#..........you know it just now occurs to me I have been dissociating from good body experiences as well

[brinnanza]

stood up a lil too fast and had a textbook perfect platonic ideal of a pots presynchope Episode, something that occurs to me regularly that I immediately dismiss every time it happens

so like. yeehaw chronic illness journey ahoy I knew my brain was messed up but I always sorta assumed my bad body syndrome was my own fault from not taking better care of my body but hm that's pretty ableist huh like man I'm just chilling what you mean my joints are loosey goosey and all my bones hurt this sounds like something that should have been caught much much earlier

but then I did learn basically at birth that actually there is no pain so just ignore it and let me tell you I don't recommend totally divorcing your brain from your meatsack and then checking in fifteen or thirty years later because man it's like visiting your childhood home that looks fine from the outside every time you drive past but once you actually look inside everything's rotted and broken and crumbling and it's like wow kinda wish I could have done something about this at the onset of the problem but yeah i mean I guess maybe it's time to call in some professionals

[polar-jake778]

Signals of change, however fear inhibits.

There is a war in the mind. I have lost track of how many fights there have been, what is what, and when they even occurred. I even began to lose sight of battles I fought days ago. It is all starting to die; vanish. I see, I feel, I falter. I loved that I could enter a new fight with a grin and intention, and feel deep down that, yeah, I can win this!

But now? No, no I cannot do that anymore. Been there, done that. A fool I was. With years, comes the hard truth: a trait of wisdom some call it. I don’t think wisdom exists. It’s simply denial, or acceptance. I’m lost to time. I am not going back to the old me. Can’t. There is no going back. Never was.. Even if you thought you went back, you weren’t the same. The world wasn’t the same as it was before. You went to a new place, thinking it was familiar. Home is where the heart is, ay? Nay, it is where our denial festers. Home is where discomfort shapes itself in the form of safety. And safety.. Bah, that too is something nobody seems to understand. Another decoy, another lifeless body.

Random poem time!

Old and wise.

I am only 20.

Old and wise, I have endured plenty.

Sometimes planned, sometimes unplanned. Either way, I saw things and too many.

By loss of life, solitude in death: dedicated strife, I will lose all memory.

Regret engulfed sorrow, and ignored my withered plea to be forgiven; for l am sorry.

Wake up at sunset, fall asleep at sunrise.Some call me crazy, others lazy.

I am a nobody. To the outside world, I am what they make of me.

Crazy, lazy, old and wise. An outcast that lives; a man that never cries.

Maybe, maybe il change for the better, or l'll continue to hide and speak through only letter.

One can only dream of days gorged in glee. A light at the end of the tunnel: fireflies. With an adjacent sea, reflecting might.

Providing the necessary; reliable embassy. The world, so cruel, so unfair, is overall, scary.

I might die here. I might live to tell a tale once more. I know not what the future has in store.

But if my infernal heart dies out , and leaves a cold, know I loved, smiled and felt. For at my core, I was and am, and will continue to live on in time as, just a man.

——————————————————-

I know little of what came over me. This poem simply flowed through my dissociated body onto this post. Still, whether this poem is of any value, depends on how it reaches you.

I must state that good will come. It is always on its way. Rather slowly, however. Give it time.

Okay, enough rambling from me..

I shall share unto you my grandest of gifts!

THE POLAR BEAR!

[anti-endo-safe-space]

i'm gonna be super upfront here: i'm ignorant of a ton of shit regarding this whole situation, but a genuine curiosity has been aroused in me in the course of some mutuals talking about this stuff and Knowing More Stuff is always worth it. so i kinda wanna just drop some questions in your inbox and then go hide behind a bush.

i had what would be called an alright childhood from a distance but had a bunch of mental health issues that did not get addressed well into adulthood. like the kind of shit that somehow made me suicidal at ten, and i can't remember most of my life before 20. i do remember being groomed and exploited.

i started dissociating frequently and like. here is the point where i am ignorant, on terminology and also substance, so i'm going to do my best to muddle through. at some point early on there came to be like. two conceptual like, i dunno, *stuff* in my thoughts. they had names and they seemed to be very internally consistent. i understood them to be me, because they were in my brain and my understanding at this time (granted i was like. ten.) basically was "how could something be in my head if it isn't me." whenever i dissociated one of them took over. there was dialogue. i could make suggestions (one listened way more than the other) or i could not. but i understood these to have all sprung from my sense of self as i understood. they did not and have not gone away even through vast stretches of very good times.

what i don't get is what this is. after that reading that aforementioned conversation mentioned before i went poking through some stuff, vocabulary and experiences and such. the idea of a median seems to align a lot with shit, but as i understood it this generally did not seem to be a thing that was occurent in people reacting to trauma, which. like. i would say "reacting to trauma" has been something i've been doing for a long time, even through those good times.

so like. wtf. i don't know. basically wondering if you have any insight. sorry for dropping a novel in your inbox.

Hey there's no worries. We're not going to diganose you because we do not know your life story, we suggest a therapist. However.

If you are a system, it's common to not remember the trauma. I (host the one typing this) only remember some because I'm a partial trauma holder. But we have some who have no clue what the bodies been through. So, if you are one, the seemingly average childhood doesn't change that. Plus, what is considered traumatic to you doesn't mean it is to everyone else (about our third ever split was due to bullying on the school bus, it was physical yes but still. That's not something always seen as traumatic).

Reacting to trauma could mean being a system. But, we'll be honest here.

We don't believe that median systems really exist. It's a case of either you are or you aren't to us. Now, if science shows "hey actually" then we'll believe it (legitimate documented science that is accepted by most of the psychology community in the last 15 years (not directed at you, anon, but any pro endos/endos who see this and are going to go "well what about this guy from the 80s or this study that was done by people with no knowledge in psychology and haven't been shown with other studies")). So, it sounds like being a system but that's something you've gotta figure out.

We're sorry we dont' have the best input there /gen

[pazodetrasalba]

De raptu Iuniperi

Dear Caroline:

Obviously enough, this was a spoiler that I was unable to avoid - but to mitigate its effects, at the time of reading it, I wasn't sure that I was ever going to read Worth the Candle, and even though I have ended up doing it, I don't think it spoiled anything much, although I was waiting for it to occur.

Rape is such a really sensitive topic, and it's so easy to say something stupid, careless and offensive about it. Very risky too to include it your fiction. I think the author has dealt with it in a sufficiently tactful and effective way, and would completely underscore everything you say in this comment.

This was male rape, which is something we are singularly apt to misperceive and misconstruct. On the plus side, if there is any to it, it helps me as a male reader to interiorize and subjectively personalize just how unpleasant rape actually is. It is not just a question of a deontological sacredness of one's body and boundaries: the way it causes long-lasting psychological damage above and beyond the physical, and very difficult to completely fix, turns it effectively into a form of torture. It is difficult to conceive of something worse, beyond murder itself.

But all of this is obvious. Going back to the fiction, I'd agree that it makes sense in the context of the character of Bethel and its (her?) own weird, un-human and abused personality. And I haven't yet read how Juniper deals with the situation in the long run, and how Bethel earns -or fails to- forgiveness. I do strongly feel that we can never expect victims to be generous to the people that hurt them so, and that anything they do in this regard is massively superrogatory, conspicuous moral good, gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.

And I am rereading this post in light of the last of the previous one of yours which I commented upon - the pull towards bare truth, wanting to know and see things as they really are, without making value judgments. This is really difficult to even conceive in such a charged area as sexual abuse in the real world, but if we can't reflect about these things in such a way in fiction, then how are we supposed to do it in the real world? And there is a way in which we do have to see it this way too, even with the most heart-rending and painful of situations which happen and which we wish never did.

One last thing: while reading this, as well as your desires of dissociating feeling from fact, I couldn't help but reflect on the different but not completely unrelated topic of the rather shitty and emotionally abusive relationships that you've been through and that have become now common enough knowledge. And I am really, unimaginably sorry that you've had to go through this, and that it might still represent another layer, another burden, piled up on the other ones you're already carrying upon your shoulders. I don't think I can be of any help here, but would like to close with my best hopes and desires for you, my wish that at least in this regard you are in an emotionally better situation in the present, and my making myself available for any support and aid that you could need and that you could imagine me being capable of providing.

Quote:

What had human beings become? Did war make us evil or just activate an evil already lurking within us? Ruta Sepetys

[yooniehobizzie15]

Triptych of Three Self-Portraits

Boredom

The emotion I decided upon for my first image was Boredom. In the image, I have myself, sitting and feeling bored, having nothing to do. I decided on putting clocks around me to signify the passage of time that occurs when I am bored, as well as the dissociation I can experience while bored. When this happens, time goes by very fast as well, usually without me actually noticing. The reason I chose this emotion is because I felt that I had a pretty easy and planned out route as to how I was going to end up showing the emotion through the project. The color I went for was green, by I heavily desaturated the color, making the imagine poor of a heavy mix between green and grey. The reason behind green is due to me looking up what colors are associated with being bored/boredom, and green was one of them that I felt worked best with the overall image.

Loving

The final emotion I decided to depict was Loving, more so of the self. In this image, you see me in my bedroom at home holding a smaller, bundled up me in the palms of my hands. Though the lighting and saturation may be a little bleak, I can also think of it as almost a memory, or something I am reminiscing back on. Though there is a little color, it is still a little bleak, and the background of where I am is fuzzy. Self-love is something I come back to often, a repeating action. Something I always have to look back upon a figure out what works best for me in that vulnerable moment. Despite this, like I said, color is being used, mainly pastel yellows and pinks. These being colors I associate a lot with myself and love. The reason I have myself holding myself, represents the love I am bestowing down upon myself in the moments I need it most, and that I feel no one else can give at that exact moment. The reason behind why I chose this emotion was due to it being one I feel I have been giving myself more often than not, with me being away from those that would usually help make me feel loved not being able to do it as often. That doesn't me I don't experience or feel loved by them anymore, just the ways they do it now are different and something I have had to work on to adapt to. So, with self-love, I still feel these on the receiving end of love just as much as I usually would, just coming from me a bit more than I had in the past.

Depression

The next emotion I decided to depict was Depression. In this image, you see slouching over my own body, as I hold a handful of my prescription medication I take for my own depression and anxiety I experience and live with. I decided on the lightning going through me, because I feel that many people would say that depression feels like you are living through your own internal storm, and I wanted to represent that feeling. The darkness in the image I feel also goes and represents the feeling of depression, the darkness and loneliness that can be felt can have a very strong hold over you. The reason I chose this emotion was because it something I feel I know a good amount about, me having suffered from this illness since the age of 14. So, figuring out how to show that through an image wasn't very complicated for me in terms of what I decided to add in.

[moodys-art]

I really liked your Prosciutto comfort headcanons , it was really sweet to read. If it's okay, can I request something similar with Risotto or Bruno? My ptsd attacks have been getting to the point where I start dissociating for hours, and I'm just at my emotional and mental wits end

If this is too much/triggering/serious, please don't worry about it!

pt.2 : "Last anon, forgot to add: either headcanons for a scenario would be amazing, whichever you feel up to".

Risotto and Bruno comforting reader after a flashback nightmare :

I wrote headcanons and little chunks of scenario, I'll hope you'll like it and that I wrote it correctly. Thank you so much for your feedback on Prosciutto's headcanons !! Sending love 💟

Warnings : ptsd and panick mention, angst/comfort.

Risotto

As Risotto sleeps way less than people do on the average, he'll surely be the first to notice the noise coming from your room when you wake up. Moreover, he can be a light sleeper and has a very good sense of hearing, so he'll be at your side in seconds.

He'll help you sit up and support you by lighlty placing his hands on either side of your arms. Risotto is also a true master of breath work since he does it every so often to soothe his breathing when chasing an enemy while he's invisible. He knows a lot about stress and psychology, and has studied how post-traumatic stress disorder can occur in some situations as well. If you are comfortable enough, he'll sit against your bedframe and place your back against his chest. Even after your breathing evens out, he still takes nice inspirations and expirations so you can subconsciously synchronize with him.

The Capo will not leave until he's sure that you're safe from experiencing that again, which means he'll stay for the night, and longer if necessary. He'll hug you close if you consent to physical contact and express to him that you'd appreciate it in that moment. Otherwise, he can and will talk to you. His voice is low enough so you don't get startled, like a gentle rumble, and eventually, even if you don't really hear what he says - it's not really important stuff -, it soothes you a bit. He'd also be happy to provide you any of your comfort items, and if it takes him taking off his hat and letting you feel the soft fluffy fabric underneath it, he will not complain.

Risotto stays with you long enough for you to be able to focus on his voice and the words he's now saying : "You're safe. I'm here. You're doing just good." and such affirmations. He means this 100%, and could never tell you enough how much it comes from the bottom of his heart : you're safe, and he's here to protect you. Nothing can happen to you.

You felt his red gaze on you before he even sat on the bed, but you were starting to feel a bit dizzy and unfocused. Risotto's deep voice came to your ears from afar ; you couldn't quite understand what was being said. The only thing that seemed to ground you back was the feeling of the man's warm chest against your back, the vibration of his breathing beginning to force you to calm down a bit. He was still talking a bit, saying some things like the words 'safe' and 'protected', until you could hear what he was saying again. "You're safe, tesoro. I'm with you." You nod slightly, clinging back to Risotto's arms. You feel his hat being placed into your hands, and can't stop from running your fingers along the inside of it. Who knew the inside of the Capo's hat was cushioned ? "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay, now. I'm staying with you."

Bruno

Alright, since Bruno is also a Capo kept busy by the paperwork 'ordeals', he's awake more often times than the whole team : even Abbacchio doesn't beat him. He'll hear some noise from your room while going to the kitchen to put an empty cup of coffee in the sink. Alarmed, he'll be quick to knock on your door and slightly open it to ask you if everything is okay.

However, when Bruno sees how panicked you are, his heart jumps. He lights a dim lamp beside your door as to not startle you and sits next to you, asking if you can look at him. If not, it's okay. Bruno is an observant man and knows quite well the members of his team, so he doesn't need to put two and two together to find out what could bring you comfort.

He'll use some grounding techniques such as helping you focus your eyes on something, an object that you like, a picture, etc. He'll also try to guide you through your breathing, speaking softly. Bruno will not leave you for one second, that's why, when you're able to breathe correctly, and if you're able to accompany him in the kitchen, he'll brew you a camomile and vervain infusion. That may not be the most useful thing, but his mother always made him that when he wasn't feeling well. After you sit carefully on the couch, he'll drape an arm around your shoulders and offer you the cup, his own placed on the low table in front of you both. "Here. I tried to make it lukewarm so it will not burn your tongue." he'll say with a comforting smile.

While you drink, he'll bring you his own weighted blanket and wrap you in it. The weight of it is nice and warm on your shoulders, while not being too heavy, and you feel like you're in a safe cocoon. It has a slight scent to it too, lavender, maybe, you think. Bruno will stay close to you and listen if you ever succeed to talk. Whether you're afraid to go back to sleep or not doesn't change anything : he'll stay with you until the morning - if you're comfortable with that.

