#and then there was you know. the paranoia and constant anxiety and trauma from being next door to the DJD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

decojellyfish · 8 months ago

Note

So we saw Guard dog! ghost and kitten! reader

Rescued fighting dogs! Ghost and Soap with cat! reader

how about we get some of Price adopting a puppy! reader and reader having to learn the ropes from Older dogs! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz(maybe??)?

or just Price rescuing another former fighting dog! reader and them being all defensive against former fighting dogs! Ghost, Soap and Gaz(maybe??), maybe even fighting against them when they(soap) try to get too close for reader’s comfort

Thank you so much for being my second request!! I decided to go with the second prompt you offered me, and I had fun writing it! I just don't have fun making you guys cry because, fair warning, this one is gonna be angstyyy... 😔 But I hope you guys enjoy!

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Bite

Hybrid AU! TF141 Retired Fight Dog! Gaz, Ghost, and Soap x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst

Warnings: Brief/occasional swearing, mentions of abuse, depression, extreme violence, trauma

───♡───────────── Beginning Your body ached. You didn’t know if it was because you were starving, or if it was your muscles and joints crying out for help from your most recent fight. It was a couple of hours ago, and it was rough. Your previous owner had disowned you when he found a new pup to use and abuse for profit. Part of you was happy, the years of abuse and ruthless training were over. The other part of you was absolutely terrified. You had no more food, no treats, no worn-out bed for you to sleep on, and no roof over your head.

You’d been homeless for nearly a year. You gave up on keeping exact track months ago. Your slightly sunken stomach never ceases its eternal growl, constantly yearning for food. Dumpster diving has become a part of your lifestyle. You had managed to find some food, albeit moldy and/or coated in garbage juices, but it was still food. ‘Food is fight fuel’ was constantly echoing through your head, while you fought off the sickness going through your head as realization set in that you were literally eating garbage. Sometimes, you even wondered if food was even worth it. You weren’t fighting as much as you used to. Sometimes you were suddenly assaulted by other stray fighter dogs as well, forcing you to live in constant paranoia, anxiety, and a never-ending feeling like you had to fight.

There were times that you even lashed out at strangers because of this constant fear. Domesticated dogs would find themselves abruptly thrown into a fight when you were around. They would leave with scratches, bites, bruises, and even chunks of flesh missing due to your fierce bite. In the underground fighting scene, you were most known for how gnarly the wounds from your bites would be.

This would result in animal control being called on you. But you’d evaded them countless times, which meant that you were far from where you originally came from. You would bounce from alley to alley, town to city. You were far from home if you could even call where you came from ‘a home’.

Though you were far from old enemies, you still made new ones. You were so used to lashing out that you were still getting into fights, but now you were getting into fights with fight dogs you didn’t even know.

Some days, you were tired. So tired, you just wanted to lay in your current alleyway and just rot. Let the bugs eat away at you, sometimes you even want to turn yourself into the pound. At least there you would have food in your belly and a semi-warm place to sleep. On other days, you were mad. So mad, you just wanted to paint the town red with any kind of blood, even your own.

Today was a tired day. You were lying against a wall, it was raining. Rain would be the closest you had to being bathed. Your rotted clothes were soaked and falling apart, your hair sticking to your face and skin as you stared at the opposing wall. Your eyes had nothing behind them, you were lost in your little world. Your happy place.

You imagined yourself in a cabin, or a cottage, just somewhere secluded and cozy. You had a loving partner, and pups of your own to take care of. A garden in the backyard, full of fruit, vegetables, and herbs. A flower garden in the front yard, full of daffodils, tulips, rose bushes, and trumpet lilies. You wore soft clothes like they were made of clouds. In your happy place, you were warm. In your happy place, you were safe.

Unfortunately, you were ripped out of your happy place by a smell. A familiar smell. Multiple familiar smells. Your heart had already started to beat rapidly, and the sense of adrenaline you had when in the fighting ring was coming back, slapping you in the face. You shifted your position from laying back against a wall to standing up and ready to fight, your teeth already beginning to show and a low growl slowly leaving your throat.

Familiar smells were never good, it meant that someone who had been made an enemy was close. Another fight was about to happen. You could hear men chatting with each other, though it was muffled by the ringing in your ear as your brain was now filled with nothing but adrenaline, panic, and one word. Fight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price was going on his weekly walk with his boys, all rescues. His home had become somewhat of a mini rehabilitation center. His pups, although fully grown dogs, were his pride and joy to be around. Gaz was his first rescue about seven years ago, Soap was rescued about two years after Gaz, and Ghost had been rescued three years before today. Price, himself, was a retired military veteran.

He enjoyed going on walks with his pups, he found it to be a nice bonding experience. Although today was rainy, it didn’t stop the group from following tradition. Gaz loved the rain, the sound and the feeling of raindrops hitting windows, umbrellas, or even himself was beyond calming for him. Soap didn’t particularly like rain, it mostly made him think of those unbelievably sad scenes in movies that involved rain, like an intense breakup. Ghost was neutral about it.

But Ghost found himself focused on something else, a smell. He glanced over at Soap, who could also smell this sudden scent. “Stop.” Ghost spoke firmly, grabbing Price’s shoulders and looking at the rest of the group. “Stay here, I smell something.” “Ghost, I don’t want you getting hurt-“ Price protested, only to be interrupted by Soap. “Stay, somethin’s here tha’ could rip out your throat.”

Gaz was worried as well, even though the scent wasn’t as familiar to him as it was to Ghost and Soap. He could smell a large amount of adrenaline and even panic or fear mixed in.

Ghost slowly walked up to the scent source and braced himself, slowly watching as a familiar face came into view. The two of you had been through plenty of fights together, each parting putting up a massive fight. You were snarling at him when he approached you, your body unconsciously moving closer to the wall, further away from him as he grew closer. Your hollow, starved appearance had him taken aback. You looked terrible. You were coated in scabs, bruises, and open wounds that had miraculously not gotten infected.

Your heart was beating so fast, that both you and Ghost could hear it. He had his hands up, his palms open as he showed he wasn’t looking for a fight. That didn’t stop you though. All you could see was all those fights, years ago. Ghost snarling back at you before he would nearly tear a chunk out of you while you almost ripped both of his ears off. You lunged at him with a loud bark, tackling him as you began to scratch and bite at him.

The group was startled, and terrified. They would all run to Ghost as they tried to get this rabid dog off of him. Of course, four men against you was an unfair fight and you were swiftly removed from the fight.

Soap held you against the ground, crouching over you as he pinned both of your arms behind your back as you continued to snarl and attempt to bite. You panted and stared at them with wide eyes, mostly focusing on Ghost and Soap since they were enemies from the past.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, aren’t you..?” You spoke shakily, to either of the boys. Soap could feel how strong and deep your breaths were as you hyperventilated.

All the men shared a glance of worry, Soap spoke up, “We’re not those dogs anymore.” Ghost would nod in shared agreement. “You don’t look so good, since the last time I saw you.” He looked down at you, noting how your stomach churned from hunger, how tired your eyes were, and your slightly raspy breath. Even your recent wounds worried him, some nearly looking like early stages of infection.

You grunted as you struggled under him, “Yeah, well, ‘m happy to see you guys living the high life.” You grumbled, the other dogs’ ears twitching as they heard a slight crack in your voice. You couldn’t ignore it, you were jealous. They didn’t look as tired as they did at your last fight, not on edge all the time, they looked well fed, and they smelled good too. And worst of all, what made you want to lash out at all of them, even their owner, was the fact that they looked happy with this new life. The life that you desired that always seemed to be out of reach.

All the men looked back at Price, Gaz included, with one question in their eyes. ‘Can we keep them?’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taking you back to their home was a fight in it of itself. You couldn’t help but be scared. Maybe they were all tricking you, maybe they were gonna lock you up in their house and sell you off to another owner in the underground fighting scene. Maybe they really were going to kill you. You only felt slightly safe with Gaz, but that’s because he didn’t look as scarred a fighter as Ghost and Soap, and his eyes held a safer gaze than the other two. He would hold your hand on the way home, firmly but protectively. However, he only did this after you attempted to run away from the group about 4 times.

Arriving at the Price household, there was an overwhelming amount of smells. Everything smelled like all the boys, but individually and in one unit all at the same time. You would stay close to the front door at the entrance, scared to step one foot further into the house. You still didn’t know if it was safe or not. Price respected this, though. He had Gaz let go of your hand so you could settle into the house at your own pace. The look of fear in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, he’d seen it in all his other boys when he first brought them home.

He had the boys all continue on with their night, only giving you directions to the bathroom in case you needed it at some point.

As time went on, your legs would grow tired of just standing. You remained seated, close to the door as you watched the household live out their lives. Price would only stop by you once for the night, and it was to give you a late-night snack and to wish you a good night. He had set down a plate with pieces of watermelon and a glass of water. He left after that, supposedly going to bed. The boys would stay up a bit later, they would watch you in secret. But you were quickly able to tell they were spying on you, however, you let them continue.

You saw it as a way to test if they were trustworthy. Your ears slightly twitch as you listen to their whispers.

“...how do you know them…?” Gaz would whisper, curiosity lacing his voice. “...Ghost and I have had a few tussles with ‘em years ago…” “...Fierce dog… don’t underestimate them…” Ghost grumbled in reply, Soap nodding in agreement. “...Nearly took mah whole face off…” Soap chuckled. “...They almost got my ears…” Ghost added.

You would faintly smile at the warning of underestimating you as a fighter dog. But then you were reminded that you were a fighter dog. And a successful one. Any moral being would never want to be a successful fighter dog. That meant you were scary and either could have killed or even mutilated another dog. Memories of all your fights would flash across your mind, like a blinding camera shot. Your successful ones, the ones where you would lose and your owner showed you what bad dogs get for losing. The bits of compassion you would feel for your opponent as they bleed out, or yowled in pain as their bones broke, pellets of skin torn off, or their bleeding gums from when you knocked nearly all their teeth out.

You wanted to hug them, apologize to them, tell them that you wished you could fix them. Only to have those moments of kindness wiped from your mind as the shrieks and cheers of your owner and the people who bet money on you were released into the air.

Coming back to reality, you were perplexed when you didn’t hear the whispers anymore. Taking a chance, you glanced up at the boys. Only to see that they were now staring at you, curious and worried. You didn’t know why they were staring until you heard a soft pit-pat against the floor beneath you.

