#Signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yuyinesque · 10 months ago

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WOMANEATER | “𝗒-𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗁-𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗒…”

⚘ précis. ≡ you're a therapist in a psyche ward, and your new patient isn't one you're particularly experienced with.

⚘ disclaimers. ≡ yandere!incel & psyche ward!therapist y/n, afab!reader (no fem-aligned prns used), physical violence, compulsive masturbation, hypersexuality, misogyny & women-blaming, usage of “bitch”, mentions of post-traumatic stress disorder (ptsd); obsessive behavior; delusion (secondary erotomania); age regressing; & urine, manipulation (guilt-tripping & gaslighting), mentions of suicide & self harm, implied rape fantasies & perversion.

⚘ category. ≡ nsft headcanons.

⚘ wc. ≡ 781.

𖦥 m.list. oc.list

🧷 yandere!incel who is a scrub-wearing individual who wears stoic expressions like they’re permanent masks, though at times the said mask tends to falter vastly when he’s around any woman; even fem-presenting figures drives him an inch deeper towards insanity. he’s picked numerous fights with women and only women, even when they’ve done nothing but walked past him. the fights were always prompted by truculence and defense, as for he would disclose evident signs that he was terrified of said woman, completely convinced that they were after him in some sort of ill manner, so he strikes before they even get the chance to blink. because of this, he’s been isolated away from female figures, and only male characters were capable of catering to him, as he was indifferent towards them. well, every male but you, a female.

🧷 yandere!incel who is quite the handful for inexperienced, psyche ward!therapist darling, as for they haven’t dealt with a patient with such a high caliber of disorders; their worst case so far was a suicidal woman who was diagnosed with type one bipolar. one session with the individual was enough to question your overall abilities. i mean, he despised you. at least that’s what you believed.

🧷 yandere!incel who is tired of you cheating on him with other patients! this is why he’s so angry towards you specifically, but he won’t say. however, he’s also completely infatuated with you; have i also mentioned completely horrified with you? you’ve noticed each time you would change your tone slightly, he would convert into a fretful mouse, apologizing incessantly as tears glossed his dark, beady eyes, also slipping up by referring to you as “mother” in a small, infantile voice. you concluded it was because you reminded him of such, and she was primarily the reason why he feared and hated women so much. motherly abuse.

🧷 yandere!incel who would have his calmer days since he was genuinely interested in his spouse. he’s never had a woman so madly in love with him, so it not only fed his ego, but causes his dick to swell with cum each time you evinced signs that confirmed you were oso desperate for his attention. with the way you sit up when you walk in, reassure him that everything will be fine, or even going out of your way to smile in such a lecherous manner. it angered him, especially when he begins groping his hardened crotch in front of you and complaining about you and your whorish antics. you would ignore him in response or threaten to cut the meeting short, which prompts a loud, slur-screaming, victim-blaming outburst in response.

🧷 “you’re such a bitch, you hear me?! a bitch! and a bitch li-like you shouldn’t even be alive! luring me, t-teasing me—all women are just a bunch of fffffucking sluts!!”

🧷 yandere!incel who also showed signs of hypersexuality and exhibitionism. he was a chronic masturbator, pleasuring himself to the most horrific things with your face in mind. just the thought of keeping you in your place by forcing you to perform taboo acts on the receptionist desk as everyone watched rotted his mind.

🧷 yandere!incel who would try to convince you that he doesn’t hate you only to voice his hatred towards you the next week. then he’d not only do that, but then claim that he’s never done such with tears in his eyes, finding your scoldings utterly unnecessary and so mean. there was even a time where you lost your patience and raised your voice at him, immediately causing him to not only an apologetic rant, but to begin pissing himself in the chair he was trembling and sobbing on, the strong scent of ammonia filling the room during the process.

🧷 yandere!incel who needed your touch or he’ll perform said disgraceful acts. there was a day where he pleaded for just a hug from you if he was good the whole week. once you confirmed it, he did just that. no fights, no arguments, nothing. he even apologized for freezing up and screaming at the poor, feminine soul that walked near him. you knew it was against the rules to be this affectionate towards patients, but you couldn’t break a promise. and so, you did—hugged him. awkwardly, even. he was rather short, so his face was buried within your chest, and the boner pressed against your thigh only made you feel nauseous, but not as nauseous as his next, ominous set of words.

🧷 “y-you better hope these h-hands hold mercy on your.. body once i luh-latch them onto you…”

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft

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deluluass · 3 months ago

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It's all over now, baby blue (1/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter Warnings: panic attack (reader pov); internalized misogyny (reader pov) Note: nsfw stuff won't happen in this chapter since this is a slow-ish burn

“It’s bullshit,” the woman huffed. “This whole soulmate business— it’s all bullshit.”

It's the assault of nicotine that finally made you wince. Of all the things said in that room, a cigarette is what got a reaction out of you.

A cigarette .

How typical.

Crouched down to the pavement, you folded your arms above your knees and buried your nose further into the crook of them.

Her back has yet to part from the wall behind the both of you. There's a mottled stain along the pointed toe of her left shoe. An imitation of a birthmark on this poreless, rouged lipsticked, executive coiffed up haired woman.

And it's not like it escaped your notice, but she's really quite tall, isn't she? This one; more so with three extra inches on.

You shook your head, sank your face further into your knees until you’re just about tasting your own sweat, and pressed your eyes shut. Pointless observations.

Earlier, she made exactly zero effort to conceal her opinion about you, which essentially boiled down to: piss off . Not exactly a new one in your long and illustrious career of not being wanted in any room you walk into. No, she wasn't the kind of person you’d need to catalog observations for. You're never speaking to each other ever again.

But then, all things considered, she tucked the pack of Seven Stars in her blazer with a swiftness that someone who has a cigarette only does when they're caught doing it in a place they shouldn't be. Last you checked, you’re both in the smoking area. There's even a large sign for it.

Right there. “ Smoking area ,” it said.

Yet she hid the thing before you could even shake your head and say, “ I’m good, thank you . Go kill yourself in peace. ”

Because you did hate it, that smell of early death saturating the air. More importantly, you didn't bother hiding it. And you didn’t feel bad not hiding it.

Maybe that was the most important tell about her character.

She didn't say anything. Didn't throw your words back at you– tell you to fuck off, if you're gonna be such a judgy miss despite the fact that it was you who ran here for refuge.

You opened your eyes to take a peek at her again, nape stinging from the effort.

She met your blank look as she dragged a cigarette, then waved through the fog of nicotine like she's shooing a stray.

Suck in. Huff out. Smoke rushed through a grin. For all your open distaste, you let it waft through you anyway. You let her drag another and another.

You only stared, head tilted upwards, the sun exposing phantoms that swirled around the decisive flapping of her hand, driving everything away to God knows where, and you wondered.

How is that possible?

It's all just cigarette smoke to this woman.

Japan wasn’t this humid as he remembered it to be. They were already in the throes of the summer season, to be fair, so maybe Wakatoshi should probably just be grateful that he wasn’t already drowning in his own sweat. Though he’s very close to doing so now.

To the credit of the League, they did take heavy measures to avoid that from happening.

He turned away from the boys he’s instructing, glare forcing him to squint, and finally paid mind to the trailer parked right in front of the court. It was a gigantic thing equipped with a kitchen, bedroom, jacuzzi tub (?), and an AC unit.

On the other hand, his students– boys, stout and lanky things not older than fourteen– were no different from the freshly hatched chicks that he used to watch over when he was growing up in his grandfather’s farm. They blinked at him with wet hair matted to weak, delicate skin. Wakatoshi removed the trailer from his line of sight and, despite complaints for pausing the lesson so soon, barked for some water bottles from a nearby tent.

They rushed to him, ice cold condensation dripping down their fingers, then passed down the water bottles from Wakatoshi to the children.

“You wanna rest for a while?” one of the staff he came with asked. Some Chisaka or other.

“No, thank you,” Wakatoshi replied. “Where are the younger ones?”

The man grimaced and wiped his forehead. “They’re by the food tent having some snacks. Listen, dude, massive fan, but you really don’t have to… do all this. You sure you don’t wanna…?” He nudged his chin towards the trailer again.

Shaking his head, Wakatoshi then promptly left some pointers for the boys in the court and headed for the largest tent propped up in the orphanage grounds.

Summer breeze whispered through the trees. The tent’s blue roof rippled like ocean waves.

The boys there erupted in squeals seeing him, while the rest couldn't be bothered to give him the same attention that they're gracing the sweets bar. That was fair. Nothing could ever compare to a nice fluffy anpan, and certainly not Wakatoshi.

The trailer was still visible from here.

Somehow, it looked even weirder from this vantage point. Massive four-wheeled chrome on barely trimmed grass. Like an alien ship that’d stopped by for some drinks.

The League spends such things on him.

Big dinners with a bunch of suits. A penthouse suite that they insisted that he should start using. Exclusive matcha flavored floss.

The people who Wakatoshi signed a contract with seem to have a different idea on what he came home for. When his contract had ended with Orzeł Warszawa after these couple of years, he really did mean to return to Japan and represent it in the next Olympics.

And the one after that.

The one after that , too, if he gets lucky.

He wasn’t going anywhere. But–

“ Hey. Big guy, big guy. Calm. This isn't amateur hour. You know why they’re doing this ,” his agent had blabbered the moment they’d arrived at the orphanage, a way of pacifying Wakatoshi after he’d given the man a look.

That was a warranted reaction. Wakatoshi came here expecting children who had too much energy to spare, and one named Hiro. That was the one who’d written to him in blue ink– his kanji still rough around the edges, that he’d been watching Wakatoshi play since he was in diapers (that was an exaggeration, they explained to Wakatoshi); that he’d be very extremely so, so happy if he came to see them for his tenth birthday.

He didn’t expect– nor wanted, really– a national TV crew, a couple of magazine reporters, along with a catering service waiting for him in their stead.

“ All eyes are on Japan right now. You guys are hosting after, what, ‘98? How long has it been? ” His agent patted his back as he led Wakatoshi to an interviewer with startling white teeth. “ Not kissing up your ass or anything, but don’t go all modest on me. You know you’re the hottest player in the game right now. You’re the guy. You’re the fuckin’ guy. So many motherfuckers across the globe are gooning to have you on their side and your team sure as hell won’t let those slimy bastards nab you. They’re showing you off and they’re showing off to you. Just enjoy the ride, yeah? Welcome home .”

Welcome home, he said.

Wakatoshi pulled out his phone and skimmed each mail notification that had piled on the screen. More excited-to-have-you-back’s. More invitations to parties that he’d immediately swiped off. Wakatoshi scrolled through international SMS and expected one from a certain area code continents away.

It’d come up empty.

He felt a tug at his shorts.

He looked down to eyes the size of saucers peering up at him. The creature was ninety percent uncombed black hair and ten percent child.

“Aren’t you gunna eat, Uwaka-sensei?” the five year old boy asked. A few hours ago he’d sprawled on the floor crying, which Wakatoshi only managed to placate by giving him a single pat on the head. Now, he’s got strawberry cream smearing his cheeks; a crumb stuck between jutted out gap teeth.

“Not hungry yet,” Wakatoshi replied.

The boy proceeded to raise a slice of cake to Wakatoshi’s knees. “Miss said having leftovers is bad manners,” he argued.

Wakatoshi felt his lips quirk.

“Alright,” he said, plucking it from (hopefully) clean fingers.

Once the food was cleared, of course, the children sprang from their chairs and ran for the volleyball court. The warnings of upset stomachs from the orphanage volunteers went from one ear to the other. Wakatoshi followed. He watched and noted their positions, and reminded everyone about the things that they should have learned earlier. Postures were corrected. The older ones who he’d left with a few practice drills were now engaging in a match of their own.

Wakatoshi peeked at his phone again.

Still, nothing.