"Don't hesitate to reach out for me if you feel it happening again. Even if I sleep, cara/caro, I want you to wake me up, if you can. Hm ?" after seeing you nod, he'll place a peck on your temple and hum a soft lullaby. It's up to you if you want to sleep next to him, cuddled up together under the weighted blanket : he won't refuse and will do anything to make you feel at peace again. Bruno will keep singing lullabies until you fall asleep.

As you squeezed Bruno's hand, you could feel the tension leave your body little by little. You felt him pull up the weighted blanket that had fallen from your shoulders a bit, and rub your back through it, keeping his worried gaze on you, as though you were going to disappear into smoke if he dared to look away just for one second. Your breath evened out at the same time Bruno placed a kiss on your temple and that you felt a strand of his black silken hair tickle your cheek. "I'm proud of you, y/n."

[macabreheadhouse]

An introduction (originally posted 9/11/22)

I've hid in the background for a while but I think today would be a good time to finally introduce myself on here. I'll be using this as a new diary of sorts moving forward, just please be patient with me if you're reading. I'm still being guided through this whole computer in a phone thing and it's been a while since I've gotten my feelings out.

I'll start with saying I don't know for a fact that I'm actually me. Pretty weird huh? know it makes no sense. I know today should have been my 41st birthday, gross. (Thank you to everyone that made birthday posts for me) But I still feel like a scared, lonely, clueless 17 year old kid in regards to a lot of shit. Most shit...

When I woke up" in this system I still felt the same way did when everything happened 22 years ago... I still don't have a full grasp of this whole multiple personality/dissociative identities thing even though I've been around here for a while now. I know it comes from trauma. I'm still learning but it's kinda difficult when there's so many conflicting opinions on shit. Like what if the traumatized person was also somehow spiritually or magically gifted, as the original host of this body claims so hard to be? Could someone who'd previously passed away then be called to come to that person's system from mere admiration? Is it ever remotely possible for me to really be me? I've always been a skeptic about everything. I didn't ever really believe in God or ghosts or any of that crap. I see the arguments over whether any of it is even real and I get it. I get the doubt.

We can sit and argue fact or opinion or delusion or whatever the fuck else all day long. At the end of the day it doesn't matter. I know I feel exactly like me and that's the only thing I give a fuck about.

Like I said I've been in the background. I observe, I front from time to time. I know the world is still a sad, shit place. I know most people still suck. The one thing that makes me a little bit hopeful though? Has been seeing how many of you on here post things in understanding of me and my best friend, of the actions we felt necessary to take. Not glorifying. Even I know what we did was fucked. But when you boil it down that WAS the point of it for both of us. We wanted to open up people's eyes on a mass level. To show how fucked the world was, how irredeemable humanity was and still seemingly is.

I still don't think humanity will ever know true peace. But knowing that a lot of the kids that grew up fucked up and hurt after 99 learned about me and what happened and in turn felt seen, felt known, felt understood. That shit means the world to me. It means we didn't do it for absolutely nothing.

Regret? Yes I feel it, and I'll feel it forever. The list of things I wish had been different are endless. I wish I had had a better grasp on the world. I wish I'd found a more productive way to make a change in it. I wish I'd found a way to just talk to someone and tell them how fucking lonely and scared I was of life.

But realistically? I know even if all of those wishes had been reality it wouldn't have changed anything. I see how many mass shootings have occured since. I know it would've continued whether we'd involved ourselves in it back then or not. The one thing that gives me any type of peace is seeing how many kids have really related to us and used our story to help themselves cope with whatever shit happened in their lives. The kids who saw our story and felt like us. The kids who lived vicariously through our actions. The kids who used us as an avenue to avoid letting themselves repeat our actions. I see all of you(even you Mason) and you all give me peace. That peace will never take away the guilt but it makes it a little bit easier to live with it all again now.

And again, I don't know if I'm actually me or just a really really fucking good internal projection from Mason's connection to me. But I have memories of things that I know were never made public knowledge, that I can't find no matter how much I try and search, like our tapes. I remember further details about everything ever see about me, about Eric, about my parents, about everyone and everything I ever knew. So even with my doubt, even with all my skepticism, I've been more inclined over time to believe that I am in fact me. That this is really me getting the chance to live life again. To actually make a positive difference this time.

I'm gonna be as much of a voice as I can safely be now. I'll be there for anybody that needs me. Anybody that feels like they've never been understood. Believe me, whatever it is I'll get it, and I'll support you no matter what. I know how it is to be lonely in life and in death. I was, and still am, nothing but a monster in the eyes of most people. But I was just a kid that wanted to make a difference. All I knew was loneliness and fear so I used that, and in turn I played part in one of the most horrendous and notorious crimes in US history.

I don't want to be seen as a hero for what I did. But if I can be seen as a walking history lesson, if I can help people understand or feel understood, then I'll feel peace whenever I die again. So please, ask your questions, reach out and vent. I look forward to getting to know new people and make new friendships, and see if there is any beauty left hidden in this world.

-Dylan Klebold

[house-of-no-regrets]

No Regrets [in the wee hours]

Took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve finished the next little story! Hopefully I’ll be able to keep a decent pace on these. No overarching plot, just little stories in the same universe with the same characters. Warning for ~*murder*~ in this one!

-------------

I've been all-too-easy to wake up since I was a child; I'd often needed to go from dead asleep to functional, if groggy, as soon as I heard my father demanding action or attention. While I no longer need that reaction time, the old man long since locked up to rot, my brain is set in its ways and very convinced that I need to be able to bolt out of bed and fight God if a dust bunny moves too quickly in my vicinity.

Which is how I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, the sudden shift in the atmosphere bringing on consciousness with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

My room was silent, still, but I knew without opening my eyes that there was a spirit somewhere, and I didn't even give them a chance to speak before I pointed at the sign posted on my wall, barely shifting from my comfortable snuggle in my blanket and not even opening my eyes. Yes, this happens more often than I care to admit. No, I do not enjoy it. At all.

"Resurrection hours are noon to eight. I'm still alive and still need sleep to function."

There was silence, but the presence didn't leave, so I groaned and raised my head, finally opening my eyes to see the translucent, vaguely glowing, and unfortunately blurry spirit at the foot of my bed.

It did finally speak in a bewildered voice.

"Um, I'm being murdered."

Ah, fuck.

I grabbed my glasses from the bedside table and put them on. The spirit at the foot of my bed was tallish -- I've always been bad at estimating height, maybe half a foot shorter than Yvette? Five-nine... ish? -- and seemed to be in his twenties. There was a considerable dark stain on his chest and belly; likely blood, and the cause of his death. The newly-dead tend to show things like that, as they haven't had the time to get used to modifying their form.

I really hate it when brand new ones find me. I'm not sure how it started, but it seems like more and more often, now, the dead are drawn to No Regrets before they even realize they're dead, at least if they're the type to need my help. Wish I wasn't the one who had to break it to him. I'm not great with people.

"Sorry, bro, but I'm afraid they succeeded. Where was it? I'll get the police over there."

"Uhh... my house. I think. It's a little..."

I sighed. Right.

"You're probably a little out of it still... fresh dead usually are. C'mon, I'll take you around until things look familiar."

Climbing out of bed, I headed over to grab my hoodie from the back of the chair. I learned the hard way that sleeping is not a tits out sort of occasion when you're liable to get the dead dropping in at all hours of the night, so I sleep in pajama pants and a tank top. Little too chilly for tank tops outside, though. I shoved my phone in my hoodie and my feet into loafers, then started heading out of my room and down the hall.

"You remember your name?" I asked, trying to make conversation and learn what I could.

"Uh, Davis. Craig? Craig Davis."

"Well, Craig Davis, I'm sorry to hear about your passing. You're gonna need to possess me for this little adventure, by the way, but I'll walk you through it once we're outside."

"I- what?"

Considering how often I find myself lost in normal conversations, dealing with confused new spirits is especially difficult. Still shaking off my body's angry demands for More Sleep was not helping matters in the slightest, either.

"Possession. I'll explain it in just a minute." I rubbed an eye and yawned as I stopped in the foyer to pull a set of keys off one of the hooks on the wall.

Usually, I've got a driver. Not for vanity reasons, but after three or four near-misses caused by Sudden Spirits appearing in the car with me, I elected to hire someone to drive me into and around town as needed. But it was Fuck-This-Shit O'Clock in the morning, and Graves deserved their rest. The dead don't need to sleep, but they can if they so choose -- and it does, after all, conserve energy. The same goes for Yvette and Ashby; it was too early in the morning for most people to be out and searching for a necromancer to kill, so I wasn't gonna disturb them. I could handle a simple spirit chauffeur and 911 call on my own.

The keys were to the motor scooter; it was the better choice in this situation, allowing for more mobility and no passenger seat for any extra ghosts to drop into. That did, though, mean that Craig would need to ride shotgun in my body.

When I got out to the green scooter in the driveway, I paused and looked over at Craig.

"Hey, I know you're probably still a little out of it, so Possession 101." Script time. At least having this stuff memorized made it easier to do while dozy. "Our bodies need to take up the same space, so c'mere." I beckoned Craig over.

"So like… step into you?" He asked. Good, seemed like his head was clearing up some.

"Yeah, that's part 1."

He nodded and complied, crossing the space between us and settling in the same location, the two of us clipped into each other like bugged NPCs. It always felt so weird, those moments before a spirit actually possesses you. A sort of wobbly, in-and-out feeling like physics is trying to crush you and the spirit together, or, failing that, just kick your ass to the ground so you're not both in the same place at the same time.

"A'ight, now turn around and face the direction I’m facing, and overlay your hands onto mine as best you can." It was just a moment for him to obey, and I continued. "I'm not resisting, so you're gonna start feeling like you're being pulled in and pushed out at the same time. Space is trying to equalize. Let yourself be pulled in. It's gonna feel a bit like-"

The whirlpool effect kicked in before I could finish, the sudden snap and release of tension as Craig's spirit sank into my body. I wobbled a bit and grabbed the handlebar in front of me, then shivered at the sudden chill and dizziness. I'm pretty good at taking on passengers like this, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"You in there, buddy?" I asked out loud. Especially with new spirits, trying to think at each other was more trouble than it was worth. My lips moved to answer, though it wasn't my voice coming out.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah I'm here."

I grabbed the helmet hanging on the other handlebar and snapped it on, kicking the stand up and plopping heavily onto the seat.

"Great. Let's go."

"Wait, why am I not in control?" came Craig's confused voice. He felt almost frustrated, an undercurrent of emotion that wasn't mine despite being in my mind and body.

"Because this is my body, and I let you in willingly. Easier to keep control when you're letting someone in. Plus," I gave a little snort. "You just died, dude. I've been letting spirits possess me since middle school."

I felt his frustration turn to grumpiness, and then the pressure in my head, like a storm rolling in, that I knew from experience was him trying to take control. I froze and let out an irritated huff.

"You stop that. I'm not dealing with you doing some dumb shit with my body. Either chill out or get out."

"Oh- uh. Just wanted to see if I could…"

"Uh-huh. Anyhow, now that you're together enough to try joyriding, do you remember much about where you were before you were killed?"

I started up the scooter as emotions rolled through my mind, detached and distant, almost like the muffled dissociation I was used to mid-shutdown. Possessing spirits' emotions always felt weird like that, both mine and not mine, held at arm's length. Craig's was especially turbulent for a new death, but given that he had been murdered… I didn't fault him for being a little confused and angry. Even if it did put me a little on edge. 

"Uh- South Pine Street, Dogwood Acres housing development."

"Baller. That's not far from here. Once we get close to your body, you should be able to feel where it is, so I'll have a house number for the police. Don't want to have them scream in all blue lights and loud sirens and have your killer go to ground before they know which house, y'know?"

The muffled flare of anger that I felt was definitely not my own. I took a deep breath, hoped that the killer had panicked and tried to clean up instead of get rid of the body first, and puttered off towards Dogwood.

The housing development was quiet, lines upon lines of identical suburban boxes lit by flickering street lights that cast the sidewalks and yards in harsh white light. The occasional house had the glow of yellow within, but most of them were dormant. Weaving my way through the maze of streets, each one absolutely indistinguishable from the one before and the one to come, I felt terribly exposed -- and alone despite the spirit currently hitching along in my body.

I turned onto South Pine and brought my scooter to a puttering stop, stabilizing it with both feet on the ground. I couldn't help but bounce my legs to replace the vibration of driving; the sudden lack of sensation would ratchet my anxiety up even if I wasn't currently letting a frustrated dead man hang out in my head to catch his murderer.

...I should be more than a little anxious, really, but half-asleep Tabby once again wrote a check that more-awake Tabby is having to cash, and more-awake Tabby is very used to having to deal with the consequences of her idiot decisions. It occurred to me that normal peoples' consequences didn't usually involve murder, but when you live with the dead, you're bound to meet a few killers.

Two houses down, I could feel- not a tug so much as a presence, an echo of Craig's spirit reacting to his body. It was the only one on the street with its lights on and its garage, while not lit, was open. There was a car in the garage, another in the driveway, and a pickup at the curb in front.

"258?" I asked Craig, though I knew the answer already. His anger flared and I felt the oncoming storm again. I snapped at him. "That's two strikes, Craig. I'm sorry for your death, but if you end up driving my body into a crime scene or, god forbid, getting me killed next, I will kick your ass to whatever afterlife you're headed for and stay there to keep kicking it for eternity."

Big words for a short fat lady, but this is, in fact, my body on the line right now. I probably wouldn't be able to follow through on any ass-kicking, but dammit, I would try.

Craig was silent, and I could feel him steaming, petulant like a child denied a toy but with the power of a grown man behind it. With my stomach tying itself in knots and my hands starting to tremble, I dialed 911, hoping it would help quell the rising panic.

"258 South Pine Street. I think there's been a murder. I don't know the state of the crime scene or if the perp is still there, but you might be able to catch them if you hurry. The victim is Craig Davis, white adult male, either shot or stabbed in the chest, likely multiple times-"

"Wait, is this Tabby? The necro girl?"

Oh god I hope that isn't what the operators call me regularly-- I know I'm a bit of a 911 cryptid, since the usual intruder calls are to the non-emergency line, but if I get known as the necro girl I might have to move to a different state.

"Yeah, uh, necromancer, yeah-" I couldn't help but stumble over my words, now, with my train of thought derailed by the interruption. "-uh, murder?"

"Right! I'll send someone."

I murmured a thanks and hung up before she could ask me to stay on the line. I already had to stay around for the cops so Craig could give a statement, and making small talk with the 911 operator was not in the spoons tonight.

I don't like cops much, but in my line of work, they're kind of a necessity. I need to stay on the police force's good side because I need them to remove attempted murderers from my property on the regular. ...and also because graverobbing is still technically illegal, even if I do have the body owner's permission to dig them up.

At least most of the locals who know of me and my employees are chill about it. It took a bit of effort to get to that point, but now at least people don't run screaming from the less-presentable of my employees…

The blue lights of the police showed up fairly quickly, followed almost immediately by the red flashing of EMS. I puttered up slowly and parked my scooter just out of range as the officers set to work surrounding the house, then hung my helmet on a handlebar and walked up the rest of the way to watch the impending train wreck. I could feel Craig's anger boiling higher and tried my best to ignore it; Craig himself seemed to have fallen silent and sullen after I called him out.