Glancing down, you saw little droplets. Your hand instinctively raised to your face, feeling little beads of tears and the streaks they left behind on your face. You would quickly smear your tears away and shoot the dogs a mean growl before reluctantly stuffing a piece of watermelon into your mouth. You just wanted something else to focus on aside from the stares you were getting right now.

An hour later, the men had all gone to sleep and you had eaten all the food Price had given you and drank all the water he offered. You stayed awake throughout the whole night, however. You still didn’t trust anyone, believing the house was a trap.

Morning arrived, your eyes tired but still open as you didn’t want to lose your guard. Price was the first one up, yawning and scratching at his chest as he walked into the room. He would glance down at you, smiling when he saw you’d eaten all your food.

“Food was good, yeah? Don’t worry, I’ll get you some more soon.” He chuckled, taking your empty dishes away and heading into the kitchen.

You felt awkward now, just sitting there as Price had begun to cook breakfast. You would quietly stand up and slink into the kitchen, sitting on the cold tile as you would watch him from a random corner of the room. It had been about ten minutes before Price would look over his shoulder to check on you, only seeing that you weren’t in your previous spot. He would then glance down at you in your new spot, chuckling to himself.

“Got bored of the old spot?” He asked before going back to cooking. He didn’t expect you to be speaking right out the gate, all the other boys were like that too when he first took them in. After a few minutes, Gaz would walk in, rubbing at his eye. A big smile formed on his face as he smelled the currently cooking food. “Smells good in here, Price.” He would then finally look at you, mildly surprised you had moved but he would regain his smile.

Waving at you, he would approach you but keep his distance. “Did you sleep well last night…?” You silently stared at him, your restlessness very obvious, especially in your eyes. “Did you sleep- at all last night…?” He looked concerned, his brows only furrowing more when you shook your head no. “...Too scared?” You stayed quiet. “That’s okay, Ghost and I were like that too.” He smiled at you. You couldn’t deny it, he was a comforting ball of sunshine to you.

“I could set up a bed on the couch for you, I could even keep the telly on for you if you like falling asleep to that sort of thing.” You remained quiet as he talked to you, causing him to let out a slightly amused but comforting huff. “That’s okay, you can think about it during breakfast.”

Breakfast included food that was the most delicious food you had devoured in years. French toast, fried eggs, bacon. You would quietly inhale the first actual meal you’d had in a long time, everyone else watching you at the kitchen table, some trying not to laugh at your eagerness.

You awkwardly stared at everyone else, wiping away some yolk on your mouth with your hand. Price chuckled, “That reminds me, we ought to give you a bath today and get you some new clothes.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You awkwardly sat in the tub as Gaz would scrub a sudsy sponge along your back. Price was washing some clothes, making sure the scent was cleaned out so you had no trouble with wearing them.

“Don’t worry, I was like this when Price first took me in.” He laughed a little. “Quiet, scared, and I didn’t know if this place was my permanent home. But it is my home, and it’s gonna be your home too.” He smiled at you, now rubbing shampoo into your hair. “...what’s it like?” You looked up at him. “Y’know, living here? What’s it like?”

Gaz thought for a bit, also trying to make sure none of the shampoo got in your eyes. “Well, it’s nice. Good food, good clothes, good comfort. Price will sometimes pick up our favorite snacks for us, he’ll do that for you too, you just need to ask him or write it on the grocery list. We go on weekly walks around the block, sometimes we go to the park which is really fun. Especially with Soap, he really likes to play games at the park.”

That surprised you, you never took Soap to be a ‘fun games at the park’ kind of dog. Well, that could also be because you never got to see him or Ghost as a domesticated dog, your only memories of them being in the fighting rink. Maybe they have changed. Maybe you should give them a chance to show you they’ve changed.

Maybe they were doing that all along since they found you, only holding you down instead of attacking you in response to being attacked by an old foe.

The bath was eventually drained and you were dried off with a towel, Price coming in with a pair of folded up clothes, a t-shirt and some sweatpants. You were left alone in the bathroom to get dressed, also to let you just have time to yourself.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom in your new attire. You couldn’t lie, the clothes were beyond comfy and were nice and warm. Probably fresh out of the dryer. The rest of the boys were on the couch, watching a show on the TV. You would stare at them before slowly beginning to move your legs towards the couch as well.

They would notice your approaching, but wouldn’t bring any extra attention to it. They all remember their first time trying to get comfortable in the new home. It honestly warmed their hearts watching you hesitate on where to sit before eventually picking a spot and huddling into the soft pillows.

Price was already dressed for the day and was writing down the current shopping list before slipping his shoes on. “Oy, Gaz, you’re coming with me for groceries today.” He called out to the couch, Gaz promptly getting up and putting his own shoes on. He waved to you and the other two before stepping out the front door, Price giving a wave as well. “We’ll be back in 30.”

You sat there in silence, now stuck with your past enemies. There was tension, no doubt. At least, that’s what you felt. You were the one who was constantly looking over at the boys, a nervous sweat forming on your forehead. The two were just sitting there, watching the commercials play and pass by.

Now that the only pacifists in the house were gone, they were going to pounce at any second. You were sure of it. At any given moment, they were gonna do it. So you sat there, in a state of constant fear and bracing yourself for a fight you didn’t even know would happen.

Ghost noticed your condition, Soap a few seconds later would see it too. “... you okay, pup?” Soap would ask, seeing the little bits of sweat on your skin. “You’re scared.” Ghost stated, looking deep into your defensive form. “You don’t need to be, you’re safe now. We all are. We aren’t the same dogs you fought those years ago.”

They continued to watch you, watching as you stayed quiet and just stared at them expectantly. “We know you’re also no’ the same dog from those fights. Ye dinnae have a choice, only doin’ tha’ for your own survival. Like us.” Soap’s eyes were full of empathy and concern.

“No need to be scared. It’s safe here.” He smiled at you, slowly reaching out to you to rub your shoulder.

You only saw the worst in people, you would see a possible future where he was reaching out to strangle you instead of comforting you. You thought you could see his teeth start to bare, maybe he was snarling at you.

You felt like you were back in the fighting ring. You could feel the adrenaline begin pulsing and coursing through your veins.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You didn’t know how you did it, it went by so fast. The last thing you saw was Soap’s teething smile and his hand. Now you were pressed up against a wall, hyperventilating at the sight of what you just did.

First, you grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground before you began to bite and tear at his flesh and clothes. You woke up when Ghost pinned you to the ground, keeping your wrists together so you couldn’t hurt anyone or yourself. You scrambled away from him and coward into a corner.

You thought you were doing good, only a day into this house and you were doing so good. You didn’t feel like a good pup, not anymore. You weren’t deserving of this house, these new clothes. the food that resided in your stomach. You were a bad dog. There was no way you could look any of the boys in the eye now. Not after what you did.

Lost in a tsunami of your thoughts, you couldn’t hear Ghost trying to reassure you, that it was normal for an outburst like this to happen. He, himself, did it to Price. He brought Soap to the bathroom, taking out the first aid kit along with a few extra bandages. Living in a house with a bunch of retired fighter dogs, the first aid kits would be a bit more extreme than a regular, everyday one.

When he returned to check on you, to tell you that Soap was going to be okay, he didn’t see you in your corner. Not even the spot you were in on your first day here. But he saw that right next to the spot, the door was left open.

They lost you. ───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests, or asks, feel free to submit them!

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unboundprompts · 1 year ago

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Thank you so much for your blog! It's so neatly organized, it's lovely to read. It takes a lot of commitment to do detail every post and still constantly update, and I'm very grateful for you <3

I was wondering if you could write tips+prompts for a paranoid character?

Thank you again 😺

Thank you for the kind words!! That means a lot :)

How to Write a Paranoid Character

-> sources: mind.org , betterhealth.vic.gov

Paranoia is the irrational and persistent feeling that people are "out to get you."

Things that Make Paranoia More Likely:

Having confusing or unsettling experiences or feelings that you can't easily explain.

If you are anxious or worried a lot or have low self-esteem and expect others to criticize or reject you.

If you tend to come to conclusions quickly, believe things very strongly, and don't easily change your mind.

If you are isolated.

If you have experienced trauma in the past.

Things that may Contribute to Paranoid Thoughts:

Life experiences. You are more likely to experience paranoid thoughts when you are in vulnerable, isolated or stressful situations that could lead to you feeling negative about yourself.

Experiences in your childhood may lead you to believe that the world is unsafe or make you mistrustful and suspicious of others. These experiences may also affect your self-esteem and the way you think as an adult.

If you experience anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem, you may be more likely to experience paranoid thoughts.

Paranoia is sometimes a symptom of certain physical illnesses such as Huntington's disease, Parkinson's disease, strokes, Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia. Hearing loss can also trigger paranoid thoughts in some people.

Lack of sleep can trigger feelings of insecurity and even unsettling feelings and hallucinations. Fears and worries may develop late at night.

Recreational drugs may trigger paranoia, such as cocaine, cannabis, alcohol, ecstasy, LSD, and amphetamines. This may happen particularly if you're already feeling low, anxious or experiencing other mental health problems.

Research has suggested that genes may affect whether you are more likely to develop paranoia.

Symptoms of Paranoia:

being easily offended

finding it difficult to trust others

not coping with any type of criticism

assigning harmful meanings to other people's remarks

being always on the defensive

being hostile, aggressive, and argumentative

not being able to compromise

finding it difficult (or impossible) to "forgive and forget"

assuming that people are talking ill of them behind their back

being overly suspicious

not being able to confide in anyone

finding relationships difficult

considering the world to be a place of constant threat

feeling persecuted by the world at large

believing in unfounded conspiracy theories

Writing Prompts for a Paranoid Person

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Everyone was against him. No one liked to see him succeed and so they were doing everything in their power to stop him.

People were talking about her behind her back. They would whisper as she walked by, and their laughter would echo in her ears as she got further from them.

"You never believe me!" They wailed, pointing an accusing finger at their friend. "You wouldn't get it! You don't know what it's like to be hated by everyone!"

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and wide awake. It was a nightly routine, at this point. He could never bring himself to close his eyes. There were too many things going on his head, too many things that only made him dread when morning came.

Everything was about to go so wrong so fast, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The impending doom beat down on her shoulders, reminding her that she was not okay. She was not safe.

They couldn't stop fidgeting with their hands. It used to offer some form of comfort, but not anymore. How could it when the whole world is against you?

They were looking at him. They were watching his every move. He was being tracked. Studied. Something was going to happen. Something bad. Something he wasn't prepared for. What could he do to be prepared?

