#listen. LISTEN. usually when I dissociate I remember a LITTLE bit

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

me when the dissociation causes memory loss: *surprised Pikachu*

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Never Alone

paring: Bradley Bradshaw x female!IC!reader (callsign Nike )

wordcount: ca. 6,7k

synopsis: When you wake up on Saturday morning you feel surprisingly well-rested and calm considering what happened at the restaurant last night. That is until you realise that you are in a stranger's bed wearing clothes that are not your own and you are pulled into someone's chest. What the fuck actually happened last night?

note: Here we go. Part two is finally here and it's longer than the first one. I hope people are still enjoying my Rooster debut. It's self-indulgent AF and I had a great time writing it. So far I've planned the outline for part three to finish off their story nicely. But until then, much fun with Part 2.

And you know that navy inaccuracies are a given with my stuff, but this time I went a bit more ham than usual. The role of IC (Incident Commander) is existing in crisis and natural disaster management but fuck if I know if some work for the Navy. I made all of that up for the sake of the plot. Don't like that, please skip this one. And last but not least, yes this is yet again very self-indulgent stuff and it will get only worse with the next part, so if you don't like it, click off 😘

A huge thanks again to @mynameismckenziemae for the nudge into Rooster's direction for this plot and thank you to @vermillionwinter for listening to my rambling and giving me feedback. Without her, this would still be rotting away in my drafts.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): plus-size!reader, military/navy inaccuracies, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), self-deprecation, cursing, verbal abuse (not from Rooster); mental health talk ( trauma; dissociative episode; suicidal ideation), written by a non-native speaker

|| Masterlist ||

Part 1 || Part 3

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics gif by @theartofimagining13

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

When you wake up the next morning you feel... well-rested and oddly comfortable. You haven't slept this well in forever, a warmth filling your body and a comforting weight that pressed you into the mattress. Closing your eyes once more you try to drift back to sleep. Waking up meant that he would surely knock on your door again and you just didn't have it in you to deal with him. After last night you are not even sure if you could deal with him ever again. His booming voice is still ringing in your ear. One would think there is a day when you get used to it, but sadly for you, that day never came. "Lay still, beautiful. It's too early to wake up", you hear a raspy voice whisper in your ear before a face presses into your neck and you feel something scratching over your skin and a leg being thrown over yours.

What the fuck happened last night? You remembered getting up and storming out of the restaurant. You still hear his voice echoing in your head but after that, it was blank, no matter how hard you tried to remember. You had assumed you went home, got into bed and... Your breath quickened as you looked down your body. You wore a jersey you had never seen before and had your fingers entangled with a large, strong hand that rested on your stomach. Brother in Christ what had you done?

Breathing through your nose you try to make each breath a little longer in the hopes to calm your hammering heart that threatened to break free from your ribcage. You feel the way his hand is squeezing yours as his lips press a kiss to your shoulder. "I hear you thinking, Nike", he whispered and now that the person behind you seemed a little more awake, voice less husky and more normal, you finally realised who was lying behind you. Bradley fucking Rooster Bradshaw. You were in bed with one of the Lieutenants that you worked with on the regular. Wonderful. Congratulations for fucking up even more spectacularly than you ever did before. This warrants a fucking award.

Even with the man practically wrapped around you, you turn around, his hand still holding yours when you are searching his face for any indicator of what happened last night. His eyes are closed, his hair messy and his skin shimmering golden in the morning sun. You had never quite realised what a beautiful man Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is. Closing your eyes to clear your head you take another deep breath before you finally find the bravery to talk. "How did I end up in your bed, Bradshaw?"

His eyes are suddenly open wide when he hears your question. You didn't remember? He was pretty sure that you weren't drunk, so whatever you experienced had to be bad enough for your brain to shut down. "I found you in front of the Hard Deck. You were in really bad shape and asked me for a place to stay", his soft brown eyes are searching yours, lifting the hand you are still holding up to his chest. You are nodding slowly. In your state, your brain had apparently classified the Hard Deck as a safer space than your own home. Considering that he had keys to your place, probably not the worst idea you ever had. "You were terrified to be alone...", if someone would ask him, he'd mark up the fact that he presses a soft kiss to your palm to still being caught in a sleepy haze. "Makes sense", you murmur, brain wrecking to fill in the blanks that you had, but there was just an endless void.