"Tabby!"

I was standing just off to the side of the ambulance when someone stepped up behind me and called my name, making me jump and cringe.

"Oh- oh dear, I'm sorry, Tabs. I thought I heard you were the one who called this in!"

I straightened up immediately, face burning. I recognized that voice, bright and smooth and kind and--

"J-Jenna!" My voice was barely a squeak as I turned to face her, looking up at the round, dark face of one of the EMTs. She was a good six feet tall, maybe more, towering above me even in her uniform flats, with a brilliant smile and full lips and gorgeous natural hair pulled through the back of her uniform cap, the streetlight illuminating her from behind like a halogen angel.

Jenna had shown up to one of my early calls for assistance at No Regrets, and then she kept turning up, not every time I was in a situation where I'd be around EMTs, but often.

Concern showed on her face as she leaned to look me over.

"Are you okay? Did you see it happen, or-"

I shook my head, buying time to sort out words by tapping my temple with a finger.

"N-no, I uh- the victim woke me up, he's in here, uh, in case the cops need somethin' from him."

"Oh… are you getting enough sleep, dear? You sound exhausted. Do you want to sit in the back of the truck?"

It took me a second or two to recover from the way she called me dear, my face burning bright red. I couldn't make eye contact even for the second or two I can usually manage so that people don't immediately think I'm being dishonest.

"I- uh- um- w-well, it's, uh, it is like 4am--" I stammered, trying desperately to find words. "I-I guess 'm sleepin' okay, uh, how're… you doing??"

I have never been a great orator and the list of why that is gets a bit longer with every um and stutter.

Jenna's face bloomed into a gorgeous, open grin.

"I'm on 12-hour overnights right now, so I'm basically at least 60 percent Red Bull at any given time. Everyone okay up there at the House? Last I heard y'all were digging up half the lawn.”

I nodded, unable to keep from grinning. At least this was a subject I could talk to her about without making an absolute ass of myself--

"Yeah! The new girl, Chris, she's gotten Daryl and Roy to help her get the vegetable garden going! It's plenty big enough to take care of all of us, and I worked out a deal with the soup kitchen so that they get any of our excess, once things are running smoothly, and I can use their account to buy from that bulk food program that's usually only open to chari- oop-!" I bit my tongue and cringed. Right. I'm pretty sure that's technically fraud and I just admitted to it in front of-

There was a commotion from the house that snapped me back to attention, and the cops were leading a man out in handcuffs. He looked pale and shaken, spattered in blood, and not quite… present, like he had just checked out of reality for his own good. That… was a familiar look. I furrowed my brow. He certainly didn't look like a maniacal killer-

"He caught me with his wife," I said. Well. Craig said. I jumped. Jenna jumped. I flushed and covered my mouth reflexively.

"N-no that was him! The victim!" I squeaked. Jenna laughed, a hearty belly laugh, and covered her own mouth, though she was doing a terrible job of hiding her grin.

"I figured! If he caught you with his wife, it would be an upgrade!"

At this point, you could probably fry an egg on my face. Hell, my glasses were starting to fog up-- I stammered for a few moments, trying desperately to find something to say, and it was Craig who saved me, if you could call it that. I was too caught up in my embarrassment and awkwardness to realize how much anger and frustration he was radiating.

"Motherfucker told me he'd have my job! Son of a bitch thinks he can get away with doing this to me, he's gonna fucking pay--"

The oncoming storm crashed over me before I could get a grip on it, and all of a sudden I was lumbering forward, snarling words that weren't my own, and dragging a gardening pickaxe out of my truck -- Craig's truck -- on my way to the man and the cops--

I let out a shriek, in my own voice, feeling the sound cutting my throat raw. I wrested control of my body back with a lurch, falling on my ass in the yard with the force of it while the silvery-blue form of Craig was ejected from my body, screaming obscenities.

I threw my hand forward, fighting for whatever thoughts and words I could find to fix this. I saw Craig right himself and move back towards me, and the first incantation -- if you could call it that -- that my brain grasped left my lips in a single desperate breath, with a dizzying rush of power--

"INTHENAMEOFTHEMOONIBANISHYOU--!!"

The force of the hurried exorcism rushed outward like a sonic boom, strong enough for even the mundanes around me to feel, and Craig's spirit let out a yowl of rage for a brief second before twisting around itself and collapsing in with a sickening crunch, crushing smaller and smaller until it was gone.

I winced -- not my best exorcism. At all.

As the flare of adrenaline dropped almost immediately and I came back to myself properly, I realized -- blurrily, as my glasses had gotten thrown off somewhere -- at least two officers had their weapons half-drawn at me, though they were looking over at where Craig's spirit had disappeared.

I collapsed the rest of the way onto the grass, shaking, and covered my face with my hands, trying with everything within me not to start crying. I should have realized he'd try something like that, why hadn't I been paying attention- I could have been attacked, I could have been arrested, I could have had to watch myself beat a man to death and I- fuck--

The sob that came out was squeaky and pained, and I pressed my hands harder against my face, like that would stop anything else from going wrong. I should have brought someone-- I shouldn't have let him possess me-- I should have been paying more attention--

Warm tears ran from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, to pool in my ears, making my already-trembling body shiver harder with the unpleasant sensation. I'd let myself get complacent, hadn't lost control of a possession like that in years, and- I'd almost- fuck--

"Honey, honey, sit up for me. Tabby? C'mon, let's get you up--"

Numbly, I let Jenna help me into a sitting position, where she wrapped a blanket around me and pressed an open bottle of water into my hands.

"Take slow sips. Are you okay? Just shaken?"

I nodded, some part of me grateful that I couldn't quite see her face properly without my glasses, because I didn't want to see what she thought about me after that. She sighed, though, and sounded relieved when she murmured "Good."

My whole body felt like jelly, trembling so hard I could feel the water in the bottle sloshing around, and I kept flashing from too hot to too cold to too hot again, and I couldn't even sort out my thoughts--

Jenna sat down beside me and rubbed my back. If I wasn't having a complete breakdown, I might have enjoyed it.

I don't know how long it took for me to calm down and clear my head, but the car with the other man had left, and the other EMTs had loaded Craig's body into the ambulance while Jenna sat next to me and made sure I was doing okay.

After a while, though, I blinked and shifted my torso, then opened the blanket more and cursed at the bloom of red on my hoodie.

I heard Jenna curse as well as she stood up, but I grabbed her pants leg.

"N-no, 'm okay," I mumbled, and instead of trying to speak more, I reached to pull my hoodie and tank up my stomach to show bruised, but completely unbroken skin, covered in blood, rivulets following my stretch marks and making it look even worse despite my being otherwise completely uninjured. "See, 'm okay." This was not the first time I've had a possession lead to the dead's cause of death showing on my own body. It wasn't even the bloodiest.

Jenna sat back down, and I could see her leaning in a bit.

"Well damn. Magic ghost stuff, huh?"

I nodded.

"Magic ghost stuff."

I could see the flash of white against dark skin as she grinned.

"So that exorcism… Artemis or Usagi?"

It took me a moment to parse her.question, but all of a sudden I was completely back to myself, just in time to absolutely die of embarrassment.

"L-listen, I- y-you can exorcise i-in anyone's name, i-it's the power and conviction that counts--!!"

"Usagi, then." I could hear the laughter in her voice, laughter that bubbled out moments later. I wanted to crawl in a hole in embarrassment, but- it didn't feel like condescending laughter. I knew what that felt like. She seemed just genuinely amused. "I grew up with Sailor Moon, too."

I couldn't stop the squeak that eaked out, and I covered my face again.

"G-god I hope word about this doesn't get out, people already think I-I'm weird enough, and to- to fall back on anime for magic i-in a pinch is just--"

"Cute," Jenna finished.

I squeaked.

Jenna moved away for a moment, and then she settled my glasses on my nose. I couldn't make eye contact, but I did glance over at her and sheepishly murmur my thanks.

"The officers still want a statement from you, since you made the call and tried to go after the perp, but I don't think they're looking at any charges, given…" Jenna trailed off and looked over at where Craig had disappeared. "...yeah."

I nodded, slowly, and then found myself yawning, the adrenaline drop setting in especially hard.

"...d'you think it can wait 'til tomorrow… 've kinda had a rough night."

"I think they'll be okay with that."

[englacial]

A Warm Goodbye or A Message for the Future

I haven’t been active here in more than a year which is mostly by accident but also quite purposeful. I had intended to remain in the RP community but as is evident by my many returns, disappearances, and moments of unreliability, this is a chapter of my life that has come to an end. I say this with an abundance of love for what writing here has given me and also with renewed knowledge of what that progression has looked like for me. This community has been amazing and it has also been devastating for me at times. I have also played a role in that devastation and wasn’t always the best version of myself (and I’m still not). 

COVID certainly threw my life into turmoil and unearthed a lot.

In December of last year I went through a mental health crisis that landed me in patient for a brief period and also lead me to the deepest and most accurate understanding of my mental health I’ve ever contended with. Through the process of finding a new therapist experienced with dissociative disorders, I was diagnosed with DID and my whole life suddenly made sense. 

The ups and downs, the identity confusion, the loss of time and deep misunderstandings of situations I was faced with suddenly made sense in their entirety. Many gaps have been filled simply by working on this in therapy and it has forced me to reflect on my time in the RP community and how I’ve interacted with fellow writers, both good and bad. It’s also made it incredibly difficult to let go of this account and writing because for me, it was often the only opportunity I had to express myself as me. Roleplaying was an excuse to be a different person, an easy cover for what was actually occurring in our life. I haven’t always known how to do that nor did I fully grasp why OCs felt more like me than me (surprise! they’re me). There were times when my self-expression was really self-injurious and that is painful but necessary for me to realize and acknowledge. Trauma changes the ecosystem of the human body in upsetting and ugly ways. More than anything, I was escaping the recognition that in refusing to heal, I was often doing harm to myself and others.

Fundamentally, I was seeking human connection where I had been denied it and we were playing out parts and trauma we were forced to keep hidden. For me, DID is about multiple traumas I have faced and the way my body chose to cope with it. It means a lot for what my childhood looked like and the incredible survival tools necessary for me to grow into an adult.

When I first started roleplaying on tumblr I was just 13 years old. I’m now 24 and have so much still to learn. I knew I was different growing up. I knew I had experienced pain. I knew I had difficulties expressing myself. I didn’t know I had DID or why there was so much confusion crowding my experiences online and in, truly, the only space I was able to fall into away from the ongoing turmoil in my life. I went by many different names, played many different characters, and made many different friends but this was difficult and I was not always kind. Frequently there were dissociative barriers that presented as amnesia and compartmentalized selves that in DID are called alters. The consistency with which I was forgetting myself, my actions, and people I’d met was a major detriment and it also enabled adults in the community to take advantage of and use me. The RP community was the stage for which many people with more life experience than myself, hurt me as a child. As I remained in the community, I began growing into a very dysfunctional adult and a part of that was to hide from my past in the community and parts of myself I didn’t recognize or accept as being me (collective). It is very difficult to contend with actions you don’t remember and I was not ready to take accountability for what I did as a scared and hurt child and what I was running from as an equally scared and hurt adult.

Mental health has always been important to me. I have talked at length about being a survivor of CSA, trafficking, and other forms of abuse and neglect. I have talked about my struggles with PTSD and depression. Despite this I was still not healing. Acknowledgement of mental health only does so much if the process of actually healing is not accessible to you.

My biggest takeaway from the long term, trauma informed therapy I have started is that I really didn’t know what healing looked like until I not only had an accurate assessment of what the problem was but accepted it and stopped hiding from it. This is difficult with DID. It is designed to operate in the background. Not knowing precisely your own experience, not having all of your memories is a way to conceal pain, not confront it. Working with myself as a system has been the most fundamental building block in actually healing, in actually accepting my trauma, in accepting how my trauma lead me to being dysfunctional in my relationships and in how I interacted with the people I cared about. Before I started doing this, it was easy to distance myself from my own actions. I did not remember them, I believed it was another person (because often it was, though this does not distance the actions from myself), and I thought I could just move away from it because it was not representative of me. That’s just not true. System accountability demands that I confront in myself the ways that not holding myself accountable lead to harm caused. In the RP community, I have been antagonistic of others. I have concealed my identity when confronted with actions of my past that I did not remember. As a child I lied about my age to the appeasement of adults in my circle at the time who were grooming me and as a result people connected to me were hurt when I moved away from them as someone else entirely. So much happened in this community and with people I met that it was foundational in how I learned to cope (for better or worse) and how I carried myself going forward. The accounts I had here were more real than life to me. That for me was a dysfunction. I was hurt as much as I caused hurt and this carried over when people recognized me but I didn’t recognize them or I was pressed for information and suddenly realized I was multiple people. It happened so many times here that I don’t blame anyone for feeling distanced from me, hating me, feeling hurt by me. My sense of self was fragmented and so was my sense of my actions. As it comes together more clearly, I understand now that as much as I have faced harassment in this community and my share of hatred and vitriol, I contributed to it as well.

In order to truly say goodbye, I feel I must also directly hold myself accountable for harm caused by my actions while I shared space here.

I made friends who were hurt in the crossfire of my search for self, whose trust I broke and whose boundaries I did not respect. I don’t think I can ever directly apologize to these people for what transpired between us but I do understand with specificity what actions of mine lead to the dissolution of our friendship and the hurt that they felt as a result. Those things weren’t ok. Being aware of the circumstances that lead to them does not excuse them and I am sorry. For many years I was a steamroller of uncertainty and of cyclical harm.

What I want and what I want for others is happiness.

Happiness to me is getting to experience the full breadth of human emotion while living under a stable community that is providing all of the basic necessities such as food, water, shelter, and materials to create goods and explore creative talents while simultaneously getting to share all of these things with everyone else inside the system. Being connected to others while having your needs met, is the only form of life that makes sense and for two full decades of my life, I did not have this. Many others don’t either.

Systematic abuse and denial of resources is something that follows people within their muscle memory patterns, nervous system, and within neurological pathways inside of their brain. People with dissociative amnesia are often among the most exploited because they were never given the tools to continue to build memory recall. When they are given all of these tools, we find that overtime they will continue to get better at recalling their lives and experiences, people they have met, and food they have eaten, joys they’ve shared. The brain is a muscle that retains everything that happens to it. It is incredibly absorbent and elastic. If something happens to it, it will remember. For people who have been systematically harmed, especially over extended periods of time, this can cause extremely difficult issues with memory recall. Eventually, these memories can return but it means removing people from systems of harm not by force but by replacing them with healthy and bustling systems that can offer them the love, tools, support, and nourishment for their body that they need.

Systemic malnourishment especially through resource denial under capitalism is a major contributor to this problem. Chronic dehydration’s link to memory problems, to name one example, is well documented. The issue with this even when people have access to all of that information is that they don’t have the reflexive memory abilities to continue to nourish themselves and be well. More and more these people and communities impacted by this kind of harm will seek refuge in accessibility (positive). If the tools are right in front of them surrounded by a multitude of people and supportive communities, they will have a much easier time remembering. Grounding is incredibly important even once outside of a system of harm because recall ability is a learned skill. People who have experienced repeated and/or prolonged abuse and harm (including systematic abuse like racism, homophobia, transphobia, et al.) have a much more difficult time learning and retaining this ability which contributes to the formation of dissociative disorders like DID.

