#the rest of my stuff were verbal diagnoses

[the-archenlandian-court]

Autism diagnosis:

“Here’s a 50 page document outlining all your symptoms based on the results of a rigorous test, sighted and signed by 3 other doctors, and includes a management plan for your doctors and other medical professionals”

Any other diagnosis:

“Oh, yeah, you have this thing”

“Can I have some documentation for that?”

“I’ll put a footnote in your file”

“And treatment?”

“Here’s some meds, and a referral to a specialist who probably can’t help you. Otherwise, look it up on google 🤷”

#my autism diagnosis was hard to get #but at least I have proof #the rest of my stuff were verbal diagnoses #autism #actually autistic #asd #adhd #actually adhd #chronic illness #chronic pain #disabled #disability #me/cfs #diagnosis #doctors #anxiety #depession

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 10

Alpha!Damiano x Omega!Reader

Word count: 7.7k

Day 1 of Silence

When Damiano’s stomach rumbled you got up from the bed, assuming he’d want to go eat. Based on the look in his eyes, he very much did not.

“Love, you need food. You have a freakish metabolism.” His expression didn’t change. “How about I get you something to eat and bring it back?” Dami reached for his computer. Why hadn’t that occurred to you? He opens up a document and begins typing.

I’m really sorry for scaring you earlier. I don’t expect you to be my maid. 

His expression is so earnest. You take his face in your hands and press your foreheads together for a second.

“I don’t feel like your maid. You’ve watched over me for a year, Dami.”

I don’t want to hide in my room.

“Okay, but it seems like you don’t want to leave either.” He pauses and sighs.

They’re all going to be standing there, waiting for me to say something. I feel like if I start talking all the pressure comes back. I’m also so exhausted that talking sounds impossible, but also panicked. 

“Panicked, why love?” You rub a hand along his back, the same way Damiano does when he’s trying to comfort you.

It’s all just too much. 

He stops typing and looks at you, pleading with his eyes that you understand. Of course you do and he can see that too.

“You feel trapped?” He nods. “Trapped because everyone expects you to speak. Trapped because if you start talking everything goes back to the way it was, which is how we ended up here.”

Yes. Trapped by my AD2. I have to play the perfect part in case something happens. My entire life is an insurance policy, but it's necessary.

“I’m – I know you’ve been raised to think that, but I wonder if it's true. There might be another way.”

There isn’t. 

He’s so sure, but you aren’t. However, anymore destabilizing today would be cruel, so you put that in your back pocket as something to research.

“I think you’re so courageous to participate in the world. You have so much life and passion inside. No one realizes how much.” He doesn’t type. Instead he just rests his head against yours and folds your hands together. He can’t always be by his computer. Even with a cell phone, this written text thing is going to get exhausting.

“Let’s figure out a way to communicate, just us. One tap for yes and two for no?” Tap. “Okay that's good.” Yes or no questions were the place to start. Dami opens his computer and types one-handed.

Three=maybe

“Okay.” There's a burning question you can’t resist asking. “Have the non-verbal episodes happened since you were diagnosed?” Tap. “So you must have stuff like this,” you raise your clasped hands, “with your parents.” Tap, tap. “It's just all been on devices?” Tap. That struck you as strange. This was a fuck of a lot easier and more accessible than typing.

There’s specialty devices, but I hate them. Docs called me treatment resistant.

“Well, fuck them.” Tap. Dami smiles, finally. You knew Isabella and Matteo weren’t trying to punish or silence Damiano. They were terrified, too. They had to be. Doing everything by the book was their only way to cope.

“As long as we’re holding hands, we can talk like there’s no one else in the room. Okay?” He nods, looking weary, but more willing. “So I can either go get us lunch, dinner, whatever meal it is. Or you can come with me and we’ll feel like zoo animals together, because I guarantee I’m getting weird looks too.” Tap.

“Okay, so I got our meeting with the board pushed by, so you’ll be able to play on a temporary basis. Our appointment with Dr. Khatri is Monday morning. I’ll pick you up after your first class and we should have you back to school by lunch.” Tap, tap. “Of course, I’ve booked you in with your normal therapist –” Tap, tap. “But we should also see the specialist about more treatment options. I was thinking y/n could be somewhat involved this time.” Tap. “Dinner should give us time to strategize. As for what happened today –”

“Woah, that’s a lot of information!” Isabella had started hurtling words at Damiano the minute you turned the corner. “And none of it was phrased like a question,” you observe pointedly. Sandro has disappeared, but both Dami’s parents stand in the kitchen. No wonder he didn’t want to eat. Isabella looks floored, like she never thought to ask Dami instead of telling him what she perceived to be in his best interests. Matteo seems to be more receptive. 

“Right, good point y/n. So, um…” He doesn’t know where to start, so you jump in. Physically putting yourself between Damiano and his parents, you speak gently.

“Do you want to continue playing soccer right now?” He nods, tapping your hand as well to confirm the answers. “Would you prefer waiting to meet with the collegiate board until you’re more verbal?” He shrugs his shoulders and taps three times. “Okay, let’s give you time to think about it. Are you okay with having a doctor’s appointment in the morning?” Damiano winces, but nods. “Do you feel ready to go to school on Monday?” He shakes his head and then commences a stare down between him and Isabella. You expect her to demand Dami go to school for appearances sake, but she folds. Meanwhile, Matteo looks terrified.

“Are you okay with meeting with your old therapist?” He shakes his head and Isabella moves to speak up, but Matteo raises a hand to stop her. “What about a different therapist?” He makes eye contact with his mother while nodding. This seems to calm her.

“Well when would you like to decide on a new therapist? I could pull everything up over dinner today and —” She’s interrupted by Damiano shaking his head. “But our past specialist is okay? Fine, alright,” she sighs. That seems to be an adequate amount of integration for the evening. Matteo herds her down the hall and into the bedroom. Luckily, it’s too far away to perceive any concerned whispering. Still, you poke your head around the corner and try to eavesdrop.

Damiano watches this and shakes his head in light-hearted disapproval. When you turn around he’s pulling cilantro and shallots out of the produce drawer.

“Are you cooking?” you gasp. Confidently, he fills a pot of water and puts it on the stove. Afterwards, he takes a container of pasta out of the refrigerator with a block of what you assume is parmesan.

“I’ve never had fresh pasta before.” Dami is absolutely scandalized, holding a hand to his heart in Italian offense. You try to chop the tomatoes, but he won’t let you near the knife. You argue for your competence and end up stuck on cilantro duty, picking leaves off the stem. Damiano sits you up on the counter right next to him while he slices, dices, and works over the stove. The domestic proximity is nice. It seems that this is a hobby he genuinely enjoys because he starts humming. Occasionally he’ll look up from stirring and smile when he sees himself being admired.

“This counts as our first date,” you decide. Dami cocks his head to the side. “Dates aren’t always at a restaurant. They can also be someone making you a nice dinner.” At the word nice, he rolls his eyes. “This is fancy!” Cue a secondary eye roll. “Oh, I’m sorry we’re not all Italians who can make sauce from scratch.” You reach a finger towards the sauce pan to taste and get your hand slapped away. He probably doesn’t want you to burn yourself, which is why you do the gesture again to annoy him. This time Dami growls a little while batting your hand away.

With a burdened sigh, he goes to the drawer, pulls out a spoon, and dips it in the pan. Damiano blows on the liquid to cool it before handing the utensil over. Deciding to annoy him further you try the sauce and gasp dramatically.

“Why didn’t you warn me this would be hot!?” He tries to glower, but it doesn’t work because he’s smiling at your dumbassery. Dami gives you a peck on the lips and you repeat yourself with much different inflection.

“Why didn’t you tell me this would be hot?” You wink, wiggling your eyebrows. Damiano mimes hitting his head on the oven hood, putting himself out of the misery that was your sense of humor. 

Day 2 of Silence

It was barely Sunday when he woke you for the first time. The word codependence had crossed your mind when it was just assumed you’d spent the night again. You hoped the David’s were reasonable people who reasonably wouldn’t expect a 15 year old omega to do all the emotional labor of comforting Damiano. Upon reflection, they absolutely were. Isabella reminded you to prioritize your well being and gave you an out daily. However, she also lacked soothing maternal instinct, even for an alpha. While soothing, Matteo didn’t possess Dami’s intensity and couldn’t begin to understand it. So he could only provide well-meaning platitudes that he learned in the effective communication section of a parenting book.

Regardless of efficacy, they were there, they were committed, and they’d seen Damiano through to the other side of episodes before. If you felt over your head, you’d put yourself here, right? Except that giving Damiano their best wasn’t necessarily giving him everything he needed. So while you weren’t socially obligated, you did experience Dami’s suffering viscerally, in a way no one else did. There was simply no way to love him, feel pain that you could alleviate, and do nothing. 

Which had landed you here, in Damiano’s bed at 12:36am. Wide-awake and contemplating it, because being marked by someone suffering so much emotional turmoil, was uncomfortable. How could Dami sleep was answered three minutes after you’d rolled away from to get some personal space. He woke up, anxious, about to say your name but the words got stuck. Instead he sought you out via that gravitational pull and exploratory hands.

His touch didn’t make you jump, because you’d heard Damiano shifting around by the rustling bedsheets. He was a pretty active sleeper, so you ignored the hand that came to rest on your arm, pulling on you weakly. When he tapped, you assumed his hand was trembling, moving in a dream. However, the repeated canine whines got you to check for a nightmare.

Damiano was awake, his eyes fluttering open and closed. He was panting, breath heavy like he might cry. 

“Love, did you have a nightmare?” He shakes his head. His exploratory hand is lightly stroking your hair where it rests.

“Do you want to snuggle?” Dami nods, leaning in closer already. Based on him not pulling you over, you guess that he wants to be on your chest. With Dami’s upper body halfway on yours, his breathing returns to normal. His soft snores in your ear lull you to sleep. Trying to cool down, your unconscious body eventually creates room between itself and Damiano. This time you barely wake up. Your arms were already positioned tightly against you in sleep. Dami just pulls you against his chest, getting your head under his chin. 

Only during the third time do you realize the issue, because Dami startles you awake. The sensation of someone touching your scent glands overpowers any other feelings of safety. You sit upright immediately, bleary eyed and scanning your surroundings. Two warm, smooth, and study arms wrap around your waist. The anxiety immediately plumates, body recognizing Damiano before your brain does a second later.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you pant. Damiano sits up as well, pulling your back against his chest. One hand goes to your hair. When he moves it to expose the right gland, your entire body tenses. Damiano scents you and your heart rate slows. You relax against him while he kisses everywhere but your scent gland for a couple moments. When his lips finally brush the area, you don’t jump, humming in delight at all these sensations. 

Finally, you get your bearings. It’s 3:11am and this is the third wakeup because Damiano can’t sleep unless you’re physically touching him. How the fuck is he gonna sleep tomorrow? Also, how the fuck are you gonna sleep? This level of clinginess had gone from endearing to claustrophobic.

“Baby, I need you to tell me what's going on.” Dam grabs his computer from the nightstand and begins typing.

Afraid you’ll be gone. 

“What kind of gone?” Admiring Dami’s profile he’s beautiful as ever, but he’s also tired. There are bags under his eyes, his skin looks older. You’re both squinting at the screen, painfully.

Everytime I wake up and we’re not touching, I panic that it became too much. When I try to fall asleep my anxiety goes “if you’re not holding her then you can’t be sure she’s still here.”

“Oh, love,” you sigh, holding him sideways, check pressed to his shoulder. “I can’t sleep here every night. I have to go home.”

I know. It’s more if you said you’d spend the night then disappeared, what that would mean. I’d also be so worried about your safety, but you might not answer my calls because you’re mad at me, so I’l never know if you’re okay. Maybe you’d never talk to me again or you wouldn’t be okay and I’d never know anything and I’d just have to wonder forever. Like I could help if I knew, but I don’t know, so what if

Damiano’s typing speed has become hysterical and his hands are shaking. You push the computer from his lap and take its place, kissing Dami with his face between your palms. He mewls and crushes your body against his. This could easily became sex, and maybe preventing it from doing so is a bad idea. However, Damiano’s nervous system needs solutions that last longer than a couple hours.

“Mm ‘kay,” you pull away. “Let's go through this.” You pull the computer up beside you. “I wouldn’t disappear in the middle of the night because I love you and I know how stressful that would be.” At some point you’d have to muster the courage to say the words on their own and not in a phrase. Dami rests his head on your clavicle and gazes up at you with wonder and adoration in his eyes. He’d smiling, just barely showing his perfect teeth. His hand comes to tuck the hair behind your ears, so he can see your whole face. Taking a breath, you bite your lip and continue on.

 “As for ignoring communication, we can come up with a code word which means it's an emergency and we both promise that we’ll answer to that word no matter how angry we are.” Damiano loves that idea, nodding while adjusting your faces to be level. “And that word will be…we’ll figure it out later because I wanna go to sleep. Anything else?” 

How are you?  

Honestly

“I really need to sleep in my own bed tomorrow, but I don’t want to worry about you needing me to be here.”

I don’t, really.

“I’m worried that you’re not getting everything you need, but that you’re –”

But I love having you here, always. You’re always welcome.

“Thank you, dear. I wasn’t feeling rejected, but um…I worry that you can’t ask for the things you need,” you admit, stroking his cheek.

Really, I’m okay. Promise. If you knew the team of doctors I have behind me…

“Well, I mean…should I?” It’s something you’d considered, but didn’t want to overstep. “Because I plan to be here for the long haul.” Damiano squeezes you way too tight in response. “Oof! Alright.” He hums happily in your ear, more canine dialect than English. It's impossible to accurately translate because spoken language is dependent on a standardized system and the other is dependent on individual bonds. 

You try to tap into your feral side to bridge the understanding gap, but it's not coming easy. Could be because you're sleep deprived.

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “I’ve never been good at this.” You sigh and lay back in bed. Damiano types something and shows it to you before plugging in his laptop to charge. 

Don’t try to translate into words or emotions. 

You look at him, confused and a little frustrated. Deriving sentiments has always been the way you understood canine dialect. How was a person supposed to glean any meaning from the sounds?

Feel it on your body only.

He slides the computer under the bed and lays beside you. You comfortably find a big spoon, little spoon shape. As solacing as the position may be, your inability to communicate with Damiano via the only language he presently spoke was distressing. It felt like failing him as a partner. 

Dami made that rumbling hum from the back of his throat again and you tried to take his advice. The sound felt warm, soft…round. Gentle wasn’t the right word. It didn’t have any sharp corners or things that might poke you. It felt not gold, but silver…metallic? No, it shimmered in your mind’s eye. That shimmery feeling runs down your spine. The ball of warmth settled in the pit of your stomach as you yawned. 

Damiano’s hands tried unfurling your balled fists and you went easily, relaxing. He made a second, similar sound to encourage this behavior. The muscles in your face moved, even as you tried to still them. You felt the sides of your mouth curl into a smile. Between your legs tingles, too. The soles of your feet and palms of your hands felt toasty warm. Enjoying the sensation, you rubbed your fingers and toes together.

Dami fondly asked what you were doing. Except he didn’t ask, and you didn’t need him to, understanding his canine vocalizations. You shrugged in response and yawned again. He accepted this as an answer. To someone else it’d sound gruff and aggressive, but Damiano was actually being quite affectionate. He even scents you and rubs his cheek against yours. 

In this moment of shared peace, the significance of Dami’s communication sets in. He didn’t compliment you. It was so much more than that. He’d wanted you to feel good inside, good about yourself, content in your body, safe in his den. The way you’d made Damiano feel made him want you to experience all that in return. 

You tried saying I love you but the noise was too guttural. You were doubtful it made any sense until Damino growled in return. With a sentiment that big, there was no translating it, but all those pleasant sensations flared up once again. Instead of that ball of warmth and shimmering feeling, it was as if a heavy quilt came to cover you. The fabric was made of sunlight. That should have blinded you, but it didn’t. Nothing would harm you. Everything inside felt so cherished that your significance in the world was nearly suffocating. Each organ, each bit of connective tissue, every drop of marrow was affirmed as being special. This typical, average body that you’d had for 15 years was made a temple, consequential to the entire universe. Dami wanted to show you how he felt about you. 

