#how bad is post traumatic stress disorder
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Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Is Quite Problematic
Angelic Light therapies for post-traumatic stress disorder are used by most of the patients in the present scenario. https://lightangelic.com/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-is-quite-problematic/
#how bad is post traumatic stress disorder#what are 3 causes of post traumatic stress disorder#how does a person with PTSD behave#what is the best treatment for PTSD
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I wonder how much it hurts him to lose touch with me now and I bet he blames it all on me saying I blame it all on the parents.
#when i called him to explain my absence during his hospital stay and told him about the ptsd and that im doing bad#he immediately said 'so who gave you this 'post traumatic stress disorder'?'#FUCKING DARIBG ME TO BLAME HIM#which is almost hilarious in how sad it is because outside of at home there's been a lot more and he doesn't know whatsoever#like hi dad ive been stalked twice! someone said he'd kill himself if i didnt fuck him! there's more still! wanna hear???
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MASTER POST OF PROSHIP RESOURCES!!! <3<3
this is just for links (bc i just have No Way of formatting this properly), so for more in-depth stuffs and credits, head to the google doc, or the carrd !! :3c
Fiction ≠ Reality
Violent media -
Does Media Violence Predict Societal Violence? It Depends on What You Look at and When
Video Game Violence Use Among “Vulnerable” Populations: The Impact of Violent Games on Delinquency and Bullying Among Children with Clinically Elevated Depression or Attention Deficit Symptoms
Extreme metal music and anger processing
On the Morality of Immoral Fiction: Reading Newgate Novels, 1830–1848
How gamers manage aggression: Situating skills in collaborative computer games
Examining desensitization using facial electromyography:Violent videogames, gender, and affective responding
'Bad' video game behavior increases players' moral sensitivity
Fiction and Morality: Investigating the Associations Between Reading Exposure, Empathy, Morality, and Moral Judgment
Comfortably Numb or Just Yet Another Movie? Media Violence Exposure Does Not Reduce Viewer Empathy for Victims of Real Violence Among Primarily Hispanic Viewers
Fantasy Crime: The Criminalisation of Fantasy Material Under Australia's Child Abuse Material Legislation
Being able to distinguish fiction from reality -
Effects of context on judgments concerning the reality status of novel entities
Children’s Causal Learning from Fiction: Assessing the Proximity Between Real and Fictional Worlds
Reality/Fiction Distinction and Fiction/Fiction Distinction during Sentence Comprehension
Reality = Relevance? Insights from Spontaneous Modulations of the Brain’s Default Network when Telling Apart Reality from Fiction
How does the brain tell the real from imagined?
Meeting George Bush versus Meeting Cinderella: The Neural Response When Telling Apart What is Real from What is Fictional in the Context of Our Reality
loli/shota/kodocon -
If I like lolicon, does it mean I’m a pedophile? A therapist’s view
Virtual Child Pornography, Human Trafficking and Japanese Law: Pop Culture, Harm and Legal Restrains
Lolicon: The Reality of ‘Virtual Child Pornography’ in Japan
Report: cartoon paedophilia harmless
‘The Lolicon Guy:’ Some Observations on Researching Unpopular Topics in Japan
Robot Ghosts And Wired Dreams Japanese Science Fiction From Origins To Anime [pg 227-228]
Australia's "child abuse material' legislation, internet regulation and the juridification of the imaginationjuridification of the imagination [pg 14-15]
Multiple Orientations as Animating Misdelivery: Theoretical Considerations on Sexuality Attracted to Nijigen (Two-Dimensional) Objects
Positive Impact on Mental Health
Art therapy -
The effectiveness of art therapy for anxiety in adults: A systematic review of randomised and non-randomised controlled trials
Efficacy of Art Therapy in Individuals With Personality Disorders Cluster B/C: A Randomized Controlled Trial
Effectiveness of Art Therapy With Adult Clients in 2018 - What Progress Has Been Made?
Benefits of Art Therapy in People Diagnosed With Personality Disorders: A Quantitative Survey
The Effectiveness of Art Therapy in the Treatment of Traumatized Adults: A Systematic Review on Art Therapy and Trauma
The clinical effectiveness and current practice of art therapy for trauma
Writing therapy -
Optimizing the perceived benefits and health outcomes of writing about traumatic life events
Expressive writing and post-traumatic stress disorder: Effects on trauma symptoms, mood states, and cortisol reactivity
Focused expressive writing as self-help for stress and trauma
Putting Stress into Words: The Impact of Writing on Physiological, Absentee, and Self-Reported Emotional Well-Being Measures
The writing cure: How expressive writing promotes health and emotional well-being
Effects of Writing About Traumatic Experiences: The Necessity for Narrative Structuring
Scriptotherapy: The effects of writing about traumatic events
Emotional and physical benefits of expressive writing
Emotional and Cognitive Processing in Sexual Assault Survivors' Narratives
Finding happiness in negative emotions: An experimental test of a novel expressive writing paradigm
An everyday activity as treatment for depression: The benefits of expressive writing for people diagnosed with major depressive disorder
Writing about emotional experiences as a therapeutic process
Effects of expressive writing on sexual dysfunction, depression, and PTSD in women with a history of childhood sexual abuse: Results from a randomized clinical trial
Written Emotional Disclosure: Testing Whether Social Disclosure Matters
Written emotional disclosure: A controlled study of the benefits of expressive writing homework in outpatient psychotherapy
Misc -
Emotional disclosure about traumas and its relation to health: Effects of previous disclosure and trauma severity
Treating complex trauma in adolescents: A phase-based integrative approach for play therapists
Emotional expression and physical health: Revising traumatic memories or fostering self-regulation?
Disclosure of Sexual Victimization: The Effects of Pennebaker's Emotional Disclosure Paradigm on Physical and Psychological Distress
Kink/Porn/Fantasies
Sexual fantasies -
A Critical Microethnographic Examination of Power Exchange, Role Idenity and Agency with Black BDSM Practitioners
Women's Rape Fantasies: An Empirical Evaluation of the Major Explanations
History, culture and practice of puppy play
What Exactly Is an Unusual Sexual Fantasy?
The Psychology of Kink: a Survey Study into the Relationships of Trauma and Attachment Style with BDSM Interests
Punishing Sexual Fantasy
Women's Erotic Rape Fantasies
Sexual Fantasy and Adult Attunement: Differentiating Preying from Playing
What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission
Dark Fantasies, Part 1 - With Dr. Ian Kerner
Why Do Women Have Rape Fantasies
The 7 Most Common Sexual Fantasies and What to Do About Them
Sexual Fantasies
Pornography -
The Effects of Exposure to Virtual Child Pornography on Viewer Cognitions and Attitudes Toward Deviant Sexual Behavior
American Identities and Consumption of Japanese Homoerotica
The differentiation between consumers of hentai pornography and human pornography
Pornography Use and Holistic Sexual Functioning: A Systematic Review of Recent Research
Claiming Public Health Crisis to Regulate Sexual Outlets: A Critique of the State of Utah's Declaration on Pornography
Pornography and Sexual Dysfunction: Is There Any Relationship?
Reading and Living Yaoi: Male-Male Fantasy Narratives as Women's Sexual Subculture in Japan
Women's Consumption of Pornograpy: Pleasure, Contestation, and Empowerment
Pornography and Sexual Violence
The Sunny Side of Smut
Other -
Fantasy Sexual Material Use by People with Attractions to Children
Fictosexuality, Fictoromance, and Fictophilia: A Qualitative Study of Love and Desire for Fictional Characters
Exploring the Ownership of Child-Like Sex Dolls
Are Sex and Pornograpy Addiction Valid Disorders? Adding a Leisure Science Perspecive to the Sexological Critique
Littles: Affects and Aesthetics in Sexual Age-Play
An Exploratory Study of a New Kink Activity: "Pup Play"
Jaws Effect
The Jaws Effect: How movie narratives are used to influence policy responses to shark bites in Western Australia
The Shark Attacks That Were the Inspiration for Jaws
The Great White Hope (written by Peter Benchley, writer of Jaws)
The Jaws Myth [not a study BUT is an interesting read and provides some links to articles and studies]
Slenderman Stabbings
Out Came the Girls: Adolescent Girlhood, the Occult, and the Slender Man Phenomenon
Jury in Slender Man case finds Anissa Weier was mentally ill, will not go to prison
2nd teen in 'Slender Man' stabbing case to remain in institutional care for 40 years
Negative effects of online harassment
How stressful is online victimization? Effects of victim's personality and properties of the incident
Prevalence, Psychological Impact, and Coping of Cyberbully Victims Among College Students
Offline Consequences of Online Victimization
The Relative Importance of Online Victimization in Understanding Depression, Delinquency, and Substance Use
Internet trolling and everyday sadism: Parallel effects on pain perception and moral judgement
The MAD Model of Moral Contagion: The Role of Motivation, Attention, and Design in the Spread of Moralized Content Online
Morally Motivated Networked Harassment as Normative Reinforcement
When Online Harassment is Perceived as Justified
Violence on Reddit Support Forums Unique to r/NoFap
"It Makes Me, A Minor, Uncomfortable" Media and Morality in Anti-Shippers' Policing of Online Fandom
#proship#profic#proshippers please interact#pro ship#profiction#anti anti#proship please interact#pro fic#🏁🎸
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KISS ME ONE MORE TIME
pairing . . . percy jackson x fem!mortal!reader
the cassette playing . . . waiting room! phoebe bridgers
the letter reads . . . perseus jackson was supposed to die at 16, not get a girlfriend who he could break.
warnings . . . angst, cursing ( slightly ), slight nsfw ( making out ), ptsd ( post-traumatic stress disorder ), survivor's guilt, mention of suicidal thoughts
a/n . . . hi guys! sorry it took me a little more than what I said to get it published, I got an emergency and didn't have time to work on it (everything is alright 🫡) I REALLY liked how this turned out, I love the son trio SOSOSO much so of course I had to give them a little mention, hope you all enjoy it!! actual part 2 is on the way, I promise :pp also, this doesn't really follow the canon, so just fyi!!
a continuation of this . . .
percy jackson knew he loved you the moment he laid his eyes on yours.
because they were pretty, full of light and happiness, two orbes made out of pure beauty that were protected by soft eyelashes.
and percy jackson was a sucker for pretty things. or he was a sucker for you in general, because every milestone he had given you with his hear full of hope (because, yes, he had saved a lot of his firsts for only you), or because for the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to want something for himself. only for him.
since he was twelve everything— everyone had told him he was going to die soon, 'you're not gonna make it' 'you're too weak to be the hero of the prophecy' 'you will die alone, just how you started' blah, blah, blah. it didn't matter, he knew he was doomed to die soon, and for a long while, he wanted it, too.
percy started the end of his life at twelve, and by the time he was fourteen he was exhausted.
he worked himself to exhaustion each summer, picking up on more quest (or forcing himself in some, for a little while), not even allowing himself to break after each loss.
luke, chris, bianca, zoë, lee, charlie, silena, ethan...
it was all his fault, they were supposed to live, even if one of them made it out alive, it was his fault they didn't have a better life— the one they deserved.
he lost so many people. and everything in his birthday, like fate wanted to remind him that this was his fault. for all the time where the camp was in Manhattan, he even had forgotten it was his birthday, he was too busy focusing on trying to keep everybody alive to remember his day.
for a moment, percy felt bad for forgetting, and for the next one he just wanted to cry and find his mother. he wanted to be six again and be smothered by sally in Montauk, while they were away from the hell of house that smelly gabe had made.
that couldn't be, though.
percy jackson had found you, passed out on the streets of new york, holding bags of gifts and a boque of blue roses and lilies, all of which you had gotten for him.
"no, no, no, no," he breathed, repeating the word over and over as he laid his hand on your forehead. "please... j-just—" he cut himself off when his thumb rubbed on your pulse point. "you're good, yeah?"
he left a soft kiss on your forehead, before pressing his hear over your heart, sighing when he heard it beat loudly.
listen to me, i'm here, i didn't leave.
percy gently detached your hands from the bags, grinning at your hard grip, as if you didn't want to lose what you've gotten him.
"i'm not taking them from you, sweet girl, let me hold you, please," he whispered to you, holding you up on his chest, and grabbing your things before taking you to the Empire State Building.
if olympus were to fall, it would be after overcoming hundreds of demigods; that was the only safe place for you.
the rest was the usual for a hero, his beloved one waking up to his breakdown and being convinced to date. usual stuff. happens every tuesday in your local divinity show to your favorite sweetheart. you pick it.
he celebrated every day of dating you differently, but all started with soft, gentle kisses.
though, your second month anniversary had gotten... a little heated.
"you're so beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing the exact vein he had rubbed to make sure you were alright two months ago. then, he left wet kisses up yor neck and jaw before kissing your mouth. "i'm so grateful for you, baby. so, so grateful."
"pers—"
"what do you need, sweet girl?" percy gently shifted the both of you, grabbing his stuffed penguin and turning it around, before looking at you with a grin. "we don't want to traumatize him," he said as he kissed the corner of your mouth.
there were soft giggles between the two of you, before percy took a hold of your jaw and tilted your head, kissing around your adam's apple with wet lips, gently nipping the skin with his teeth, giving you a tiny smile when you digged your nails into his shoulder, creating soft crescent moons into his skin.
"so, what was it, angel?"
"hush, your lips made me forget."
percy wiped his head out from the crook of your neck, and pressed his big smile against yours.
it was one of his favorite memories with you, one hera couldn't take away from him as well as a lot of his memories.
there were only two things he was able to keep, your name, and the soft memory of your lips.
his only two amulets against all the hardships he faced in the little time he wasn't asleep.
"you should really consider calling home," frank, of course, had called after percy when he was slipping away into the endless pit of loneliness that had grown into his chest.
green eyes met brown ones, and soon percy's eyes had the water his irises imitated.
frank stepped forward and wrapped an arm around percy's body, and then the other, hugging him tightly as he held percy through cries.
"i miss her so much," percy voice was broken and low, yet the words cut through sobs.
"i know you do."
"y-you would love her, and she would love you," percy cried harder. "i.. i'm sorry, frank."
when percy tried to pull away, frank held him tighter.
"you're okay, percy, just cry until you feel a little better."
frank's body was like a living teddy bear, warm and safe, soon percy was gripping the purple shirt as he cried in his friend's shoulder, breaking apart after months— years, of holding it together.
every day for all the months he was missing had taken form of tears, falling and falling through his cheeks, burning his skin as more and more tears fell.
huffs and puffs, sobs and tears, all fell out of percy. soon he fell to his knees, only being held together by frank.
the boys sat on the sidewalk, frank's hand gently patted percy's head, supporting him through everything.
"t-thanks, frank," percy patted the shoulder his head wasn't resting on. "usually i'm good keeping it together."
"me, hazel and that girlfriend of yours are gonna have a talk about you putting too much pressure on yourself."
"what—"
frank pulled two coins from his pocket, like a magic trick, and offered them to percy.
"call home, percy."
percy looked like a fish out of water, an o instead of a mouth as he stumbled over his words, before swallowing them and grabbing the money, to then run over to the closest phone booth.
he punched in the only number he could remember, being the one from the jackson apartment, and hoped with every bit of his soul for his mother to pick up.
for someone to pick up.
"hi?"
percy wasn't expecting your voice, his stomach fell to the floor, feeling his organs creep and drool around his feet.
he opened his mouth, but then closed. once, twice, until your voice revived the line.
"anyone there? is this just some stupid prank?"
it wasn't. percy almost broke down again, gripping the phone tighter.
please, just say something, he begged himself in silence, feeling like he could pass out in a moment.
"i'm going to hang up if you don't talk soon—"
percy finally spoke up, feeling like he could cry.
"hi, baby... i miss you."
"holy shit."
percy laughed, finally hearing your voice, he just wanted you to beg you to keep talking. to never shut up.
percy laughed, more like a breath of relief.
"hi, pretty girl... can you talk?"
"y-you— me— percy, oh my god. where the hell are you?! oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod, i'mgoingtocry."
"uhm... well, it's a long story."
there was sobbing on the other line, and percy's knees went weak. he had to take a long drag of breath to stop himself from crying, too.
