#like “if you don't suffer enough in your life you should be ashamed of being here”

[majortomyourcurcuitsdead]

Shaming people online for not living in a war zone (little was known about the fact that me and my family left a country currently at war, except my dad; borders are still literally closed for him) is a next level vitriol.

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 3:

Because all living things disappoint us on some level

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Series masterlist here

Warnings: explicit domestic violence and abusive relationship. Descriptions of physical violence. Mention of miscarriage (doesn't happen). Marital rape (nothing too explicit, but there are some descriptions of the moment). Reader is married and has a child. Dissociation as a way of coping.

Summary: You reflect on your life choices in recent years while Spencer drops a bomb on you that shatters your illusions of comfort. How good a mother are you being? You scrub the dirt off your body in the shower, but it never comes off.

Your world has stopped several times during your life. The first time Steve shouted at you and showed that he could be aggressive, the first time he did more than shout, but especially when you held that positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands and lost all sight of the horizon.

You were already 8 weeks pregnant, and for the next 7 months, you had to learn to share your body with a little creature that slowly grew on you in every way. You thought you were broken when you didn't feel that mother-child connection, long nights awake wondering what was wrong with you. It was only the first time you felt Will move inside you that you realized how real it was. From then on, that protective instinct began to develop.

What you were ashamed to admit was that you only really loved him when you fell down the stairs and there was so much blood around you and as you lost and regained consciousness, Steve's face wandering above you in an ambulance, all you could think was "if there is a God, don't let anything happen to my baby". When you woke up in the hospital without knowing how much time had passed, you felt an emptiness inside you, and the nurse found you crying copiously, certain that you had suffered a miscarriage. That's when you found out that your baby was a boy, and reading one of your thousands of poetry books for college, you decided what to name him. A college you never finished, by the way.

When they placed him in your arms for the first time, bawling and with tearful little eyes wide open, wishing to go back to the comfort of your womb, where everything was safe, you hugged him tightly against your chest, wishing you could do the same thing while swearing in your thoughts that you would never let him be affected by his father's behavior, and under Steve's delighted gaze at the baby you had made, you almost thought things could be different. When you were discharged from the hospital with a list of foods for iron deficiency, you didn't bother to explain to the doctor that the bruises on your arm weren't due to a lack of iron.

"Hey, can you hear me? I need you to focus on my voice." Spencer said, loud enough to get his attention, but not so loud as to alert William.

He blamed himself for throwing you into this state, immediately recognizing the signs of dissociation. He knew he should have approached the subject with more caution, but for a moment, he felt that any chance he had was slipping through his fingers. How traumatized were you to already be conditioned to disconnect from reality when it knocked on your door?

Gradually, your breathing steadied as you realized where and with whom you were, blinking to stare at the worried face in front of you, the man's frown deepening as he analyzed you carefully. You were immediately mortified, looking away as you swallowed and remembered the original subject of the conversation. Will. You took a deep breath, glancing briefly at your son to regain your strength before turning your attention to Dr. Reid.

"Are you all right?"

You could only nod. "What... What were you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause that reaction. Is that common?"

You hated the way you felt like a patient in a doctor's office, and you had to suppress the urge to hug yourself for comfort. There was nothing wrong with you. Right?

"Please... Dr. Reid." You added your title as an afterthought, hoping it would do something for his request.

And so, he agreed to ignore one of the many elephants in the room, just as he ignored the nail mark on your arm and your blank stare.

"It was something he told me when I was bringing him here. He told me he ran away because you two were starting..."

"Starting?"

"I hadn't understood either, but then I got here and I knew. He sees you fighting." Could it be called a fight when you never fought back? "He knows what happens at home, maybe not everything, and I hope not, because these things are never good for a child's upbringing, but he can already tell there's something wrong. Children aren't as naive as their parents think, he'll only realize it more as he grows up."

Proudly, you swallowed and straightened your back, hiding the little dried blood on your arm by pressing it against your stomach. "I don't know what you think is going on, Dr. Reid, but there's nothing for him to notice."

Spencer sighed, not understanding exactly where his denial was coming from, considering that he had already seen the violence firsthand. Still, he noticed how your eyes showed anguish and regret for the first time, unconsciously making his profile. You felt you had failed as a mother, and you were ashamed to expose it.

"Willy, darling, it's time to go, okay?" You spoke up, drawing your son's attention.

Once again, Spencer felt like he was doing a bad job, his left hand twitching next to his thigh as he thought about how this could be the last time he would see you. And of everything that could happen to you and your son if you never managed to break out of this cycle of abuse.

"Can we go to the park?" The childish, bored voice asked, walking up to you with his phone in his hand.

With a glimpse, Reid realized that it seemed to be some kind of educational game about dinosaurs. A quiz where you had to guess the name of the dinosaur that appeared on the screen.

"Not today, love, you know you shouldn't have run away from me. Maybe tomorrow, if you behave."

"Whatever," William muttered sulkily, kicking up invisible dust. "Bye, Dr. Reid."

"Bye, buddy." Spencer said, his voice much softer as he crouched down and raised his hand for a goodbye high-five, which brought a smile, albeit a small one, to the child's face.

With impressive agility, he stood again, staring at your face for what seemed like long seconds before finally asking. "Am I going to see you again?"

Answering was more painful than you'd like to admit. "I don't think so. Goodbye, Dr. Reid."

Picking up your bag from the table, you turned to leave, holding your son's hand.

"Does he like dinosaurs?" Spencer asked, still unwilling to allow you to leave. Unwilling to admit that he was scared.

You turned around, frowning before nodding, a confused look on your face.

"I saw the game on your cell phone." He admitted, looking a little shy as he did so. "It's just... there's a traveling park. They're going to be in town for one day in three days. Admission costs 10 dollars. You should really consider going... You never know... who you might meet after you've thought it through."

"I don't know if I'll have time for that."

This time, Spencer didn't stop you. You didn't see when he noticed the zipper of your bag open. Dangerous, but convenient. You didn't see when he took a card out of his pocket and threw it in. You only heard when he exclaimed, "Your bag is open!" Because he wasn't a bastard who would let you walk around with more risk of being robbed. He watched you walk away wishing deeply that you'd decided to go to the park after all. He would be there, regardless of any decision.

When he returned to his meeting, Spencer made little eye contact and mumbled some lame excuse about taking questions from a policeman when they mentioned how long it took him. He didn't see how Morgan's gaze remained on him for much longer.

•••

Steve could have been in several moods today and you knew them all. The most likely was aggressive. William would have to go to bed early while you suppressed any moans of pain and any crying so as not to alert your son. He was often the passive-aggressive one, pointing out all your little mistakes without caring if it made you cry. When he fought with you, however, it was very rare that he came home being the loving Steve. You knew what it meant; he wanted to get into your pants, but today, you were too exhausted for that.

Even so, when he played with Will in the living room, when he complimented you on your food when he came up behind you while you washed the dishes and wrapped his hands around your waist while placing kisses on your neck, you pretended that you and your son were loved.

"You look so beautiful today." He whispered against your ear, one of his hands going down to explore the inside of your thigh. "Driving me crazy."

"Steve!" You exclaimed softly. "Will will notice." Will noticed a lot of things, you reminded yourself, and quickly pushed the thought away.

"It's past his bedtime." You didn't even know that Steve knew his son's bedtime. "I'll send the boy to bed and we'll finish this, what do you think?" One of his hands slid to your throat, and your head instinctively went back, resting on your husband's shoulder.

He interpreted her silence as the only answer he needed, whispering in a thick voice, "That's right, kitten," before slapping her ass and leaving to put William to bed. Leaving you there with a lump in your throat as his fingers tightly gripped the last plate you had just washed, and you tried to pull yourself together.

•••

"Damn, you're so pretty," he said, pulling you under him on the bed as he showered your face with kisses and made you tingle. "I'm sorry about today, darling. You know I'm sorry, don't you?" he asked, taking your arm gently and kissing the wounds softly. You just nodded. "This would never have happened if you hadn't been so absent-minded, but still... I feel so bad."

You lost yourself in his almost loving words, his soft kisses, and the tender, careful touch on your skin, the weight of him above you seeming pleasantly welcome after such a long time. You missed it so much... feeling like you were in a normal relationship. Somehow, he always convinced you to let go of any transgression.

It was only when he pressed his erection against your thigh and growled in your ear, "I can't wait to fuck you tonight," that you realized exactly what you were getting into.

"I'm so tired." You murmured against his lips. "Tomorrow, please?"