He wants to ask you what happened but he worries the question would open the Pandora's box anew and pull you back into the abyss. So he decided to wait, knowing that if you deemed him trustworthy enough, you would tell him. Pulling your hand from him you sit up in the bed, your eyes are taking in the room for the first time and you cannot help the chuckle falling from your lips when your eyes land on the boxer-clad bedside lamp.

For Rooster losing that close contact with you felt wrong, almost painful. Your warmth in his arms had been so good, feeling the way you pressed your back against his chest was so right and the way your head tilted a little to the side to make room for his face in the crook of your neck so he could indulge in the sweet kisses he pressed to your skin made his heart soar. Fuck even the fact that the arm that you had rested on was still numb was perfect. When he hears you chuckle his heart skips a beat, eyes following your gaze, a pink hue spreading over his cheek and neck when he saw what he had used to dim down the light last night. "Oh fuck" And then he hears your laughter, making him turn back to you with a smile on his lips as bright as the sun. Seeing you last night had left him feeling powerless and defeated, unable to really help you or make you feel better. To know that at least for now you were doing better meant the world to him. "The bathroom is..." "Right through that door. Your dress is in there too, but I'm sure I'll find some shorts around for you to wear" There is a short flicker in your eyes before you look down at your hands. "Don't sweat it, Rooster", you get up from the bed and walk straight through the door without looking back at him.

The moment you got out of his bed he had to force himself not to stare at your ass that was barely covered by his jersey. It had to be some primal part of his brain but to see you wear his clothing turned the warmth in his chest into a fucking wildfire. Shaking his head he searched for a pair of sweatpants he placed on the dresser for you before he left for the kitchen. He had to do something, anything really to distract his mind from the images that it was conjuring up. You in his jersey, getting under the shower. Fuck he had to get his mind out of the gutter and fast. And if there was one thing he was good at to compensate for these carnal kinds of cravings, it was cooking.

Rooster made good on his promise and actually found a pair of sweatpants that were probably more than oversized on him but clung to your thighs and ass like a second skin. You had stared at your body in his bathroom mirror for a solid 5 minutes trying to decide whether the jersey was sufficiently covering the mess or if you had to ditch the comfy stuff for your dress. The mere idea to get back into the corset made your stomach churn so you just hoped he wouldn't mind your less-than-flattering outfit. At least he didn't say anything when you entered the kitchen, the table already filled with all kinds of delicious things. Pancakes, biscuits, scrambled eggs and toast.

"Wow", is all you can say and when he turns back at you with a smile on his face and pan in hand, the bacon still sizzling in the cast iron he makes you stop in his tracks. Wow indeed. Rooster looked drop-dead gorgeous with that muscle shirt and the grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. How the fucking hell could you have missed that in the almost 7 years you worked with the man? "Perfect timing. Bacon is ready" He walks around the counter and puts the pan in the middle of the table next to the eggs before he pulls out the chair for you. "Thanks, Rooster" "My pleasure, Nike"

Sitting around the kitchen table with Rooster felt weirdly domestic and you couldn't even really remember when it had been the last time you did something as mundane as this. Just sit there and eat with someone and talk. No critisising, no yelling. Just an enjoyable conversation with the occasional laughter or a chuckle here and there but as pleasant as it was, last night was not really letting you go and as much as Bradley wanted to distract you and give you a chance to focus on something lighter and more enjoyable, he knew that your brain worked 24/7 and it wouldn't let something as big as an incident that caused a dissociative episode slide.