"sweetie.. please, don't cry, i'm too far away to hold you."
you composed yourself, hugging tightly the blue bunny you had, tears rolling down your neck. you had to focus on him.
"'kay. percy, my love, where are you? i'll tell annabeth and we'll go get you."
"tell her to tell you about camp, and to come get me from camp jupiter."
"alright... we'll meet you there," and before he could fight you on it, you rushed to your next sentence. "i love you, percy jackson. please don't run off to where i can't find you."
holy shit, indeed.
"i... i love you, too."
#percy jackson#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x you#a vampire kiss#bella's written love#a bloody love letter
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It's all over now, baby blue (1/12)
Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru
Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."
General Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter Warnings: panic attack (reader pov); internalized misogyny (reader pov) Note: nsfw stuff won't happen in this chapter since this is a slow-ish burn
“It’s bullshit,” the woman huffed. “This whole soulmate business— it’s all bullshit.”
It's the assault of nicotine that finally made you wince. Of all the things said in that room, a cigarette is what got a reaction out of you.
A cigarette .
How typical.
Crouched down to the pavement, you folded your arms above your knees and buried your nose further into the crook of them.
Her back has yet to part from the wall behind the both of you. There's a mottled stain along the pointed toe of her left shoe. An imitation of a birthmark on this poreless, rouged lipsticked, executive coiffed up haired woman.
And it's not like it escaped your notice, but she's really quite tall, isn't she? This one; more so with three extra inches on.
You shook your head, sank your face further into your knees until you’re just about tasting your own sweat, and pressed your eyes shut. Pointless observations.
Earlier, she made exactly zero effort to conceal her opinion about you, which essentially boiled down to: piss off . Not exactly a new one in your long and illustrious career of not being wanted in any room you walk into. No, she wasn't the kind of person you’d need to catalog observations for. You're never speaking to each other ever again.
But then, all things considered, she tucked the pack of Seven Stars in her blazer with a swiftness that someone who has a cigarette only does when they're caught doing it in a place they shouldn't be. Last you checked, you’re both in the smoking area. There's even a large sign for it.
Right there. “ Smoking area ,” it said.
Yet she hid the thing before you could even shake your head and say, “ I’m good, thank you . Go kill yourself in peace. ”
Because you did hate it, that smell of early death saturating the air. More importantly, you didn't bother hiding it. And you didn’t feel bad not hiding it.
Maybe that was the most important tell about her character.
She didn't say anything. Didn't throw your words back at you– tell you to fuck off, if you're gonna be such a judgy miss despite the fact that it was you who ran here for refuge.
You opened your eyes to take a peek at her again, nape stinging from the effort.
She met your blank look as she dragged a cigarette, then waved through the fog of nicotine like she's shooing a stray.
Suck in. Huff out. Smoke rushed through a grin. For all your open distaste, you let it waft through you anyway. You let her drag another and another.
You only stared, head tilted upwards, the sun exposing phantoms that swirled around the decisive flapping of her hand, driving everything away to God knows where, and you wondered.
How is that possible?
It's all just cigarette smoke to this woman.
Japan wasn’t this humid as he remembered it to be. They were already in the throes of the summer season, to be fair, so maybe Wakatoshi should probably just be grateful that he wasn’t already drowning in his own sweat. Though he’s very close to doing so now.
To the credit of the League, they did take heavy measures to avoid that from happening.
He turned away from the boys he’s instructing, glare forcing him to squint, and finally paid mind to the trailer parked right in front of the court. It was a gigantic thing equipped with a kitchen, bedroom, jacuzzi tub (?), and an AC unit.
On the other hand, his students– boys, stout and lanky things not older than fourteen– were no different from the freshly hatched chicks that he used to watch over when he was growing up in his grandfather’s farm. They blinked at him with wet hair matted to weak, delicate skin. Wakatoshi removed the trailer from his line of sight and, despite complaints for pausing the lesson so soon, barked for some water bottles from a nearby tent.
They rushed to him, ice cold condensation dripping down their fingers, then passed down the water bottles from Wakatoshi to the children.
“You wanna rest for a while?” one of the staff he came with asked. Some Chisaka or other.
“No, thank you,” Wakatoshi replied. “Where are the younger ones?”
The man grimaced and wiped his forehead. “They’re by the food tent having some snacks. Listen, dude, massive fan, but you really don’t have to… do all this. You sure you don’t wanna…?” He nudged his chin towards the trailer again.
Shaking his head, Wakatoshi then promptly left some pointers for the boys in the court and headed for the largest tent propped up in the orphanage grounds.
Summer breeze whispered through the trees. The tent’s blue roof rippled like ocean waves.
The boys there erupted in squeals seeing him, while the rest couldn't be bothered to give him the same attention that they're gracing the sweets bar. That was fair. Nothing could ever compare to a nice fluffy anpan, and certainly not Wakatoshi.
The trailer was still visible from here.
Somehow, it looked even weirder from this vantage point. Massive four-wheeled chrome on barely trimmed grass. Like an alien ship that’d stopped by for some drinks.
The League spends such things on him.
Big dinners with a bunch of suits. A penthouse suite that they insisted that he should start using. Exclusive matcha flavored floss.
The people who Wakatoshi signed a contract with seem to have a different idea on what he came home for. When his contract had ended with Orzeł Warszawa after these couple of years, he really did mean to return to Japan and represent it in the next Olympics.
And the one after that.
The one after that , too, if he gets lucky.
He wasn’t going anywhere. But–
“ Hey. Big guy, big guy. Calm. This isn't amateur hour. You know why they’re doing this ,” his agent had blabbered the moment they’d arrived at the orphanage, a way of pacifying Wakatoshi after he’d given the man a look.
That was a warranted reaction. Wakatoshi came here expecting children who had too much energy to spare, and one named Hiro. That was the one who’d written to him in blue ink– his kanji still rough around the edges, that he’d been watching Wakatoshi play since he was in diapers (that was an exaggeration, they explained to Wakatoshi); that he’d be very extremely so, so happy if he came to see them for his tenth birthday.
He didn’t expect– nor wanted, really– a national TV crew, a couple of magazine reporters, along with a catering service waiting for him in their stead.
“ All eyes are on Japan right now. You guys are hosting after, what, ‘98? How long has it been? ” His agent patted his back as he led Wakatoshi to an interviewer with startling white teeth. “ Not kissing up your ass or anything, but don’t go all modest on me. You know you’re the hottest player in the game right now. You’re the guy. You’re the fuckin’ guy. So many motherfuckers across the globe are gooning to have you on their side and your team sure as hell won’t let those slimy bastards nab you. They’re showing you off and they’re showing off to you. Just enjoy the ride, yeah? Welcome home .”
Welcome home, he said.
Wakatoshi pulled out his phone and skimmed each mail notification that had piled on the screen. More excited-to-have-you-back’s. More invitations to parties that he’d immediately swiped off. Wakatoshi scrolled through international SMS and expected one from a certain area code continents away.
It’d come up empty.
He felt a tug at his shorts.
He looked down to eyes the size of saucers peering up at him. The creature was ninety percent uncombed black hair and ten percent child.
“Aren’t you gunna eat, Uwaka-sensei?” the five year old boy asked. A few hours ago he’d sprawled on the floor crying, which Wakatoshi only managed to placate by giving him a single pat on the head. Now, he’s got strawberry cream smearing his cheeks; a crumb stuck between jutted out gap teeth.
“Not hungry yet,” Wakatoshi replied.
The boy proceeded to raise a slice of cake to Wakatoshi’s knees. “Miss said having leftovers is bad manners,” he argued.
Wakatoshi felt his lips quirk.
“Alright,” he said, plucking it from (hopefully) clean fingers.
Once the food was cleared, of course, the children sprang from their chairs and ran for the volleyball court. The warnings of upset stomachs from the orphanage volunteers went from one ear to the other. Wakatoshi followed. He watched and noted their positions, and reminded everyone about the things that they should have learned earlier. Postures were corrected. The older ones who he’d left with a few practice drills were now engaging in a match of their own.
Wakatoshi peeked at his phone again.
Still, nothing.
The announcement of his return was released months ago.
Excusing himself from the volunteers, he made his way far from the court and the tents, thumb still pressed on his phone.
It wasn’t as if Wakatoshi was expecting felicitations– far from it, but it was even more out of character to not even receive…anything.
Something like “ Can’t wait to smoke your ass ” or other comments that only he could utter without shame, in spite of his age. Their teams are facing each other once again and this time Japan is not cutting corners. Everyone involved is bringing only their best.
Everyone involved is only the best.
There’s nothing on this earth that Oikawa Tohru would love more than that.
All of them had parted and made promises; had defeated each other and won against each other, but they hadn’t had the opportunity to be on the same court all at once in such a long time. All of them– Oikawa more so, had only gotten better over the years, like a blade that had been sharpened beyond perfection. No one would fault Wakatoshi for feeling like he’s back in Shiratorizawa again. Like his agent had said, how long has it been ?
The image of Oikawa standing on the same side of the court comes to him like a ball that hightailed past his defenses. A sudden lightness overtakes him.
He really is getting old, Wakatoshi mused.
All this time, maybe he’s just chasing what he’s owed. The urge to be the first to break the silence between them cropped up—
…but the sound of glassware crashing interrupted Wakatoshi’s plan.
Phone slipped back in his pocket, he searched for the source and landed on the nearest classroom. It had been turned into a makeshift storage area, he noted upon closer inspection.
The door was ajar. Barely a sliver of light inside. Wakatoshi opened it and saw– among the crates of napkins and crockery and table linens– a woman .
She was curled in a ball on the floor. Shards surrounded her like star clusters.
“Is everything alright?” Wakatoshi asked, shoes brushing sharp fragments aside.
He searched for signs of injury as he bent down, knee hovering above the floor. Peering at the tag pinned to her uniform, Wakatoshi tried to call out her name, but to no avail.
Her blown out gaze was inseparable from the floor. Her hands were trembling, back rising and falling in rapid, shallow successions. Wakatoshi became conscious of his own breathing and immediately kept it even, as if tugging at the leash of a trained dog.
His next words were uttered softly, well-practiced, while he tried to make out the movements of her mouth.
“....me,” she murmured.
Wakatoshi leaned, careful not to get too close.
“ Please…help……me. ”
Last Saturday, or was it Monday?, the tap stopped working.
No tap. No shower. The dirty dishes that you promised you’d get to washing after your shift piled up. Leftovers clumped together and fossilized on the surface of each plate, chipped at the edges. The swirl of unfinished tea and soup and juice and accumulated trickles of water when it still worked surrounded it like a moat protecting a reclusive hoarder’s tower. “ The water people came by weeks ago, pumpkin ,” the sweet old lady running the complex told you. “ You forgot again? ”
And because you’d spent everything on groceries, and overdue bills, and medicine for the cough and cold that had left you on the bed with nothing else to do because they couldn’t risk a liability at work, you could only stare at her and say, “ Right ,” and breathe. “ Sorry, ma’am, ” you breathed.
“Breathe."
Breathe.
Weren't you just telling yourself that earlier? This morning, was it? You forgot. But you told yourself that. Inoue couldn’t come today and though it’s not your day yet you went ahead and replied sure yup I can make it :)) to the work group chat even though you’re sure you still smelled like shit. Because you could do it and you’re not weak and you are responsible and in control and–
When that little volleyball exploded on the sleek, polished floor, and you'd dropped the tray like a complete fucking idiot? You told yourself to breathe.
It’s easy. You could do it. You pushed through it. What happened to that, pretty girl?
You're not breathing now are you?
Oh, dear God. Dear, dear. God. You haven't even paid rent yet. What will you tell your manager? You'd just washed those. Are you still breathing now? Look at them. Twenty a piece. Five hundred. Six. You ugly little bitch.
You said you could do this, kitten.
"Breathe."
It’s not you saying it now.
The voice was deeper. Just like mine. Not like that.
"I'm going to help you stand up," he said. "We're getting out of this room."
Not like that. Not like that. Notlikethat– The voice did not tease. My pretty, pretty girl. It didn't have that rise-fall lilt that took pleasure in keeping you on your toes.
This one's as straightforward as an arrow.
Unbending.
True.
"Breathe," he repeated.
But you were breathing. What was this guy saying? You are breathing, aren’t you? The chasm in your chest may have gotten bigger, sucking in all matter and trapping everything inside until there’s barely anything to hold onto– not even air, but you are breathing.
“Look at me,” the man said. And you followed. You felt your neck crane up.
Green eyes, like leaves on branches. Swaying behind him. “Breathe with me.”
Odd. His chest was expanding, inflating like a balloon at a kid’s party, once, twice, then he– woosh went his mouth. You did the same. “Inhale,” he murmured. Once. Twice. “Exhale.”
Woosh .
Wind trickled in, the chime of bells, and all at once you felt like you’d drank water after a good cry, but you hadn’t been crying. You weren’t crying, were you?
“You’re outside now.”
Yes, you are. No, you're not. You're still inside that dark cage, dust in your nose. Iron– hot and suffocating and angry, is molding you, tearing you apart from the insides until muscle and fat are stretched into thin ribbons. Your mother’s warnings, sharp as the squeak of shoes, clear and deafening as boys shouting. Red means run. Blue means–
“Do you smell that? Barbeque.”
The man was incredibly tall.
Smoked meat and onions sailed with the breeze. Birds chirped like you'd just woken up. It felt like that. You closed your eyes and opened them again, looking at the warm anchor before you.
His white shirt was darkened by sweat.
He didn't look like the type to smile a lot, but his face seemed softer now. Severe brows sloped down a determined but gentle gaze. Something began to itch at the back of your head, like you were supposed to remember something.
"You did well," he told you.
And you believed him. ‘Cause he said it like he’s just saying, “ The sun is hot. ” You did well, as in “ A ball is round ” or “ Birds fly .”
And so, you did well.
"What do you need now?"
The feeling of sandpaper in your grip registered in your senses. You glanced down and realized that you'd been holding his hands. For how long, you could hardly tell, but the heavy weight of them held you down, kept you from floating back to the darkness where something waited for you, its starved eyes glowing red and blue.
His palms were rough wrapped around yours. You found that you didn't mind.
"I-" you began. You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm okay. I think."
He gave a nod in response. His thumb dwarfed yours. And when he brushed the back of your hand– why, you wouldn't have believed it, but your fingers glided, cool as can be, just like dandelion fluffs through the spaces between his.
Silence sat unperturbed between the two of you.
It let the summer critters chatter among themselves. It let the boys playing a game of volleyball just be boys playing a game of volleyball. It let the world just be what it always has been. And it…it was warm, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
Like being swaddled, almost.
You felt yourself breathing in, the precious seconds right before drifting to a dreamless sleep. (Whose hand caressed whom? Was it yours?)
The haze, however, had to be cut short. Sliced clean through by a pained, guttural noise.
"What's wrong?" you blurted out.
He hissed. " Nothing. ”
Irritation disturbed his once calm features. You felt your heart twist as he discarded his hold on you. You almost begged for its return.
"I'm sorry," you cried, although you weren't sure of your crime. Doesn't matter now. You'd inconvenienced this man. You have to pay for it, kitten. You know what he'll do to you, don't you? Oh, beautiful. He's going to–
He grunted, as if using all his strength to stop your derailing thoughts from setting up in flames.
"I'm sor-"
One sharp look was all it took. You clamped your mouth shut as he grabbed his wrist, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Seeing his intimidating form bent over ignited prickles all over your palms.
And there it was. Again.
That itch. You're forgetting something. Your hands were burning, but you didn't feel the pain, like they'd been scorched beyond sensation before being dunked in ice cold water. So you looked at them, just to make sure they're still there.
First, the forked lines.
Then, the dashed ones.
"Look at their palms!"
Both of you turned to the sound of cameras clicking. Grown ups and children alike stood before you. They gaped and pointed as more people ran from the bottom of the hill. You felt your stomach drop. You searched his eyes for answers, but those keen olives were just as perplexed as you were.
Knowing that you'd come up short of explanation among the ruckus, he retrieved your hand, disgruntled expression still in place, and turned it palm side up.