Suddenly, the grip around your waist was much more oppressive, almost painful, revealing his true intention: to restrain you.

"But you had me so worried today," he said, in that annoying tone as if he were talking to a child, then he cracked a smile that gave you goosebumps, "Aren't you going to make it up to your husband?"

The hand that went to the side of your neck reminded you of how much you disliked what happened when you tried to reject him. Feeling so small, you nodded.

From then on, you hardly noticed the dirty, possessive things he whispered and growled in your ear, his strong grip that would leave bruises all over your body and the brutal way he penetrated you. No, you kept replaying that conversation in your head, wondering if Will could hear them from his room. You remembered that article you read a while back, that listening to parents having sex causes effects similar to sexual abuse in a child. How children who grew up in violent homes were more likely to be violent or suffer abusive relationships. Spencer Reid's voice never left your head, filling you with guilt for all sorts of reasons.

When Steve fell beside you on the bed, pulling out a condom that you had not noticed he had put on - but felt grateful for - you no longer knew who you were. This morning, you were a good mother. Now, not even that. When you got into the shower, Steve didn't even bother to go after you and when you scrubbed your skin until it was red, crying quietly and feeling like the dirtiest person in the world, trying to get any trace of him off your body, he rested with a clear conscience in bed. The weight of what had just happened finally hit you and you suppressed the urge to vomit as you realized that you had been used once again.

As you lay on the bed, you allowed Steve to pull you against him; you allowed him to wrap his arms around your body as if he were some kind of protector, and when he kept whispering things like "You're only mine", you agreed. Because, after all, what else could you do?

Staring at the ceiling, you remembered the first time he pushed you and how he clung to you afterward, begging forgiveness as he cried and said he didn't know how to be different from your own father.

"Hmm... Lovie?" You asked softly, trying hard to stay calm.

"Yes, darling?" he mumbled, being roused from a light nap.

"There's going to be a dinosaur park in town in a few days. Can you... can you give me the money to take Will?"

You finally realized that you didn't want to be like your mother.

Taglist (if you want in or out, just let me know):

@yokaimoon @fanfic-viewer @v1ckycheesue @mynameiskelly @pacmil

[furiousgoldfish]

Being raised in an abused family will often leave you with the abusive system of social hierarchy in your subconscious mind, and you might not even realize you're following its rules in the life after abuse.

The system is created to rationalize and enable abuse, to the point that it's difficult for anything but abuse to go on within the system. It puts all of the people in your life in 2 possible roles: First role are the people with authority over you, who can use you, hurt you, and you have to tolerate it, you have to see it as them 'just taking their frustrations out on you' and 'not knowing any better', and not take it personally. You can't act against them because they always have some hold over you, or just scare you too much to retaliate. The second role are people who have less power than you, or depend on you in some way, and they're the ones who are acceptable for you to demand things from, take your frustrations out on, expect things from them, criticize them or complain how they're not doing enough for you. For some people, who have are used to being at the very bottom of the hierarchy, don't have anyone with less power than them, and will therefore expect always to be the one others are hurting, with nobody to take it out on but themselves.

The reason we learn this is because it happens in the abusive homes, and often other parts of society, to the point where we think it's normal. Parent getting yelled at by the boss, then yelling at home at their spouse, then spouse yelling at the children, and children yelling at each other. In each of these stages, one person is getting their need to feel 'superior to someone' met by dehumanizing and using someone they can do it to, without suffering any consequences. And we accepted this is just how life is, how is one supposed to live without having someone to vent their frustration on? And the solution they propose is 'don't take it personally, this person still loves you they're just having a bad day'. But it's not just one bad day. And there is no love, only dehumanizing you in order to feel superior.

In abusive systems like this, attention, love, caretaking or fulfilling someone's needs is scarce, and will only ever come from those lower on the abusive hierarchy. This means that the less abusive spouse, and the children, will end up giving love and care to the worst abuser, they'll have to fulfill this person's needs and wants, when it should be reverse. Families exists so children could be taken care of. The competition for attention and care can be so fierce that anyone getting attention can make other members of the family angry or jealous, because there's so little of it to go around, and the people giving attention will be taken for granted and used as resources. Dehumanized, only there to fulfill a need.

This is not how normal, healthy communities work. In a normal, healthy setting, everyone is getting their needs met, and we don't fight to feel 'superior to others', we understand that we're all equal, nobody better or more important than another, and each of us special to someone. There's value in humans that isn't shown when all you can do is try to avoid being the target of someone's anger, or trying to prove that you're a good enough resource and you don't deserve to be punished for not doing enough. No human should ever be somebody's target for letting out frustrations. Nobody deserves that.

How to tell if you're still unconsciously living by this system? See if you check any of these points:

people who willingly give you care, attention, love, and fulfill your needs, are people who you give no attention, they're boring and you know you can take them for granted

people you seek attention from are people who are in higher authority than you, popular or special in some way, and who repeatedly ignore/neglect you or are emotionally unavailable and unwilling to care for you

you don't feel guilty or ashamed for yelling or berating someone in your life who annoys you or is in your way, even if they didn't do it on purpose. you feel it's completely their fault for not thinking of you first.

you feel immensely stressed if you accidentally annoy or slight someone who you want attention from, you obsess over how will they see you now and how you must have ruined your chances to be loved or admired by them

you long for more success and better social standing, not only for the money but to feel like you're on top and allowed to tell other people off and never have any consequences for it

you look down on people who are doing worse than you, you feel inclined to tell them it's their fault because if they had tried harder, like you did, they would have made it

you don't feel guilty or ashamed of manipulating people to get what you want, especially if they present no threat to you and there's no consequences for it. You feel inside that they deserve it

you refuse to admit or acknowledge if you're being manipulated or used, because it would feel too humiliating and unbearable to withstand it, you instead pretend it didn't happen

you don't think it's a big deal to cut off anyone who isn't of any use of you, and you don't consider their feelings on the matter

being cut off by someone whose attention you want puts you in a lot of pain and humiliation and you feel like you need to keep it secret or pretend it didn't happen, it damages your sense of self to be aware of it, and you feel it's your fault it happened

you're ready to defend and make excuses for people who are above you in social standing, if they hurt you or anyone else, you feel connected to them and want to reach their status, and for this status to be protected from criticism

you feel that people who are 'below' you in society are at fault both for being hurt, and for hurting anyone else, their motives must always be malicious and you don't think any measure of sanction is too much for them

you find it very normal to vent your frustrations at people who, in your mind, should tolerate this and understand it's just a way of life

If you were at the bottom of the hierarchy in your upbringing, it's likely you don't align with most of these, because you had nobody "under" you to take for granted, or use in any way, and instead you became the resource and the world became the unreachable, scary, and filled with pain for you. If, instead, you were in the middle of it, and were constantly relying on someone to take your frustrations, fulfill your needs, while you're also doing that for somebody else, you could potentially get caught in the loophole and continue living this way, as if its the normal way of life, without realizing it.

This is not a normal way to live. In the system, there is no love, no true connection, no humanity and no respect for any human being. There's only chase for power while stepping all over people who care for you. It's not humane, not sustainable, and the system inevitably crashes once those who provide care and love, withdraw because they realize they've been abused, exploited and got only hatred in return. System relies on abuse and fake feeling of superiority in order to run, and the result is only the abuse of human beings. Nobody is still superior to anyone, but everyone in the system gets a share of being abused, exploited, manipulated and dehumanized.

[aspd-culture]

What’s the difference between remorse and shame?

So remorse is inherent to having had done something wrong. While getting caught/the risk thereof, if someone got hurt emotionally or otherwise, the potential for social consequences, etc can *add* to that remorse, none of that is what causes it. Instead it is a societally built instinct that becomes an uncontrollable part of brain development quite early in life, though as we see in pwASPD it can be removed entirely or diluted by circumstances that make it useless, dangerous, or otherwise cause a child to believe other people don't feel that way. That instinct defines a bad and good and if you do something bad you feel this itch to make it up to anyone involved, to tell people what you did, to try and get forgiveness and atone for whatever it is you did, and even after all of that there will still be that feeling of remorse. It is this thing in the pit of your stomach nagging you about what you did wrong - not because of any effect it may have on you, and it occurs even if there is 0 chance it will affect you in any way - and not letting you forget about it.