"You want me to tell you what happened last night?", he hates to disturb the comfortable silence between you but he can see in your eyes that even though you act relaxed, there is a part of you that cannot let go and maybe getting more puzzle pieces could help you with that. You didn't ask because you feared you'd destroy the magic of the moment, but with Bradshaw offering, you realised how occupied your brain was with that question so you just nodded. "I was about to leave the Hard Deck with someone when I heard you cry" "What happened to your date?" "Wasn't a date. Just a tag chaser." "What happened to her?" "Probably got herself another set of tags when I decided to get you home" You instantly feel bad. Hook up or not, Rooster had ditched someone else to get you to safety, staying the entire fucking night by your side and doing whatever you asked of him. "I'm sorry about that" "Don't, be Nike. It was for the better. She had a pretty weird idea about consent", he's shaking his head and you tilt yours a little to the side and arch your brow in confusion. "She took your distress for a fucking couple. I don't want someone like that in my bed", the scowl on his pretty features hits you to the core. You had always taken Rooster for one of the truly good guys and there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel glad that you had been right about him. "Once she was back inside I picked you up and carried you to the Bronco", the moment the words were out of his mouth your skin heated up. It was a shame fucking shame you couldn't remember... and then you realised what he just actually said. "You picked me up? God Rooster, you could have hurt yourself", you start chastising him and he looks up from the bacon and eggs on his plate with a raised brow. Did you really just question his strength and capability while he was sitting in front of you in a muscle shirt showing off his biceps and shoulders? "Nike I get my paycheck for being in top shape. I handled weights that are more than you... ", he starts and when his eyes find yours, it hits him. This is not about you not trusting him. It was about you thinking you were...

"You get your paycheck for flying a multimillion-dollar navy asset, Bradshaw", you correct him and his mind struggles to catch up to the conversation for a moment. "Semantics. If I fly that jet I have to be in perfect shape, so no. Carrying you to my car is no big deal and neither was carrying you from my car to the bedroom... ", he adds seeing your eyes widen in shock before you avert your gaze and bite down on your lower lip as if that could stop the wobbling before you let out a heavy sigh and whispered. "I'm so sorry you had to" There is so much shame on your face and that made the fury he had felt last night come back. Apparently, he had to add the person who made you believe that you weren't absolutely fucking perfect to his shit list, right after the person who sent you straight into an anxiety attack.

"Listen Nike. I don't know who made you believe otherwise, but let me tell you one thing. You are a goddess", he sees how you are shaking your head while blinking away the tears that are shimmering in your eyes. "You don't have to be nice, Rooster", you whisper and the pain he hears makes him wanna snap. Not at you, oh no, but those little dipshits who gave you as much as an impression that something was wrong with you. He's usually not one for a bar brawl but for you, he'd be fine with breaking a nose or two. Right now though all he can do is make you see how perfect you are. So he's leaning over the kitchen table and places his hand gently over yours. "So you think we named you after a Greek goddess for shits and giggles?", you see him in the corner of your eye and feel the warmth that is radiating from the hand that is holding yours. God you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad but decades of mocking and harassment had left scars that weren't so easy to ignore. But there was a sincerity to the way he spoke. It wasn't like he was getting anything out of lying to you. Rooster had opened his home for you, gave you a place to stay when you needed it most and he had been nothing but supportive and kind the entire time.

You turn a little to the side and you see the way the corner of his mouth is raising and his chocolate-coloured eyes twinkle with mirth. You cannot help but smile back at him and the moment he sees it, he feels like he just won one of his greatest victories. "There she is", you kick him playfully under the table for his teasing, making both of you laugh.