The announcement of his return was released months ago.

Excusing himself from the volunteers, he made his way far from the court and the tents, thumb still pressed on his phone.

It wasn’t as if Wakatoshi was expecting felicitations�� far from it, but it was even more out of character to not even receive…anything.

Something like “ Can’t wait to smoke your ass ” or other comments that only he could utter without shame, in spite of his age. Their teams are facing each other once again and this time Japan is not cutting corners. Everyone involved is bringing only their best.

Everyone involved is only the best.

There’s nothing on this earth that Oikawa Tohru would love more than that.

All of them had parted and made promises; had defeated each other and won against each other, but they hadn’t had the opportunity to be on the same court all at once in such a long time. All of them– Oikawa more so, had only gotten better over the years, like a blade that had been sharpened beyond perfection. No one would fault Wakatoshi for feeling like he’s back in Shiratorizawa again. Like his agent had said, how long has it been ?

The image of Oikawa standing on the same side of the court comes to him like a ball that hightailed past his defenses. A sudden lightness overtakes him.

He really is getting old, Wakatoshi mused.

All this time, maybe he’s just chasing what he’s owed. The urge to be the first to break the silence between them cropped up—

…but the sound of glassware crashing interrupted Wakatoshi’s plan.

Phone slipped back in his pocket, he searched for the source and landed on the nearest classroom. It had been turned into a makeshift storage area, he noted upon closer inspection.

The door was ajar. Barely a sliver of light inside. Wakatoshi opened it and saw– among the crates of napkins and crockery and table linens– a woman .

She was curled in a ball on the floor. Shards surrounded her like star clusters.

“Is everything alright?” Wakatoshi asked, shoes brushing sharp fragments aside.

He searched for signs of injury as he bent down, knee hovering above the floor. Peering at the tag pinned to her uniform, Wakatoshi tried to call out her name, but to no avail.

Her blown out gaze was inseparable from the floor. Her hands were trembling, back rising and falling in rapid, shallow successions. Wakatoshi became conscious of his own breathing and immediately kept it even, as if tugging at the leash of a trained dog.

His next words were uttered softly, well-practiced, while he tried to make out the movements of her mouth.

“....me,” she murmured.

Wakatoshi leaned, careful not to get too close.

“ Please…help……me. ”

Last Saturday, or was it Monday?, the tap stopped working.

No tap. No shower. The dirty dishes that you promised you’d get to washing after your shift piled up. Leftovers clumped together and fossilized on the surface of each plate, chipped at the edges. The swirl of unfinished tea and soup and juice and accumulated trickles of water when it still worked surrounded it like a moat protecting a reclusive hoarder’s tower. “ The water people came by weeks ago, pumpkin ,” the sweet old lady running the complex told you. “ You forgot again? ”

And because you’d spent everything on groceries, and overdue bills, and medicine for the cough and cold that had left you on the bed with nothing else to do because they couldn’t risk a liability at work, you could only stare at her and say, “ Right ,” and breathe. “ Sorry, ma’am, ” you breathed.

“Breathe."

Breathe.

Weren't you just telling yourself that earlier? This morning, was it? You forgot. But you told yourself that. Inoue couldn’t come today and though it’s not your day yet you went ahead and replied sure yup I can make it :)) to the work group chat even though you’re sure you still smelled like shit. Because you could do it and you’re not weak and you are responsible and in control and–

When that little volleyball exploded on the sleek, polished floor, and you'd dropped the tray like a complete fucking idiot? You told yourself to breathe.

It’s easy. You could do it. You pushed through it. What happened to that, pretty girl?

You're not breathing now are you?

Oh, dear God. Dear, dear. God. You haven't even paid rent yet. What will you tell your manager? You'd just washed those. Are you still breathing now? Look at them. Twenty a piece. Five hundred. Six. You ugly little bitch.

You said you could do this, kitten.

"Breathe."

It’s not you saying it now.

The voice was deeper. Just like mine. Not like that.

"I'm going to help you stand up," he said. "We're getting out of this room."

Not like that. Not like that. Notlikethat– The voice did not tease. My pretty, pretty girl. It didn't have that rise-fall lilt that took pleasure in keeping you on your toes.

This one's as straightforward as an arrow.

Unbending.

True.

"Breathe," he repeated.

But you were breathing. What was this guy saying? You are breathing, aren’t you? The chasm in your chest may have gotten bigger, sucking in all matter and trapping everything inside until there’s barely anything to hold onto– not even air, but you are breathing.

“Look at me,” the man said. And you followed. You felt your neck crane up.

Green eyes, like leaves on branches. Swaying behind him. “Breathe with me.”

Odd. His chest was expanding, inflating like a balloon at a kid’s party, once, twice, then he– woosh went his mouth. You did the same. “Inhale,” he murmured. Once. Twice. “Exhale.”

Woosh .

Wind trickled in, the chime of bells, and all at once you felt like you’d drank water after a good cry, but you hadn’t been crying. You weren’t crying, were you?

“You’re outside now.”

Yes, you are. No, you're not. You're still inside that dark cage, dust in your nose. Iron– hot and suffocating and angry, is molding you, tearing you apart from the insides until muscle and fat are stretched into thin ribbons. Your mother’s warnings, sharp as the squeak of shoes, clear and deafening as boys shouting. Red means run. Blue means–

“Do you smell that? Barbeque.”

The man was incredibly tall.

Smoked meat and onions sailed with the breeze. Birds chirped like you'd just woken up. It felt like that. You closed your eyes and opened them again, looking at the warm anchor before you.

His white shirt was darkened by sweat.

He didn't look like the type to smile a lot, but his face seemed softer now. Severe brows sloped down a determined but gentle gaze. Something began to itch at the back of your head, like you were supposed to remember something.

"You did well," he told you.

And you believed him. ‘Cause he said it like he’s just saying, “ The sun is hot. ” You did well, as in “ A ball is round ” or “ Birds fly .”

And so, you did well.

"What do you need now?"

The feeling of sandpaper in your grip registered in your senses. You glanced down and realized that you'd been holding his hands. For how long, you could hardly tell, but the heavy weight of them held you down, kept you from floating back to the darkness where something waited for you, its starved eyes glowing red and blue.

His palms were rough wrapped around yours. You found that you didn't mind.

"I-" you began. You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm okay. I think."

He gave a nod in response. His thumb dwarfed yours. And when he brushed the back of your hand– why, you wouldn't have believed it, but your fingers glided, cool as can be, just like dandelion fluffs through the spaces between his.

Silence sat unperturbed between the two of you.

It let the summer critters chatter among themselves. It let the boys playing a game of volleyball just be boys playing a game of volleyball. It let the world just be what it always has been. And it…it was warm, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Like being swaddled, almost.

You felt yourself breathing in, the precious seconds right before drifting to a dreamless sleep. (Whose hand caressed whom? Was it yours?)

The haze, however, had to be cut short. Sliced clean through by a pained, guttural noise.

"What's wrong?" you blurted out.

He hissed. " Nothing. ”

Irritation disturbed his once calm features. You felt your heart twist as he discarded his hold on you. You almost begged for its return.

"I'm sorry," you cried, although you weren't sure of your crime. Doesn't matter now. You'd inconvenienced this man. You have to pay for it, kitten. You know what he'll do to you, don't you? Oh, beautiful. He's going to–

He grunted, as if using all his strength to stop your derailing thoughts from setting up in flames.

"I'm sor-"

One sharp look was all it took. You clamped your mouth shut as he grabbed his wrist, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Seeing his intimidating form bent over ignited prickles all over your palms.

And there it was. Again.

That itch. You're forgetting something. Your hands were burning, but you didn't feel the pain, like they'd been scorched beyond sensation before being dunked in ice cold water. So you looked at them, just to make sure they're still there.

First, the forked lines.

Then, the dashed ones.

"Look at their palms!"

Both of you turned to the sound of cameras clicking. Grown ups and children alike stood before you. They gaped and pointed as more people ran from the bottom of the hill. You felt your stomach drop. You searched his eyes for answers, but those keen olives were just as perplexed as you were.

Knowing that you'd come up short of explanation among the ruckus, he retrieved your hand, disgruntled expression still in place, and turned it palm side up.

"Who woulda guessed, huh?!" somebody yelled.

Neither of you were looking anymore. Not at the audience that you'd suddenly gathered. Not at your palms. You met his gaze, his breathing mimicking yours, chests moving in a familiar rhythm.

Camera flashes made you wince. You could barely tell your left from your right.

That look in his eyes didn't help either, burning you with what seemed like an accusation and–

“I knew it. You really should stop trying to run away,” somebody had said, snickering, right up to your ear.

Inhale. Once. Twice.

“I knewit . You really shouldstoprunningawayfromme–”

Exhale.

“I’ll always find you.”

You took a step backwards.

“I’ll always always always always alwaysalwaysalways–”

The enclosing crowd are heavy double doors, rusted hinges creaking shut, and there is never going to be a way out.

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED INTL

Volleyball Star Scores Destiny Ahead of 2028 Summer Olympics

Temperatures are rising and the competition is getting heated in more ways than one!

Last Wednesday, FIVB Nations League MVP Ushijima Wakatoshi was caught in a first soul glow during a charity event for underprivileged orphans. “We are very happy for him,” Coach Blanchard said to NHK. “He’s been working so hard his entire career. He deserves this.”

The video of the two gained massive attention worldwide. It has a whopping 2 million views on the VolleyWorld Youtube channel and is still gaining traction among non-volleyball fans on Twitter.

@rdlty12

HE LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE A PRINCE?? LORD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS

@_itsmejayne

it’s actually their world n we’re all just living in it i feel sick rn

@KINGPQW

bro met his soulmate while on his way to grab an olympic medal who is doing it like him

@strawberryhertz

not even into volleyball like that but if you catch me watching the olympics for a grown man playing an intense version of don’t let the balloon touch the floor MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

Orzeł Warszawa did not miss the assignment and showed support to their former teammate.

@OrzełWarszawa_Official

See you, lover boy ;))

The identity of the Olympic favorite’s soulmate, however, is yet to be known. Ushijima himself refused to make a statement about this momentous occasion. Nevertheless, with a home advantage, a dream team on its back, and an inspiration of a magical magnitude bestowed upon their ace, it now begs the question:

Is Japan finally ready to take back their gold?

The last time your mother had worn that red lip gloss was when you’d won an award for something. “ Perfect Attendance ,” your teacher had announced.

She came with you to the ceremony, cherry polka dot blouse and vibrant lips, and you couldn't quite explain it then, but you were so sure that having your mother see you win was probably the closest thing that a person could get to flying.

That was in grade school.

The certificate for that is now molding in a cardboard box somewhere.

"What was he really like?" she asked you as the ribs under her knife bled thick sauce.

Her eyes twinkled. Your throat felt tight like you'd eaten too much with little to no space to store it in. You're yet to put a dent on your plate.

She hummed and wiggled her brows, nudging you into revealing more about the man who– in the span of a day, flipped everything you'd settled to believe about your life. You limply stabbed the celery with the prongs of your fork.

Nostalgia truly is a funny thing. Yearning handed out with a grin and a twist to the gut.

"He's tall," you started, shrugging.

"He is," she giggled. "Handsome, too."

A grin miraculously fought its way to your chapped lips, though you may have failed the execution. It seems that it didn’t produce the look that you were going for. Your mother made that face that she makes when she catches you mid-prayer to the porcelain deities.

"Is there something wrong?" she eventually asked. Who wouldn't ask that when you’ve got that permanently ugly, bearer-of-bad-news look on your face?

Is there something wrong, kitten?

You remember that? Same question, wasn’t it? When you ran home all those years ago with your school jacket wound tightly around your waist. Like it could hide shit.

“ Is there something wrong? ” she asked you.