"You think I'm crazy, but I'm not! You'll see."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #creative writing #writeblr #prompt list #ask box prompts #paranoia #how to write a paranoid character #how to write #writing tip #writing characters #writing help #writing advice

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the-bi-space-ace · 3 months ago

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Writing Echo & the effects of Skako Minor

Discussions of trauma, CPTSD, and PTSD.

This will be a lot of personal opinion so take it with a grain of salt but I wanted to touch on writing Echo as someone who has CPTSD. Personally, I think after what he experienced on Skako Minor Echo would have CPTSD. The very basic thing you need to know is that PTSD and CPTSD are two different things. Symptoms overlap, they often get lumped together, but there are differences. From what I have learned from therapy and doctors PTSD happens from a single traumatizing event. Something happened, an accident, violence, etc. and it has stuck with you. CPTSD occurs when someone has multiple traumatizing events throughout their life that all compound. So if you grew up in an abusive household, experienced outside violence, and had several life altering events, that would be the perfect breeding ground for CPTSD. It is not one event. CPTSD comes from the fact that it is multiple things on top of each other, all working together to make your PTSD complex in nature since it comes from a web of things instead of one event.

After Skako I think Echo would suffer from CPTSD mainly because he has experienced several traumatizing events over and over again. The explosion, being tortured, being experimented on over and over again, and finding out he has been used as a weapon, along with his injuries sustained in the battle of Anaxes all compile together. This is what I base this off of.

With that in mind I wanted to talk a little bit about some symptoms and how this could translate to Echo as a character.

One can experience shaking (imagine Crosshair early season 3), paranoia, anxiety, and difficulty sleeping. I have seen Echo portrayed often with nightmares, which I think is a great route to go, however I want to offer up other ways you can show his difficulty living with CPTSD. Physical symptoms are one thing and definitely make life more difficult but what about the mental ones?

One challenge can be constantly feeling like the other shoe is going to drop. There can be waves of feeling okay and stable and then other periods of constant vigilance and anxiety. When things are good you could think ‘how much longer until it is all gone? How long do I deserve safety and happiness?’ These fears are often completely unrealistic but your brain cannot determine that in the moment.

I think Echo could struggle with this. I want to imagine that this is part (not all) of the reason he wants to badly to do more and part of why he does not really want to retire. He doesn’t understand safety anymore. He’s still more comfortable in chaos and vigilance. Safety would likely feel unsafe to him. At least, for a while. Truthfully, survivors guilt and his own loyalty and personality are all wrapped up in there too but imagine if there was another layer.

What if he is clinging so desperately to helping because tomorrow he could be swept away again. Or he won’t be able to save anyone. Or somehow Tambor will catch up with him. Or maybe, just maybe, he becomes the algorithm again. He snaps right back into it mid mission. He’s taken over and can’t be saved. He attacks his loved ones. He can’t help it. He could hurt them. What if he hurts them! Safety may frighten him so deeply he can’t even begin to think about it. His brain won’t let him. It won’t let him cling to that thought because it can’t be real it will be danger. It has to be.

It doesn’t have to be rational because CPTSD is not rational. Your brain and body are trying to protect you. It has learned that you are in danger and it is not comfortable with safety anymore. It will protect you even if you are perfectly safe. Even if that means telling you lies.

And none of this makes him weak. He’s confident in his skills, he’s a force to be reckoned with. He’s lethal and loyal and kind hearted and not at all weak. His strength and compassion are things to look up to. I love Echo. He’s dedicated to saving his loved ones, he’s been through so much, and he has never ever given up despite the challenges. I think he is wonderful and such a rich character for storytelling. It certainly isn’t necessary to include this when writing Echo but if you’re looking for other ways for his trauma to manifest this may be an interesting route to explore.

have the best gif of Echo ever as a treat for reading this far

#the bad batch #tbb echo #arc trooper echo #echo bad batch #the bad batch echo #Star Wars #ptsd #complex ptsd #fanfiction

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qtubbo · 1 year ago

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Almost everyone assuming the way to “fix” Tubbo not being happy being make him and Fred start dating again, because it’s the simplest solution but just isn’t the solution. Tubbo is not jealous of Fit and Pac’s relationship in comparison to him in Fred, any jealous is of himself being third pick, rather than anything to do with them actually dating. From his and Bagi’s talks with Fred, it becomes pretty obvious that Tubbo is avoiding getting back together with Fred. He knows Fred likes him still, both how she’s acting and from the “boy with the pretty eyes” letter. Bagi’s talk with Fred, made her convinced that they just need to get together since it’s obvious they both still like each other, but it also asserts that Fred is making the active choice to step away for safety reasons.

From Tubbo and Pac’s chat, we can really gather some of his lingering trauma from his relationship with Fred. Fred was in constant danger from the Feds because he was with Tubbo, and Fred liking Tubbo is what got him tortured and almost killed by Quackity. Tubbo projects this unfortunate relationship on to Pac’s with Fit, he puts Pac as himself and Fit as Fred (just due to opening up to Pac instead of Fit nothing more), he explains in rambles about how they’ll be used against each other. That their relationship puts a target on each other’s back, if someone wanted to get at Fit they could use Pac. Pac being so open towards Tubbo, allowing him to get his thoughts out without proclaiming paranoia, helped Tubbo be a lot more honest. Explaining his general anxiety towards being in a romantic relationship, because he’ll be the catalyst to their down fall. Even making it obvious to someone else if it came down to it he’d kill Fred for an egg, by speaking of ultimatums in which it was Pac/Fit or Ramon/Richas.

He makes it pretty obvious he’s put his life on hold for Sunny, by projecting those same choices Tubbo made for Sunny on to Pac. Tubbo isn’t going any of this out of some jealousy to have Fit and Pac’s relationship but rather from fear. To him the choice is simple, even though it’s guilt-ridden, what’s better Pac or Fit dying as a pawn in someone else's game or a break up where they remain friends afterwards. This is a much more deep seated issue than some magical true love kiss can fix, even though both Fred and Tubbo still love each other. Fear is overriding want, and just getting him and Fred back together will make him reject Fred, or be in an intense state of stress.

When it comes down to his relationship with Morning Crew as a whole, he feels like the third wheel and has always felt that way. It’s Fit and Pac and then it’s Tubbo. Tubbo mimics a lot of Pac’s issues about usefulness and feeling like last place within their respective family’s. He’s been open about feeling like Morning Crew will become just a duo, that most of the love is directed towards Fit and Pac rather than himself. Tubbo has never shown any real bitterness from this, but he has showed a deep loneliness, Morning Crew is his safety net, he hasn’t accepted Bagi in yet, and his relationship with Phil has strained since purgatory. So in practicality if he lost Morning Crew, he looses an essential part of being alive, and he needs that for Sunny.

Tubbo is overwhelmingly terrified that Fit and Pac getting together is the beginning of the end, even though Fit and Pac have shown even after dating that he’s always on the back of their minds, that they’ll always care. He convinced himself that they’ll start spending more and more time together, without him, that he won’t even be a sidelong glance. There’s also a fear of death, a forced separation that them being together means their always each other’s weak point, “empathy is weakness”. To show care to another, is to show someone can hurt you with them, that’s something Tubbo has lived with since Fred. He won’t call Morning Crew his family, even though they are because then they’ll be in danger because of him.

It’s this pestering paranoia that’s driving Tubbo, not jealousy, he can not be “fix” as most islanders say by just giving him Fred to love. His loneliness is a choice built on fear, sometimes when Tubbo says he doesn’t want to love again, he means it. They love each other but now is not the time, maybe in the future where he isn’t so isolated.

#qsmp #Qsmp tubbo #qsmp pac #qsmp fit #qsmp bagi #long post #qsmp analysis #frubbo #fitpac #qsmp shipping #Morning crew

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shadowmilksdoll · 2 months ago

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agoraphobia ableism

small rant. like. heavily.

The only reason I'm answering this is because I think it's genuinely harmful and stereotypical to think agoraphobia means you can't leave your house.

Agoraphobia at its basis is paranoia about not having familiarity around you and the intense anxiety that something bad will happen to you that you can't escape from if you're not somewhere that you're familiar and comfortable with.

My job included being around people I always knew, having my phone on me at all times (my familiarity and safety from danger) and was in areas with constant surveillance because we did our events outside of established public businesses. Because of the trauma of my abusive ex and the additional trauma of the car crash I had in September as the passenger, I find genuine anxiety and severely deep fear going somewhere I'm not familiar with or have people I know. I can never leave my house without my phone even to go and get the mail, because the idea of something bad happening to me outside of my own home even just on the sidewalk is enough to paralyze me if I don't have enough charge in my phone.

Agoraphobia is an intense and genuinely debilitating disorder. I don't like that I'm inside all the time but I also know that at the end of the day I prefer the safety. In very extreme cases of agoraphobia the only safety someone feels they have is their own home.

For me, it's if people that I don't have around me aren't near me, or if I don't have communication with something that can get me an emergency service. I was trapped In held hostage in an apartment for a week while being assaulted daily, at times multiple times a day. And at one point I was trapped in a car with him without any help and at one point he had threatened to lock me in the car while we were in the middle of New Orleans where I had no idea where we were while he had control of my phone.

The doctors explained that I was a conditioned over that course of time as little as it was to fear my environment around me to an extreme degree unless I feel there are safety nets around me.

For the first two to three months I was so paranoid about leaving my house because my friends told me they're not sure what he's capable of. Even to this day the police telling never go outside by myself at night because of all of the anonymous messages I've gotten.

It's extremely stereotypical and even ableist to say that agoraphobia means that because you leave your house means you're not agoraphobic, or because you do things that aren't near your house all the time. I'm gonna just assume that you're not educated on the subject enough because even I wasn't educated enough to understand it until I was diagnosed. I refuse to sit in a car unless it's locked.

And especially after the car crash I refuse to get in a car for longer than a very short amount of time unless it's with someone I very explicitly trust, because I was the passenger in the car crash. Even when with someone I trust if we suddenly pause the car abruptly or hit a red light or a stop sign or something I get an immediate panic attack. Agoraphobia comes in many forms.

There's no denying that there's extreme cases where you can never leave your house because of how strong your agoraphobia is But that isn't the only thing that it manifests as or shows itself as as far as symptoms. So long as I feel like I have my phone or someone near me that's familiar then I feel safe, and even then sometimes it gets so bad that day that I don't feel comfortable enough leaving my home. It depends on how I'm feeling that day with my anxiety and paranoia.