"I can drop you off at your place, whenever you want" The words hit you out of the blue while you were standing right next to Rooster as you finished drying the dishes he had washed. Of course, he wanted you out of his place. It had been very generous that he offered you breakfast after he shared his bed with you, but now his hospitality was running out. "Yeah right. I am pretty sure that you have better things to do with your Saturday", there is a somberness to your words that makes him feel like he got punched in the gut. He never wanted to give you the feeling that you were unwelcome or that he had other stuff to do or places to be. All he wanted was for you to know that he was there for you, that he wouldn't just call you an Uber and call it a day. "That's not what I meant...", he starts, reaching out to take one of your hands into his. Yours were so tiny and wrapping his fingers around yours felt so right. "I just wanted you to know that I'll come with you to your apartment" "You really don't have to, Rooster. I'm a big girl, tying my own boots and all. I'll manage" "A very wise woman once told me that you never ride into Mordor alone. You can take a companion or a whole army, but under no circumstance do you go on your own" Your eyes were shooting up wide in shock as your gaze met his. "Did she now?", you asked, taking a step closer, head tilted to the side as your eyes focused on his as if you were trying to solve one of your strategic puzzles. "Yep. And you know what's the annoying part about that lady?”, now it's Rooster taking a step towards you, his finger slowly interlacing with yours and a smitten smile spreading on his lips. All he wants to do is lean down and kiss you and he had no fucking clue when it happened or why but Bradley Bradshaw cannot help but feel the pull towards you. "She has a tendency to be right about that kind of shit" Rooster wants to protect you. He wants to protect your heart if only you'd let him.

The closer he gets to your apartment complex the more fidgety you are. It gets so bad that he just takes your hand to give you something to hold onto but your eyes are darting around, searching for something or rather someone. He didn't want to push you to tell him things you didn't want to share, but he couldn't help but let his eyes roam too, wondering if he'd know who it was once he'd seen them. Pulling up right in front of the house he puts the Bronco in park, watching you as your eyes are darting around. "Hey, Nike", he tries to pull you back, gently squeezing your hand.

"Thank you for bringing me. I'll take it from here", you didn't want him to leave, the way you were still holding his hand said as much, but you were worried. You didn't see his car, but you were pretty sure he'd show his face sooner rather than later and you wanted Rooster as far away as humanly possible from that disaster zone... "I will not leave you alone while you are about to spiral into another anxiety attack", he's sliding a bit closer to you on the seats, hoping that his presence could bring you comfort the way it did last night. "I don't want you to get dragged into this Rooster. It's enough of a shit show as is..." "You do realise I am a naval aviator, right? I get paid to do risky as fuck shit at Mach 1.6 while a beautiful woman yells into my ears to stick to her plan", he's smiling at you, hoping to pull you back closer to him with the joke. "I doubt that there is anything that could happen I've never seen a worse version of" "You never met my father" "Who?" "My father...", you repeat, closing your eyes as you bite down on your lower lip to stave off the tears.

You knew it was stupid and childish. You worked in disaster management for a living and still, nothing ever terrified you as much as the thought of being in the same room as him. "When I moved here he got me my flat and whenever he's in the city he insists on having dinner..." "Your father?", Rooster repeated surprised, shocked even. He had fully expected that it was something like a psychotic ex but your dad? "Yeah, he... he's got an anger management problem and..." "Did he hurt you?" "No... I mean he's not the kind of guy to hit you, but he always yelled a lot, still does to this very day...", you heave a sigh, unsure how to put this into words without sounding like a pathetic, whiny brat while piling even more bullshit on Rooster than you already had. "He snaps his finger and it doesn't matter how you feel, you have to function. Whatever he demands, you have to do it that very second or he starts yelling at you. Privacy is a concept he does not know, at least when it comes to others. There is no good or ok in his vocabulary. It's either perfect or wrong and god forbid that you have a different opinion from him on any topic, no matter how big or small because he will remind you of his superiority, even if it means that he ignores every argument you have, no matter how valid and yells until you yield, if out of fear or exhaustion doesn't matter", you are turning to the side and staring out of the window of the Bronco in a weak attempt to hide your tears. "And because he knows everything better he revels in watching you fail. It doesn't matter if it's something tiny or monumental. He remembers every mistake you ever made, every character flaw, every weakness or what he perceives as such. One of his personal favourites is my time at university. Before I went into disaster management I had a different major and I changed after I handed in my bachelor's thesis and with only two semesters left to finish. He's always having a fucking field day telling me what a waste of time, money and energy I am..." You press your hand to your stomach, using the resistance to have something to focus on while you breathe to calm down your heart that threatens to break free from your ribcage. "For him, all it would have taken is to stop being such a pussy and man up. What he loves to ignore is when every time you stand on a balcony or you look out of a window or you walk over a bridge and you cannot help but look down and estimate if it's high enough... it's long past the time when you should have called it quits", your voice is quiet and you close your eyes once more attempting to hold your tears back.