She should’ve stopped asking that question by now. Seriously, how old are you? Something “wrong” only happens to girls who wear their skirts too short and then wander alone at night practically begging for it, not full grown adults who should be more than capable of shelling out for their own life.

Nothing wrong should ever happen to you again. Or what would that make you? Hm? Some little girl whose life goes in circles? Fucking up then, fucking up now?

And just like what you told her before, you said–

“Nothing, mom.” You dropped the fork. “I was just thinking that–”

“ Do you think we can go…far away.. Again? The kids here are mean and– I don't know, I- I just thought, maybe, things would be– ”

“... Different,” you muttered. You pushed yourself to meet her troubled eyes. “It feels…different than how I’d…imagined it to be. It’s odd, that’s all. Can’t help but think that if I hadn’t stood in for Inoue’s shift today… I don’t know–”

I don’t know. The ignoramus shrugged once more. “Woke up that day to Inoue’s message. He said he couldn’t make it. It was supposed to be his shift. I didn’t wanna– you know, I didn’t wanna say I could. I wanted to go back to sleep.” Told myself that I could do it ‘cause that’s what people who can’t do anything say.

“You’re still not feeling well?” Her brows are knitted together. Lips dulled now by the sauce and meat.

“No, no I am. Better. I am better, Ma. All I’m saying is, it’s all just– funny, is it? It could’ve easily not happened.”

“But you still went,” she pressed. Her smile could’ve put the sun to shame even as it’s beaming in all its glory this month. Features softened, voice firm: “It would have anyway, baby. I know that.”

Of course she did.

The story hung above your heads, above the dining room, like motes of dust struck through by the light, waltzing in the air all untouchable, refusing to settle but always, always there.

Sit down. Get comfortable. It goes something like this:

Once upon a time, your mother had walked around the city in the middle of the night, alone and in her pajamas– as one does when they’re nineteen and had decided to sit out on a party because they believed that their friends secretly hated them. She bought a tub of ice cream, sat by the river bank, cried her eyes out, and rode the last train going back. Then, just as the track took a sharp turn and she’d stumbled on her feet, a kind stranger had caught her before she could fall.

The man’s palms glowed as blue as hers.

On their way home (because, yes, he walked her back to her apartment) and her friends had caught sight of the two (“ Girl, where were you?! ”), one of them perked up seeing the man and exclaimed, “ Hey! You were at the party too, weren’t you? Aoto-kun’s classmate, right? Why’d you go home so early?”

That’s why your mother could say stuff like that with all the sincerity of a fish vendor and the finality of a god. She could boldly proclaim, “One way or another, he would have found you even if you or him decided to turn away from destiny,” because it happened to her. All of it– everything that they put in the movies to encourage young girls to hope and dream and someday leave their hearts out in the open for all the world to step on. That was her reality, once upon a time.

But what was it to you, cutie? What will it ever be to you, other than a bedtime story and a dead man in a photograph?

Perhaps that's what separates women like her from the likes of you. Her soulmate took one look at her and immediately decided to keep her safe, swaying her hand in his like they're dancing while playing two truths and a lie.

Yours took one look at you and couldn't be more relieved to see you walk away.

Is that it? Is that the demarcation? Did somebody up there determine who gets to be the woman that gets loved and the woman that gets ra–

Something soft and warm patted the back of your hand. Your mother had reached across the table. “Baby,” she said, prompting you to look at her again. “This is a good thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of an asparagus.

“Everything is meant to be,” she repeated. And, “When are you seeing him again?”

Your mom cooked this food. She called you here for dinner. It still tasted like how it did many years ago. Maybe even better. And don't you think she should be wearing that lipstick forever?

When she’d called you over the phone, as soon as the news broke, she’d– “ I knew it! I knew you’d have it just like the movies. Oh, you should’ve seen Mrs. Sasaki’s face– ” sounded a lot like the angels had woken her up to the vision of her old washing machine running again without the empty clang clang clang. Like you got off your ass and stapled and clipped your insides together and it finally held together.

This time, for sure.

You smiled.

“Hopefully, soon,” you replied, chewing.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere ushijima #yandere oikawa #dark content haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #oikawa toru x reader #red like blood blue like love sequel #chapter 1

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 10 months ago

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I just got out of my psychology class and I kept having thoughts about Leon and how his mind works. Here’s a psychoanalysis on Leon bc I truly do like how his brain works:

TW: mentions of mental illnesses, substances, substance abuse, suicide. (Guys- I am not a medical psychologist or a medical psychiatrist. This is strictly based on my psychology class, take this with a grain of salt.)

Leon suffers from Combat and Violence Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). This type of PTSD (because there’s subcategories) is most often common in veterans and in men.

More often than not, one can tell when someone’s suffering PTSD (flat voice, substance abuse, inability to sleep, change in personality, etc.)

Leon in RE2/RE2R didn’t necessarily show signs of PTSD until after the events took place. Leon was too busy trying to survive that his brain shut off the emotions he was feeling “in the heat of the moment.” He was scared but it was his survival instinct that allowed him (or the player) to move forward. Hence why I think he also suffered from Depression and Acute Stress Disorder (ASD).

ASD is commonly found in patients with PTSD, ASD is kind of like the first stage after a traumatic event took place. PTSD victims often find themselves having frequent panic attacks. I think it would be safe to assume that Leon in RE2/RE2R had several panic attacks during or after Raccoon City. I don’t think he’d go to therapy/psychiatrist/psychologist because in RE4R he stated that he immediately got called to the White House after he survived RC. And this is where I think it got worse.

RE4 and RE4R both portray very distinct Leon characters. One is more “fine” than the other in short words. Leon in RE4og doesn’t necessarily show signs of having mental issues but maybe he’s just good at masking them. Leon in RE4og often finds himself being very witty or very lean back. He’s less serious but I think it’s a coping mechanism. Up to that point in his life, he’s been in very serious situations that I think this is his way of gaining some of that control he lost when the virus first started. His brain is fighting battles of being in control or letting others control him. In this case- the situation is controlling him. He wants to have that sense of individuality and most of the time this is a coping mechanism. To gain back some of the things he’s lost in the process.

In RE4R, however (and I’m going to be very bold with this one), we don’t know much about how he feels. He is flat and his demeanor is distant to an extent. I’ve noticed a few changes to him from when he first started the game to where the player made it halfway. In the beginning of the game (when he’s with the two Spanish cops) he’s similar to RE4og- sarcastic and a little unserious. Which can be guessed as his normal personality. He doesn’t really show how much he’s actually been through with those two strangers. He’s got better things to worry about- he neglects his own issues. When he tries to find Ashley and he sees the zombies again- his PTSD gets triggered and it makes him be able to pull the trigger (aside from the player lol) There are few types of reactions when PTSD gets triggered and I think Leon’s reaction is a bit depressing.

When Leon sees these zombies again, his brain automatically jumps back to the memories of Raccoon City and almost immediately finds himself back in his former self’s shoes. But he doesn’t have time to linger, he forces those thoughts away and keeps going. I don’t think he wants to have time to think about what just happened because he’s often trying to keep his brain occupied “sorry, must’ve slipped” or any other phrase he says makes me believe that he’s just trying to make himself laugh (because believe it or not, laughter really does help with mental issues) or he’s trying to make the situation seem lighter. Or maybe he’s in denial, his brain hasn’t processed that the same thing that happened in RC is happening all over again. And when you’re in denial, you are repressed. Sigmund Freud said that repression is when someone turns something (trauma, thoughts, events, feelings) away. They deliberately choose to cast their thoughts and feelings aside. Leon bottles his emotions, it’s his defense mechanism. He doesn’t smoke (as mentioned in the game) nor does he drink (there’s a Reddit post that perfectly summed it up for me) He knows substances aren’t good for you and the fact that he’s against them makes me believe that he has other ways of dealing with PTSD such as exercise. I’m not saying this just because Leon looks very built, I want to think that maybe half the reason he works out isn’t just for his job. I think it also because it helps him mentally.

Mobility, sleep, and nutrition are the most important things to keep yourself mentally and physically healthy.

I’ll get on to RE6 because in that game, he pulled a 180 imo. RE6 Leon is more empathetic. He cares about the people that could’ve survived. He suffers from survivor’s guilt. After RE4/RE4R, Leon probably became more aware of his struggles and has tried to deal with them. He’s become more human, he’s allowed himself to feel human. He’s still the same serious guy with the flat effect but he’s becoming more open about his thoughts and feelings. I think the game is trying to hint at us that MAYBE he’s getting better. (Guys this is a stretch okay. RE6 is lowkey messy)

Now on to the films (I’ve done the liberty of researching a ‘order’ of when these may have taken place and not by the release date order so you guys won’t get confused):

ID Leon: He’s very compassionate in this one. He has a sense of self righteousness but I know why. He wants to make up for the losses of the people he’s seen die. He wants to fight against the corporation and wants to end the spread (submarine scene when he talks about RC) He wants to make up for what he couldn’t save. (Hence why he didn’t give Claire the chip- he wanted to protect her because he cares for her)

Degeneration Leon: Protection can only go a long way. Leon is more… assertive in his objectives, if you will. He’s back in his RE4 days in other words (any of the two games tbh, this Leon is complex) Leon wants to keep fighting for his cause. Not only is he forced to be a soldier for the government but he also has found a drive. All his pent up PTSD and trauma has shifted into something else. If no one could’ve been the hero then HE’LL be the hero himself, does that make sense?

Damnation Leon: Haha Russia go brr (sorry) Again, he’s become more chill. When he’s with JD, he’s funny but still cautious (bc let’s be honest, JD could’ve still shot his ass) nothing much to comment, I think he’s been consistent since Degeneration.

Vendetta Leon: NOW WE GETTING JUICY. This man- this Leon is the epitome of what a relapse does to you. Leon is seen drinking away his problems. He’s relapsed back into the mentality where his brain is finally processing everything. He’s even tried to attempt suicide- that’s how bad he got. His PTSD, his ASD, depression (bc you can’t tell me he didn’t have depression) it all came back to him and it made him feel shitty. He lost his power over himself, he no longer feels useful. He feels empty and broken. That’s sh he drowns himself in his own sorrows. Because he’s learned that if you drink until you pass out, you don’t dream. He doesn’t sleep- no. He’d rather black out because when you’re in an unconscious state, you don’t dream at all. You’re simply just lying there on the floor with your eyes closed. And that’s the feeling Leon wants to feel. He wants to forget everything for one minute and just calm down. And alcohol does that to you, that’s why people with PTSD become addicted to substances.

DI Leon: homeboy somehow got better (I’ve yet to watch DI lol) but from what I’ve seen, he’s definitely back to his “normal” self. He probably learned that maybe living life is the best thing. That if his attempt would’ve succeeded, then he wouldn’t have been able to live to his fullest. Regret makes people do a lot of things and I think Leon matured and learned.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #di leon #re2 leon #re4 leon #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy angst #resident evil 4 #re4r leon #re2r leon #resident evil angst #re4 remake #re2 remake

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starmosaics · 6 months ago

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Mars in the 8th House pt. 2/3

If you haven’t read the 1st part here’s a link to the original post :)

Today I’m focusing on transformation, life and death situations and possible struggles with mental health and substance abuse.

Those with Mars in the 8H frequently face unforeseen events in their life which catalyzes incredible changes. Some of these events are catastrophic. These people can completely alter their lives by brute will or they will be met with challenges which push them towards making necessary changes.

