve question everything he ever thought he knew about himself—especially when Aja (in my opinion) should have realized she had too much responsibility as Queen of a PLANET to maintain a healthy long-long-distance relationship with a boyfriend like STEVE). But the writers just jumped from the lesbian-end-of-the-world-last-chance-first-kiss in 3Below to “boys can have babies, too.”

MAYBE, in today’s political climate, it would have been prudent to save the mPreg for fanfiction (a safe space to process fantasies and triggers alike)—unless, of course, the writers WANTED to plant those seeds in the minds of their intended audience? (I know, rich coming from the chick who writes the Jamie/Blinky fanfic—I promise, it has meaning beyond the nasty.)

As a mother, this was my very biggest complaint about the finale. My children watch this show with me. Of course, after seeing Steve squirt blue all over Eli, my autistic daughter asks, “Can boys have babies, Mommy?”

Warning: Vicious, Accusatory, Conspiracy-Theory-Laden Rant Ahead

*middle fingers galore* Fuck you and your child-sexualizing/human-sterilization agenda, Netflix. Do I want to have to have the transgender talk with my malleable kids right now? Fuck no, I don’t. I do not think it’s bad to be transgender or queer. Y’all will always get love from me and will always be treated the way YOU want to be treated. I do think there’s a rise in rates of transgender/queer individuals because it’s getting a lot of attention and it makes doctors a lot of money, so there are a lot of vulnerable people being taken advantage of right now (especially kids--imagine how the spectrum ones are gonna sponge this shit). I do not want that for my children. I want them to have a comprehensive and complete understanding of all the forces affecting their relationship with their bodies and minds before they decide during puberty (a notoriously uncomfortable and confusing time of life) to chop off body parts and mess with hormones (and, by proxy, mental functioning). My children are not old enough to fully comprehend the shift occurring in our society right now, let alone WHY it’s even happening or what it means for them (how convenient for the proponents of depopulation by self-sterilization).

And on the subject of such agendas… Blinky. What were they thinking using him as a mouthpiece for ANY human-hating philosophy? When he stated outright that wiping the planet of humanity was SAVING the earth, I about shit a brick. HE LOVES ALL THINGS HUMAN! He’s supposed to be FASCINATED by them! He LIVED as one! He considers Jim his son! Not only was this the WORST example of the movie’s complete inability to maintain his character (besides MISSING A PAGE IN THE BOOK, being SCARED of FLYING (yeahfuckingright), and NOT reading horoscopes (bitch, please, of course Trolls read horoscopes—it’s cosmic feng-shui with giant space-rocks)), but he’s a CONSPIRACY THEORIST! He’d be SO onto this bullshit.

Wrapping up the agenda-pushing shenanigans: “For the good of all???”Are you KIDDING ME?! The four most dangerous words in history are, “For the greater good” (followed closely by “this time it’s different”), and y’all are just gonna rephrase it and use it to convince us that anyone fighting for the “greater good” is obviously the GOOD GUY? Of course, Jim IS the good guy and has the benefit of our loyal viewership and support, but acclimating the younger audience to this phrase, to the very concept that there is a “one size fits all” sort of “good” is dangerous and manipulative. What happens when “the greater good” isn’t good for you? Are you gonna be able to fight back and be heard?

Am I reading too much into this? Maybe. Is this my way of processing the steaming pile of propaganda my favorite show became without needed to re-watch RotT to leave a more comprehensive review? Probably. If I get cancelled for this post, am I gonna know I’m right? Absolutely.

If you made it this far, thanks for indulging me in my spazzy rant. As always, I am curious to hear your thoughts.

Yours,

Elora Story

#TalesOfArcadia #Trollhunters #riseofthetitans #toa rott #spoilers #rott spoilers #conspiracy #trigger warnings #possible trigger warning #rant #newworldorder #agenda #netflixbashing

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yongiefilms · 4 years

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JUST ALWAYS.

STARRING: zhong chenle and reader

GENRE: fluff; best friend!au

WARNINGS: lawbreaking; excessive mentions of teasing; though the rest is complete friendship goals

PLOT: trust your best friend to know every detail of your life, even that one embarrassing time when you blabbered about your idea of a perfect date. but also trust him to be the one to fulfill every wish you ever had, even ones you thought would never come true.