"Who woulda guessed, huh?!" somebody yelled.
Neither of you were looking anymore. Not at the audience that you'd suddenly gathered. Not at your palms. You met his gaze, his breathing mimicking yours, chests moving in a familiar rhythm.
Camera flashes made you wince. You could barely tell your left from your right.
That look in his eyes didn't help either, burning you with what seemed like an accusation and–
“I knew it. You really should stop trying to run away,” somebody had said, snickering, right up to your ear.
Inhale. Once. Twice.
“I knewit . You really shouldstoprunningawayfromme–”
Exhale.
“I’ll always find you.”
You took a step backwards.
“I’ll always always always always alwaysalwaysalways–”
The enclosing crowd are heavy double doors, rusted hinges creaking shut, and there is never going to be a way out.
SPORTS ILLUSTRATED INTL
Volleyball Star Scores Destiny Ahead of 2028 Summer Olympics
Temperatures are rising and the competition is getting heated in more ways than one!
Last Wednesday, FIVB Nations League MVP Ushijima Wakatoshi was caught in a first soul glow during a charity event for underprivileged orphans. “We are very happy for him,” Coach Blanchard said to NHK. “He’s been working so hard his entire career. He deserves this.”
The video of the two gained massive attention worldwide. It has a whopping 2 million views on the VolleyWorld Youtube channel and is still gaining traction among non-volleyball fans on Twitter.
@rdlty12
HE LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE A PRINCE?? LORD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS
@_itsmejayne
it’s actually their world n we’re all just living in it i feel sick rn
@KINGPQW
bro met his soulmate while on his way to grab an olympic medal who is doing it like him
@strawberryhertz
not even into volleyball like that but if you catch me watching the olympics for a grown man playing an intense version of don’t let the balloon touch the floor MIND UR OWN BUSINESS
Orzeł Warszawa did not miss the assignment and showed support to their former teammate.
@OrzełWarszawa_Official
See you, lover boy ;))
The identity of the Olympic favorite’s soulmate, however, is yet to be known. Ushijima himself refused to make a statement about this momentous occasion. Nevertheless, with a home advantage, a dream team on its back, and an inspiration of a magical magnitude bestowed upon their ace, it now begs the question:
Is Japan finally ready to take back their gold?
The last time your mother had worn that red lip gloss was when you’d won an award for something. “ Perfect Attendance ,” your teacher had announced.
She came with you to the ceremony, cherry polka dot blouse and vibrant lips, and you couldn't quite explain it then, but you were so sure that having your mother see you win was probably the closest thing that a person could get to flying.
That was in grade school.
The certificate for that is now molding in a cardboard box somewhere.
"What was he really like?" she asked you as the ribs under her knife bled thick sauce.
Her eyes twinkled. Your throat felt tight like you'd eaten too much with little to no space to store it in. You're yet to put a dent on your plate.
She hummed and wiggled her brows, nudging you into revealing more about the man who– in the span of a day, flipped everything you'd settled to believe about your life. You limply stabbed the celery with the prongs of your fork.
Nostalgia truly is a funny thing. Yearning handed out with a grin and a twist to the gut.
"He's tall," you started, shrugging.
"He is," she giggled. "Handsome, too."
A grin miraculously fought its way to your chapped lips, though you may have failed the execution. It seems that it didn’t produce the look that you were going for. Your mother made that face that she makes when she catches you mid-prayer to the porcelain deities.
"Is there something wrong?" she eventually asked. Who wouldn't ask that when you’ve got that permanently ugly, bearer-of-bad-news look on your face?
Is there something wrong, kitten?
You remember that? Same question, wasn’t it? When you ran home all those years ago with your school jacket wound tightly around your waist. Like it could hide shit.
“ Is there something wrong? ” she asked you.
She should’ve stopped asking that question by now. Seriously, how old are you? Something “wrong” only happens to girls who wear their skirts too short and then wander alone at night practically begging for it, not full grown adults who should be more than capable of shelling out for their own life.
Nothing wrong should ever happen to you again. Or what would that make you? Hm? Some little girl whose life goes in circles? Fucking up then, fucking up now?
And just like what you told her before, you said–
“Nothing, mom.” You dropped the fork. “I was just thinking that–”
“ Do you think we can go…far away.. Again? The kids here are mean and– I don't know, I- I just thought, maybe, things would be– ”
“... Different,” you muttered. You pushed yourself to meet her troubled eyes. “It feels…different than how I’d…imagined it to be. It’s odd, that’s all. Can’t help but think that if I hadn’t stood in for Inoue’s shift today… I don’t know–”
I don’t know. The ignoramus shrugged once more. “Woke up that day to Inoue’s message. He said he couldn’t make it. It was supposed to be his shift. I didn’t wanna– you know, I didn’t wanna say I could. I wanted to go back to sleep.” Told myself that I could do it ‘cause that’s what people who can’t do anything say.
“You’re still not feeling well?” Her brows are knitted together. Lips dulled now by the sauce and meat.
“No, no I am. Better. I am better, Ma. All I’m saying is, it’s all just– funny, is it? It could’ve easily not happened.”
“But you still went,” she pressed. Her smile could’ve put the sun to shame even as it’s beaming in all its glory this month. Features softened, voice firm: “It would have anyway, baby. I know that.”
Of course she did.
The story hung above your heads, above the dining room, like motes of dust struck through by the light, waltzing in the air all untouchable, refusing to settle but always, always there.
Sit down. Get comfortable. It goes something like this:
Once upon a time, your mother had walked around the city in the middle of the night, alone and in her pajamas– as one does when they’re nineteen and had decided to sit out on a party because they believed that their friends secretly hated them. She bought a tub of ice cream, sat by the river bank, cried her eyes out, and rode the last train going back. Then, just as the track took a sharp turn and she’d stumbled on her feet, a kind stranger had caught her before she could fall.
The man’s palms glowed as blue as hers.
On their way home (because, yes, he walked her back to her apartment) and her friends had caught sight of the two (“ Girl, where were you?! ”), one of them perked up seeing the man and exclaimed, “ Hey! You were at the party too, weren’t you? Aoto-kun’s classmate, right? Why’d you go home so early?”
That’s why your mother could say stuff like that with all the sincerity of a fish vendor and the finality of a god. She could boldly proclaim, “One way or another, he would have found you even if you or him decided to turn away from destiny,” because it happened to her. All of it– everything that they put in the movies to encourage young girls to hope and dream and someday leave their hearts out in the open for all the world to step on. That was her reality, once upon a time.
But what was it to you, cutie? What will it ever be to you, other than a bedtime story and a dead man in a photograph?
Perhaps that's what separates women like her from the likes of you. Her soulmate took one look at her and immediately decided to keep her safe, swaying her hand in his like they're dancing while playing two truths and a lie.
Yours took one look at you and couldn't be more relieved to see you walk away.
Is that it? Is that the demarcation? Did somebody up there determine who gets to be the woman that gets loved and the woman that gets ra–
Something soft and warm patted the back of your hand. Your mother had reached across the table. “Baby,” she said, prompting you to look at her again. “This is a good thing.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of an asparagus.
“Everything is meant to be,” she repeated. And, “When are you seeing him again?”
Your mom cooked this food. She called you here for dinner. It still tasted like how it did many years ago. Maybe even better. And don't you think she should be wearing that lipstick forever?
When she’d called you over the phone, as soon as the news broke, she’d– “ I knew it! I knew you’d have it just like the movies. Oh, you should’ve seen Mrs. Sasaki’s face– ” sounded a lot like the angels had woken her up to the vision of her old washing machine running again without the empty clang clang clang. Like you got off your ass and stapled and clipped your insides together and it finally held together.
This time, for sure.
You smiled.
“Hopefully, soon,” you replied, chewing.
#tw noncon#tw non con haikyuu#yandere ushijima#yandere oikawa#dark content haikyuu#ushijima wakatoshi x reader#oikawa toru x reader#red like blood blue like love sequel#chapter 1
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Aziraphale and Trauma
[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]
This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.
See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!
Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.
There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.
But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.
Abuse victims are often manipulative.
I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.
Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.
What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.
A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.
https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."
In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).
So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.
We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.
His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.
The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.
This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.
Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.
The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.
A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.
There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.
Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.
That brings us back to this apology scene.
There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.
Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.
Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.
These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.
I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.
#Aziraphale#Good Omens#Good Omens Meta#good omens s2#aziraphale meta#crowley x arizaphale#CPTSD discussion
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frankly super uncomfortable have “neurodiversity affirming” (now use as meaningless buzzword but demand be treat as this radical thing) be associate with “nonspeaking not nonverbal put/ nonspeaking right nonverbal ableist wrong” so hard two become synonymous. be treat as, only way be neurodiversity affirming is say nonspeaking & never say nonverbal. that MUST only ever say nonspeaking to be neurodiversity affirming. that say nonverbal put you exact same equally as bad as ableist oppressor power holders who actively not give & deny & exclude people who not able mouth speak education & rights & autonomy & humanity.
really have nothing unreasonable or bias against apraxic nonspeakers, or term nonspeaking. really don’t. really do believe they have valuable thing to say n important listen.
but it get really really tiring, n traumatic (not use this word lightly), be constantly screamed at, cursed at, insulted, mocked, called names, doubted, disbelieved, fake claimed, abused because dare casually call self nonverbal without go on 1000 word essay on why (& often times even with that 1000 word essay), phd dissertation on history of these two terms n definitions n histories n uses. to point of every time be outside circle of people who willing understand me (person with cognitive & language disability), severe anxiety & fear & post-traumatic stress spiral of, “can say am nonverbal? should? that get me strangers abuse? should preemptively explain? carefully word it? more detail. more detail.” over one of my most important identity & label. even simple “am nonverbal not nonspeaking” invite people (group that famously describe self as literal & not read into subtext) accusatory question me “why you ableist piece of shit distance self from nonspeaking people, you clearly think people who not able mouth speak incompetent” not expecting answer, because they already made up one for me, already spoke for me, a person who not mouth speak (& struggle w overall communication) they claim advocate for.
n same time cannot pretend that term nonspeaking, nonspeaking advocacy from many nonspeakers, & nonspeaking advocacy from not-nonspeakers, so closely tied with ableism by action of people who use it that it become part of definition, defining pillar of activism. cannot pretend “am just can’t speak but my mind intact (am very intelligent can write just fine)” is value neutral not-ableist sentence. cannot pretend all that ableism against people with intellectual disability (yes, people w correctly diagnosed ID exist) & people with language disorder not exist.
if you can’t separate term nonverbal from it’s ableist misuse history, you not get to have problem with me refuse call self nonspeaking because how so many people use ableism to fundamentally define it. n unlike you, at least am able recognize term nonspeaking, neutral.
am super uncomfortable with “neurodiversity affirming” when one pillar of it is define me out of existence n label me n people who support me as ableist & same amount of evil as my oppressors. is to use me as scapegoat. scapegoat for other people trauma while create trauma for me. whose neurodiversity we affirming?
“nothing about us without us” who the second us? is it actually us, or do you just mean you?
“language important” so “say nonspeaking not nonverbal FOR ALL” but when am push back against it ask be personally called nonverbal ask not use term nonverbal as scapegoat ask please not demonize term nonverbal, suddenly am “too hang up on semantics” and “there real oppression other than argue over online terms” (as if be denied literal actively barred kicked out from community isn’t one) and “can’t speak for everyone”
when these people the one with platform and ability, shaping public views, shaping assistive tech and therapies that am need, even advocating to shape & shaping policies n legislatures.
sure do hope am included in those.
[nonverbal = not able mouth speak. all the time only. not by choice. not sometimes. not temporary. not episode. not “go nonverbal.”]
#can u tell it a trauma? write over n over again about it because keep get triggered. by own brain. by it happen again in outside world.#nonverbal#actually nonverbal#nonspeaking#actually neurodivergent#neurodivergent#nd#actually nd#not autism exclusive but tag bc most people do it also autistic#actually autistic#actuallyautistic#autism#autistic#loaf screm#long post
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ADHD/neurodivergent 🧼 (💀🧼 too bc why not/it's my comfort ship and I love them)
(chock full of my own personal HCs and ideas, also mental health stuff/issues/problems heyo)
I am most definitely all for autistic Ghost, but what about ADHD brain/neurodivergent Soap? I've seen few people talk about this or explore it so here we go.
Like, even though Johnny's generally laid back, he still tends to be very hyper or high-strung. Maybe even overwhelming for some people, and is easily excited almost like a puppy (golden retriever Soap my beloved), (Ghost thinking it's literally the cutest thing ever). Bro has either the attention span of a nat or is so hyper-focused on something he forgets to blink.
He has APD (auditory processing disorder),—and will ask you to repeat yourself 15+ times before he finally understands what your saying. This is incredibly frustrating for him, but like Price will lose his shit, because having to repeat himself is like one of his pet peeves lmao. Same thing, with Yuri.
Even Ghost and Gaz get fed up with him on occasion. Though Roach doesn’t give a fuck because they’re just as ADHD as him, and just loves to talk, plus their echolalia helps to sort things out lots of times. Gaz will give him the silent treatment and refuse to talk to him. Usually when Simon finally gets irritated with him it's lead to a fight. But it isn't long before Ghost feels bad and apologizes, and reassures him saying "I know you can't help it". Simon tries to work on learning to be more patient specifically for him. 💕
He does the same things that Simon does to stim, (though particularly pacing and bouncing his leg). But he also likes to chew on everything, whether it’s a pen/pencil, a cap off a water bottle or other plastic drink bottle—(This pisses off Simon in particular, and they’re always scolding him about how he’s gonna end up choking on it. Not to mention, he always leaves the nasty ass, spit-covered things around and forgets to throw them away after he’s done with one. Either leaving Ghost to pick up after him much to his disgust, or forcing Johnny to throw his own shit away, (as he should). If he gets ahold one of those spiky silicone balls from an arcade machine he likes to bite the nibs on it, etc. Simon has even bought him some chewlery because he orally stims so much, to which Soap uses all the time and was overjoyed when Ghost first got it for him. Though his chewlery needs to constantly be replaced because Johnny has unusually strong and sharp teeth. It’s not uncommon for him to completely destroy shit that he gets his paws on. Simon often comparing him to a dog or a teething puppy.
I am also totally for Johnny being just as mentally fucked as Ghost.
He’s the four b's, bisexual, bipolar, bilingual, and a bitch.
Like Simon, Johnny has generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), for similar or for maybe even the same reasons as Ghost. Not nearly to the same level of severity, but panic attacks and flashbacks do happen on occasion. As with certain things he's easily triggered.
He also struggles with bipolar disorder and/or severe manic depression. His bipolar tendencies making it incredibly difficult to maintain relationships in his youth, among many other things, (his past drug abuse/addiction only making him worse and more unstable). Though these days he’s medicated and for the most part stable, only sometimes going off his meds, (particularly when he relapses or is heavily triggered by something).
No therapist has ever been able to help Soap, though he does see a psychiatrist regularly.
Mostly for anti-psychotics and other prescription refills and the like, but can vent as much as he likes to them. Either that, or Simon doesn't mind lending an ear to listen when he needs it.
Similar to Ghost, Johnny can have very low self-esteem, but can also be of very high self-esteem, (it fluctuates due to his manic depression). And Simon is more than willing to give him reassurance and comfort, but equally doesn't mind knocking him off his high-horse, and/or, taking down his ego a few pegs if need be. (Which isn't so bad, as Johnny just so happens to have a degradation kink). >:3
Johnny is a highly reserved person, (though he’s able to put on a mask/a show for other people and strangers), and pretty stoic (all things considered), due to his traumatic upbringing. He has a very unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions until he quite literally explodes, though he's trying to get better about that. But he can’t help but genuinely let his guard down, and has LEARNED to let his guard down around Ghost, the 1-4-1, and his sisters (the most important people in his life).
This tidbit has less to do with mental health and rather his personality but I still wanted to include it here so…
Soap is highly perceptive and emotionally intelligent. You can't hide anything from him as he can always tell when someone's lying to him, and he always knows when something's wrong. A true empath. He's also a very good liar himself because of this, but he uses this secret power responsibly, and would never lie to those closest to him and/or his loved ones.