The memories are still there, but it’s extremely difficult to begin to unravel that mystery when they are among the most likely to forget to remember. Recollecting memories is not only difficult for them, it is something their body has reflexively protected them against so that they can continue to survive in ongoing systems of harm.

When they continue to reproduce systems of harm, it is because they have been systematically gatekept from their needs and the healthy communities that can meet those needs from birth.

In order to help people suffering from dissociative barriers in terms of DID/OSDD, it is of utmost importance to continue to care for them as a collective so that they can then go on to care for themselves and give back to communities that they may have unknowingly harmed (this includes caring for yourself). It’s important to look inside of these communities and the conditions they’ve been living in with love and support. Sometimes the conditions are bad because they are incapable of caring for themselves after previous caretakers have abandoned them. 

Many people with dissociative disorders come from families who were absent for the majority of their lives even if they were living under the same roof. Sometimes these families will have noticed their child’s behavior, questioned where it came from and then find the answers are unexpected and daunting to take on. When faced with the question of whether or not their own child is safe to continue loving as a result, they will often continue to recreate systems of harm or are told by healthcare professionals to do things with their children that are not healthy for them which can on its own become traumatic.

The environments that dissociative disorders result from are very difficult to navigate. If you suspect you or someone you know is dealing with a dissociative disorder, it is important to keep in mind the circumstances endured that might have contributed. 

We cannot always be the protectors, we cannot always shield people from harm, we cannot always stop them from causing harm themselves, but an increased awareness and understanding looking in can help considerably. 

People with dissociative disorders are at high risk of being repeatedly groomed and harmed because of the nature of the disorders. They deserve the protection and security to fully form and emote as a human being without being harmed again, and when they themselves cause harm it is important to understand why this is happening and it is necessary when they realize that something is harmful that those behaviors and beliefs are replaced with new ones that are healthy, constructive, and more reflective of what they want. With dissociative and amnesiac barriers, this can become complicated but it is mandatory for system growth and healing.

Preventing harm starts in recognizing where it lives inside of ourselves.

To finish this post, I would like to share some poems that myself and others in my system wrote regarding our experience with DID:

Each time it happened I became another person But they always found me I tried my best to explain I’m still me but I need to be safe And no one listened I tried to show don’t tell I tried to scream it out loud Then I tried to forget it completely They always found me The caretaker inside of me was a flame I was forced to keep lit Sometimes kindness could not touch his flame The child hungered for a hand to hold but was held back from exploration No one told me I was we I had to dissect myself over and over in a lab that I created Now that I love myself Who is here to rejoice? -Beck

In my dreams I see a giant machine That I pilot I step inside my circuits Firing As a connection blooms to life I feel each part creak and crack As they move away and step forward The joints protest with disuse but Life bursts to turn on Twinkling lights of Motherboard parts that Illuminate metal I become like the moving backdrop to the stars a Galaxy swirling into A robot

Suddenly I feel afraid Am I just stitched together scraps that someone rescued from the crash? Am I the real deal? Or are my thoughts Synthetic projections onto a reality of my past that I’m just parts and not You Not Whole But wait I love the parts I Love the robot I see them woven together like A junkyard dragon that Soars overhead as a beacon of glittering silver held together by Intricate threads closer to a Kite Than heavy metal Something else entirely The machine cannot be confined to this earth It transcends infinitely It is life sometimes more than living -Aspen

I remember when I was small and I was running Through flowers Through mazes I remember when I was small and my palms would catch hold of blades of grass to brace my fall I remember being so small the ground would swallow me up Puddles like looking glasses That I dip into and Sink down to the bottom The boats crossing overhead While I swim I remember when the world was small and I was big Looking down at towns moving below Hiding in the ceiling as The room moves -Hannah

I have danced on the graves of relationships cast aside Pretending they were temples and not places of pain I am not the same ghost who haunts there Though some would see it in my face and hear it in my Disembodied voice Telling them I’m So over it... While the tears still sting I don’t visit their headstones anymore but the remnants of offerings I’ve made with Sweat/Blood Still linger like the bitter taste of Wine sipped in your honor or that I pour out at the soil marking where you left or where we stumbled A place you tried to bury me, too I don’t leave you to rest in peace I leave so I can -Jana

I see the revolving door of Our mind Many stepping in to walk through Sometimes more than one and It’s great I talk to them They’re my friends They go to work They wave and smile at me But I don’t step on Something inside of me holds me in place Afraid of the Spinning wheel Often I step on and just get Spun right out or I say the wrong things on the other side I don’t have the best reputation Some would say “She lies,” or “She’s so aggressive!” They see my teeth bared in anger and My arms folded over my chest to Conceal the soft spot under my armor where a spear might pierce They see me like a beast whose eyes glow red They do not know that the Wolf isn’t just a part of me and that I’m the monster they’ve seen There are others who have set fire to my path Concealing the tracks that reveal Villages I’ve been to Living peacefully before the Wolf leaps out and disrupts them Many people got too close or They hurt too personally and I took the blame for the abandonment and pain looking at a legacy where A scared kid devastated other scared kids I cleaned up after them and I Built my defenses to Hide them

She is like the Moon A part of her is always hidden

I bound these words into myself like A spirit possessed to make everyone else the Ghost So many people caught in the crossfire of Escaping abuse All of it is ugly I was built to chase things off The Wolf Creeping around the concrete walls as The Woman in the Maze Defending its center with Medusa’s untrained gaze A specter of someone loved and Incapable of telling them while Slipping further and further away from material safety The hurt doesn’t excuse the hurt Every move I make opens Old wounds that others have healed or forgotten but I’m still carrying If the women I’ve loved were all one person they too would Be like the moon Parts hidden or Omitted Because it’s easy to forget how They hurt me because I was a girl who loved girls -Jana

Some have said I was the first to look out over the edge and into the expanse of unknowns below without fear And I ache when they’re not right Being unafraid of dying is different than being unafraid of Death I know I’ve imagined myself there Not even as a last resort Thinking maybe this will be fun to try I’ve seen myself with my toes curling over ledges for purchase Tightrope walking the line between here and jumping Romanticizing the strength it would take to Let myself fall or Climb down the rope To meet Death again Her face kind enough for me to feel regret for a split second before Rebirth I’m not afraid of Death But the truth is I was never gazing over a ledge more than The bowl of the toilet Vomiting Closer to death on the bathroom floor Naked and feeble Than I was in imagined leaps of faith See, I still fear dying and no... I wouldn’t be the first Even in our family Death has our list pulled up and Our numbers on speed dial I think she’s watched me on my hands and knees mopping up blood and just Tapped her watch “Are we done with this? I have somewhere to be.” But that voice wasn’t her nor the tapping it was A mother sick of waiting for me to get ready for school or a counselor unflinching when I say I’ve watched friends die Until eventually there was just never enough time for dying and though I visited the ledge frequently in my mind and explored the chasm down in search I forgot about my body Nothing left to harm if I am In between here and there Then it just became what sacrifices I could make How I could fantasize about martyrdom and Sail forward into the pitch As someone else’s hero when Still I was just Killing myself What an unexpected turn for The Hero and yet I see it all the time These visions of divine masculinity Achilles in Hades All point towards her again Death’s hands firmly grasping his as he Dies for his friends like a valiant flame extinguished and Everyone weeps His devastation saving them... That was what I stacked myself up against Thinking the only service I could give to those I love was My life in its entirety Which is why I’m not The Hero I’m the Leader, the Counselor, the Friend, the Lover I’m pulling myself away from steps taken towards a drop because Unity is not forged by Taking a leave of absence but by Seeing pain in others and Not thinking you have to live for them Only wanting to survive with them Envisioning futures where you thrive with or without them knowing that The way you believed solidarity was Shared suffering and not Shared community in times of suffering Was a cowardice you will live to outgrow Now strength looks like pulling weeds for a garden Packing up boxes Reminding yourself to stretch or Focusing on your breathing as it guides you down into A hollow part of your body An energy tightening there and fanning out slowly as Intention Replacing the visions of a ledge with Floating Swimming out into a peaceful place inside of you and Breathing in again Calm and of course I wouldn’t deceive you The ledge is still a place I go to and Look down like scrying into Death’s vastness and I cry too It was never funny It was never beautiful Those are lies told to me and you The bones on the bathroom floor were me and even when I rattled No one answered -Tristan

When we love we love together I have never been a singular Inside me there are waves rippling on the shore Formative memories distorted and abstracted with each crash of foam against ground up trash I hear a knocking on the wall of our beach house as if a ghost hides inside When things happen I don’t understand I ask about the real children in the closets like me that I can’t touch Are they scared inside too? I see your eyes go glossy when you remember yours I want to ask about what about where and whom I want to know you’re like me I’m sorry I didn’t know that it was painful -Tristan

I want to tell you that you don’t have to be afraid But there are places you are no longer allowed This is so I can heal and not because I am protecting you I want to show my thoughtfulness The things I see in you The joy That joy hibernates inside me too The winter brings us closer together Generational trauma sprawled on a frigid map yet so cramped for a bedroom that gives me glimpses of the past Sitting cross legged on green carpet while I play games I pretend are me All my heroes have no gender No voice No face Please see me It is the greatest love I’ve ever known -Beck

I want all of our friends old and new to know: we are safe, loved, and cared for. Thank you for the memories and the systems of love you introduced to our life. We love and thank you. You met us without knowing and we felt seen here and this helped us to accept ourselves as a system. -Tristan (yes, really)

[crebby]

PI Woods - A personal take on Homicidal Liu

Important Disclaimer

This entire post was solely written for fun! I do not in any way want to demean the original version of Homicidal Liu. The original creator seems v cool and if the only thing that may be considered ‘fixed’ is the way Liu’s DID works, as even the creator themselves has stated that if they had written Liu today, they would’ve approached things differently. The rest is all just me throwing out my own ideas.

Also, if any corrections are to be made about his DID or if I wrote anything wrong, please do let me know!

Additionally, I must warn that this contains mentions of s*icide, self harm, violence, murder and mentions of past trauma. Said content is all beneath the cut.

The past

Liu came from a troubled, abusive household and spent a good few years in an orphanage until he got adopted into the Woods family at the age of 7. Despite now growing up under a loving family, Liu has always sensed that something about him made him different from other kids, finding himself often stuck with memory loss. Meanwhile, his parents had to deal with sudden outbursts and tantrums, their son suddenly insisting that his name is Sully, and at other times they had to stop 'Liu' from doing anything harmful to himself.

The possibility of dissociative identity disorder wasn’t considered, and at the time, the Woods parents assumed this behaviour to be the result of trauma from Liu’s previous household.

In the beginning, Liu didn’t quite have a word to describe his experience. He knew there were others living alongside in his body in a way and it made things harder for him. It was only once he got older that he discovered what DID was, and things finally made sense to him. He’s absolutely certain he has it, but never felt this was something he could bring up around his family, not even his brother. It took him even longer to figure out how to achieve some proper normalcy with his alters.

Despite the difficulties, the Woods family has always loved Liu like he was their own.

The system

Liu is the host of this system, and there are three alters alongside him. Liu always used to be rather taciturn and introverted, but was very kind and polite. Between him and Jeff, their parents always noted that Liu was the most well-behaved out of the two, also being studious and responsible: something that came naturally as the older sibling.

Sully, on the other hand, has always been rather antsy and anxious, always on guard like something bad is bound to happen. He isn’t necessarily violent, but he is very reactive and therefore is prone to outbursts at times. Notably, Sully is a very avid lover of all things strawberry. Sometimes a switch occurs, leaving whoever fronts now wondering why there’s so much strawberry yoghurt in the fridge, only to then remember Sully probably went to buy groceries. He’s also prone to triggers as he holds certain traumatic memories. Generally, he still manages to be functional. He's the most likely to hold grudges (relevant for later) and his cautiousness usually makes sure nothing stupid happens.

Myra is easily the most responsible in the system, and is also the only female alter. Sometimes she forgets that she is residing in a male body, but has gotten used to it, though Liu has insisted on at least making himself appear somewhat more androgynous for the sake of her comfort when she's fronting, while also preventing discomfort for other alters. Myra is more in charge of solving things like conflicts and occasionally manages switches as well, but also makes sure regular tasks get done.

Calypso is… Quite the subject. He is the carrier of most of the system's traumatic memories, and is the least stable out of the four. They are most susceptible to self-destructive tendencies. Sometimes Myra, Liu or Sully will wake up feeling horrible and sore, only to realise it was because Calypso tried things the night before. Due to these tendencies, the system tries to make sure they don't front very often, both for their own and Calypso's safety, even if this isn't always pleasant for him.

The Incident

Things were quite shaken up after the night Jeff tried to kill the system, but it was Sully who underwent the direct experience that night, while Liu woke up, confused and in pain in the hospital after his memory stopped at him welcoming Jeff back home. Naturally, he was quite distraught and disoriented, as was Myra and Calypso.

Trying to achieve a new sense of normalcy was tough for the system, and it took a while to even recover from the initial shock. They were sent off to Liu's aunt, who was more than happy to take the system in, especially considering Liu was her favourite nephew.

After the attempt on the system's life, Liu became far more withdrawn, and got more and more absorbed by his studies. He still had no idea what lead up to Jeff snapping the way he did, but had managed to forgive him and simply wants a chance to talk to him again. Given the opportunity, he moved out, eventually working as a private investigator. When he was younger, he dreamt of being a detective, but all the incidents leading up to Jeff's decline left Liu with a permanent distrust towards the police, making private detective work the next best thing. Along with this, Liu has completely dedicated himself to finding out where Jeff went, and to hopefully talk to him.

Sully, on the other hand, may forgive but never forgets, and this time he couldn't forgive. Similarly to Liu, he has developed an obsession with pinning down Jeff's whereabouts, but he has far more sinister reasons for this, as he is quite vengeful towards Jeff. He isn't as stable as he used to be, either.

Liu and Sully's dedication to finding Jeff has been the source of a lot of conflict, as Myra - and Calypso to an extent - wants to be able to move on from what happened and return to living a normal life, heavily disagreeing with what the two are doing. At times, she has tried sabotaging their investigations, and the system still hasn't come to an agreement regarding this situation.

Homicide

Things only get messier from here.

Once Liu is set on a goal, there is nothing you can do to actually stop him. This means he's more than willing to turn to murder if it means furthering his goals. He has already murdered several people, most being related to the investigation into Jeff. However, he approaches this very methodically. His go-to method is staging suicides or accidents, and cooldown periods are quite long. He only kills if he deems killing to be necessary, and does in fact feel guilty about it. He tries rationalising what he's done by telling himself that Jeff would most likely be killed by authorities, and that this is a way of protecting him, but deep down he knows he's kind of lying to himself.