RUNNING TIME: 2.7k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE: putting out fluff before every fic i drop is just pure angst because it is coming and very soon...but enjoy this cute scenario as my parting gift for you all (even if there will be possibly be a few more fluff fics after this, though don’t take my word for it). also shoutout to @dvrlingrenjun for always reading through my fics at ungodly hours of the day.

zhong chenle was your best friend since birth. you did everything together. there wasn’t a time when he wasn’t with you. you were the inseparable duo, the partners in crime, and one half of a whole. that was you and chenle. the best of friends, but not lovers like many assumed you to be. though that was never a problem, for it a topic of discussion that was never addressed, yet fully comprehensible to you both. it was a pure and friendly relationship, something that would sustain for years to come. he was there every step of the way and who says he wouldn't continue to be?

when you both were learning to ride bicycles, who was there? chenle. when you got your first tooth pulled, who was there? chenle. when you scraped your knee on the asphalt after running around the playground, who was there? chenle. for each and every memory.

he was always present, simply growing to be your best friend. sure you had others, consider the boys he befriended at the start of high school, but they didn’t mean nearly as much to you as he did.

you could tell him anything. do anything. there was no judgment, just absolute enjoyment. that’s the way it always went and it was why you knew whenever vacation rolled around for the two of you, it would always be the best time as long as you were with him. he planned new things every day, always making an effort and this time he said it was a surprise. nothing new, but you couldn’t help but be anxious at what he had planned.

so when he had picked you up from your house, several doors down from his own and drove to the outskirts of town, you knew something was up. he had parked at the entrance of a restricted zone and told you to follow him through the clearly broken metal fence. you had no choice but to do as he said, especially when you were losing the day fast. yet it wasn't as bad as you presumed it to be, for he led you to an expanse of a field littered with various types of flowers and plants and a very tall hill that could be seen clearer as you walked forward.

he ran straight towards the hill without glancing back to see where you were, too excited for his own good.

“come on!” he exclaimed, calling your name in the process. he was in a hurry for who knows what reason, but that didn’t stop him from making sure you were doing just fine on your own.

when he turned his body around he saw you were struggling to make your way up the steep hill after running to catch up to him. you were huffing and puffing every so often. your legs felt like jelly and you were not even halfway to your destination. it just proved how out of shape you were, well partially at least. why he decided it was a good idea to come here at nearly seven at night when the heat felt worse than it did during the day was beyond you, but it was one of the things you admire about him—your best friend since day one. he was always filled with unpredictable and undeniable fun, making your days brighter with just a grin along with his contagious laughter. you were grateful for him and his sense of adventure, but not right now when you felt you were going to collapse any second.

he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath some phrase in mandarin before carefully going down the hill to where you suddenly stopped. one wrong move and he would tumble down the dewy grass so he had to be cautious. one of you had to make it out of this alive and you were hoping it was him considering you needed the most help.

he finally reached you after some delicate movements, where you stood relatively close to the start of the hill.

he chortled at you and your exasperated expression, one with your lips pursed together and your eyebrows furrowed. your skin was flushed from the heat and he could see some beads of sweat glistening on the top of your forehead as well as on your temples, just waiting to fall.

you weren’t kidding from being out of shape but it was mostly the humid heat emitting from the sun that was the cause.

he clicked his tongue and shook his head then proceeded to latch his hand onto your wrist to tug you up the hill since you clearly couldn’t do it yourself.

