#Tw: ptsd

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #197:

Peter: I’m okay, Mr. Stark! I mean, sometimes I have these horrible nightmares or have random panic attacks at school. But I’m fine! :)

Tony:

Tony: Peter’s that’s literally PTSD

[balrogballs]

In the literary fiction scene there can sometimes be this irritating opinion that creating fanworks isn’t bad, per se, and many of them even enjoy reading it — but that it could never reach the emotional depth of published literary fiction/creative non fiction. It’s just an extension of the litfic patronisation, the “ah yes, we are Better than genre fiction” nonsense (as if there hasn’t ever been dogshit litfic), I didn’t do an MFA but it tends to be more prevalent in the MFA crowd, etc. Also could be because I hang around with academics a lot.

Anyway I saw someone express said take just today and frankly it completely boiled my blood lmao because I’ve published a novel that went to auction and is litfic by even the strictest definition of the term, received funding to write said book, as well as landed a handful of nonfic in global litmags…

…but absolutely nothing I have ever written has been as cathartic as working on this personal essay about the process of trying to find a Tolkien character who’s mentioned in a couple of footnotes in the rest of the text so like… crawl into my asshole and die if you think fanworks can’t ever reach the emotional calibre of published work 🤪✨

ok balls rant over have a nice evening 😇✨

[monimccoythings]

Alastor x Daughter!Reader III (Platonic)

Yeah, this is going to take place after the end of season 1, just after Sir Pentious has ascended and the hotel has been rebuilt into a bigger better version. I just don't know how to fit Y/N in season 1.

Reminder: Alastor is in Hell for a reason.

TW: This contains a very delicate matter, like PTSD and panic attacks, even though I wanted to keep it brief because I'm not very well versed in these kind of subjects and wanted to be careful and respectful with it, I'm not entirely satisfied with how I wrote it, I researched and looked into my past experiences, but still don't think I truly adapted it as best as I would have liked. Also several mentions of cannibalism. Brief mentions of controlling behavior.

This isn't proof read so sorry for any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

Part I ｜Part II｜Part III (You are here!)

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Soft jazz music enveloped the room, accompained by a strong smell of coffee and magnolias, someone was humming quietly to the music. Somehow, it reminded you of home.

You blinked groggily, trying to get the sleep away from your eyes, and leaned on your elbow. Why was the ground so soft and cushioned?

Yor eyes shot wide open when you remebered the events that led you there. The blood, the laughter, the eyes, the smile, the radio static... Your heart started beating wildly inside your ribcage, and you suddenly found yourself gasping for air. You clutched your old dress, hoping that would alleviate the growing pressure in your chest in some way.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" Alastor left the newspaper on the table and turned towards you, if his grin was supposed to be comforting it was not working. Just the fact that he was acting so casual, as if nothing had happened in the last ninety years made everything a million times worse.

"You are quite the hide and seek champion, ma petite faon. It took several years for my shadows to casually find you and then it took even longer for me to believe you actually had been sent here, ha ha!" His neck bended in an unnatural way as he laughed.

Crap. Did he always know where you were? Was this just a game of cat and mouse for him?

As if he had read your mind, his eyes adopted a more relaxed expression that did nothing to soothe your nerves. "Well, for the last ten years you gave me quite the chase, cher. Always on the move, never stopping, from one part of the ring to the other. And then there's that seven year gap." He muttered to himself that last part.

You still felt on the verge of a panic attack. Your body couldn't and wouldn't stop shaking, and felt like reality was blurring around you. Everything was happening too fast, it brought you back to that night decades ago when you found that your beloved father had actually been a serial killer. It almost felt like it was mere minutes ago.

Alastor knew of your discomfort, your fear. He could see it as clear as a day, he could almost taste it. He had always enjoyed tasting the fear on his victims, but yours only left an aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. It was rotten, putrid and nauseating. Maybe because it was the only fear he should never had a taste of. Watching you like this also brought him back to the night he lost you.

As he held your unmoving body in his arms, for a couple of seconds his brain stopped functioning, unable to accept what had just happened. The pain he felt was just like someone had ripped his chest open and pulled out his still beating heart, only to crush it, leaving an empty and cold hole in its place.

He had taken you to your room and laid you in the bed, tucking you in. You looked so peaceful, if your face and clothes weren't stained with blood he would have believed you were sleeping. But you would never wake up again.

The next couple of days passed in a blur, tracking down the man who had dared to do this to you and then run away, and giving him his fair punishment. And as he dragged his mutilated body through the forest... Well... the rest is history.

"Anyways! All's well that ends well! Now I found you, and you won't need to worry anymore!" His chirpy radio filtered voice portrayed some genuine happiness that didn't reach you. The bond and trust that used to tie you two together, had been damaged beyond repair. And Alastor knew. That didn't mean he was going to give up, though.

Before he had the chance to make things even more awkward between you two, the door bursted open, revealing several people behind it.

"Oh, you're awake, that's so great! We were all sooo worried since Al suddenly brought you here, and you seemed passed out, we didn't know if you were alive or-" The blonde haired demon kept rambling, but you barely listened to her, way too much in shock. Behind her, there was a bunch of demons: a winged cat who would be rather doing anything else than be there, a tiny cyclops with a psychotic and perky smile; a spider demon who, if anything, looked confused; a taller cyclops demon girl who found the dirt in her nails to be way more interesting than you, and some kind of moth demon girl? You wondered if they all were going to participate in your slaughter or were just going to watch.

"-aaaand who were you again?" The blonde demon asked with an awkward smile.

"I'm very glad you're asking! Because this is no other than my beloved little girl!" Alastor opened his arms widely in a dramatic form of presentation as the sound effect of a studio crowd cheering mixed with his voice.

"Wha- hold the fuck up? Your daughter??? Didn't you sing to Luci-?"

One glare full of murderous intention and loud static was enough for the spider demon to shut up.