Unsure if it's been a second or a full minute, you surfaced with tears in your eyes. Damiano’s thumb swept along your cheek in case, unable to properly see your profile in the dark. Still, he was deliberately observing, breathing relaxed and even. Relaxed perhaps because he felt all your gratitude and reciprocation. Dami kissed the back of your head and nuzzled to get comfortable. This indicated contentment and that he expected no further validation from you on this front. Each warm exhale tickled your healing mark.

Day 3 of Silence

“Is that a hickey!?” Watching the milk and coffee combine in a travel mug, you couldn’t help but wonder if the world couldn’t have waited another 10 minutes for this particular interaction. 

“Uh…yeah?” Dad stomps across the kitchen’s laminate floor, but you dodge him. Thinking you have a hickey is probably the best case scenario, so you hide on the other side of the fridge. Unfortunately, he’s having none of your evasion. 

“Don’t make me chase you around the goddamn kitchen, y/n.” With a sigh, you stand still. He yanks the collar of your pajama shirt aside and gasps in horror. The goal was to get your mark fully healed before he saw it. Without coffee, you’d forgotten all about that.

“Did he hurt you!?” your dad bellows. You swat his hand away and take a step back. Having someone yell in your face at 8am wasn’t exactly conducive to a positive state of well-being either.

“No. dad. Dami would never hurt me.” He’s shaking his head, face turning bright red.

“That – that thing is – is,” he stammers, enraged and pointing an accusatory finger at your precious mark. Seeing the anger and disgust directed at something sacred made you pull your shirt to cover it.

“It's not like that!” How you yearned to have a verbal Damiano, whose charisma could make this conversation so much easier. In an ideal world, you’d have told your dad together. Being accosted before you’d even caffeinated was perhaps one of the worst ways this could come about.

“What in the hell…” he turns you to the other side. Knowing the bruising on the right is going to be difficult to explain away, you cover it with your hand before he can get a good look. 

“Stop that,” he orders, checking his pockets for something. “Where is my phone? We need to call and report –”

“NO!!” Your feral scream surprises even yourself. The sound reveals exactly how violated you feel even when your words don’t. You’d done a lot of yelling with your dad, but this outcry was a novel sound that made even him freeze. He looked over his shoulder in alarm, at least shocked into silence and inaction. Upstairs are sounds of hurried feet and doors opening.

“It’s my mark! Damiano marked me. It’s completely normal, dad.”

“That is not normal,” he seethes.

“Mom! Clio!” you call. “Do you want to understand or is your mind made up?” Stomping down the stairs is definitely not your mother’s measured physicality.

“Why the fuck are you yelling before 10am?” Clio demands, gesticulating dramatically. “Oh, that,” she winces, looking over her shoulder for backup. “Listen, dad, I know it looks bad, but Damiano actually took care of it really well. It’s like wearing his letterman jacket.”

“Are you out of your mind, Clio? Look at it!”

“Well, what did you expect? Everyone knows how marking works.” Even discussing the interaction with your father felt icky, and a wee bit treacherous.

“I’m sorry, what did I hear about reporting something?” Your mother rounded the corner, breathless and still in her sage green nightgown. After quickly surveying the situation she speaks.

“Oh, no, Kevin there's been a misunderstanding.” She places a delicate hand on his shoulder, like all her softness could quell such brute force. Clio slinks upstairs, happy to be free of the situation. How jealous you are of her.

“There’s no misunderstanding, he doesn’t want to understand. He doesn’t give a damn! Why’d you have kids with an omega, huh? Why not just adopt and spare us all the misery?”

“Y/n -”

“He was going to report Damiano for abuse!” You don’t feel the hot tears on your face, but your parents' faces change in the way they always do when you cry. It’d become such an uncommon occurrence that your dad has a satisfying amount of dismay in his expression. You lean against the counter while panic creates a tightening fist under your sternum.

“Let's all just sit down and lower our voices.” Somehow, the three of you end up at the dining table, yourself and dad at opposite ends, glaring. Taking a deep breath, you pledge to give the man in front of you exactly one chance.

“He didn’t hurt me. Damiano marked me to show his devotion, how much he cares about me. If you actually went to Supports you’d know that it doesn’t hurt when you do it right.”

“Oh, bullcrap!”

“Kevin!” An even tempered person would recognize that this was all out of fatherly concern, but he’d threatened Damiano when he was already vulnerable and wounded.

“Darling, I’m sorry to make you cry with all the shouting.” Mother squeezed your hand, but everyone knew that the yelling wasn’t the reason for your tears.

“How's this for the omega you never wanted? I asked for the mark and it's my favorite thing about myself. Because he’s always with me!” You choke on a sob and make an ugly sound.

“Y/n –”

“I just want him to be here,” you confess through the tears. “I want him here,” gasp, “with me. Because he’d – because he’d know the right thing to say.” Except he wouldn’t because he’s not speaking. Partially because of bigots like your own father. The look in mom’s eyes reveals that she hasn’t mentioned it. She hasn’t mentioned any of it, probably so dad doesn’t find out about Alpha Dysregulation and exile your boyfriend.

“Well, until we can get this figured out,” dad motions vaguely towards your neck, “you’re not gonna see him.” There are no words to articulate your infuriation, so you accidentally dip into canine dialect. Standing up, you try to push your chair away from the table, but end up just pushing the whole table. Coffee splashes everywhere, dad’s chair almost tips over, the fruit bowl flips, and all its contents scatter. The apples make dull thuds as they land on the floor.

“No. We won’t be forbidding our teenage daughter from seeing her alpha right after she’s been marked.”

“He’s not her alpha, they’re not mated!” Mother doesn’t design to acknowledge this petty outburst.

“You should know that is unacceptable and irresponsible.” Your father assesses the situation, looking between his wife and his youngest rapidly. He comes to the conclusion not to challenge mom. 

“Right.” Kevin nods once, and it's a reminder of how miniscule proud men can look. 

“I think I am partially to blame here.” Mother’s words are shocking, not just to yourself, but also to father. “As an omega who decided they were not bound for an alpha, I have given you an inaccurate idea of what should be expected.” She sighs heavily, looking vaguely in the direction of the far wall. “And I haven’t done enough to correct that.”

“Well Olivia, I don't know that that’s true,” your father splutters. He gets up and grabs the kitchen towel to begin mopping up the coffee. 

“You shouldn’t be justifying yourself to him,” you bristle. The only person that should be undergoing self-actualization was your father. Never had her fickle submission to him been more arduous to watch.

“I’m not,” she replies curtly. “I’m apologizing to you. Your father is accustomed to a sanitized, genteel version of omega’s and I believe this is a direct result.” He straightens up slowly, then forcefully hucks the towel into the kitchen sink, insulted. For once, dad’s glowering doesn’t reduce her. Your mom isn’t quite standing up for you to your father, but she’s putting herself in the way. Every appraisal of your character has to pass through her first.

“It’s not your fault, mom.” You’re still flabbergasted at the turn this argument has taken.

“Maybe, but I allow the man I raised omegan children with to look at their world through a deficit lens. I should have shouldered that from the beginning.” You hear the floorboards creak and wonder if Clio is listening, just as enraptured, around the corner. 

“Olivia, I’m right here,” dad exclaims, indignant. Your mothers gaze never wavers from yours. It feels like a promise.

Day 4 of Silence 

53 hours was officially more than enough space. It was good that Damiano respected his own boundaries and didn’t show up for school. At the recommendation of his new therapist, he decided to take Tuesday off as well (after some reassurance on your part.) It’d also give the very colorful collection of rumors time to calm down. Still, you missed him like hell. Unknowingly, you’d become accustomed to Dami’s presence, months before you spoke. This building you’d driven past hundreds of times felt foreign without him. 

Ever the protector, Damiano was trying to give you time to recover and recharge. It’d been a tremendous amount of emotional labor and now he had other competent people to support him. Apparently, the new therapist was great and the hormonal specialist was discussing new treatment options to prevent the episodes. Messing with Dami’s endocrine system made you extremely nervous. What if he didn’t smell the same? 

Not hearing his voice puts a damper on your intimacy. You’d grown so accustomed to speaking almost daily. Whether it be on the phone or in person, the warm timbre of Dami’s voice was always soothing. After lunch, the missing him becomes too much. You send a text asking if it's alright to come over. It's mostly just courtesy. Two hours later he hasn’t responded and it's the end of the school day. You decide he must be napping and head over anyway. Maybe you could slide into bed next to him. A nap sounded pretty damn good right now, especially in the safety of your alpha’s room. What might occur after the nap was even more alluring.

It takes much longer than usual for the door to be answered. When you peek through the window, there's multiple figures having an unintelligible conversation. You’re about to leave since the David’s have company when Matteo finally opens the door and invites you inside. He looks uncharacteristically muddled, distracted even as he greets you. Standing formally in the foyer are two professionals with tablets in hand and analytic gazes.

“Sometimes there are drop in assessments after an episode to objectively evaluate home life,” he explains, obviously caught off guard.

“Oh, sorry! I texted Damiano, but he didn’t respond and I thought I’d just come over anyway.” You imagine that positive conclusions won’t be made about the pushy omega girlfriend who barges in. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I can leave.”

“No, that’s just fine,” a woman with intricate braids answers curtly. “It gives us a more holistic assessment.” She’s probably a psychologist and the balding man besides her you suspect to be a social worker, based on their uniforms.

“In cases of alpha-omega selective mutism, normalcy is good. Special treatment can actually make episodes longer,” he says. So act like nothing is wrong, reduce empathy, and hope the whole situation goes away. Great. After yesterday’s blow out, your capacity for holding your tongue with ignorant men is drastically reduced. It wasn’t very substantial to begin with. Giving the psychologist a pointed look, you decide to remove yourself from the situation.

“I think I’m just gonna go.” You awkwardly slink backwards towards the door, but before you can even reach it, you hear pounding footfalls coming from the direction of the kitchen. Damiano slides around the corner in socks, bites it on the hardwood floor, and catches himself, all while looking at you.

“Hey, crazy!” The rest of the room turns awkward while Dami’s face comes alive with a bright smile. Of course, they’d all been calling him crazy all day in veiled language, but no one would ever address it. You throw your arms around his neck and the embrace is so enthusiastic that it lifts you a few inches off the floor. He gives you a single, brief kiss, but in it is conveyed all the gratitude for forcing everyone to see that he wasn’t fragile.

Verifying that nothing has changed, you rest your face by his scent glands. Damiano does the same thing. The high bridge of his elegant nose presses into your trapezius muscle. You can feel his breaths quicken as he takes in your scent. Both by the sound of his sharp exhales and the quivering of his movement of his abdomen which is pressed against yours.You try to pull away after hugging for an already inappropriate amount of time, but he tightens the embrace. Damiano nuzzles your profile, a loving alpha who is unapologetic to the polite society that nearly asphyxiated him. If the room was empty, you’d close your eyes and treasure this moment where Dami uses your pheromones to self-soothe.

When someone clears their throat, he finally lets go, but keeps you in his personal space. As he kisses your head, temple, cheek, and back up again, you forget everything else. Smiling so wide that you feel shy, you hide your face against Dami’s chest, hugging again. This time the embrace is loose and more relaxed. The piling on his old sweatshirt is rough against your skin, but everything smells like him, so other senses lose their relevance in comparison.

When Dami presses his face to your hair, you realize it's been a few days since you’d washed it. There’s a moment of insecurity before reminding yourself that he’d far prefer the scent of natural oils to the fragrance of shampoo. It’s exactly what you’d prefer. Like in the car after soccer, when he was disgusting and sweaty and absolutely irresistible.

“Ahem,I just realized I haven’t properly introduced you. This is y/n, Damiano’s girlfriend.” Matteo not so subtly prompts the pair of you to let go. Damiano does so begrudgingly, keeping a hand wrapped around your waist.

“Great to meet you, I’m Clem, by the way.” Her eyes flit up to Damiano’s face, looking for permission to breach doctor-patient confidentiality. He nods, and her shoulders relax.

“I've been Damiano’s psychologist for over three years now. He’s a good one.” She clearly means it, despite seeing Dami at his worst. You like that about her.

“You’re a good judge of character. Oh, and it’s nice to meet you.” Before the other, less favorable, visitor can introduce himself, there's a new voice from the kitchen. A man with a scraggly beard, flimsy wire glasses, and a frumpy gray sweater leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’s judging you, but out of genuine interest, not critique. 

“That’s the first smile I’ve seen all day,” he exclaims, warmly. They must have been speaking, or rather communicating, in the living room when you came inside.

“This is Dr. Laurel, Damiano’s new therapist.”

“Please, call me Jay.” He’s relaxed in a room of anxious people. While everyone is treating Dami’s silence as a crisis, he seems almost curious. He’s invested in getting to know him, not just in doing his job for the sake of it. 

“Let's talk.” He beckons you over with a casual hand gesture and nonchalant nod towards the living room. It was all calibrated to not make the request scary, but it still was. Dami’s expression is reassuring, and he’s not all tensed up from stress. From the foyer, through the kitchen, and into the living room, you wondered about how sound would carry. Regardless, Jay got credit for not disrupting the safety of Dami’s den. Besides his bedroom, this was the most private place in the house because the living room was only accessible via the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about anyone overhearing,” assures Jay, as if he can read your mind. Damiano sits in the cushioned armchair, which you didn’t expect because it leaves you to sit on the couch alone. Bringing it up would just make the situation more awkward, so you cringe internally and go to take a seat. Dami makes a sound of indignation and grabs your wrist. He guides you towards him until he can get a grip on your forearm and tug. Surely he didn’t mean for you to sit on his lap in front of his therapist.

“Excuse me, young man? Young man, what are you doing?” you jest in a formal voice. Humor is the only thing you can think of. Jay chuckles, shuffling through papers with his eyes averted. Damiano puts the index finger of his free hand through a belt loop on your jeans. While you’re distracted reading the room, he manages to pull you close enough that he can lean forward, wrap his arms around your hips, and haul you onto his lap.

“Oof, okay.” You settle on sitting upright, knowing from the strength of Damiano’s embrace that you weren’t going to get away. He uncrosses his legs, hands hovering a couple inches away like guardrails while you adjust position. You roll your eyes at how overly cautious he was, as if falling two feet to the carpeted floor was going to hurt anything beyond your ego. 

“However you’re comfortable is fine by me.” Jay seemed to get his forms in order and set them down on the coffee table. He sits with his feet on the sofa, facing you. It’s a strange dichotomy: such a youthful gesture, to take up the entire couch, but at the same time he meticulously arranges the pillows behind him, grumbling about his back.

“So y/n, you are not my patient and are under no obligation to answer any of my questions if you don’t want to.” He clears his throat and clasps his hands. “With that said, everything that happens in my sessions with Damiano is covered under doctor-patient confidentiality. This includes anything you say as well.”

“Okay…I’ve – I don’t know if this matters, but I’ve only ever been to family therapy. I didn’t talk much though, because I’m the most normal of my sisters. I don’t know how it works.” Dami opens his laptop.

You don’t have to be here if it makes you uncomfortable. 

“No, no, I want to be involved. I just thought I’d meet your doctors at an office. I didn’t think I’d be part of it though.”

“Ah. You’re here to provide information, not receive treatment.”

“Oh, okay!” You relax back, leaning against Dami instead of sitting bolt upright.    

 “What do you want to know? We’ve only been together for…god, has it really only been three months?” You turn to Dami and he seems to be having an equally difficult time wrapping his head around how such a strong bond could be built so quickly.

“Fresh perspective,” Jay declares, cheerly. “Obviously old coping mechanisms aren’t working, so we need to find new ones. Dami feels you’re the only person who sees him for who he is.” Rather than meet your eyes, Damiano adjusts the position of his hands, one coming to rest just above the knee.