“you can never do anything without me huh?” he questioned with a quirk of his brow.

you sheepishly smiled at him and mumbled in reply, “possibly but don’t let it get to your head.”

his piercing laughter rang in your ears a second time and he trotted forward without responding, though you knew your statement added to his ever-inflating ego.

after several long minutes and repetitive stops because let us be real he had more energy than you, more strength in his legs, you had made it to the top of the hill that overlooked the cityscape of your small town nestled in between the mountains. the scenery was beyond beautiful leaving you starstruck for you never quite saw it in this light, literally. the sun was beginning to set beyond the horizon, the warm colors starting to fade into the darkness of the night. some lights of the homes in the distance were sparkling and the usual sound of cars was drowned out by nature’s bliss. a breeze could be felt that cools you down in moments, brushing against your face and his own, his hair ruffling ever so slightly.

but it wasn’t only the scenery, it was also him and what laid before you. you had guessed he had come upon the flowery hill before he had come to your house to pick you up. for the picture mimicked one you would only see in movies. a red and white checked blanket was laid on top of the dark green grass without any wrinkles in sight and was held down by a huge brown wicker picnic basket. additionally, juxtaposition to the basket, was one of your favorite novels of all time, little women by louisa may alcott, with a bouquet laying on top. you could make out some small white daisies in the bouquet, your favorite flowers something only he would know.

everything just appeared to be perfect.

his hand had dropped from your wrist as he took steps forward to sit on the blanket, leaving you to admire everything in front of you.

your eyes were wide and filled with shock, but you managed to let a soft smile slip onto your face as you focused on him.

zhong chenle amazed you. he always did.

he tilted his head, waiting to see your next move, and then patted the spot next to him, silently asking you to join him.

you shook your head to get out of your trance and strode forward, sitting down criss-cross applesauce right next to the boy in question.

“chenle...” you spoke. “what is all this?” you let out a little guffaw, a teasing tone dripping from your words. “did you do this all for me?”

he gave you a deadpan look and you had to hold back the giggles from escaping your mouth. “don’t think too highly of yourself now.” he reached over to lightly push you to the side, the laughter bubbling up from your throat.

“but in all due seriousness, it’s a picnic can’t you see?” he put his arms in front of him and made a grand gesture towards everything before you.

your cackles halted to a stop and you huffed in response, rolling your eyes at his remark. trust him to be smart with his retorts, always trying to be one step ahead while ruining the zest in the process. silence encompassed you both as you just stared at each other, but then a beam broke out on his face, his eyes transforming into little crescents. he let out a small cough to clear the air as it was now your turn to give him a deadpan stare, but it was hard when his next words warmed your heart.

“anyways...while we are having a picnic that i obviously did for you, it isn’t for no reason. do you remember that time we were just absentmindedly discussing our crushes or something like that? it was a while ago, so i am not sure if you remember, but i do.” his hand was twiddling with a piece of grass as he had twisted away from you, refusing to make eye contact. “you told me this idea you had for a perfect date. one where your partner would prepare a picnic for the two of you, specifically with a home-cooked meal and the two of you would watch the sunset while having a view of the town. you said it was basically the dream date and the person that would do this for you would have your heart.” he let out a taunting snicker and finally raised his head to gaze at you again. “imagine that, but since you clearly haven’t had a date in forever, i thought why not?”

you were about to punch his shoulder from his not so kind jab at your love life, but he jerked away just in time before continuing. “might as well put my clearly romantic side to good use. as you can see i clearly did a fantastic job if i do say so myself. i think i got the whole lovey-dovey thing down.”

you hummed in acknowledgment though you weren’t going to give him the benefit of the doubt, well not entirely at least. “sure you do,” you let out a scoff. “but lovey-dovey? buddy, need i remind you we are friends?” you furrowed your eyebrows and glanced at him weirdly, though you were being lighthearted rather than serious.

he nervously chuckled and cleared his throat, afraid you caught onto something, but he knew it was all in good mirth. however, that didn’t calm his beating heart.

his nerves were still haywire, yet he managed to place his right palm over his chest, near his heart. “did you…” he took a sharp inhale of breath. “just friend zone me?”

you hit his chest playfully. “shut up. you’re so annoying sometimes, lele.”

he gave you a toothy grin, bumping his shoulder with your own. “it is my job after all.”

another roll of the eyes. “unfortunately, but i really can’t believe you remember what i told you about my idea for a perfect date. it seems so long ago…” you trailed off, lifting your eyes to admire your town, the faint glow of the sunlight reflecting across your face.