"Now, now, how about we let the newest addition to our merry little band have a well deserved rest." Your dad not so gently pushed the uninvited guests back towards the door.

"Addition? Is she our new guest?" The moth-like demon girl asked.

Alastor's face darkened and loud static filled the room. "A҉b҉s҉o҉l҉u҉t҉e҉l҉y҉ ҉n҉o҉t҉.҉". He swapped back to his more charming persona. "She'll be joining our facility as an assistant!" His tone admitted no further questioning, and, quite reluctantly, the staff and guests left the room.

So that's the story about how you ended working in the Hazbin Hotel.

Your work was mainly small chores or helping others. Nifty needed help to clean the rooms? You were there. Someone needed you to take cover at the reception? On it. Whatever tiny task someone needed help with, you had to do it.

You were not allowed to leave the hotel. Alastor made sure of that. Wherever you went, he made sure some of his shadows followed if he was not around, just to keep you controlled; although he'd rather call it, 'lovingly checking on his little baby'. It really was not needed, even if you didn't trust nobody there and your guard was still up, where else would you go? It was literal hell outside.

Years of hiding and living in constant fear of death or something worse had left you extremely mistrustful and fearful of people. There were times were you believed this was all a ruse to lure you into a false sense of security and then hit you were it hurt most.

It's not like you didn't believe in Charlie's dream, it was just you couldn't believe it could be possible, your father had very sincerely stated that he was just sponsoring it because he loved watching doomed souls struggle to achieve something meaningful and then fail spectacularly. Of course he did.

So, at least you had a roof over your head, enough food to eat, and a no-killing rule inside the hotel. Things could be worse.

Yet, there was still something inside you, something that you so desperately tried to let go but were unable to, as it had rooted itself deeply inside your mind and heart.

It started with small things, maybe a loud sound, maybe a bit of blood, it didn't matter because you could already feel yourself breathing heavily and sweating. It was like the entire world vanished around you. You couldn't breath, you couldn't think, your mind was on edge and your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. You were completely paralized with fear, your hands shaking furiously, making you drop whatever you were holding.

These episodes started becoming more and more frequent, the more you tried to fight against them, the stronger they became. Whenever Charlie, Vaggie or any guest tried to ask you about them you always tried to brush them off, not wanting them to see it as a weak spot to exploit.

After several episodes and you refusing to open yourself, Alastor had enough of watching you suffer and decided to take matters into his own hands. So, he took you to Rosie.

If you expected something out of a place called 'Cannibal Town' it certainly wasn't that. It looked so... normal, like any other town you would have found back in your time. Well, if you ignored the people eating an entire corspe on the street. Your father gently moved your face to face front, because apparently it was rude to stare.

Oh Rosie immediately adored you. 100% godmother material. That southern belle couldn't wait to pamper you and dress you up in all kinds of fancy clothes.

Talking to Rosie was surprisingly, easy, if you looked over her cannibalistic tendencies. She kindly offered you some fresh fingers, but quickly backed up when she saw you turning green, jokingly saying "Ah, teenagers and their diets."

Sessions with Rosie always left you crying and drained but in a positive way, you felt like a huge load had been lifted off your shoulders. It may be a long road ahead but it was a great start.

Talking to Vaggie also helped. Turns out being a former exterminator had left not only physical but psychological scars on her. The first months after she had been left to die in hell had also been very struggling for her. She helped you with breathing exercises, held your hands when they started shaking, and even was willing to teach you some self defence. Which your dad opposed to.

Charlie was... Charlie, always positive and upbribing but also respecting your boundaries, you were almost starting to belive she was being genuine.

There was another member of the staff who had not been present when you were first brought there and you had yet to meet. The King of Hell himself, Lucifer. Just knowing he could be there send shivers down your spine, wondering what kind of diabolical entity could he be. When you first saw that 4' overly excited manchild, at first you thought it was a joke.

Lucifer took a liking to you pretty easily, much to the annoyance of Alastor. He was curious about how someone as innocent and young as you could have ended in a place like that and vowed to protect you if someone ever gave you trouble. Your dad is seething. "Here, take this." And he just gives you a toy duck who backflips and makes the cutest rubber ducky noise. You loved it. Your dad is about to break the no-killing rule.

Alastor tried to win back your trust and love, even if he knew it was going to be a long and arduous task. He didn't care. He just got you back he was never letting you go.

He may not believe entirely in Charlie's dream, but he knew that if it was possible the one who had more chances to go straight to Heaven would be you. And he was not having that.

Alastor briefly considered making a deal to own your soul, just to ensure your safety and his control.

Up to this day he still doesn't know how you ended down there, and can't wait for the day when you will trust him enough to tell him.

He will respect your boundaries begrudgingly, he is your dad, he knows best. Will play nice and let you take your time with things. He will quietly show support for your emotional progress and make light physical contact, just enough to be supportive and not freak you out.

He cooks for you, and only you. The old homemade grandma's recipes he used to make back in your living times. At first, you didn't trust it, thinking he could have poisoned it. But the second you tasted his Jambalaya you felt like crying. Not only because after ninety years barely eating you were famished, but because for a couple of seconds, something there in the taste and smell had brought you back to simpler times. (like the Ratatouille guy)

Alastor truly desires to hear you call him 'Dad' again, you had yet to do so. Yes, you recognise him as your father, but after everything it just pains you to address him as such. It's like your dad and Alastor were two separate people. The loving father vs the serial killer, the guardian vs the Radio Demon.

He really loves you very much and it's been hard on him to keep that much distance from his little fawn. So he takes out his frustration on others, don't turn the radio on when he tells you not to.

And with time, his efforts were rewarded. Somewhat. You seemed to have gotten a bit more comfortably around him, at least you didn't flinch or recoil anytime he approached you. But you couldn't forget, you couldn't overlook the fact that he was a murderer and a cannibal and still doubted if anything you two had lived together had been truly genuine.