“So you want my opinion?” Jay gives a tight-lipped smile and gestures for you to continue. “Well, he’s not usually like this.” You tame Damiano’s hair as you speak, sweeping it away from his neck. “He has this cool, mysterious facade and under that is a confident, sporty exterior and under that is cocky alpha hard shell.”

“Sounds like a lot of defense mechanisms.”

“Oh, yeah and if you get past the hard shell he’ll pretend like he doesn’t really care to protect himself.” You fondly tuck a lock of hair behind his ear and Dami looks up at you through his lashes. He’s blushing and it distracts you completely until Jay reclaims your focus.

“Obviously, you’ve built a lot of trust. Which was the hardest layer to get past?”

“Oh, that would be the next layer.”

“There’s more?”

“Absolutely this man was a fortress.” You rest one arm on his shoulders and Dami uses the position to press his profile against your chest. “Once you get the bastard to actually feel something he freaks out and tries to control everything. But under that he’s afraid of himself.” Your smile drops and you press a long kiss to Dami’s forehead, breathing in deep through your nose.

“And is that fear of your Alpha Dysfunction?” Dami nods and Jay flips through some papers. “Well, it looks like you had one significant episode at..you were 11.”

I wasn’t diagnosed yet.

“Right, so that’s to be expected and you aren’t to be held responsible.” Jay gives Damiano a pointed look, reminding him to be forgiving of his childhood self. 

“But he had to move schools.”

“After a series of minor incidents. Essentially, he just got too many strikes.” Jay shuffles the papers pensively and takes his time setting the stack behind him.

She knows I went into headspace while hooking up with a beta a couple years ago, about how they flipped out and involved their parents.   

“Yet, clearly y/n knows you’re not dangerous.” He gestures to the way you’re tenderly cuddled up together. “Where does that fear come from? Is it fear of what you’re capable of or fear of Alpha Dysregulation itself?” The room falls silent, Dami drumming his fingers on his leg while he thinks.

I don’t know. Everyone acts like it's the worst thing in the world. They act like it's the end of the world that I have AD2. I probably internalized that.

“There's a lot of fear of abandonment.” Just saying the words makes you choke up a little. “It’s all to hide the AD2. Everyone needs to stop treating it like a dirty secret if they want Dami to get better.”

“I agree.” You look up at Jay in surprise. “Absolutely.” 

“But it’s not, uh,” you take a deep breath, fighting for an amicable way to phrase this. When you can’t find one you decide to speak anyway.

“It's not like it's just some small group of alpha parents who hate that Dami is better at soccer than their kid. It’s everywhere. Even that asshole,” you point in the direction of the foyer. “It’s his job and he can’t extend a modicum of empathy. No one can! Fuck, even Isabella doesn’t know how to be soothing.”

“Isabella is Dami’s mother?” Jay starts typing. Perhaps ranting to your boyfriend's therapist about his own mother was over the line.

“Yeah, but maybe it’s because she’s burnt out. I don’t have some special skill set. I just take the time to be comforting and loving and fucking listen. The whole family has protocols, but none of them actually comfort Dami. They always skip right to the solution.” You glance at Damiano to see if you should hold your tongue, but he looks genuinely interested, and a little impressed.

“Go on,” Jay encouraged, accompanied by rapid tapping sounds.

“Basically, all the parents are ignorant and they raise ignorant children. They create stereotypes that aren’t even accurate for Dami. But they don’t actually care about the truth, it's all about feeling important. It's not like he’s a grown up either who's been hardened by life and can take this shit. He’s technically still a kid!” You can feel that you’re ranting, but no one’s ever asked and listened before. 

“As long as he has to keep a secret, there’s stress. But the consequences of getting found out…how is a person supposed to function with that hanging over their heads? Why can’t we remove the stigma? Why can’t we just teach children how to interact with people that have developmental differences?”

“Excellent point,” Jay validates, gesturing at you to go on. It takes some of the wind from your sails, since you’re so used to fighting in these conversations.

“Yeah, everyone is doing what they think is right for his physical health, but what about his mental health? What about his autonomy? He should be consulted. He can’t be made responsible for whether he’s rejected or accepted by society. That’s not fair. That’s fucking unreasonable. He’s 17!”

“Asking these questions is important.”

“Yeah, but everyone is asking the wrong questions. ‘How do we get him talking again? How do we fix it faster?’ They should be asking why he stopped talking in the first place so it doesn’t happen again.” Jay must take a full minute to finish documenting. Or, at least, it feels like it. When he looks up, you realize you haven’t checked on Dami in a while. His face is still lent against you, pressed against your breast. Even partially concealed, you can see that his eyes are watering. It feels like a dagger to the heart.

“Wait, no!” you exclaim at the prospect of Dami enduring even more emotional hardship. The hand on your thigh comes to your face and he guides you into a passionate kiss. Even with your mouths closed, the public display of affection was entirely too personal. Knowing he’s only going to get this one kiss, Dami draws it way out, sliding his palm under your ear, fingers threaded into your hair. When he does allow it to end, he keeps your right there, forehead against his. Rather than pull back, you wait for him to release you, praying every moment that he’ll decide not yet. 

Despite having barely an echo of public decency when it came to physical affection, he does have to let the moment go eventually. Your cheeks burn, but Dami doesn’t have an ounce of shame. He sits up tall, challenging Jay to take issue with the act. After all, he is an alpha too. Jay’s demeanor is constant, unprovoked. You’re horrified at the prospect of Dami ruining his relationship with a therapist that could do him some real good. Tapping twice on the back of the shoulder doesn’t work. Resorting to school yard tactics, you flick his ear, finally earning his attention. He’s surprised and a little bit ticked off, but at least he’s not intimidating Jay. 

“It’s good that you two are so comfortable with each other,” he chuckles. Well that's one way to put it. You remove your arm from behind Dami’s neck, trying to create situationally appropriate space. That actually upsets him.

“Y/n, the vast majority of my clients are young alphas with behavioral issues. It takes a great deal to offend me.” He stands up with a groan, once again shuffling his papers. Jay does seem genuinely unbothered, bordering on serene.

“It’s good to see that Damiano is still feeling like himself. Tea, anyone?”

Notes: Expect chapter 11 much sooner! Thank you for reading my silly little fics <3 I always enjoy hearing your favorite parts and your thoughts. I know this isn't as spicy as past chapters but trust me it heats up very soon.

-XOXO Eden

Masterlist

 @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle  @iamtashaquinn @icarodamiano @idyllicbutterfly @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem  @the-chaotic-cow  @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia   @azertyhug @biancathecool @xweirdxsceletton @bohemianrainbow @boyswillbeexecutied @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic @minnietmouse @obiw4n @persona1read1ng  @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral  @iosonoarina @l0standn0tf0und @que--sera--sera @stardustingold  @teenyweenynightghost   @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @bobfood  @slavicgoddess13

#daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin #måneskin #må #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david fluff #damiano david x you #damiano david fic #maneskin fanfiction #omega reader #alpha and omega #omegaverse #alpha beta omega

[erigold13261]

Question: would Tila want to be cured of her schizophrenia? How does it affect her life?

I was worried for a second you were gonna ask if she wanted to be cured of being a lesbian because it's the start of pride month and the ask notification cut off before it got to schizophrenia. I was gonna say something like "What a way to start off June."

Under the cut to save space. (also, I do not have Schizophrenia, so all my headcanons come from research and hearing what people with Schizophrenia have to say about their own life)

Anyway, before the Rock Revolution and after becoming emancipated from her parents, I would say that Tila was in the best mental state of her life. Overall most of her symptoms were mainly disorganized thinking and behaviour with some audio hallucinations and delusions.

Being Sayu during that time helped her stay focused and allowed her to play a role that wasn't herself. She would mainly have a script or know how to act as Sayu, getting lost in the role which helped her a lot. It was basically like art therapy for her.

When not playing Sayu she would end up talking to herself a lot or isolating herself in her room, or forget to take care of herself, but thankfully the rest of the Crew (after living with her for a while) figured out ways to help her when she started forgetting self care or if she was saying stuff they could not understand.

I would say her and Dodo had the hardest time communicating for a while because sometimes she would think she heard him talk or that he was signing something he wasn't. One time she was convinced that Dodo was talking verbally to her only and not talking to anyone else even though he can't talk at all. It took a while to get her to change that line of thinking, but now if she thinks she isn't seeing his signs right she tries to look through her phone at his hands to see properly (though that doesn't always work).

It does also help that at this point she was medicated and seeing a very good therapist thanks to the money coming in from Sayu.

Before that, when she was living with her parents (and the reason she was even diagnosed was because her parents put her in therapy for liking girls and the therapist was able to see early symptoms of Schizophrenia), her Schizophrenia was really bad. There would be some days she wasn't making any sense at all and her family would just make it worse and try to either instigate her delusions more or tell her they aren't real and to stop faking or acting irrationally.

It was not a good time for Tila mainly because of the stress of living with her family. That stress died down a lot when she moved in with the Crew and her only job was to be the voice of Sayu. It was one of the only things she could reliably do.

Which is why when Sayu became real and sentient, it really hurt Tila mentally. She was stressed that she was losing her job, that people made Sayu to replace her, that she was Sayu and this was an imposter. At times she thought that she was the real Sayu and Sayu was Tila in disguise. It really put a strain on Sayu and Tila's relationship and I don't think Tila is really close with any of the Mermaid Club compared to the rest of the Crew.

She still goes through pockets of psychosis with moments of lucidity. She is definitely not as bad as when she was living with her family, but she is also not at the stage of being able to tell if she is having delusions or hallucinations or finding ways to cope or work around her demotivation.

When she is lucid, she does want to be "normal" and not go back to how she was, but she also doesn't want to lose the voices she hears because a majority of the time they actually help her and medication stops her from hearing them she gets super lonely and stops taking her medication. It is a battle for her a lot of the time and she still has a long way to go to get to a point where she is more lucid than not.

So yes, technically Tila does want to be cured, but other times she doesn't even think she has a problem at all. Some days are absolutely horrible for her, making work and just taking care of herself impossible. Other days are amazing and she can get so much done and feels very lucid and can hold conversations without saying something inappropriate or nonsensical. But most of the time it is an in between where she might hear a voice or see something not there, or that she thinks she or her friends are being replaced, or that she has to cover her hair and face with her hoodie to not let people see her eyes and ears for some reason.

It's a struggle but she is managing as best as she can. She has her therapist, her friends, and especially Eve who I think has helped a lot in making sure Tila gets the resources she needs (or that the Crew has the resources to help Tila as best as possible).

Most likely her symptoms might get worse as she grows older, but because she has a support system (and honestly a lot of money) she will be able to get help to manage her Schizophrenia. It will never truly go away, but she can work on lowering the symptoms she has as best as she can.

#nsr #eritalks #noart #asks

[satanfemme]

do you have any advice on convincing a psychiatrist to prescribe adderall/stimulants? i don't have adhd, but i do have severe depression and debilitating chronic fatigue. having tried them before, i believe stimulants will greatly improve my quality of life regardless of whether i'm using them for their "intended purpose." i know i'll probably have to convince my psych that i have undiagnosed adhd to get a prescription - any ideas of what could help?

hm. I think this would greatly depend on your psych. many psychs are willing to prescribe drugs "off label", which is literally the situation at hand: prescriptions for drugs that are intended for something you aren't diagnosed with, but in hopes that it'll helps the issues you are facing too. that's how I've been on things like OCD meds without an OCD diagnosis, or how I used to take a low dose anti-depressant just for sleep. if your psych is chill doing off label prescriptions, you may be able to be honest and say you suspect stimulants would help your depression, as they have helped before. off label prescriptions ftr are both legal AND common, so this isn't some unheard-of loophole thing. chances are, any decent psych would be perfectly fine with this. it's just something uptight psychs might be hesitant about wrt stimulants, so I understand your hesitation to bring it up.

(putting the rest of this under a readmore cause it got long oops)

but if you aren't confident that honesty would work with your personal psych, and assuming you have the ability to pull it off, the "safer" option might still be to lie. for the record I don't condone lying to doctors as I am a law abiding dogboy, hate all drugs, and would never ever do anything immoral or dishonest myself. but, hypothetically, you could. both ime and from what I've heard from others, this isn't particularly difficult. I have a formal ADHD diagnosis, but I've Never had to actually show this to a psych. I just tell them I have it, they ask me a few basic questions about my symptoms verbally (like, super basic "do you struggle with starting tasks?" type stuff), and boom they write me a prescription.

people who don't have the diagnosis can (from what I understand) usually do the same thing; either expressing that they have ADHD symptoms they'd like treated, or just saying they received a diagnosis years ago and would like to resume treatment for it after a hiatus (and if questioned further, either say it was an informal diagnosis, or say they no longer have the paperwork. imo if a psych still pushed for proof of a formal diagnosis at this point, it'd just be easier to find a better psych). ADHD symptoms and questionnaires are really easy to find on psych websites for when people want a refresher on them. also, fwiw, I don't have a formal depression diagnosis! all those countless anti-depressants I've been prescribed were thru the same "simple verbal questionnaire" process. for all it's flaws, psychiatry is not a rigid system in the slightest, doubly so with telehealth options, and for that we're blessed.

last thing I'd like to mention, regardless of what you do, if you're not confident that your psych is going to take what you have to say seriously, I've heard that "blaming" a third party for your inquiry helps. as in, don't say "I think stimulants would help me", but instead something more like "this might be a weird question, but I used to be on adderall. and my partner/parents/sibling/cousin/whoever swears I was much more functional back then and it must've been helping my depression and fatigue. they claim once I stopped taking them, they noticed my quality of life got much worse, and hasn't improved since. so they said I should ask you about that -- what do you think? they mentioned something called like... 'off label'...? is that an option? they insisted I report back to them what you said". I haven't tried it myself, but I've heard a lot of good things about this technique, cause as you can probably infer: it shifts the dynamic from "patient (potential ~drug seeker~) versus their doctor" to "patient (innocent) and their doctor versus a third party (who WILL be hearing about it if these concerns are ignored)". doctors are sometimes much more eager to help in the latter situation.

ok that's a LOT of information but I wanted to give u as much info as I could so you know your options -- cause YOU know your psych, not me. so you know what approach would be best. very last thing I'll say is if, for whatever reason, you end up going through with a formal adhd diagnosis: idk how standardized this is but the test I took included "trick" questions to catch "drug seekers". so make sure you do any research you need prior to any questionnaires AND formal tests. reddit has a lot of good advice from real people as well, remember I'm just one person. I'm not an expert on any of this, and I've also been lucky -- as far as stimulants are concerned I've had 0 push-back of any kind from my psychs. which definitely limits what kind of advice I can personally vouch for. anyway that's all I have to say, for real this time.

good luck finding a treatment plan that helps!! I hope your doctors are understanding and chill, and the process goes smoothly

#Anonymous

[cowboyjen68]

hey jen! content warning- this is gonna be long and ranty and about a pretty nasty (verbal) fight i got into with my mom

i'm a 17 year old lesbian living with my 50 year old conservative mom. she knows i'm queer but she doesn't know i don't like men at all- i'm pretty sure she thinks im bisexual. anyways, we've managed to kind of avoid the topic of my sexuality so we can avoid arguments. ground rules at home are no girlfriends (i can have a boyfriend though), no pride flags/pride ANYTHING, no watching lgbt movies or reading lgbt books, you get the idea. it's annoying but i'm moving out in a year so i'm just swallowing my pride (no pun intended) until then.

well last night we got into an argument. we were in the car trying to talk about our schedules so i could figure things out for my new job and she kept interrupting me and i got really annoyed so i said in a raised voice "can you please just listen to me?" and she BLEW up. now before you read this next part you have to understand a few things. 1- me and my mom are very close. i don't talk to her about my personal life but we share music and movie taste and we spend a lot of time together cooking, doing our nails, and watching movies. 2-my mom is very very mentally ill. she's been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and ocd and she refuses to get treated for any of it. i know this isn't an excuse for her actions, but it's an explanation. basically, she started screaming at me (in front of my 5 y old sister) that i'm a disrespectful brat and a bad daughter. she said everything wrong with my sister (she has some yelling problems) is my fault and all i do is make life difficult and she wishes i would just move out. she's done this stuff before but she said a few things different that hit deep and really really hurt me. when we got home i ran upstairs to my room and just stayed in there crying for two hours. a bit later, she comes into my room and tells me i need to learn how to admit when i'm wrong and i need to apologize to her. for the rest of the night i just didn't talk to her and stayed in my room. this morning i woke up to her playing salsa like normal and pretending nothing happened. she always does this after arguments, but it feels so wrong because of the severity of her words yesterday. she came into my room to hand me a gift with a note on top saying

"no argument, disagreement, misunderstanding, "yell-fest" or anything at all could ever change or stop the fact that i love you so much! you deserve everything good and more. i will always be on your side ♥️"

yeah. i don't really know what to do or how to feel and i don't know if you can help me but i really need some advice on how to handle this. stuff like this keeps happening more and more and i don't want our relationship to fall apart because i get offended over something she says in a fit of rage. sorry if this was too long or it bothered you in any way, and thank you for reading

It is super hard when someone you love is mentally ill. In theory mental illness is a reason and not an excuse. In theory we can love someone and not have to lower our boundaries to be mentally or (physically) abused by people.