Common events I’ve seen/experienced that pushes an 8H Mars towards transformation:

-Death of a loved one, loss of any kind

-Near death experiences

-A breakup/divorce

-Overcoming addiction

-Releasing/healing trauma

-Inheritance

There’s many times where these people feel isolated and left in the dark; some may feel like they’ve lost everything even their sense of self. Many 8H Mars individuals have experienced and been exposed to very difficult and painful events which is one of the most challenging aspects of this placement. Life has its ups and downs and for these people, that’s never ending. The most important thing is that they are so persevering and are quite determined to follow through to reach the other end after facing difficulties. I’ve seen people with this aspect go through hell and eventually got out of that dark place and became a totally different person; shedding one’s skin. I myself feel like I have already lived 10 different lives. The 8th House forcefully causes one to experience changes within their mental state, physical bodies, or spiritual lives; the 8th House can quite literally strip your identity causing you to have to completely build yourself up again.

These people may feel like they got the short end of the stick when it comes to certain situations that they've been dealt leading them to succumbing to their fears and experiencing chaos and disheveledness leaving them feeling trapped, but something to remind these folks is that when they feel like they’ve hit rock bottom, the closer they are to transforming themselves or an area of their lives along with gaining grit and profound wisdom. The 8th House wants you to go inwards, identify the parts of yourself or your life you can't face, to take the reins and evolve. Sometimes it requires metaphorically (sometimes literally, but hopefully not) dying first to become reborn.

T/W: Abuse, substance use, heavy topics mentioned!!

In terms of an 8H Mars’ mental health, there’s quite a distinctive pattern. As we’ve established earlier that what kind of experiences these people might face, the events that alters one's life naturally will heavily impact one's mental health. I know 4 other people with this placement (along with myself) who have some form of psychiatric disorder; most commonly Bipolar disorder, Paranoia, MDD (major depressive disorder), and BPD. Many have experienced events (commonly during childhood, teen years, and early twenties) that lead to signs/a diagnosis of CPTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder).

Substance abuse is also very common to those who have this placement. Either a family member of theirs struggled with it, or they themselves did. Everyone I know who has this placement including myself has either had a family member who struggled with addiction, or have personally struggled with addiction; sometimes both. 8th house represents something you inherit and unfortunately sometimes it's the inter-generational cycle of addiction. Substance use disorders and mental disorders are sometimes heritable. This isn't meant to scare you or make you feel bad if you have faced any battles with substances. Addiction doesn't have to be your whole life story, just a chapter. Those who I know who previously struggled with addiction and turned their lives around are happier than ever.

Here are some famous people with an 8H Mars that struggled with their mental health and substance abuse:

-Marilyn Monroe (Alleged Bipolar disorder, substance use disorder)

-Robin Williams (MDD, substance use disorder)

-Amanda Bynes (Bipolar disorder, abused stimulants)

-Sid Vicious (Showed signs of personality disorder, substance use disorder)

-Drew Barrymore (Substance use disorder, MDD)

-Courtney Love (Substance use disorder, Autism)

-Lil Peep (Bipolar disorder, substance use disorder)

-Anthony Bourdain (MDD, substance abuse)

More than half of these famous people also struggled in childhood due to the impact of their family members; Marilyn Monroe had a traumatizing childhood and was living in multiple foster homes and orphanages due to her alcoholic and schizophrenic mother being unable to care for her, Amanda Bynes facing sexual abuse by Dan Schneider as a child, Sid Vicious' mother was neglectful and gave him hero*n when he was a teenager, Drew Barrymore had a mother who influenced and fueled Drew's coca*ne and alcohol addiction before she was even 15 years old, and Courtney Love's father was deemed to be unstable and a horrible father. He allegedly gave her LSD as a child and also physically abused her when she was 17 after visiting him in Ireland.

I don't want to fully air this story out, but I had a friend who was like a sibling to me and their dad abandoned them during their teenage years and their mother was unable to work due to her schizophrenia and substance abuse; she would have us pick up cigarettes and get drugs for her when we were 16/17. This friend has experienced a lot of pain and is still struggling with their own demons and mental health and i'm no longer in their life due to their choices and influence on me, but I still think about them all the time. I wish them the best and hope they eventually find their way back to themselves. They're one of the smartest people I've ever met.

In my own personal life, my dad was never in the picture and my mother (who I believe also had an 8H Mars) struggled with mental illness and substance abuse, so I lived with my grandmother, who I eventually found out also abused substances, but was more "stable". After my mom passed literally from alcohol deteriorating her body when I was 17, I decided I had to keep distance from my family and moved out as soon as I could and since then my life has totally changed. I heavily smoked weed from the ages 16-19, I'm addicted to cigarettes, I am very wary about my alcohol consumption, and I inherited my mom and grandmother's mental illness. If it weren't for my upbringing, I wouldn't possess the wisdom I have today. Yes my childhood was fked up, but it made me immensely resilient. I have experienced life and death literally and metaphorically many many times.

I'm not saying that if you have this placement you're bound to struggle with addiction and have a tragic life story filled with trauma and pain, but unfortunately a more common thing I see in those who do have this placement have struggled with trauma, substances, abuse, and family dynamics. And like I said with the transformational aspect of the 8th House, many people overcame their demons and traumas. There's always an option for recovery in any scenario which is also associated with the 8H, and sometimes destruction (Mars) and chaos is needed for rebirth. In a less extreme manner, 8th House Martians may just struggle with generalized depression and anxiety.

Another thing I've noticed about those with an 8H Mars placement is that they let their anger seethe until it eventually boils over leading to an outburst. They may experience super intense meltdowns due to not healthily coping. Emotional regulation might be difficult for these natives in general.

On one end Mars rules destruction, conflict, death, assaults, and violence. On the other, it represents ambition, overcoming, exertion, determination, encouragement, strength, one's ability, and facing fears.

If you have an 8H Mars and faced any of the struggles above or anything similar and need someone to talk to you can always message me! I want this post to encourage the people who may feel stuck or are in a rough place that they can overcome whatever is thrown at them. Remember crisis comes first, then evolution and finally, total transformation. <3

In the 3rd and final part we'll go over struggles within intimate relationships 8H Mars folks might face and "taboo" topics these natives might enjoy.

#8h mars #8th house mars #mars 8th house #8th house #8h #mars #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro community #m

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satcnus · 23 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐘

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. ex-military widower ✖ runaway stray

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. older protective male x vulnerable teen fem. widower x runaway. paternal elements within romance. male saviorism. size differences. opposites attract. ride or die. hurt, comfort, healing. v-rginity loss. dead dove do not eat.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! The following original fiction contains potentially triggering content, including: extreme age gap, homicide, child and spousal death, kidnapping, s-xual as-sault (background only), r-pe recovery, child abuse (background only), post-traumatic stress disorder and disabling mental illness, and mild ddlg themes (clothing, nicknames). Read at your own discretion.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐎𝟑 - EARLY RELEASE. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑.

“The next fill-up is fine.”

“Alright.”

The drive had been quiet. So quiet that if he hadn’t helped her into the car, Reuven might not have known she was there at all. Though, for the first few minutes, he glanced over every so often, to find her gaze reflected back in the passenger window, staring out into the abyss of trees and cold that she’d just escaped from.

He didn’t press her. Not only just because he was certain she didn’t want to share, but because he wasn’t so sure he wanted her to share either.

It had been a long time since he’d tried to manage any conversation that bore more weight than just menial small talk. Easily digestible how are you ’s and living the dream and did you watch the game on Sunday?

Certainly no amount of small talk was necessary here, nor would be appreciated, and he was saving them both the headache of its formality by embracing the silence, as did she.

It didn’t take long for whatever awkward edge he held to mellow out and dull at its edges. After a few minutes into the drive, he flipped on the radio, just a mumbling volume, enough to encroach on the silence but not demand its eviction. It was enough to placate the drive, until twenty-five minutes had passed, and the first gas station, not a few minutes off from that stranded, run down dive bar, came into view over the hill.

Its occluded red sign failed in the attention-grab it attempted. A star with a faded smile pinned up next to the gas station’s name, which was also half-eroded into some guessable alias. Only half the overhead lights on the pumps worked, and the same was true for the exterior lights of the snack shop. Reuven rolled in to one of the parking spots, out of the way, nearby the entrance and cut the ignition.

He leaned back in his seat, inhaling deep and slow, in preparation before he finally acknowledged her existence again, and bid her adieu. “Alright. Are you sure you don’t want—” But just as he was about to finish his sentence, he laid eyes on the girl’s reflection in the window again. Her head was lulled to the side, resting against her shoulder, her breaths coming in deeper and slower than they had earlier.

She was asleep.

Calm. Replenished.

The man stared at her, catching his own reflection in the window, behind hers. His own dark, hallowed out gaze. The indentation of his adam’s apple, beneath a dark, unkempt beard with just two bilateral lines of gray extending down it to show his age. His curls had dried and returned to the coiled mop upon his head, falling down on either side of his face ever so slightly. His jaw flexed, and he glanced around at the otherwise empty lot, as if someone out there could help him solve this conundrum.

Well.

Should he wake her up?

He chewed on his lip, before drawing his palm over his mouth, and looking back over at her in some uncertainty. She looked so peaceful now. And he could see clearly now the bags that lingered beneath her eyes, sunken so far it seemed this was the first lick of rest she’d gotten in days. Reuven wasn’t sure he had the heart to.

He tipped his head back against his seat’s headrest, counting down the minutes as they flashed, excruciatingly, on the radio’s screen. Last call would be done soon. Did he have time to even get to the bar, scope out his sacrifice for the night, and follow them without drawing suspicion?

The man inhaled, a bit frustrated, a bit relieved, in some sick way, and waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. She was still sleeping, more deeply than before.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just dump her here on the side of the road. And where would she go, if he did? She clearly had been wearing the same clothes for awhile. If he was admitting it to himself, she kind of smelled, in the same way a stray dog smells. Unwashed. Neglected.

No way for a girl to live.

He remembered his Chedva again. Her unruly, curly hair. How quickly it would tangle if she didn’t comb it through every morning, and god forbid she skipped a shower. He’d have to sit her down on the floor between his legs and piece carefully through it with a comb, all while she sniffled and whined at him when he tugged a bit too hard.

What about this girl?

He could see the way her hair, previously soaking wet and almost iced into thickened strands, had now dried up and coagulated into itself.

How would she get a comb?

Another minute passed.

He stuck his key back in the ignition, and brought his truck back to life.

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drrahulmathure · 1 year ago

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What are the Signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)?

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that can develop after a person experiences a traumatic event. This can include things like combat exposure, accidents, or natural disasters.

When someone experiences trauma, it can create lasting changes in the brain’s structure and function. This can lead to the constant feeling of being in danger, even when there’s no real threat.

What are the Signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

People with PTSD may experience intrusive memories of the traumatic event. These can feel like the event is happening again, causing intense distress.

PTSD can lead to recurring nightmares related to the trauma, disrupting sleep and increasing anxiety.

Individuals may go to great lengths to avoid anything that reminds them of the traumatic event. This could include avoiding people, places, or situations.

Get more information related to "PSTD" What are the Signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)? Contact: 8818812800

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givemearmstopraywith · 1 year ago

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quick palestine fact sheet:

there are nearly 7 million palestinian refugees globally

1.5 million individuals live in the 58 recognized palestine refugee camps around palestine (i.e. in gaza, syria, east jerusalem, etc) recognized by the unrwa

67% of gaza's population are refugees

there are 905,000 registered palestine refugee children: 635,000 in gaza and 269,000 in the west bank

palestinian refugees frequently cannot access public health insurance and are barred from many professions; some areas bar them from education and formal work

in gaza poverty rates are nearly 82% and the unemployment rate is some of the highest in the world at nearl 47% as of august 2022

one recent study showed that 88% of palestinian children show signs of war-related post traumatic stress disorder

37% of adults in the gaza strip qualify for diagnosis for ptsd; however, this number should be approached cautiously, accounting for preconceptions about mental health, access to diagnosis, and hermeneutic injustice: the number is likely far higher

48,000 people in gaza have some form of a disability: more than one fifth of this number are children

palestinians are not allowed, by israeli law, to have citizenship; they have no freedom of movement, and can be subject to forced evictions, detention, and torture.

the per capita gdp of palestine is US$3,678 as of december 2021; this is in comparison to a gdp per capita of USD$52,000 in israel

palestine does not have a formal military. the us stopped aid to palestine, around $60 million, in 2019. palestinian security services receives around $27 million from the national budget.

hamas, a separate entity from the pss, receives around $300 million per year. in comparison, israel spends in excess of USD$23.6 billion annually on their military.

in the midst of disinformation campaigns by global powers, fight facts with facts- and with protests, rallying, donating, elevating the voices of palestinians. keep showing up. keep educating yourself and others. never give up hope. palestine will be free.