Honestly, it offended him that you would even think that way. Wasn't he there for you, always? Didn't he protect you from the darkness of the outside world during your living times? Wasn't he, as a father, devoted enough to his fawn?

But of course, actions spoke louder than words, and his actions had left too many cracks in your trust. But he will keep trying to win you back. Alastor's very patient demon, he has all the time in the world.

Y̸̗͉̺̱͂̕o̸̧̯̞̟̰̪̗̱̳̱̎̈̿̄̄͛̅͝͝û̴̦͔̹͈̣̥̾͛͑͗͋̅̏̂̚ͅ ̷̭͋̈͛̽͒̅̀̈́́̚ă̷̢̢̖̦͕̞͚͔̻̳̅̇̃͌̿͐̄̃̕r̵̨̢̺̦͇͚̙̈́̅̽́̊͠ę̶̺̖͋̐͐͌͘͠͝ ̶̖̲͎̜̮͚͉̰̒n̵̢͕̝͖̗̜̣̾̾̇̾̅̽͊͘ǫ̴̼̺̠̱̦̘̒̈̎̿̇́̔̉t̴͙͇̼̱̻̦̦͔̖͙̍͌ ̸̩̂́̎͒͘g̶͔͚̰̺͔͉͓͍͔̈́̽̈́͋͘͜o̵̹͔̫͚̼͚͒͑į̷̧̫͔̹͉̰̘̮̍͋͒̈n̸̢͕̙̙̞͔̓͐̓ͅg̵͖͇̜͚̗͙̤̫̱̝̉̂́̚ ̴̪̂͑̓̊͛a̷̖̞͊̄̈́͑͋̈́̄͘n̶̻̟̙̝̪̩͂̋͗ẏ̸̨̛̱̱͇̱͖̤͕̥͛́̍̂͛̕͠w̸̛̖͎̫̑h̵͔̝̣̀ẹ̵̝͍̳̟͚̪̍̒͋̒̀̊̏r̷̨͉͉̒̑̉̒̄̎̓̎͜͝͠ȅ̸̩͇̳.̵̠̪̖̍͂͠.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[coriphallus]

Nuance is dead apparently so I’ll be very very blunt. After I got SA’d (for the first time) I had a slutty streak that didn’t help matters. Since I didn’t feel one way or the other about sex I used it for various purposes, I was very liberal with my body.

After I had one mind blowing experience with a woman I too thought I’m magically cured and good to have tons of healthy sex, I too participated in orgies and such and found myself dissociating. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d be ‘broken’ forever so I kept pushing it.

I have seen how it affects the people I’ve been with, too. From denial “but you liked when we were doing x/y/z” to dread “omg did I do something horrible?!”

What I did was harmful, for sure, but it was a kind of self harm born out of desperation. I did it to myself, I had a choice to walk away, and I didn’t. Half the time I didn’t even know I had that choice and I blamed other people for forcing me.

I am fine now, my mistakes are how I learned to know myself better and be at peace with my sexuality.

I know I’m not alone in this because it was another survivor who eventually convinced me to seek professional help. And I see a lot of people relating to astarions flavour of trauma in a very specific way, so I don’t think I’m being delusional.

When y’all write things like “of course astarion would hate the foursome, his story was concluded at the graveyard scene, we didn’t need to see that” it makes me think that well yes, maybe you did. Maybe it’s good that you did see it in a video game in fact, so you could learn how real people deal with these things from a fictional setting.

The graveyard scene is incredibly clear in stating that it’s the beginning of his story. Now he’s gonna fuck up a bunch. And I’m not sorry to throw this out there but no tav’s cunt/dick is good enough to cure 200 years of trauma

(This is not about HCs or smut writers, I too draw astarion smut on the side. go nuts show nuts w/e. It’s about a very specific kinda response I got to a previous post)

[sparkywrites25]

Perspective

Summary: You're struggling in the aftermath of a mission. Amid the beauty of autumn, Levi finds you.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Inspiration: Credit goes to @creativepromptsforwriting for some of the prompts that I used. Here is the post.

TW: descriptions of death and violence as well as symptoms and mentions of anxiety/PTSD especially flashbacks and panic attacks.

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @galactic3a @notgoodforlife @ladycheesington

Notes: If you like my work and want to see more then please join my taglist. Form is pinned on my blog.

Your footsteps crunch satisfyingly against the browning leaves beneath your boots. You enjoy the harsh, crisp sound as you march across the grounds to the thick woodland surrounding the base. Under the stunning rays of sunset, the forest shines in various shades of golden-brown, green and red. The leaves that drop to the ground are beautiful in their variety before they land with their comrades and disappear into the autumnal mulch of the earth, turning to bits under your weight. 

Huffing quietly, you lower your head and continue onward, a scowl twisting its way across your features. Away from the prying eyes of your comrades and commanders alike, you allow your feelings to fully settle over you. Your first ball into fists so tight that your nails scratch deeply at your palms and your shoulders are so squared that they ache already.

Each puff of air is sucked in and inhaled quickly, each one shallower than the one before. You let your stride increase, your anger pouring off you in waves as you retreat deeper and deeper into the forest. The colourful, bright ways of sunset begin to disappear behind the thickening shade of the trees. 

The scent of apples hits you immediately and your stomach surges in immediate, nostalgic delight. In those brief seconds, you are back home watching your mother serve up the family treat of apple pie, the apples produced from the family orchard. Or you’re running through the orchard with your friends, ducking behind trees and lying down flat behind brushes and bramble. Or you’re strolling under the trees with a basket, plucking down the ripest-looking apples and adding them to your basket, beaming with pride at the growing pile there and then comparing the collection to the ones sitting in your siblings’ baskets.

Back before you killed anyone. 