Shame is a different social response, and in typical development, comes from perceived risk of social consequences (if people found out they'd hate me, so I must be bad and I shouldn't have done it) and a hit to self-esteem/self-worth on the basis that they did whatever they did. It can also come from PTSD as a trauma response, or OCD. As a trauma response, doing something that may have caused a valued adult or caregiver or even a friend that was taking a somewhat caregiving role for you will cause this shame as you risk falling out of favor with someone who is safe. You don't want them to see you in a negative light because their opinion of you directly affects how you feel about yourself. As an OCD obsession it can come from being either labelled as bad as a child and your brain taking that in and becoming extremely paranoid about good vs evil and which side you stand on, or for someone who is kind and caring and "good" by social standards and values that, as an attack on something you value most - as that is what OCD does by definition. Shame is a part of the anxiety needed to keep humans in packs back when we were surviving in small groups in the "wild" rather than in established towns/cities/civilization of any sort. If a human were to be cut off from the pack due to distaste towards them, it would be the end of them almost certainly. Humans were weaker to the elements, starvation, dehydration, and predators at the time, so you needed the protection that came in numbers both for the ability to keep food/water/shelter around and for the fact that animals were less likely to attack a group of humans than a single one. It was literally life or death if people liked you enough to keep you around, and so there is a very strong response built into humans' brains to keep social favor towards them - that's what we call shame.

So shame has something to do with how you view yourself or how others view you (and the potential consequences thereof), while remorse is an instinct that does not care about consequences, whether anyone knows, your opinion of yourself, etc. Remorse just is because of the fact that you did the thing. It's considered disingenuous to apologize or attempt to make amends exclusively on shame, and remorse is a large part of the social dance expected when someone knows you did something wrong. In fact, perceived remorse is a large part of court proceedings and legal decisions such as parole/probation vs jail time, length of sentence, etc. "You should be ashamed of yourself" is a bit of a misnomer, because really what they want is for you to feel an instinctual suffering as a result of having had done something wrong.

I hope this made sense; as always anyone is welcome to send in another ask for clarification if it didn't.

Plain text below the cut:

So remorse is inherent to having had done something wrong. While getting caught/the risk thereof, if someone got hurt emotionally or otherwise, the potential for social consequences, etc can *add* to that remorse, none of that is what causes it. Instead it is a societally built instinct that becomes an uncontrollable part of brain development quite early in life, though as we see in pwASPD it can be removed entirely or diluted by circumstances that make it useless, dangerous, or otherwise cause a child to believe other people don't feel that way. That instinct defines a bad and good and if you do something bad you feel this itch to make it up to anyone involved, to tell people what you did, to try and get forgiveness and atone for whatever it is you did, and even after all of that there will still be that feeling of remorse. It is this thing in the pit of your stomach nagging you about what you did wrong - not because of any effect it may have on you, and it occurs even if there is 0 chance it will affect you in any way - and not letting you forget about it.

Shame is a different social response, and in typical development, comes from perceived risk of social consequences (if people found out they'd hate me, so I must be bad and I shouldn't have done it) and a hit to self-esteem/self-worth on the basis that they did whatever they did. It can also come from PTSD as a trauma response, or OCD. As a trauma response, doing something that may have caused a valued adult or caregiver or even a friend that was taking a somewhat caregiving role for you will cause this shame as you risk falling out of favor with someone who is safe. You don't want them to see you in a negative light because their opinion of you directly affects how you feel about yourself. As an OCD obsession it can come from being either labelled as bad as a child and your brain taking that in and becoming extremely paranoid about good vs evil and which side you stand on, or for someone who is kind and caring and "good" by social standards and values that, as an attack on something you value most - as that is what OCD does by definition. Shame is a part of the anxiety needed to keep humans in packs back when we were surviving in small groups in the "wild" rather than in established towns/cities/civilization of any sort. If a human were to be cut off from the pack due to distaste towards them, it would be the end of them almost certainly. Humans were weaker to the elements, starvation, dehydration, and predators at the time, so you needed the protection that came in numbers both for the ability to keep food/water/shelter around and for the fact that animals were less likely to attack a group of humans than a single one. It was literally life or death if people liked you enough to keep you around, and so there is a very strong response built into humans' brains to keep social favor towards them - that's what we call shame.

So shame has something to do with how you view yourself or how others view you (and the potential consequences thereof), while remorse is an instinct that does not care about consequences, whether anyone knows, your opinion of yourself, etc. Remorse just is because of the fact that you did the thing. It's considered disingenuous to apologize or attempt to make amends exclusively on shame, and remorse is a large part of the social dance expected when someone knows you did something wrong. In fact, perceived remorse is a large part of court proceedings and legal decisions such as parole/probation vs jail time, length of sentence, etc. "You should be ashamed of yourself" is a bit of a misnomer, because really what they want is for you to feel an instinctual suffering as a result of having had done something wrong.

I hope this made sense; as always anyone is welcome to send in another ask for clarification if it didn't.

[animezinglife]

The Eyes of Compassion

Observations from Cole as he wanders Skyhold.

Notes: Angst, hurt/comfort, and healing. Less-than-subtle hints of budding romantic feelings between Inquisitor (Mira) Trevelyan and Cullen. I've always wondered how Skyhold must seem through Cole's eyes and how different emotions might impact him. I love the way he speaks and wanted to lean into that, so this is quite a bit different than what I normally write. I hope you'll enjoy. I wouldn't mind writing more like this in the future. Shout-out to @the-arcane-archivist and @sweetjulieapples for being so supportive of my obsession. Please do not copy or re-post this anywhere, and please do not feed this into AI or any sites supporting it. You can also find this on my AO3.

There were so many people here, and so many things he didn't understand.

So many little hurts.

Cole felt them all.

He wanted to help.

He had to.

Cole wandered the grounds, his footsteps silent against the fallen leaves outside the infirmary. He had soothed the hurts inside the small stone building for now and relieved the surgeon's distress. She'd found the strength to hold onto the soldier's hand as he'd finally drifted into a painless sleep. She had not wanted to forget her hurt, so Cole had taken her guilt. She wanted to save them all. She always tried.

It's not your fault, he'd told her as the soldier had taken his last breath. He's sad, but ready. He wants to see his brother again. That had not been enough, and the surgeon had prayed. Cole had listened to her prayer.

Some hurts kept her moving forward; kept her saving the ones she could. Cole let those be, and only made her forget the questions that had flashed through her mind and roiled in her gut: no, she should not have done something differently. She could not have acted more quickly. There was nothing that could be done, and she had managed to ease his suffering.

Cole had made him forget his wounds. The soldier's mind had drifted peacefully to his fallen eldest brother, and to a girl he'd met in one of the camps years before he'd even become a man.

They wouldn't remember Cole, but he didn't mind. He turned his attention elsewhere, where one hurt was now louder than the rest.

Cullen was struggling. Some days were better than others. Sometimes, it was the scars the demons had left, and others it wounds his time as a Templar still inflicted. Cole felt his pain; the blood burning through his veins like fire, screaming out for what he refused to take.

Cole didn't understand Lyrium. He knew it gave the Templars their power, but not all of their power. Cullen was no longer a Templar, and he would not take it.

It hurt him not to. Cole felt the searing pain; the roaring in his head that twisted in his gut and had him broken out into a terrible sweat. Through eyes that were not his own, Cole saw gloved hands shaking.

Cullen was proud and strong. He didn't want to be like this. He couldn't stand for her to see him like this.

Shame. Cole recognized it well. A conversation from an earlier time raced through Cullen's mind, and the flash of Inquisitor Trevelyan's face as he'd told her he couldn't give less to the Inquisition than the Chantry. He'd known it wouldn't be easy—known he might not even survive it. But he had to do it, to sever the chains that held him to his old life.

To leave the man he'd once been behind him.

Cole glanced up to the commander's quarters, flashes of Inquisitor Trevelyan entering his own through Cullen's eyes. She was worried, her blue eyes sad, wise, and concerned. She was speaking to him evenly, and through the pounding in his head, Cullen didn't hear her voice crack.

Cole felt her chest tighten; her mind racing as Cullen refused the healer. The Inquisitor took this in stride, as if she'd expected as much.

You don't need to hide from her, Cole thought, letting his voice wander up those stone stairs and seep through the roar in Cullen's ears. She sees you. She doesn't want you to feel ashamed. She wants to face this with you. Wants to help.

The commander was at war with himself. He thought of her as Mira even though he knew he shouldn't. He hated her seeing him like this. She carried the world on her shoulders, and she didn't need him being another burden to bear. Through his pain, a single thought trickled into Cole's mind: I should be protecting her.

Mira was asking Cullen a question he struggled to respond to. She wanted to help. She wanted to help him manage his pain, but she wasn't sure her magic could. It had to be his choice. She needed it to be.