I've genuinely turned down social gatherings and meeting up with friends and doing things this year because of how bad it's been. I would make excuses because I just feel like safer in my own home sleeping or watching a movie or being with my partner and friends online or just drawing on my tablet that night, because there's a voice in the back of my brain saying maybe something bad could happen to you that you can't control. Maybe someone could hurt you. And the reason that brain goes there is because there's people in that event I haven't met. And I was very violently harassed online that day abt people finding my address. Or that week. You don't know what people are going through and how it affects them. Please don't assume a mental health disorder so bad as agoraphobia that you know what it actually is.

#agoraphobia #ableism #clarifying #psa

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oros-ash3s · 6 days ago

Note

henlo I come bearing asks for my prospective favorites Atlas and Alastair ☝️

💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)?

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?

(yes I’m already aware they have some sort of magic stuff but take this as a pass to Yap heheheheheh)

hey sea!! thanks for the ask <3

ASK GAME \\

💭 —

MBTI || Atlas is an INTJ-A and Alastair is an INTJ-T.

The INTJ-A (or “Architect”) personality is characterized by being introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging, making them strategic, analytical, and independent thinkers who value logic and systems.

The INTJ-T (or “Turbulent”) personality is characterized by being success-driven, perfectionistic, and eager to improve, often noticing small problems and striving for constant improvement.

💯 —

Atlas is very musically inclined. He plays the guitar and the drums, and later on joins a band with Kokoa and Kau’i. They have frequent gigs and for a while it’s his one source of employment throughout everything.

He loves junk food. His favourite type of food is surprisingly McDonalds, as that’s what he first tried after getting out of Eden for the first time.

Atlas is obsessed with movies. Although he’s not very media literate (what being apart of a cult all your life will do to you), he loves watching them for fun. Some of his favourites are old cheesy rom-coms, something you’d least expect from the hardened soldier.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Alastair cannot handle spicy foods at all. He’s someone who has only ever eaten food from the church and the orphanage so he has built up no tolerance. Wren had him try a hot cheeto once and he almost cried and gagged on it for a minute straight.

Thinks dogs are really cool. He’s never seen one in real life before though.

He developed no hobbies outside of studying files in the archives so when he leaves the church, he finds himself unable to pass the time and tends to spiral in his own thoughts. This often results in panic attacks but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Atlas and Wren and so he hides his face in his shirt and holds in his own breaths until he’s gagging and shaking.

🩹 —

Atlas and Alastair both have a myriad of mental issues/disabilities. A large part of their arc revolves around this, and it’s something that the both of them have to overcome over the course of the story.

Atlas is formally diagnosed with both c-PTSD and PTSD, resulting from extreme trauma throughout his childhood and the result of living through a war, and becoming a prisoner to Eden. He is also diagnosed with amnesia from brain damage when he is 18, something that affects him for many years after the fact. Because of his brain damage he is also very susceptible to concussions and migraines, and especially sensitive to light. This grows worse as he ages.

Atlas was also written to be autistic-coded, although he doesn’t ever recieve an “official” diagnosis for it.

Alastair is diagnosed with depression by the time he is about 23, although it was something he struggled with for most of his life. He also deals with heavy suicidal ideation by the time he is 21, and it only becomes worse as time wears on. Alastair, although never formally diagnosed, is selectively mute, something which he’s had to deal with since he was about 5-years-old. He develops agoraphobia in his early 20’s as well, something that dictates his life for a long time.

Overall Alastair deals with a lot of mental health issues, although he doesn’t actually get a name for a lot of them. Like Atlas, he is meant to be autistic-coded, though he is also OCD and anxiety coded, and could be read as having paranoia. And as a result of the war, he does deal with PTSD symptoms.

tldr; atlas and alastair are extremely mentally ill and do NOT have the time to deal with it

.☘︎ ݁˖

Atlas and Alastair also end up with quite a few physical disabilities, as result of living through a war.

Atlas ends up losing his right arm when he is 18, and wears a prosthetic for the rest of his life. He also suffers from nerve damage in his right hand, having very bad grip control and frequently experiencing tremors. His vocal cords suffer a lot of damage from the electric collar he was forced to wear at Eden, and he ends up losing his left eye, later wearing a prosthetic. Overall his body ends up pretty damaged by the time the war is over, and he deals with chronic pain for the rest of his life.

Alastair struggles with extreme chronic pain post-canon. He loses his left leg near the end of the war, as well as suffers severe burns to the left side of his face which renders him blind in that eye. His body never fully recovers from the injuries that he sustains while in the final battle circa 2043.

💙 —

I’m not sure if I’ve ever fully went into depth with what exactly their powers are, but both of them are Magicus, which means they were born with a power.

Atlas has power absorption. He can mimic others abilities and use them as his own. While this is ability is activated the other person’s power is weaker than it usually would be. In some examples he can mimic physical abilities of humans as well, which in turn drains their energy. And while his power is in use, his eyes glow.

Alastair has void. He is able to change the mass of his body into literal shadow. While in his shadow form, he can see everything — time, space, the makeup of the universe itself.

Although they both have powers, their ideologies when it comes to magic contrasts greatly.

Atlas sees nothing wrong with his powers, having been raised in an environment where it was normalized. He frequently had to train using his power, and activating it is like something as simple as breathing to him. He uses it almost every day as it gives him an advantage on the battlefield, and isn’t afraid to use it if it means winning a fight or completing his mission.

Alastair, on the other hand, doesn’t want anything to do with his powers. He hates using them — refuses to do so, actually. He has sworn to himself that he won’t become like what everyone else had thought of him. He doesn’t have really any control over them because of this, and is not nearly as experienced as Atlas is. He views his powers as more of a curse than a gift, opposite of Atlas.

(Ironic, considering Atlas comes from Eden, which is strict about magic and thinks it’s something to be controlled, not used. While Alastair comes from the Congregation, which is proud about their status as Magicae.)

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords

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nocturnesanomaly · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 10: Prophet Girls

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 10: Prophet girls

Wordcount: 5,7k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, themes of indoctrination, themes of eating disorders

Description: You go hunting with Simon in the morning, and get invited to dinner in the evening.

A/N: Well….this chapter took a long time - Holidays took the life out of me, but I'm making my come back to my writing! - This one hasn't been read by my lovely beta reader as she's sick, I hope you get better soon love! :,( - I've proofread best I could so, I hope you have all enjoyed the chapter regardless, it's one I've been looking forward to write!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

"Relax your arm, you're holding onto it too tight" Simon gently adjusts your hold on the hunting rifle by your shoulders.

You grumble quietly, following his directions and exhaling a cloud of frosted breath. "I know what I'm doing," you shake his guiding touch off leaning further down into the snow and relaxing. There's no animal in sight yet, thank God. It's not like you'd hit it like this, all jittery.

At least that's how the suddenly very invasive man next to you so delicately put it just mere minutes ago.

You don't remember him being this pushy, or this confident really. A trait you don't appreciate so much when it comes to the correction of your apparent flaws. They only became flaws today for some reason.

"Are you sure? You seem really tense," his voice has been a constant stream of chatter in your ears this morning. When in the world did he stop being quiet again. "I mean it, you need to relax or you're going to miss it."

"I am relaxing!" you hiss out looking to where he's laying by your side.

His eyes narrow but he lets out an exhausted huff. "At least relax your trigger finger, you're going to scare away any of the animals before we even see any." He shakes his head.

Despite your protest you do as he asks and relax your body even more into the snow. A bit of it has managed to find the little exposed places of your jacket and make its way under, but you can barely feel it now.

"If you're going to be so picky, why did you even drag me out here," you ask a tad calmer resting your cheek against the cold polished side of the rifle. When he had woken you up that morning, it came as a surprise that he was only doing it to drag you out hunting at the ass crack of dawn.

You hadn't been at the liberty to decline.

"You can't keep staying in that room forever..." Simon says adjusting his position in the snow and keeping an eye on the moving bushes at the far end of your viewpoint. "You aren't coming out anymore, it's getting Price worried. Johnny too even if he won't say it."

You let out an annoyed huff. They shouldn't waste their energy worrying over something so trivial. You knew how to take care of yourself, even if it didn't look like it to them. What you were doing was most strategic.

"Great so it's a pity hunt."

"Don't do that," Simon grumbles. "We take care of our own," he gives you a pointed look when you make a noise of disapproval. "You're part of the team whether you like it or not Spider."

"Temporarily."

He shakes his head but otherwise makes no comment.

"Are you really that eager to get away from us?" there's an underlying meaning in his words, it’s less about an us, and more about a me.

You hadn't given it much thought, what you'd do once all of this is over. A part of you doesn't know if this can be done. They have a determination you lack. To truly see this through, you're going to need something that you still lack, you're going to have to dig a lot deeper than before, to resist, to complete the objective set before you.

"Where are you going when all this is over?" you ask.

"Wherever they send me next," he answers.

That's the part of his job that made sure you never got there. Sure, there were other certain factors. However, that point, the going from place to place with reckless abandon and a trust in your superiors that you'll never build again is what keeps you.

You move on your own terms, not someone else's. Not anymore.

"That doesn't get tiring?"

He goes quiet for a moment, leaning over to adjust where your gun is looking. He guides it towards the rustling bushes where he seems to have spotted something.

"There...a rabbit...keep an eye and take your shot when it's in view."

You let out a quiet steady breath as the white fur and pink nose sniffs out of one of the nearby bushes. It's cautious of danger, sniffing at the snow before taking a few uncertain steps out.

It's like it can feel it. That some quiet predator has it in its sights. The tense air around the clearing is almost suffocating, the expectation of the shot making your senses jittery.

"You get used to it."

It's all jumping around too much, and you start to crave the stability of the drug induced illusions.

Your finger itches on the trigger, your breath hitches. You look right into the red eyes of the rabbit, you see its terror. It's enticing, a rush like nothing else, that makes sparks fly off the synapses in your brain.

You pull the trigger with as much uncertainty as the scared rabbit.

You could never get used to it.

When you get back to the cabin, you find Gaz hauling a pine tree inside the house, right along with a mountain of snow. You can't imagine Price will be happy about that, but all he gives is a disappointed glare.

He directs Gaz around, moving the table a bit to the side to make space for the massive thing. You had never truly understood why there was even a need for a tree, even more so here. You didn't even have any decorations for the thing, it would quite literally just be a tree in the living room.