All members of the 1-4-1 having highly specific phobias? Yes please.
As for Johnny…
He is deathly afraid of needles and hospitals (Trypanophobia and Nosocomephobia), because when he was growing up and as a young kid he was quite sickly, and often was in and out of the hospital. He's immunocomprised and gets sicks all the time, most of the time nowadays when he gets sick it's just a small cold, with the occasional illness that may put him out of commission for a bit—Simon always doting over him and making sure he’s okay when he even so much as senses he’s got a runny nose—Johnny finding it incredibly endearing, but when he was a child it was horrible. When he was hospitalized he'd suffer at the hands of doctors and nurses much too often, going through one too many traumatic experiences. Mostly, because of incompetence or just straight up apathy. Getting his IV done is the worst, because he's cursed with almost non-existent and small veins. Oh so jealous, of Ghost's huge and bulging veins. Someone will stick him upwards of 10 times or more, or until his arms are swollen, until they finally get it right usually. Not to mention, Johnny also has Hemophilia, and so he bleeds a lot which only makes it even more distressing. Soap specifically underwent medical and first-aid training, just so he could avoid going to medical himself as much as possible. His medical knowledge and training has happened to pay off lots of times in the field, for himself or for his teammates or squad’s sakes. Despite his aversion, he's not squeamish at all when it comes to mending his own wounds, or others weirdly enough. Even if he's severely injured he refuses to go to medical. Simon used to get really mad at him for this, because of not only his stubbornness, but seemingly his cockiness was what really pissed him off. And they know Johnny’s skills only go so far, and he's immunocomprised and a hemophiliac for crying out loud. Eventually Ghost confronted him about this, and after Soap explained everything it was a lot more understanding and sympathetic. Though it didn’t change the fact that it will borderline harass him if he’s seriously hurt and won’t go help himself, or just straight up force him to go to medical. Johnny always protests but ultimately he gives in, and Simon makes sure to give him emotional support and stay with him when he needs patched up.
Thank you for reading my ramblings, next post will be about my take on Ghost, his mental health, his autism, etc, probably!
#cod modern warfare#call of duty#cod mw3#cod mw2#video games#ghoap#ghostsoap#soapghost#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap call of duty#ghost x soap#soap mw2#soap mw3#john mactavish#adhd#headcanon#headcanons#cod fanfiction#cod fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#ship dynamics#shipping#cod#autism#adhd x autism#autism x adhd#mental health#actually adhd
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Aventurine Is BPD Coded- Some Thoughts
Ahhh welcome back everybody to another installment of 'Rory writes a ridiculously long essay nobody asked for to shine light on characters who exhibit symptoms of borderline personality disorder so that we can learn to recognize symptoms portrayed in media that aren't just 'crazy manipulative abusive ex' and start to treat the disorder with a shred of compassion' !!
A good chunk of you follow me because of my essay I wrote on Reo Mikage from Blue Lock, my beautiful borderline princess, and I am PLEASED to announce that my essay is now the first result when you search 'Reo Mikage BPD' on Google, AND he has since been added to the BPD character database !! Saving the world one baddie at a time, no need to thank me B)
Today, I want to write something out that I've been dying to share. I think Aventurine can be read as a BPD coded character, and I think he would be able to cop a diagnosis should he go see a therapist (which we all know he CLEARLY has not done). I've been puttering around posting this because I've been spending so long on a full, all encompassing analysis of this sick blonde man, but I want to take a quick break and kick my feet over BPD Aventurine, so I invite you to come kick your feet with me!
Some context before I start:
1.) Borderline representation is extremely important to me. I've got the BPD / CPTSD combo meal, so I'm having TWICE the fun !! But seriously though, it's not easy being viewed as crazy and 'bad' all the time. Trauma disorders are rough enough as it is just to live with / overcome, but it's worse when there are books, forums, blogs, shows, ect. dedicated to hating you and talking about how evil you are. So, I get really excited when I spy BPD-coded characters (especially if they're likable people and not just ghoulish irredeemable villains or manic pixie dream girl characters). Fans, characters, and even Aventurine himself refer to him as 'crazy' 'insane' 'unstable' which only further rang my BPD bells because he's not crazy; he's just traumatized!
2.) I’m not a psych, so I obviously can’t diagnose real people, and don’t use any of this to diagnose yourself (I don't need the scandal!) I do, however, have a masters degree in English and structured the basis of my education and published my thesis on mental health, cluster B personality disorders specifically, so I read and research a LOT. I’m confident enough in my knowledge to diagnose anime characters (lol).
3.) If you're somebody who has a weird hangup about borderlines, feel free to either not read this, or do read it and soak up some useful information! Regardless, I know Aventurine fans can have some really wild takes (/neg) , so believe what you want at the end of the day! This is just my interpretation of what's festering in that sad brain of his. You can disagree all you want to, but what we're not going to do is spread hateful stereotypes or perpetuate negative stigmas about BPD! That's cornball behavior and I will call you out for it ^-^
CW for discussion of death, suicide, self injury, and identity disturbances
Anyways, if you ask me, Aventurine has a case of Beautiful Princess Disorder, and I'd like to explain why <3 So, buckle up! This will be another long one.
First, let me define BPD: it's a personality disorder characterized by a long-standing pattern of instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, and self-image. Though it's coined as a 'personality disorder', I urge you to look at it as a trauma disorder. People most often develop it when they are repeatedly traumatized during their formative years. It actually overlaps a TON with complex post traumatic stress disorder, which is why a lot of us baddies end up with both! (On that note, you could definitely view Aventurine as CPTSD-coded as well! I'm a stinky kinnie so I'll just say he's both <3) I won't preach too much on why it's so necessary to treat borderline as a traumatic stress disorder (since hopefully I'll be focusing my own personal academic research on that and I could yap for HOURS about it lol).
But when we look at BPD properly, it's evident that the basis of this disorder is that these people didn't have the opportunity to learn and foster proper emotional reactions. Because of the recurring traumatic events, sections of borderline's brains are underdeveloped as a result. They have a smaller amygdala and they have reduced volume in the prefrontal cortex, as well as other differences in brain development. I've heard it described as 'you were forced to learn some behaviors that helped you survive at one point in your life (for example, maybe fervent efforts to avoid abandonment, unstable emotional reactions, self harming tendencies, lying, mirroring, etc.,) but now you need to unlearn them, because they’re no longer helping you.' They're trauma responses.
Aventurine shows us a perfect example of the kind of shit that would make someone develop BPD: dude grew up in extreme poverty, was constantly told he was special and he was supposed to bring good luck, watched his entire family and race die in front of him when he was literally still just a kid, was kidnapped and sold into slavery, was forced to murder roughly 34 people while everybody watched him like it was a game, probably went through several other fucked up things while he was enslaved, and then killed his slave owner and was promptly sentenced to death for it. That's...a whole lot of ridiculous trauma that would severely impact somebody's ability to mentally grow and develop correctly. The bulk of his childhood/adolescence was spent with no safety, no security, overwhelming guilt, constant fight or flight reactions, learning how to take on other personas to avoid violence or mistreatment – you get the point. He did not have a normal life and it is absolutely probable that he would develop a trauma disorder from the shit he's been through.
So then, what behaviors/signs does somebody need to exhibit to receive a Borderline diagnosis? The 9 diagnostic criteria for BPD are as follows:
1. Fear of abandonment
2. Unstable or changing relationships
3. Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self
4. Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors
5. Suicidal behavior or self-injury
6. Varied or random mood swings
7. Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness
8. Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights
9. Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality
As with my last post, I'm going to organize this based on the 5 immediate traits I think Aventurine exhibits most (you only need 5 out of 9 to receive a diagnosis, so let me cut to the chase and stop wasting your time w my yapping).
Fear of Abandonment:
Aventurine has a habit of wanting relationships and then pushing them away once they get too close. He also clearly has trauma associated with losing people prematurely.
First of all, let's look at Aventurine's tendency to view relationships as transactional. With the expectation that a friendship, partnership – whatever – is mutually beneficial, that generally implies both parties will leave satisfied once the 'transaction' is complete. That’s his parting line in the game, actually! “Satisfied with our transaction, I trust?”
That being said, he's already prepared for people to leave when they're done getting what they want from him. In one trailer (and the game) he refers to himself as "another cog in the machine known as the strategic investment department" and then says, "Your humble servant aventurine at your disposal [...] I can also play the role of ‘friend’ – if needed; Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back if you see fit."
This is a very strange thing to say upon first meeting someone LMAO. He's speaking of himself like he's an object, rather than a person. Before the other party even says anything, he's basically saying 'hey btw if you end up disappointing me in some way, i'm already prepared for it!' Establishing relationships with the assumption that the other person will betray you/abandon you/hurt you in some way? Borderline behavior. God forbid somebody does try to break down one of these walls, we'll see Aventurine's second habit to avoid abandonment: pushing people away.
Something people don't necessarily consider is that ‘efforts to avoid abandonment’ doesn't always mean the person is on their knees begging you to not to leave them. It can manifest as someone being very flighty and purposefully cutting ties randomly/pushing people away from them so that nobody is able to abandon them. If you leave first, they can’t leave you, right? This is a very common behavior for borderlines to avoid the pain that comes with being abandoned.
The most notable moment of this, in my opinion, is when Aventurine tries to gaslight himself into thinking that Ratio really did stab him in the back during their ploy against Sunday. As we know, their fighting, bickering, and Ratio's 'betrayal' were all part of Aventurine's plan. When they leave Sunday's office, Ratio immediately asks if he's okay and if he needs help, and Aventurine is very dismissive/a little rude in his response. Ratio is confused because Aventurine is talking as if he wasn't the one who MADE this plan and TOLD Ratio what to do:
Aventurine is basically saying, "Hey babe this is not in the script we talked about! Let's stay on track, remember? You hate me, you betrayed me, and now you're leaving me!" And Ratio is like "Yeah okay but are you good? Because you don't seem good,” but Aventurine's heels are so far in the dirt at this point that he is NOT budging at all. When he's in the Trauma Maze, Future Aventurine grills him on this moment:
I get why this part confused some people; why would Aventurine think this when the plan was his idea in the first place? Because, he subconsciously doesn't want to get too attached to the idea that Ratio might ACTUALLY care about him or want to help him. He's forcing himself to think "no, that's not what he was doing, he was planning on actually ratting me out all along, he was only asking about my wellbeing to get in my head."
However, I think it's evident that Aventurine wants relationships/attention just as much as everybody else does, he just won't let himself have it. To further this idea, I think the lyrics to White Night (the Penacony trailer theme song) are worth looking at (these specifically):
I don't wanna be alone tonightOh, lead me with your altered signThere's no one else left for me to loseHeadin' to the other side, other side
I don't wanna be alone tonightI'll bring you to my best disguise'Cause you don't need, don't need to know the truthLet me rave forever in your life
The song is obviously about Aventurine when you look at the lyrics, but these lines in particular just further my point that this man does NOT like the fact that he's alone. He wants relationships, he wants closeness, but he rejects it at the same time out of fear that he might lose somebody prematurely again and doesn't want to experience being abandoned or being rejected for his personality (his real one or his fake one), which leads me to...
Unstable Self-Image; Struggles With Identity or Sense of Self:
The shift from Kakavasha to Aventurine screwed this guy up REAL bad. A MASSIVE part of Aventurine's character, in my opinion, is his struggle with his identity/sense of self. I mean, he literally had to kill off who he used to be in order to live how he's living now, and he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Jade sums it up pretty well when Aventurine is sat before her on trial:
Aventurine joining the IPC comes with the price of...well, becoming 'Aventurine'. Since I'm clocking him with a BPD diagnosis, the identity disturbance would have probably happened before this moment, and I think it did. I'll bet it started festering after that first massive traumatic event where he watched his family die and tried to rationalize how that was possible with his 'good luck' (since that was really the only consistent idea he had about himself), and it probably only got worse when he became fixated on the fact that whoever tf he is, he's only worth 60 copper coins (did the math – that's about $3). That's gotta cause some massive identity issues. He's coined as this ‘good luck charm’, this ‘blessed child’, a ‘beacon of hope for the Avgins’, and somehow, he ended up in the absolute worst situation possible while simultaneously dooming all of the Avgins (obviously not his fault, but he thinks it's his fault).
When Jade tells him to pick a new identity, ironically he picks one that is everything he probably grew to hate after his childhood/adolescence.
Associating with the wealthy? The rich were the people who paid to brand him and enslave him. The IPC? Promised to help the Avgins but disappeared when the Katicans invaded, then came back and kidnapped him to sell him as a slave. Now he's both wealthy and a part of the IPC, and you have to wonder how he truly feels about it. We'll look into that more later. Regardless, he's not really 'free' now, even if he isn't technically owned by a master anymore. He's chained to the IPC because this is life now; this is his identity. Where else would he even go? What else would he do? (Die, perhaps?) It's not like he can go home, or go live a peaceful life out on the countryside somewhere. He made 'Aventurine' his entire life and his entire personality. On that note, I really like this quote from his third character story:
“The aventurine, that symbol of power and of the future, is about to be officially handed to him — Yet it would have no more allure or value in his eyes as soon he obtains it, even though he had sought it by putting his life on the line.
He returns to his office in a daze. The aventurine stone emits a peculiar glow on his desk, seemingly congratulating and mocking him at the same time."Was luck truly on your side when you wrestled with fate?"”
Did he really luck out with this one? Comparatively, of course, this is better than his life as a slave, but he essentially just traded his rusted chains for golden ones. Becoming Aventurine might wind up bringing him a lot more pain than it was worth.
Also, the outfit he chose? Covered in gold, fur, and jewels, all materials that somebody who knows nothing about being rich would assume rich people wear in excess. It's evident in his tacky taste (sorry honey I love you so much but the hat is just crazy work you look like a pimp) that he doesn't know anything about how to dress himself. And I bully him for being tacky but it makes sense! He dresses exactly how you'd think an out-of-touch billionaire would dress. Back to his sense of identity: it's very important to establish that Aventurine feels guilty about taking on this persona! That's all 'Aventurine' is: a persona. If he were to die tomorrow, the IPC would dust off that stone and give it to another bozo who would end up being the next 'Aventurine'.
While he didn't initially develop this personality subconsciously and it was a 'choice' to start playing this role (not that he had a plethora of alternative options), the perpetuation is damaging him mentally. He does a good job of keeping up the act, obviously. This theme that his entire personality is just one big act is overarching through the entire Penacony quest, but there's one moment in particular I really liked: when Sparkle is being a jerk and he has this offhand comment about how he's so frivolous, vain, and flashy, and how he'd hate to live anywhere where it rained since his outfit is too expensive to get wet.
Then, we have this interaction in the maze: Future Aventurine brings up the memory of him and his big sister playing dead, floating in bloody water to avoid being killed by the Katicans when they attacked. He mentions that it was his father's shirt, the last one his father left behind before dying, and that it was ruined. Aventurine says it wasn't ruined, and he's always kept it. (I wonder if that's the shirt he wore during his time enslaved?) Future Aventurine grills him and asks ‘why keep it? This new person that you are would never wear something so dirty and old. 'Aventurine' wouldn't want that old rag, it's not worth any money. 'Aventurine' would never splash around in murky water like that; he wouldn't need to.’ Nobody is hunting him, now he's the hunter. Future Aventurine makes the snide comment that he bets Aventurine wouldn't even dare to go outside in the rain, let alone do any of the things Kakavasha had to do, since he's so much more elite now. Aventurine, clearly hurt by the implication, says that even after all this time, he's never changed.
Of course, he hasn't. Deep down, no matter how much he tries to trick himself and everybody around him, he's still the same scared, traumatized boy he always has been. His future self chastises him for having an inferiority complex and mentions that with every gamble he makes, he has his left hand shaking in fear behind his back.
But the constant pull to push Kakavasha down and keep up this act that 'Aventurine' is the real him obviously perpetuated the identity disturbance in him and made it a hundred times worse, to the point where (as Future Aventurine points out) the hole he's dug is basically impossible to climb out of.