"With all due disrespect. Your father is an asshole who knows jack shit about you or life for that matter" His eyes are glued to your reflection in the window and seeing the tears that stream down your face makes his heartache and the fury return to his veins. No one deserved such a treatment, least of all you. "Nike look at me", he leans forward and turns your face with his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. "You are one of the strongest people I know. Your entire career is rooted in your wish to fix things. You bring people home safe and sound and I doubt it gets much more hardcore than being with the US Navy" "I don't serve", your voice is small and choked up from the tears and it makes him livid. A part of him hopes your father will show his sorry ass because heaven knows he'd love to drill some things into that thick skull of his. "You have your own office, you got a callsign. Fuck if the Admiral knew you'd use it you'd have your own parking lot" "I am a contractor", he sees how the tears he just wiped away are replaced by new ones and there is a desperation bubbling up in his chest. He needed you to see that you were more than what your father made you believe you are and it feels like he's failing you right now.

"Nike. You are the woman who 6 years 8 months and 14 days ago on her first fucking day on base marched into a briefing and told Cyclone to his face in front of the entire base leadership that his idea was bullshit", your eyes widen in shock and your gaze finally meets his. You had been told whatever was spoken in that room would never leave it. "How do you know?" "Are you kidding me? You became a legend that day. I have that day marked on my calendar. Fuck everyone on base marked that on their calendar. It was your first day on the job and you grilled him in front of everyone and lived to tell the tale", your eyes are wandering over his face, not sure what he was aiming at. You had done your job, nothing more and nothing less and he acted like you had brokered world peace or something. "That's what he hired me for. To make sure that the missions are successful while minimising the risks for all personnel involved" "I doubt that he expected you to do it that blunt in front of everyone", there is a chuckle falling from his lips and mischief twinkles in his eyes.

You had worked for years on base by this point and never once did you think you overstepped. Simpson sure as hell never told you so but now that you heard Roosters perspective it dawned on you. You weren't military so the chain of command wasn't drilled into you from day one. You had always viewed the Admiral as an equal, someone you work with on eye level to fulfil the mission and keep the people safe. It had never once occurred to you that the difference in position was so stark... "Don't worry about it. If he wouldn't respect you for that move he would have stopped working with you that day. I mean if any of us were scared of driving he would tell us to fucking walk home and for you, he's taking a detour to play shuttle" "He does what?" He should have kept his mouth shut. Considering your reaction Simpson didn't want you to know that, but now that it was out there, he couldn't take it back. "He promised my apartment was on the way..." "More like a 50-minute detour" "Fuck... and all I do is bring him muffins..." "I'd drive cross country for those muffins, no questions asked. They are worth their weight in gold" "How would you know that?" "He called me into his office for a meeting and they were on a plate on the desk" "You didn't..." "Yep. I totally did. Also for the record. Totally worth the 300 push-ups" "300?!?!" "I ate two"

When you finally manage to unlock the door to your apartment Rooster is startled at how clinical and empty it looks. There are no pictures on the wall. It’s all stark white contrasting with the darker floors. Your kitchen looks pretty unused and if he were a betting man he'd say that all he'll find in that fridge are some frozen meals at best. There was a tiny bookshelf in a corner that held only specialized literature about crisis and disaster management and the small couch and TV combo was barely enough for one person let alone to welcome friends over. Then his eyes fall over to the stacked moving boxes in the bay and that’s when it hits him. This is not a home, it’s a place to sleep. A place where you do not feel safe. You are ready to run at any given time. You’ve lived here for almost 7 years and you still expected the other shoe to drop.