"Oh, you're back," Gaz perks up from behind the tree when he finally manages to get it into position. "Did you catch anything?"

Your empty hands should speak for itself. Simon closes the door behind you, kicking off the snow from his boots before looking quizzically over at the tree. "No," you answer curtly. "Not this time."

"Well, at least you're not being forced to carry a tree all the way from town," Gaz huffed with a smile on his lip.

"Zip it Gaz, you volunteered," Price grumbles. "Now put it a little more left."

"Do we really need a tree Cap'?" Simon passes you to stand next to the captain, observing from his viewpoint.

"It's festive."

You slip past the three of them, quiet steps placed towards your room. Simon might have brought you, to get you out of the room but that didn't mean you couldn't retreat as soon as you got back.

Halfway down the hallway, a wall in the form of Soap stops you from entering the room once again. You stop abruptly, startling yourself and him at the same time. "Joh-" you don't get to cut yourself off because he does it for you.

"Spider!" a smile spreads across his lips, and it startles you worse than bumping into him. "I was wondering when ye were coming back," he sounds endearingly excited. "Are ye ready for tonight?"

"Tonight?"

You take a step back, swallowing the thick of your spit back down. He's holding a notebook in his hands, a pencil case behind it. He's been drawing again then. Your wrists itch, curiosity winning its primary space in your brain as to what he could possibly be drawing now.

"Got invited by Mrs. Evans and her husband to dinner at their house tonight, ye and me." He shifts the weight between his legs, his eyes darting away from you and to the art on the walls. "Price agreed it would be good idea, get more intel on 'em."

"Of course they did," you say exasperated. "He's not wrong, if they're apart of anything major there'll be signs. Subtle but they'll be there."

He nods, falling quiet as he stands there. You look at him for a hot minute, expecting him to move but he doesn't. Your lips move to form the words you want to ask but nothing comes out. Your eyes go back to the items he's holding, and you gesture to it, trying to get him to say something, anything.

"Oh! ach that's right, I got ye something." He smiles and holds out the notebook for you to take. Hesitantly you take hold of it, giving him a questioning look. Your hands ghost over the edges before you flip it open.

It's empty, but the paper has quality and it's not just any notebook. He had bought you a sketchbook, one that's matching his own. A warmth blooms in your heart as you realize he remembered. Of all things you hadn't expected him to go out of his way and use his own money on you.

"John you...didn't have to..." you cringe a little when you catch your own slip up. He gives you a curious look. A tiny nod is the only signal you get. He's fine with it. It manages to relieve a weight in your chest, the one that's been bothering you about the balance between the two of you. Of what is too far. What is too much.

You gently take the sketch book out of his hands, and he places the little pencil case on top of it. "Nah don't mention it, thought ye might enjoy having something to do that isn’t just working." You feel your cheeks warm up a bit at the call out.

Your teeth latches onto your lower lip, your eyebrows furrowing along with it to create the difficult expression. He looks so excited about this gift. It sometimes feels a little like having a dog standing in front of you, his tail wagging excitedly at the mere possibility of you showing even a hint of approval.

"Just think of it as an early Christmas gift."

You can see why Simon has taken a liking to him. When you first meet him, he's an imposing figure. Even if he puts his good side forward, there's an underlying darkness. A thing you haven't been able to dig out of him yet, but you can see it in the way he moves, in the way he carries himself through social situations.

It's no doubt to you that every single one of the men living under this roof have a deadly touch. They've killed, and they'd kill again if they were ordered to it. It makes you wonder what their moral compass is like. How far is too far. Would they have done what you did, if they were in your position?

Would they understand.

Whatever Simon was put through it had been rough on him, enough to confine himself to a mask. John seemed understanding of him. He always seemed understanding of the things around him. He cared for things. He took care of things, even if that is in his own ways. You watch him love Simon like it's the easiest thing in the world. It's a quiet love, barred behind closed doors for safety but it's there. You see it, in their actions.

You wish you could be like that. Take responsibility in the same way. You've never loved normally, and part of you is sure you never will. Your love is an obsession. It's an all-consuming sickness, burrowing itself in the cavity of your chest. You are an all-consuming idea. You lick your tongue over bloodied ribs, you sink teeth into the heart. Your touch leaves marks and scrapes, that will hurt and destroy.

There's no part of you that should be loved in the way John loves Simon. Yet you crave that attention so viscerally, you'd do anything for it, to be the object of someone's eye once again.

"Thank you..." the words are quiet but it still makes him smile.

"Do show me what ye come up with, ah have a feeling inspiration will strike when it's just right" he speaks like he knows. He's so sure of himself, that you almost believe him just from that. He's the smart type, he'll figure it out.

He'll figure it out.

You shake your head. He won't unless you give him or any of the rest any reason to suspect anything. So far, you're just a weirdo, right?

"Yeah, I will," you try to give him an easy-going smile. Your thoughts should stay on the goal ahead. Whatever this dinner will bring, you have an objective now.

"Do we have to?" you turn away from their front door to face John again. You had gone along this far without complaint. The event of the evening hadn't seemed so daunting before you were standing Infront of the Evans family's lusciously decorated front door.

The first sign of their religion already came at the first glance. The giant cross put in the middle, surrounded by decorated plants and Christmas reds and greens.

"Yes, we do, and ye know that" he says with a soft chuckle, yet he remains still with you in front of the door.

"We could turn around now, Price doesn't have to know, there's a market in town we're just as likely to get information there than here." You aren't sure why exactly you're trying to convince him, when you're well aware you aren't getting out of this without the use of force. Which is definitely not ideal either.

He shakes his head, an amused smile flashing your way. "Price'll know, trust me he always somehow knows," he speaks from experience.

"It'll be over before ye know it, and we can always go to the market afterwards if ye'd like that," he offers as a middle ground. As if it was about the market in the first place.

You lean forward to press their doorbell with a sigh. If you were quick enough you could find the signs and leave. The shallow hope resides in your chest like an anchor to reality. You knew it wouldn't happen, not the way you wanted it to.

You take a step back when Mrs. Evans opens the door with half a squeal to make you wince. Her smile is so bright it borders something disturbing. "Oh my goodness, it's so good to see you two! Come in, come in!" she exclaims.

You step inside, giving her a soft smile and the friendliest greeting you can think of. Anything to make you come across as normal and not an anxious lunatic. She's wearing a beautiful floral print dress reaching down to her ankles, her hair done up in braids tucked into a bun.

Your hands twitch, muscle memory settling into your reflexes as you remember. The younger ones had loved that type of hair. You had been the best at doing it.

The signs will be subtle but they will be there

The Father's voice echo within your head as you step into the foyer.

I never abandon my children to the dark

The inside of their home is almost as obnoxious as their loud front door. Everything is Christmas times a hundred, but only the right kind. The one that praises God, the holy, the pure.

"Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Evans" you give her your best crafted smile. She clasps her hands together and gives you one in return.

"Oh please, I always make it a point to acquaint myself with anyone new. So few come all the way out to our lovely little community, it's a blessing to see good new faces, and I told Frank you two make such a cute couple I couldn't resist inviting you over and getting to know you!"

You freeze at that. Couple? You hadn't said anything about that. Had John...you give him a look but he doesn't look back at you, his eyes focused on Mrs. Evans.

"And we're glad you did, we're both happy that the community is so welcoming, we were a bit worried at first," John doesn't correct her. Is he being serious right now. Did he really tell her that the two of you were together. What in the world was he thinking. What about Simon.

"Please, take off your shoes, settle in settle in! Make yourself at home," she encourages the both of you. There's little time to reflect on his choice, and even less to scold him about it. For now, you'll just have to play along, pretend as if you know what in the world she's talking about.

You discard your shoes and jacket in their rightful places, keep a respectful distance from most things in their foyer to avoid accidentally knocking over the copious number of trinkets they've got out on display.

"I hope you like roasted pork," she leads you into the living room where the warmth of the roaring fireplace encloses around you. "My husband made sure to get the best from the market this morning."

"It smells delicious, I'm sure you're a lovely cook" John stands closer to her. She giggles and waves him off with a bashful expression.

"Oh please, I'm just fine but you'll get a taste for yourself soon enough."

They've got a tree out, ornaments putting it in a white and golden light. Each one engraved with something. It's too small to read. Drawings around the room, done in crayon and childish paint, hung on the spaces on the walls.

John makes small talk with Mrs. Evans, some of relevance some not. It all becomes white noise as your eyes dart around the room. A pet bowl stands near the entrance to the kitchen, it's empty. Paintings of moments of importance from the scriptures are hung neatly on the walls. You recognize most of them, while a few are vaguer for your imagination.

"Excuse me," you try to be as polite as you can butting into their conversation. "Where's your bathroom?" you gesture awkwardly around the room with your hand.

"Oh! Just down the hall sweetie, the first door on your right" Mrs. Evans points back out towards the hallway you had gone through. You thank her, before retreating back out there. Away from the prying eyes of hers.

The hallway is almost worse than the living room. Decorations are splayed about, and it's probably the most visually interesting thing you've come across. Overstimulating almost. You come to a stop Infront the circular mirror, you ignore it in favour of directing your interest towards the display on the little table in front.

It's been decorated in many different colours, plants, pine, ornaments and Christmas cards. All of them coded in some way with the scriptures or religious practice that's been taught to them. Your hand traces over the little ornament, the words hollowing out inside your mind. Reactivating prayers that lay dormant.

'Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart - Proverbs 3:3'

You know words of prayer by heart. You've spent countless nights reciting them, practicing them, committing them to memory so you could receive a reward morning come.

And then you had spent countless nights crying them out in a prayer for help, for rescue. You had spent countless restless nights turning your throat raw, screaming to a god that never actually listened.

This home is oversaturated with them.

There's truth to be found in them, one you pretend to no longer care for. You walk further down the hallway, inspecting every ornament, every inscription. All the little signs that could distinguish this home from a loving religious household, to one that does the bidding of the collective.

There has to be signs. Tiny little things. Anything at all that can lead you towards the presence of The Father, of your home. He rarely goes anywhere without doing so, to lead his rightful children back to where they belong, no matter how far out they might have gone.

It was a lesson he taught you early on.

There'll always be a place for you in my arms.

The shadows still take his face, and use his voice. They still taunt you despite how much you try to fight it. You think they might not even stop if you were to finally give in to them.

You come to an open door. A child's bed room. It's clad in golds and pinks, blending together in the context of a princess design. The little kid is there too, her golden hair almost shining in the big lamp light above. A halo around her head. She's pure.