“i always remember things involving you.”

your heart stopped in your chest at his bluntness, the evident embarrassment coursing through your veins. sometimes it astonished you how chenle never had a filter, always speaking his mind, yet with it came the fact that he sometimes did not know what he truly said. right now was one of those countless times, albeit you knew he meant declaration, especially when it came to one of his closest friends.

you could hear the shuffling besides you. chenle was obviously trying to set everything up by opening up the basket and taking out all the goodies he had prepared for this “romantic date.”

you whipped your head around to see what he was doing with making so much noise. at that moment he had managed to take out two perfectly plastic wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, placing them on two paper plates he had taken out seconds before. his hand reached in the basket once more and he took out two apple juice boxes, putting them right near the sandwiches.

your titters rang loud, startling chenle in the process as his head abruptly jerked up.

you brought your hands up to your mouth to try to stop the chuckles from coming out, the sound becoming muffled. he raised his eyebrows at you, trying to figure out what was so funny. instances went by before you had finally become quiet and dropped your hands in your lap.

“chenle you can’t be serious. what is this? an elementary school meal?” you threw your head back, placing your hands flat on the checkered blanket to keep your composure.

“hey! elementary meals were good. don’t slander them.”

you brought your head forward, raising your hands up in the air for defense. “okay, okay.” your beam was wide viewing his clearly offended expression. “though i know you can cook so it came as a surprise. i am just a bit confused is all.”

he sighed loudly, leaning back on his arms. “yes i can, but i was on a time constraint so i couldn’t hone in on my cooking skills today, okay? sorry to disappoint. though if you think about it this is technically home-made.”

“you’re not wrong, but hey i will take what i can get.”

“thank you for your generosity.” he let out a scoff then reached to the side of the basket and picked up your favorite book, thrusting it into your hands. “now here, i couldn’t forget to bring it.”

you ran your fingertips across the cover, turning it over in your hands to admire every inch of the novel even if you had seen it a thousands times before.

he poked your shoulder blade to capture your attention amongst your state of admiration. he held out the bouquet of flowers you speculated he had picked from the flowery field surrounding the hill and you put the novel to the side, taking the flowers from him.

“wow i guess i can’t deny you are a little bit romantic,” you jeered at him.

he whirled his head away, the tips of his ears growing slightly red. “now shut up and let’s watch the sunset...please.”

you let out a long breath. “fine, but don’t forget we have to eat too.”

he rolled his eyes, handing you the plate with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with the apple juice, which you gladly took from him after placing the bouquet down. “obviously.”

so that is how you spent the rest of the evening, like the perfect date you had in mind years ago―watching the sunset and eating a homemade meal even if it was something straight out of the elementary school cafeteria, while sitting atop a hill that encompassed the whole town.

when the light of day finally faded away, you cuddled close to your best friend, seeking some sort of contact even if the coolness of the night was rarely felt.

he didn’t even think twice before putting his arm around you, tugging you a little bit closer to him. when he did so you placed your head on his shoulder, rotating away from the now dark sky to peer up at him with puppy dog eyes.

you spoke so gently that if anyone managed to pass by the two of you right then, they wouldn’t be able to hear you from the barely evident sound.

“hey lele?” you question.

he hums in return, still observing the twinkling lights of the town and stars.

“thank you for today. i enjoyed our little friend date, definitely was like i imagined it to be.” you released a small giggle. “a perfect date indeed so thank you for doing this for me.”

he turns his head down to glimpse at you once you finish talking, his gaze filled with fondness. he then shifted slightly and placed a kiss on the top of your head, murmuring his next words.

“you’re welcome.” you could hear the smile in his voice.

you looked straight forward, no longer locking eyes with him and whispered into the night,“i love you.”

his melodic laughter filled your ears. “yes i know.” he paused, murmuring right back. “but i love you too.”

you held out your pinky finger, raising it slightly so he could clearly see it among the increasing blackness.

“always and forever?” you asked.

he hooked his pinky with yours.

“always and forever.”

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Day 18: Engineering our own misfortune

https://homestuck.com/story/2939

It never occurred to me until now that being betrayed by Jack Noir, the first person to accept him for who he is in a sense, is probably a signifcant part of the reason why Karkat is so angry. It’s probably ironic that the Blood Player’s relationships all have a tendency to disintegrate. Poor guy.