"I can endure it." It was not the first time he'd said that to her.

"You don't have to alone."

The Inquisitor's hurt was different. Her chest ached with some feelings he understood and others he didn't, and she longed to touch him: to brush back the curls that had fallen over his damp forehead.

You don't fear him, Cole wondered, so why?

Her feelings took form then, the tightness in her throat she forced down and mask of calm she wore laid bare before him.

She's scared she'll hurt him. Not with magic, but that it's wrong for her to touch him when he's like this. When he's hurting.

You won't hurt him. Cole allowed his voice to find her. His hurts aren't yours to bear, and he would do the same for you.

He knew Inquisitor Trevelyan sensed him; heard him. She and Solas always did more than the others, and they did not forget so easily. He pulled his presence back, not listening to the quiet exchange he knew was being had between them. But he felt a rush hit him as the Herald placed her hands lightly on either side of the commander's head, her touch achingly gentle. Cole didn't know which of them the feeling came from first: this storm they both tried so hard to force down.

She was focusing more on control than she normally did. More than was necessary, because she cared. She focused only on the pain, mending only the roaring in his ears and what he could barely withstand.

She could not cure him. She could not take all his pain away.

But you helped, Cole thought as some of the worst slowly subsided. It is enough, and something more.

He felt it as he sensed her hands leaving Cullen's face: the ache, the question. The sheer stubbornness of both in how hard they tried to deny it.

She thinks she sees it, but isn't sure, Cole mused to himself, taking in the commander's eyes through hers. His exhaustion couldn't hide it. He didn't fully know what truths his eyes told her. He was more aware of the truth than she was: more conscious of how many times his eyes had lingered when she hadn't always known they did.

She doesn't know yet, but she will. Cole had felt the shift between them even before her hand had found that tender place over his heart. It had hit them both like a shock, and she'd taken too long to pull away. That touch had lingered too heavily in their minds, and it stayed with her even now. The timing felt wrong. She was scared she'd hurt him.

Cullen knew. Cole could see it, and he could feel it. But he doesn't know she feels the same.

You're both afraid now, but you won't always be.

This was not a hurt Cole needed to mend. They would continue to heal, and soon enough, they would see.

Overhead, a raven flew by, and Cole turned his attention elsewhere.

[beesmygod]

i know an anon suggested ocd to you the other day, and i didn't see the original message but i know it was a bit fraught. but i am a longtime follower who has ocd who also thinks you may have ocd. and with the reblog you just did i'm like well, maybe i can say a little bit.

i've been sitting on sending a message for a long time because (1) trying to diagnose someone on anon is so fucking weird, i am very aware and ashamed of this weirdness in sending this to you, don't worry, (2) it seemed so obvious to me and you've already talked about other mental health issues and such that i was like "no, surely she must already know she has ocd and is just choosing not to talk about it (completely understandable, i don't do it on main), and then i would also be weird for forcing her to out herself".

the thing with morality-adjacent ocd is that a lot of the base thoughts, in a vacuum, are fine. if you hurt somebody some level of shame is good so you can reflect and correct your behaviour. caring about doing the right thing and refusing to do things that violate your principles is good. it's the intensity and all-consumingness of the thoughts that is the problem.

i mean i say morality but it applies to other ocd too. you should wash your hands and keep your place clean as much as you can, but obsessively avoiding contamination by washing your hands for half an hour straight... etc. it's ultimately egodystonic - it takes the thing you hate the idea of the most and convinces you that is what you really are.

like you are genuinely an admirably principled person, more than many, and it's good that you do the right thing instead of the easy thing. but your anguish about like, not contributing enough good to the world as a comics artist and things like that screams morality ocd self-punishment to me... and repeatedly talking about it feels like a confession compulsion. which i also have, kind of! i feel the compulsion *to* confess, but i don't, because if anyone forgave me or told me it wasn't a big deal they obviously haven't formed a sound judgment because (1) they are morally depraved themselves, (2) i didn't explain myself properly and they didn't understand why it's bad, (3) they're my friend and being more permissive with me because they like me, so they're too biased.

this was long, sorry. but you're a good artist and i like your work and i hate seeing you suffer like this. and if you really don't have ocd, well, i'm just another weirdo armchair psychologist anon vanishing into the void.

i appreciate this and thank you for being kind+brave enough to send this while medication juggling is really making me insane new ways. i have not been diagnosed w/ocd and only started kicking the idea around not too long ago when cornered by the inescapable nature of my thoughts/feeling, the fact that no one understands what the hell i'm ever talking about, and seeing signs of it in someone else very close to me. and i guess incidentally learning more about how it develops/is treated.

lol your bit abt internally responding to how ppl try to comfort your "confessions" rings very true. i never thought of my posts as confessions but like im desperately trying to get a hold on a reality that makes sense to me because when reality doesnt make sense, it feels perilous and fleeting. like, doesnt anyone else feel like this? why am i the only one who sees this? how am i supposed to understand what i'm supposed to be doing to live a life that isnt equivalent to a sewage drain that empties out into people's houses if i cant even understand whats happening?

[rageprufrock]

Hi Pru, this is a career question... I am in my mid-twenties, female, not quite the most junior employee at my organization but treated often as one. The workplace is highly male-dominated, competitive, the older supervisors sometimes hilariously old-boys'-club, and the younger men (my age) mean well (feminist, etc.) but have their own territories to defend. For complicated reasons I cannot leave. I knew some of this coming in but am ashamed to say that

You’ll love this: my response is so late because I too girlbossed too close to the sun and have accidentally reached mid-senior leadership status at my organization and the past month has been the most hilarious cluster of fucks. Insert clown emoji herey.

ANYWAY.

I have a few thoughts on this one, and hopefully one, or some, of these are helpful as you're navigating your early career.

To address your most immediate question: is it meant to be this hard? I think "is it meant" or "is it always" are two different questions, and each with branching answers completely dependent on your field and profession. Some are notorious for early career hazing--banking, medicine, etc--and then the answers are that the suffering is a feature, not a bug, for these industries (this can be debated ad nauseum but you know what I mean), and then for many, many other professions, the answer is that while it's not meant to be this difficult, it still is, and that it's all we can do to survive it.

But setting aside the macro issues, of whether the role itself is objectively hard or if the environment you're in is objectively sub-optimal, the more nebulous and inescapable thing is that each one of us, individually, in our early career are undergoing one of many puberties and all its attendant implied indignities. I find it weird that culturally we don't talk about this much--at least not in Western or the Eastern cultures with which I'm most conversational--but think about it: in the first five to ten years of your working life, you're often simultaneously navigating a staggering number of life-changing systemic shifts that have a tectonic impact on your lived experience. I

For a lot of us, beginning your life as a working adult means you're likely moving out of your parents' home, which adds a huge amount to your mental load and financial burden.

For a lot of us, these early professional jobs are also the first time we're operating in a performance-reward system for which there is no clear rubric or understandable progression monitoring--there aren't any grades, and I can't tell you the number of people who I've spoken to in my career who have been shocked when they're told they're being put on performance improvement plans even though they thought they were doing fine.

It's like being sent to college with no class list, textbooks hidden in eight different departments run by varyingly helpful people, while trapped in an inescapable group project run by someone who seems just as frazzled as you are, and told "okay well you should need to bring me your completed degree by EOD Thursday." This doesn't even take into account your genetic assignment to play this entire game on hard mode by failing to be a cisgendered man in the dominant cultural demographic.

People who've had multiple jobs and career changes can attest, every new job, no matter how seasoned you are, is fucking exhausting. It's almost a joke among my friends at this point how often I change jobs, and every single time I do, there's at least a six month run where at the end of every day, I'm fucking spent. I couldn't calculate 1+3 if my life depended on it, because I've spent my working day so furiously trying to read the professional tea leaves and figuring out what the actual fuck I'm supposed to be doing--which, funnily enough, is never as clear as you would think! Even if you are at increasingly senior levels of responsibility! It's really fun and good! Your boss's boss's leadership team meetings? Surprisingly similar to when I used go get coffee during my break working at an ice cream shop to complain about our customers and equipment and boss! It's amazing how no matter how much changes, everything stays the same!

So I think in the end, my answer to your question is this:

Is it meant to be this hard? Depending on what you do, maybe.

But should it be this hard? Of course not. Life is short and lush and wonderful, but already so filled with challenges, and it's a shame that being rooted in capitalism, we're all forced to participate in a system that's so unbending and unforgiving.

But does that mean it's going to be forever? Or that you can't survive and thrive and have fun in the process? Absolutely not.