That is all true when we can walk away, but the reality is we are not always given that option. Since she is your parent and you need at least a year to finish school, get a savings, paperwork in order, planning etc, you do not have the luxury of setting down boundaries and sticking to them.

Even relatively mentally healthy adults can and do say things that are hurtful and many of them deal with their regret but sort of bushing it off, giving a peace offering and hoping it does not come up. Admitting wrong and apologizing is super hard for lots of grown ups. It means admitting fault and because she knows she hurt you it is virtually impossible for her to say she is sorry without having to process that fact.

As a parent I know when I hurt my kids with words said in mistake or anger it is super hard to admit that. To allow that feeling to sit in my brain and to verbalize my regret. I do and can but it took time and practice.

By the sounds of it, she will likely not be open to therapy with you to learn some communication tools. If you have a school counselor or the ability to get therapy please do so, even if just for yourself. Lots of therapist are working on line now so it is easier to access. Some schools will facilitate therapy.

You need to keep in mind that you are leaving within a year. A doable goal. Use your energy to plan. Make sure you have access to your birth certificate, social security card, insurance, taxes, etc. If you have a car get it in your name. If you have a cell phone make sure you have access to switch the account. 

Work on your independence so when you are able to you can break loose. The less you rely on your mom the more you can work on a healthy relationship with her because you can set boundaries, speak your mind and garner respect without fear of loosing your housing or safety. 

Lastly I am sorry you are going through this. Know it is no fault of your own and you don’t deserve such harsh treatment. Her words come from mental illness and inability to communicate her emotions in an appropriate manner, but knowing the cause does not make it any easier.  I am glad you reached out, even if just for the chance to vent and to hear that you are worth more than the treatment you are receiving. 

#parenting #lesbian

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

Idk how much you know about those with BPD and their partners but I wonder if you could do an analysis on how Paul might have been affected by it if John did in fact have bpd. I’ve been on forums and BPD partners always write about how they’re trauma bonded and how intoxicated they are by their BPD partners, how hard it is to let go and stuff

John, Paul & trauma bonding - an analysis:

“Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight…”

Oooh this is a really great ask!! But also, a really difficult one, because ive had to think about and research it quite a bit. Before diving into the question I just want to make 3 things clear:

1. Not all people with bpd are abusive - but it can be a result of the disorder, and John was abusive. It isn’t uncommon for those who have been abused (a likely cause of the disorders development) to sometimes go on to become the abusers: its a cycle. John, in my opinion, experienced some emotional/verbal abuse from Mimi - and this combined with Johns abandonment traumas, I think are the key causes for him *possibly* developing the disorder, and also the roots of his patterns of abuse within relationships.

2. We don’t know for certain if John had bpd - but I think you can make a fairly strong argument for the case that he did. But we’ll never know. But just to make my life easier, im going to discuss Johns psychology here as if he were actually diagnosed with bpd, because I don’t want to have to constantly be typing out “but obviously we dont know for certain that he had bpd this is just speculation ok—”

3. I am not a mental health professional, im just a 17 year old girl whose giving her opinion on all this. I do feel as though I know enough about bpd to at least have an opinion on this though - my brother has been diagnosed with bpd so I know what a relationship with someone with the disorder can look like. I have also independently researched the disorder quite extensively by means of various books, works and even just internet forums and discussions, because its something that really interests me. So whilst I feel like I can give an opinion on this, I think its still crucial that I clarify that I am not an actual mental health professional, just someone with an interest in psychology, and so there might be misconceptions throughout this - feel free to correct me on those, I won’t be offended.

Okay so now that thats all out of the way, onto the substance of the ask!

In my opinion, John’s bpd very much did invade his relationship with Paul, and the insecurity, angst, anger and overall instability that arose as a result of never being properly treated for the disorder, is the actual root cause for the the Lennon/McCartney breakup - and so when dissecting the relationship, and subsequent breakups and rebounds etc. I find it to be important and enlightening to analyse it through a borderline lens.

I think that there is some very real truth to the argument that John and Paul were trauma bonded, and ill talk about examples of this throughout their relationship later, but the first thing im going to suggest is that the way in which John treated Paul was arguably emotionally abusive. @thecoleopterawithana made a really interesting post relating to this, which I would recommend giving a read, but essentially, John would “test” Paul, to try and uncover if his love was genuinely unconditional, or if Paul was prepared to inevitably abandon and discard him: ultimately, Pauls love was unconditional.

And Pauls unconditional love, as well as his constant defences of John’s unsavoury behaviour might be evidence of trauma bonding.

Paul seemed to stay at a relative (physical, though also emotional) distance from John (and the others, but namely, John) during the mid-60s, by living in London whilst the rest moved into the suburbs. This is perhaps because Paul understood on some level that he couldn’t get too close with John, because that only tended to result in harm on both behalf’s. Space was mandatory for the relationship to work.

Paul seemed bound to John, however; it didn’t appear to matter how much John hurt him (and in my opinion, he hurt him a lot. I think his relationship with John genuinely took a toll on his confidence and self-security over the years) he seemed always prepared to be there for John, and to make amends. Part of this I think is because Paul is just a somewhat paternal person, by nature. It seems as though he seeks to “save” people, to some degree, but he also doesn’t like to get too wrapped up within their issues. So he’s always there for John, prepared to comfort and defend him - but he’s never fully there. He’ll never tell John everything he’s feeling, there has to be almost this barrier; almost like a parent/child relationship in my opinion: Paul has to maintain that idolatry status.

Im further inclined to believe that there was almost a parental relationship* between the two by this quote (x) : “I always find myself wanting to excuse John’s behaviour, just because I loved him. It’s like a child, sure he’s a naughty child, but don’t you call my child naughty. Even if it’s me he’s shitting on, don’t you call him naughty. That’s how I felt about this and I still do. I don’t have any grudge whatsoever against John. I think he was a sod to hurt me. I think he knew exactly what he was doing and because we had been so intimate he knew what would hurt me and he used it to great effect.”

(*I should clarify however that just because I compare them to a parent and child, doesn't mean I think their relationship reflected that exclusively. In my opinion, it was one so convoluted that it cant really be subjected to just one exclusive term such as "romantic" or "platonic" or "brotherly" etc. - there are aspects of all these attributes between John and Paul, but I wouldn't use any one word to define them)

Paul was certainly hurt by John, but what especially stands out to me is that Paul could acknowledge that the pain John so often caused him over the years, was purposeful, and yet he still chose to forgive him every time. He even sought to make amendments, despite Johns prevailing rejections and disparagements.

But after all these attempts in reestablishing a relationship, I think John still had an issue of assuming he was unloved - which was especially difficult to quell with those he cared for the most. As Paul said in ‘Dear Boy’ “I guess you never knew…that love was there. And maybe when you look to hard…you never do become aware. I guess you never did become aware”. John searched so thoroughly for love, so much so that he could never accept how apparent it was. These lyrics (if they are about John, which I think they almost certainly are) seem to suggest that Paul eventually grew tired of trying to make John see that he loved and cared for him. He’d tried and tried again to satisfy that insecurity within John, but he just never could.

“It was honesty, but it could hurt. And it wasn't really all that honest. He knew he could hurt. He could be wicked. But I'm always sensible. That's me. I would never say the things he said.” - again, this quote tells us that Paul recognised the pain and the abuse of which John inflicted upon him, and also recognised that it was not accidental.

These weren't slip-of-the-tongue remarks that John would make; when John would say he didn't like a song Paul wrote for example, it was an intimate insult. For sure, they were a band, and so criticising a song your bandmate has written certainly isn't abusive - and, if words are minced delicately, im sure most would hesitate to even call pure constructive criticism between bandmates "cruel". Simply, thats what you do if you're in a band, you have to communicate your likes and dislikes. But the difference is that there always seems to be a subtle but real cruelty to John with his "criticisms" - and im certain that "I don't like your song" is far from the worst thing John would have ever said to Paul. Especially in later years, when John would criticise his former partners work, there was always this hint of aggression and underlying motive to hurt, rather then just a pure "I want to help him improve his work" sentiment.

I think Paul could be prone to hurting John too, but I don't believe this was intentional for the most part. Im sure he must have said some nasty and fowl things during arguments, but I don't think Paul is the type to just make useless, un-motivated, cruel remarks, just out of his own insecurity. And I feel as though Paul could recognise that this insecurity was the chief cause compelling John to hurt others - thus why Paul is so prone to defending and forgiving him. He pitied him (as expressed in this Howard Stern interview).

And it also appears that he could never have accepted being entirely estranged from John; I cant imagine Paul ever cutting John out completely, I think he would always have been there for him, irregardless of the painful toll it could take on him. And I feel that he still sought Johns approval, even after acknowledging that it was not the be all and end all of judgements. Even if every critic on the planet praised his work, I think Paul would still be inclined to gain Johns approval, because it really meant something to him (x).

Therefore, it isn't surprising that Paul might question how real the love between him and John actually was. If John could switch from extremes of friendliness to antagonism, its no surprise that Paul struggles to comprehend that John did love him - and in whichever way you choose to interpret this love, it was still just that at its very core: love. But that this love was so often diverted in place of cruel comments coming from just scared and lonely man, naturally has made Paul ponder the question over the years.

A weaker piece of evidence, though one I still feel is worth mentioning, is that Pauls lyrics suggest to me a relationship that involved a lot of inconsistent expressions of love. Lyrics like: “Maybe im amazed at the way you love me all the time” and “Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight” feel especially evocative of this, particularly the lyric from ‘Maybe Im Amazed’. It seems almost passive aggressive to me, suggesting that Paul found Lindas consistent warmth and love incredulous, because he’d spent so many years experiencing Johns mood swings and black and white thought patterns. But as I admitted earlier, they aren’t particularly strong pieces of evidence, just something to think about really.

We have to question however, where John might have picked up these “trauma bonding” behavioural patterns from. Id argue, it relates strongly to John having scarcely felt like he was loved and appreciated in the truest sense growing up. Those that were warmer and more open with their love (Uncle George, Julia etc.), tragically left him, whether by choice or not. And those that stuck around (Aunt Mimi) seemed to have found real difficultly in expressing this same warmth.

I get the sense that John gathered this nature of criticising others, in place of expressing love, chiefly from his Aunt Mimi. Mimi was allegedly highly critical of John throughout his lifetime - according to Cynthia (x) she, “brought John up very strictly, with lots of rules and expectations. She was hard to please, easily disappointed, and she would make it known…Mimi obviously worshiped him, [but] John was clearly a disappointment to her.”

The words, “easily disappointed, and she would make it known” especially stand out to me, because they suggest that Mimi’s constant disappointments and degrading of John was not really driven by her want for him to do well in school, work etc. but more so that she just felt this narcissistic compulsion to disparage others. I don’t deny that Johns behaviour throughout his adolescence must have been hugely frustrating to her (skipping school, drinking, failing classes etc.), and with him growing up in the 1950s, im not expecting her to have reacted to these rebellions in the same manner that a parent might today (with a little more empathy due to advances in our understanding of psychology) - but I still have to wonder, what made John rebel in such a way? What was the drive? It seems as though he was well-equipped with all the resources he could have needed to do well in school, and yet there was no motivation, no pull for him to do so. To say that he was “just a teenager” or “just lazy” seems a little too simple for me; id argue that it was more so driven by his inability to satisfy Mimi as a child. I think Mimi’s constant meanderings and subtle criticisms drove out any inclination in John to do well in school, and instilled instead this tendency to rebel.

In my opinion, Mimi dissolved him of any self-confidence - and although she did provide John with a security that Julia seemingly could not, I think she was still constructing an insecure attachment pattern in John, through her passive aggression and criticism. It seems John could scarcely make her proud, because she just was not willing express a lot of warmth with him; and I think ultimately, these traits were reflected within John and his relationships with others, in later life. His ego remained so hurt and fractured by comments made consistently throughout his upbringing, that he subsequently felt this compulsion to hurt and disregard those around him in a similar vain.

As Cynthia once said, its almost as though John was both this hurt, lonely little boy, whilst simultaneously also being this tired and broken, middle-aged man. There were so many troubles wrapped up within him, that he felt the only way to satisfy this was to hurt others; but of course, that did not work.

I don’t deny that there was plenty of affection between the two - especially after the Beatles got famous. John no longer needed Mimi in his life, but he kept in touch with her to a degree that suggests he really did appreciate her. In a lot of ways, the relationship between John and Mimi reminds me of me and my own mothers relationship. She’s never been a particularly warm person, certainly prone to criticism, and growing up she was not empathetic or understanding of aspects concerning mental health and personality. But there is still a lot of love between us (as I think there was between John and Mimi), and in some ways its good to have a pretty “old-school” person, who isn’t excessively caught up in psycho-analysis or introspection; its kind of grounding, y’know. And so, perhaps im just projecting, but thats partly why I feel like John came to really appreciate Mimi in later years. But despite Johns appreciation and respect for his Aunt, I think its still fair to acknowledge her short-comings as a parent, and discuss how these attributes might have shaped John in later life. I don't place the entire burden of blame for Johns mental health issues upon her, because there were multiple traumas he experienced throughout his lifetime. But I am still especially compelled to dissect his relationship with Mimi, and her treatment of him, even more so then I am with his relationship with Julia or Alf!

So overall, I do think that John and Paul were trauma bonded. John could be cruel to Paul, and though Paul might have pushed back on this abuse, showing some intolerance towards John, he was still always prepared to return to him, and appeared always to be seeking his approval. Even if John will never know the many ways Paul tried to show him he loves him, and tried to keep him from abandoning him, Paul will still always be led back to that ‘Long And Winding Road’.

#the long and winding POST #yeah this is really long guys #im not sure how to add those 'read more' things so sorry if this post is taking up your whole feed #mclennon #asks #sorry lol #bpd #john and bpd #anon #johns psyche #psychology #pauls psyche #aunt mimi #johns childhood #cynthia #analysis #cynthia powell #john and cyn #best posts

[koolkat9]

FrUk Week 2021: Day2

@hetaliashipsweek

Prompt: Childhood/Old Age

Paring: FrUk

Word Count: 2012

The Luckiest Man Alive

They had been married for fifty years. It still was hard for Arthur to believe. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful, but at the back of his mind, there had always been that lingering thought that Francis would finally notice all his shortcomings and leave him. At least over the years, that voice had quieted immensely and Arthur learned to allow himself to be happy without worrying that it would be taken away from him.

If someone had told five-year-old Arthur that the annoying little French boy in his class would eventually become his lover, he would have kicked them in the shins. No way he could ever like someone as snobbish as Francis. The boy never failed to insult Arthur’s ‘fashion sense’ or steal his pencils. Then again it probably didn’t help that Arthur had the tendency to pull Francis’ hair and steal his books. By the first grade, things had escalated to the point the two physically and verbally fought on the daily. There were a lot of punches, bruises, and meetings with the principal during those elementary school years, but for some reason, they always kept coming back to each other.