All but one of Karkat’s coplayers will either die, betray him, abandon him, or break up with him before the adventure is over.

More after the break. CW: This one has some suicide mentions in it.

https://homestuck.com/story/2950

WV and the other Carapacians may have some instinctive level of awareness of the players’ classes and aspects - while their legend is ensconced in Carapacian Lore, WV instantly senses the narrative presence of the Thief of Light.

https://homestuck.com/story/2960

Now here is something interesting. I just picked up on it, even though it has actually been present all throughout - when the Narrative addresses WV, it addresses him with information he almost certainly could not know - in a call and response fashion! While he’s jumping from one thought to another in terms of John’s different correspondents, the way that he phrases his dialogue suggests that he is aware of what the Narrative is addressing him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2962

And by all accounts, what he is viewing here is not the literal material events as they unfold, he’s literally looking at the same panels we are.

https://homestuck.com/story/2974

Vriska’s gloating here has always given me chills. It’s in moments like these that she really shines as not just a bully but an authentic diabolical mastermind who is, at least at this point in the story, utterly indifferent to the lives of other people.

https://homestuck.com/story/2975

Vriska’s external locus of control excuses her of feeling guilty about creating Bec Noir. While she is 100% responsible for it, that doesn’t mean, in her mind, that she should suffer any consequences for it (although she’s perfectly happy to take the credit for creating him, it seems.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2992

I’ve always thought that the Dream Bubbles were an extremely cool plot contrivance - semantically linking memories together with dreams and death is a really cool bit of linking.

https://homestuck.com/story/3008

Just as Jade has had effectively no parent to help her find her way in life, she will now have to suffer a sprite who cannot give her advice either. She remains alone.

https://homestuck.com/story/3010

Bec, to a greater degree than perhaps even the Seers, is directly cognizant of interruptions by Command Prompts.

https://homestuck.com/story/3017

I’m starting to be able to actually pick up the themes of the whole Exile plotline.

It seems, in general, to be a parable on power and authority, with each of the Exiles representing one kind or another. You’ve got WV who aspires to be first among equals, democratically elected, a community leader and organizer.

You’ve got the White Queen, who fits classical tropes related to the Good Monarch, a symbolic authority.

You’ve got the Peregrine Mendicant, whose take on governmental duty is more that of a functionary - her self-concept is as someone who does what is needed.

And then you’ve got the Aimless Renegade, who, as a Mad Max Type wasteland cop, could be read as either a playful parody of eighties and nineties copaganda, or as a criticism of copaganda, or both - government as the State, an enforcer of constructed order.

Of all of them, it’s clear that WV and PM’s takes on power are the most useful. The White King and Queen are quickly slaughtered once Jack arrives, because without their magical mcguffins, they remain little more than walking talking symbols.

AR is an interesting case though, because his defining character moment is that he hesitates to follow his orders, and while it could be argued that everything that ensues is his fault for not being stone cold enough to do what needs to be done, I’d argue that his hesitation is admirable - Jack escapes to live another day, and the Mayor survives. The Mayor’s infectious compassion ultimately saves his own life through the AR’s refusal to let him die by destroying the command stations in Cascade, because AR is not willing to trade lives.

https://homestuck.com/story/3040

I’ve never been entirely clear on whether the Dark Gods should be considered evil or simply incomprehensible, morally uncategorizable - in any case, the unique nature of the Kids’ session seems to preclude an ordinary relationship with them. By all accounts they also seem perfectly happy to help Rose create the Green Sun as well, sowing the seeds that will grow into Lord English, their own murderer.

Whatever they’re up to is extremely unclear, and they mostly seem to be a wildcard. I’ll have to see if any of my Homestuck chums have thoughts about the Horrorterrors. With the exception of the Dream Bubbles and their ability to facilitate interaction between the living and the Dead, talking to the Horrorterrors seems to be at best an exercise in facilitating inevitable misfortune - they seem to be all but completely useless.