The thought brings you a stop and for a moment you can’t breathe as the images hit you again: comrades swallowed up in horrific, gaping mouths, riders racing towards their endangered comrades only for a surprise grab to pluck them out of their intentions and their lives, and the remains of bodies and blood streaming the plains around the titans. 

You reach out a hand to the nearest tree to steady yourself as the stench of iron and death overtakes you at once. You gag under it and bring your fist to your mouth at once. 

You’re a useless captain. You should have just taken the loss and focused on the mission. You should have protected your squad. Maybe you wouldn’t have lost half of them. 

It was so simple at the time; the possibility of saving the new recruits and minimizing casualties. It was a sick twist of fate that your decision had resulted in more casualties. 

You lean against the tree and slide down it until you have slumped onto the ground. You stretch out your legs and you feel your anger draining out of you as your intrusive thoughts take hold. Anxiety swirls like a maelstrom, filling up your body with a dizzying, queasy feeling of regret. The faces of your team, the ones who will never come home again, drift in front of your face, like their ghosts are taunting you. 

Why shouldn’t they?

You let out a shuddering breath, a strange, strangled sound escaping you when you think of Commander Erwin’s announcement this morning. The next mission would be delayed. There was talk of that being the last one before expeditions halted for the winter. You smile mirthlessly. Once upon a time, that would have irritated you. You would have been chomping at the bit to get out there again. 

Now titans are chomping on your team. 

You pass a hand over your face, closing your eyes as that weight falls over you again, the heaviness of responsibility, of the consequences of your decision. The same burden of dread and hindsight that hovers over you at night, sapping sleep away from you before it can land.

Your breathing is coming out in shallow, quicker pants. You stretch out your hands either side, feeling for the earth around you. Your left hand closes around the nearest object - something smooth and lukewarm. You turn your head to look at the smooth, round object in your fingers. Your see a chestnut, free of its spiky case, sitting in the lowest dip of your hand. You clutch onto it instinctively, hanging onto it steady firmness as you breathe deep.

On your other side, your fingers meet with the familiar shape of acorns. You trace the shapes of them with your fingers. The motion helps with the increasing struggle to breathe. You can feel some of the nervous energy disappearing into the movement and you gasp for breath, trying to take in more air. 

You’re so weak. You’re pathetic. 

How you ended up in this position, you suddenly can’t remember? Why did the higher ups think that they could trust you? What made them think that they could trust you? They made a mistake. That much is very clear. You can’t even breathe properly. 

You hold onto the acorns and the chestnut, focusing on the grip and trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as you can. Unfortunately this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this. You just have to wait. You keep your fingers moving over the acorns and then move your fingers over the chestnut as well. You feel some of the anxiety beginning to ebb away little by little. 

“Planning on camping here all night?” Captain Levi questions as he steps out from behind some trees to your left. You jerk at the arrival, cursing yourself for not spotting him. 

Too busy panicking about nothing, huh?

You swallow and look away from him, trying not to focus on how put-together he still looks after a day of training and official duties. Not even a hair looks out of place. 

“It’s not a crime to seek out some peace and fucking quiet,” you snap at him between gritted teeth, your fingers still trying to work off the worst of your feelings. 

The famous captain slowly strides over to stand in front of you, frowning at you as if he can’t believe that you’re actually sitting in the dirt. In fact, that’s probably exactly what he thinks, you muse. 

“You shouldn’t be on your own when this happens,” he reminds you.

“I don’t exactly get advance warning,” you bite back. 

“You’ve been stressed to hell all day.”

“So? I’m often stressed. I’m used to it.” You exhale, feeling your breathing beginning to steady at last. Your eyes flutter closed with the rising relief of the feeling of air actually settling in your lungs properly. 

“Hange told you to go and see them if you were this stressed.”

“Yeah because running to my superior officer every time I get pissy is a real good look.”

Levi crouches down, his kneecaps inches from the ground and his eyes, as grey-blue as pale slate, meet yours intensely. “Everyone needs to take a breather. That includes you.”

“Why should I when I don’t deserve it?” you question, your brows furrowing.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring into your eyes. He looks like he’s reading you. “You made a tough call. You did what you could. Sometimes it goes to shit. That’s not on you.”

“They would be alive because of me,” you whisper. 

“Not necessarily. If we’d advanced further, we could have run into another titan horde and lost even more lives.” Levi frowns at you. “You can’t know what would have happened. We’ll never know that shit. Once we make a choice, anything else is gone forever. All you can do is choose what you’ll regret the least.” Levi’s words are calm but firm at the same time.

You lower your gaze to the leaves between your legs. You can feel yourself steadying now that your breathing is returning to normal. You think about your options back then on the mission. Would you have regretted leaving the recruits to it? Would you be haunted by that instead of this? Was it always going to end with you sat in the woods having a panic attack?

You sit there silently, mulling over your thoughts. Levi remains crouched but he stops staring at you, gazing around the forest instead. It takes you a few minutes to realize that he’s keeping an eye out for trouble while you recuperate. You feel a swell of gratitude and something deeper at the thought. 

Eventually you clear your throat and your fingers release the acorns and the chestnut. You start to pick yourself but suddenly Levi’s hands clasp around your elbows and he hauls you to your feet. 

You’re unsettled by his strength and so when you are upright, your feet stumble, unprepared for the sudden weight again. You topple into Levi who catches you against his chest. Your face is instantly nose to nose with his and your heartbeat begins to quicken for an entirely different reason. 

He’s staring at you for a moment, his mouth ever so slightly open as his eyes dart down to your lips for a moment. His arms move around you, holding you to him. 

You don’t want to move. You want to stay there, wrapped up in his arms. You want to stay in this little bubble, out here in the trees away from titans and tragedy. 

Levi leans in a little, like he’s going to touch his lips to yours. Like he’s done so many times before already, in the darkness and in the privacy of his office or yours. Part of you wants him to, to linger here together a little longer. 

But your breathing is quickening again and Levi pulls himself out of the daze that holds you both. His arms around you shift so that his hands hold your elbows again. 