She would be so easily corruptible.

"Are you mommy's guest?" she doesn't seem nervous at all. "Oh! Do you wanna see my toys? Mommy says I can get more for Christmas!"

Let her be innocent. Please. Let her be free of it.

You walk closer wordlessly. An easy smile settles on your lips, exactly how you used to do with the young. "Yeah, those are some cool toys" you try to mimic her tone of excitement. "Are they new?"

You settle down onto your knees next to her. Her toys keep the same colours scheme as her room, except for a few baby blues and greens. She excitedly shows you her favourite.

You're careful not to touch her as she drags you through her collection of colourful ponies. She's too young. Let her be too young to know.

He starts young.

Let her be too young.

Your eyes search her body for scars, bruises, any mark at all but find nothing but the smooth skin you envied. "Do you go to church often little one?" you ask and settled down on the floor next to her in a more comfortable position.

"Mhm! It's a bit boring sometimes though, don't tell mommy I said that," she snickers and puts a finger over her mouth.

"Have you ever wanted more out of it?"

She shrugs barely interested in your words, clearly boring her about just as much as the lectures she would find within the church. You reach out, grab her arm with a force that gets her eyes to widen.

"Deus spes nostra," your eyes bore into hers searching for even the tiniest sign of recognition within her.

You spoke a tiny prayer within your mind, let her be innocent, let her be free.

"Deus lux mea est."

Your stomach sinks, your eyes searching for the source standing in the open doorway. She couldn't be much older than you had been. She had the same expression you would wear back then, masked by the anxiety swimming in your gut.

The family has two daughters.

The little one, uninterested in the religious practice being thrust upon her as she grows. She'll change her mind as she gets older, turn to the so-called light stained by the blood red sky above her.

And the older one.

He's raising a new angel.

It's the only thing that makes sense. A new angel to take the place you left hollow when you fled. He's starting from the bottom up, creating something better, something stronger. And by how she stares you down from across the table, it wouldn't be crazy to think she knows of you.

You can only pray she would keep her mouth shut. That she wouldn't alert your presence to anyone of importance. Or you could dispose of her. The plan formulates all too quickly in the back of your brain, how you'd do it, what you'd do with the corpse afterwards, the explanations of your absence to the team.

Depending on how deep in her training she is, you're unsure whether it's a fight you want to pick alone. She's so much younger than you, inexperienced but fresher without the pains of a weakened body.

"Love, could you pass me the salt?"

You freeze, your head whipping to John in surprise. Despite the agreed cover you hadn't expected him to pull out anything extra. Was that really needed? As if Mrs. Evans hadn't already fussed over the two of you enough.

"Yeah..." you pick up the salt and pass it to him. Your eyes leaving the new angel.

"Are the two of you settling in well?" Mrs. Evans speaks up clear startling her youngest. "I know the valley can be difficult to get accustomed to especially this time of year!"

She has a faux type of energy that rubs you the wrong way.

"We're settling in just fine, kind of you to worry" John responds with optimism. How does these people not rub him the wrong way, can't he see it? Or is he just that much better at masking it than you are. Likely it's the latter and it doesn't help your annoyance.

"Ah it's nothing, gotta look out for the young love in our community" her knife squeaks against her plate when she cuts a piece of meat. It hurts your ears. The table itself is clad in imperfect white frills, candles in the middle, surrounded by fruits, potatoes and meat galore.

"Isn't that right honey?" she elbows her husband in the arm. His eyes have been glued his plate since you took a seat. He's barely eaten a thing. When he doesn't answer her, she clears her throat and nudges him again.

"Mh..yeah."

She lets out an awkward little laugh, her uncomfortable stature satisfies something in you. John smiles unsure towards her as he takes another bite of his own food.

"Oh, darling you've barely eaten a thing? Do you feel ill?" Mrs. Evans directs her attention to you when she doesn't get the response she's looking for. You mentally curse out the man of the house for not taking up her conversation.

"No, I'm alright, just had a big lunch that's all" you give her your best attempt at a disarming smile. Let her buy it. Don't dig.

You pick up your fork and pick up the piece of meat you had cut for yourself. It doesn't go down easy. The heat burns your tongue, and the texture drags in your throat. It settles wrong in your stomach.

"It's such a good thing the two of you decided to come to church! The community is always so excited over newcomers, I'm sure you'll make lots of friends in due time." You have to give it to her, her excitement seems as genuine as it gets. Whatever lays beneath, she believes in it wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, we're happy to have found it so receptive. We have a lot to learn from a tight knit community like this, but I'm sure there's only good things to come. We've also been thinking about expanding our horizons, attend some things more than just the Sunday mass." John replies in an excited tone. He's good at mimicking the interest in their practice, but you suppose it's not entirely fabricated.

"Oh but of course! You absolutely need to come by Wednesday when the choir practices. My own two girls are apart of it, and they've got the most angelic little voices, do you not?" she glances towards them with hope in her eyes.

The little one smiles bright at you, nodding along rapidly to what her mother is telling. The elder remains quiet. "They both work so hard too! I mean you should have seen it when they first started, a bit uncoordinated but they sharpened up quickly. A few private lessons and it put them right on track with the others!"

She sounds proud.

Her happiness disgusts you.

The daughters are silent listening on to their mother singing their praises on a topic they'd clearly rather avoid. It's in their faces, even the younger one, the distaste, the compliance. The new angel still has her eyes on you, ever focused on your moves, your expressions, your reactions. She's too observant for your liking.

You make a mental note to ask Laswell for any and all information on this family, on her.

There'll be plenty of work to do once you go home from this. You doubt you'll get much sleep. You only hope your sleep deprived state won't cause you too much trouble, and that the 4 men living under the same room won't make too many comments. You got voices enough in your head to listen to.

The rest of the dinner is spent observing the family's dynamic, marking off mental notes of their reactions to one another. You've got down the mother’s devotion, the daughters forced contribution, the father’s detachment to the world around him as if nothing matters to him anymore.

He's been here

This place is filthy with his prints

He's planted the seeds and they've taken root deep within them

"Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Evans. It was delicious."

"Oh, don't mention it Mr. Mctavish, it was my pleasure to host the two of you" she gushes as you move out the front door and back into the snowy town. John follows close behind, his hand holding tightly onto yours as if to keep you in check, so you don't go running off prematurely.

You guess he still doesn't fully trust you after your little stunt.

"We'll see you in church on Sunday! Stay safe now," Mrs. Evans waves you off and closes her front door with a prominent click.

You let out a deep sigh, finally being out of there. "You did good," John says and gives you a smile. His hand is still in yours, a warm weight you don't feel like letting go just yet. Luckily, he doesn't seem to want to either as he tugs on your arm to walk in tow.

You let him lead you, tugging your jacket further around yourself. "So are you not a fan of family dinners at all, or was that just as intense as it felt like back there," John says with a chuckle. You a crack a smile of your own. You could still feel your muscles tense state, at least you hadn't been completely alone in it.

"Would you believe me if I said both," there's amusement in your voice bordering a reciprocal chuckle. He looks to you with a fonder smile.

"Yeah."

His attention is taken off of you again when you hear the faint music down the street. Christmas carols, songs of joy. It seems to spark interest in him as he quickly changes course.

The closer you get the more extravagant the decorations around town seem to become. Fairy lights are hung from house to house, and across streets, becoming shimmering lights above you, like golden stars in the night sky to guide you to where you're meant to be.

"It's beautiful..." your voice is but a whisper, staring up at the marvel. A rough hand comes to graze against your jaw. The hand that isn't holding yours guide your eyes to the bigger display at the centre of the upcoming square, the giant tree in the middle, the band in front of it playing songs for a dancing crowd.

His hand squeezes yours, making you look down. His thumb rubs soothing motions over your skin, like it's meant to be there. Your eyes trail back up to his face, but he isn't watching you. No, that amused face is captivated by your surroundings. There's something unmistakably beautiful about him in this kind of lighting, and you count yourself blessed enough to be allowed to see it before your end.

Your teeth clench together as your mind drifts back to the dinner. The one question you want to ask lies on the tip of your tongue, and before you can stop yourself.

"John back there why did you make us a couple, we could've been anything to them you didn't have to-" you bite down on your tongue, looking away from him as his eyes come back to you.

"It was the first thing that came to mind, didn't think it would bother ye that much." John is quick to respond, his concern edging into his tone. You swallow uncomfortably, and the hand that lies in yours suddenly feels wrong, like rubbing your hand on a cheese grater.

"But you and Simon..."

"He doesn't mind."

Your brows furrow, because what does he mean he doesn't mind. He should mind. He should really, really mind.

"But-"

"Dance with me."

He comes to stand in front of you, blocking the view of the spectacle ahead and becoming the new one instead. Light shines around him like he was sent from the heavens, a beacon for you to follow. The workings within your mind are dangerous, the connections they start to make.

"What?"

"Dance with me." He's steadfast not taking no for an answer as he gently grabs your other hand and moulds you into the right position. He doesn't start right away, waits for your muscles to relax, for the surprise on your face to morph into something different.

Then he leads you, and you follow.

You haven't danced much in your life if at all, and it shows in your clumsy movements, in the way you look down at your feet as to not step on his. He doesn't say a word, not a single complaint is heard. He spins you around with a soft smile on his lip, hums along with the tune of the song in the back.

It takes you half the song but you start to grow more confident, your steps more bold, more assured. A smile cracks out on your own lips, and when he spins you around again you can't help the laughter that crackles from your throat, the tickling in your body.

"You don't have to worry so much you know," he whispers close to your ear, your back to his front.

"We've got you."

He spins you back around, guides your steps until you've successfully danced yourself over to the rest of the moving crowd. His hand finds a resting place on your waist, the other one aiding you to make sure you stay in place. Your steps become unsteady, trying to not bump into people but he doesn't let go. He doesn't let you fall.