However awful you feel, however bad the job is, it doesn't have to be forever. This role you're in now may be just what you need to find your next, better, better paid opportunity. And maybe that one won't be the ideal for more than a year, maybe two, but that's why you keep an eye out and a keen focus on what you want, and what's most important, and like a shark, you continue to move and grow as you get clearer on where you want to move and how you want to grow. The person I was at 24 could not have imagined the person I am at 38, and I'm guessing that the woman I am today can't fathom who I'll be in another 10 years. Whoever she is, I hope she's still choosing to do hard things and--to the very best of her ability--having a good time in the process.

It's okay to cry about work. It's okay to cry at work, even though I strongly recommend that you do this huddled in a restroom in privacy because otherwise it gets messy--fairly or otherwise. It's okay and normal to do these things. It's okay and normal to feel like a fucking disaster, to feel--or to in actuality!--be categorically failing. It is okay and normal to hate and love your job, and to love money and hate the work. There is no right way to do this, and the only wrong way is to give up on yourself, or to create a situation where you cannot have the freedom of your choices or your future.

It's also going to get easier with time. Even if you don't feel it, every day you're getting more experienced, more confident, more discerning. Those microscopic, atomic changes in you accrue, and I'm sure if you're honest with yourself you can already identify how even today, you are a stronger, more capable person in your professional context than you may have been just a year or two ago. Even if you don't mean to do it, just the experience, the bruises, the callouses from throwing yourself at the brick wall over time will rewrite the person you are--if you do this with your eyes open and intentionally, all the better.

Five years from now, ten years from now, you might still find yourself crying about work. But hopefully you'll share the good fortune I have been privileged enough to have, and find yourself the type of good friends who say, "don't care during work hours, it's beneath you to give them the satisfaction--cry later," and actually have the wherewithal to follow that extremely correct guidance.

So anyway, it shouldn't be this hard, but it is. The good thing is, you're better and stronger than it is, and you can look forward to the day you get to look over the shoulder at all the worlds you've conquered as you get ready to do it all over again.

💖

[ithuriels-criativety]

Underrated Emotions: Envy

It is common to a character to have explicit happiness, sadness, anger, grudge, love, and the others emotions that are easily felt by the writer. It is not a bad thing to put your character to feel like you do, they're a part of your imagination after all. But sometimes writers forget that a human being is much more complicated than the main emotions of Disney Inside Out.

Envy is one of my main emotions actually, I am not proud of it but I think it is pretty much justified as a transgender, thank you very much. This feeling is usually personified in villains and antagonists, but the brightest main character can be an envious bitch. Envy is an ugly feeling. Like a disease, it consumes you from the inside and it is near impossible to get rid of.

People get envious for many reasons, but it is never a random reaction. A kid might be envious of the other because a shiny toy. A teenager might be envious of the other because of their relationship with their family. It can have so many variations that can suit a character that I'm having a hard time to find a character who couldn't feel that way.

It usually is a passive feeling that is always there somehow. For me it is strong and loud and ashamed, but I could never put all of my agony in words. When feeling envious, people tend to look with longing in their eyes, it is hard to look away from the object of your feeling be it love, hatred or envy. You can have it as a possessive reaction, as an aesthetic one, as an wealth one, etc.

The ones who suffer from it like I do don't voice their ugly feelings. We do not want the look in our eyes to be recognized as what it really is. For me it comes with a broken heart. I see men that look a bit like me and my heart breaks as I think I couldn't ever be "authentic" like them, and as it gets worse the emotion becomes uglier and morphs into hatred.

Hatred, disgust, anger and almost every ugly feeling walk hand in hand with envy. It makes it stronger, more apparent. Some people are ashamed of their feelings, thinking it is pathetic, so their efforts are even bigger to hide it.

I have not seen many envious characters so far. Remember that not all envy is poisonous, it can motivate someone to be a better person in some cases. And representing all transgenders as highly envious is kind of stereotypical, don't be a jerk while writing a character like this.

If you are interested in applying this trait to a character, make sure to give them a good development. A envious character that cannot overcome their dirty mind is not a character that has matured during their life experience/during the history.

Here are some ideas of a envious character development!

"I can never be like them!" To "I am enough by just being myself." (Do not do the "They weren't what I thought"! This is not a character getting over their feelings)

"I can never have what they have!" To "I do not need it to be happy." (Do not do the "I have better now"! This is not a character getting mature, this is a ridiculous childish reaction)

"I can never be talented like them!" To "No one needs to be perfect at everything." (Do not do the "I am better than them now." However I do not completely oppose to the "Even them are not good in everything, why should I?" But just if it is done rightly, so be careful!)

You can also try doing a dark ending to your character, but be careful since it is very hard to make it good/believable

"I can never be like them, so I will tear them apart." (This can have some very interesting variations, be creative!)

"I can never have what they have, so I will destroy everything they possess." (This is a very interesting plot to a smart character)

"I can never be talented like them, so I will make them unable to do this activity." (Like injuring a athlete or ruining someone's reputation)

Do not forget to give a believable reason to their envy. Ugly feelings like that are built with time and more then one bad day at someone's life.

Also! It is a very nice plot to make a dark envious character having his role swapped with the one they were trying to destroy in the middle of their evil journey OR being destroyed by a side character that was envious of them without their knowledge. Your creativity can handle the details of a good plot twist!

Talking about me now. I am a sucker for happy endings, but a dark ending for a evil main character along with the downfall of their enemy is a beautiful ending to a story based in the concept of Envy.

[jaybird-fanfics]

Burnt Out: Chapter Fifteen

You were back at Dabi's apartment, Toga was helping tend to your wounds. As she did so, neither of you spoke, both unsure of what to say. While you were ashamed that someone knew about your situation with Ryuji, Toga didn't to say anything to upset you any further. Though she was curious, she admits. Mostly about what your history was with Dabi, and why you meant so much to him. Thankfully the silence wouldn't last much longer, as the door opened up, Dabi making his way through. Toga looks to him before briefly turning her attention back to you. "Looks like he won." She says with a grin before standing up from the couch. She walks away from you towards Dabi. "I'm sure you two need some alone time, so I'll be heading out." Dabi glances at her. "Better keep your mouth shut about this to Shigaraki." Toga chuckles. "Yeah yeah. Don't worry, I'm no snitch. See you around." She waved her hand before leaving you and Dabi. Dabi's gaze fell onto you, before he could get a word out. You stood and rushed to him, grabbing him into a hug. Dabi wrapped his arms around you as your body shook, crying into his chest. He rubbed your back soothingly. "It's alright. He's gone now. That jackass can't hurt you anymore." He says softly. You clutched onto his shirt, choked sobs leaving you. He's gone. He's gone, finally he's gone. And Dabi's still here with you. "Toya..." You cried. Dabi hushed you gently, he lead you back to the couch and sat you down on his lap. He pulled back from the hug, only to wipe away a few of your tears. He took a long look at your face and body, bruised and bandaged. It was a fucking shame, that your beautiful skin had to be tainted by such a shitty excuse for a human being. Multiple times you had suffered at his hands, but not anymore. Dabi internally smirked and reveled in the memory of Ryuji's dying screams of agony.

Dabi moved some stray strands of hair away from your face. Despite the bruises, you still kept your beauty in his eyes. You've looked past his scars, why shouldn't he do the same for you? He smiled softly before closing the gap between you both and met his lips with your own. You sighed shakily into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. If you could, you'd stay in the moment with him forever. Just enjoying him, his soft touches, his love. And that's what it was, Dabi loved you. He's always loved you, even back then, and you were just too blind at the time to see it. But it's so clear to you now. It was clear that night you two spend together. When the two of you separated from the kiss, you spoke with a soft and whispered breath. "I love you Toya." You lean forwards to kiss him again, this one shorter however. "I love you so much." Your voice started to tremble. "And I can't thank you enough for everything you've done." Dabi's hand found its way to your own. "You don't have to thank me." He tells you. "I'm just glad you're ok."

"I was so stupid. I should have never trusted him." You sniffle. "That day, I should have just ignored him. I let him sweet talk me into thinking he was actually good. That he actually cared about me. None of this would have happened if I had just..." You trailed off. Your heart felt heavy, deep regret setting in as everything had come crashing down on you all at once. All those years, you were used and abused over and over, not just from Ryuji, but from the many others you were forced to sleep with. All that pain. All that time wasted. All because you decided to trust Ryuji. He has reduced you into...this. A broken shell of what you once were. The life you had, that light, the spark within you, destroyed into near nothingness. At one point, you were sure it had been. That there was nothing left for you in the end. Because in life, all you were good for was using your body to please others. You contributed nothing to the world around you. You did things you are not proud of. And one day, when you die, there would be no one to mourn you. You would not be missed. You were just another unfortunate soul, who was swept up into a tragic way of life. No friends, no family. Alone, with the choices you made, willingly or not.