“Come on,” is all he says and you nod, getting your bearings and stepping back from the hold. Once he’s sure that you’re steady, he lets go and you feel the absence of his touch. 

Soon you’re walking through the woods again but this time, the rage and fear has calmed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, you are settled in one of the chairs beside Levi’s fireplace, a large mug of pumpkin spice tea in your hands and the comforting presence of your little black furball, Sooti, in your lap. 

The dark little kitten snoozes happily against your stomach and you lower one hand to brush against her soft fur. The motion eases away some more of the earlier anxiety. 

You smile towards Levi who is working quietly at his desk behind several stacks of paperwork. His jacket and cravat have been put away and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. At last, a few strands of his hair are falling into his eyes. 

You say nothing to interrupt him, just reflecting on how lucky you are to have him, and all of the good things in your life. You’re grateful to be able to see that clearly again. 

After taking a sip of your tea, you turn to gaze into the firelight, feeling your body relaxing once again. The crackling of the fire and Sooti’s purring fill the air, and your heart with peace. 

[livwritesstuff]

When I got my wisdom teeth out, the nurses all told my mom to film me when I woke up. Well, when I woke up I just cried and cried the whole hour long ride home. Suffice to say, she did not record me. I feel like Steve may also have a similar experience

yeah I think it would be rough.

i was doing some research (because my psych-brain doesn't let me ramble about what are ultimately psychological phenomena without doing at least a little research first), and there are some recent studies finding that PTSD can increase the likelihood of complications with anesthesia -- especially with emergence delirium.

i can definitely see middle-aged steve needing to be put under for some procedure and coming out of the anesthesia fully convinced that he's eighteen again and he's being held captive in a secret russian bunker underneath a mall in Indiana, and it is awful.

I also think it would be a situation where Eddie is completely dropping his goofy, pestering, drama act to be an advocate for Steve, informing staff early-on that there's pretty much guaranteed to be some kind of trauma-based reaction if they don't take precautions, staying completely checked-in throughout everything to make sure everyone is following the plan, making sure Steve has privacy, and all that.

[arcsimper5]

Clarification

Spoilers for TBB S3 Finale under the cut, just a bit of clarification on what I've been posting about since the finale.

I've lost quite a few followers and had some odd comments directed at me for this, so I wanted to just go a bit more in depth on my gripes.

I want to preface this by saying, I enjoyed the finale. I've glad they got their happy ending, I'm glad we got old man Hunter and grown up Omega and they got their peace.

What bothers me the most is Crosshair.

To put this into context, Jennifer Corbett is a Navy veteran. She has seen combat. She has almost definitely seen people affected by PTSD, if not affected by it herself.

Crosshair's hand tremor was a result of PTSD from the torture and the attempted conditioning.

PTSD is a serious, sometimes lifelong condition which can limit what someone can do. Triggers differ for everyone, as do the causes, but as someone who also has PTSD, though mine is from childbirth and the trauma associated, I get shivery and clammy and have panic attacks if I hear certain stimuli, smell certain smells.

Crosshair was meditating. He was coming to terms with his PTSD and how it WAS in his control if he worked on it.

To end all of that, basically going 'PTSD is stored in the hand, lol', was an insult.

Taking his hand was a stupid writing choice. Not only because it served literally no narrative purpose (the bridge scene would have been SO MUCH MORE IMPACTFUL IF CROSSHAIR'S HAND HAD STOPPED SHAKING BECAUSE HE HAD TO SAVE OMEGA), but also because, from that point on, Crosshair's PTSD is never addressed again.

He's cured! Right?! Because they cut off the thing that was being affected by his BRAIN, so there's NO MORE PROBLEMS.

It's cheap. It's lazy. It's poor writing.

The second half of the finale reeks of being rushed and cut and glued back together incoherantly.

We don't get closure for anyone other than Hunter. They sit under the tree, and Crosshair and Wrecker are SILENT.

I expected MORE. The focus on Crosshair and his hand has been intense this whole season, it's been a huge plot point.

But now the hand's gone, so it's all good.

I've seen some people saying that it 'freed' Crosshair from being a sniper.

But you know what? He could have freed himself. He didn't need a personal attack (by a clone who turned out to be no-one - salty about that for other reasons). He could have done it with the love and support of his family.

I expected better from a veteran. That's what's miffed me. I expected better from a writing team being trusted to deal with PSTD.

So I'll leave you with this, because I'm frustrated, but I know it's just a show, and I'm going to let it go.

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #199:

Peter: Just because I have the symptoms of PTSD doesn’t mean I have PTSD. I haven’t been diagnosed so the symptoms aren’t valid

Tony: PETER IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT!

[doodle-pops]

Lords of Gondolin | Dating Reader Who Has PTSD

Request: Headcanons on how the lords of Gondolin would support an SO with PTSD? (Assuming it’s from childhood, not only war, tho that’s probably true for most of middle earth by the fourth age LOL.) - Anon

A/N: I decided to make the request ambiguous, not specifying where the trauma came from and the type, and focused on how they would care for you as a survivor. So you, the reader, can decide the type of trauma.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Galdor

Galdor would be exceptionally patient and understanding, offering a steady presence that is always there to listen. He would never push you to talk about your trauma, always waiting for you to open up when you were ready.

His strong, comforting presence would often be felt in the form of gentle touches—a hand on the back, a warm embrace, or simply holding hands. He would use his physical presence to convey safety and support.

He’s aware that nighttime can be particularly daunting for someone with PTSD, Galdor would stay awake, watching over you to ensure you felt safe. Furthermore, he would often wake you from nightmares with soothing words and a calm demeanour.

As someone with a gentle touch and soul, he would create a safe space for you, meticulously arrange your living quarters or design a new wing in the estate to become a haven of peace and tranquillity.