You don't know what changed for you that day, but later on you've come to realize, the feelings within you have morphed into something else, and whether you liked it or not, they would continue down that path. It's too late to walk away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @haipasa @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @kaoyamamegami @ellabellabunny123 @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @lilynotdilly

#the divine violence #anomalyfiction #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader

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credulouscanidae · 1 year ago

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every day i live in a passive limbo, waiting for the moment i suddenly feel better and can confront my anxiety, paranoia, and loneliness.

i feel like i have been shattered, and left in pieces with no glue to be put back together.

every day my existentialism and history of being gaslit dominates my brain and i can never make sense of my thoughts and feelings. i am constantly second-guessing myself, and implanting intentions that weren't previously there. i feel like i am required to have constant self-awareness, and to not have so means that i am Obviously Insane and Unsalvagable.

people on the outside would think im just a very holistic thinking person. which is true, and can be a good thing. but honestly? it's detrimental to how i perceive myself. i cannot unabashedly live in the moment of anything. i am, by default, viewing myself from a third person perspective in a hyper critical way. i feel afraid to fall into any category of people or labels, because to claim anything about myself is felt to either be a lie, a mockery of people who are "really" that thing, or it's attention seeking (which of course is the worst thing you could ever do right?)

even claiming to be existential causes a fear and anxiety that i am being pretentious or not self aware that it's a very human experience. my detachment from the world, my trauma, my existentialism, none of it is important or matters because others experience it too.

i cannot begin to describe what gaslighting does to the brain.

what it's done to me.

i dont even wanna claim ive become very isolated because others also experience it. id say the lockdowns from 2020-2021 triggered this, but i think more and more and realise that i wouldve done this when my mum died, or even earlier had i not had a confident person with friends take me under their wing.

i feel my whole life has come into question. i feel like my old home, my old life, my friends and pet and loved ones, dont exist anymore. i feel like im a dead person, looking back on their life and realising who i really was. all the mistakes and inconsiderate behaviours i ever done. it just fuels the fire of the gaslit brain.

everything i ever do or feel is a contradiction. i dont matter to others, but i also have more of an impact on others than i realise. the impact i have matters more than what im ever feeling, and for me to not be self aware of that clearly demonstrates how selfish and horrible i truly am.

maybe it's why people think im such a giving, non-judgemental, and sweet person. im not. im angry. im subjugated. im frightened. like a deer in the headlights, i have no choice. im easygoing and agreeable because i am scared of disagreeing or giving my thoughts through normal debate. because doing so in the past has caused assumptions about me, or intentions skewed or created. my words did not matter, but also they did.

i dont know how to just. start talking to people again. i have been given advice from people who have dealt with isolation but. i know the secret is to challenge yourself and do things even when you dont feel ready, because youll never feel ready, but how? i have lost so much. i dont have the support i need to do something so brave. because i am a coward who avoids and runs away. thats probably manipulative for me to do anyway. ive dug myself into a hole i cant climb out of. ive literally made it worse for myself for no reason. and now i cant even face the consequences of my own inaction.

but why would i wish for people to be there for me when i cant even be there for them? i know i would be there for them, in a heartbeat, but i cannot right now. thats selfish and manipulative to say i guess but. it's not fair that others dont get considered as a result of me not considering myself. mental illness makes you selfish. it makes you not a good friend.

i want to be a real friend.

dont wanna break when i bend.

.....

i have a therapist im gonna be seeing every 2 weeks. if this doesnt work out, then idk what i'll do. i have settled for the most part, and when life feels good, when my roots are grounding and growing in england, it feels good. i dont have many friends here, but i am happy with my partner and his friends, but it feels like i have so many loose ends and a life i have left behind that i cant face. and i am guilty when i experience happiness, let alone share it. because that doesnt align with my narrative that im suffering. which i am, but, i am also trying to survive and live in the life i currently have.

i guess that's what happens to the gaslit brain.

but i have to believe things will get better.

because if i don't

then what?

#life of doge #negative rtshrthrth #tw for abuse or gaslighting or whatever #idk why im posting this this is such a traumadump im sorry #its long and self pitying im sorry

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conditionaljewel · 2 years ago

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It’s Trans DOV and tbh I’ve been largely isolated the last three years.

Much of that is pandemic driven, instilling a slight paranoia of large gatherings and enclosed spaces for a while, but more recently it’s been the rhetoric surrounding trans folks, and trans folks in Florida in particular, where I live.

I don’t need to tell y’all it sucks here. But with my constant anxiety and heightened paranoia due to ptsd and past traumas, I’ve largely become a hermit. Not particularly visible, cuz I dont trust anyone these days. Not down here. No way.

I wish it were different but I don’t even know that being further along in my transition would make me feel safer, I just know that things need to change internally *and* externally if I’m ever gonna feel safe and comfortable in public. Until then, I’m gonna remain pretty closed off from society and self contained.

I’m happy and glad for the folks who are visible today and everyday and while my visibility ebbs and flows, just know that I always see y’all and I love y’all and I’m proud of you 🏳️‍⚧️💖

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writingnotes520 · 30 days ago

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I realized that I haven't posted much about my OCs, and that I've had these ref sheets for a while but never shared them, so here they are!!

All of them except Elinora are from Gesyrei, the alternate world where the story takes place. Elinora is the main protagonist, but this is the group she ends up adventuring with for the rest of the story :D

More info under the cut :)

Elinora Roscoe - Main protagonist, usually goes by Nora. She's fourteen when the story starts. At its core, once all the fantasy is taken out of it, the story is meant to be about mental health and how these characters navigate their problems. Nora has generalized anxiety disorder and autism.

Olwen Sleetfall - Despite putting Oulwir on the reference sheet as his country of origin, Olwen was born in the U.S., but his family moved back to Gesyrei when he was around six years old. Olwen is an igrasilv, a creature native to Gesyrei's cold climates and all with the same connection to Location. This allows him to teleport and know exactly where he is at all times, but due to Location being a hot energy, it's not always safe for the cold-bodied species to use this ability, as overusing it can cause a variety of effects, from high fever to heat stroke. Past traumas caused Olwen to develop depression and paranoia, which he tries to hide behind the typical sunshine character smile, but can't conceal forever.

Volych Fytenni - Fun-loving and mischievous, Volych has a flair for the dramatic that reveals itself pretty quickly once you get to know him. His curiosity tends to get the best of him, which is what leads him into the story in the first place as he investigates the mysterious death of his father, whose ghost he can't seem to reach despite inheriting his ability to talk to spirits. Volych doesn't have many friends, and most of the companions he does have are ghosts, but if he doesn't think too hard about how sad that actually makes him, he's pretty content with it! Volych has ADHD and is prone to mood swings, but much like Olwen, he tries to repress how he really feels in favor of a happy facade.

Ronatia Orreales - The way she sees it, she's the brains of the group. And she'd be right. Were it not for her wings that signal otherwise, many would guess she's connected to Knowledge. But that's just one side of Ronatia. Her head and heart don't always agree, and while she tries to follow her logic, she can't always do that. Sometimes her feelings win, and when that happens, she's a whole storm of emotions that she can't understand, from loving people she wants to hate to having problems with how she perceives herself. Despite what others may say about her being pretty, she doesn't fit Hynolxel's beauty standard, and so the idea that she's ugly has been ingrained into her perception of herself.

Whinestra Admuris - With how ironically unpredictable her life has been up until this point, Whinestra prefers to focus on what's true and unchanging. They're afraid of change, but life has pushed her through being neglected, having to run away, and getting a prophecy that meant they'd have to stay in constant motion. She's been staying in the Asilthean Hotel, known for being infused with the energy of Location that allows it to move places every night, for years after being told by another Time connector that she'd stay in one place for so long, it'd be their downfall. She's terrified of what's coming next, but can't look into the future about it, since those with the power of Time cannot see their own fates. The friends they've made never stayed for long, as most of them were just temporary tourists at the hotel, so when the main group comes along, she's glad to have people they can hang out with again, even if she knows they're likely going to be leaving soon.

#my ocs #writers on tumblr

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mylifewithptsd123 · 4 months ago

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Hyperarousal

Ah hyperarousal: the constant feeling of being on edge. Jittery, on the lookout for disaster, irritability, quick to anger, startled by loud noises, difficulty sleeping, inability to concentrate on one thing... they list paranoia but I think that in my situation there have been genuine reasons to feel threatened. Obviously, over time, this will exhaust someone. I know I shouldn't be surprised at this point by how people behave because in basically every job I've been at I've been running around with clear symptoms of PTSD and all people do is distance themselves. I am so angry all of the time. The hyperaware, hyperalert thing benefitted me in a chaotic workplace, but goddamn it, where the fuck is everyone when you finally can't take it anymore.

Physical Signs:

Restlessness: Constantly fidgeting, pacing, or being unable to sit still.

Exaggerated Startle Response: Jumping or reacting strongly to unexpected sounds, movements, or touches.

Difficulty Sleeping: Trouble falling asleep or staying asleep due to feeling "on edge" or hypervigilant.

Physical Tension: Tight muscles, clenched jaw, or headaches caused by chronic stress.

Racing Heart: Increased heart rate, shallow breathing, or sweating even in calm situations.

Well, I constantly fidget, can't sit still, am constantly looking for things to do, cannot relax... the startle reaction at this point has just become embarrassing and slowly debilitating the context of not being able to be in loud places or go cycling near traffic. As for sleeping, I don't even remember a time where I could sleep properly... The physical tension thing is funny because for a long time I could ignore it but my teeth are pretty much falling out of my head from clenching and I have been to physio and a special dentist for the insane jaw pain... nevermind the chronic life-long neck pain. Headaches? Constant and severe. The stomach pain. And as for the breathing, I am constantly being told to relax and that all my muscles are stiff and that I don't breathe deeply or properly.

Emotional Signs:

Irritability: Becoming easily annoyed or angered, often over minor triggers.

Anxiety or Panic: Persistent feelings of unease or episodes of acute fear and panic.

Hypervigilance: Constantly scanning the environment for threats, feeling unsafe even in secure settings.

Overwhelm: Struggling to manage multiple stimuli, such as noise, crowds, or conflict.

I definitely became more annoyed and angered towards the end there... maybe it's always there but I bottle it up and then don't say the right thing to the right people and let it simmer. Anxiety is chronic. I cannot remember a time without fear. Constantly scan for threats, which is all I see now... cars, bicycles, heights... not sure why I always worry about physical injury considering I never really have been physically injured... and yet feel no threats late at night or alone... as for overwhelm... for a long time I was completely fine... high levels of stress management... and then eventually I melted down and cannot handle anything.

Cognitive and Behavioral Signs:

Trouble Concentrating: Difficulty focusing on tasks due to intrusive thoughts or being overly alert to the environment.

Reactivity to Triggers: Disproportionate responses to certain sounds, smells, or situations tied to past trauma.

Avoidance of Stimuli: Actively avoiding places or situations that might provoke hyperarousal, such as crowded spaces or confrontations.

Impulsivity or Aggression: Acting out of heightened emotional states, sometimes as a way to regain control.