All had seemed hopeless. And there were nights where you considered taking your own life, just to end the cycle of pain. But that was all before Toya had entered your life once more.

Even as he is now, he continues to light up your broken world. He made you feel as if you were still new, still that same innocent girl from before. Though he was a villain, he would forever be your hero. Whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. Had life just turned out a little differently, you didn't doubt for a second that he could have done for others what he's done for you. But no one can predict the way life works, it can be cruel and unfair, and some things will happen that are out of anyone's control. Maybe he could have done some things a little differently, maybe you could have too. But who's to say if things would have been any better for either of you? What did matter right now, is that you both had each other again. And as long as you both would live, there would be nothing or no one that would ever get in the way of that again. Life is unpredictable, yet so precious. All the more reason to never separate again.

"He manipulated you. He saw a pretty girl down on her luck and tricked you into thinking he wanted to help you." Dabi tells you. "I should have been there." His expression fell into one of anger and frustration. Not towards anyone but himself. "If I had just been there for you, you wouldn't have ended up in that situation in the first place. That fucker would have never got to you, and you would have been spared all his bullshit." You gripped onto Dabi's hand slightly. "I don't blame you." You tell him. "But I do wish you would have came to me when all that shit happened to you. I would have done anything to try and help you out of that mess." Dabi sighed, his head fell onto your shoulder. "I didn't want you involved. Besides, I was too far gone. You would have just gotten hurt." You wanted to argue, but Dabi continued. "You shouldn't worry about me. It's my old man you should be worrying about. He's gonna regret ever having brought me into this world when I get my hands on him...All in time." Dabi smirked. "For though." He looks down at you. "You're my main priority. As long as I breathe, you will never live in fear or suffering again. I'll make sure of it." Well, he's already made sure of it. He decided not to think about it right now, he just wanted to enjoy you until morning came.

"I don't want to burden you." You say. Dabi scoffed. "You are never a burden. Take that back." He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. "You think I'd keep anyone around that I felt like got in my way? Hell no. You topple over everyone else, you're always going to be more important. Always." You couldn't help but smile. He never fails. You lean into him, resting your head on his chest. "You better not regret saying that." Dabi falls back onto the couch, keep you close as he laid down. He kissed the top of your head before speaking. "Never in a million years, would I ever regret someone like you being in my life." Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Then a tiny yawn left you. God, you've never felt more exhausted before tonight. It felt like you hadn't slept in days. You slowly let your eyes fall to a close, listening to the sound of Dabi breathing before finally slipping into sleep.

[saturnsources]

✦ * ・　　⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯　　𝐢 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝. a random assortment of sentences taken from j. k. rowling's "harry potter". also includes movie quotes. change pronouns if needed.

‘ you're a little scary sometimes, you know that? brilliant ... but scary. ’ ‘ it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. ’ ‘ the truth. it is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. ’ ‘ fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. ’ ‘ it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. ’ ‘ i'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending i'm not there. ’ ‘ when in doubt, go to the library. ’ ‘ honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward. ’ ‘ never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. ’ ‘ happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. ’ ‘ i want to commit the murder i was imprisoned for. ’ ‘ the ones that love us never really leave us. you can always find them in here. ’ ‘ if you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. ’ ‘ i am what i am, and i'm not ashamed. ’ ‘ your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. you would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. ’ ‘ numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. ’ ‘ just because it's taken you three years to notice, doesn't mean no one else has spotted i'm a girl! ’ ‘ it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. ’ ‘ time will not slow down when something unpleasant lies ahead. ’ ‘ i think we've outgrown full-time education ... time to test our talents in the real world. ’ ‘ just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have. ’ ‘ i mean, it's sort of exciting, isn't it, breaking the rules? ’ ‘ we've all got both light and dark inside us. what matters is the part we choose. to act on. that's who we really are. ’ ‘ indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike. ’ ‘ suffering like this proves you are still a man! this pain is part of being human. ’ ‘ [name], you are the most insensitive wart i have ever had the misfortune to meet. ’ ‘ you do care. you care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. ’ ‘ don't worry. you're just as sane as i am. ’ ‘ once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe. ’ ‘ what do i care how he looks? i am good-looking enough for both of us, i think! ’ ‘ we're with you whatever happens. ’ ‘ you need your friends. ’ ‘ i'm going to keep going until i succeed -- or i die. don't think i don't know how this might end. i've known it for years. ’ ‘ we're all human, aren't we? every human life is worth the same, and worth saving. ’ ‘ so it all comes down to this, doesn't it? ’ ‘ you'll stay with me? ’

[urlocalgothamite]

THIS IS BREAKING MY HEART- Tim D.

trigger warning ⚠️  for self injury. I will mark the graphic section so you can skip it.

created using dialgoue promt- "This is breaking my heart"

summary: Tim Drake's suffering stops going unnoticed.

characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Black Canary (mentioned)

Tim Drake has spent his whole life being told how smart he is. Lucky, right? But it isn't like he believes them. The only reason people think he's so smart is because he spends too much time in his thoughts. At least thats what he thinks, and he thinks too much. Tim never gets a second of peace and quiet in his own brain.

He has to silence it somehow, didn't he?

Physical pain distracts the human brain from emotional turmoil. Tim's smart enough to know that, but he doesn't quite believe that he's smart enough to stop.

Laying in the dark, Tim realized just how very tired he is. The sheets around him feel soft, but he's not interested in anything soft right now. Tim's much more interested in something sharp. So, that's what he'll get.

⚠️Too exhausted to even sit up- He lies in bed dragging a blade across my skin. It doesn't hurt, not really. Instead, his senses are overwhelmed with a flooding sense of relief. He feels better. He feels empty- like the pain has left, only temporarily. ⚠️

"Shit"  He thinks as he remembers his phone left on the library's coffee table. "Shit."

He rolls himself out of bed, vision blurry from the sleep deprivation.  If he lived anywhere but a house of detectives, he could leave his phone in the library; but he figures it's best to keep his notes app to himself.

The manor is quiet; everyone either out on patrol or getting some rest. So he stumbles through the dark rooms and finally makes it too the library. Unfortunately, he's not alone.

"Wow Timmy, you look like shit" Jason says, looking up from his book. Tim ignores him, and reaches for his phone on the table.

"Why is he even lounged on the couch at this hour."

Jason's eyes go wide, starring directly at Timothy. Jason's eyes quickly start shifting around, it's not like he's trying to stare. A wave of shocked horror hits him.

"Sit down." Jason says to Tim, with a terrifying calmness. Jason wasn't asking him, he was telling him.

"What?! Tim snaps, defensively. "I'm just getting my phone and heading to bed."

"Timmy, listen to me. You are going to sit right on that couch." Jason says as he stands up, pointing to the couch.

Tim follows instructions, with not much of a choice. Jason crouches down in front of Tim and rather aggressively reaches for his arm.

'Clearly he doesn't care about being gentle,' Tim thinks, flinching away.

Jason notices, and I wave of guilt crashes against him. He doesnt want to be an agressive person, he just is.

"Look, I know I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, or maybe I should have asked," Jason's voice breaks. He's ashamed of his worry. "But, Tim, I mean what the hell is this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tim crosses his arms and looks away with an eye roll and huff.

"You're a smart kid, Timothy; I think you do."

Tim's eyes shift away from him.

"So you're gonna go ahead and tell me what happened. Then I'm gonna make sure you're safe." Jason instructs.

"You're really gonna make me say it? I mean I think you can figure it out." Tim says, with a mix of pleading and sarcasm.

"Yea, Little Buddy, I think I can. Y'know I was in your shoes once."

So they talk for a while and Jason keeps a tight grip on Tim's hand.

Jason understood, and Tim doesn't know if that is comforting or sad.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad, but this is breaking my heart- to see you doing this to yourself."

All Tim could manage was a mumbled "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He said. "Don't apologize." He said more firmly, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"You can't tell B. He'd be- you just can't tell him okay?" Tim pleads.

"I'm the adult here. You're a kid. It is my job to take care of your safety. I have to tell someone."

"Jason. Please." Tim gets a crazy, defensive,pleading look in his eyes.

"I'm not gonna call Bruce. Trust me, I know how that goes. But I'm going to call someone who can handle this a lot more...gently than I can."