“Sorry about this. I just never saw the necessity to…”, you begin and when your eyes meet his the pain you see knocks the air from your lungs. “Nike...”, he begins, making his way over to you to put his hands on your cheeks, wanting to pull you flush against his chest and kiss you. To show you that you didn’t need to live in a state that was more vegetative than anything else. But then he sees the shift in your body, eyes wide with panic and shortly thereafter the door flies open. No knocking, nothing. And in the doorway stands a man, about 5ft8, early to mid-sixties, with grey hair and beard.

“You finally done with hiding like a bratty child?”, he yells, stopping in his tracks when his eyes land on a man he'd never seen before standing right next to you in the living room. “And who would you be?” Your father knew you. You didn’t have friends let alone a boyfriend and no protective hand on your waist or furious glare would convince him otherwise. In three decades you hadn't managed to get a grip on your life and he had long given up hope that you'd finally get your shit together. It's not like your university escapades had been embarrassing enough or the fact you wasted 6 months in a clinic because you lost control. Even now when you have a job, he's still the one who has to tell his co-workers that his daughter hasn't managed to convince a man to stay, let alone start a family. No, you were still single and lived in a flat your father had been forced to help you find because you couldn’t manage on your own. Again.

From the moment he lays eyes on him Rooster hates this man with everything that he is. In about a minute he had shown him more than enough and the mere thought you had lived your entire life like this. Always waiting for him to barge in and yell at you, never feeling safe anywhere, never really being home. How were you supposed to have a normal childhood if all you've ever known was fear? Fear of failing his expectations and fear of his anger. He couldn't even begin to imagine how fucking exhausting that had to be. “Lieutenant Bradshaw. United States Navy”, he moves his body in between you and your father, a movement of instinct more than anything else.

Your father is taken by surprise. He knows you work in crisis management and that you’ve been hired by the Navy but he expected you to do paperwork, write base evacuation plans or coordinate shipments. A glorified secretary with a master's degree.

The silence in the place grew and the weight on you was unbearable. You knew you had to manage this, to keep the fallout minimal but with Rooster here, you couldn’t fall back into the default protocol. He was a variable you never had to calculate with in a situation like this and that made the unease even worse.

“And who are you to just barge into someone’s place without even the most basic courtesy of knocking on the door?” Rooster knew who he was and your father knew that he knew. “I am the father of the woman who’s hiding behind you like she's fucking five”, the disapproval and almost disdain for you in his voice is cutting. Of course, he would use this as yet another chance to tell you how weak and pathetic you were. It would have been a day to mark in the calendar if it weren’t so.

“And that justifies just slamming the door open and marching in like a fucking SWAT team?” The fury burned hotter in his veins with every second spent in your father's presence, every word, every breath pulling up the memories from last night. The way he found you in front of the Hard Deck, how terrified you were. You cried so bad your make-up was a mess and your mind had shut off to a degree you couldn't remember what happened the next morning. And still, that bastard stands there like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like he has every right on planet earth to make you feel like that, to force you to relive your trauma again and again and again. Your hand grabbed Rooster’s wrist in an attempt to pull him back and out of the confrontation. This would end badly if he kept going and you didn’t want that for him. He had done so much for you already, he didn’t need to get roped into that bullshit too, but Rooster did not budge. Quite contrary he even made another step closer to your father.

“This is my place. I co-signed the lease. It's the only reason why she's even having a roof over her head” “How generous of you to hold what every halfway decent father would do for his child over her head as if she fucking owes you for that” Rooster never had a chance to spend much time with his dad and growing up he envied whoever got that privilege but right now he realised for some people growing up without your father was a kinder fate. Your father raised his brow. Almost like he didn’t understand how someone could have the audacity to talk to him like that. “My relationship with my daughter is none of your business” “It became my business the second you treated one of my friends like a piece of trash” “Friend?”, the laughter was harsh, “She doesn't have friends” “Maybe it should give you a fucking pause if your own daughter decides to keep things like that a secret”, he barks back, his patience running very thin right now.