Because of this, I interpret Aventurine to constantly be struggling with his identity, not knowing who really exists under all the masks he wears, not knowing if he or anybody around him will ever figure it out. I imagine he feels very empty and unfulfilled, since as I mentioned in the abandonment section, he doesn't want to be alone. But the higher he climbs on the social ladder, the further he can separate himself from other people. This is a classic issue borderlines face. We masquerade as something we think the people around us will like, someone WE might like, but it always ends up leaving us feeling more empty than before.
(This is just an added bonus to chew on, but I got stuck on this line when I played through Penacony:)
Do you think once he became Aventurine and got the money and the resources, he researched toys that normal kids play with? Fancy ones like building blocks, stuff that he would have never been exposed to as a kid? Obviously baby Kakavasha would not know wtf building toys looked like, and I'm sure teenage Kakavasha didn't have the opportunity to browse toy catalogs. But, he recognizes the toy even though he says he's never played with them before. Maybe he considered buying it but decided against it, since it doesn't fit his new persona. Kakavasha doesn't exist anymore, so there's no reason to nurture that part of him. Anyways, just wanted to hurt y'all a bit more. Speaking of hurting ourselves:
Impulsive or Self-Damaging Behaviors + Suicidal Behavior or Self Injury:
I'm combining these two because my points kept blending together, so bear with me lol.
Aventurine is known for being incredibly reckless and putting himself in the path of danger over and over again. When discussing how he tricked Sunday with the Cornerstones, Future Aventurine asks:
I want to exaggerate how crazy it is (i can say that i'm also a bpd baddie) that he smashed his Cornerstone. I don't think a Stoneheart has ever done that before. Their stone is what makes them a Stoneheart. Ratio mentions that without it, Aventurine would be back to being nobody. Remember: that's what makes him Aventurine. You know, the persona that required him to kill off his former identity? Their Cornerstones are more important than the Stonehearts’ lives, as stated multiple times. But that's just it: Aventurine doesn't GAF about his life. He doesn't mind putting his life on the line to pull off his plan because he has that deep-rooted desire to punish himself for everything he thinks was his fault. He gets called out for gambling with his life multiple times during Penacony, and while most of the time it's reduced to him just being crazy (cough, bpd) or just having a severe gambling problem. Extremely hot take, but I think he gambles literally as another way to hurt himself. I mean, look at what he says when you ask about his hobbies:
"There's no denying it, my fascination is with the game of chance... be it the exhilarating rush of triumph or the extensive emptiness that follows, both are worth savoring, time and time again."
Being impulsive and risky, betting his life over and over – it makes him feel alive. He knows the end result will hurt, that he'll have to face that 'extensive emptiness' and the extreme guilt he feels regarding his continued good luck, but he does it anyway.
Speaking of betting, his bets are always 'all or nothing', seemingly every time. Future Aventurine calls him out on always risking everything with every gamble, asking:
"Do you truly believe the greater the risk, the greater the reward?"
Or...do you just not care what happens to you? He doesn't need to risk a lot; he's never lost. He could bet the lowest amount and still win every time, and make a lot of money depending on what everybody else bet. In fact, that would actually be a better strategy in gambling (poker/black jack specifically), because it would insinuate that he's not very confident with his hand and prompt the other players to bet higher, assuming that they'll beat him.
I imagine he gets a shred of dopamine betting everything he has knowing that he'll probably win, but hey, who knows? Then after winning and multiplying everything he has, I imagine that 'extensive emptiness' that he refers to is the feeling of 'oh good, more money. More status. More success. A reminder that no matter what I do, I'm stuck here in this role forever.'
For some reason, he also thinks that taking risks makes him appear more confident and secure. He makes a show of always keeping up the big bets and he boasts about how successful he is, while clutching his hand behind his back thinking 'oh god, is this it? will I finally lose this time?' He brings this up when he's speaking with himself and he says, 'How could a weak person take such daring risks?"
Oh, the delicious irony.
That raises the question, though: if he wants to die so badly, why hasn't he yet? It's not like he had an easy life. He fought very hard to stay alive, so why does he act so recklessly now?
I think at his core, he's scared. Dying is scary. His family is there in the afterlife; would they be disappointed in the person he’s become? At the same time, being alive is exhausting. The constant emotional pain this guy probably deals with every day? It's gotta be heavy.
His behaviors around suicide remind of a classic passively suicidal person with BPD: maybe they don't necessarily want to die, but they're tired. They don't have an active plan, but If something is going to kill them, they're not going to move out of the way.
So, carrying out his Penacony plan makes sense. Of course he’s not completely sure what will happen when Acheron kills him, but because he doesn’t have anything to live for, he’s fine gambling with his life. He makes a show of finally throwing out every last chip, too, no longer clutching them under the table in fear. He was fine with smashing the Aventurine stone because it's not like he was planning on using it after his final show; the little bit of power it had left in it was more than enough.
That being said, we do have to address this little number:
Aventurine attempted several times in Penacony, he admits it flat out. The writers even went sofar as to bold this line specifically! I think this does also go hand-in-hand with him being passively suicidal, since he's pretty sure he'll live when he attempts in the dream, but he's gonna try it SEVERAL times just to be sure. Mentally healthy people wouldn't try it... once, Aventurine!
As if we needed more evidence that Aventurine constantly puts himself in danger, you know I HAVE to mention...the light cone:
n case you haven't read the description for this light cone, let me share it with you:
"You don't believe me?"He (Aventurine) provocatively looks at the man (Ratio) before him, then draws out a revolver, empties its cylinder, and leaves a single shot in the chamber.
"Seems like I'll need to get you up to speed on how I do things if our cooperation were to remain amicable."He pushes the gun into his opponent's hand, spins the cylinder, and points the barrel to his own chest.
He pulls the trigger repeatedly, and the smile on his face remains the same after three empty clicks."Life is a grand gamble, and I'll always be the final victor."
Now what the HELL is this? Mind you, this is the first time Ratio has met this man!!! Imagine you meet your new mission partner for the first time and he puts a revolver in your hand and fires it thrice, then leaves. WHO does that? (...a baddie, perhaps!)
I don't think it's a secret to anybody who has spent a reasonable amount of time around Aventurine that there's something off about him, and that there's a really deep sadness running through him. There's some instances where other characters mention his passive desire to die – A few quick examples I can think of:
The instance in Story IV with Opal:
"Maybe luck won't be on your side this time, and the bill for all your past good fortune will come due [...] But isn't that what you've been longing for?"
Opal implies Aventurine wants to fail on Penacony, which, as we've discussed, is an accurate assumption. Jade says something similar after Aventurine's stunt: when Topaz says the light in his stone went out, Jade replies by saying "he got what he wanted."
Also, I’d like to point out that Ratio must have been anticipating that Aventurine would do something rash, since he wrote that note (doctor's advice) long before he started grilling him after the meeting with Sunday.
It's also worth noting the nod to T.S Eliot's "The Waste Land" (a very long poem about life and death). You get the achievement Sibyl, What Do You Want? after playing through the past of Kakavasha's life, and once you defeat boss Aventurine, you get the achievement She Replied, I Want to Die. I don't think that one needs an explanation, but boy does it hurt! (There's other, smaller nods to him being suicidal, like the Waiting for Godot achievement – Google the story if you're unfamiliar. Not as relevant, but I must mention it bc it makes my english major brain go brrrrr)
Also, overspending/gambling/being loose with money is a very common vice for borderlines to indulge in and harm themselves with. It's also implied that he drinks a decent amount. I counted 6 bottles of SoulGlad in his hotel room just from the angles I could see, and he's shown to be passed out at the bar when Ratio goes to get him before they go on their little date-I mean, mission. Aventurine says 'he must have drank too much', and whether or not that was true is irrelevant since it was a believable enough claim that Ratio bought it.
Borderlines are (usually) self-destructive in some capacity, and while some very annoying people assume it's for attention, it's so much more common for it to be because our inner emotions are just so out of whack. Sometimes, matching the inner pain with outer pain is a way to cope. They might also do it to try and combat-
Constant Feelings of Worthlessness or Sadness:
Probably the most nagging, prevalent feeling Aventurine deals with is the constant feeling of worthlessness. One thing about this man? He hates himself. Like, really hates himself. Take a look at the missions during his maze in Penacony. This one is one of my favorites:
It doesn't get much more on-the-nose than him calling himself a selfish, useless loser. He gets stuck on that word, in particular. Loser.
Aventurine, at his core, views himself as a massive loser. Is that ironic because of how much he wins? Not really. Money and materials are just part of the Aventurine persona. He's 'rich' in stuff, but he's not rich in what he actually wants. I think it's obvious that if he had the option to quadruple his wealth or see his sister again just one more time, we all know what he'd be picking.
The only thing he wants is connection – connection with his mother, his father, his sister, anybody at this point – but he can't have it. His family has been dead for a long while, and as I discussed before, his fear of abandonment and his luck scare him away from forming any other relationships.
This luck, this destiny to be blessed, leads him to reflect on his life a lot and wonder what the hell the point is. He treats himself like some sort of walking curse, because he's convinced that his luck is bound to hurt other people. Every time he wins, somebody else loses. The luck that keeps him safe destroys everybody else around him. As Future Aventurine puts it:
His luck is "built on the pain of someone" else. This perpetuates the constant feeling of guilt, which in turn, makes him feel worthless. Why is it him that's spared every time?
Then, right before you start his boss fight, Aventurine says,
"The architect's flawed stone, of no value at all."
Some people speculate he's talking to the MC when he says this, but I can't help but assume that he's referring to himself. Even if it was directed at the MC, so much of what Aventurine says in his bluffs and boasts are just digs at himself. He's sort of an expert at hating himself, and what do people who hate themselves do if not project? Especially when you consider the fact that aventurine is actually a really cheap, undesired stone. It's like $3 a caret and mostly only used to rip people off and pose as jade. I really don't think it's a coincidence that his character is based around a stone that is, essentially, worthless.
The way that Aventurine is also prone to giving people ridiculous amounts of money/gifts can be read as a frantic effort to keep relationships going and prevent people from leaving him (relating to my points on both his feelings of worthless and his fear of abandonment). He has a skewed view on relationships, since the only value that's ever been associated with him is monetary value and that of his 'luck', which in every context is spoken of as an asset to benefit people he cares about. His sister told him that his luck was 'the most precious wealth' of the Avgins and Jade sees him as an investment that can bring her more wealth because of his luck, but he views it as a massive burden that ends up wrecking everybody around him. So how does he prove to other people that someone as worthless as him should be allowed a seat at the table? Deep down, he thinks that he's still worth 60 red copper pieces, and he's desperate to show other people that he's worth more than that now – even though he doesn't believe it at his core. With all the money he wins now, he can throw it at people and say 'look, look how much money I'm worth now, you want me around because I can buy you anything you want, that's a useful quality in a friend!'
(I did use the 'seat at the table line' as a nod to what his slave master said to him when they were discussing his worth: "Don't forget your place, slave. You're not qualified to be at the table." Which is, painfully, what Aventurine says when you open up chests! He scoffs and says that "it's hardly enough for a seat at the table." :’) )
There is also, of course, Aventurine's overarching struggle with finding purpose in his life. We see a lot of his existentialism during his trauma maze, but at the end of his trauma maze, Future Aventurine finally stops ripping Aventurine a new one and is vulnerable for a second, saying he doesn't understand what he's ever done wrong to have suffered as much as he has.
Then, when he's in the Nihility and he's speaking to Acheron, making the decision on whether or not he even wants to keep going, he asks her:
As I said, he has this conversation with himself in the maze as well, but here he's actually being vulnerable and speaking to somebody else about it: what's the point in being alive if we're just born to suffer? If nothing else, this solidifies the emotional struggle that Aventurine is constantly having. I also think it furthers the idea that he has this nagging sort of emptiness inside of him which is another BPD trait: the feeling that you're empty at your core, and you're constantly trying to fill it with things (friends, money, substances, whatever) but nothing ever works. You worry if anything will ever make you feel 'whole' again, and pair with the the identity disturbance? You're left with a constant feeling of despair.
Other Points:
These are a few other random thoughts I have, inspired by in-game moments but I'm taking them for my own evil fiendish BPD narrative. Take them with a grain of salt.
I think the stigma he gets around 'being crazy' is really BPD-coded. Separate from the ridiculous discrimination he gets for being an Avgin where people assume he's a liar and wolf in sheep's clothing (which can this man catch a SINGLE break jfc), he also has this reputation of being crazy, insane, manipulative, cunning, and someone you want to avoid, which is more rooted in his reckless gambling habit and status with the IPC. Living with this reputation of being insane and unstable for...lowkey no reason at all? Very BPD coded. I think Aventurine leans into that stigma to keep people a certain distance away, but it also just ends up making him hate himself even more.
Also, his entire mantra is "all or nothing", which always rang my BPD bells as well. There's not a lot of gray area with him, which is a key trait in borderlines as we often display very black-and-white thought patterns.
In Conclusion:
I think Aventurine is a borderline princess <3
No but actually though, Aventurine is extremely smart, witty, funny, generous, and very kind-hearted, and he also happens to have a lot of BPD symptoms :^) I don't think it does any harm to view him as BPD-coded; in fact, I think it's great to associate positive, fan-favorite characters like this with BPD because it helps to humanize us. Borderlines are not violent, crazy maniacs, they're people who have been severely traumatized and developed some unhealthy habits because of it. They deserve love, respect, understanding, and communication, just as everybody else does.
If you actually made it this far, thank you for reading! I hope I was able to shed some light on Aventurine and his Symptoms. And, as I do in all of my BPD posts, here’s your reminder to kiss the borderline baddies in your life and tell them they’re important to you :^) Living with BPD is exhausting and I know I speak for all of us when I say that. We try so hard every day to stay positive and regulated, and though rewarding, it's exhausting and very hard work. Nothing makes us smile more than some recognition that we're trying our best !!
Till next time xoxo (and shout out to @roxirinart for helping me edit this monstrosity mwahhh mwah)
#honkai star rail#hsr aventurine#aventurine#hsr#bpd#borderline personality disorder#analysis#character analysis
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In Time Part 6
Rancher Joel Miller / Reader
You lost your dear Uncle. Your TV Star boyfriend dumped you. You needed a job. You got one at a ranch in Wyoming. Where you met Joel. A very grumpy man. Grumpy man has issues.
WARNINGS:
Grumpy Joel, Hurt Joel, Grieving Joel, Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Mentions of Hostage Situation and Shooting, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst
SERIES MASTER LIST
Part 5
---
If anything could be considered as magic, this would be it. A couple of days ago, you were avoiding this man. And now, you were sitting next to him in his ratty old truck, driving to town with him on Christmas Eve, alone. He asked you, and you said yes. A small part of you wondered if you were just crazy, making friends with the man who was so mean to you during your first few days here, or if you were just that desperate not to be alone during Christmas. No matter. The important thing was that things were much better now. You were settling down.
He had to park quite a way away from the square. The two of you made your way downtown and got yourself a cup of hot chocolate to keep yourselves warm. He was pointing things around to you, telling you this and that about the place, letting you get familiar with everything. You ran into a few people, some of whom you had met, clients of yours, and some you hadn’t. Everyone knew him, it seemed, if not from him growing up here, from the horrible tragedy that was his daughter’s untimely death. People seemed to avoid talking to him about that, though, which you understand. They all seemed surprised to see him there. Good to finally see you out and about, Joel. But he had been out and about, right? He picked you up, went to the bar, went out of town and the store for you, what were they talking about?
Once they realized you two were there alone, their expressions changed. The older generation seemed very happy to have you there. The ladies gave you hugs, telling you how nice it was to meet you, the men shaking your hand, welcoming you to their town, eyes glancing at him while doing so. The younger men seemed very interested in you, asking you a lot of questions about your role at the ranch, before shutting the conversation down once they saw the look on Joel’s face, which you had somehow missed.
The younger ladies… now, that was a different matter. As far as they were concerned, you either didn’t exist, or smelled bad. Some straight up suggested he joined their group for the event, eyeing you up and down, nose scrunched up in judgment, as if you were someone who was bothering him. Some just took his hand and started pulling. One lady literally offered to take him home and keep him warm. All while you were standing right there.