Sully is much messier, much to Liu's chagrin. On some occasions he intentionally kills, and in many other cases it's because something triggered the trauma experienced from what Jeff did, and he reacts violently. Many of the people Sully kills either resemble Jeff or remind Sully of him in one way or another. Contrary to Liu, Sully takes pleasure in brutally killing these people because to him, it's the closest to actually killing Jeff. Sometimes Liu instructs Sully mentally on how to dispose of the bodies, other times there's a switch and Liu does it himself.

Myra and Calypso are extremely against this, leading to even more conflict in the system. Self-destructive tendencies coming from Calypso end up worsening as a result, and they have attempted to consciously kill the entire system, feeling like it’s the only way to stop what they’re doing. In some cases, they have nearly succeeded, so all three other alters have to collectively block Calypso from fronting entirely for safety reasons. Despite this, he’s still very much present.

Extra (can be updated)

Myra, Sully and Calypso are eager to have an image of what they believe they look like, and as a result love recreating themselves whether it’s through art or through character creators like Picrew. This is how the system would make themselves on Picrew:

Liu

(He very intentionally portrays himself without the scars and stitches. They’re a huge insecurity of his.)

Sully

Myra

Calypso

--

If I have made any mistakes in the portrayal of DID, please let me know and correct me!! I wish to do my best, as I know it’s a heavily misportrayed condition.

[baubaes]

hi! can I get some fluff/platonic love between Reid and Garcia? Prompt 28. Her taking care of him right after he’s been rescued from Tobias. Thanks! 😁

Well, naturally!!!

@thatonecurlygirl prompt list, no28 “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Warnings: mentions of drug use, needles, kidnapping, serial killers

Summary: Spencer is not doing so well on his forced leave after Tobias case and Garcia shows up to take care of him. Angst-ish, but very much fluff, Garcia’s being the care bear we all know and love, Reid being messed up.

A/N: hi! It’s my first ff on this blog, and even though it’s not strictly a ship, I liked the idea of it. I hope you’ll enjoy reading!

Spencer looked around his apartment, all blacked out with makeshift curtains over his big windows. The only viable source of light was the one coming through the tiny stained glass window. He watched it closely, focusing on how the individual rays were bouncing off the mirror and getting scattered amongst his walls and stacks of books. Blue, green, red.

He was sitting right next to his couch, not bothered enough to shave or change from the robe, that he wrapped tightly around his body. Even though the inside of his apartment was warm and nice, he could still feel the terrible cold of the cemetery. It felt as if the days melted into one, long period of time, with no particular distinction. But maybe it was better this way. It’s not like he had anywhere to be. They’ve put him on a forced leave, his ankle busted, he couldn’t sleep or focus much. And even though everybody wanted him to “rest some more”, he couldn’t. He knew he had to go through a psych eval, but he was okay with it. He felt confident that he should be back in the field.

Sitting at home was no good, he felt like his brain would be much more useful working on a case and when he tried to sleep, each time he closed his eyes all he could see was Tobias’ dead, empty, cold gaze. He smelled the burning fish oil as well, and he couldn’t shake it off. He was painfully aware of the two bottles sitting at the bottom of his bag. He was in pain, alright, but the painkillers issued at the hospital were enough. He had no idea why in that moment he took the bottles from Tobias’ coat. Now it felt just too wrong, to throw it away or give back. It wasn’t listed as an item found at the crime scene, so how would he explain that in the bureau? “Oh, I had this on me, completely forgot, sorry!” He wouldn’t forget. Eidetic memory and such.

Spencer was undermining what he went through, and even though in the back of his head he knew about it, he consciously decided to ignore it. It was traumatic. He found himself in a life-threatening situation, kidnapped by a serial killer having a dissociative breakdown. One of the alters made him choose which family was supposed to survive. He thought about their image on one of the monitors, and how he felt, wanting so bad to refuse it. But his captor broke him, right before injecting him with another portion of the drug. The thing is, it wasn’t just hydromorphone, it was cut with something making him have those vivid visions. In fact they felt so real, that he wasn’t completely sure wether they’ve actually occurred.

But besides the visions, he enjoyed the feeling of silence, the world nonexistent, his own feelings muted and far away. Like a weight taken off his chest. Spencer tried not to think about it in those categories. He assumed, that if he focused on the tragic parts of the case, he wouldn’t think about the needle marks on his arm, but this theory quickly proved to be wrong. His arm hurt, the places where Tobias put the needle in his vein still stung. Logically, he knew it wasn’t possible for such simple needle pokes to hurt like that after so long, but he couldn’t explain it.

Maybe an hour passed, or maybe five minutes, he wasn’t sure. He heard a knock on his door. He could pretend to be asleep or not hear it, but the knocking repeated. The man propped himself up on his elbows and grabbed his couch for support to stand up. He felt a little dizzy. He limped over to the door and just opened it. On the other side stood no one else, but Penelope Garcia, bearing gifts as it seemed.

“Oh, Reid, that won’t help you to get better, are you kidding me?” she marched right in, passing him, not waiting for him to invite her in. Penelope stopped in front of the covered windows and looked around to asses the situation further. “We will make it civilized.” she said after a hesitation lasting maybe two seconds, but Spencer caught it. He closed the door behind her.

“Good morning to you too, Penelope.” he mumbled out, moving himself so that he could lean on the backrest of the couch.

“Morning? Morning was some time ago, mister. It’s lunch time to say the least.” She informed him, as she studied how on earth he made those makeshift curtains. Blonde didn’t seem to worry about that, and with the help (or maybe just because of that) of her ridiculously high heels, she was able to reach the upper part of the material and pull it with just enough force to let it fall on the floor.

“Right… I guess I’ve lost track of time.” he said, wincing a little, when she uncovered the second window. The room instantly filled with light and his eyes were not ready for that. “Now that’s better.” Garcia turned to him with a wide smile, clearly proud of herself, but then she frowned and tilted her head to the side, when she finally saw him better.

“Oh my, Reid, go and wash your hair, huh? There’s no way anybody will let you come back looking like this.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. He hasn’t even told Hotch anything, just requested a call from the counselor, so that he could schedule his evaluation. “How did you…”

“Calls within the bureau? Reid, come on. What is this, kindergarten? Of course I know, and I’m a little bit sorry, but actually, not really, because I, we, we worry about you.” She said, speaking faster and faster, unpacking things from her bag with sequined butterflies. “Anyway, when was the last time you ate?”

Reid wasn’t angry with her. It felt… Nice. Less lonely. Not as overwhelming as he’d imagine it could be. “I… I’m not sure.” he answered her according to what he assumed was right. “It’s okay. Um, thanks for…” Spencer wasn’t sure what to say. For engaging him in a conversation with another human being? For ripping off his “curtains”?

“For lunch. Thai. I hope you like it?” She asked, realizing that not everybody had to love tofu with roasted peanuts and rice noodles, as much as she did.

Spencer nodded. Penelope looked at him, waiting for him to move. “Come on, chop, chop, I know first steps are hard, but it’s something. You should go and take a shower and I can wait.”

Right. But well, no. “Garcia, I’m waiting for a callback. From the counselor.” He said, looking around, wondering if he really had crutches given him in the ER, or was that a dream?

“Oh, right. Okay, that makes sense. In that case, I don’t see a problem with us eating then.” she said and disappeared in his small kitchen. He knew it was pointless for him to try and go in there, so he just focused on finding his flip phone. He checked his bag, and surely, there it was. There was also something else in the bag, but he quickly closed it, made his way to the table by the windows. He could hear Garcia opening and closing probably all his drawers and cupboards, but he didn’t mind. He put the phone on the table and struggled a bit to move a stack of books off of the chair, so that they could sit down together. He moved his chessboard onto another stack, careful not to mess it up. He remembered how the pieces were placed, but he liked it to not change if it wasn’t necessary.

“You want coffee, boy genius?” she asked from the kitchen and he sat on one of the chairs, but then he reflected. “Sure, thank you Penelope. Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m okay! You’re not much of a help anyway with your ankle, just sit down and wait!” he felt a little awkward, but complied. He heard clanking of his silverware (not many of it for sure). In the sun, he watched his arm, realizing that the needle marks he thought he saw so much in the dark simply weren’t there. Or weren’t as visible, anyway. Not as much as he believed them to be.

“Okay, here’s a plate for you and for me…” She said, standing over him suddenly, placing plates on the table, before returning to the kitchen and back two more times in those furiously pink platform heels. To be fair, they did go well with the rest of her outfit - a white dress with pink, purple and yellow flowers, a pink cardigan, light pink tights, her glasses were virtually the same color as her heels. She also had a ton of fitting fake flowers on top of her head. But tasteful. Very much her. Reid realized that seeing her actually made him feel better. Her positivity rubbed off on him.

“Okay, coffee, brought you sugar too, because I think it might be the main component of yours.” She said and Spencer laughed, as she sat down, placing a glass next to her own plate. Maybe it wasn’t a full diaphragm involving laugh, but he laughed.

“On the menu we have: two portions of vegetarian pad thai with tofu” She said, taking out the takeaway box wrapped in aluminum foil out of her bag that was under the table at this current moment.

“There’s some spring rolls with vegetables and I got you some fried dumplings with shrimps.” Penelope continued, taking out all things that she mentioned. It smelled really nice and the boxes were still warm (Garcia’s bag turned out to be one of those thermic bags, of course) and he wasn’t sure when was the last time that he’s had a proper meal, not from the freezer or a microwave.

“Thank you so much.” he mumbled out but this time his smile appeared automatically. It all smelled so nice and he felt warmth. Inside and out. “That’s awfully nice of you, Garcia… ” he started but she interrupted him. “Look, you weren’t available for a lunch out - I brought it to you. No big deal!” blonde smiled really wide, opening the containers for him in a motherly fashion. “I remember how much you struggled with chopsticks, hence the fork.”

Spencer was about to protest, because his chopstick techniques improved very much, but his phone rang.

“Oh” he put his index finger on his lips to signal Garcia to be quiet, before opening the phone.

“This is doctor Spencer Reid.”

Garcia just let him finish the call, during which, his facial expression grew softer and even became relaxed at some point.

She helped herself to spring rolls, dipping them in sweet chili sauce and sipping her favorite blueberry green iced tea, looking behind him, trying to decipher at least few of his books’ titles.

Spencer closed his phone, put it down and proceeded to take his meal from the container out on his plate. He started eating and nodded enthusiastically. “oh, it’s really good. Tofu is not overly crispy and not overly soggy.” he stated, matter-of-factly. Garcia frowned. “Hey doctor. What about the call?” Spencer didn’t realize that it made sense for him to say that unprompted, so he took another piece of tofu into his mouth before answering. “Ah, I’m supposed to come in at 4 pm. Just need to find some crutches.” he added, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world and dipped a dumpling in the sauce before eating it.

“Well, that’s marvelous!” Penelope stood up and squeezed him in an attempt to hug. He tried to hug her back, but he felt too weak.

“Okay, we eat and then you’re taking a shower, because I will not let you leave this building like this.” she stated, sitting back down and continuing eating (Garcia had no problem with chopsticks, so that’s what she used).

“sure, of course, thank you Penelope. You’re a great friend.” he said and the woman scrunched her nose, obviously flattered.

“Spencer, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Eat!” Reid knew better than to discuss that with her. He still thought about something else though. “Crutches… I think they’re here… ” he mumbled, looking around.

“If you don’t have them, Morgan will literally carry you to his car. He’s picking us up. Eat, you don’t want to be late! ” vision of Morgan carrying him wasn’t so bad, but Garcia was right. He focused on eating to not be late. Reid was about to go out, in a shirt, with washed hair and shaved face, thanks to his friends. He looked up at Garcia, who was currently scooping some chives in order to eat them, and Spencer realized he didn’t smell the burning fish oil anymore. He didn’t feel cold, but rather felt warmth from his insides.

“ …and Gideon misses you too. He wouldn’t say so, but the way he longingly stares while passing your desk each day speaks volumes.” Garcia continued listing the whole team and just how much they missed him. Reid felt much better. He had a family waiting for him, something he didn’t think about often enough these few past days. Hopefully their warm gazes would let him shake the dead, cold one off. Hopefully.

[igirisuhito]

Title: Out of my mind Relationship(s): Kamukura Izuru/Naegi Makoto Rating: Teen Summary:  Naegi goes to confront Kamukura Izuru, based off their scene in dr3. For Kamuegi week Day 5: Scars/Future Foundation Trigger Warnings: Medical Trauma, Medical Abuse, Broken Bones, Dr0 References/Spoilers, PTSD

[Ao3 Link]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Future Foundation were kind enough to disclose all information that led to the Tragedy of Hope's Peak to its survivors. Naegi read through the files of the Hope Cultivation Project, the project that was being funded by the school's reserve course. The same event that led to its downfall. 

It was utterly petrifying to him. 

The fact that a talentless student would volunteer himself for such brutal experiments was unfathomable. He saw the logs of Hinata Hajime's descent into inhumanity, becoming a creature nobody could ever hope to perceive as a regular person. 

There were 3 surgeries in total, all additional operations were performed through electrical stimulus or injections of medication. The first one was a whole two days after Hinata had signed that contract, the aforementioned contract that had disappeared from the Biology building before it could have been recovered. Which was unfortunate, but they were already so lucky to have been able to obtain the Project's logs that nobody really cared about what had been lost. 

The first surgery was the one that scared Naegi the most. The severing of the connections between the prefrontal cortex and parts of the frontal lobe from the rest of the brain. Kirigiri had explained this to him simply, "They performed a leucotomy. You know what that is, right? A lobotomy?"

They'd learnt about it in highschool, surprisingly their years of education were the memories most easily recovered. Naegi never really paid attention to lessons in psychology. Perhaps he should have, as a knowledge in brain ablation somehow ended up being something he actually did need later on in life. 

The fact remained that this was the first step in inducing Kamukura's apathetic outlook towards life. This was where the despair began, the despair he wanted to reverse. But how can someone reverse the effects of permanent brain damage? It's impossible, right? 

Things seemed to only get worse the more he read. The thing Naegi hated most was how positive the post surgery notes were, as if what occurred was a miracle. 

The subject is responding well, his aggression has reduced and he has become more passive towards his doctors. The subject's anxiety seems to have been quelled and he has been dissociative and nonverbal. Fortunately, he is still able to use his vocal cords and form words, as evidenced by his reaction to pain stimulus.

He could only gag. The school Naegi admired so deeply was willing to do this to a human being? He couldn't force himself to imagine the student identification photo of Hinata bearing those same lifeless eyes of Kamukura. 

It was all so so fucked up. Enough to make him groan and slam his head down onto the desk, as if giving himself brain damage would fix Hinata's.

Naegi recalled Munakata placing a hand on his shoulder, interrupting the break he was taking from cross-examining the files. He had jumped on instinct from the sudden contact. Flushing in embarrassment at the fact someone has seen him act so childishly. 

Munakata hadn't seemed phased. He just looked over at the papers scattered on the desk, skimming, scanning. He spoke up in his rather gruff voice.

"They wanted you to read up on the destroyer of Hope’s Peak, right?" 

"Uh, yeah…" Sheepishly, Naegi nodded. "This guy had to be awfully messed up to volunteer for something like this."