#palestine #free palestine #palestinian genocide

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thegirlwholovesficcharacters · 1 month ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄 The originals x Org fem teen reader

Chap 1: ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

Summary: For as long as she could remember, fourteen-year-old maisie buckley used to have strange dreams, about people she had never met and scenarios that only she could believe would happen in movies or fantasy series, dreams that had faded with the passage of time. However, after suffering an accident, those dreams reappeared, leaving her to believe that they were a figment of her imagination due to post-traumatic stress disorder. But as time went by, Maisie began to realize that most of her “dreams” seemed to want to leave her a message or give her a sign about something, and although that seemed to be all, her situation seemed to get worse when she accidentally touched her classmate's hands, causing her to go into a trance and see blurry images. Confused and frightened by those recurring “dreams”, maisie finds herself trying to find answers about her strange dreams, until she arrives at the store of a voodoo witch, who seeing her desperation helps her search for some answer to her condition, her search resulted in a small town, New orleans. Without hesitation, maisie buckley leaves her life in boston behind, and upon arriving in new orleans finds more questions than answers to answer her questions, being rescued from a coven of witches along with a woman and becoming involved in a strange connection with those who claimed to be the originals, the first vampires created on earth. The mikaelson brothers.

Words: 2774 Warnings: Mention of blood, hand cuts, spells, mention of abandonment and an adoption (nothing dark or dangerous at the moment).

Autor's note: Hello, I'm back after a long time and with a new story. I recently rewatched one of my favorite series, The originals and with the passing of the chapters, I remembered that I had a fanfic about this series saved in one of my drafts on wattpad. I read it, rewrote it and thought, why not share it on tumblr?, and well, here I am with the first chapter of this series about the strange connection of a teenager of almost fifteen years old with my favorite family and the loves of my life, yes yes, I'm talking about Niklaus and elijah. Anyway, I'm going to base it from the first chapter of the first season of The originals. Although this chapter focuses a little more before the arrival of maisie to new orleans and what led her to go there.I apologize in advance with the spelling and grammatical errors that you will find during the reading, I usually use google translator to write in English, because well, my English is not so good, but hey, I'm still learning. Without further ado.

I hope you enjoy reading it!

PD: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

There were many things that Maisie did not like in her short life. She did not like small spaces, heights, or strange, disturbing, or uncomfortable situations. Although she wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable since she had gone to that strange store on her own.

It was not normal to her to see stuffed animals on show. But it was even more disturbing to her that they seemed to be looking at her whole soul. "This is very uncomfortable", she thought. She had read and seen TV programmes about people using taxidermy to preserve an animal's body for scientific study, or people doing this with their own pets to feel they were still with them.

━━━Terrible━━━ she muttered. The child ignored the animals and continued to explore the shop. Until she came to a shelf full of crystal balls. A little curious, she carefully picked up one of the spheres. Fascinated, she watched the small flashes of light contrasting with the shop light on the crystal ball.

━━━Careful with that Crystal ball kid, it's very expensive━━━━━The young girl jumped, surprised and frightened when she heard the woman's resulting voice.

Feeling the loud pounding of her heart, Maisie turned her head to find a woman with dark skin, her hair covered in a silk fabric, and an outfit that reminded her of Marie Laveau from her favorite show, played by Angela Basset.

Taking a deep breath, she leaves the crystal ball on the shelf and speaks with a slight stutter.

━━━━I'm sorry, ma'am.━━━━She excused herself quietly as she watched the woman cautiously approach her.

━━━What is it that brings a little thing like you to such a strange place?. You seem very young to be here, my dear ━━she questioned with a lifted eyebrow, looking at her as if she wanted to analyze her.

When she saw his questioning look, Maisie gripped the string of her backpack nervously, trying to formulate the right words to say to her.

━━━I…emm. I read on your website that you are one of the best 'Tarot Readers' in the city, Miss. Aisha Boudreaux━━━━ The woman looked at her again as she heard her call her a 'Tarot Reader'.

She said to herself, "So she already knows"

━━━And-and I came to your shop because I need your help. Please. ━━━she replied shyly..

The woman named aisha looked at her for a few seconds. She watched as she nervously held the strap of her purse and stuttered as she spoke. Then she cautiously lifted her hand and lifted the young girl faces. Her eyes showed curiosity as she looked at the girl's face.

"Her aura, it's… strange. I've never seen this kind of aura on anyone other than… no, it can't be" thought the woman, feeling exalted for a moment "is it her…? No, it can't be, she's too…young" Trying to ignore her thoughts, Aisha spoke.

━━━I can see in your eyes that something is troubling you, little one. I can't tell you what it is, but I know for sure that you've come to the right place….━━━Her gaze softened, noticing the small teenager's frightened eyes, she took a step back and held out her hand━━━Come with me, Maisie Buckley, I know you have many things you want to resolve.━━━Watching the woman's outstretched hand, Maisie stood still for a few seconds, watching her own hands covered in old gloves, then looked back at her.

A million thoughts went through her head, she was unsure if she should trust the woman, but she had gone to her shop for a reason, and that was that she needed answers, one way or the other, and Mrs. Boudreaux seemed to be the right person for the job.

She hadn't been on the road for almost an hour and had searched the Internet to get to her store for nothing, and she desperately needed answers.

She shook her head, swallowed some saliva, and smiled a little as she took the woman's hand.

━━━I trust you…━━━Boudreaux nodded softly as she began to walk away from the lobby. Maisie followed her, hoping that Mrs. Boudreaux might be able to help her.

It was now or never.

It had been about twenty minutes, twenty minutes since Boudreaux had taken her to a secluded room in the shop, where the two of them sat at her tarot table, surrounded by animal and human skulls (Maisie hoped the skulls were completely fake), candles lit in every corner of the room, and a cup of hot tea in her hands, which were almost empty and lukewarm.

Maisie had taken the time to give her a brief explanation of what had happened to her over the past few months. She had also made a brief plea for his help with her situation.

Now, standing in front of the witch, she watched as Boudreaux carefully placed her own mug on the table, her face was neutral, but the young teenager knew deep down she was worried about her situation, deep inside. She couldn't read minds, but when she saw Aisha's restless eyes, Maise could tell that something was going on in her head, and she wanted to ask her what it was, but she didn't want to interrupt her thoughts.

"After years…. But she is too young, what did they want, how did they restore her visions?" With a small sigh, Boudreaux speak.

━━━I've heard several stories about situations like this.━━━━Maisie looked at her intently for a moment. Were there any other people out there with the same problem as she had?━━━Tell me, dear, have you ever heard of clairvoyants?━━━The teenage hesitated to answer.

Even if she could say yes, Maisie was sure she would only named Alice Cullen from Twilight and Ethan Morgan from My Nanny Is a Vampire or some other fictional character she knew with that kind of gift. And since she was sure she would answer that, and since Mrs. Boudreaux would reproach her, she decided to answer.

━━━Only in fictional series or movies━━━━━She replied quickly, smiling innocently, the woman rolled her eyes but nodded anyway.

━━━Well, I'll stick with you having an idea of what they are….━━━Maisie nodded, not wanting to interrupt her━━━….You have a gift, child. You are a kind of seer who can only see visions through touch, be they future or past━━━When she saw Maisie open her mouth, the woman raised her hand and silenced her immediately━━━ and before you speak, yes, I know about that show about a vampire nanny, which I find absurd but entertaining━━━he teenager smiled and nodded.

Al verla entender, la bruja asintió para si misma.

━━━Good. Before we continue━━━She moved her empty cup away from the centre of the table━━━I have to ask you, do you have any relatives who have been in this situation in the past? Or anything like that?━━━Maisie quickly denied with a small grimace.

Maisie knew she was adopted. Her parents always told the truth about how she came to be with them. They were worried that something would change in their family after she told them about the day she came to live with them. Maisie was never upset or angry, though. She was grateful and happy that they were her parents, even if they weren't her biological parents. She never talked about it with anyone, except her school friend Amy.

━━━N-no…━━━She cleared her throat a little before continuing.━━━ see, I…I'm adopted. And I doubt that my mother or father came from a line of visionaries and magically passed on that gift to me….She replied shortly, almost in a tone of sarcasm that made her eyes widen, astonished at her own audacity.

Boudreaux smiled, nodding his head in understanding.

━━━It's… understandable━━━she said, ignoring the girl's sarcastic tone━━━so we can assume that it could be from your biological family's side…━━━Masie stood still, feeling a slight discomfort at the mention of her biological family.

Seeing her reaction, the woman raised an eyebrow

━━━You've never tried to look for clues about them, have you?━━━Masie denied, pursing her lips.

━━━No. All I know, and all my parents have told me, is that I was left on their doorstep without a note or a clue.━ She spoke, vaguely remembering the story of how she'd arrived on that rainy spring day fifteen years ago.

Boudreaux nodded as she considered how to help her, not wanting to be too obvious about her situation, she had an idea of what was going on but wasn't sure it would happen. Until an idea flashed through her head, a spell.

━━━Well, since we don't have any names or clues, I guess I'll have to use another method. A tracking spell━ Maisie watched as the woman abruptly rose from her seat. Boudreaux approached a shelf and looked around for what she needed,until their gaze landed on a particular shelf.

━━━Well, I need a map…here it is, a dagger…this one's fine, and a necklace…━━━As she finished searching for her items, the witch approached the table, leaving the things on it and then looked at the girl━━━And I'm also going to need some of your blood, little one.━━━The teenager's eyes widened in surprise.

━━━My--what?'━━━ she asked in disbelief.

━━━Your blood, silly.━━━She said as she arranged her magical items and placed a small dagger in front of her━━━If you want to know the origin of your seer power, you must know how to ask the right people, and when I say the right people, I mean your biological family.

Maisie looked uncertainly at the dagger on the table, then at her own gloved hands, almost petrified and shocked at what she had to do to find the answer to her now Seer's gift.

If she really wanted to know more about the background of her power and put an end to her strange but not so strange dreams, she had to face her biological family, even if she didn't feel ready to.

━━━All right, I'll do it…━━━she agreed firmly. Boudreaux nodded. With shaking hands, Maisie took the small dagger from the table.

━━━You can use either hand. Cut your palm above the map. When I say stop, cover your hand with the gauze━━━She demanded, pointing to the small box of sterile gauze that had been set aside.

As she watched her get things in order, Maisie took off her left glove, left it on the table and waited for Boudreaux to tell her when to cut off the palm of her hand.

The woman looked at her and nodded.

Maisie complied and placed her hand on the map, shuddering at the sting of the dagger blade slicing through her palm as she watched drops of blood fall onto the parchment.

━━━That's enough, sweetheart━━━Listening to her, the girl put the bloody dagger down on the table with a clatter and used her other hand to cover her injured hand with some gauze to stop the bleeding.

It was only a few seconds before she was surprised to hear the witch whispering strange words, 'Must be Latin,' she thought. She watched as Aisha held the necklace in one hand and pointed directly to where the drops of blood were, a small gust of wind came out of nowhere and surprised her as she saw the fire of the burning candles moving restlessly.

But what surprised her most was seeing the drops of blood, her blood, coalesce into a stain, moving from one side to the other of the map.