You knew you were no one to him, but hey, some courtesy? A man walking alone with a lady, maybe don’t try to fuck him while she was standing right there? Sheesh, the gall of these women. He, in his glorious grumpiness, somehow just ignored them all and turned his attention back to you, asking you if you needed anything. You were flummoxed, did he not see these people? Did you imagine them? And it seemed like he did this a lot, since they all just had a defeated look on their faces and shot you with a look that you knew would kill you if they stared hard enough. You had to suffer through all that, and that was with him just walking or standing next to you, not touching you. You can’t even imagine what they would do to you if he was. You’d probably be hexed on the spot.
Well, it turned out, you didn’t get hexed, or probably the hex just hadn’t matured and hit you yet, but you did get threatened.
The lady you saw at the bar came round, materializing in front of you and Joel out of nowhere when the two of you were in line for some pretzels. She had her arms crossed on her very cleavage-filled chest, which was out in the open for everyone to see, despite the ridiculously low temperature. Why even bother to wrap a scarf that thin around your neck if you were going to go practically topless?
“Joel,” she said, eyes giving you the once over.
“Angela,” Joel answered.
“So, you are free to come after all. I thought you were otherwise engaged,” she spat, clearly unhappy that he came with someone else.
“I said I have plans. This is my plan,” he said, his hand suddenly placed on the small of your back. You had to fight the urge to react. Play along, idiot. He was obviously doing this to get rid of her.
“Joel… come on baby… just… one more time? For old time’s sake? You know I’ll be very good to you…” her hand started snaking over his chest, trying to find a way in under his jacket.
Joel turned to you and told you he didn’t feel like pretzels anymore. Let’s go find something else? And he grabbed your hand, held it firmly in his, and pulled you away. You followed, not wanting to cause a scene. You walked around a little while, his hand still holding yours – she must still be watching – so you went with it.
By some miracle, you two managed to find a bench that was vacant. He asked you to wait there and went to get you some pastries from the vendor a few yards away. You were admiring the tree, imagining how good it would look when all lit up, when your arm was yanked roughly by that same woman.
“Listen to me, you gold digging English bitch, I have been trying to get that man all my life, and I am not going to let you steal him from underneath me, you understand? Go back to where you came from and find yourself some decrepit Lord to marry and leave my Joel alone. If you don’t, I’ll make sure that pretty face of yours…”
“Make sure that pretty face of hers, what, Angela?” Joel’s voice boomed from behind you. He was making no effort to quiet down. So much so, half the square got quiet, people craning their heads to see what was going on.
Angela looked around, looking embarrassed. From what you could see, people were not exactly huge fans of hers, the ladies giving her dirty looks and pulling their partners to look away. That’s… interesting.
“Angela, I made it very clear to you. I am not interested. I was polite, but I can stop being polite if you’d prefer. And for the record, I am not ‘your Joel’. I have never been ‘your Joel’ and will never be. Get that in your head. And if anything happens to her,” he stressed, arm wrapped around your waist, “I will make sure your name is at the top of the list at the PD.”
She clearly wanted to say something back, but thought better of it, and stomped off.
He immediately sat down next to you; arms protectively wrapped around your waist still. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
“No… who the heck was that?”
“I’ll tell you later. Here.” He gave you a paper bag with some buttery looking pastries inside. But he didn’t touch you again after that.
As it got closer to the lighting of the tree, it got a lot colder. You took out the blanket you brought and spread it over your and Joel’s laps. He looked concerned and asked you if you were warm enough. You took out your trusty hot water bottle and placed it between the two of you, your thighs wedging it in place. He laughed, sharing the warmth with you. Of course, that meant that the two of you had to sit very close together, not that you minded. The man radiated heat. And with his arm placed behind you on the backrest, you felt… comforted.
The tree was magnificent, as usual. But Joel missed the actual lighting. His attention was on you, at how you reacted when they lit it, how the reflection from the lights filled your features with wonder. Your eyes sparkled, your smile wide, joy clearly written all over your face.
He could stare at you forever.
When people started moving to leave, the two of you took your time, not wanting to rush. Neither wanted to be jostled around, but for the most part, neither of you really wanted to say goodbye that quickly. You really enjoyed his company, which was shocking, considering you seriously contemplated jumping out of the truck when you first arrived. But understanding why he behaved the way he did, although not an excuse, helped.
After about five minutes of driving, he apologized for what happened with Angela. She was someone he used to hook up with, back when Sarah was still a toddler. You knew this, Tess and Maria told you. But of course, you didn’t tell him that. He said he was lonely, sad that Cindy left him the way she did, and Angela was someone he had a crush on during high school. He made it clear to her that Sarah was his priority, that he was not looking for anything serious.
She said she understood, but her actions said otherwise. She hated it when Joel cancelled because Sarah was sick, or if he couldn’t make plans because it was Sarah’s birthday, or if she had a hospital appointment, and didn’t hide it from him. She hated that he never took her out, meeting in trucks or the bathroom at the Bison for their rendezvous. After about six months of this, she asked him to choose between her and Sarah. Of course, he chose Sarah. Easiest decision ever. She didn’t take it well, went to Vegas to ‘destress’, met someone at the high roller table, and married him the very next morning, apparently.
The man left her for someone younger just last year, the post nuptial agreement she was forced to sign ensured she received nothing in the divorce. So, she came back to town, moved back in with her mother, tail between her legs, and tried her luck with Joel again. He had been fending her off ever since, albeit politely. Maria later told you that she tried to get Tommy too before they married, the Millers were well off, their ranch doing well, and she was just trying to find her next pot of gold. She had basically tried to get her claws on any well to do men in town, whether or not they were wearing a ring did not matter to her.
Ah… you thought then, the gold digger comment made sense now. Project much, lady?
Joel apologized for taking your hand in his and placing his hand on your waist. He just wanted her to leave the two of you alone, and what he did might have helped that happen.
Oh.
Yeah… you had a hunch… but you didn’t expect the pang of disappointment that hit you upon hearing that. Silly girl. What did you expect? You met a month ago. And you hardly talked to him until today. Sheesh. Get out of your head and live in the real world, why don’t you. He literally just told you he wasn’t looking for anything serious. And you were meant to be here for a year. So, let it go.
He’s your new friend. Just like Tess and Penny and Maria and Tommy and Bill and Frank and Mrs Adler and Ellie. Just a friend. Your very grumpy, jaw-droppingly good looking and sexy rancher friend.
But a friend, nonetheless.
When he dropped you off, he asked if you had any plans for Christmas, if the two of you could spend it together? You heartily agreed, partly because you did enjoy spending time with him today, and partly because the thought of being alone for Christmas made you feel too sad. He nodded and said good night before getting back in his truck and driving off.
You leaned on the railing on your deck and looked at the stars.
“Well, Benny, looks like I won’t be alone for Christmas after all. I miss spending Christmas with you, but at least I’ve got a friend to spend it with tomorrow.”
You saw a flash of Benny’s face in your head, rolling his eyes at you.
“What? He’s a friend!”
Another eyeroll.
Oh shut up Benny.
“Love you, old man, miss you so much I can’t breathe.”
---
There’s a very loud roar outside. Far enough away that you could still hear yourself think, but nowhere near quiet enough that you could go back to sleep. You made your usual cup of tea and went out on your deck to enjoy your first white Christmas morning.
Holy fuck.
White, so white. Blindingly white. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground. Pretty, white, fluffy snow. Untouched. Virginal. So much of it that the deck went straight from wood to snow, the two steps you needed to take to get off the deck no longer visible. God how you wish Benny was here. He would be complaining endlessly about the snow, but you just missed him so much you would take anything, even if it’s just him rambling about how useless and inconvenient snow could be.
The roaring sound came closer. A snowplow was making its way down the road to you. That’s odd, you didn’t know anyone was working today. As it made it’s slow and steady way to you, you realized Joel was driving it. His face concentrating on the path, making sure the heavy machinery didn’t stray.
Joel Miller driving heavy machinery. In his flannel. Plowing.
Fuck. Get that out of your head you weirdo.
You were stuck on that deck. Just staring at him clear the road. When he finally got to your yard, he stopped, cut the engine, and jumped out, a shovel in his hands. His ‘good morning’ sounded underwater to you. Why did he have a shovel in his hands?
And he began shoveling a path from the plow to your steps.
Damn it Miller.
You could see his muscles work underneath that soft looking flannel. The veins and muscles in his neck straining as he shoveled scoop after scoop of snow easily, clearing your front yard, making walking feasible. He didn’t speak much, just focused on his work, and after a while he straightened up and looked at you with a hesitant, shy look on his face, his mouth moving, but no sounds came out of those plush, soft looking, very pink lips that peeked out of his moustache and scruff. You wondered if they were as soft as they looked.
“Amelia?”
Huh?
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you have coffee filters.”
Oh. No. But Frank had gotten you one of those French press thingies for Christmas. He said that maybe you could use it to make more than one cup of tea at a time. He’d lost patience at the amount of time it took for you to make a cup of tea. You told him you used teabags. Not lose tea. Well, you can just dump a bunch of teabags in there, couldn’t you? You remembered staring at him with horror. Tea, much less teabags, in a French press? And then what? Just leave the teabags in there as your tea got colder and colder? And were you expected to drink this cold tea? What next? Rip open the bags so you could have loose tea? Sacrilege darling.
“Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee? It’s colder than I thought.”
Hmm? Oh yes, yes. Yes of course.
He followed you inside. He meddled with the stove a bit while you boiled some fresh water for his coffee, and before long you had a roaring fire in your stove, warming the room up even more than it was. Once the water boiled, you took the French press and stared at it and the can of coffee – unsure what to do next. You looked at him for help. He laughed and made the coffee himself, letting it steep for a bit before pressing the filter down. He asked for a mug, and you gave him the middle-sized of the three thermal containers that he had gifted you for Christmas. He looked at it apprehensively and told you he had never used one of those before. It felt odd.
You told him it would change his life. Hot coffee that stayed hot for longer? Maybe it’ll take the grump out of him yet.
He laughed and said okay. He stayed for a bit, taking a few sips of the coffee, chatting about the snow. It turned out he had been up since 5, feeding the animals and working the stables, cowshed and chicken coops, since no one was working today.
“You should’ve woken me, I could’ve helped,” you said, feeling guilty the man had to do all that alone.
He shook his head; he’s used to it. Been doing it since he was a teenager.
Sheesh. No wonder his body looked like that, despite his claims that he didn’t work out.
He left after about five more minutes of small talks, telling you he’ll be back around noon. You followed him out, thanked him for shoveling snow off your yard, and watched as he placed the cup in the cupholder, rolling his eyes, telling you he never thought he’d use that slot, ever, and drove off with a silly grin on his face.
He brought the cup back when he came over. You told him he could keep using it, you seldom use that size, and he took some time contemplating it before saying okay with a painful look on his face, though you didn’t understand why. You later found out that the ladies had been trying to get him to use one, since he often complained about not having a hot cup of coffee when working, having to go back to the hall to get another cup throughout the day. But in his glorious grumpiness, he had always refused. Oh the teasing he had to endure, unbeknownst to you at the time, when they noticed him carrying one to go to work, refusing to tell them where he had gotten it from, saying that evidently, he just needed the right lady to give him the push to use one. In this case, the pretty, British accented, vet lady, who happened to use a smaller, matching one.
He had rolled his eyes at them, only to smile to himself when he turned and walked away.
The two of you spent Christmas day cooking, eating, and watching old Christmas movies back-to-back. It was nice. When not grumpy, you learned, Joel Miller was a funny man. Very easy-going and light-hearted, someone who took a joke well. He endured your must-see Jane Austen based movie that you always watched on Christmas, and even teared up a bit when the main lady character sobbed as the main guy confessed his love to her, a bit that always got you and Benny in pieces every time you watched it. It made Joel Miller seem real. Like you saw the real him.
After yet another plate of fettuccini, you asked if he would go on a walk with you. You needed one, or you might throw up in bed. He didn’t hesitate, and walked with you, taking to a path you had never been to before, to a spot at the edge of the property, where a bench sat between two massive oak trees, overlooking rolling hills and fields, currently covered in white.
Wow.
You couldn’t help yourself.
“Merry Christmas Benny, miss you. Wish you were here, even if you would hate the cold.”
Joel said Merry Christmas to Benny too.
“Who’s Benny? I heard you talk to him before.”
“My uncle. He took me in when my parents died. That’s how I came to live in LA. He lived there. I was twelve.”
“He’s the uncle who passed? The one in the pictures at your place?”
“Yeah. I guess I found my new Benny place.”
“What’s a Benny place?”
“I talk to him sometimes. At night. This feels like a good place to do that.”
“Hmm…” he said as he sat next to you, taking in the view in the moonlit darkness. “What do you talk to him about?”
“Everything. Just as I would when he was alive. He was my best friend. We used to have this hammock in our backyard, he got it so I could talk to my parents. I was so miserable when I first moved to LA, and he said that they were in the stars, and that I could talk to them anytime I needed to. Ask them questions, tell them my troubles and worries, he encouraged it. Over time the hammock just became the place for us to hang out on, and just be with each other.”
“You said you asked them questions?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know if they answered?”
“I dunno. Sometimes, I feel like they don’t, and it could get frustrating, but then, I would just know what to do. Like this confidence in what I should do just came, out of nowhere, when that option felt off before.”
He was quiet for a beat.
“Do you think it helps? Talking to them?”
You shrugged.
“Maybe it’s bullshit, but I feel comforted and loved when that happens. Like I’m not so alone after all. Like they really did hear me. Even if they didn’t, it helps. At the very least, I got everything out of my system. And now, I talk to Benny too. Been doing it from the deck, but this feels like a more suitable place for it.”
The two of you sat in comfortable silence.
“You know, old man, you’re getting grumpier by the day. And yet, I will love you more and more with every second that passes,” he suddenly said, slowly, deliberately, calculatedly, as if reciting some dialogue of a Shakespearean tragedy.
You looked at him, confusion clear on your face.
“That was the last thing Sarah said to me before she left for school that day. She was hanging off me that morning, hugging me, climbing my back, showering me in kisses, being clingy, and I kept telling her Penny’s waiting for her, and I had to get to work. She giggled, gave me one more sloppy kiss on my cheek and said that. That was the last time I saw my little girl alive.”
He looked at you, his eyes glistening with tears. You took his hands in yours, your own teary eyes fixed on him, telling him everything you were feeling with that look. It felt like nothing you could say would ever convey how sorry you were. He smiled slightly, covering your hands with his, nodding slightly, telling you he understood.
“I’ve never talked to her. Even at her grave. I hardly visit. I couldn’t.”
“It’s not easy. I can’t even imagine.”
“She was my everything. My entire life’s plan was around her. My work here, my free time, my holidays, retirement, even what snacks I eat at home. All around her. I remember waking up the next day, later than usual. She’s the early riser, she usually wakes me up. And I thought, what’s the use of waking up? What do I do now that she’s gone? Who do I make breakfast for? What do I do when I have free time? Who do I plan my holidays around? Where should I go when I retire? What snacks do I eat now that she’s gone? How do I decide what to buy? I haven’t even gone out for fun since she passed. The bar, the Christmas Tree Lighting. I just stopped. My world stopped.”
He broke down. This big, stoic, grumpy man who made you cry the first time you met him, broke down in tears. You stood up, got in front of him and hugged him, as much as you could. He wrapped his arms around your waist and cried into your jacket, his body shaking from his sobs. You held on to him, letting him cry it all out. You wondered if he had ever done that, the man seemed bottled up, like he wouldn’t let anyone see him this vulnerable.
He finally let go of you after a few minutes, wiping his face, taking deep breaths, calming himself down, thanking you for letting him do that, saying sorry for you having to see him like that. You shook your head as you sat back down next to him.
“Don’t be sorry, it’s good to let it all out sometimes. So long as I don’t end up on my arse on a cold pavement, I’m okay to hear anything.”