Galdor would engage in activities that can help you to feel more grounded and present, such as gardening, walking through nature or a secluded section of the garden made for you, or crafting. He would even suggest special blends of herbs and incense to ease your nerves.

He would also encourage you subtly, helping you to engage in social situations and daily activities without feeling overwhelmed or alienated. He knows the fine balance between encouragement and pressure.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Ecthelion

Known for his musical prowess, Ecthelion would use his skills to soothe you. he would play soft, calming melodies on his flute, creating an environment of peace and tranquillity.

Thel would be incredibly attuned to your emotional needs, offering a shoulder to cry on and always ready with a comforting word. His empathetic nature would make him a perfect confidant.

He would often remind you of your safety, providing gentle reassurance when you feel anxious or triggered. His calm voice would be a constant source of comfort.

You can always count on his protective instincts to be heightened, always ensuring that your environment is secure. He would be super vigilant in keeping potential triggers at bay, creating a bubble of safety around you.

Thel would introduce you to mindfulness and relaxation techniques, guiding you through breathing exercises and meditation to help manage your stress and anxiety. He would even block off an area in his estate to construct a pool or fountain just for you to have your peaceful, meditative, alone moments.

Reading is something to expect with Ecthelion on evenings. He would choose stories that are both engaging and soothing, helping you to relax and feel a sense of comfort before sleep.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Glorfindel

Glorfindel’s physical would be a source of comfort, often holding you close, wrapping you in his arms or swaddling you in tons of blankets to make you feel safe. His physical presence would be a barrier against fear.

He does understand the need for distraction, so you can count on him taking you on gentle adventures—exploring nature, riding horses, or simply walking under the stars. These activities would help ground you in the present.

Given his extensive experiences and warrior background, Glorfindel would encourage you to learn self-defence or archery, empowering you to feel in control and capable of protecting yourself. This would be done with patience and care, ensuring it’s a positive experience.

Praising and encouragement are a thing to expect of him as well. Small victories would be celebrated, reinforcing your progress with positivity and encouragement. His enthusiasm would be infectious, lifting your spirits.

He would also use his experiences to share tales of heroism and bravery, drawing parallels to your own strength and resilience. You can bet his stories would serve as inspiration as a reminder of your inner power.

You can always count on his loyalty to be unwavering as he stands by your side through your struggles, reinforcing the fact that you are never alone.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Egalmoth

With his keen emotional intelligence, Egalmoth would express his empathy towards your needs intuitively. He would know when to give you space and when to offer comfort without being told.

We all know that Egalmoth does have a playful and childish side to him, so you can expect to come home one day and learn that he constructed an entirely new wing on the grounds just for you to have a safe space. Plus, it will be filled with all your favourite scented candles, flowers, colours and any other personal mementoes.

He is capable of expressing gentle communication, non-intrusive and always asking how you feel and what you need. Your emotional safety will always be prioritised above all others.

He may not have expressed himself as an eloquent musician like Ecthelion, but Egalmoth can still whip up a tune or request musicians to visit and play something soft or tell light-hearted tales accompanied by background music. Something to bring an extra smile to your face.

Expect him to be consistent and a reliable presence whom you can depend on no matter what. His reliability would be a cornerstone of your sense and safety.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Rog

Rog’s unwavering strength would be a pillar of support for you. He would be your rock, providing a sense of stability and security that they can always rely on.

He would engage you in physical activities that help release stress and tension, such as sparring, hiking, or working out together. These activities would also serve to strengthen your bond.

Note that Rog would have a straightforward and direct approach to dealing with PTSD, addressing issues head-on but with great sensitivity. He would always be honest, fostering trust through transparency.

He would understand that sometimes words aren’t necessary and that offering comfort through silent companionship is better. Just his simple presence, holding hands, or sitting together would be enough.

At nighttime, Rog would be incredibly attentive, holding you through your nightmares, whispering soothing words, and ensuring they feel safe until they fall back asleep.

He would focus on empowering and encouraging you to take small steps towards overcoming your fears, always there to catch you if you falter. You can’t possibly go wrong with him at your side.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Maeglin

Maeglin’s own experiences with trauma would give him a deep understanding of your struggles, and he would use this empathy to connect with you on a profound level. His approach would be full of patience and deep understanding.

Comfort in quiet ways would be provided since he prefers quiet moments, such as reading together, sharing a meal, or simply sitting in silence. His presence would be a calming influence.

Maeglin would encourage you to express your emotions through creativity, whether it be writing, drawing, or crafting. He would often join in, creating alongside you. You might be surprised that he finally teaches you how to craft and bring you along to the workshop with him.

His protective instincts would be heightened, always ensuring your environment is safe and free from triggers. He would be vigilant, always looking out for potential sources of distress.

Maeglin would take the time to understand your specific triggers, helping and teaching you how to avoid them whenever possible and helping you to navigate your daily life with minimal stress. If certain triggers can’t be avoided, he’ll make your environment a safe space.

He would also gently encourage you to confront your fears at your own pace, always offering a hand to hold and a reassuring word. His support would be steadfast and unwavering.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @hermaeuswhora @eunoiaastralwings @zheiya

[hurrraaid]

OKAY so it turns out I have over 50 drawings of my various cod ocs (as well as my friends ocs) so I have no idea how to post it all without spamming. So here's just a handful of various comics.