Rooster's fists are itching. He wants the beat that sarcastic smirk off your father’s face right here right now, but your hand is still wrapped around his wrist and he knows you didn’t want that, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the moment. You were too fucking kind for your own good. “Here I thought you were a soldier, but you sound like a shrink" “You don’t need to have a degree in psychology to get that your idea of family is fucked up. Why else would you push your suicidal daughter to keep on doing the thing that made her suicidal in the first place?" “Bradley”, you can see it in your father’s eyes. So far, he's been civil for his standards, but he was close to snapping and you feared what he’d do if Rooster kept on provoking him. Your father had never been physically violent towards you but you always backed down. “You have no fucking idea what you are talking about” “I know more than fucking enough”

You hear a knocking and when your eyes wander from your father to the open door you cannot believe who you see. Your father turns around too, eyes wandering over the group of people standing there. “Sorry for being late to the party. We miss somethin'?”, Hangman asks, his usual cocky features darkened and brows furrowed. Right next to him was Phoenix and then on either side of them Javy and Bob "And who do you think you are?" "For you, we'll be the four horsemen of the apocalypse", the threat in Phoenix's voice is obvious if her face wasn't enough of a tell already.

You stared up at Rooster who had a smug smirk on his face and when he looked down at you his features softened. “I thought just in case a companion is not enough and we do need the army”, he winks at you and it makes you choke up. It’s not just him who came through for you. It’s all of them, the entire squad even though you never talked much outside of mission briefings and when you yelled at them to stick to the plan. Even if you’d been brave enough to ask for help you would have never expected them to show. Especially so early on a Saturday morning.

Your father is perplexed too. This is a first for him. People who stand up to him and don't just back down and relent the second he gets loud and nasty. It means he’s shoved on unknown terrain and like a lot of people with anger issues, he’s getting the most vile when he’s insecure. "So that's how far you've fallen. You don't even bother with trying these days. No, instead of fighting your own wars you are hiding like a coward behind the people you send in to fix the fuckups of your own creation." The words hit you, bringing back the images from the restaurant. Everybody had been staring at you, no wonder considering the noise he made.

'A coward is what you are. Always looking for the easy way out. Always running away instead of manning up and fighting head-on'

"She'd be stupid to ride into Mordor alone", your eyes shoot over to Phoenix, eyes wide and surprise written all over your features. You had no idea she heard you back then when she tried to catch up with Rooster. "You take a companion. You bring an army, but you never go alone", Bob adds and gives you a gentle smile that makes a fresh set of tears run down your cheeks. "And who says shit like that?" "Nike", Javy deadpans. "Nike?" "Yeah, Nike. Your daughter's callsign", Javy cannot hide the irritation in his voice. This was absurd. That man was supposed to be your father and he didn't even know that much about you? "Like the fucking shoe brand?!?!" "More like the greek goddess of victory", Bob chimed in, turning to you with a small smile while you were digging your finger into Rooster's arm to have something to hold on to. "Goddess of victory? Her? As fucking if" You see the way your father looks between them, unable to hide his confusion before he follows their eyes to you, standing right next to Rooster who wrapped an arm around you to pull you even closer into his side.

"She's the best IC North Island ever had", Hangman gave you that signature smirk and a wink. To hear those words from him of all people made your heart swell. "You might not be aware of it, but you have a treasure for a daughter and considering that you treat her like the dirt under your heel I would suggest you reevaluate your coping strategy, Sir", even while he is angry, Bob stays as perfectly polite as ever, pushing his glasses a little up his nose. "But you don't have to take the word of the people whose lives she's responsible for", Phoenix makes a theatrical gesture out of checking her watch before she looks back to your father, "He might get a bit grumpy if we annoy him on a Saturday morning, but I am sure that nevertheless, Admiral Simpson would have no qualms about confirming Nike's spotless mission record"

Rooster feels how you are holding on tighter to him and he can see the confusion shimmering in your eyes as you watch the scene in front of you unfold. He knows that you have no idea what you meant to the people on base, the people you worked with. What you meant to him, even before he found you last night and it's beautiful to witness how the realisation slowly settles in that you are cherished, that there are people who respect you, your achievements and your hard work. People who care.