With a loud click of his tongue, Munakata removed his hand from the boy's shoulder. He backed himself up to the table in which Naegi had been reading at, before lifting himself and sitting on the table. "No person would volunteer for this. He was manipulated by Hope's Peak and allowed despair to swallow him whole." 

Naegi sat up in response, awaiting elaboration from the Council President. 

"Hope's Peak obviously omitted the full details of what would happen to Hinata Hajime when he signed the contract." Crossing his arms over his chest, Munakata met Naegi's intense gaze with a sigh, sounding almost mad that Naegi couldn't read his thoughts. "Of course, most of the Future Foundation doesn't want you to think that. Hope's Peak academy was never the shining beacon of hope it pretended to be, it's platitudes were just worthless lies told to deceive."

"That's terrible!" Naegi cried, slamming one hand down on the table for emphasis. "Though, now that I think about it it makes a lot of sense that Hinata didn't know everything. But he still orchestrated the first Killing game, right? Why would he have done that?" 

"Actually Kamukura Izuru was framed by Enoshima Junko." Munakata sighed in a pompous manner that reminded him all too much of Togami. "Unfortunately, he woefully succumbed to despair, though it was indeed Enoshima who led him down that path. The sheer amount of murder he did go on to later commit proves that in reality he isn't redeemable."

"Framed…? So it wasnt Kamukura who orchestrated the first killing game?" 

"Of course not!" The older man hissed. "Do you seriously just believe anything anyone tells you?" 

Naegi's breathing hitched in fear as the other slammed his hand down onto the desk with much more intensity than Naegi had earlier. "N-no… I'm sorry…"

Munakata slid back off the table, causing it to groan beneath his weight. "You should be more careful, Naegi Makoto. It's purely luck that that blind trust hasn't gotten you killed yet."

Next thing he knew Munakata was gone with a loud slam of a door. God that guy was hot-headed. 

But he was wrong, about Kamukura, that is. 

For some reason that experience was all Naegi could think about as he looked at Kamukura's back. Stiff shoulders hidden beneath the black fabric of his uniform, dark hair billowing in the wind. He created such an eerie silhouette against the golden sunset in the background, beautiful, yet filling the other with a sense of trepidation and fear.

The man Naegi had spent the whole day searching for, of course he was in the last place he looked. He could almost sigh at how awful his luck could be sometimes. His feet ached from searching all around Hope's Peak, between all the different labs and even that freaky hidden room beneath the statue of the founder.

"Naegi Makoto. The Super High School Level Hope, also known as the former Super High School Level Good Luck." A monotone voice that sounded too close and too far away all at the same time suddenly broke the silence. "You've come on orders to kill me."

All that trepidation was causing Naegi's hands to shake from how tightly wound up he was. The sound of someone else's voice made him flinch. "H-huh?! You know?" 

"Of course I do." Kamukura spoke again, now tilting his head to the side to glance back at Naegi. "It's not that I'm omniscient, I just bear the talent of the Super High School Level Analyst."

It was strange to have his mind read before he even got the thought completely through. Naegi squashed that feeling down, opting to focus on the task at hand.

He cleared his throat, attempting to still his nerves. "If you knew this, why aren't you running?" 

"Hm?" Kamukura turned himself around, now offering his complete attention to Naegi. 

Naegi shivered under those piercing crimson eyes, they bore an even brighter colour than that of Ishimaru or Celeste's eyes. They seemed to target him and lock on like a rifle, loaded and ready to fire at a moment's notice. 

"Do you honestly believe that you can kill me?" 

The breath seemingly disappeared from Naegi's lungs. He drew his hand over his mouth to muffle the faint whimper that escaped his lips. Kamukura's aura was overwhelming, an aura of pure superiority and death. 

This whole situation reminded Naegi of his own execution. The pure despair coursing through his veins. The way Monokuma grinned at him. The loud pounding of the press behind him that shook his body from head to toe. 

Ah, that was the sound of his own heart beating uncontrollably. 

"My presence is bringing back unfortunate memories for you. I apologise, I am aware that you are not here to actually kill me." As if sensing Naegi's fear, Kamukura spoke slowly and clearly.

The other boy nodded slowly, refusing to take the hand from his mouth as stinging tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes. His blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out all sense, overwhelming him with the pure power that was Kamukura.

Kamukura stepped towards him, a move that startled Naegi more than it probably should have. He stepped backwards in turn, but quickly set his foot down on a small and unstable piece of rubble. Instead of Naegi launching off to run, his ankle rolled at an unnatural angle.

Naegi yelped as he fell forward, his forehead barely grazing the dirtied ground. He quickly rolled over, desperately shuffling backwards and away from the older man whilst attempting not to hurt himself any further. 

"Hey, listen to me! Calm down."

His body froze completely upon hearing the command. Kamukura touched his own lips in thought, a little confusion at his sudden break in character. He briefly pondered if his past emotions were through from standing in the classroom of 77-B.

But he deemed the thought unnecessary, for now, instead focusing back on the boy in front of him. "You're here to offer a compromise, are you not?" 

Naegi sucked in a quick breath, grateful for the reminder of what he was actually here for. Unfortunately the pain from his ankle was really beginning to set in, he needed to make this brief. Nodding quickly, he attempted to regain his composure. "Yes. I know I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. But I don't, you deserve a chance at redemption."

"I cannot be redeemed. I was created to be a tool, I have no free will and only act on the orders of others." Kamukura spoke bluntly, tilting his chin up a little. "Your redemption means nothing to me."

Naegi paused. He was expecting this kind of answer, the kind Togami gave him when Naegi said he forgave him for his actions in the killing game. 

"Huh? I don't want your forgiveness. My actions are always justified." He had said. The memory brought a little smile to his face. 

"Okay then." Tilting his head up, Naegi showed that smile off to Kamukura, as if showing him a sign of peace. "Would you like to know more about Hinata Hajime?"

"The previous inhabitant of this vessel? Why do you believe he would mean anything to me?" It was phrased less like a question, and more like an expression of confusion. As if Kamukura didn't really care about the answer, that he already knew the answer, he just didn't quite understand why Naegi Makoto, of all people, would have any interest.

"Because you're here." Raising his right arm, Naegi gestured vaguely around the room, before wincing and putting it back down. "Why would you come to a classroom full of students you didn't know to replace the flowers for Nanami Chiaki? The girl who was Hinata's best friend, the girl you murdered."

Kamukura's brow furrowed. He began to move in large calculated strides, right up to where Naegi sat, before leaning over him in a display of authority. "So you are smarter than you seem."

It was difficult to tell if it was Kamukura or Naegi who had let down their guard, perhaps a mix of both. But a small detail like that didn't bother Naegi, as his smile only widened beneath Kamukura's attempt of showing power. He had him, that much was obvious.

"Well, Kamukura-kun? Why are you here?" 

Kamukura pursed his lips for a moment, thinking to himself for a second, before answering the question. "Because being here makes me feel despair."

He curled his fingers into fists and glanced away briefly, sighing as he realised he would have to answer the inevitable question. "There are a few places in this world where I feel emotions. The classroom of 77-B, the Reserve Course building, and the third floor of the biology building."

"The third floor of the biology building?" As he thought to himself, Naegi unconsciously brought his hand to his chin. "That's oddly specific."

"The neuroscience institute." Kamukura elaborated. 

"Oh…" Naegi moved his hand up to his mouth again, feeling a mix of sympathy and horror. 

Of course he would feel despair there. After all, that's where Kamukura would have been made, where he would have been tortured and experimented on. Had his brain destroyed and enhanced over and over to produce the perfect hope. 

Where Hinata Hajime… died.

"It's an odd feeling, emotions. The emotions I experience from being in these places are perhaps the only reason I'm still here. That and the fact I have nowhere to go, no purpose left in a world without Enoshima." Kamukura began to mumble somewhat as he rambled on. 

Jeez, at least let Hinata rest in peace. 

Naegi bit back the thought, shaking his head and reminding himself of what he was really here for. "Come with me then. If you want to experience more emotions, then I can show you the Neo World Program." 

There was a slow blink as Kamukura processed the offer. "The Neo World Program?" 

"Yeah! We put it together using research from the Super High School Level programmer, therapist, and neurologist." Naegi grinned excitedly as if he was talking about how proud he was of his own child. "It's a simulation that allows people to live out peaceful days filled with hope." 

Kamukura blinked again. "The Super High School Level Neurologist, Matsuda Yasuke?" 

"Yes?" 

Those crimson eyes narrowed to near slits. "The childhood best friend and love of Enoshima Junko?" 

"...yes?"

"Who developed the method that was used to wipe your highschool memories prior to the Killing Game?"

For a moment Naegi paused, unsure of how to answer that one. "I…guess so?" 

Crouching down onto his haunches, Kamukura leaned in even closer to Naegi. "So you are using memory erasing technology then?"

Naegi leaned back a little, uncomfortable as Kamukura's hair brushed against his face. "...Yes." 

"And, assuming you're placing all of Enoshima's protégé's in this program, you'll have about 15 students?" 

"Yes, if we manage to convince them all..." Naegi's a voice dropped a little, finding himself suddenly a little more insecure about his plan. "I don't mean to interrupt but… where are you going with this?"

Kamukura was almost shocked at how naive Naegi was, especially considering he had been the one to end Enoshima. Or was he just stupid? "I'm merely baffled that you would sacrifice your own health for the sake of people you don't know. People who are murderers."

It wasn't a complete lie, most people would not have such considerations for criminals, people who had committed crimes as heinous as the ones the remnants had committed. 

Naegi noted the lack of emotion in his voice. "You don't sound baffled…" 

Ignoring his comment, Kamukura nodded. "I'll participate. I'll make sure the others do too."

"Wait, you will?!" Whilst sitting up a little too excitedly, Naegi put pressure on his ankle, sending pain shooting up his leg. He winced and laid back again. 

"Don't do that. Your ankle is broken." Letting out a bored sigh, Kamukura straightened himself back up. 

"B-broken?!" Naegi's eyes widened to near saucers in shock. "I thought I just twisted it… Am I seriously that unlucky?" 

Kamukura began unbuttoning his black uniform jacket, earning a strange look from the other as he slid it off his shoulders. He then proceeded to fold it in half and kneel back down next to Naegi's broken ankle. 

The other boy watched in awe as he tied it tightly, using it as a makeshift splint to prevent Naegi's ankle from moving too much. "Y-you're too kind Kamukura-kun… much more so than I anticipated."

"I'm doing this purely out of necessity. Nothing more." Kamukura muttered as he tightened the knot, causing Naegi to hiss in pain. He then proceeded to slide his left arm under the boy's knees and right arm under his back, nestling snugly at the base of his spine. 

"Wait wait wait wait wait what are you-?" 

Kamukura lifted Naegi up, causing him to wrap his arms tightly around Kamukura's neck in alarm. "Y-you're carrying me?!" 

"It's not as though you can walk." Kamukura sighed exasperatedly. He was having no issues with Naegi's weight, his panicked yelling, however… 

"B-but I'm heavy…" Naegi refuted, loosening his grip a little when he realised Kamukura wasn't going to hurt him. 

"You weigh less than most girls, in accordance with your height." Kamukura spoke bluntly, scanning his eyes over Naegi's form. 

"H-Hey!!" 

"You're easily flustered."

"Don't tease me!" with the heat rising in his cheeks, Naegi buried his face into Kamukura's chest in hopes of hiding his embarrassment. "I get enough of that from Togami-kun!" 

Kamukura shuffled Naegi in order to give himself a more stable hold before walking out of the classroom. Naegi grumbled into Kamukura's chest, pulling himself even closer.

"You're also easily placated. I do not understand how you've managed to survive thus far." Kamukura muttered, seemingly more to himself than Naegi. 

"You're not the first one to say that to me." Naegi whispered, voice muffled by Kamukura's shirt. 

As tempted as Kamukura felt to further tease Naegi, he decided against upsetting the boy any more than he already had. An emotional fallout would be annoying. 

They walked in silence for a few more minutes as Kamukura traversed the stairs of the building, holding Naegi tightly in order to keep him safe. 

It was near impossible to speak up over the overwhelming presence of the other, so Naegi remained still and quiet. Kamukura, however, was unafraid of breaking that silence, and suddenly piped up with a question. 

"Would the Neo World Program allow me to become somebody else?" 

"U-uh...I don't see why not? It might affect the results, however." Mumbling in thought, Naegi tilted his head up to look at Kamukura. "Do you wish to become a different person, Kamukura-kun?" 

"Well, I'm assuming you'll try to reverse the despair by reverting us to our pre-despair selves. However, I do not have a pre-despair self." Kamukura dug his fingers slightly into Naegi's shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Naegi to see he was distressed. "Well, except for… him." 

Naegi pressed his lips together, trying his best not to be too creeped out by Kamukura's ability to predict exactly what was going to happen. "Well, that is what we planned to do. But I thought you were turned to despair by Enoshima?" 

"I was turned to spreading despair by Enoshima. However, from the moment I was created, I have been despair. There is no joy in an existence so boring." Musing to himself, Kamukura closed his eyes for a moment, still walking perfectly straight as he did so. "When a human is an expert at everything, there is nothing left to do, no goals left to accomplish. I can predict anything and everything just as it is going to happen. Nothing surprises me, nothing brings me joy. I no longer have the ability to feel human emotions."

"I see, that makes sense… even though it is really sad." Pressing his head closer to Kamukura's chest, Naegi pondered how it must feel to live such a life. He was finding himself rather upset by the prospect. 

Even if Kamukura didn't feel any human emotions, and his strength was beyond human, Naegi could hear his heart beating softly in his chest. There was no doubt about the fact he was human beneath that cold exterior. 

"You pity me?" Kamukura's tone was rather confused, even curious. 

No matter how much he thought about it, Naegi couldn't understand why exactly that warranted such confusion. "I… guess?" 

"Even though I bear every talent known to man?" 

Naegi shrugged. "It's lonely at the top."

Looking away, Kamukura took a moment to turn the phrase over in his mind. "You're quite intriguing, Naegi Makoto. Taking pity on terrorists and murderers. I wonder, what exactly led you down this treacherous path?" 

"H-huh? It's just common human decency…" As he stammered away, Naegi found himself fiddling with his hands against Kamukura's back. "You guys were normal teenagers once, it's not fair that you have to die just because your lives also got ruined by Enoshima."

"Many innocent people have died at both our hands and Enoshima's." It confused Naegi how Kamukura could confess such a thing so casually, so stone-faced. "It is only just that we pay for our crimes."

"That's why it should end here!" Naegi said that a little too loudly, too passionately. He adjusted his tone to be a bit more quiet. "A-And you guys should be allowed to have normal lives too."

Kamukura merely stared blankly ahead, lost in thought. "…You really are just like your sister."

Naegi suddenly gripped the fabric of Kamukura's blazer tightly, pulling himself up a little. "You've met Komaru?!"

"No." The words were curt. "Stop moving."

Naegi was confused enough by the response to decide it was best to stop talking. It seemed his weariness from being on his feet all day was starting to catch up with him, and the warmth from Kamukura's body wasn't helping his situation whatsoever. He allowed his eyelids to rest, relaxing to the tune of Kamukura's heartbeat against his ear and the rock of his movements. 