Tadger ( Sgt Brian mcdougall) is my whore of an oc. Todger and Magpie belong to @twilishark

[howdoyousleep3]

Hi, I’d just like to say as a child of a mom who had a very difficult time emotionally in the first several years of my life, I want you to know that your PTSD diagnosis does not change that you are and can always choose to be an amazing mom!! Nothing can always be perfect, but when all you feel is the bad, day in and day out with little support, it’s so crushing! It is not bad, wrong, or hopeless to be caught in that bad, even if it feels like it’s been a long time. My mom struggled with trauma and depression and still always showed up for me and I never doubted her abilities or love for even a moment. You are doing the best that you can be doing right now, and your girls are going to be so proud of you being their mother, I just know it! Whenever you next have time, allow yourself to openly mourn for what you feel you’ve lost, but then allow yourself to dream of a softer, easier future. One day you will be there. Much love!!💓

Copied this down in my journal tonight. Used it as a moment to let myself cry. I feel like you genuinely and thoroughly helped me and I can’t thank you enough, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. 💕

[the-herdier]

Daniil having to teach himself how to navigate Artemy's war-related PTSD, as well as what results for both of them from their shared trauma, and likely absolutely failing at it at first because, while he wants nothing more than to ease the other man's anguish, he really does have no fucking clue. However, I also like to think that, eventually, there will come days when Daniil would love to drink himself into oblivion, but doesn't because Artemy's been in a bad place mentally too and he is his grounding and you kind of need to be sober for that.

[superluigiglitchy]

"Melting"

just a random as headcanon/semi-au jdea where meggy just fuckimg melts like a popsicle when she's overwhelmed

dw she puts herself back together after calming down

(might make a megari art thing for this later

[livwritesstuff]

heyo! loving the steddie dads. was wondering if either of them suffer from nightmares or ptsd after everything they've been through? and how they might deal with that on a day-to-day/anniversary basis.

Hi friend -- took some time on this one because this is a Topic for me.

Short answer – yes, 100%. I don’t think any person on the planet could experience that kind of thing and not come out of it with some serious issues to work through. 

Longer answer, and not to abuse my psych degree, but it’s really tough to say how they would be affected 10, 20, 30, etc. years down the line because PTSD and trauma are both so unbelievably complex – for many reasons, but in part because PTSD can do two things (sort of) simultaneously.

Wane over time

Completely and permanently alter the “wires” (neural pathways) in your brain

I think that there’s sometimes this perception in the ST fandom that every character in the show who experienced a trauma would have PTSD by default, but that might not necessarily be true. Stats actually show that the majority of people who experience trauma in some capacity will in fact not display PTSD symptoms. I think Mike and Dustin at the onset of season 2 are a fantastic example of how two people can go through the same events together and come out of it affected very differently.

(Sidebar: I think Stranger Things has a fantastic opportunity to show how varied the effects of trauma can be. Granted, I don’t think that’s the story they’re telling, but they totally could.)

Experiencing a traumatic event is not necessarily a one-way ticket to PTSD symptoms and/or a PTSD diagnosis – to be clear, this doesn’t mean that there are not lasting negative effects from that traumatic event, but it is still distinctly different from PTSD (in its official definition) – and right now it’s not clear why this is the case. 

I have individual thoughts about each character as it relates to what they specifically experience and how I think they would be affected by it long and short-term, HOWEVER I also recognize that I haven’t answered your actual question, so I digress.

Rather than dive into whether or not I think Steve and/or Eddie have PTSD, we’re just gonna call it capital-T Trauma and move along. You’re welcome.

Anyways, by the time Steve and Eddie (as they exist in this ‘verse) are in their fifties, I doubt that any residual effects of their Trauma would still be anywhere near debilitating. Generally speaking, they can go about their day-to-day lives without thinking about what they went through all that much.

I do think that those effects may temporarily worsen around anniversaries, but even that really isn’t all that noticeable by the time they hit the 2020s.

They’ll still occasionally have nightmares and I don’t think Steve ever fully lets himself believe that it’s truly done in a way that Eddie doesn’t relate to because he never had to experience what it’s like for it all to come back.

(Small potatoes, but I also don’t think Steve could ever own a dog no matter how much his daughters campaigned for a puppy when they were in elementary school).

I think the Trauma that Steve experienced shows itself in his adulthood when it comes down to raising kids. 

I’ve talked before about how Steve has a moment when Moe turns ten where it kind of clicks for the first time just how young Erica had been when he allowed her to get caught up in everything. He hadn’t been able to see it until he was a fully-fledged adult raising a ten-year-old, but he gets really hung up on it, and then he spends the next few years being like – Moe’s eleven, that’s how old Eleven was when she broke out of the lab; she’s twelve, that’s how old Will was when he got stuck in the Upside Down; she’s thirteen, that’s how old Dustin was when he almost got eaten by demobats in those tunnels. 

Then the girls start hitting their high school years and Steve starts realizing – oh, it wasn’t just the younger ones. I was also a kid still and put in a really fucked up position. It’s the thing that makes him truly see how few adults he had in his corner.

Eddie has a similar moment when Moe graduates high school and he realizes that his oldest daughter is as old as Chrissy ever got to be.

That being said I also don’t think Eddie gets as torn up over Chrissy as the popular opinion suggests but i’m a little afraid to voice that one lol

I definitely think Eddie and Steve never let themselves forget how Max, Chrissy, Patrick, etc. were vulnerable to Vecna’s curse because of a very specific circumstance – they were grappling with something internally that they didn’t feel they had the resources or people they trusted enough to address outwardly. Sure, they know that their kids aren’t at risk of being possessed and murdered by an evil monster, but the notion of bad things happening when people don’t have the support that they need is a very real phenomenon with very real consequences. By no means was that exclusive to Hawkins and it certainly didn’t go away with the Upside Down. 

I think that this becomes the crux of Steve and Eddie’s mentality behind parenthood – to make sure that their kids never feel like they can’t go to their dads for support, to never allow their children to be in a position where they have to suffer in silence. That, to me, is absolutely rooted in the parts of their Trauma that re-wired their brains irreparably.

Anyhooooo this is really just the tip of the iceberg imo but this is long enough already lol (but if anyone wants to hear more about the Stranger Things-Trauma paradigm, let me know because I could probably talk about it for hours).

[samgirl98]

Wail of the Silent 2/?