Well, the trouble concentrating only happened towards the end... and the strong reactions... my bosses are genuinely cunts so... I honestly think my reactions were appropriate so fuck everyone. Avoiding people, I sure as fuck avoided my boss. I begged fo help constantly from HR.. Just utterly useless.

Examples in Daily Life:

Feeling startled and anxious when hearing a loud noise, such as a door slamming, and taking a long time to calm down.

Always needing to face the exit or monitor the room in social situations, feeling unsafe unless all variables are controlled.

Overreacting emotionally or physically to being touched unexpectedly, even by someone familiar.

Struggling to relax, constantly feeling as if "something bad is about to happen."

Avoiding sleep because of fear of nightmares or losing vigilance.

Yeah all of that. I always need to be able to escape. Feeling trapped is terrible for me. Sleeping, I finally figured out I stay up late because it's quiet and safe and then I get more and more worried as the night goes on because the threat of my dad freaking out loomed heavily. I don't know if the sleep thing is about losing vigilance but maybe.

Apparently you can only push through for so long before your body gives up. So that is where we are now. Everyone sucks, you can't depend on anyone.

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mindweasels · 2 years ago

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phases

PHASE 1

overwhelming sense that my brain and body are different from other humans in a way that they don't understand and (mostly) feel threatened/exhausted by

an internal monologue that seems divorced from my emotions or environment in any immediate way, and frequently conveys words and phrases that I don't agree with

moments of suicidal ideation, usually spurred on by this internal monologue making a case for why I should kill myself

lots of circular dialectical thoughts in my head. i.e. "humans are bad," "they're not all bad," "name one that isn't bad," "x isn't bad," "x harmed you in the following ways," "nothing is all good or bad really," "only humans think things are good or bad. That's why humans are bad." (that's an extremely simplified example. often they get into some 400 level philosophy stuff.)

increased feelings of sexual arousal and sexual attraction to socially inappropriate targets

PHASE 2

Feelings of worthlessness, rejection, shame.

Extreme physical pain and exhuastion.

Constant inner monologue saying "you should kill yourself. I want to kill myself," over and over. No longer divorced from my emotions.

Insomnia.

Crying. Amplified emotions.

Paranoid thoughts do arise but are still easily dismissed.

PHASE 3

Vision problems. Possible seizures?

No insomnia or crying (except during menstruation)

A distinct sense that there are two separate people sharing my body

Unbelievable non-stop horniness

There's a kind of euphoria. A bliss. Everything is meaningful all the time. I'm in love. It's like sex, 24/7.

A sort of pain in my abdomen, like yearning. More, more, infinitely more.

PHASE 4

Forgetfulness and disorientation

Non-stop euphoria. Never want it to end.

PHASE 5

Obsessive thoughts. Anxiety about whether I'm going crazy and whether I have "trauma." This: my whole life everyone - even my parents - put me in the "safe to fuck, but not safe to love" box. And I'm furious and hurt about that. When I first got close to Cristina, it seemed safe, because she's aromantic and an internet stranger, so… if she rejected me romantically, it could not possibly be my fault. Then she fell for Corinna. She gave Corinna everything I wanted. It could not be more clear that she was ready to fall in love, was looking for it in fandom spaces, and chose NOT ME. It hurt me in ways I never really came back from.

It's not safe for me to be romantically rejected, but its also not something 100% in my control. I don't know why people keep me at a distance. Maybe if I knew I could fix it. It seems like people enjoy falling in love with people who are withdrawn and mysterious, who don't talk much about themselves or their feelings. But that's not fun, is it? Being seen is so addictive.

PHASE 6

Disconnectedness from the concept of romantic love. Obsessive thoughts about power dynamics, trust, and transactions in relationships.

Socialization feels less purposeful and more like an error made in desperation. It is frequently followed by paranoia that I fucked up by reaching out or getting close to someone (because I have opened myself up to abuse or rejection.)

Greater feelings of delight and intimacy in physical objects, animals, etc.. ("Madame Lafleur")

PHASE 7

Forgetting the first five phases. Putting them out of my mind, until once again I crash into them when dealing with social rejection, loneliness, or shame.

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oliveroctavius · 3 years ago

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Do you have any neurodivergent headcannons for some spiderman characters in mind? In my headcannon I feel like Peter and flash give off some adhd vibes and MJ kinda comes off as autistic towards me which is nice.

ADHD Peter is practically canon as far as I can see. His greatest weakness is literally time management. He talks through his plans for the day out loud, he thinks best when he's physically active, and is chronically incapable of running errands without getting sidetracked.

I wouldn't be surprised if Peter's friends don't bother him about his double identity because they think he's autistic. He's an extreme loner (out of paranoia). He gets sensory overload (from his Spider-Sense). He's impatient, terse, and lost in his head (because he's under a massive amount of stress they don't know about). He's always making excuses to leave social or chaotic situations at random (and we know why that is.) Plus he's a science whiz—he has the perfect cover in just kind of being an asshole savant.

Speaking of asshole savants I don't think there's a single version of Doc Ock that's not autistic to some degree. "Octavius is a tortured soul oh he doesn't mean it" writing is bo-ring to me because I love him as a power fantasy/cautionary tale for a specific flavor of Autism Hubris. You know, the little voice in your head that says "human society is for fools, I'm too Secretly Genius for school, I should build a nuclear warhead in my basement"? SO relatable.

Peter seems to enjoy the responsiveness of Ock's absurdly loquacious counter-shit-talking. Maybe he is a little autistic.

You know what, screw it, Liz Allan autistic headcanon. She's so blunt and earnest and insistent and doesn't seem to care what others think of her. And I like her.

Deb Whitman definitely has something going on but I can't pin it down. Maybe it's just the trauma.

Dear Harry Osborn is an anxiety-ridden DSM alphabet soup but I usually stick with describing him as schizophrenic. Which, did you know that a common symptom is dyslexia-like reading/writing problems? That would explain why he was a struggling student even though he's pretty smart.

(snaps fingers) you know what. I just realized Peter has scrupulosity OCD. He's constantly dropping everything to perform a series of actions that will allow him to temporarily feel better about himself, to the point of constant self-injury. Pete for the love of god. THERAPY.

#anon #peter parker #doc ock #harry osborn #liz allan #meta #anon I'm also curious where you get autistic MJ vibes. I suppose she's very loud and talks strangely #but I never thought of that before probably just because past a certain highness of heels my brain assumes someone is allistic lol #this is making me ponder autism raimi!MJ though

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hishoukoku · 3 years ago

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hey, so feel free to ignore this, but i saw your blog is crazily active and you answered smth similar in the past

for some reason, I cannot get behind TGCF I cannot find Xie Lian realistic regarding his mental health.

As someone dealing with PTSD constantly I feel like mxtx has completely washed out his character. No one reacts like that especially in the grueling circumstances he was put through in his teenage years.

I feel like ultimately MXTX is romanticising his trauma especially by bringing hua cheng into the equation too.

Hey anon.

So, this is a pretty intricate subject and I don't feel like I can do it justice in a few words, so this might get a bit long.

I've read the book a few months back by now, but going through my personal interpretation and experience with this character I feel like MXTX did a fantastic job, in terms of him being realistic and identifiable as a person, despite the world around him being clearly not realistic.

We do know how 17 years old Xie Lian, his Highness the Crown Prince was someone boldly arrogant and naive or spoiled, yet he whitheld a proud, overly-idealistic sense of justice in terms of saving the common people.

But his ideals were brutally tested countless times as XianLe fell and as he was degrading from a proud, ignorant, spoiled, naive prince to someone who would rob and steal and despair and who'd ponder ruining his kingdom as he has no other alternatives.

Xie Lian encompasses a very realistic portrayal of what falling into anxiety and depression does. His overly paranoid sense of abandonment, his clinginess to friends back then and having to watch them leave, his paranoia and very low sense of self. These are always peppered throughout the entirety of the flashbacks and the present timeline.

Morevoer, Book 4 covers this exceedingly well, with him going throguh the absolute lowest moments of his life. the attempted suicide, the fact that he thoroughly believes he deserves to suffer all those consequeces, the cursed shackle being his own request, proving that he's ready to never be able to die and suffer the consequences for literally eternity.

Yet our main character is 800 years old by now. He's had a long long loooong time to desist and rationalize why his existance never forebodes well and why he's the god of misfortune, why this fate befell him and how it's equally because of the one who manipulated him and his own choices back then.

Xie Lian now (800years later) has always been presented as being broken and somewhat a defeatist when it comes to his own fate, he despises himself, he has a constant need to deflect everything with his self-deprecating sense of humour but he is someone who is still compulsively obsessed with saving the common people.

This is not only incredibly realistic but also very human of him. He makes a mess wherever he goes for the exact reason of not knowing any better, he's always indirectly affected by his past self. His descent back then was incredibly steep fast and he had little to no time to get accustomed to the absurdly difficult and grueling choices he had to make.

So now it's not that he's blissful or ignorant or uncaring. On the contrary, his fierce dettachment to his past self and utter disregard of his own safety, his stubborn persistence of holding on to his core values, are not him ignoring/"getting over" his trauma, it's him working through it, constantly and repeatedly over and over for 800 years and counting.

To sum up, there are 2 things which are unchanged with his character and those are:

- his core value: save the common people - albeit present XL upholds a more twisted toned down pragmatic version of it

and

- Hua Cheng. Since you mentioned him I wanted to touch up on it a bit.

Him showing up in different forms throughout his life as the only tangible life-guard, he's the only one teaching him exceedingly slowly but surely that he can allow himself to be happy and loved and cared for.

His cognitive dissonance regarding everything involving Hua Cheng is a direct result of how little he thinks he deserves that someone so all powerful and all perfect and handsoome would spare him any thought.

He doesn't allow himself to give in because he still doesn't think he deserves it and it takes a long time for him to start believing it. Proof that despite all the clues being there his cognitive dissonance wouldn't allow him to believe Hua Cheng (or anyone, but especially HC) would hold any emotion for such a lowly broken god. It took riddiculously much (but realistically so !) up until the confession scene for him to slowly piece things together that he finally allowed himself to believe that.

The fact that by the end Hua Cheng is the one who breaks his shackles is both literally and metaphorically proof that he's finally freed of his past self.

#sorry for the long rant #this is my take on it #i guess it turned into a xie lian analysis #tgcf meta #ishidareplies #anon #heaven official's blessing

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

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goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn’t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

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