Her curious green eyes watched the movement with attention and wonder, until the droplets formed a circle around a particular city.

Realising the spell was over, Mrs Boudreaux opened her eyes and looked at the small circle of blood, frowning.

"The images were blurry. They move back and forth. What's going on in New Orleans?" she wondered inwardly. She hadn't managed to see the faces of the girl's biological family, but she did see two of them moving very fast, as if they were looking for something or someone.

Maisie had heard about the city from her parents, who had always told her about their honeymoon in New Orleans and how they had loved touring the city, listening to the jazz music that filled the streets, tasting the delicious food and the stories of the creatures that lurked in the night.

━━━Your birth family, child. Looks like they're in New Orleans, little Buckley━━━she commented, looking away from the map as it met the girl's green eyes━━━You know, if you're thinking of going there, I'm warning you.

Maisie looks at her attentively.

━━━Beware of old witches, they may seem harmless, but believe me, they are the worst━━━Hearing his serious voice and look, Maisie nodded quickly━━━And don't trust Agnes either, she's a harpy and a psychopath.

Curious about the warning to these people, Maisie wanted to ask who they were, but one look from Boudreaux told her everything. They were dangerous.

━━━All right━━━she replied, putting her glove back on. When she was finished, the young girl fumbled in one of her pockets until she pulled out a few notes, raised her head and smiled, holding the money out to the woman.━━━Here, thank you for your help.

Boudreaux quickly rejected the offer and refused to take the money..

━━━Oh, no, darling. No need, I did it as a favour for a friend. Besides, you'll need the money for your trip.━━━ The teenager hesitated, but eventually agreed. Watching her arrange her bag, Boudreaux approached and held out the dagger.━━━And before you go, here. You'll need this. For protection━━━she said. She saw the small dagger, already clean, tucked away in a small leather pouch. Maisie took it carefully and nodded to herself.

━━━Thank you. Aisha━━━she said, and the woman smiled at her.

━━━You're welcome, Maisie. Good luck on your trip, and if you need any help, give me a call. You already have my number in your bag━━━Curious, Maisie reached into her bag and found the little piece of paper with her number on it.

━━━I will.━━━Before opening the door to the shop, the young girl gave the witch a final nod and said goodbye with a small smile.

As the door closed with the sound of the bell, Boudreaux had a sigh of relief.

━━━Diaval!━━━Shout. Suddenly there was a loud whimpering sound and the flapping of a bird as it approached.

Feeling the bird's pointed talons on his right shoulder, Boudreaux turned his head to find the raven's smooth black plumage and head looking straight ahead as it cawed.

Boudreaux walked up to the door and stepped out onto the veranda.

━━━Keep an eye on the girl and look after her if you can. There is something about her that is both attractive and powerful━━━Murmured.

The crow cawed again.

━━━Watch her from a distance and let me know if anything goes wrong. I made a promise to Cass and Evan: she must be safe from whatever comes━━━With a final caw, the raven lifted its wings and flew away from the house, following the young teenager from a distance.

The night after her meeting with Aisha Boudreaux, Maisie started packing: clothes, books, her mobile phone and a burner phone, as well as her savings and allowance from her tutor, her Aunt Callie. The next day, her aunt dropped her off at school and Maisie waited for her car to leave the car park to catch the next bus to the station. But before she left, there was something she had to do.

Standing on the grass with two small bouquets of flowers in her hands, the young woman looked around her. She noticed that trees surrounded her and that there were few people around. She looked down and wistfully read the names on the gravestones.

Beloved friends, children and parents, Cassandra Dianne Buckley and Steven Evans Buckley.

With a small sigh, she bent down and placed the bouquets on each headstone, removing the wilted flowers and leaving the new ones in their place. When she had finished, she straightened up again.

━━━I would have liked you both to come with me on this journey. I know they will be angry, wherever you guys are, and I know it will be a dangerous journey, but…━━━ She sigh, letting out a wry smile━━━I promise I will try to stay out of harm's way. If it doesn't get to me first, Aunt Callie will go mad, but I've left her a letter, as well as Amy. I think they'll both understand why I've decided to leave. I promise it won't be for long, I'll come back and leave them flowers like I do every Friday. I promise…━━━A small silence fell over the place.

With one last look at her parents' gravestones she smiled regretfully.

━━━I love you mom, i love you dad. I miss you both, a lot.━━━With these last words, Maisie walked slowly away from the cemetery.

Saying goodbye to her loved ones was always difficult for Maisie; she had said it before at the funeral, to her aunt and her friend, and again to her parents.

She didn't know how long her little adventure was going to take, but she was hoping to be back home soon.

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lillaydee · 3 months ago

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Numbed

Joel Miller (No Outbreak) / Reader

Joel was left to raise his daughter alone, too traumatized to ever be in love again.

You, his kind neighbour, helped him out.

WARNINGS: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel is a Fucking Idiot, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us)

Notes:

No idea if this is right. First time posting a story on Tumblr. I basically copy and pasted this off my Ao3. Please let me know if I did anything wrong. Also, Reader has a name - Emma. A simple, short two-parter. Enjoy!

English is not my first language, so please excuse the errors.

Part One

Part Two

When Jen left him, Sarah was only three months old. Joel came home to an empty house, a note on the fridge saying Sarah was at your place. He rushed over, Sarah already asleep, Joel asking you over and over what Jen had told you. You told him the truth, that she said her friend had an emergency and that he would pick Sarah up when he got home.

You and your mother had been neighbours with the Millers since they moved in as newlyweds, Jen already pregnant with Sarah when you first met her. You were still in college, Joel and Jen only a couple of years older than you. They had both dropped out of college when they found out she was pregnant and got married immediately. Joel worked construction, Jen a stay-at-home wife. You had a crush on him immediately, but he was married, so you brushed it off. Your own father had left your mom when you were just two, marrying his student literally a day after the divorce papers were signed. The new wife didn’t want you in their lives, so he cut all contact with you and your mother, leaving her to take any job she could get to feed you and put a roof over your head.

So, no, you were not about to do the same to another family. You settled instead for watching him from inside your window as he mowed his lawn and kissed his pregnant wife goodbye. They looked like the perfect couple. So young, so hopeful for the future. He looked at his wife as if she hung the moon and stars for him, oh, how you wished he would look at you like that.

When Sarah was born, Joel looked like he was on top of the world. Him and Jen would take Sarah on walks in the stroller in the evenings, a perfect little family. He would go to work as soon as the sun peeked through the horizon, and came back just before it sank, his old beater truck telling you of his comings and goings.

That’s not the only sound that told you he was gone, though. Sarah would cry all day. Every day. Every time you came home, you would hear her cries. It was non-stop. Her cries got weaker and weaker as the day went by and would cease magically about an hour before Joel came home. You went over once to send over a package that was mistakenly delivered to your door, and Jen opened the door looking like she had just woken up, wax earbuds in her ear, seemingly unconcerned with Sarah’s screams. She waved off your concerns, telling you she was being a difficult baby.

Jen would leave a few hours after Joel got home. All dressed up. You were often awakened by the sounds of a car and loud music dropping her off, just a few hours before Joel would leave for work. One night, as you were just coming home from the library, you saw Jen in a car at the traffic light near the bus stop, sitting at the back of the car, making out with someone – someone who was not Joel. The driver and passenger in front seemed nonchalant. As if this happened all the time. Your heart broke for Joel. But it was none of your business. So you kept that knowledge to yourself.

When she dropped Sarah off at your place that day, you were alone. Sarah was crying, her diaper unchanged, she was a mess. Jen told you she needed to get to the hospital, a friend had been in an accident and that she was the emergency contact. Joel will come pick her up later. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the man she was making out with carry her suitcases into his car. And they drove off, not looking back.

When Joel picked Sarah up, he didn’t suspect anything. He believed the excuse Jen had given you, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him what you saw. He was a husband so in love with his wife, and a father besotted with his daughter. And a part of you hoped you had read the situation wrongly. Maybe the suitcases were just things she needed to bring to her friend at the hospital. No use in making him panic when there was not enough information.

The next morning, Joel didn’t go to work. And the next. Sarah wasn’t crying. This went on for a week, before Joel finally came knocking, asking your mother if she could watch Sarah for the day. He couldn’t afford a babysitter, and he was on the verge of losing his job. Your mother, the kind, understanding single mother that she was, agreed. She had been there. She knew what it was like not to have the resource to leave your child in someone’s care. She often had to take you with her to work, cleaning other people’s houses back when your father just left, but Joel wouldn’t have such luxury, and she wasn’t going to let him take Sarah with him to construction sites.

That was the beginning of Sarah’s stays at your house.

Joel only accepted the reality of Jen’s absence about three months in, crying with his hands in his head in your living room. Your mother assured him it will be okay. Sarah could stay with her during the day. She worked in the evenings anyway, and you could take over when you get home.

And so that was how things went.

Joel worked hard to provide for Sarah. Taking job after job, even working on weekends if it meant extra cash in his pockets. Sarah was a beautiful baby. She was so easy to take care of, not much fussing, unless she was sick. You began to wonder what the crying was about.

You asked Joel about it when Sarah was around two, when he had come over to pick her up, while you were packing some leftover pasta up for him. He said he had never suspected a thing. Sarah had always seemed happy when he got home. After Jen left, and hearing about this from your mother, he suspected she had neglected her throughout the day, catching up on her sleep while he was gone, only taking care of her when he was about to get home. He looked so stung when telling you this, you didn’t push him further.

Sarah had become a part of your family. She called you Ma, after hearing your mom call you Emma. Your mom was always Nana. You noticed that Joel’s life revolved around Sarah. He would pick her up, and stayed home until the next morning when he dropped her back off. He didn’t go on dates, or even party. You didn’t act on your crush on him, knowing he had his priorities straight. Sarah came first. And you respected that, in fact, you crushed harder on him because of that.

When Sarah turned three, his brother Tommy moved in with him. The two would go to work together in the mornings, leaving Sarah with you, since you were now out of college and was actively looking for a job. He started staying out a bit later on Friday nights, you noticed, going out for a drink after work with Tommy. You were glad he was starting to be a bit more open, maybe it was time for him to move on. Even then, he would never be back later than 10pm, and was taking weekends off, spending it with Sarah. Still a devoted father first.

He and Tommy started their own company when Sarah turned four. Working longer hours and starting to pay you for leaving Sarah with you. You and your mother had always said no, it’s okay, you said, you worked remotely, you could keep an eye on her, it’s no problem. No need to pay you, but he insisted. He was doing better, but his newfound company needed a lot of his attention. Sometimes, Tommy would pick her up alone, Joel still working away, he said.

When she turned five, Joel sent her to Preschool. You picked her up after school and she would stay with you until the brothers came home. At this point, you were starting to wonder if this man was celibate. He still came home before ten, never brought a woman home, never seemed like he was out on dates.

You found out one night, when you were out for drinks with your friends. Your mother was watching Sarah, and you had a hard day at work. You saw him at the bar, a woman all over him, shoving her cleavage at him. You saw him go into the bathroom with her and came back out looking dishevelled and satisfied. Your heart sank. You saw her give him her number and saw him drop the number in the ashtray at the bar when she left. Somehow, it made you feel better. So, that’s what’s been going on. No wonder he had never given you a second look. You were just the simple, shy neighbour he left his daughter with. He couldn’t risk sleeping with you and then losing your number, right? That made sense.

When Sarah went to school, he started paying more attention to you. Started hanging out with you after Sarah went to bed. You were included in movie nights with Tommy and his girlfriend, and he would walk you home after. He would linger longer and longer after each walk home.

And then one day, after Sarah’s eighth birthday party, he kissed you.

Your wish came true.