"No. No. No. No. No." Tim thinks.

The panic comes flooding back while he starts to shake and cry.

"Fuck" Jason thinks. He isn't prepared to handle this.

Tim didn't want to cry- and he knows the way to get relief without crying yet he's currently out of its reach.

"I'm sorry, Kiddo. But it'll be okay. I'm going to step over there and make a call. Do not run. Please, Tim. I'm not going to hurt you, I can promise you that. But I will chase you down, if I have to."

"Mhm." He just barely chokes out.

Tim can only overhear bits and pieces of the phone call.

"Hey Dick, I need you here"

"Yea, like right now."

"It's about Tim."

"No, Bruce doesn't need to know."

Jason walks back over to to the couch.

"Can I sit?" He asks.

"Go ahead." Tim sniffles.

"Dick's on his way. He'll more...delicate...about this than I am."

"I don't- you didn't have to tell on me." Tim cries.

"I know it hurts. I'm sorry."

Within 20 minutes of waiting Dick busts through the door. He walks in with the type of calm only achieved during a crisis.

"Thanks, Jason." Dick says.

"For what?" Jason raises an eyebrow.

"For calling me and for making sure he's okay." Dick nods to Tim.

"Yea well it's no problem." He says to Dick. "You're in good hands." He says turning towards me, before walking out.

"Cmon Kid, we're gonna try and fix this." Dick says reaching out his hand.

"Don't tell Bruce."

"Yea, I know he wouldn't handle this well. I got you though. Don't worry about B."

They walk for a couple minutes through the manor, taking the turns towards Dick's room.

"Can you sit down, please?" Dick asks, once we are located in his room.

He's gentler than Jason, but that was expected. He comes back from the bathroom with alcohol wipes and bandages.

"Do you mind if I fix you up?" He asks consent.

"Just don't look at it. Please. "

"Timmy, I have to. Please help me help you."

Tim just bit his lip and nodded, looking down.

"Good, you're doing great. You don't need to be embarrassed,  really."

The only thing Tim could do is just there in a state of dissociation and occasionally hear Dick trying to give me comfort.

"It'll be okay, Timmy."

"No one's mad at you."

"I've got you."

The effort was appreciated, but I honestly let it all blend together.

"All right, you're all done." Dick says, sitting by me. "Are you comfortable staying in here tonight? I don't feel that you're safe to be alone."

"Yea." Tim says. God this was so embarrassing.

"Tim look at me. We're gonna get you some help. You shouldn't- you don't need to feel ashamed."

"I don't want you to tell Bruce."

"I didn't say I would. But I'm calling Dinah first thing in the morning."

"You dont have to-"

"Shh. Please just lay down. Don't fight me on this."

So he did, and he shook for a while. But slowly, it got better. Dick was calm and gentle. There was no anger. It was safe. And so after shaking Tim finally made it asleep.

[heinous-desiree]

HENLO😩

FOR ALL YOUR PCs, WHAT IS THEIR IDEAL PARTNER, AND WHAT KIND OF PERSON DO YOU THINK WOULD BE BEST FOR THEM? LIKE FOR EXAMPLE BRYNN WANTS SOMEONE WHO'LL BE CALM AND QUIET AND SHI BUT FOR ME I SOMEONE ENERGETIC WOULD BE BEST FOR HIM

(also what do I refer to you as🚹 like do i just call you with your username or like aaaa nickname.....?)

This is such a good but difficult question cause my PCs don't practice avoiding the red flags. The people they want and the people they should be with... Yeah, gosh.

Jas the Wildcard

Ideal: Her ideal type would be someone that makes her feel strong. She has been beaten down, degraded, and mistreated when she started to pay her debt. She felt weak and pathetic, she is still ashamed for some of the things she did in desperation to make ends meet. To have someone treat her like an equal, respected, and more than some orphan? She craves that. She also wants someone that is her equal. Someone she isn't desperate to save, someone that can hold their own and she could even rely on. Best: Her best match is probably someone as caring as her since she is someone that tries to help everyone. She couldn't bear to let others suffer; her partner must understand that and support her. Her partner needs to be understanding in general. Jas has done a lot of things she's not proud of and can be seen as a slut, criminal, or simply bad. Her heart is good and she wants to be so much more than who she currently is, if someone dismisses her true self and focuses on the superficial stuff, she'll hate herself. Someone strong doesn't hurt too, she gets into a lot of trouble, and having someone protect her would be appreciated.

Hunter the Allrounder

Ideal: Hunter wants someone fun above all else. Someone that can keep up with him and make every moment exciting. He is always searching for his next high and if that's his partner, all the better! Personally, he would want someone that is weak and would depend on him. He likes being the one people trust and look to for help, he feels capable and needed when that happens. He also likes the innocent types, not necessarily pure, but the people who are trusting, sweet, and maybe unaware of certain things that most people normally know. He just finds innocent types cute, and if he can be the one to ruin that innocence........ Best: His best match would probably be a gentle soul. Someone sweet and soft, definitely less wild and daring than him. Someone that would pour their whole self into loving him so he would want to pour back as much of himself back to them. Someone sensitive and would feel scared or sad each time they worry for him or see him hurt. He needs a gentle hand to tame him, and he needs to feel guilty enough to start caring for himself for their sake.

Celeste the Righteous

Ideal: For Celeste, the person she wants to settle with would be someone strict, kind, and safe. She wants someone with great self-discipline, someone that isn't easily swayed by temptations and able to be their best self by a rigid lifestyle they can be proud of. She works hard every day to be the best person she can be and she wants the same kind of person to be her partner. She knows she can be... Difficult and she struggles to get along with most people. She wants someone that is naturally kind, that can easily smile at her even if she comes off as apathetic, and who would treat her sweetly even when she's not the best talker or she acts intensely. Also, with how many messed up people are in this town, she wants someone she can feel safe with. Someone she knows would never hurt her and she can let her guard down around them.

Best: Her best match is someone that an easygoing social butterfly that won't leave her alone. Celeste doesn't know how to enjoy life, she also has a very narrow-minded worldview from her lack of exposure to the rest of the world. Someone that would go to her with stubborn determination and cheerful smiles would wear down her walls and slowly bring her out of her shell. Someone that will make her relax, enjoy, and experience life fully instead of going through it like a chore. Where she can bring stability and book smarts to someone's life, she needs someone that would bring enjoyment and street smarts to hers.

Maeve the Trap

Ideal: ...Maeve is simple. He wants to be kept. He wants someone possessive, someone that would claim him. Sometimes, Maeve dreams of having someone that would obsess over him and just kidnap him from the world. He doesn't mind being locked in a basement, attic, or even just chained somewhere for that person's convenience. He doesn't care if it's out of love, insanity, or just because they want him as a personal sex slave. He would prefer it if it's out of love, but if the person deemed him good enough to keep, that is good enough for Maeve. He needs to feel validated, he needs to have someone that would tell him he's theirs. He needs that constant reminder that this person wants him. Best: His best match is someone patient. Maeve has a lot of issues to work through and to get through to him would take a lot of time. Maeve is so severely insecure that reassuring him would be frustrating to most people, so someone that would calmly explain to him each time he has a breakdown why he's loved till he can work through his insecurities himself is needed for this relationship to last. His partner would also have to be self-assured, to know what they want and stay true to it, cause only then when this person says they want Maeve, Maeve can believe it readily. If the person is too wishy-washy, Maeve would feel even more insecure about the relationship. Maeve needs a person who is full of love and is willing to love this broken boy.

[biff-adventurer]

i'm one of those people who believe that you're responsible for what you put out into the world.

fan content is not as influential as content in mainstream medium, but there will be people who will read that stuff. the occasional stranger will read my small potatoes stuff every so often, and most times, i don't notice unless i go actually check.

there's no absolute standard on what and how people can write on subjects. mostly, it's about context - who the person is, what their intention is, where they come from, will always come through their work. there's no denying that. it's your brain, which holds your experiences as you saw them. ultimately, you can't escape the way you think and no one should be ashamed of that. you can still explore new ideas - but that exploration will always be done through your lens of experience as a human being.

people have the right to question or judge you - but they don't have the right to attack or bully you. they will have their opinions. you will have yours. what you put out there, like the things that you say to others face to face, creates consequences. sometimes, that's just how life goes. other times, you might be to blame. be brave enough to double check and question your actions. have compassion for both yourself and others, enough to be honest.

you'll never be able to make every single person understand your writing exactly as you mean it. that's where working toward writing clearly will help - but there is always the chance you suffer the same problem as the author of lolita, who wrote against an issue and people romanticized the issue instead. insane. no, i don't think it's the dude's fault. it's one of those instances that teaches us how you can do something so well that people empathize instead with the evil you've written, rather than the good you intend.

but just because of those things, doesn't mean you aren't responsible for what you say in public forums. yes, that's why framing is important. that's why transparency and tags are important. in the end, though, it's really important to also reflect on why you do the things you do and whether it's necessary to share it online or not.

the power of writing is the power to persuade. so the responsibility on your shoulders is to make sure, to the best of your ability, you're persuading in the "right" direction. that's all you really can do about it.