He laughed. “God I was such a jerk. I’m sorry.” He gave you such an honest and pleading look you felt a warm sensation running through your body.
“I already forgave you, you dork.”
“Did you just call me a dog?”
You laughed. “No, you idiot. A dork. D.O.R.K. Dork.”
“Well, there’s an R in there, you know. You could’ve just pronounced it. Just saying,” he said, standing up, and offering his hand to help you get up.
“Oh, I’m sitting comfy on a bench, and he offered a hand. I was on my arse on a fucking freezing sidewalk at the airport and he just smirked. Such a gentleman!”
He laughed out loud as the two of you made your way back to the cabin. He came back in to make sure your stove was well lit. As he was leaving, he turned around and thanked you. He felt better. A weight was lifted, he said.
“I’m not sure what I did exactly, but you’re welcome. Glad I could help.”
“Is it okay if I come hang out tomorrow?”
“Sure. Noon-ish? I’ll cook?”
He nodded, tipped his imaginary hat at you, and left.
He walked home feeling as if his chest was much emptier and fuller at the same time. He had never cried in front of someone like that before. Ever since Cindy left, he had always been careful when it came to showing emotion, worried that Sarah might think less of him, or felt less safe if he showed any vulnerability. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around him since Cindy left, more so when Sarah died. As if he would break at any moment. Like he was fragile. Somehow, he didn’t feel like that with you. Ever since the two of you made up, he never felt like he had to hide anything from you. Crying like a child in front of you, that was something he never thought he would ever do, and there he was, sobbing into your jacket on Christmas day. He didn’t feel ashamed of it, even.
He made his way upstairs and got ready for bed. He put on a hoodie and went out to the balcony of his bedroom. He lit a cigarette, smiling to himself, thinking about the past two days that he spent with you. He took another drag and looked up at the clear night sky.
Maybe he should try what you did. It couldn’t hurt, right?
He took a deep breath.
“Hi BabyGirl. It’s been so long.”
He stopped talking, taking in the silence that surrounded him. He suddenly smiled and stubbed out the cigarette.
“Fine, fine, sorry, I forgot. No smoking when talking to you.”
In his mind, he saw Sarah laugh, her eyes rolling in faux annoyance. He leaned on the railing and began telling her about his wonderful Christmas day.
---
Part 7
#joel miller x reader#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#rancher joel miller
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I have an honest question and I don't want to sound rude or anything at all but what's so interesting about CNC. Like I see people hype it up but to me it just feels like romanticizing r4pe..I'm not really into CNC so I can't talk bad or downplay whatever they do but I'm just asking because I want to understand it better.
On Noncon/Dubcon as a Kink
This is a question I, by no means, can answer perfectly. However, in the spirit of philosophy and amateur psychology, I will lay unto you, ye who have keen ears, my theories.
Now, I am in no way a psychiatrist. However, as I am a woman who does a great deal of fantasizing and further thinking of what I fantasize about, I thought I might assume the role of a sexologist as it is no protected title.
I’ve long wondered why we (women) fantasize about things that would appall us if manifested in reality. It makes little sense that an act so ruining in practice should make us feel fulfilled when the mere thought of it is humored.
In the vast complexities of psychology, no matter how much I drink of its depths, I can’t seem to get my fill enough to understand it. Trying to figure out female arousal is like pulling hair from a clogged gutter and trying to undo all the knots. It’s a web of contradictions.
However…
First theory – there are cultural reasons. If we accept the inbuilt instincts of old and the instincts we adopt through media while growing up – all in all, the great history of aggressive men dominating passive women – we are conditioned to accept that this is what romance looks like.
Second theory – there are the emotional reasons. The "Beauty and the Beast" motif – featuring classic co-dependency. Women submit to abuse because we have an inbuilt need to nurture others – so when we love men who require to abuse and own us in order to love us, we somehow forget to protect ourselves in favor of loving them, which in this case means allowing them to abuse and own us. It's warped.
Third theory – there are psychological reasons. In fantasies and writing or viewing, we get to reframe traumatic experiences in a positive light or rework traumatic experiences in a safe environment – a form of psychological self-defense, much like Stockholm Syndrome or a type of self-inflicted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Fourth theory – research has also been conducted regarding physiological reasons. Here, we have another inbuilt self-defense mechanism – a seldom talked-about phenomenon – which shows that women tend to become physically aroused when they sense any possibility of sexual aggression in their environment – in order to lower their chance of injury if they are raped.
Through all this, I believe one can narrow fantasies of rough or non-consensual sex into something as paradoxical and polar as having a wish for control and a wish to relent oneself of it. And coming to this conclusion, I realized that such is the pursuit of many, even in endeavors not of the erotic kind.
Humans wish to have control just as much as humans disdain having control. This is why BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, masochism) kinks and fetishes are found in some shape or form in nearly every romantic or sexual relationship in existence. You’ll have the dominant partner wishing to achieve control over a submissive partner wishing to relinquish control through such means of domination, humiliation, pain, and pleasure.
But it’s more complex than that, isn’t it?
Yes. Because, contradictory – a submissive partner may wish for control, and a dominant partner may wish to lose it. Human beings are an unyielding paradox where we flex across contrasting aims with no means to an end.
Yes, we wish for control, yet disdain having it. Perhaps we find the answer to this paradox in maintaining control by losing it?
Moreover… how does this relate to nonconsensual sex fantasies?
Here, we get a fifth theory containing the ego – a spin-off of a kind from the third theory. Here we find the wish for control, where, in the lustful fantasy realm, non-consensual sex bolsters a woman's feelings of seductiveness and desirability in the way it has the power to make a man lose his decency and self-control, driving him to commit crimes of passion despite ill consequences of losing his pride and honor as a man – also, ultimately, risking getting sent to prison.
Put simply, some women enjoy the idea of being irresistible enough to drive even a good man crazy. The thought of being attractive enough to make a man love-sick and the power and control that follows it is, in this case, a turn-on.
A sixth theory – another spin-off from the third theory – is that fantasies of rape allow women to reduce the distress associated with sex, as they are not, in this scenario, responsible for what occurs. Moreover, the logic here states that when one is forced into something, they’ll have a lesser need to feel guilt or shame about acting out their own sexual desires.
Put simply, some women wish to maintain their innocence despite having carnal desires only satiated by means of sinful acts.
This begs another question.
Is this a lingering feeling of guilt and shame around female sexuality?
Of course! Women are constantly met with disdain when open about their sluttiness.
So, are fantasies of nonconsensual sex a type of projection they do because of this?
In some cases, yes!
Transferring our own sexual desires unto another gives us permission to act them out without feeling guilty or dirty – because, inside this fantasy, it isn’t us committing the indecencies.
... Okay then...
Summing up theories five and six:
Control. To feel wanted, lusted for, obsessed over, and coveted by others. The power of driving someone to lovesick desire, a frenzied state, where they would do anything, even illegal, to have you. Additionally, despite such harsh cases of ego, wanting none of the responsibility for it, wanting to be free of sin, to maintain innocence and purity in light of such dark desires.
Or is there a seventh theory? One found in our idyllic construct of freedom – this aimless goal of ours to make ourselves appreciate breathing – done by balancing the electric powerline between having and losing control.
Is it this act of switching places, the attraction and pull, the stimuli and response, the attack and retaliation? In the chaos of contradictions and uncertainty, we find a thrill that occupies our otherwise hibernating minds – bored to the degree that we become machines in our daily programs.
Is it simply that we need a little extremity as a remedy for our dull lives?
Do we fall in love with illegal things simply because we are denied them? Simply because they’re illegal? Self-harm, drug use, gambling, murder, rape…
Are these things a part of us? And are we, without them, left feeling unfulfilled? Is The Purge perhaps onto something vitally important? A cure for boredom, this mediocrity that leaves us feeling so blue?
I think, if I were to find a comparison, it’s quite similar to the blind bounds of excitement others ascend to in the midst of playing violent video games. The rush of falling in and out of enemy territory, of danger and safety, from being a predator to becoming the prey, of victory and defeat, of chasing death only to be comforted by one’s remaining life – because in reality, you're safe and sound in front of a screen.
Also, in other cases - rollercoasters, horror movies, extreme sports, etc...
Yes, the wish to trip in and out of control isn’t limited to the realm of lust but is present in most aspects of life. We find it in extreme cases such as drugs, gambling, gaming, relationships, and in other subtle cases of professions and work.
If you don’t like it, that’s your business, and I wish you the best of luck in lust elsewhere.
On another note – and such another warning and disclaimer – I want you not to accept my tales of lust as love stories. Personally, I think hints of toxic displays such as jealousy, obsession, and possession in a partner are natural – but – a difference is made when such feelings become restricting to a degree you no longer feel free. I implore you to make such distinctions for yourself when regarding yourself – and, in extreme cases, when regarding others.
In said regard, I do not condone the events nor the actions of the characters in my stories – neither offender nor victim. Don’t allow yourself to fall prey to toxic partners! The signs are always there – keep a weathered eye out for them.
And no, I’m not blaming those who’ve allowed themselves to stay in toxic relationships. I, myself, am guilty of that. But I won’t excuse my poor judgment either. You know when something doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t blur the lines of right and wrong in the name of love – or whatever else we may lend our self-control to – such as religion, culture, family, societal pressure, etc...
You are in control. Don’t forget it. And don’t allow anything else to become the case.
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Carmy has been a victim of gaslight his whole life
gifs by @robertacolndrez
So, the definition of gaslight, according to this site, is:
"Psychological manipulation of a person usually over an extended period of time that causes the victim to question the validity of their own thoughts, perception of reality, or memories and typically leads to confusion, loss of confidence and self-esteem, uncertainty of one's emotional or mental stability, and a dependency on the perpetrator."
According to Forbes Health, this are some of the things you experience when you are being constantly gaslighted.
Anxiety
Depression
Disorientation
Lowered self-esteem
Post-traumatic stress disorder
A hyperbolized fear of danger, known as hypervigilance
I want to zoom off that last one; remember when Carmy told in the group sharing session that he had to remember himself that the world was not falling? That he had to remember himself to breathe?
If we take "Fishes" as a basis to understand the family dynamics as they grow up (and I think we should), then we can get a pretty good idea of how much Carmy's feelings and thoughts were discredited growing up.
When he speaks up about how much shit they are giving him about his profession, Donna and Mickey attack him in the group to make them say "I love you," basically telling him that it doesn't matter that they make him feel like shit; Carmy is supposed to love them no matter what. I assume this is the answer he got every time he spoke up about boundaries being crossed, or maybe he was just so intimidated by his much larger and loud older brother or his aggressive mother. We can get traces of this trauma every time he gets insulted to his face in the show; it was so bad that it was Pete of all people who had to defend him (it is very telling that is Pete because to everyone else, insulting Carmy and him having to just take it seem to be a normal occurrence, Donna made it that way). It was the only way to keep the peace and the family functioning. Clining to the love he could take in the "good moments."
Here are some ways the most important people of his life had gaslight Carmy:
Donna seems to have a preference for Mickey over Carmy, a preference he is aware of but never understands why. Donna will throw "forks" of random aggression at Carmen, and he can never fight back. As a child, he was forced to think there was something wrong with him because that is the way a kid's mind works.
Mickey lied to him about why he cast him out and hid his addiction. Ignored Carmy's calls and then acted like Carmy (who was alone in a different city and in a very mentally aggressive industry) was making a big deal about it. Carmy wanted support, and Mickey (probably the only real parent figure he ever had) was making him feel shit about it.
gifs by @thoughtfulchaos773
When he confronted it about it, Carmy couldn't even look his brother in the face; that is how much deep down Carmy was intimidated by him. Mickey also never gave him a final answer about their dream restaurant. With time, the breach between the brothers got so big that the only call he ever received about Mickey was to inform him of his death.
gifs by @espumado
Richie, Mickey, and others started to tell him about who he should date. It seems like they still intend to make decisions for him on that front. (Fuck Fak and Richie). They knew Carmys had a crush on Claire at some point and were weaponizing his emotions; Mickey probably did it to compensate for how much of a shy brother he had been. It is possible they ver wanted Claire for themselves.
And then, you have Claire, that absolute promisse of uncomplicated love and affection. She doesn't necessarily gaslight Carmy, but she definitely has infantilized him in a couple of instances. Aka, this post.
That kind of game from Claire, suggesting to somebody else what they should think or say, is not acceptable either. When a person does that, they are aware they are doing it; it doesn't matter if they think it is harmless or not. Toxic behavior and ignoring boundaries don't stop being toxic because you have love/affection for the other person.
The fact that a victim of gaslight like Carmy is accepting this treatment, a person who had to go with what people wanted from him his whole life, feeling he had to adapt to receive love, because otherwise there was something wrong with him (Donna), makes it all worse. Carmy has associated (subconsciously) accepting insulting scenarios as part of a relationship with a loved one. With Claire, he accepts being infantilized and guided into saying the things she wants him to say. Yikes all around. I am not saying Claire is or would abuse Carmy, but this dynamic's undertone is not pretty.
I hate to end this on a shipper note, but for me, this all goes back to Sydney. Since the beginning, Syd is the only person who has established clear intentions with him and followed through with them. She does it when she says she wants something or will do something. Why does this "best friend" woman seem to have a less toxic approach to their relationship than his own girlfriend? That shit cannot be unintentional. Camy and Syd established in s2 that they could argue while recognizing their responsibility for the argument. No antagonizing, no lies, no manipulation.
#the bear meta#THERAPY IS URGENT#this man could not recognize a healthy relationship if it punched in his face#the bear#sydcarmy#carmy berzatto#sydney adamu#carmy x sydney#carmen berzatto#the bear fx#carmy the bear#sydney x carmy#anti claire bear#carmen bearzatto
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🔪Looks from afar|NIKTO YANDERE🔪
Reader gender neutral. TW: obsession, stalking,Disorder.
Part 1/?
🔪:You were nervous, to say the least, the air was cold and there was a lot of fog, you were standing in front of the door of the large base. You were a specialized doctor, they had to change your base for a while, at first you agreed,They welcomed you, they introduced you to the simple infirmary where you will work for a few months, you sit in the chair while releasing a heavy sigh. The air conditioning made you shiver, there was something about this place that was... strange, one of those times when you get a bad feeling. You settle into the chair and begin by first observing data from the base's soldiers on the data computer, anyway it wouldn't be the first time you dealt with psychopathic soldiers.
It wasn't long until the first soldier entered the infirmary, you looked up from the computer to see a soldier,He wore a completely covered mask that only left space for his eyes, with the classic soldier's attire, He was very tall and his gaze was so empty and penetrating that you felt like his gaze was going through your entire body that for a few seconds you two just looked into each other's eyes until he speaks.
"We are hurt, we need assistance".
The strange soldier said, he had a deep voice with a very thick Russian accent, you quickly snapped out of your trance and nodded.You quickly apologized and led him to the white bed in the infirmary. You looked at the wound, a significantly long cut, it looks like it was made by a combat knife. You applied the disinfectant and then started to bandage, you were deep in thought and the strange soldier doesn't seem to want to start a conversation. You were thinking about how he spoke in the third person, but those thoughts disappeared so you could focus on applying the bandage,You felt the soldier's gaze, fixed on you, for the second time you tried to ignore him, not wanting to make the situation more uncomfortable.
After finishing you say with a soft smile, trying to seem friendly and relieve the tense air. "Here we go..."you paused to wait for the man to tell you his name.
"we are nikto, we appreciate the help."
Your mind wandered again about why he was speaking in the third person, the first thing you thought was that he had a type of disorder like post-traumatic stress disorder, but again you preferred not to jump to wrong conclusions.
"Oh, okay, Nikto, take care, have a good afternoon."
The soldier looked at you for a few seconds to nod and then continue walking outside The infirmary.
The strange thing is that after he left you felt watched, there was no one, but You felt eyes on you the rest of the day.
Update 12/9/23
Part 2 here .