You and Joel spent a lot more time together. Sarah still called you Ma, despite knowing your name by now. Joel said why not? You were the closest thing she had to one. Your heart fluttered at the thought. You were in heaven. You spent practically every night at his place, but never slept over - only going back to yours to sleep and work during the day. You knew he was traumatized by Jen leaving him without warning like that, so you didn’t push him into committing to you. You went about your relationship one day at a time, enjoying the time you two had together.

Joel was right, you were practically Sarah’s mother. You helped her with her homework, you disciplined her when needed, you held her head when she cried. When she got her period at age ten, you took care of it, a flustered Joel clueless what to do. She told you about her first crush, cried in your lap when he had rejected her. You cheered her at the soccer games, went to her concerts and shows and clapped wildly, a proud Joel next to you.

You took care of his household, cleaned, cooked, washed, shopped; you were practically his wife.

And still, after seven years together, he still wouldn’t tell you he loved you, or asked you to move in with him. Marriage was far beyond your line of sight. He had never cheated on you, but it was like any commitment he had for any woman stalled at dating. Even his playboy brother had settled down, married his girlfriend of only two years, but you and Joel were still living next door to each other. All you had at his place was a drawer. He had never spent a night at your place. You understood, Sarah was at his place. He couldn’t leave her alone. And he claimed to sleep better alone. So you went home to sleep. His work was extremely physical. You shouldn't intrude like that. You knew he loved you, in his own way, even if he didn’t say it. So, you went with the flow.

One day, you received a job offer in the city, a few hours away from where you were living. The money was really good, almost triple what you were making then. But it was no longer a remote position. You would be required to move to the city. You asked them to give you a month to think about it. They gave you three – the position did not need filling until then. Even if Joel refused to commit fully to you, you were committed to him, and above all, Sarah. She was fifteen by this point, and she needed you, a mother figure, in her life. Joel’s company had flourished, he was doing really well. Moving would mean starting over for him, and you were so in love with him, you didn’t want to trouble him like that. You needed to talk to him, ask him what he thought. But he was working on a big project, and you had time, so you waited, planning to talk to him over the weekend.

The doorbell rang when you were having breakfast the next day. Joel went to answer the door, and immediately froze.

Jen was back.

She needed to talk to him. She missed him. She missed Sarah. She wasn’t ready to be a wife and mother back then. She was now.

Joel asked if you could give them some time alone.

You did.

It was like a switch was flipped.

The time alone turned into a while. A week, in fact, before you even heard from Joel. Sarah needed to know her mother, and he didn’t have any rights to say no. She stopped calling or texting you. Jen took her out, having mother daughter days together. You could only watch, after all, you were not her mother. The three of them had movie nights together. Went out as a family together. Spent time together. You remained patient. She was his ex, and Sarah’s mother. You needed to give them this time after so long.

You were gardening one day and heard Sarah talking on her phone to someone. The three of them were going to New York together that weekend. A shopping trip, an early present for her sixteenth birthday. She was so excited about it. They booked a suite, a two bedroomed suite. Maybe they’ll get back together now, she said. I can finally have a real family, with a real mom and dad. When she hung up, you stood up. Sarah looked shocked but composed herself.

“Hi Emma. Didn’t realize you were there.” She went back inside.

Emma. Just a month ago she was calling you Ma.

You asked Joel about it later that day. He brushed your worries aside. Told you that you were overthinking things. But you could see. You could see his attention on you wavering. But you didn’t want to push and annoy him into running to Jen. So, you waited.

Joel didn’t call you at all that weekend they were away. When they came back, Jen came back with them.

Joel came knocking the next day and told you he was giving Jen another chance. He had to, for Sarah.

You watched as he moved Jen back into his house. You watched as he brought a box of your belongings and placed it on your porch. You could hear your heart shatter.

You took the job in the city and spent the next month arranging for your new life with your mother there. She no longer needed to work now; you were going to make more than enough to support you both. You didn’t spare a glance at Joel’s, but you could still see. You saw him taking smoke breaks outside, more often than he ever did. You heard Joel and Jen fight every night, screaming at each other. You saw Sarah in the backyard, eyes red from crying.

But you solidified your resolve, and moved the very next month, taking your mother with you.

You saw Joel and Sarah watch you leave. You heard Jen screaming at them to come back inside.

You left, with a heart so broken, feeling so stupid you didn’t even know yourself anymore. But you left.

Five years later, you were flourishing. You had a nice place in the city. Your mother stayed with you a while, enjoying her retirement, taking yoga classes and going on fancy cruises with her newfound friends. She met a very nice man, moved him in with her at your old place and married him not long after. About time she got the life she deserved, full of love and happiness, after everything she had been through.

You were at your usual coffee shop one winter morning, clad in your winterwear before going to work. As you were about to leave, your lifeline of a coffee in hand, someone tapped on your shoulder. You turned around, and saw a young lady, an older version of the little girl you had helped raise.

“Sarah.”

“Hi Ma.”

Part 2

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader

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onefite · 1 year ago

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10 Common Symptoms of a Mental Breakdown

10 Common Symptoms of a Mental Breakdown Introduction Feeling overwhelmed or having a tough time coping? You’re not alone. Many of us go through periods where it feels like the world is crashing down around us. This state often signals a mental breakdown, a term that describes a period of intense mental distress. During this time, managing day-to-day tasks can feel impossible. By understanding…

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#"Adult ADHD symptoms"#"Agoraphobia symptoms"#"Anxiety disorder signs".#"Anxiety symptoms"#"Bipolar disorder symptoms"#"Burnout symptoms"#"Depression symptoms"#"Emotional breakdown symptoms"#"Mental breakdown recovery"#"Mental breakdown symptoms"#"Mental health disorders symptoms"#"OCD symptoms"#"Panic attack symptoms"#"Post traumatic stress disorder symptoms"#"Psychological distress symptoms"#"PTSD triggers and symptoms"#"Schizophrenia symptoms"#"Signs of a nervous breakdown"#"Signs of mental illness"#"Stress symptoms"#"Types of mental disorders and their symptoms"#Anxiety #Depression #EmotionalHealth #MentalBreakdown #StressRelief #Symptoms

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slxsherwriter · 1 year ago

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Out of Trauma Comes....

Fandom: Don't Breathe

Pairing: Norman Nordstrom x reader

Warnings: Child death, loss of limbs, ptsd struggles

Word Count: 4,076

Author's Note: I have fallen down the Stephan Lang rabbit hole. This is the first in a series of Norman one-shots. Reader does have a military background. This decision was based off of the relationship that Norman had with Hernandez in the second movie. Hope everyone likes! As always, not beta read, so mistakes are mine.

You woke with a start, gasping for breath that wouldn't seem to fill your lungs. For several agonizing seconds, it felt like it would never happen before finally, your body kickstarted itself. The silence of the room was only broken by the brief choking gasps of air as you tried to regulate your breathing. Then your ears registered the frantic beeping of a heart rate monitor. Your own. Forcing yourself to take a few slower breaths, it calmed down as you managed. Stiffness below reminded you that you were stuck in a hospital bed. Right. The accident.

With a grimace, you forced yourself into a seated position. The pain was a worthy distraction, taking your mind off the vivid flashbacks that played before your eyes. Like a bad horror movie that you couldn't pause.

A nurse came in, far more quickly than they had the past three weeks. Must have been fewer patients on the floor for them to monitor. When you had first arrived four weeks ago, despite your status, it had taken time for them to show up.

“Everything okay?” No, nothing was okay in the least about the entire situation. Swallowing down the words, you found yourself giving a shaky smile.

“Yeah, fine. Just a bad dream.” PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder, that's what it was. You knew well enough to recognize the signs after seeing some of your closest brothers go through the same thing. “Sorry, didn't mean to cause any worry.” She gave you a softer smile, one that felt like pity. You hated every second of it. Of all of this, if you were honest. You wanted to be back home, away from the world and everyone in it. Why should you have lived?

“Not a problem at all.” She checked over your IV line and monitor before moving to the door, taking her leave. But before she fully left, she looked over her shoulder. “From what I heard, you're getting out of here tomorrow.” There may not have been a God but that news could have brought you to belief.

“Thanks…for everything.”

*****

Using the crutches to get into your home, you grunted with the effort. The cracked ribs were healing and could bear the brunt of your weight with some protest and discomfort but you weren't hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary.

A chill ran down your spine and the urge to look at the street was almost overwhelming. But you knew what you would find there if you did. Just repeated flashes of blood, broken glass, and phantom pains. Unconsciously, your jaw had started to clench, something you only realize when you heard a small crack.

“Fuck.” The word bounced through the empty house. A slow sigh and you were moving to the staircase. Life now had a whole new set of obstacles and challenges. Ones that you couldn't have ever dreamed of if one were to ask you. Yet, here you were. “Don't have a fucking pity party now. Get your ass up the stairs so you can take a proper shower. Then, you can check on Norman.” it was the right thing to do. You had heard from your older neighbor just once in the entire time you had been in the hospital. Understandable, given the circumstances and what he had to be dealing with, but it didn't quell the drive to follow up. Having been a neighbor for the better part of five years now, you had grown close to Norman and Emma. Just the thought of the girl was enough to constrict your throat and threaten to have tears spilling from your eyes once more.

White knuckling the crutches, you slowly made your way up the stairs. It was both painstaking and painful but there was a small sense of accomplishment when you hit the top landing. One thing out of the way, many many more to come. No use in getting too excited over it all just yet. The shower was the next thing to tackle.

***********

Having only fallen once, the shower could be considered a success. Dressing wasn't as difficult as anticipated, the bed that you had easy to get on and off of with the wall right there that you could brace yourself against. Now, down the stairs? That was a whole other ballgame. Slow, very slowly, you worked down each step. It probably would have been easier to admit defeat and go down on your ass but that stubborness that often got you in trouble decided to rear it's head. This was life now so it wasn't like something that you wouldn't have to get used to. Might as well start that right now.

The shower made you feel a bit better. Something about being able to shower at home, in your own space, with your typical washes and shampoos just did something different than when you were stuck showering in a hospital. While you still were in tremendous discomfort that bordered on pain that was barely tolerable, you still felt better. Plus, being out of those hospital clothes just helped give a little mental boost.

Tossing a jacket over your shoulders, you opened the door with a slow breath. The street was quiet, just as it often was. There were so few left in this neighborhood, the stranglehold of the economic crisis squeezing life out of Detroit day by day. Those that remained were too headstrong to go more than anything else. You and the man across the street had that in common. Not the only thing. The memory that came of the first meeting had you wanting to laugh. It was either laugh or break out into tears because the bad came rushing hard. Shaking away the thoughts as if the physical action could dislodge and remove those mental images.

The walk across the street didn't take too long, though getting up his steps took a few moments. It seemed that Shadow knew of the presence on the porch before you could even knock. The bark that came from inside was excitement, something recognizable and in a way somewhat comforting. It was normal. Routine. Despite the fact that nothing about this would ever be the normal that you both once knew. There was no answer to the rap of knuckles against the wood. Not for a minute. Or five.

A part of you wondered if you should just leave him be. You had your own trauma from the entire thing but his loss was so much greater than your own. A leg compared to a child? No comparison. Still, something rolled in your gut at the thought of leaving Norman to his misery, grief, and pain. You had been alone in the hospital. Being alone and isolated was never good. So, that thought made you knock again and call out.

“Norman?” Your voice nearly cracked and you had to take a second to take in a breath. The situation called for composure. Letting your own emotions shine through wouldn't help the moment at all. “I'm sure you don't want to see anyone right now…” What words were supposed to be spoken for this sort of thing? Huffing out in frustration, you stared at the door.

“Can you please let me in? You don't have to talk. I know you aren't alright, I wouldn't expect you to be but seeing you would at least settle my own mind. Please?” Maybe appealing to that part of him would get the older man to agree. Another few moments passed, bringing about a sense of defeat. This wasn't something to barrel through, to hit head on like a bull in a china shop. If Norman didn't want to see anyone,you couldn't force your presence upon him. At least not with his house closed up like this. Just as you were getting ready to turn around, locks disengaging rang out and the door opened. Shadow's bark was significantly louder, the thump of his tail against the door frame audible.