I suppose learning how to navigate the furthest ring comes in handy exactly once, since it enables the kids to fly to the Alpha’s universe.

https://homestuck.com/story/3043

Rose’s pessimistic dissatisfaction manifests in two ways during this conversation - the first is her contemplation of self-destruction. Along with her suicide mission, one of the very first things she mentions about Doc Scratch is that he wants to die - which clearly fascinates her. The other thing is that, suspicious of the version of truth that Skaia presents, and lacking an anchor, she is very easily swayed by characters who offer her an alternative truth.

https://homestuck.com/story/3045

It has just occurred to me that while Rose doesn’t do anything directly to harm her co-players the way that Vriska does, the main actual thing that they have in common, that I was having a hard time putting my finger on, is actually another parallel between the two of them and Aradia - by allowing themselves to be manipulated by forces of evil beyond human comprehension - Doc Scratch in particular - Rose and Vriska both make manifest all sorts of misfortune. In Aradia’s case, it’s her continuous manipulation by the voices of the dead.

Both of them create nearly all of their own problems, and while they’re at it, create immense amounts of suffering from other people who happen to be in the vicinity. And, according to the rules of the Alpha Timeline, both of them therefore give their assent to their misfortune. The Alpha Timeline is, of course, the same as the Glub Glub trap - if you refuse to participate, you are destroyed, but participation is horrible.

https://homestuck.com/story/3055

Couple things.

The first and most obvious is;

Monkey see, Monkey do.

We’re starting to see the fallout of Vriska’s attempts to acculturate Tavros - she’s tried to force a square peg into a round hole, and has had no luck. Tavros doesn’t fit her vision of an ideal troll, and he never will; that’s not the kind of person that he is.

The use of the word hero is what’s important here. Notice especially the way that he draws a line from physical fitness and personal worth - the ability to do important things that you want to do has become Tavros’ idea of how to self-actualize. He has internalized Vriska’s toxic ideas.

The other thing is that while Grandpa may not have literally committed suicide, but he is clearly emotionally checked out of life - playing Indiana Jones when he’s away from home, and interacting with fantasy women at his tea party, instead of engaging with his real life granddaughter.

Suicide’s a touchy subject, one which Homestuck touches on. As I’ve already said, I’m not going to touch on the Epilogues or HS^2, both of which also touch on the subject. It’s not a central theme, I don’t think, although either killing themselves or waiting around to die recur multiple times as possibilities in the minds of different characters, particularly the Lalondes and Striders. I’ll have more to say about each individual instance, but in both the insincere threat of suicide Rose uses in her early strife, and here in Act 5, the act of self-destruction is not motivated by despair, but by spite - for Rose, self-destruction would be an act to spite someone else who wants her to exist.

Grandpa Harley’s complete emotional absence from the life of his loved ones might be called a bit of emotional suicide. Checked out of personal reality completely to pursue a life of fantasy (and to facilitate Sburb), Grandpa Harley may as well have been dead from Jade’s perspective, even before he died.

https://homestuck.com/story/3056

The link between being a Hero Coolguy and Romantic (Reproductive) Success is drawn very neatly by Tavros, but because the premise is false, the conclusion is also false.

https://homestuck.com/story/3059

Vriska immediately calls attention to the way Tavros is parroting her behavior because of her influence - without all of the chest-beating and saber-rattling that Vriska does, the skillfully executed showmanship of being aloof and confident, there’s not that much difference between what Tavros tried to pull just now, and what Vriska has always done - even repeating her romantic faux-pas.

https://homestuck.com/story/3078

And we’ll pause here, before I get to another walkaround, which I will do tomorrow.

Not a lot that inspired me to talk in the 150 or so pages I got today. Lots of action in Act 5, but less emotional meat to dig into.

For now, it’s Cam signing off, alive but not alone.

#liveblogging #commentary

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unbidden-yidden · 3 years

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I didn’t want to derail your post about the Trinity so I’m just sending this as an ask but I just studied all this in my Into to Western Religions class and I just wanted to say that girl who was preaching to you was actually heretical. It’s very funny because her analogy is a classic example of modalism, a 3rd(?) century heresy. I always think it’s funny when people evangelize while not even knowing the most basic stuff.