Prev | Next

TW: this chapter mentions suicide and thoughts of self-harm. Proceed with caution. Do not read if this triggers you

Danny Fenton, aka Phantom, flew over the smog-ridden city. It was cloudy, the sky threatening to release rain. He couldn’t see the stars.

(Not that it was possible to see them in the crime-ridden city.)

He had finally reached Gotham City.

“Of all the places Spectra could’ve run off to, it just had to be Gotham.”

Of course, considering all the city's misery, it made sense that Penelope Spectra would find her way there.

“Now I have to dodge the stupid Bats while looking for her.”

Still, as much as he grumbled, he was responsible for protecting people from ghosts. Ever since he told his parents the truth two years ago, they more or less accepted him (even while they kicked him out of the house.), and he had had more time to capture ghosts.

They gave him gadgets and access to the portal (as long as they supervised.) and paid for his apartment while giving him some money. And, bonus, they no longer shot at him and didn’t want to dissect him.

(Did they love him, though? They had kicked him out of his only home when he was eighteen…)

Thankfully, Danny had been able to make his patented inventions that focused on protection from ghosts instead of offensive weapons, so he was getting some income from that. After all, the people of Amity Park would rather have something that protected them than fight ghosts.

He had been able to graduate high school, but he couldn’t go to college. Jazz was encouraging him to take some courses in community college. She argued that since his parents were helping with capturing ghosts (and releasing them instead of experimenting on them.), he should at least think about doing more than ghost hunting.

He couldn’t. Danny had a responsibility to Amity Park. Besides, he had powers; he couldn’t not use them to protect his town. It was his fault the ghosts were coming through in the first place.

 If I hadn’t opened the portal…if I hadn’t been a stupid teenager…

The portal was mainly closed now, but natural portals spawned almost weekly in Amity Park, allowing any ghost to get through. This time, Spectra had come through again. She had caused havoc in Amity Park. Three had died, two by their own hands by the time he had figured out that Spectra had had a hand in it. When she figured out Danny was after her, Spectra fled Amity Park.

So, he followed her.

At the moment, he had left Amity Park in the hands of the Red Huntress and his little more capable parents. Spectra was not a ghost that should be allowed in the mortal plane. He’s seen what happens when she feeds on someone too long.

(He could still see the shadow of a hanging body…)

Danny made it invisibly to the top of the tallest building he could find. Wayne Tower was in the middle of an island Danny had found out was called Old Gotham. (Thank you, Google Maps.) He could see the city sprawl in front of him. Danny decided to remain invisible in case any Bats were around. He knew he wasn’t a meta (he was dead, it was a medical condition), but he was sure Batman wouldn’t see it that way.

Looking at the city before him, Danny had no idea where to start. There were so many angry shades and ghosts hanging around that he couldn’t pinpoint Spectra’s unique ectosignature with the Ecto-finder he had with him. And Danny’s ghost sense was useless as it kept going off every other street.

Danny sighed. He decided to go in a random direction when he heard it—no, he felt it.

A ghost was wailing in pain. It was broadcasting its agony and torment to every ghost, shade, and Danny. The wail turned into a roar before suddenly cutting off. The silence that followed left Danny feeling disoriented.

Danny went in the direction that the ghost had projected its pain. He had to help. No one should have to deal with that suffering alone. Besides, if he could feel it, Danny knew Spectra would pinpoint the misery still coating the air.

Danny flew into the night, determined to help.

____

Jason got up, knowing he couldn’t sleep any longer that night.

His shoulders curved inward from the heavy feeling he felt on his back.

(Spectra smiled as her shadowy hands held onto Jason’s shoulders.)

He started making a cup of tea when his feelings reached a crescendo. The cup Jason was holding on to hit the floor and broke. Jason stared at the shattered pieces and felt the sudden urge to use one to stop the crawling under his skin.

(Spectra amplified the need to hurt himself. She smiled as the boy’s emotions fed her powers.)

It was only Jason’s stubbornness that stopped him from doing it. He ignored the broken pieces of glass and sat on the couch. Silent tears left tracks on his cheeks. He wanted his dad, his family—anyone to stop what he was feeling.

He felt he was going insane!

(Spectra smiled and inwardly hoped the boy would last longer than her other victims. His misery made her youthful quicker than any other victim, and more powerful.)

Just as Jason felt his mind was going to break, the feelings went away suddenly, leaving Jason panting hard.

(Spectra felt when Phantom got close and left.)

Jason pulled his hair, wanting, needing the physical pain to ground him to the present.

What was happening to him?

(Spectra smiled as she stared at her reflection at a random window. Her skin was glowing, and her face was free of wrinkles. Spectra’s hair was shining and luxurious. Yes, she hoped the boy would last a while.  

Her smile grew as the ghost boy flew overhead, completely missing her.)

____

Though the city of Gotham seemed like a cruel, cold mistress, she cared for her people in her way.

Every vile villain, hero, anti-hero, and citizen was welcomed into her dark and shadowy bosom. The shades and ghosts who had lived and died in her dark alleys and streets knew their mistress would take care of them.

So, when a new ghost showed up and started targeting one of her knights (not just any knight but the one who had been born in her old buildings, the one who had been raised and shaped in her streets. The one she could not save as he had died so far from her soil.), she felt a visceral anger deep in her being.

How dare this spirit come and target her favored knight? She would not let the ghost get away from it. Lady Gotham let her consciousness spread throughout the city, trying, needing to find a way to help…There! A young half-ghost, looking, searching, wanting to help.

She guided the young ghost to her knight—the one who had suffered at the hands of the Joker and his father. (Even now, she doesn’t protect Bruce Wayne as much as she used to, only if it was necessary. The shadows of the city no longer covered him as tightly as they used to.)

She would do whatever she could to help Jason Todd.

The last part was a surprise to me. I hadn't intended to make Gotham a sentient city, but she decided to come screaming out in full force. Yes, Lady Gotham is holding a grudge against Bruce for hurting Jason.