He looked rough, like he hadn't been sleeping. Something that was relatable. More than that, it was in the way that he held himself. A man defeated had a certain posture after all. An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you stood there before the door opened a bit more and he stepped to the side, a silent signal to come inside. The crutches hopefully made enough noise for him to be able to keep his feet out of the way as you entered the home, as mindful of where you were placing them as you could be. The last thing that was needed was for you to cause a physical injury to the man.

“When did you get home?”

“Today.” A grunt was the response that you got and honestly, you hadn't expected much more. The house was dark, though it didn't matter much to Norman and you weren't going to say a damn thing. He led you to the kitchen, where he was having some coffee from the smell that lingered in the air.

“They have her in jail.” That perked your ears up as you eased yourself into the seat. Crutches were kept close by just in case quick movement was needed.

“Good.” Your voice had come out firmer than intended. But really, it was where the young woman deserved to be. She had killed someone, not just someone but a child. All because she had been stupid about drinking and driving. Frankly, at this rate, she shouldn't leave. Two lives permanently altered in ways that could never be repaired by one decision of a third party. Maybe it would have been just injuries to you and Emma if you had moved faster. Hurling your body in the way of the oncoming car in an attempt to get the girl out of the way or at least shield her to some degree had been an instant reaction. If only it would have worked.

Clearing your throat a little, you tried to shrug off the anger that had been growing in presence day after day for the last two weeks. “It's no less than deserved. The police hadn't been by to talk much to me besides that first week I was actually conscious. I've been a bit out of the loop on what is happening.” The idea of checking your phone had fallen to the wayside in the focus of getting ready to leave the hospital. He set a cup of coffee down in front of you without having asked. The warmth of the cup seeped into your chilled hands, causing you to close your eyes for just one moment.

“She'll rot in jail.” She better. But it wasn't like a trial was going to happen any time soon. Those things took time. An extended amount of time, with additional suffering to come for the both of you. Norman fell silent for a long while, staring off in that unseeing fashion of his, eyes seemingly focused just above your right shoulder. What more was there to say? “You're on crutches.” An observation without any real direction.

“Yep.”

“They wouldn't give you a prosthetic?”

“I opted not to get one right away. Getting out of there and home was more important to me. I have an appointment set up in two weeks with a physical therapist and someone who can fit me for one.” Your voice grew softer for just a second, obvious to the both of you. Was it self consciousness that caused it? A worry of bringing up something that would upset him?

“And your other injuries?” A wince that you were thankful could not see came before you could stop it. A feeling of guilt crawled the back of your throat, robbing you of your voice for a mere moment.

“Things that will heal with time. Some medicines for the rest of my life.” And the daily reminder that you just hadn't acted quick enough. Something that would haunt you every time you looked down and saw the empty space where your right left should have been. “All things that I can manage.” He hadn't said anything about himself, about how he was dealing. Poorly. There was no need to put a word to it but hearing it would at least lead in a direction of knowing what to do to help him. He was deflecting, though you had pleaded with him to let you in on the basis of not having him talk. Silently, you were able to reach out and carefully curl your fingers around his hand. For a brief moment, tension wracked you as the expectation of him pulling away reigned up. Instead, there was a slight tremble and he was curling his own fingers in response, squeezing her hand tightly.

*****

Daily trips over to Norman's became routine. It was good for the both of you, in all honesty. Getting out of the house instead of sulking around and wallowing, despite arguing that it wasn't a pity party, did you no good. And the same could be said for the older man. A familiar motion that helped dictate the day and forced the both of you to keep to a schedule. He was a little more open in talking about it, letting you know what the detectives had to say and where everyone was at with the case. You couldn't speak to the sinking feeling that rolled in your gut any time that it was discussed but it was shoved to the side and never mentioned. The man had enough stress.

He was good for forcing you to talk about where you were at with your physical therapy and the prosthetic. You had been fitted for it several weeks ago. Things weren't one size fits all. The molding process had been interesting, with a reassurance that it would be correct once it came in. And finally, after a long wait, it came in two days ago. You hadn't realized physical stress that just the therapy would have you going through, let alone the entire concept of learning to walk again. Because that was what it was. Relearning to walk. Balance would be all new, weight shifts entirely different, and movement to adjust to when it came to walking.

There had been an argument between yourself and your therapist that had left you stewing, in a rotten mood that was volatile at best. Norman had realized something was wrong when he ran into you while out walking Shadow. Shadow, as always, let out that excited bark and his tail started going a mile a minute. It was not acknowledged on your end and the silence was clearly enough of a tip off for him.

“Did it go that poorly today?” You jumped, startled by the comment, and the fact that he had engaged when you hadn't said a damn thing. A huff was the only response he got for a long moment.

“I ended up in an argument with my therapist.” The words were a little sullen. Not typical at all. He waited patiently, not saying anything else, forcing you to elaborate. Pulling the information out of you without being too forceful but with the knowledge that he could be as stubborn as you. “They wanted to keep the prosthetic there until I properly learned to walk….” The words caught for a moment, not wanting to admit to struggling with it. Everything about the weight distribution felt wrong to your body.

“I wanted to be able to bring it home so that I can work at my own pace, without all those eyes on me.” He hummed for a moment, not saying anything else right away, mulling over the information as his hands folded over top of his cane.

“They let you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“What?”

“If they let you bring it home, why are you sitting here and not walking?” The words that your therapist had said rang around your head. Coupled with the frustration over the entire situation, you had opted to sit and stew in the anger. It was easier. Mentally and physically. Still, Norman was right. And if there was one person in the world that you couldn't argue with right now, it had to be Norman. That sight less gaze seemed to settle on you, his head ever so slightly tilted, listening for your reaction. You knew the signs well enough by now. “Get your things and come over.” Now, that was entirely unexpected. Realizing that he was serious, you pulled yourself up and moved to grab everything into a bag.

*******

Norman knew his house intimately, which is the reason why he chose to do it in his space rather than yours. Every uneven floor board that would cause a balance shift, which wall would easily be reached as a brace if falling down. And how to move easily through the space, forcing you to move after him. Like a game of chase. An annoying game of chase.

But there seemed to be a method to his madness as you were starting to get the hang of movement. It wasn't just walking in a straight line. No, this was actual movement, natural in hoe you would operate day to day. There were plenty of stumbles, sending you crashing down to the hard wooden floor. But the gruff responses demanded that you get back to your feet.

Exhaustion began to tug at the edges of your consciousness. Muscles ached and protested each movement as they strained further and further under unfamiliar stress. The stumbles became more common and that sense of anger came rushing back, but along with it an embarrassment that you weren't picking up as fast as you wanted. That you were looking like a fool in front of Norman.

He had demanded that you attempt the stairs. Well, more like a suggestion without room for any argument. It took effort to even think at this point how to shift your weight and the movement needed to swing your leg. Norman was close this time, closer than he had been while moving throughout the house. A brace of sorts, just in case there ended up being a tumble down the stairs.

The first step was managed well enough, the second with a little more difficulty but by the third, your body had decided that it had enough. Thankfully, you want tumbling forward instead of backwards into Norman. Your fingers scrapped against the wood of the stairs, a shaky breath taken as your throat constricted for a moment.

“I think that's enough for today. Come on, let's get you resting.” The raspy, grizzled voice of the older man was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality at this point; grounding you in a way that let the desire to scream, to cry, to throw things fade into the background. You were tired, hurt, and angry. But the warm hands against your hips helped to guide you back to a standing position. “Think you can get back down? Or do you want the crutches?”

“Might as well try.” The stairs were narrow, so Norman couldn't stand beside you. But, he stayed in front of you despite the risk of being toppled into, hands remaining against your hips to help act as an extra brace. The stabilization actually helped as you managed to get down the two steps, nearly sagging into the wall to your left. The older man had the audacity to chuckle. You wanted to be upset about it but found that you didn't have it in you.

“We will work more tomorrow.”

“Norman, you don't have to…”

“I'll stop by after my morning walk with Shadow.” You knew the routine well enough after all. When the man had his mind made up, he was all but impossible to deter. It was in that moment that you realized his hands were still pressed against you. A fact that you hardly minded. They weren't moving and neither was he as he was still crowded close. The presence was both exciting and comforting. You would be a liar if you said that he hadn't felt attraction to the man, had since you had first met. But it had never seemed appropriate.

“Okay.” Again, it was an argument that wasn't going to be winnable. His mind was set. This close, you could see the way that his lips seemed to twitch upward, the hints of a smile present. And in response, you found yourself mirroring the expression. “I'll be ready.”

“Good.” With that confirmation, he pulled you away from the wall, as if you were nothing more than a feather in his grasp, one arm sliding around your waist to help you keep your balance. “You can take it off on the couch. Do you need to do anything with it now?”

“Gotta make sure I don't have any blisters, pressure patches, or breakdowns in the skin.” That was easy enough to focus on, even as the warmth of his body beside yours was making it difficult to focus. “I'll clean up when I get home and use the cream that they gave me.” He helped you get settled down on the couch.

“Can I?” His hands moved forward before hesitating. You hadn't had anyone besides the doctors and nurses touch the area. You hated having to do it yourself. But, as he waited for permission, you found that you couldn't deny the request.

Carefully, you took his hands and guided them to the prosthesis. Norman moved his hands slowly over the entire thing, kneeling beside the couch to be able to trail them down to the foot before back up, all the way up to your thigh.

“They did a good job.” Again, the touch lingered. For a second, you swore he could hear your heart racing, the almost unsteady beat loud in your ear. The moment was far more intimate than it had a right to be. Were you reading into it too much? Maybe. Norman hadn't exactly shown all that much interest in anything more than the steady friendship that had formed between the two of you.

“Yeah.” Finally, he pulled away and inched up to settle onto the couch beside you. The entire world felt off kilter, in an entirely new way. “Yeah, it's supposed to ultimately function better than some of the older models. I didn't exactly understand the technical stuff on how the knee hinge works but I know it cost the VA a pretty penny.”

Carefully, the process of removing it was begun. The movements were still a little foreign to you but something you were getting the hang of; eventually they had said you would be able to do it in your sleep. Norman's fingers wrapped around your forearm, squeezing lightly. Actions paused immediately, you glanced towards him, trying to determine what the touch was for.

“Give yourself a second.” You didn't understand what he meant. “You're shaking. And I can hear the little noises of pain.” You hadn't realized that you were even making noise, and now that he had pointed it out, you could feel the tremors in your hands and arms. He had noticed it all before it had registered.

After a few moments, the process was finished and you tucked the prosthetic in the bag, along with the sock. The skin was a little red and there were some indentations along the pressure points but overall, nothing looked worrisome or terrible. Thankfully.

“Better?” A rush of gratitude welled up. Shadow nudged your hand on the other side and in that moment, you realized that just as you hadn't wanted Norman alone, you weren't either. Swallowing hard to push back the emotion and chalking it up to the exhaustion that you were feeling, it took a second to respond.

“Yeah, better. Thanks, Norman.” Unable to help it, you found yourself leaning into him just a bit as you scratched Shadow behind the ear. It didn't feel like it was too much or stepping over the line after the way that Norman had been close before. Hopefully, that wasn't too bold an assumption. For a second, it may have been when he seemed to tense before you could feel him relax. The final reassurance was when his arm curled around your shoulders, an unfamiliar but incredibly comforting weight that brought a smile to your face.

#slasher writing #horror writing #slasher x reader #slasher x you #norman nordstrom x reader #norman nordstrom x you #norman nordstrom #don't breathe #don't breathe fic #the blind man x reader #the blind man x you #stephen lang characters

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