Middle school rolled around and life got complicated. During the final years of elementary school, Arthur’s mother had been diagnosed with a serious illness. What that illness was was never revealed to Arthur even after her death, but that didn’t stop it from tearing the family apart. He had never gotten along with his brothers, but with their mother being in and out of the hospital and pressure being added onto all of them, especially Alister, they began taking out their stress on each other. They fought every day with some confrontations turning physical (on both ends). After a particularly bad fight, Arthur showed up to school with a black eye. At lunch Francis inquired about it, pushing him until he snapped and shoved Francis against the locker, hissing, “My mom’s sick and my brothers hate my guts so shut up or you’re going to be my punching bag.” 

For once, Francis was shocked, and instead of shoving Arthur back, his gaze softened as he said, “I’m so sorry to hear that Arthur.” Before he could do anything else, Arthur pulled away and took off down the hall. It wouldn’t be the last argument that ended with secrets being revealed. At least both had enough respect not to bring them up again.

By the time high school rolled around, the few friends Arthur had made over his childhood years had moved away or went to the other high school in town. The only person he knew going in was Francis and once more the two of them gravitated towards each other, but this time it wasn’t for a fight. Arthur was tired. His mother had passed away a month before school had started and the feeling of home left with her. The Brit had become a shell of his former self, often isolating himself in the school library during his free time and throwing himself into his school work. He didn’t socialize unless he had to for class and began avoiding Francis like the plague. It began to worry Francis and around Christmas of their first year, Francis cornered Arthur in the library, ready to get to the bottom of whatever was eating at his enemy. Surprisingly it was easier than he thought as the Brit quickly broke down and through tears began explaining everything. The fact his mom died, that he was sick and tired of arguing with his brothers and has been couch hopping for a couple of weeks because he didn’t want to go home, and every other minor inconvenience that had been building up in his life. 

Francis was stunned into silence, but before Arthur could run away like he always did when things got too personal, the French boy pulled him into a tight embrace. And Arthur let him, too tired for any struggle or to push his emotions deep down again. Francis had invited him to stay over that night and Arthur had accepted though he was hesitant. There were no arguments or fighting for once and instead they talked about other things, interests, classes, other normal teen stuff. It was nice and for the first time in the past three years, Arthur felt safe and comfortable. 

After that fateful day, fights between them grew few and far between. They still bickered and argued, but it was now a more friendly matter. Francis introduced Arthur to his new friends Antonio and Gilbert and the four would remain friends well into adulthood and even old age. They were annoying just like Francis, but they also cared about him and were there for him when he needed it. But he could really do without the constant jab that Francis and he were like ‘an old married couple.’

College is when Arthur’s feelings of friendship started becoming feelings of romantic love. Francis had found a cheap apartment not far from their school and the two decided to rent it together to save money. They fell into quite a domestic routine. Francis cooked for him since Arthur could never make anything not burnt while Arthur did the dishes. Francis did laundry while Arthur folded and put the clothes away. Arthur would go out to the small garden on their balcony and Francis would join him a few minutes later with water or juice and a little snack for them. Francis had a lot of morning classes so Arthur would wake him up with a cup of coffee or tea. Arthur finally felt at home and he realized he wanted to live with Francis for the rest of his life. He tried to deny it at first, but each time Francis smiled Arthur felt his insides melt and whenever he called his name in the soft moments of the evening, he imagined being called to cuddle with him. He loved Francis, but he was too scared of possibly losing him if his feelings became known. After all, their relationship had already been turbulent, why shake it up even more?

Although they may have been getting along better than they ever had, they were still Francis and Arthur, prideful through and through and unable to go too long without some form of argument. Things were starting to build up on Arthur again with school and his growing feelings and he was starting to become more snappy than normal. They had had a few of their friendly arguments before, but eventually, everything became too much and Arthur went off at Francis when the Frenchman pushed a little too hard. “I thought we told each other everything,” Francis screamed.

“Shut up!”

“No. Not until you get it through your thick skull that pushing things down until they boil over is not healthy. I don’t even know why I bother? You’ve never listen-”

Next thing either of them knew, Arthur had Francis pinned against the wall, silencing him with a heated, angry kiss. As soon as Arthur noticed what he was doing, he pulled away, but not enough to let Francis go. The Frenchman looked at him, cheeks red, hair a mess, and eyes wide. Without a word they leaned in once more, connecting their lips in a slow, sensual kiss. 

The following morning, Arthur awoke, wrapped up in Francis’ arms in Francis’ bed, clothes strewn around the room. For a moment, he allowed himself to admire the sleeping man next to him. Even with bedhead, Francis’ hair still looked beautiful and soft. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes closed, bare shoulder slightly exposed. He looked so peaceful and content which made Arthur’s heart flutter.

“Like what you see?” Francis asked, his eyes opening halfway and a soft smile spreading across his face. 

“Sh-Shut up.”

“Make me.” 

And Arthur did, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss on Francis’ lips. When he retreated back, embarrassment and doubt began setting. What did this mean now? Were they lovers? What if things didn’t end up well? He couldn’t bear to lose this man after everything they had been through. Maybe it was best to just forget what had happened and go back to being friends. 

“I-I don’t know if I can do this,” Arthur stuttered out. He pulled the covers up defensively, trying to avoid that kind loving gaze.

Francis was quiet for a moment and when Arthur stole a glance at him, he almost looked disappointed. “You know?” Francis began, his smile quickly returning, “We don’t have to call it anything you don’t want to. You liked what happened last night right?”

“I-I suppose…”

“I did too. Would you want to do more than just that? Like cuddle, kiss, and all that?”

Arthur was silent as he thought it over, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “If it makes it easier,” Francis continued, “I wouldn’t mind doing that kind of stuff, but if you don’t want to...I won’t push.”

Francis really was perfect. Attentive, loving, respectful when it mattered. What did he see in Arthur who just seemed to be a ball of anger and pent-up feelings? But the knowledge they wouldn’t be making this an official thing (at least not yet), put Arthur at ease and he decided to accept it. 

A couple months later, Arthur had worked up the courage to accept Francis’ offer of a date, and of course, being the thoughtful lover the man was, Francis provided him with the ideal date. They had gone to the park for a picnic lunch before heading to the theatre for a show. At night they cuddled up in Francis’ bed and fell asleep. It had been a pretty good day, but Arthur’s competitiveness had been sparked. Next date, he was planning it and he was going to impress Francis.

He got a reservation at the new French restaurant in town. Francis seemed to have enjoyed the food, but he said he could have always made such a meal at home. Arthur only rolled his eyes telling him that he was doing something nice for him so be grateful. Francis had giggled, making Arthur realize just how deep he was. It was exhilarating and a little nerve-wracking. After dinner, they headed out back to a garden area where a wishing well stood. “Do you have a coin?” Francis asked, peering into the well. 

“You’re lucky, here.” 

Francis pulled the coin to his chest closing his eyes before tossing it into the well with a plop. 

“What did you wish for?” Arthur asked, peering down into the well.

Francis brought a finger to his lips with a wink. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Arthur’s nostalgia trip was interrupted by a pair of arms snaking around his waist and a firm kiss being pressed into his neck.

“What are you doing mon amour?” Francis asked in a low voice.

“Just...reminiscing.” Arthur lifted his hand, admiring the silver band on his finger. “Who would have thought we’d be here, like this, all those years ago.”

Francis chuckled. “Mhm. At least my wish came true.”

Arthur twisted his head to get a better look at the man behind him“Are you talking about that one you made on our second date?”

“Oui.”

“And what was it?”

“I would marry and spend the rest of my life with you.”

“You big sap.”

“Peut-être, but you love me for it.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, you wound me,” Francis exclaimed, clutching his chest. 

The two lovers erupted into a fit of laughter before going in for a kiss. It was sweet and quick, matching the playful moment. I couldn’t last forever as Arthur noticed the time. “We better go pick up the boys from the airport,” he suggested,  “they’ll be landing soon.”

Francis planted one more kiss on his forehead, before taking Arthur’s hand and pulling him out the door. Truly, Arthur was the luckiest man in the world and he had over fifty years' worth of evidence to prove it.

#frukweek2021 #frukweek #hetalia #hws #fruk #ukfr #human au #hws france #hws england #fluff #angst #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #old age #childhood #nostaligia

[scatterpatter]

"Where's the essay OP" Said no one, and yet here I am

Lampy isn't stupid, he's neruodivergent: a rushed-together masterpost

Disclaimer: I'm not a liscened medical professional but I'm neurodivergent who's close to many neurodivergent people so I know when certain traits strike me as very familiar... Also tblt is my comfort movie I've seen it probably over 100 times, not exaggerating, so if anyone here's an expert on it, it's me.

I'm only going by the first movie because while To The Rescue and Goes To Mars probably have evidence to back me up, I don't feel like sitting down to watch them as I don't have them as memorized as the original

Point #1: Lampy is arguably the most intelligent appliance in the movie

Honestly it apalls me that so many are convinced that Lampy is an idiot when he displays some of the most intelligent traits in the movie. I'll just list off some of the most important scenes that show this

1: When discussing a way to get to the city, Lampy comes up with plans that end up failing, true. But we should also consider that not only did Radio and Toaster come up with bad plans before deciding on the swivel chair, but 2/3 of Lampy's ideas involved the same mechanic: on something with wheels(yes the mattress had wheels for some reason) being powered by Kirby

2: "From here you can see the really big lamp!" This scene is simply due to the appliances being sheltered from the outside world. Lampy displays the same level of naive-ness as everyone else: Radio seems earnest in calling the sun a "really big lamp", and Kirby calls the grass "shag carpet". Lampy is not at a lower intelligence in this scene, he's exactly at the same level as everyone else

3: The scene with the storm really sells his intelligence. The appliances have a rudimentary understanding of electricity, most likely from being appliances, but Lampy displays an excelled level of understanding by sacrificing himself for the battery. He understands that batteries are powered by electricity, lightning is electricity, and by using himself as a lightning rod, he acts as the conductive metal to easily transfer this energy from the bolt to the battery. Technically this should have overcharged and fried the battery but we'll suspend disbelief for the sake of this movie.

4: He knew that stacking the appliances to roughly human height, creating a dark environment with ominous sounds, and putting Toaster at eye-level to scare the human with his own reflection... Again, this is an intelligent understanding of how to scare a human

5: It's unclear on whose idea it was to look up Rob in a phone book, however this shows that not only can Lampy read(most likely picked up from being Rob's reading light), ESPECIALLY when Toaster struggles to read, but also has an understanding of phone books, addresses, and finding humans based on family names. I cannot stress how intelligent this is for a sentient desk lamp

There's a few more minor examples, but these are the biggest cases. Lampy is intelligent.

Point #2: Lampy struggles with social cues and doesn't empathize as easily as others

My biggest point here is when people think neruodivergents are "dumb" for having trouble picking up on things like sarcasm when that just... isn't the case. A few notable examples include:

1: When Air Conditioner says "You're a real bright little lamp", Lampy doesn't pick up the sarcasm and thinks he's being complimented. Though he definitely shows a level of emotional intelligence because he looks to Toaster to confirm "hey I was complimented", sees they're still looking angry, and gets the hint that he was insulted without someone needing to explicitly tell him that, to which he then responds with "Heyyy >:("

2: Sometimes he's able to read the room and pick up on tones, but other times he shows a level of emotional density. Legitimately not knowing if Rob had returned even when seeing Blanky disappointed to the point of near tears... But then knowing "brains wouldnt hurt either" was a jab at their intelligence and reacting with appropriate annoyance... But also when Radio says "Things could be worse!", doesn't realize he's just saying that to make Toaster feel better and asks "How could they be worse?"

3: He bullies Blanky alongside Radio and the others, unclear if he's actually being a jerk or just "oh this is what everyone else is doing so this is the normal way to act", but he's legitimately confused when Toaster tries to explain why they're suddenly being nice to him. He doesn't get the "now I feel better" argument because his argument was "Well you were never this nice to him before". Even when Toaster tries to explain why it feels nice, it just doesn't click... until Toaster finds a way to explain that connects personally to Lampy's own emotional state. He has trouble empathizing until realizing "oh this is like this thing that I feel sometimes"

4: Something I've noticed when gathering evidence is that more than once, Lampy goes "Wow..." After someone gloats about themself(Twice with Radio, once with the Computer). It's clear by the third time, when Radio goes "What does that mean?" And Lampy responds "I don't know. [To Computer] What does that mean?" That he doesn't even know what's being gloated about, let alone why he should be impressed. He has the emotional intelligence to recognize when someone's gloating and the "appropriate" response of amazement, but it seems like it never comes from a place of earnest. (While Neurotypicals can and do engage in "performative" behavior, I tend to notice this way more commonly with neurodivergents)

Also the "wow..." Performative thing is VERY reminiscent of Peridot from Steven Universe(a characters who many autistic fans see themselves in and the creator herself saying she doesn't consider Peridot or any of the gems to be neurotypical) going "wow thanks" as her default "this is how I've been taught to show gratitude" response

Point #3: Miscellaneous traits that could be neurodivergent

These traits COULD be interpreted as neurodivergent, but I will admit they could also be interpreted as something else so like take these with a grain of salt

1: Lampy appears to have sensory needs. When sleeping, he needs to tap a rock a few times(presumably to make sure it's "right") before clonking his head on it. It's interesting because rocks aren't a very "lamp" thing whatsoever, and none of the other appliances look for pillow-ish objects to rest on, so this could be a sensory thing.

2: Lampy has an interesting vocal quirk: repetition of phrases at the beginning and end of a sentence. Instances include "How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly?" "All of a sudden you're being so darn nice to him all of a sudden" "The fact is there's just not enough facts" The third one is a bit of a stretch but the first two seem to indicate a possible pattern of speech. Part of me wants to say this could be a verbal tic or some type of verbal stimming, but I've never met anyone who has a tic or stim like this so I can't say it's a neurodivergent thing with confidence, but I wanted to mention this quirk regardless.

3: Physically saying how he feels. Two instances where multiple characters are laughing, Lampy speaks while laughing "That's funny - I'm dying!" "I'm aching with joy!". It's just interesting that no one else speaks while laughing and for whatever reason, Lampy needs to verbalize "Yes I find this very funny" as if simply laughing along isn't enough. I've seen somewhat similar stuff in neurodivergents who have issues expressing emotions implicitly so they state them explicitly instead.

4: I've noticed Lampy isn't touchy... except with Radio. Some neurodivergent people can have issues with physical contact, which could explain that. But I've also noticed that Radio also gives me huge neurodivergent vibes... But more importantly Radio is extremely touchy with everyone, Lampy included, hence them often getting into physical fights but also just- tapping them or wrapping a cord around the other and pulling him close(they're so in love but that's a post on its own). A possible explanation is Lampy having issues with touching others, but either feels comfortable being touchy with Radio(due to emotional bonds and trust) or simply recognizes "Radio likes being touchy so I should be touchy back". A stretch of an argument, I'll admit, but I think the interpretation is there and valid.

In conclusion

I mean idk if Lampy was written to be neurodivergent or if the writers just wanted him to be "quirky" and accidentally gave him a lot of neurodivergent traits, but he reads as very neurodivergent to me(probably autistic or adhd but I'm not a professional and can't diagnose him). But while I can chalk up neruodivergency being one of many possible interpretations of his character, I WILL argue that he's not "stupid" given the evidence we see throughout the movie

Tl;Dr: Lampy is evidently intelligent, but sometimes struggles with social cues, empathy, and overall shows numerous traits of neurodivergency

#tblt #lampy #tblt lampy #long post #I'm right and I should say it /j #the brave little toaster

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 10: Whats up with Yoshi?

Summary: While Raphael tries to calm down with the help of Splinter, Donnie has a talk with Leonardo about Yoshi.

Tags: @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry @brightlotusmoon @rottmnt-addict

Leonardo stood up just as suddenly as Raphael had, leaving his plate at the table as he stormed out of the kitchen.