Kamukura found himself most unimpressed by this new burden. This boy had the audacity to not only break his ankle, but was now steadily shifting into REM sleep in his arms. The worst part was that ridiculously soft expression he was making, blushing slightly even in his sleep.

As Naegi mumbled sleepily, he relaxed his arms, opting to move them away from the other's neck and instead have them wrapped around his torso. Kamukura could rouse the boy, but he wouldn't dare. 

"Napping in the middle of the apocalypse in the arms of a terrorist?" Kamukura whispered to himself. "You truly are strange, Naegi Makoto."

[moonknight-ep5]

Hello there! You mentioned in a recent post that you headcanon/interpret Caleb as having DID, and that thought never occurred to me but it is? So good? And I would like to hear more about it, if you have more to say on the matter?

i'd love to! this is a long one haha.. (@anonym-potato)

disclaimer

please note that i am only theorizing, and that i am a system host myself, so don't cancel me. also: please don't tag this post as anything relating to the DID/OSDD community in your reblogs! thanks!

key

for future reference in this post, i thought i'd need a key of some kind.

red = personal experiences

orange = scientific evidence

green = assumptions based on canon lore

blue = historical context

pink = minis

headcanons/interpretations

i'm basing this off of the assumption that bren and caleb alone are a system, but there could always be more.

• bren is caleb's alter, despite being the born identity. in my system, host-switches (the act of the title of "host" being given to another alter through constant fronting or a retire of position) are fairly common, one happening every few years. it's completely possible that caleb, through constant fronting (or forced fronting), has adopted the title of "host" from bren, leaving bren nearly powerless to take it back for himself.

• he went to the sanitorium for having DID, not for being insane. throughout history, it has been said that people that were seen as less than neurotypical were sent to asylums and sanitoriums (there's a difference!!) to be "fixed" and to churches to be "exorcised." in d&d, you play as characters in medieval times, where this practice was most prevalent. to medical professionals at the time, seeing a switch of any caliber could yield "unstable" behavior, which could've lead to his hospitalization. maybe he was insane when he left, but he definitely wasn't when he went in.

the eleven years. the time spent in the sanitorium is entirely blocked off from his mind, and nearly impossible, even with caleb's eclectic memory, to recall. DID has few requirements, yes, but arguably one of the most important symptoms is dissociative amnesia. this amnesia occurs during high stress situations that can constitute as trauma or while one isn't fronting, both of which are caused by dissociation (directly or indirectly). for the purposes of these theories, i'd say it's a mixture of the two.

the "cure." while caleb was recalling his time at the hospital, he remembered that there was a woman that helped him get rid of the "cloudiness" from his mind. DID is a trauma based disorder caused by amnesia. "getting rid" of his trauma would cause amnesia. keeping his trauma would cause amnesia. it's a paradox with no happy ending. as a result, all the woman got rid of, in my opinion, was his vegetative state. this is why there are still times where you could conclude that caleb is still unstable. there's many of these moments in c2 so i'd rather not sift through them all.

• DID and its causes. intense, repeated traumatic experiences during childhood/early adolescence (around 7-11, with a few years error) causes DID. according to the timeline of his backstory, he was approached by the representatives of the soltryce academy at around 9 years old, which means he started working with ikithon at 10. this puts him just under the threshold of the most apparent developmental stage for this disorder.

• "caleb widogast" seems like such a fake name, not even with alias standards.

• caleb has been seen dissociating for hours at a time. if you're new to the program: after fights where he gets a hdywtdt on a humanoid while using pyromancy, caleb has to make a wisdom saving throw to avoid dissociation. this dissociation could last for hours, whether it be active dissociation (blankness while doing menial tasks) or full dissociation (unable to move, talk, or think). only something intense could snap him out of it, whether it be a slap of the face or a kiss on the head (that scene lives rent free in my head).

• some of caleb's attributes are changed from time to time. caleb likes a lot of things: bread, the scraggly hobo life, books, and numbers, to name a few, though there are times where some of these likes get shifted into obsessions, where caleb likes spellcasting, but bren loves the idea of staying up late and working on a spell with no sleep (and that counts as a point of exhaustion for both of them, not just one, because they share the body and therefore have to take care of it). it's not either of their faults, its just how they were conditioned during the time of their trauma.

• caleb has canonically talked to himself in the third person.

• constant polymorphs and shapeshifting alters. in my system, there is a veth fictive that can shapeshift between "veth" and "nott." she has admitted to using this ability to stay "front-stuck" (where an alter physically cannot switch out) because she can't switch when out of her "true form." now think of it like this: caleb and polymorph, especially in recent history. there's a tag going around, reading "*polymorphs into a creature to stupid to be depressed*" in reference to caleb's now constant use of the spell. it could just be us, but its still something to think about.

• there has been a "switch" in canon. i mentioned in the original post that there was a scene in canon where caleb has been seen switching, as a result of a confrontation from trent ikithon and the cerberus assembly. (don't mind the watermark im not rich)

this is a switch as a result of an auditory trigger. the hearing of one's name, a song, or even a random word adversely connected to trauma can be considered an auditory trigger. hearing bren's name, especially from trent, caused caleb to get immediately defensive and angry. when the camera pans back to caleb after everyone's reactions, you see him hyperventilating slightly with a face of worry, shut his eyes tight, and open them with a slack face to get a sense of his surroundings. he also leans near beau, someone who he could ask for context or reason, but then thinks against it as he remembers: they don't know.

[flemnotthun]

‘Who Else Would It Be?’

Chapter 4 - ‘Don’t You Know?’

We finally get to see Kate and Steve have their hotly anticipated date. Hope you enjoy lads xx

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Four days into her stay at Central Hospital, and after much begging on her part. Kate was finally discharged. Her and Steve had got into a pretty nice routine over the last few days, texting at points during the day and chatting about nothing bed to bedside chair until visiting hours were over. They had fallen into a rather sweet, platonic closeness that despite her very real feelings for him, made Kate feel apprehensive of any change in the future. It could be the trauma voice talking, the fear of the outside world which contained men that would shoot her, that caused the concern though, because there was nothing in Steve’s behaviour that suggested any danger. He would never put her in an unsafe situation, she knew that. She knew him.

Every new touch of her hand, stroke of her wrist or enveloping hug was prefaced with an almost bashful request for permission for a number of days, until Steve got the message that she was very unlikely to turn him down. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Steve explained when she questioned him, “I want you to feel comfortable”. Kate smiled back at him, “thank you,” she said, gazing into his eyes as if they were jewellery, bursting with light and untold futures.

She was discharged on a Saturday evening. As soon as the salt-and-pepper haired consultant had exited the room after giving her the green light, Kate threw her arms around an elated Steve, who’d been at her side since 8 that morning. Despite her obvious excitement at being able to escape the torment of bustling nurses and being poked and prodded, she was hardly fit to do everything by herself, and couldn’t help feeling frustrated at the need to surrender herself to Steve’s care for the time being. Her side ached when she walked, which meant that getting about was a challenge. On the day of her discharge, it became clear just how much help she would need.

Steve was sat next to her in his chair, eyes deep in his emails, when he felt Kate shuffle out of bed next to him.

“Do you want some help mate?” Steve asked as she made her way towards the door of the room.

“Nah, I’m alright thanks,” Kate replied, growing weaker with every step, her upper abdomen twinging every time her right leg took a nervous step forward. Without any warning, her legs gave way under her, tipping her backwards towards the floor, when suddenly a pair of strong arms broke her fall and set her upright.

“Look, I know how annoying it is to not be able to do the things we always take for granted, believe me. But Kate, it’s just me. Let me help you.”

Kate turned to face Steve and nodded gently.

“Okay. You couldn’t just help get me to the loo door?” Kate asked shyly.

Steve put a sturdy arm around her waist, supporting her under her right arm and guided her to the loo and back, waiting outside as she washed up. While he hated seeing Kate in pain, having someone to look after was good for him. It distracted from the niggling temptation to just take more pills and separate his mind from his body. He loved seeing Kate fly, but it was nice to feel useful.

He drove them back to Kate’s flat after picking up her prescriptions from the pharmacy. She chose the music, tunes blasting from Steve’s Volvo like youths blazing through town in a white Fiesta. He caught a glance at the side of her face whilst waiting at the lights. Kate was undoubtedly a force of nature, albeit sometimes a stern one, but seeing her lose herself in this way made him burst with pride. She’d bounce back, just like the nurses said she would, albeit with a caveat, expressed to Steve in a hushed tone while Kate slept on the Thursday evening.

“Your friend may suffer with the effects of this trauma for a while. The two of you seem very close, and you’re going to need to be there for her when the triggers occur.” One of them had whispered.

Steve took Kate’s hand as the nurse explained the nature of the post-traumatic symptoms she might suffer.

“Hypervigilance, dissociation, flashbacks...”

He’d be there for her, Steve thought as he smiled sadly at his partner’s sleeping form.

After they managed to make it through the front door of his flat without incident, he helped Kate get comfortable on her plush leather sofa and set about making themselves something to eat.

“Pasta okay?”

“Yeah perfect, as long as you don’t burn it, I haven’t forgotten the last time”.

Steve let out a laugh as he remembered the event. They had only been working together for a few months, perhaps it was even the first time he’d come over and they’d ended up falling asleep next to each other on the sofa. He remembered thinking “what if?” that night, and remembered dismissing it, knowing even then that this was too important for a snap decision. He grinned at how lucky he was to have her in his life, both then and now.

They sat a safe distance apart on the sofa as they ate companionably in front of a late night rerun of the ‘Undateables’.

“Kate, you’re available!” Steve quipped as one of the show’s less attractive participants bemoaned their single existence.

The woman in question glared at Steve affectionately, giving him a light slap on the arm.

“Too soon?” Steve ventured.

Kate burst out laughing, Steve joining her in a hearty fit of giggles.

“I’m not available to just anyone Arnott” she scolded through her laughter.

“Even me?”

“Especially you!”

“And here I was, going to tell you just how lucky I am to have a date booked with you.”

“I bet you say that to all the witnesses”.

That was enough to have Steve spit out his cup of tea, Kate banging the side of the sofa in hysterics until her abdomen made it clear that the jokes had to take a backseat for at least the next few minutes as Steve pulled himself together.

“Ahhh!” Kate winced.

“You okay mate?” Steve questioned, returning back down to earth, his hand on her shoulder.

“Fine, just a murmur.”

Steve’s worried expression settled into contentment as Kate shifted to face Steve, his legs curled up on the opposite side of the sofa.

“So, this date then?” Kate probed. “Which underpass are you planning on taking me to? The one by the old cinema has a nice smell of piss that really enhances the whole vibe.”

Steve let out a huge belly laugh, which he curtailed before its time, if only to avoid his own stomach hurting let alone poor Kate’s. She was truly funny, which some blokes might be intimidated by, but Steve basked in, letting it wash over him.

“Actually, I was thinking about tomorrow night at Kudu, down the road from the Hare and Hounds?” He ventured.

“Sounds perfect, almost serious! What’s a girl done to deserve fine dining?”

“Don’t you know?” Steve answered with a sad smile, which Kate returned as her hand clasped his.

“Of course I do”.

____________________

The date felt as natural for the pair as working together. They ordered mocktails (both had very good reasons to keep things sober for now, besides, they didn’t feel the need to drink away any anxiety - it was there, but they leaned into it like a welcoming hot shower) and chatted about work, making in-jokes, the banter flowing between them in a glowing symbiosis of bright eyes and smiling faces.

“I love it when you’re suited and booted, Kate told Steve as he helped her out of her flat and into the lift. He’d nipped home from hers to change, which had the side effect of making this feel as if he was an unfamiliar suitor picking her up to whisk her away to an evening of culinary wonder.

“You look beautiful.” Steve replied earnestly.

Kate brushed him off with a laugh, indicating the scars on her face with her eyes raised.

Over the second course, he tried again.

“Kate,” he said softly.

Kate looked up, struck by the use of her name rather than the usual “mate”.

“I meant what I said, you are so beautiful”.

And with that Kate understood. Unlike some men in her past who she’d heard this line from, although it was often cancelled out by a sly dig at some other character trait later on in the relationship, “married to the job” etc., Steve truly meant it, and while the scars were less than ideal, if he could see past them, then she could too.

“And not in spite of your scars, or your injury, or your independence. You’re beautiful to me because of them.”

Kate was speechless. She felt almost uneasy as she sensed the shame exit her body with a heavy exhalation. Perhaps she no longer needed to be selective about the parts of herself she loved. It was at this moment that she was sure that her and Steve had hit on something between them that was just as special as their existing partnership.

“Thank you, Steve.” She whispered, blinking back tears.

“Ahhh I’m sorry, come here.” Steve reassured her, rising from his seat and wrapping his arms around her for a hug as the clientele of the restaurant stared. Returning to his seat, the meal continued much as before and by the time the dessert was finished, Steve found that Kate had reached out across the square, marbled table and curled her fingers through his.

________________

If they had been civilians, if they had been normal, they may have kissed outside the restaurant, one may have invited the other back to their’s, and they would have seen how things went. Maybe they would have seen each other again, maybe they wouldn’t. Instead, Steve guided his best friend back to the car. No kiss was exchanged until they were safely back at Kate’s, in this part of town, anyone from work could walk by any minute. No discussion was had, they both knew the risks of being seen together. After walking round from the driver’s side to where Kate was waiting opposite, Steve took hold of her hand and the small of her back as she met his eyes. Leaning her against the car carefully, so as to avoid putting any pressure on her abdomen, Steve asked.

“Is it okay if we...”

Before he had a chance to finish his proposal, Kate had pulled him by the shirt towards her with her free hand and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was chaste, but long enough for Steve to feel the meaning between them, and what they meant to each other. After they broke away Kate put her hand on Steve’s cheek, saying:

“Thank you for tonight, I had a great time.”

They would go no further tonight, settling down on the sofa together to watch crap telly and enjoy each others’ humming energy, neither wanting the night to end. Kate snuggled into Steve’s side as he gathered her close under his arm, tipping her head up for a kiss every now and then. Kate would look up at him, their eyes locking, and she would stretch her neck up, allowing her lips graze chin before Steve lowered his lips to hers. The pain medication was clearly having an effect on Kate, and she eventually fell into a deep sleep. Steve tuned his neck around to fix his eyes on where he’d stood in the kitchen all of 10 years ago, making that ill-fated pasta and thinking “what-if?” He thanked his younger, more impulsive self with a smile while he dropped a delicate kiss to the head of the sleeping woman under his arm.

“Thank you for waiting.”

[defectivenancydrew]

Biochemistry behind the GTH carbon monoxide poisoning

Inspired by @itslockedcharmstrong‘s post here and in response to @nancydrew-onthecase‘s request for more info!

Okay, you asked for it. So!