[marysunburn]

Shivers (part Il)

Here for part I.

Azir wakes up all of a sudden, sweat dripping down his beak and shivers choking his words. Through blurry eyes he sees Nasus push the rest of his retinue aside and grab his hand in a stone-hard grasp.

“My lord?”

“I’m… so cold.”

It’s more a whine to himself than a notification to Nasus, as Xerath would punish him cruelly if he dared to request comfort of any kind. “You deserve nothing, Azir. This is but a morsel of the life we lived because of you.” So it catches the ex-Emperor by surprise to see Nasus bring him to his chest, grab the ulterior blankets passed upon him by Akshan and cover him with these as if he was afraid he’d slip away if he didn’t.

Now, as absolutely not imperial as it is, Azir wants to be held and comforted. He stays still and welcomes every touch as Nasus wraps his upper body into a shawl, including the back of his head – it’s much softer than… that other thing, and it’s white silk. It’s like a cocoon of warmth, and even the shivers feel less intense. He rests his head on the Curator’s shoulder and winces as he massages his feathers, shivering endlessly onto his tunic.

“Is it helping anyhow?”

“Yes… don’t go, my friend. Keep holding me tight. I’ll make sure you’re repaid f-for…”

“Shush, little bird.” What would Azir even repay him with? He’s just reciting old formulas of imperial pomp at this point. “What matters now is your welfare. You’ll have a serene rest and spread your wings once more onto the world.”

Even in the state he’s in, Azir can’t help but notice Taliyah’s face at those words. She looks as if she’d rather see him burn to a crisp, or – the sky help him – lock him back inside that coffin.

I must talk to her at once. But not now... sickness makes you foolish, Xerath has taught him over and over in his punishments. "Even more foolish than old foolish Azir. A monument of stupidity for the annals"

"Now, my lord... hold still"

"NO!"

Silence breaks into the tent as Azir realizes what has occurred. He's backed into the fabric walls of the tent, blankets falling off him, covering his face with his crossed arms – and Nasus watches him in dismay, holding a damp cloth in his fist which is now dripping onto the sandy floor of the tent.

Did he honestly think he'd...

As the rest of the retinue backs off, partly to avoid whatever vagary may be coming through his mind, partly to give him space to breathe and compose himself, Azir blinks his way back onto the earth. What am I doing? Nasus is not Xerath, he wouldn't... but all he saw was a fist coming towards him, and he's received so many fists to the face – and slaps, and kicks, and even canes for Shurima's sake – they end up blending onto each other.

"Ugh... I'm utterly ashamed of my behavior, Nasus." Yes, by his behavior, because being scared you'd get punched in the face after more than a year where they treated you like dirt is oh so very shameful mr. Azir Omah. "I misconstrued. I just... I saw your fist and..."

Nasus looks as if he's seen a ghost. "You thought I wanted to hit you?"

"...I saw something that wasn't there. My mind is playing games on me... Oh..."

Azir is shivering once again, even more than before. He doesn't call for help – you don't get that, Xerath hisses in his feverish mind, you don't get anything you don't deserve – but he's too weak and cold to keep Nasus from holding him into his arms, wrapping him back up in a cocoon of silk and wool and, this time, dabbing his face with the damp cloth, heaving in faint pleasure as the water trails between his feathers.

"Listen to me, my lord, my sweet little bird." Taliyah's face could freeze Hell itself. "If a time ever comes that I strike you, may I suffer like Renekton and twice over. I've failed you enough. I should have been there, but..."

"Just... hold me", Azir huffs. He doesn't have time for Nasus' self pity. He just wants everything to stop hurting for three seconds.

[starsincline]

I am Lubna from Gaza 🇵🇸

I need your help if I can 🙏

I don't feel good. I cannot get my baby supplies due to the high prices. This requires an amount to buy winter clothes and food because we are approaching winter and my children need other supplies. This is estimated at more than $500 💔 for three children.

I came to you ashamed

Can you help me get my children's requirements? I just want a small donation of $30. Can you bear it? I'm really sorry 😢😢💔

https://chuffed.org/project/117668-help-my-family-get-out-gaza

I really hope your campaign picks up🙏

vetted (line 1). Lubna's previous gfm was closed recently (see here), as gfm is unfairly targeting palestinians. The new campaign is moving very slowly. Please donate.

€410/€50000 

The hardest part is not being able to provide for my children. There is barely enough food or water, and baby milk is almost nonexistent. Diapers are an unimaginable luxury—we resort to makeshift solutions that have caused my little one painful rashes and discomfort. We live in what feels like a ghost city, surrounded by nothing but despair. Everything we need comes at exorbitant prices, and nothing is free—not even hope. As a mother and a woman, the hardships around me are unbearable. Life has gone from being generous and joyful to one of humiliation and struggle. My pregnancy, which should have been a time of hope, turned into a 13-month nightmare filled with hunger and fear. Our makeshift tent offers no protection. It is like a plastic bag, fragile and temporary, leaving us exposed to the elements. Dirty water pools around us, attracting insects that bite me and my children, adding to our suffering. The winter ahead terrifies me—our frail shelter cannot shield us from the cold, rain, or frost.

[crater-lake]

70

1/26/24

I am awake and it is 3:20am. I am awake mostly from feelings of inadequacy, so I am wondering what exactly is the nature of this, given the quality of life socially, personally, and intellectually(?). O was reading back some of these entries and felt overwhelmed by the emphasis in myself- how narrow my conflict is. I was looking for my self-conflict to be interesting but I was wrong.

I saw that Emma and her boyfriend are both Fulbright semi-finalists and I feel threatened by that as a first reaction, and then confused, and then ashamed that there had to be a process. I don't feel accomplished in relation to this and this is provoked by how Molly said that this was her backup- and that she was not busy enough and doesn't seem to care that she is a winner. When we were having that conversation, I was mostly normal, and not a puny little thing. I couldn't accurately describe how I have only learned how to live recently- that even in college, integration both vexed and confused me and belonging mostly taunted me for what seemed a long time. I had been working towards being big enough for this experience and she is just here waiting for the year to be up, in a way. How can this be true?

I am, for example, still stupidly and bizarrely anxious about going to the phone store and getting the pencil bit out of the SIM card hole so that I can call Mohela and ask about my student loans and right now, this fact embarasses and upsets me. I think that Emma has really never had such problems. I am feeling jealous of the functionality and sophomoric for taking refuge in the farce of being interesting. Can you dream a whole dream? How real should I be although I love my phone.

All that has been provoking my writing recently has been feeling inadequate, which explains why I have not written a poem for a bit because I am perhaps caught on this and cannot shake it and cannot look at anything for a while. I did run 5 miles today so I feel calmer than I usually would, but as always, being in my room I can't work and only masturbate and wait for the next message to surface on my phone and stare at my screens for a while and not do anything and have I already given up on French? Yes, in a way. Reconsider this later- it is not too late at all but consider the new effort of trying again and you are not your father and sometimes you are also not yourself.

Meine beste Freundin sagt mir, sie vermisst mich und ich frage mich als sie weißt dass ich mich nicht immer liebe. I feel protected by the exercise brain border. Most of what keeps me up feels like 50% further away than usual. I think exercising agency in any capacity will grow my confidence in combatting this feeling.

Tomorrow I buy Lake Garda, pay rent, get my phone looked at, and call Omio(?) about the refund and I just don't think too hard about taking care of myself and I will also stretch for 40 minutes to go on a run and go to choir like the good boy I am. I recognize my need for rest and for work. Carol and the end of the world teaches me about the beauty of routine. How I'll miss it too. The planned suffering. And how my ASMR video told me to appreciate the fear. What would you be without the fear?

In the background, while I write this, I am listening to Springbok ASMR's Hierarchy of Needs video and letting her palaver on about functionality, healing, love, and patience and hearing every other words. Mostly the timbre in her voice helps me fall asleep. I will be on Earth tomorrow, I bet.

4,3,2,1