“Leo!” Donatello was the next to stand, hurrying after his brother.

Michelangelo didn't react. He just as stiff and speechless as his guests were. His expression broke. His lip began quivering as he tucked into himself and started to cry. Tears came heavy and fast; Raph was the quickest out of his seat and ushered to the box turtle’s comfort, wrapping Michelangelo in arms as big as he was. Michelangelo leaned into the hug, resting his head against Raph’s neck and curling his body into a tight ball that the older shinobi could easily embrace.

“Perhaps we… overstepped our bounds…” Splinter said slowly, his eyes holding nothing but patient understanding toward the young teen. “I apologize for causing such emotional distress…”

Michelangelo wanted to respond, but the tears wouldn’t stop to let the words through. Instead, he just leaned his weight further into his friend to hide away from the world.

***

Raphael needed to calm down. He needed to breathe and think somewhere away from questions, even the ones left unsaid. His hands were shaking too badly for the accuracy needed to knit, and when he had tried all he succeeded in doing was clacking the needles together and making nothing more than a tangled wad of yarn. Busywork always seemed to help, so that’s what he fell to doing. He settled on making up Michelangelo’s room for the brotherly sleepover that Michelangelo was so excited for. It would be cramped quarters, but he was sure they could all fit in Michelangelo’s race car bed with a little maneuvering; Raphael even had his own rubber sleeper shell so his spikes wouldn’t hurt them in the night! The bed had been a birthday gift from Donatello the previous year, and Michelangelo himself had handled the decorations of the wooden frame. As one would expect, it was just as vibrant as Mikey was.

There came a gentle knock at the open door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Splinter said in that soft, humble voice of his.

“Uh… n-no, just some... “ Raphael let out a long breath and motioned vaguely toward the blankets and pillows he had assembled into a comfortable nest. He couldn’t find the words, so he melted away into low mumbles.

“I see.” Splinter nodded, “It looks very comfortable. Are you sure you don’t mind sharing your rooms?”

Raphael shrugged. “Eh, it’s whatever. Mikey loves sleepovers, so…” Raphael bit his lip out of habit and rubbed his arm.

“Still, I appreciate your generosity.” He approached Raphael at a slow gait and held out his paw near Raphael, but not quite touching him, allowing Raphael to take that final reach if he so choosed; and he did. Splinter ran a finger carefully across the far-larger hand, his expression a splitting smile. “I’m sorry if my family overstepped our boundaries at supper. Leonardo is simply… eager to get back home, as we all are.”

“No no no, it’s not your fault!” Raphael quickly reassured. “I know how Leo’s can get when they’re antsy.

Splinter gave a cheerful laugh. “Yes; I suppose my son and your brother are more alike than we initially realized.”

“Yeah, especially recently...” Raphael caught himself. He growled, swiping at his face trying to clear the cloud in his mind. “Sorry. Just a lot on my mind right now.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded, “I understand completely.”

Raphael sat down with enough force to shake the room; Splinter sat down beside him.

“Your father is… unwell?” Splinter asked cautiously.

“Erm…” Raphael pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful grunt. “Uh. Physically he’s as well as he can be— Leo and Don make sure of that.”

“But mentally?” Splinter prompted.

Raphael couldn’t answer. It was all he could do to shake his head and give a weak, gasping sob, though no tears came to match. Almost out of habit, Raphael pressed his weight into Splinter and rested his head on the old rat’s shoulders; Splinter carried the burden of Raphael with little trouble, carefully shushing the mutant's sobs while stroking his carapace.

“There there, it is alright.” Splinter soothed. “I can imagine how difficult it is to care for your father while maintaining your duties at the same time.”

“It is.” Raphael shook his broad head. “And… and I try to balance things so we can do both, but Leo’s just making it so hard! We’re yelling at each other all the time, Donnie holes up in his bedroom, and Mikey is just so sad. I don’t know what to do…”

“Hey, easy…” Splinter stroked the unscarred side of Raphael’s face, “You will figure it out. Would I be overzealous to ask about…?”

“Uh.” Raphael took a deep breath to think. “We took him to a yokai specialist that uh… said LBD or something like that. Protein deposits in the brain or nerve cells or whatever. I… kinda blanked out.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded, “It is only natural.”

“Leo handles all of that medical stuff anyway.” Raphael waved a dismissive hand, “Doctor appointments, physical therapy, stuff like that…”

“You’re awfully lucky you have all those options.” Splinter said, “Perhaps we could get Michelangelo checked out— my son, I mean. Donatello is wonderful with him, but internet searches and medical books can only go so far.”

There was no verbal response, but Raphael grunted and nodded with eyes averted. Splinter frowned and lowered his head to meet the snapping turtle’s gaze, smile just as patient.

“Do you agree, Raphael?”

Raphael shrugged. “I dunno. I mean— it’s worked so far for us. I get that Leo wants dad to have all these specialists and these caregivers and—and I understand that dad needs the care, but it’s expensive and we can do half that stuff by ourselves! If dad really needs something then it’s not an issue, but Leo keeps wasting all this time and money to get the same exact answer! It’s stupid!”

“I see.” Splinter nodded, “I understand that pride may be a difficult thing to overcome with something so personal…”

“And it’s not just the appointments!” It was nice to have someone to talk to, an unbiased source, so Raphael just kept talking. He could feel a weight lifting off of his shoulders and chest. “Leo’s has it in his head that dad needs a full-time nurse!”

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know…” Raphael shook his head, “I mean, I can’t really stand the thought of some stranger coming here and… trusting someone we don’t know with taking care of dad.”

“You’re untrusting of strangers…”

“Well, yeah. We’ve been pretty sheltered most of our lives. All of this… out in the open stuff is really new to us.”

“It is a valid worry.” Splinter reassured, “Is there any alternative?”

“I don’t see why we can’t do what we’ve been doing! You know— take turns staying behind to take care of dad.”

“You would split up the team…”

“I mean… it’s for dad! And it’s what we’ve been doing for the past two months, and it’s worked out great! Leo just doesn’t want to put in the work…”

“I’m certain that’s not what it is at all!” Splinter insisted, “You said Leonardo was taking your father to all of these appointments! That doesn’t seem lazy to me!”

“It’s lazy when it gets him out of training and patrol constantly.” Raphael said bitterly.

“Ah.” Splinter understood, “Well, why not take turns accompanying Yoshi?”

“I tried that; Leo’s the only one who knows enough about this stuff to fill in the doctor's.”

“Your Donatello isn’t of help?”

“Not with medical science. He’s more of a tech nerd.”

“My Donatello is much of a… jack of all trades, if you would. Perhaps during our stay he could help out.”

“You think he would?” Raphael had a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I don’t see why not. I will ask him about it in the morning.”

“Thanks.” Raphael breathed, his smile coming back with a more genuine emotion, “Gee, we really owe you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“We didn't help you boys just to get something owed.” Splinter stated, “It was just the right thing to do.”

“I know!” Raphael insisted, “And helping you guys is the right thing for us to do!

“You are a very kind soul, Raphael, and I am so thankful that me and my sons had this place to turn to in our hour of need. Friends to rely on.”

Raphael took Splinter’s hands in his. “You’re always welcome here! We would have visited sooner but… life happened.”

“Do not be guilty, young Raphael. Guilt does not suit those eyes well.”