Hey no worries! For what it's worth, I don't think it would've been derailing at all, particularly since that post was a lot of me rambling and infodumping lmao

To your point though, I know, right?! It's so weird because I see variations of this everywhere on xtian stuff and have heard a number of them in person, too. There's actually one in the sources I linked:

There are others we could mention. An egg is made up of a shell, the eggwhite, and the yolk. All three are needed for an egg to be complete.

...

Like. This same source also explains that modality is a heresy?

What we don't mean

First of all, Christians don't believe in three Gods. That's a heresy called Tritheism. Second, we don't believe that the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit are three "forms" of God—like, steam, water and ice. That's the heresy called Modalism. Third, we don't believe that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are "parts" or "pieces" or God. That would imply that Jesus is 1/3rd God, the Father is 1/3rd God, and the Holy Spirit is 1/3rd God.

So... I'm really not sure why this keeps happening tbh. This particular source does clarify afterwards that all analogies are imperfect, at least:

It's important to remember that all illustrations fail eventually. They don't "prove" the Trinity, they simply help us understand the concept.

And like, look: for the xtians in the audience who are reading this, if any, please know that I am not trying to tell you what to think or believe. If this makes the most spiritual sense for you and is your way of connecting to holiness, I'm not going to pretend like I have The Answer(s). I do, however, have my answer, and it is that this is a form of polytheism that is totally unsupported and in fact thoroughly rejected by the Tanakh.

I think that when it comes down to trinitarianism, you either have a vested interest in xtianity being monotheistic and also worshipping Jesus, or you don't. If you do, probably one of the more cogent answers you're going to get is something along the lines of this:

The Trinity is a doctrine that all Christians believe but no one really understands. That much should be clear from this message. If you try to explain the Trinity, you will lose your mind. But if you deny it, you will lose your soul.

The Trinity sets the limits on human speculation about the nature of God.

There is so much we would like to know about God, but our finite minds cannot comprehend it. We are not free to create God in our own image. The Trinity sets the limits for human speculation. God is more than the Trinity, but he is not less than that.

The Trinity teaches us that God is beyond all human comprehension.

After all, if we could explain God, he wouldn't be God. I have no doubt that God is much more than "one in essence, three in Person," but since I can't even understand those simple phrases, I don't worry at all about what else might be true about God. If you feel baffled by the Trinity, join the crowd. The greatest minds of history have stood in amazement before a God so great that he cannot be contained by our puny explanations.

I can accept this answer as at least intellectually honest and as having the potential to be spiritually meaningful for some people, even if I thoroughly disagree with its conclusion and do not believe it to be true personally. I would even say that it is partially correct in the sense that if G-d could be fully known and explained, then it would inherently make G-d finite and thus no longer G-d. At the same time, I do not think that it then follows that trinitarianism can still be monotheistic, and thus this concept of God inherently cannot be the G-d of the Tanakh.

Point being, if you just straight up don't believe in the trinity and don't have a vested interest in making xtian theology work, then this looks like utter nonsense from that outside perspective. If you do, then that's your prerogative and theological dilemma to solve, or not.

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

History of ailments

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

So, looking back, “duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finding AN answer

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

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

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

But that was not nearly the end of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stress or sick?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless… they totally do.

So, that’s fibromyalgia

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

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

Ever heard of fibromyalgia?

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

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

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

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

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

Pain and stiffness all over the body

Fatigue and tiredness

Depression and anxiety

Sleep problems

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

Headaches, including migraines

Tingling or numbness in hands and feet

Pain in the face or jaw

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

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

Irritable or overactive bladder

Pelvic pain

Trouble focusing or paying attention

Pain or a dull ache in the lower belly

Dry eyes

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

Acid reflux

Restless leg syndrome

Sensitivity to cold or heat

Problems with vision

Nausea

Weight gain

Dizziness

Cold or flu-like symptoms

Skin problems

Chest symptoms

Breathing problems

Insulin resistance

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why I hate the term

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this is why I hate the term fibromyalgia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should we take this one outrage step further? Sure.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, we haven’t.

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s talk about that next.

What we can conclude

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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