30/9/23
Also I made a bot with the same history lol I have to stop editing here to promote my shit)
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— oc . . .
tw,, just a severely mentally disturbed character. s#icide and bl#od I suppose lols
name; blythe silhouette
job; it’s unknown what blythe is even there for, nevertheless, it’s a miracle they got the job in the first place considering their instability.
gender; biological gender unknown. blythe is genderfluid but notable prefers they/them pronouns
sexuality; biromantic and omnisexual (has a preference for girls)
ethnicity; african american and french
age; unknown but is of legal age and is at least a few years younger than jimmy.
birthday; march tenth, is a pisces
nicknames; blythe doesn’t have any nicknames and also prefers to be referred to by their actual name.
pet names; none. but blythe’s given the other crew members pet names, even if in secret.
height; five foot eight feet tall.
weight; ninety pounds.
build; severely underweight.
eyes; has wide, creepy grey eyes.
distinguishing features; has freckles, a streak of white hair due to poliosis, and extremely pale skin that looks as though it’s experiencing pallor mortis.
hair; just black with a single white streak. their hair is down to their shoulders and is unkept.
health; 50/100. their physical health is mostly excellent save for their instability to obtain sleep and maintain healthy eating habits, but their mental health is completely deteriorated.
energy; is either tired to the point of swaying in circles while standing still or has enough energy to cause a stroke.
mental disorders; schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, major depressive disorder, intermittent explosive disorder, insomnia and sociopathy.
memory; depends. their memory ranges depending on the day and their mood, and sometimes they have memories that they aren’t even sure are real.
verse; mouthwashing.
mother; had an abusive mother that they never mention. blythe obviously hates their mother.
father; father was absent until their teenage years and ended up abandoning them again. they sent him death threats, harassed and stalked him until he eventually disappeared.
relatives; they have relatives but don’t necessarily have a relationship with any of them.
the crew members,,
curly; pre-crash, curly treated blythe a lot like he treated jimmy. they had a somewhat good relationship though it was obvious that curly was becoming fearful of their deteriorating mental and emotional stability. after the crash, blythe rarely truly sees curly’s actual condition, and often hallucinates curly as he was prior to the crash. they eventually are able to see curly and what had happened to him.
blythe made drawings for curly and hung them up where he was at, and also becomes closed with curly after the crash, for some odd reason.
jimmy; blythe is the closest with jimmy out of all the other crew members and vise versa. it’s heavily implied that they’re childhood friends. blythe seems aware of how bad of a person jimmy is but doesn’t necessarily care due to being considered worse than jimmy in some ways.
jimmy often takes advantage of their mental state and convinces them that curly is fine which is why they’re so unsure of whether or not the crash happened until anya confirms it. eventually jmmy’s own codependency towards blythe causes him to isolate blythe from the other crew members completely. jimmy has negatively influenced blythe’s behavior which is why they’re a lot like him.
daisuke; blythe is seen the most sympathetic towards daiuske which is surprising considering that they’re a sociopath.
blythe views daisuke as somewhat of their younger, adoptive sibling. although emotions like empathy or sympathy for blythe are often fleeting and shallow they mostly express it towards daisuke and not really the other crew members.
swansea; swansea despises blythe. they’re like a smaller version of jimmy without getting everyone killed or assaulting anyone (at least not sexually since blythe isn’t like that). blythe never really noticed that swansea disliked them.
anya; blythe has a crush on anya. it isn’t as blatant as blythe’s crush on jimmy, but anya is at least aware of their crush and does not like blythe back. blythe often is very flirty towards anya and is very, unnervingly friendly. they get really upset when anya never reciprocates and often goes to jimmy to complain about it.
they often bug anya in a childlike manner. anya wasn’t afraid of them until after the crash, where she understood that blythe was, and always has been, unstable, destructive, and morally corrupt. afterwards anya tries to avoid blythe.
personality; blythe is immature and irresponsible. they’re prone to temper tantrums when they don’t get their way which range from childish to dangerously violent.
they’re pretty dismissive and nonchalant about anyone’s concerns. they’re impulsive and have a lack of regard for the safety of themselves and others. their view of death is unhealthy considering the fact that they don’t fear it at all and in fact lean towards it the second small things go wrong. their suicidal tendencies lessen after the crash but only because they don’t want to fail at it and not because they value life or fear death.
not only do they devalue their own life but they devalue the lives of most of the other crewmates, including curly, pre-crash and post-crash despite the fact that they do care for curly. they only really seem to care for jimmy and daisuke’s life. jimmy because they’re closest to him and daisuke for a more selfish reason, blythe feels as though caring for him gives them a chance to right their wrongs (specifically fix how little they cared for their actual family) back on earth.
most of the other crew members just view blythe as a smaller version of jimmy, just a lot less serious, more jokable and more prone to snapping than he is (surprisingly). only daisuke and jimmy view blythe as otherwise because in reality they really only share a few traits with jimmy.
blythe is very apathetic towards everyone, especially anya, after the crash. anya already avoided them before since they were a nuisance but when curly got injured their stability deteriorated completely and she understood just how dangerous blythe was. anya eventually avoided blythe out of fear. anya states to curly before the crash that there was something about blythe that was dark.
after the crash blythe is constantly hallucinating and even gives curly drawing made from their own blood. someone on the ship cleaned it up since it’s considered a biohazard though blythe was completely unaware of their actions. they act out more and isolate themselves from the other crew members. eventually almost everywhere was covered in their drawings (a lot like the drawings of serial killers or mentally disturbed children) so daisuke spoke to them about it only to be callously dismissed by blythe.
they have very morbid and dark humor and often draw things such as nooses and themselves as a corpse. curly wanted to take away their crayons before the crash…
history; work in progress
#anya mouthwashing#game mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#jimmy x oc#mouthwashing#oc x canon#anya x oc#captain curly#daisuke mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#swansea mouthwashing
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So Nesta might also have second hand trauma...
+ Elain is a hypocrite.
“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”
This quote has rubbed me the wrong way since I read ACOSF for the first time. I reblogged and responded to a post by @simmanin where I discussed how Elain is a hypocrite for this line, since the IC have never considered what Nesta's trauma did to her. That was one of two thoughts I had regarding this quote, the second being how Nesta's reaction seems completely logical.
I think Nesta's response to Elain wanting to search for the Cauldron to be a form of real trauma caused, not only by her mother, her father's neglect, the cauldron, turning fae, the war and the shit ACOSF put her through, but also the trauma faced by Elain. This is a form of trauma called Secondary traumatic stress disorder.
Secondary trauma is most common in health care workers and mental health professionals, as well as others who help and deal with other people's trauma on the regular. This, to me, makes complete, logical sense. If you're exposed to so many traumatic experiences, even if it isn't directly, on the regular, then it makes sense that your mental health would also suffer for it.
There have been cases in which a person goes through trauma, and their family members, like siblings, develop secondary trauma as a result. Moreover, it's natural for any form of trauma to affect a person's relationships with friends and family, which we see happen to Nesta in how she distances herself from even Elain.
It makes complete sense that Nesta, who has set herself up as Elain's protector their whole life, and acts as more of a mother figure to her, would develop some form of secondary trauma when she almost loses Elain, or watches Elain endure suffering when shoved into the cauldron.
It wouldn't be far fetched for a parent/sibling to develop a form of secondary trauma after almost losing their child/sibling, in an accident or at the hands of another human being. So why is it that nobody considers that Elain's kidnapping caused even more trauma for Nesta.
While I'm not trying to say that it should come before Elain's trauma and experience, it also isn't okay to discount and overlook Nesta's just because her coddling of Elain is considered a bad trait. It isn't good that Elain is coddled like a child, but using it as an excuse to disregard the obvious traits of trauma that Nesta is showing is unfair to her, and just another example of Elain, perhaps unknowingly in regards to secondary trauma, thinking only about Nesta's trauma is doing to her. How she's upset by the way Nesta handles it, rather than considering that Elain's support is the one Nesta needs the most.
Nesta spend her whole life feeling like a failure. To her mother. Her grandmother. To Feyre. To Amren. To the court. Nesta grapples with feelings of self worth and views herself as a failure for being unable to protect those she loves so fiercely, which greatly affects her mental health and is a huge factor in driving her to want to commit suicide. The only thing she didn't feel like she failed at, was protecting Elain. Until the cauldron. Until Hybern. Until they were dragged into a war that Nesta wanted no part of, but got involved with because of Feyre's request and Elain's insistence.
Nesta tried to give to Feyre what Feyre gave to her in that cabin when she allowed her to use their home (despite Feyre's friends accosting her for issues that aren't theirs to address or comment on), and even then, she feels like she failed when the mortal queens turned traitor. Failed to make it up to Feyre, failed to protect her people, and when Hybern came, failed to protect Elain.
Now, for Elain to not only reinforce those negative feelings, but dismiss Nesta's traumas entierly, from the moment the war ended, is cruel. Elain is a hypocrite. She is a hypocrite who was quick to abandon the one person who's been in her corner for her entire life. While there are clearly issues between Elain and Nesta that need to be sorted through, especially in regards to how Elain is coddled and borderline infantilised by her Nesta, discrediting Nesta's trauma, the way she's accused of doing to Elain despite how Nesta sacrificed her own healing just to be by Elain's side and get involved in the war, again, at Feyre's behest, is not how you go about it.
Nesta appears to have a form of secondary trauma that stems from Elain's own traumas, and she's not the only one. I think tamlin's actions stem from a form of secondary trauma from watching how Feyre suffered and died under the mountain. It doesn't make what he did right. It doesn't excuse his actions. Nor does it excuse Feyre's, since one might argue that seeing her sisters dumped into the cauldron gave her a form of secondary trauma too (since Mor mentioned Feyre feeling responsible for what happened in acofs, and wanting to fix all their problems as a result).
However, it does explain them. Much like how Nesta's traumas, first and second hand, explain her actions. That's not to say that an explanation is an excuse. It merely provide a context from which to examine their actions can be examined and create a path to empathy and compassion. Whether they're forgiven and forgotten is entierly up to those affected by their actions (pretty much just Feyre and maybe Elain for the coddling), and in the case of fictional media, audience discretion.
Nesta has certain things she should apologies for (again, to Feyre mostly, and maybe a little bit Elain), I don't disagree with that. However, none of that can happen until Nesta is able to heal.
The quote above is the perfect example of Nesta being denied that, despite the delusion of the IC in thinking that's what ACOSF was about. Her trauma isn't considered valid by the Ic, or even her own sisters, which is why it isn't treated as such.
So to sum it up, yes. Nesta is thinking about what Elain's trauma did to her because it did have a very real affect on her. It caused real trauma that Nesta has to deal with. The dangers faced by Feyre and the entire court, cause her trauma. She suffers with the fear of losing those she loves so fiercely so that her mental health took a swan dive because of that, amongst other reasons. Yet nobody acknowledges that Elain's suffering, real and horrible as it may be, also caused Nesta pain. Hell, they don't acknowledge the pain Nesta's own suffering caused her, much less anybody else's.
Also Elain and the IC just prove that they have no empathy or compassion despite their own traumas being so similar to the hell they're putting Nesta through. Either their traumas weren't traumatising or the cycle of abuse broke the so badly that they can't even recognise the abuse they put others through.
#anti acosf#anti ic#anti inner circle#anti rhysand#pro nesta#nesta deserves better#nesta acotar#anti amren#anti mor#pro nesta archeron#anti elain#anti feyre#anti morrigan#Nesta's trauma needs to be addressed#preferably by a professional#but apparently those are off limits to Nesta for some reason#pro tamlin
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he is RISEN baby girl
hello hello! yes i'm alive, just very mentally ill. things are on the up and up and i have mega brainrot right now so i decided to try and get back on the "being a person" horse. you may see i've just posted some poolverine smut to AO3 here.
if you've sent me messages during my year hiatus (especially regarding commissions) I love and appreciate you and will be responding SOON, i PROMISE!
long ramble about where i'm at/life update below the cut.
May of 2023, I graduated with my masters. yaaay woo but also booo because it didn't help me get a job at all! i finally landed a paying gig in September of 2023 after sending out quite literally hundreds of applications. i only had two interviews total and a mountain of auto-rejections to show for it and it took an immense toll on my mental health. It started what was (in hindsight) a year of a prolonged downward spiral.
i already really struggled with self worth and turns out riding the merry-go-round of job hunting rejection cranked my depression up to new heights. for the first time in a long time, i found myself so low as to be entertaining thoughts of suicide. my eating disorder peaked the hardest it has since high school. i had also moved out of my parents house and in with my partner May of 2023 and was readjusting to being out of a traumatic environment. i had panic attacks anytime he came into a room too quietly and surprised me for months. I found myself isolated from most of my friends (partly because of my own communication death-spiral depression paralysis) and also because i moved to a different city than all of them to live with my partner again (0 complaints there, i love the city i live in and love my home with my partner and our bird children. however i miss my fucking friends, and the loneliness compounded the Despair Arc i was having.) My fucking health insurance changed because my previous policy holder retired and i lost some medications for a period of time, stressing my body in bad ways. a really bad spell of migraines compounded things chemically for the worst.
i borrowed some money to return to my therapist and my doc recently upped my antidepressant dose, and I can tell that both of those things but ESPECIALLY that last one there has helped already. My partner, closest friends, and even some coworkers have said I seem much better, too. I'm hopeful about it. Optimistic, even!
i did get a job working for a behavioral health nonprofit that provides outpatient psychiatric services in administration. It pays in fucking sheckles and pennies (nonprofits be like) and psych is a challenging environment to say the least. it was another 6-month fight to hammer out disability accommodations with HR. my body is a machine that consumes paid leave. as any of you that have danced an accommdations dance can probably attest, it sucks so goddamn bad. i had basically round after round of requests for my doctors to fill out paperwork that amounted to "will they get better? Are you sure? Alright, please estimate how often this person will need this accommodation in hours per week." of course it took an immense mental health toll, too. i kick ass at what i do and i do it chronically understaffed but it's really hard to feel secure anywhere when you're constantly missing work due to uncontrollable Body Bad Times (migraine, explosive diarrhea, uncontrollable vomiting, my three horsemen). especially if someone has a grudge, and someone did, which added extra layers of complexity.
i'll be honest, it's good to have something to get out of bed to go do 5/7 days of the week (i was going stir crazy without employment) but i'm running myself ragged and barely making it financially. not only was this body i have NOT built for an 8-5, i have less than 15$ to my name right now to show for it and i keep having to borrow money from my family for medication. but i truly love the people i work with and feel like i get to do good for my community where i'm at, and that's something folks!
speaking of health, i kind of got my gut stuff figured out? not really. but also yes! i don't have a diagnosis of any kind but i have a treatment that's WORKING for the constant nausea i was always blogging about last year. my GI put me on domperidone before meals and oh my god, total fucking game changer. no longer am i burping up half-digested food and walking around with 24/7 debilitating nausea AND my appetite even kicks in when i take the damn pills!!! the only down side is that domperidone is not FDA approved in the USofA because of sudden cardiac failure or what the fuck ever so i have to pay out of pocket for all of it. that's a good 150$ per month on top of all my other medication, so that's a bummer. but god, to have something that works!!! it's been so nice. no sudden heart failure yet, fingers crossed.
i have really bad executive dysfunction when it comes to responding to messages (i currently have 100+ unread text messages from friends and family) but i'm challenging myself to work through my backlog of messages in the coming days, so stay tuned if you've DM'd me in the last year. thank you for thinking of me and i appreciate you endlessly.
as for commissions, my life is just too unpredictable for me to be as consistent with those as i'd wanted to be. as much as having the bonus income was really amazing, i just feel like i'm too flakey and unreliable to deliver on that regularly and that's just a shitty thing to do to someone. (please check your DMs if this describes an interaction we had with me.)
i'm sorry if this decision is disappointing to anyone, but i think i'm going to stick to having a kofi live if folks feel inclined to show appreciation for any fic i post and maybe taking a comm very very rarely, once in a blue moon when circumstances allow. I do want to honor anyone that messaged me about a comm during my year hiatus. Please check your DMs. for my casual reader: none of my current projects on AO3 are abandoned. i've never stopped working on them this past year, even if it has only been in my notes app. i really want to start posting more regularly again. i miss the outlet immensely. I think it's good for me, creatively and for a sense of community. i hope you all understand and thank you. thanks for still being here.
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