Raphael rumbled a laugh. “I’ll try to remember that.”

~~~

“Hey.” Donnie opened the closet to find Leonardo sitting inside; he closed the door and joined Leonardo, having to pull his knees tight to his chest to cram all seven feet of him inside.

“Hey.” Leonardo muttered, hardly acknowledging Donnie’s presence.

“Your Donnie’s looking for you, you know.”

“How’d you find me first, then?”

Donnie shrugged. “I’m a ninja. Do you… wanna talk about what happened?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Leonardo scoffed, almost laughing, “You saw what went down. There’s nothing more to it.”

“Oh, I think there is.” Donnie said; when Leonardo looked in the box turtles eyes, he was met with the cold, cobra stare that Donnie was known for. “I’m curious. Enlighten me.”

Leonardo gulped. “Just… the past six months have been an… all-round crap fest. Just one thing after the other— it’s exhausting! And arguing with Raph doesn’t make things any better.”

“Haven’t you and your Raph always butted heads?”

“Not like this!  Not every day— and not so violent! Not over something as important as this… as important as dad.”

“Do you know what caused it?” Donnie asked vaguely, but he trusted in Leonardo to know what he was talking about.

“It’s LBD.” Leonardo shook his head, “Doc says so.”

Donnie frowned. “LBD shouldn’t have progressed so quickly. You said it’s only been six months?”

“Five months, and that’s since he was diagnosed, not since it developed.” Leonardo corrected, “He’s had it for a long time we just… didn't notice. Little things like… forgetting our names and mixing up who was who…”

“That would have been around the same time as your injury, right?” Donnie asked, “I mean, I can only estimate given how much you’ve healed.”

“Yeah, right after it.” Leonardo took a shaky breath.

“That must have been… difficult to handle?”

“Raph… struggled a lot.” Leonardo’s voice began to waver, “I… let’s just say I was MIA for a while. I… wasn’t there when… But he got through it. We’ll get through this too. Always do.”

“You have access to doctor's, don’t you?” Donnie said, “Neurologists, geriatricians, physicians?”

Leonardo nodded, “All of those. And I’ve been looking into palliative care, but it’s… hard to find all this stuff in the Hidden City. Yokai illness and human aren’t the same and… and dad’s isn’t either of those.” 

“It sounds like you’re doing everything right to me.” Donnie assured.

“Try telling that to Raph! I told him that we needed a nurse to help us stay on top of this whole thing, and he nearly blew a gasket. He’s too proud to admit that we need help.”

“Pride is a dangerous thing.” Donnie agreed, “How can I help?”

“No.” Leonardo shook his head, “This is personal business. You don’t need to get involved.”

“Leon.” Donnie’s voice dripped with venom.

“D-don’t you do it.”

“Leon.” Donnie leaned closer to Leonardo, his eyes wide and slitted  as he hissed out the words in a slow voice, “How... can I... help…?”

“You can start by not looking at me like that!” Leonardo shoved Donnie away and shivered.

Donnie blinked and his eyes were back to normal. “You’re not in this alone, Leon, and I won’t let you think that you are. Just know that.”

#what’s up with Yoshi? #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles #beyond the bay

[taikanyohou]

Hey faiza I hope you dont mind sharing, but if you do you can ignore this ask, I wouldnt mind.

I have a younger sister who's recently diagnosed with autistism and I've tried to do research regarding it but I still feel helpless and that somehow I'll mess up. She's still growing and I want her to call home a safe place cause she has trouble with the outside world since there isnt a lot of awareness about autism here. Can you please guide me a bit? How you guys handle stuff at home? Any reading material that helped you. Thank you

hiiii anon!!! that's fine! honestly it was hard. bc my brother is the only boy from us all, and we're 4 siblings. there's me as the eldest, then my sister, then my brother and then my youngest sister. so at first, my parents just thought that bc was my brother was the only boy, that he might be developing a lot slower than me and my sister did as girls, but that eventually at the age of 2 or 3, he'd catch up. he didnt.

and my mum was the first one to sorta catch on that something didnt feel right. so after the health visitor inspected my brother and he got assessed, my brother got diagnosed with autism at the age of 3. my dad was a little reluctant at first to accept it, bc no one in my family history (either from my mum or dad's side) have autism or any type of special educational needs or disabilities, so my parents didnt really Know how to handle this all. but then my dad, after some time, came round.

and its not easy at all. it still isnt even though he's 23 now. but we've had a lot of support from different professionals, who are a whole team that have stuck with my brother at various points in his life, like his speech and language therapist or his educational psychologist or his medical staff or his teachers or his social worker etc. so they've always supported us and given us guidance and sent my parents to various courses - like triple p, something i hiiiiiiighly recommend. as a teacher, i also look into team teach, but i'd recommend even that too tbh, as a way to help and learn about de-escalation, and how you can positively help your sister in her education and broader sense of learning. another thing we also use is PECS - its honestly v v v useful for most children with autism as it helps them visualise their routine/timetable for the day/planned activities, but it also helps in allowing them to express what or how they feel, like hunger or fatigue, and helps them communicate their needs to you, if you help them understand what the visual cards represent.

for my brother, we've always had him have his own bedroom, and thats his private space to cool off and calm down that we rarely go in. my brother's non verbal, so he really has struggled with communication. we know a bit of BSL (sign language) and that helped when he was a kid, but as he grew, his school and his teachers slowly got him to begin speaking. he now only speaks in 3 or 4 word strings, not full sentences, but its a huge development!

my brother's really into disney, so he has a collection of disney books and films in his bedroom. what i'm saying is that get the time to explore what your sister's interests and hobbies are, and make her safe space one that holds her interests to help her feel secure. my brother isnt very into sensory textured things, so food isn't a huge issue with him, but for your sister, explore what textures she likes and what she doesnt. we dont ever force my brother into something he doesnt want to do, and sometimes that can mean cancelling plans last minute as a whole family too, which can be quite upsetting. so sometimes what helps is telling my brother well in advance that we're planning to do xyz on such a day, so that on that day, he isnt overcome with anxiety, bc most children with autism need a set routine, and if that gets disrupted, then they will behave anxiously. so now, when we have to go to a wedding or go out to eat, we tell my brother a week or so in advance, and he's okay with that.

but also, build some independence and decision making in them! let them choose what clothes they want to wear, what food they want to eat, whether they want to do english or maths today etc. sometimes things can become overwhelming and they do hit or bite or pinch or throw things. thats the moment where you just say a firm No and step away. let them cool off, and that will give you a chance to cool off too.

and always make sure YOU are okay too. if it gets too much, speak to your family. make sure different people are with your sister, because it can be physically difficult and mentally emotional. if you want to rest one day and have that day for yourself, tell someone in your family in advance and have some me time, and that will give a different family member a chance to spend time with your sister. that will help your sister build more relationships too! some days, my brother doesnt even wanna see my face, and thats ok! he spends that day with my other sisters or my parents or he'll go out with my cousin or sometimes, just by himself, bc they need that too.

and if you just tell someone, if you are going out somewhere, that you have a family member that has autism, you'll be surprised with how accommodating people are, and that helps so so much as opposed to not telling and then you'll get stressed and anxious too. like, sometimes, crowds and big spaces stress my brother out, even now, for example at a wedding we recently went to. but we told the person who invited us about my brother, and they said its absolutely no problem whatsoever if my brother needs to step out for a bit to get some fresh air or if he needs to be fed first etc. and in the same vein, i'd say to keep your conversations with you and your sister's "team" (her school teachers etc) ongoing, so that everyone is on the same page. for example, if you were to go on holiday or implement a new habit or try something new with your sister, if your sister's whole "team" knows about this, then you are all on the same page, and will help build that new change for your sister.

its honestly a learning experience that will never end, if i were to be honest. and some days its so .... hard. and other days its the most heartwarming thing you'll ever experience. make sure you take care of yourself, including speaking to someone if gets too much, so you can take care of your sister. and soon enough you yourself with just ... develop a sixth sense for who and what your sister wants or doesnt want and who or what she does or doesnt need.

🧡

#faiza answers #sorry this is super long but i hope it helps! 🧡

[itstheelvenjedi]

TW: ableism, bullying, violence, very ranty, some ableist slurs (they’re not written out but they’re mentioned in-context/as I talk about what I’ve experienced over the years, fuck off, don’t be a clown)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot this weekend specifically, had a convo with dad in the car that ended up being sorta a little bit triggering ig that set it off.

No one ever talks about how alienating it is to grow up disabled. I’ve always been disabled, from the moment I was old enough to have memories of anything, my legs have been messed up. And it’s never gotten better, it’s only gotten worse. And even tho I wasn’t officially diagnosed till I was 21, I’ve always been neurodivergent growing up. But I didn’t have that diagnosis, so I grew up thinking that there was something horribly wrong with me. That it was my fault that I was hyper-interested in things that were “unimportant” to other prepubescent children my age and absolutely not interested in the other things (that was also the closet queer showing but that’s not as relevant to this particular talk post so I’m not gonna dwell on it) And no one likes to talk about what it’s like to deal with that. Because the truth is it’s a lot of SHIT.

How everyone’s default, whether abled people or even other disabled people is always “someone has it worse, stop making excuses so you don’t have to do stuff”

As if we enjoy not being able to do these things and it’s not, you know....incredibly dehumanising, upsetting and FRUSTRATING to not be able to do the simplest fucking thing for yourself without help. Cause unless you have money coming out your ass and can pay for any and all adaptations you need then you’re in trouble (I’ve been having these issues with the local ppl for years and I’m sick to death of it)

I KNOW the situation for SSI/SSDI or whatever it’s called in the states is worse and at least we have the NHS here, but that should not invalidate bad experiences that disabled people here have to go through too.

Like the people doing the “disability assessments” being a bunch of able-bodied pencil pushers who will sit there and tell you that “you’re not trying hard enough” to do something that they take for granted which is literally impossible for you and that’s the fucking point of it. Or that they do not seem to understand what the phrase “from birth” fucking means. It means I was born like this and I will DIE like this, jackass. So it’s not going to “need different care in 3 years time so you’ll have to do another assessment”

You know what’s more harmful for us? Having to re-apply with the same motherfucking information every 3 years, when nothing has changed. It’s stressful as fuck, and it’s humiliating as fuck too! I’m sick and tired of being told it’s “necessary” for me to have to basically take an exam every 3 years to “prove I struggle enough with my disability” just so I can get aid to pay for the help that I need to survive.

Trust me, I’d rather be fucking working a “proper” job too, but nobody wants to make allowances for my shortcomings and I’m done with making my pain and injuries worse than they already are just to please fucking ableds. I’m done with being a “volunteer” who’s expected to do part-time hours for no pay while I get verbally abused for “not doing a good enough job” because what I did was the best I’m physically able to fucking give you, Susan, I’m fucking crippled.

And for the most part I think I’m over the early trauma from my school years, but nobody ever talked about, or prepared me for, the physical and verbal abuse I’d endure from my classmates for shit I literally couldn’t control.

I still feel weird calling anybody a “friend” tbh, and it takes me a long time trusting people, because my “friends” during my formative years were just nice to my face so they could then get “more material” to take to the rest of the school so they could mock me and call me slurs (like the r word, the s word, and “weirdo” and “fucking freak”, and “the one who runs like an s-word horse”)

Or how I had to literally be taken out of PE/Gym lessons for my own fucking protection because the team that “lost” because they got “stuck with the fucking s word/r word freak” (me) lost, and I’d get the shit beaten out of me for....not being able bodied ig?? I’m sorry it’s so problematic for you, ableds. I hate it too.

I hate that I spent so much of my childhood with internalised ableism where I’d either feel like I shouldn’t exist at all, or I’d wish “my disability was worse and I’d be in a wheelchair, because then at least people would take me seriously and not hurt me as much”.

And I hate how nobody, but ESPECIALLY abled people, wants to acknowledge this shit. How the first response to disabled and disabled + ND people talking about the impact their symptoms have on their life is

“well someone else has it worse” or “well it’s not ACTUALLY that bad”

tw: capslock and cussing

_________________________________________________________

BITCH. HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU’RE ABLE-BODIED, YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO WORRY ABOUT THIS SHIT A DAY IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE!!! YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT HOW MUCH PAIN I’M IN 24/7 AND HOW IT ENTIRELY AFFECTS MY DAY-TO-DAY LIFE AND ABILITY TO DO SIMPLE THINGS LIKE FUCKING EAT, BATHE, EXERCISE, DRIVE  AND EVEN SOCIALISE ETC. YOU DON’T. KNOW. SHIT.

_________________________________________________________

end of capslock

And the fact that my own dad is doing that shit, and gets arsey about it when I call him out on it, was very upsetting.

“It’s not your disability actually it’s the neurodivergence and if you just learnt to mask better you’d cope more”

as if my ND status has anything to do with my physical disability which causes me constant pain, even ON pain meds.

The pain meds don’t take the pain away,  motherfucker, they just tamp it down to a level where it’s (most of the time) “managable” and I can still attempt to do things in spite of the pain. But it still takes effort, a lot of effort, way more effort than you, an able-bodied person, have to put into doing the same thing.

The best that I can give as a disabled person is never “good enough”, because abled people will always assume that because they can do something easily/without thinking about it, that anyone else can and anyone who says they can’t is just LAZY, or STUPID or BOTH

I could probably honestly go on and on about this a lot more but I’d be talking mostly in circles at this point so I’m gonna stop myself here.

OK to RB, other disabled people feel free to add to this. Ableds CAN (and are encouraged) to reblog too but KEEP YOUR FUCKING PIEHOLES CLOSED. Thank u

#long post #elven screams into the void #elven rants #tw: ableism #tw: bullying #tw: violence #tw: slurs #tw: ableist slurs #ask to tag #i think i got them all but if i've missed anything please ask and i'll add it #hi i'm very salty and i needed to infodump so have this ig #idk man #i'm salty/angry. very much so. #if anybody reblogs this and tags it as q slur i'm going to riot #don't you DARE

[glitteryhellhole]

Doc being Doc 2/?

In which father-son conversation happens after the emotional rollercoaster of 10K getting anthrax, mercying Cassandra and then guest starring on the Sketchy & Skeezy Show.

Fandom: Z nation  Word count: approx 890 Warnings: Discussion of death, Doc-typical drug use Nothing NSFW but my blog is 18+ so interact at your own discretion

10K is pulling faces at his own reflection in his goggles, poking at the mark on his jaw where the anthrax blisters aren't quite healed yet.

“I wouldn't worry too much.” Doc sits down on the ground beside him. “The ladies dig a guy with battle scars. The ones you haven't seen die, anyway.”

10K says nothing.

“What, did I touch a sore spot?”

This earns him an eye roll.

Doc takes a big sip from his water bottle. “For real though. I know what's on your mind. We can talk about it if you want.”

10K scrunches up his nose, scratching under his chin. “I think its starting to get stubbly under here.” He tilts the goggles. “Yeah. A little bit.”

“Beards are pretty good hiding places you know.” Doc settles himself more comfortably on the dusty ground, knowing the kid will open up when he's ready.

It doesn't take long. “I knew you'd come find me. I appreciate it.”

Doc chuckles. “Don't know why you'd need to count on me. You'll survive anything.”

“Yeah but.” 10K places the goggles back on his head, and rubs a hand through his hair which sticks up at several different angles. “You're always there. Everyone else was ready to leave me. It feels nice.”

Doc ruffles the boy's hair, managing to flatten a few strands momentarily. “You're family to me. We don't leave each other behind.”

“I didn't want to feel anything.” The words come tumbling out unrehearsed, as 10K stares resolutely at nothing. “With Cassandra. It was just like my Dad. I didn't care whether I'd ever feel happy again,  nothing mattered anymore. Except having a mission.”

“We've all got feelings. I know you try to bury yours under the number but you can't force yourself to not have a good heart anymore.”

Doc watches 10K blink slowly, which he does when he's trying to process a compliment.

There's a rustling sound and an ancient, half-eaten packet Of biscuits drops onto the ground in front of them.

“Dinner is served.” Warren announces. She clocks 10K's stare and raises an eyebrow at Doc, who nods. She knows to leave them for a while, and retreats.

“Hey.” He nudges the kid's shoulder with his, and reaches for the biscuits. “You must be hungry.”

“Is it really okay?” 10K asks, his fingers twitching as he hugs his knees to his chin. “To feel again. I don't wanna be distracted, but I don't wanna shut anyone out either.”

Doc mulls this over as he chews a stale cookie. “I worked with addicts for a long time after I stopped being one. Some of 'em wanted to numb the pain any way they could. Others said that they didn't feel anything at all and they'd do anything to be happy, or even sad, just something.”

10K reaches slowly for a biscuit. “I'm not an addict. I'm not sure what I am.”

“Human.” he states simply in reply.

They eat their way down to the bottom of the packet in silence, but its companionable. Doc has picked up by now that 10K isn't always great at verbal communication- in the societal aspect at least. Actually, he always says exactly what he means to say, and that's something of a blessing.  His facial expressions give away a lot too, and body language. Others might not pick up on it but Doc spent most of his pre-Z life doing this.

What would he diagnose, if this were his patient? Obviously he isn't qualified to do that as a counsellor, but in many cases a loosely-applied label would make it easier for him to give the most appropriate treatment, without the client worrying about being put in a box for the rest of their life. PTSD would be the first option. Though the “post” is a bit defunct when every single day there is a new narrow escape, a new grotesque corpse, a new horror being committed. And perhaps the word “disorder” is wrong too- as though there's a socially acceptable way of adapting to this shit stain of a world, and any other is maladaptive.

“I dunno.” He says aloud. “Keep counting. Keep working on growing that stubble. Keep kicking ass. Or stop. You won't find your answers out here, they're inside you.”

“Thanks.” 10K gives a lop-sided smile. Now that he's eaten, he's beginning to succumb to exhaustion. Big shadows under eyes too young and too kind to have seen what they've seen.

“And of course I came looking for ya I don't know what I'd do without you, kid.”

Warren's voice interrupts their moment. “Time to move! We ride for as long as we can and then continue on foot.”

Doc makes a bit of a show of struggling to stand. “Hey, any seats in the back? My back's kicking up a stink from all that rowing.”

“Sure thing, old timer. She winks. “Murphy, you go in the trailer with Vasquez. Keep your hood up.”

They haven't been on the road for long before 10K is claimed by sleep. Doc watches the little facial twitches, fluttering eyelids, that indicate troublesome dreams. Perhaps a little Z-weed would help that. But only a little. Don't want the kid whiting out when there's stuff to shoot.

“Man,” He says quietly to himself, “This parenting thing don't get easier.”

<<< I really did not mean for this to end up as an angst fest. There will likely be a follow-up where Doc gives a lesson in self-medication and shenanigans ensue

#z nation #z nation fic #z nation doc #z nation 10k #doc #10k

[batz]

i am curious!!!! i have a Hard Time fully getting characters speech patterns down but ur??? rly good at that!!! (w the posts that uve made/rbed around talking abt whod say what that ive read and gone 'OHH' at bc it Explained A Pattern In A Way I Could Get) n i was curious if there were any specific thing abt the diff characters speech patterns that ud picked up on!!!

ok so this is probs the least useful response i could give and im Sory but its legit just bc of my autism. like i cant exactly remember what the doc said but she essentially said like. my verbal comprehension skill just rly high to th point that it makes me weird (whch is why i got diagnosed w Weird Disorder HDJDHD) and my ability to kinda Absorb how ppl speak is like adjacent to that according 2 her? bc how i mask is literally by just adopting ppls speech patterns On Purpose bc legit i have no fuckn clue how to talk otherwise LOL

ANYWAY thats why dialogue makes a whole lotta sense to me. im able to easily catch on to how ppl n characters speak and little patterns and stuff, ESP w hlvai characters..! although benrey is a pain in the ASS ive been trying to figure him out for the last little bit but he kinda wavers a lot. i also just practice writing dialogue a whole lot which helps.

i guess the best way to figure out dialogue is find those speech patterns, like uh. when and how long they pause between words, how they annunciate certain words, tone of voice, how speech patterns change depending on who the character is talking to, etc!

its pretty easy to accidentally fall into like... like bubby swearing every sentence even though he actually doesnt swear a whole lot (just a lot compared to the rest of the group, and often only towards gordon or after something scares him). or benrey being constantly antagonistic but in a way that makes sense (calling gordon cringe or havin gamer moments or w/e) when hes actually antagonistic in a way that involves him like, doing a comedic bit that specifically holds gordon back his current goal (passport/foot scanner hd/the drive thru bit). hes like the long lost 4th warner sibling in that regard. but yEAH its good to catch on if you're falling too far into almost a stereotypical version of their charactr!!! (i accidentally still do ths so yEah it can be tough, esp when hlvai characters have very distinct personalities.)