Carbon monoxide (CO) poisoning is a major cause of poison mortality in the US! In short, CO competes with molecular oxygen for an iron heme binding site on hemoglobin, the component of our blood that grabs onto oxygen and delivers it to organs. In fact, the hemoglobin in our blood has an affinity for CO more than 200 times that of oxygen! Once CO binds to those iron heme sites in our hemoglobin, it increases the hemoglobin’s affinity for oxygen. To understand why CO increases the affinity for oxygen, even though I just said that hemoglobin has a greater affinity for CO, we have to understand that hemoglobin is a tetramer (meaning it has four pieces). Because it has four components, each hemoglobin can bind four substrates (oxygen, CO, whatever). When that first molecule of CO binds, it increases hemoglobin’s affinity for oxygen in the next binding site, and binding of oxygen to that binding site increases the affinity for the next, and so on until all four sites are filled (with one CO and three oxygen). This shifts what we call the “oxygen dissociation curve” to the left, meaning that oxygen delivery to tissues is significantly decreased (by more than half normal!) So even though we are taking in plenty of oxygen (along with CO), our hemoglobin is holding onto that oxygen so so tightly that it cannot release that oxygen to our body’s organs. Blood flow in the body will increase significantly in order to try to remedy the low tissue oxygen levels, but since the oxygen cannot be released, all this excess blood flow does is waste energy resources (and give us a pretty good diagnostic indicator). In patients with carbon monoxide poisoning, they will have normal oxygen saturation, as measured by pulse oximetry, which can be misleading for diagnosticians. Thus, the intense rubor of patient’s skin can be very valuable! The best way we have right now to treat CO poisoning is (immediate) 100% oxygen. Hyperbaric oxygen is being tested as an alternative treatment, but it’s not yet the standard of care. Death will occur when about 60% of our hemoglobin has bound a single molecule of CO, which can take as few as five minutes at extreme levels or as long as five hours. When levels are greater than 30%, patients will be short of breath and confused. In the first hour, levels of 10-20% are sufficient to cause early signs of nausea, headache, dizziness, poor judgement, and difficulty concentrating. Now, what’s really interesting is that recovered patients can have neuropsychiatric signs long after they were exposed to CO (and these can be permanent), which include dementia, psychosis, amnesia, and movement disorders. When we give patients 100% oxygen, we can return them to normal in a little over an hour. When we give patients hyperbaric oxygen, we can return them to normal in about twenty minutes. But on normal atmospheric oxygen, it takes over four hours to return to normal.

Now, to relate this all back to Nancy and the other inhabitants of Thornton Hall. If they are being acutely poisoned by the furnace, then they’re likely to experience fatal doses without hallucinations (but they would have the other early symptoms). Wade and Colton spend all their time outside, so they likely would survive to treatment or be completely unaffected. Clara, Harper, and Jessalyn would succumb before Nancy since they don’t leave the house as far as we’re aware. Nancy is the only wildcard here. It’s unlikely that she’s spending quite enough time to outside offset the effects of CO poisoning, particularly when she sleeps at night. She might make it through the first night, but she almost certainly wouldn’t awake from the second night. Now, if they were all being chronically poisoned at low levels and recovering, then we have the potential for hallucinations. But this doesn’t fit with the narrative we’ve been given, nor would it account for Nancy, since she just arrived on the island. And if the poisoning were chronic, they’d all experience said symptoms for the remainder of their lives (or at least the vast majority of it).

That was a lot, and I tried to make it as accessible as possible for all levels of education, but please let me know if there are more follow-up questions!!

[artxyra]

In Her Darkest Moments

Note: So this story came from me listening to the song “The Bully” by Sody. If the last part seems kind of lost it because I started this on a whim and took a break to work on other projects (both school-related and personal). There might be more added to this later but I’m not sure yet. Anyways, enjoy.  

Part 1 | 2 | 3

Trigger warning: thoughts of suicide

Anger can manifest in multiple ways, but it’s what you do with that anger that can change the outcome of a single event.

~*~

Marinette may have grown used to the Lila and her classmates’ bullying towards her, but that didn’t mean she was slowly shattering. Every day was a war zone for her. Looking behind her back every second of the day, hoping that she wouldn’t stand out. But this has been going on for two years nearly three now. She can’t take it anymore.

Suicide was the easy way out, and she knows this. It was confronting her bullies and saying goodbye that was the hardest.

Gripping onto her sleeves, she covers the marks of cutting, forcing herself to acknowledge she was okay when she clearly wasn’t. No one knew she was doing this to herself, and she wants to keep it that way. No longer did she wore pink capris with a white blouse and blazer, but now a grey knitted sweater with a pair of skinny jeans and low-heeled wedges. It was a nice change, but she didn’t feel like herself in her own skin.

Walking into her high school, Dupont’s sister school, she ignores the glances coming her way. Making her way to her locker, she quickly grabs the items needed for class and scurries down the halls. Because of the lack of akuma attacks, she’s often on-time to class and gets a decent night of rest when nightmares aren’t plaguing her mind.

Her books fell from her arms. She staggers in her steps.

“Oh my god, Marinette! Why did you purposely drop your books on me?” She dreads the familiar Italian accent female. Lila could only internally smirk at her work because it wasn’t long before Alya made her voice known.

“What the hell, Marinette, that’s the fifth time this week. What is wrong with you?”

A hard jab came to her shoulders. Marinette counts to ten. Her breathing evens just enough for her to gain her bearings. She grabs her books and pushes through the growing crowd of Lila supporters. No one is never on her side anymore.

Taking her seat, she barely acknowledges the disappointed look she was receiving from Adrien. Adrien, oh sweet Adrien, the blonde model manages to convince his father to let him continue with public school under the intention of doing more photo-shoots. They barely have spoken since collége and he unknowingly played into Lila’s greedy hands.

“Good Morning class,” The teacher greets as she walks in. Marinette doesn’t acknowledge today’s lesson as her mind started to doodle in her worn-out notebook.

Lila made sure that everything good in Marinette’s life was a diminished flame. Turning the former bluenette’s parents against her was the tipping point of it all.  She would copy Marinette’s work, turn it in before the latter could get up from her seat. That would then turn into a long meeting with the school’s dean about plagiarism and dishonesty. It was a miracle that Marinette was still able to attend the school with the constant amount of this occurring.

Marinette’s safe place slowly became this Ladybug and Chat Noir theme café. She goes by there every day after school instead of heading home. It’s a great place for her to work on her projects without the fear of being judged, bullied and copied from. The owner, an older woman, grew to love the teen’s company and told her that she was welcome at any time of the day. She’ll forever remember the day that Marinette gave her the most heartfelt real smile instead of the dull, barely reaching her eyes smile. Those were the days that the two of them will cherish forever.

She sighs, pushing the unfinished work of a new design away from her. The owner notices this and looks around. There was no need to take orders; she quickly makes her over to the struggling teen.

“Is everything alright dear?” She asks, placing a comforting hand on Marinette’s shoulder.

A gentle gesture was all it took for her to breakdown. Tears stream down her face, red watery eyes glance up to the older woman breaking the owner’s heart. She hates seeing Marinette like this. Pulling the young woman into a comforting hug, Marinette cries into her chest.

“Shh, everything will be alright one day.” The owner repeats into the teen’s ear, rubbing on her back.

When Marinette couldn’t cry her eyes out anymore, she lifts herself up from the older woman’s lap to look around. The sky has darkened and there was no one in the café beside the two of them.

“I’m so sorry.” She immediately apologizes.

“Nonsense, Marinette. You clearly needed to let it all out.”

Marinette couldn’t help but look down in shame. She doesn’t deserve any of this comfort. To her, a mental breakdown went weakness and weakness is something that has been affecting her in all aspects of her life.

“I should get home.” Marinette murmurs holding herself.

As much as the owner didn’t want the teen to leave, she knew she couldn’t stop Marinette from leaving. Sighing, she hands Marinette her bags and wishes her goodbye.

Dread fills Marinette as she returns home, but something stops her from entering. Perhaps it was because of her parents and their lack of trust for her. Maybe it was the cool protective breeze of the night’s air. Biting her bottom lip, she pushes against the door and quickly makes a be-line to her bedroom.

Her room lacks its usual luster. Over the years, she slowly became dissociated from her room leaving it frozen in her middle school personality with only pops of colors representing her now.

Not wanting to go to sleep, she finds herself on the balcony watching the stars.

“You could have asked me if you wanted to stargaze tonight.”  Her frown deepens hearing one of many voices she doesn’t want to hear.

“Go away, Chat.” She demands; caring less that it will hurt his feelings, but she knows him well enough that the word “no” isn’t in his vocabulary.

“Meow-ch, Princess—” He begins but Marinette turns to him with a glare on her face.

“Don’t call me, princess. I hate it.” She states getting up from her position. Chat Noir touches her shoulder only for her to push him away.

“No, you don’t.” He tries to counter, giving her his cat-like smirk, “Your heart wouldn’t have fluttered if you didn’t.”

Marinette scrunches her face. A single tear slides down her cheek. Chat, being the heroic knight he is, pulls her in for a hug, she tries to break free but due to her fatigue, she couldn’t. Instead, she wiggles in his arms.

“Let go of me.” She demands.

“You’re kidding me?” Chat slightly pushes her away, only to take in Marinette. Her body’s shaking, her arms hugs her torso, and tears ran down her face.

“Goodbye, Chat Noir.” Marinette rush towards the trapdoor and enters it.

She wants it all to end. To be fear from the nightmare that is her life. Collapsing onto the floor, the waterworks began. Tikki finally making her presences known and cuddles next her chosen knowing it was only time before Marinette gives up.

Marinette barely found the energy to wake up the next morning.

“Marinette, breakfast is ready!” She heard her mother’s voice carry out from the lower floor.

Trudging down from her bedroom and into the kitchen, Marinette sits down and stares silently at the plate of food in front of her. This felt odd. It’s been months since her mother made breakfast for the family. Her excuse has been that the store needs more attention and earlier opening time. When was the last she saw her mother’s bright smile and not the disappointed look? Marinette couldn’t remember for the life of her.

“Um…merci, maman.” Marinette murmurs taking a small bite.

Sabine either ignored the appreciation or she didn’t hear it, causing Marinette to feel even more out of place. It was after her tenth bite, that Marinette gave up on breakfast and walk out of the room. Looking at her phone, she realizes that class was going to start soon. Opting to ditch today, Marinette changes into a simple tee and a pair of denim shorts. Maybe today will be a better a day than the rest.

~*~

Marinette was enjoying her day away from school, but that all ends when a notification came through on her phone. It was the contents in that notification that made her want to hide, to throw up, and never show her face again. How could someone be so cruel to photoshop a photo of her doing explicit poses and send it to everyone in her class? How did they even get her new phone number?

The comments surrounding the post was a mixture of good and bad. Some, those who know her, wrote that it was clearly photoshopped, critiquing the image while others were expressing their shock and disappointment in Marinette for taking such photos.  

Everything’s ruined. Her reputation (that was already on the rocks), her dreams, her life.

Locking herself in the nearest bathroom, that she could find, she collapses to the floor. Breathing became a challenge, her mind making thousands of scenarios, causing her to spin around confused and dazed. Reality began to shift into nothing. Grasping for air, she uses the sink to balance her, but no strength came to her aid.

“Marinette!” Tikki worries for chosen. She felt useless. Useless that to help her chosen, she must reveal the three-year secret that they’ve kept hidden. “I will get help. Please stay strong.” Tikki cries out, flying out the bathroom in search for help.

Marinette didn’t know how long she stayed in a fetal position on the floor. Minutes, maybe even hours there. Because the next thing she knew was the loud banging on the bathroom door. Someone’s calling out her name from the other side. The loud sound made her want to curl, even more, anything to get away from the torture that’s she experiencing.

“Marinette,” The voice calls out more clearly.

Arms surround her fragile body. They pull her in closer to their chest. She clings to the person’s shirt as it was the only tangible object that was grounding her to reality.

“I got you. You’re safe, Nette. Come back to me.” The voice whispers into her ear.

Her breathing evens.

The voice continues to repeat the same phrase as it was bringing her back to reality and calming her down. Her grip lessens on their shirt.

“That’s it, Nette. Come back to me.” He murmurs.

“Is she alright?” Another voice asks. It was feminine, something that allowed Marinette to feel safe and loved. Another pair of hands wrap around her body.

Darkness begins to fade away allowing the bright colors of images to flood her senses. Blinking, Marinette looks around and sees Kagami and Luka holding onto her. Her eyes make their way to the door where Felix stood with concern in eyes stoic eyes.

“W-w-what happened? H-h-how did I get here?” She stutters clenching onto Luka’s shirt even more.

“You’re okay, now, Nette. If it wasn’t for Tikki, we probably wouldn’t have known to be here.” Kagami says rubbing the small teen’s blue hair. Marinette welcomes it and cuddles closer to the woman.

“It was Rossi that caused this mess. I’m sure we can charge Rossi with slander and defamation.” Felix voices his opinion.

“Let’s ignore, Rossi, for a moment and focus on Nette. From what Tikki told me, this kind of behavior is becoming a regular occurrence. Which would explain why she doesn’t come to school from what Agreste been explaining.” Kagami declares with a heavy sigh.

“Should we call Bourgeois and ask for her input?” Felix suggests as his body dance subconsciously with the idea of going into the bathroom.

“No, not yet. Right now, we need to focus on bettering Nette.” Luka speaks with authority.

Felix and Kagami agrees and turns back to their now sleeping friend.

~*~

A week has passed since Marinette’s breakdown. Kagami refuses to let the bluenette be alone, so she offered her place. Marinette at first refused, but after a long talk with Felix, Kagami, Luka, and their kwamis, it was decided that she would stay.

As the days went by, the three friends to could a change in their beloved bluenette. She’s eating more and getting a good amount of sleep. Granted, there were akuma attacks during some of those days and if it wasn’t an akuma, it was Lila’s lying her way out of any situation.

Heal is always the hard part; as much as Marinette wanted to move on from this, she knows that it will only stop when Lila’s luck runs out.

Sitting down at the Ladybug and Chat Noir theme café, Marinette silently sips her coffee. The owner makes her way over to the teen and offers her another round. Marinette declines and apologizes for all the pain and concern she caused the older woman. To which the owner denies and told her that she reminds her of her own granddaughter that was bullied when her daughter and husband were living in Italy.

“I’m so sorry, what happened to your granddaughter?” Marinette asks, secreting cringing at such a question.

The owner answers with a sad sigh, “She nearly killed herself, if it wasn’t for the pets, she wouldn’t be here. Today, she’s following her dream by attending a private school across sees. You two would have gotten along very well if she was here.”

Marinette smiles, “I’m glad that she’s alright.” She replies, but the lingering thought of death managed to sneak up into her mind.  Perhaps, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my friends. Shaking her head, she focuses on her coffee.

“If you need to talk, I’m always here.” The owner quickly gestures to the café before returning to the counter to take the orders of new customers.

Marinette finishes her coffee and exits the café.

“So, this is where you sneak off to.” Felix notes with Luka and Kagami behind him.

“What are you guys doing here?” Marinette asks, hugging the blonde before the two dark hairs.

“Well classes got out early and we wanted to spend the rest of the day with you,” Kagami answers pushing a strand of hair behind Marinette’s ear.

Marinette rolls her eyes, “Well the day is still bright and I’m feeling rather famished.”

The small group of friends laughs at the grumbling sound of Marinette’s stomach.

All it takes is for one grand action to make someone feel loved in their darkest moments.  

Part 2