like you find those consistencies and you should be able to branch out from there and see how theyd talk in Other situations. like honestly the best way to practice writing preexisting characters in regards to diakogue is place them in wildly different scenarios and try to imagine how theyd react.

with hlvai, bc of the source material being v restrictive to, well, half life video game funny show, its natural that the characters r gonna be a little ooc in like. domestic settings. esp ones with potential emotional moments. but its moreso how u work around it ig!!!

idk tho like im jus winging it w dialogue you'll probs find better clearer anwers frm like idk Dialogue People™ HFJDDJ uhhh i could potentially write a more coherent post abt how i kinda work around ths but idk i lazy

#like honestly just practice a whole lot writing dialogue n go thru what u write n if something sounds off just fix it #find a way to alter it so it sounds more like the character! #my struggle w benrey is often bc its hard to write down his pauses in dialogue. like the mouth smacking and the pauses 2 breathe #OHHH or when his voice 'halts' i guess? like uh #like the drive thru bit he did. 'we have big mac and - four - frEEsh - fries for youuunnOOOT anymore though.' #he actually does that a LOT like his brain short circuits for a moment and he stumbles over his words and its kinda weird to replicate #bc it operates purely on The Rule Of Funny and its just fuckn WEIRD #frank.txt #sorry this probably doesnt help i have no idea how to explain ths fhdjddhd

[adhd-sorcha]

hi again! thank you for answering my last ask, it was super helpful! since you mentioned stimming not being one of the main symptoms to look for in adhd, what are better symptoms to watch out for? i think i've got the inattentive type of adhd, or maybe combination. i hope i'm not asking too many questions or bothering you too much! :)

Hello again! There’s absolutely no problem with asking plenty of questions. All of this stuff can be difficult to navigate on your own.

Just for anyone who’s unfamiliar, ADHD traits are broken into two main categories: 1) Inattentive 2) Hyperactive/Impulsive Depending on where most of your traits lie, your ADHD will be classed as predominantly inattentive, predominantly hyperactive/impulsive or combined. Generally, you’ll get one of the ‘predominantly’ diagnoses if you only meet the diagnostic criteria for one of the two categories.

Here is  a link to a PDF of the DSM 5 entry for ADHD

Here is a link to the criteria on another web page (Not a PDF. This has slightly more simplified wording. At the end of the page there is a link to a PDF of a screener used for ADHD assesments in adults. It’s interesting to read as it goes through each of the 18 DSM criteria and lists examples of behaviours that those criteria refer to. Handy! Because it’s not always clear what exactly counts as a yes or a no with the DSM...)

Now, that’s just some reading you could do, but I’ll give a short list of what I think are the big ones to watch out for as someone who has the inattentive sub-type.

1) Difficulty with tasks that require sustained focus  - Like...writing posts? ...ehe. - Or essays. Or cleaning the bathroom...  - You may take breaks between each step (Hello scrolling on my phone between taking a shower and drying my hair!) - Can become very tired very quickly if forced to focus

2) Avoiding tasks that require sustained focus  - Looks like chronic procrastination - May include, avoiding my very long posts XD

3) Spacing out while other people are speaking directly to you  - I find this is especially true for when someone is giving verbal instructions. - (RIP all those people trying to explain calculations to me without writing anything down T_T)

4) Spacing out while speaking yourself. 

5) Completely losing your train of thought mid-sentence but you haven’t spaced out. - You’re fully conscious of that fact that you are speaking right now, but your brain has suddenly blanked on what you were speaking about/suddenly can’t even remember what the rest of the conversation was, no mind say where you were trying to take it! - Feels like someone suddenly wiped your brain

6) Having difficulty recalling words  - “Can you pass me the.........thing??”

7) Little to no concept of time - May have difficulty reading clocks - Have no internal sense of time/not able to guess how much time has passed  - Struggles with concepts like “I have an appointment next week” or “My friend’s birthday is next month”, - May not be able to prepare appropriately for things that are happening in the future because of this (I’m a terror for forgetting to buy presents for birthday’s that I knew were coming!)

8) Difficulty with organisation or prioritising tasks - Kind of related to 7 - With no proper sense of ‘the future’ it can be a challenge to organise your to-dos or to even pick which hobbies to do today - Choice paralysis can come into this too. We often struggle to choose what should be done now when we have too many options.

9) Having an ‘all-or-nothing’ attitude to tasks - Either the whole thing gets done now, or none of it gets done - Also can be related to 7

10) The more steps a task has, the more likely you are to avoid it - These steps can be as small as ‘need to open the cupboard door to get the food out’, ‘take lid off of wash basket’

11) Sensory issues - You may have certain textures or sounds that are particularly uncomfortable/cause you pain when they seem to have no effect on anyone else - Maybe you keep the brightness turned down on all your screens? - Maybe you avoid busy, noisy places?

12) Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD) and emotional dysregulation - RSD = an exaggerated response to real or perceived rejection or criticism - This can contribute to procrastination as well as a need to be ‘perfect’ - People with ADHD have difficulty regulating emotions and may have big responses to things - This is a big part of why people (especially AFAB people) are so often misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder before getting their ADHD diagnosis.

13) Hyperfocus - A really intense form of focus that is difficult to come out of. - May go hours working on a task without eating, drinking, going to the bathroom, moving - Won’t even notice time passing (not really a surprise considering no.7!)

14) Daydreaming. All the daydreaming. So. Much. Daydreaming. - Maybe even to the point of maladaptive daydreaming - If not, may still experience immersive daydreaming

Okay, this was meant to be a short list! I’m going to stop here because I feel like I could go on forever! There is plenty of more examples in the screening test at the end of the page of the second link. It goes into the hyperactive/impulsive traits too, which I don’t particularly experience.

Even reading over this I’m thinking of more examples of traits but if I make this too long, people with ADHD will probably struggle to read it T_T 

I tried to include some stuff that you don’t normally see in diagnostic criteria because they are usually based on what we look like to other people.

#answered asks #the-blackberry-system #adhd #actually adhd #adhd traits #long post #again XD #woops #i don't know how to shut up #i've checked the links so they should work #but technology can be tricksy #so let me know if they're not working for ye

[not-a-crow-i-swear]

I don’t really believe in God, or a higher power. It’s really difficult for me to do that.

The reason is, ironically enough, my old church and religious family. 

There’s mentions of animal abuse, child abuse, and things that are generally not fun. It is a very long post.

So, we begin with my aunt, who we’ll call Claire for simplicity. Claire was a short, round woman with the voice and attitude of a raging buffalo. She pit children against each other and played favorites. Claire took sick enjoyment out of hitting animals in front of her car. If they were trying to cross the street, she’d either speed up, or swerve, sometimes both, just to hit it before it reached the other curb. They reached the other side alright... Cats, dogs, squirrels, anything that walked across was fair game to her, because it was just an animal. She also left out cups of antifreeze for the stray cats in her neighborhood to drink and die, so they’d stay out of her trashy little flower garden. She claimed to believe in God. she took us (My cousins and I) to church every Sunday. On our way there, she would regale us with tales of the latest animal she’d hit on the road, or how she whipped her children and grandchildren into submission, telling us that she would do the same to us if we slipped up. She would constantly criticize us, and believed that if something was wrong with a child, you could beat it out of them. People with depression just needed to know that God loved them. I was diagnosed at 14, and she never treated me any different than she used to. She still treated me as a small machine who had taken the form of a child, a little worker drone for her to order around as she pleased because there was no harm in making the younger generation work until they dropped and then some. I was never good enough for Claire. She nitpicked everything I did. I talked too much, I didn’t smile genuinely enough, I paced around, I would never sit still, I never paid attention. These were probably symptoms of undiagnosed neurodivergence, which was something she believed could also be beaten out of a child. She called it “beating the stupid out of them.” She was particularly fond of shaming children in public. I hated Claire, but now I only see her as a pitiful old woman who took pleasure in harming other creatures because she never truly found joy. I forgive her for what she’s done, and hope she finds happiness in what should be her golden years. 

Onto the church we were a part of. There were many groups and activities for children there that could have constituted as child labor. If we were ushers, tasked with letting people in and out of the sanctuary at the appointed times if they wanted to enter or leave, we were expected to clean the sanctuary. Nothing too gross, except the discarded candies that were left on the pews and floor. Just things that had been in the mouths of elderly folks or young children. We were not allowed to speak, and were expected to remember every instruction that was given to us, verbally, before the beginning of service. Now, if I may, I, as a child, and even to-day, cannot remember verbal instruction for long unless I repeat it to myself several times, and speaking was something I was not allowed to do. I wasn’t allowed to ask someone for the instructions, and god forbid I nick the sheet off of the leader to see for myself, I would’ve been told to ask first. But I digress. The church had a janitor, two actually, that got paid to do what we children did for free. Other free work we did was serving food during events where the multipurpose room was used. We then had to clean up the entire room after the event was finished. Sure, the adults helped here and there, but we had to bus tables, clean them, and all the while, stay silent. Clean the floor, remove half empty drink cups, clear tablecloths, decorations, put away chairs, all that stuff, when they had people that received money for the same things we were doing for completely free. The church ran off of child labor, that’s what I’m getting at. Claire, being hyper-involved in said church, of course had me involved in everything I could be, and guilt tripped me when I wasn’t interested in participating. 

Next up, very surprisingly, is my very own mother. I find that she is at the root of most, if not all of my issues. My aversion to religion, my self-esteem issues, my inability to communicate properly, my lack of friends, my inability to make friends in the first place, my crippling separation anxiety, and also, my rejection of authority. My mom's called me a "curse from God" several times in the past while I was a child, still learning things. Understandably, I took this as her say calling me something to fear, regret, loathe, and avoid, as curses in the bible are not benign things. My mom would fall to her knees, look up at the ceiling and cry "God, what did I do to be cursed with children like this?" when she wanted to be extra dramatic. She said that if she wished I had a kid 10 times worse than me, that child would be the actual devil, so she wouldn't.

Let us not forget the favorite phrase of abusive Christians:  Proverbs 13:24 King James Version24 “He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.” Which has been interpreted to mean “If you do not beat your children, you do not love them”

In every corner of religion, I’ve noticed an abuser. Someone out for their own gain with no care for the person they benefit from. With Claire, she got bragging points, and small people to drag around and unload her problems onto, influencing them with her own toxic mindset. A disregard for any life that she considered lower than that of an adult, homophobia, and a disdain for anyone other than those who were part of the religion. Someone who demanded perfection from all she saw, and when she saw that which was not, punishment was to be bestowed.  The church, who did not want to leave children idle, but overworked them to the point of exhaustion almost every day. There was no help or comfort in the words of the religious, only lip service provided to a congregation of hypocrites.  The mother, my conceiver and birthed me, the one who I was supposed to trust and grow to love and cherish as I came into my own became a personal torment for me, making me feel inadequate at every turn, like a burden and a curse to be hated unless I shone in academics, I felt as if I was nothing but a failure. She forced me to pursue, hunger after, and to seek out knowledge, and only saw me when I did as such. She did not look at me as a child, she saw me as naught but a trophy to be bragged about and touted as an extension of herself, something that she had accomplished through me. I was crumbling from a young age, and breaking down, but she only saw my disobedience, my deceit, and my academic dishonesty as proof that I was to become nothing but a street waif. 

Where was God during this? Was He biding His time until the right time to act? I was close to suicide, did God help me? Did God get me out of the situation? Did He appear to the people who abused me to help me? No, He did not. I clawed myself out of situations with emotional scars. I was not allowed rest or respite, and yet, prayed endlessly to God for him to save me. 

And after all I’ve said, I leave you with a simple question. After all of that, why would I have an inclination to believe in God?

#atheism #personal experience #family #abuse tw #animal abuse tw #child abuse tw #homophobia tw #god #religion #parenting #biblequotes #bible verse

[mae-gi-writes]

Deobi Playlist (EP 3) | The Boyz Imagine

Ep 3: In which Juyeon has a complicated relationship with food. 

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main Characters: Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz.

Genre: fluff, slice of life, comedy, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10 | EP 11

-----------

“Did you eat?” 

Juyeon looks up from his monitor with bleary eyes, rubbing the sleep away when he spots Kevin leaning against the white office door with two bowls of instant noodles. 

He shakes his head, “not yet. Wanted to finish this report first.” 

Tutting like a mother hen, Kevin closes the door behind him and turns on the electric kettle set atop the fridge separating Juyeon and Hyunjae’s desks. The office is cramped and filled with so many documents that one can barely see past the messy pile of papers surrounding the pair, but while Kevin continuously nags the two to get it together and that organization is a charm in itself, Hyunjae is by no means, someone who takes orders the right way. He has the tendency to do the polar opposite. 

Pushing some papers to the side to crack open the bowl’s lids, he asks, “you’re not dieting again, are you?” 

“What?” Juyeon frowns, glancing back at the older man, “no, I don’t even have time to think about that.” 

“That’s exactly what you said back then too,” Kevin replies with a pointed look. He grabs the kettle from the stand to pour the hot water over the dried noodles, swirling it around so that an equal layer of steam rises from the bowl and causes Juyeon’s nostrils to twitch with temptation. He sighs in resignation, before pushing himself up from his office chair to join the raven-haired doctor on the tiny couch cramped in the middle of their space. It had once been Hyunjae’s brilliant idea, suggesting that it could be a way for them to have a quick snooze in-between shifts. 

It is sad to say that Juyeon has never slept on this couch, not because he never had the chance, but he finds it harder to ignore work if he’s just sitting in the same room, breathing in the same air as his responsibilities. 

When Kevin pushes one of the bowls towards Juyeon, he breathes in the scent of fake chicken flavour, memories hitting him like a ton of bricks whenever he eats those kinds of junk food. It reminds him of his past, of how he’d gorge himself with sweet treats in order to fill that growing emptiness inside his stomach, the sickening guilt that curled up inside him like an unwanted creature as an unsteady ache would settle over his stomach. He remembers how he’d force himself to throw up, shoving two fingers down his throat as a way to alleviate his efforts. Again and again, that cycle had continued for more than six months, and no one had ever bothered noticing. 

The thing with Juyeon is that, underneath that shy and quirky exterior, is a man filled with self-doubt. Having been raised to always do better than his older siblings, Juyeon always felt inferior in comparison to the academic achievements of his sister, or the social prowess and the easy-goingly fluid charisma that oozed off his older brother. But Juyeon wasn’t skilled at academics, he hated learning and studying in general, and since he had the confidence of a goldfish out of water the moment he felt people’s eyes on him, it had been safe to claim that he had not inherited any of his brother’s charisma either. 

“I wouldn’t go there, Kevin,” Juyeon murmurs when he notices the worry in his friend’s almond eyes, creases appearing like permanent lines scrunching up in the middle of his brows, “not after…” 

He allows the words to hang in the air, not really sure whether voicing them out loud will make things better or worse. 

“I know,” Kevin says after a moment, but Juyeon notices the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles seem to protrude as he holds on to his spoon in a death grip, “I just--I don’t want to see you like that again. It--It almost killed me.” 

“Oh don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not,” Kevin’s eyes settle over his, hard and fiery with a determined light, “I’m not being ridiculous. You would-ve--You would’ve--” stumbling over his words, he swallows thickly and continues, “you would’ve died. If...If I hadn’t found out.” 

“And you did, and now this is all in the past,” Juyeon nudges his knee as a sign of affection, “I’m alright, okay? I promise.” 

“You better damn well keep that promise.” 

Juyeon knows without a doubt, that Kevin’s concern stems from that very first moment they started talking; when Kevin found him half-passed out from another vomiting spell, chest heaving and gasping like he’d just run a marathon, and blood dribbling down his mouth because he’d hurt himself trying to stuff his fist down his throat. 

Being only sixteen at the time had caused Kevin to burst into an outright bout of panic. He had dropped to Juyeon’s side without any second thought before shaking the half-dazed boy out of his spell. 

“Hey, hey are you okay? Can you hear me?” he spotted the blood coating the side of Juyeon’s mouth, “oh my god.” 

He quickly ripped some tissue paper, and dabbed at his face while his other hand checked for a pulse, relieved to notice that it was there, albeit its weakness. 

Juyeon had tried shrugging him off, “I’m alright,” his murmur barely made it out of his lips, “just--leave me alone.” 

“And what? See you die?” Kevin was already pulling him up by the arm, “no. We’re going to the nurses’ office. Now.” 

Which was how the two found themselves in the nurse’s office where Juyeon was diagnosed as anorexic. Not that it was surprising, for the latter had known that his symptoms weren’t normal, had looked up his tendencies to realize that they were definitely not normal human behaviour. Not only was it embarrassing for a full-grown man to have issues concerning food, but the fact that Kevin had found him -- and mind, Kevin at that time had been what all the boys had wished to be; the smart, foreign student who aced all his classes and who was charmingly attractive without even the slightest smidge of effort -- made Juyeon’s issues even more embarrassing. 

He’d swivelled around to face the said man the moment they had stumbled out into the hallway. 

“Please,” Juyeon’s voice had broken with emotion,his stomach tight and coiled with apprehension, “please don’t tell anyone about this, they’ll all make fun of it, they will think I’m crazy and--” 

“I won’t tell them.” 

Juyeon’s eyes shot up to meet Kevin’s. His face was soft and open, understanding glimmering through those almond orbs that usually seem so reserved, and Juyeon’s mouth ran dry as the meaningless excuses slowly died at the back of his throat. The only thing he managed to muster out was a soft, “t-thank you,” when really, there had been so many more things he’d wished to say. But Kevin, bless his soul, had merely smiled back. 

From that moment onwards, they had come to a silent agreement of acknowledging each other. It started off with small nods and quick smiles in-between classes, progressing slowly into verbal greeting and casual ‘how are you’s’ whenever they bumped into each other outside their circle of friends. Every time that happened, Kevin ensured that he was doing fine, that he was making time to see a Nutritionist and a Psychiatrist at least once a week, and though it shouldn’t have mattered what Kevin thought when it came to Juyeon’s personal life, his chest had glowed with happiness when catching sight of the pride radiating off Kevin’s face. It was then that Juyeon realized that Kevin, despite not even being his close friend, knew so much more about him that he could imagine.

Kevin, the foreigner, the one who’d suffered through countless judgements and mindless criticism because he came from the other end of the world and wasn’t initially fluent in their language, Kevin who had never even spoken a word to him...Kevin had saved him. 

And Juyeon would forever be grateful. 

“Hey Kevin,” Juyeon glances over at the said man as they slurp their noodles, “thanks, by the way.”

He notices Kevin’s confusion, but adamantly keeps his focus on the now soggy noodles floating in his container, “for what?” 

“For saving me.” 

“Oh come on,” Kevin groans and Juyeon can’t help the smile crawling up his face, “if you’re so thankful, how about shadowing me next time?” 

“I told you I’m not good with kids.” 

“That’s what shadowing is all about.” 

“Uhm, no I’ll pass thanks.” 

Kevin pouts, “I saved your life.” 

“You can’t use that against me. Besides, me being there will only traumatise the children in the ward.” 

Kevin lets out a loud sigh, muttering something along the lines that it is so hard to get young doctor interns to get interested in jobs like pediatricians when there are so many other possibilities like neurosurgery. No wonder Hyunjae has no issues and is practically veneered by all. 

“Fine. You win,” Kevin mutters while throwing him the scariest glare he can muster up. Unfortunately for him, he looks more like a kitten than a tiger, and Juyeon snorts with laughter at his friend’s attempt to look threatening. 

“I love you man,” Juyeon grins. 

“I love you too. But please clean your office more often.”

#deobi playlist #theboyz au #theboyz #tbz #theboyz scenarios #theboyz imagine #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #the boyz #the boyz imagines #deobidrabbles #tbznetwork #the boyz fanfic #the boyz au #the boyz scenarios #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz juyeon #the boyz kevin #hyunjae fanfic #kevin moon scenarios #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #kevin moon #hospital playlist #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagines #q #chanhee #sunwoo #sangyeon