"I'm gonna make this very simple for you now", Rooster's voice is low and has an animalistic ring to it as he stares down your father, knowing that at a moment's notice, the rest of the dagger squad would be right there by his side. "You will turn around and carry your sorry ass out of this apartment. If I or any of my friends see you near Nike again, you will regret it. If you contact her in any shape or form, you will wish you'd never been born", his voice was cutting and calm, a storm raging right beneath his skin, almost hoping for him to talk back so he could finally give him the beating he deserved. "Are you threatening..." "No, we are not. We never would...", Phoenix has a sardonic smile playing on her lips as she walks around your father and positions herself to Rooster's left. "We are making a promise. Not that a man like you would know the difference", she's cocking her head a little and for the first time in your entire life, you see something like fear flittering over your father's features.

Coyote and Hangman step to the side to clear the way for him and you can see that he's livid, biting down on his lower lip so hard you wonder if he'd draw blood, but he stays quiet as he turns around and walks towards the door only to be stopped by Hangman's hand on his shoulder. "And remember. Even if we should be deployed there are thousands more where we came from who will step up gladly to put you in your place", he gives your father one of those blinding smiles that makes the women swoon but something is hiding in his eyes. A promise that if your father would do as much as breathe funny, he would gladly show him what skills you acquired in the Navy. And with that, your father leaves, not even muttering an insult under his breath the way he usually does as he steps out of the apartment.

The moment he rounds the corner you feel Rooster's arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. "We are all here for you. I am here for you. You are safe, beautiful"

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist HERE

[mysecretdsmpblog]

Pspspst, so like, what are your other QSMP DID HCs if you don't mind sharing? :)

Anyone with "alter egos," possession arcs, amnesia, etc. are automatically given a free dissociative disorder by me.

Luzu and Arin? DID. Bang bam boom, easy. Possession isn't real on Quesadilla Island only the DID. Arin has memories from an alternate universe that doesn't exist, and that's just something some alters have.

Richarlyson and Romero Richas? Romero Richas is so tired of Richarlyson destroying their paintings, come on man, they worked hard on those. It's not their fault the paintings are scary as fuck to Richarylson. DID, no notes.

Roier is so easy because he kind of laid the groundwork for me? At one point I think I remember him dropping a little bit of lore saying he was hearing other people in his head at one point? I don't think anything ever came of that in canon but MY AU INTERPRETATION MY RULES. In my head, Melissa definitely started as just Roier in drag and then very quickly evolved into her own person. Anyway, Doied is very easy to interpret as an alter, even though I had already been viewing Roier through a DID/OSDD lens for a while now (not as canon, again, just for flavor).

Quackity and El Quackity? Girrrrrl I was on that train the minute it became clear they weren't the same person. Giving everyone on the QSMP a dissociative disorder is my favorite pastime. El Quackity having to be told by the Feds, with a delayed response, details about his life? Quackity speaking to him from inside their brain. When Quackity came back with no memories? Another alter. That afterlife bit? They can't help it their innerworld is scary. Listen, the Quackity system is by far the funniest for me, because there's Quackity, Quackity, Quackity, The Quackity, and Rat Quackity.

I am constantly on the fence with Charlie Slimecicle. It's almost too easy, with the Gegg arc. I usually sum up the whole thing as age-regression as a coping mechanism that got a little out of hand, or as an exploration of a different disorder, but if I wanted to view it as DID or OSDD I could do it in a heartbeat.

Phil is really easy to give DID to, honestly. If I didn't like it so much it would feel like cheating. Man's got a self-proclaimed dogshit memory, goes to Hardcore when he "sleeps," had that long-ass derealization episode post-Birdcage arc, wakes up to the Gods having done things like leaving letters around, was possessed by the Ender King (who talked to him inside his head), etc. He also has autism but then again most of them do.

Despite the amnesia, Badboyhalo doesn't have DID. He's just a little freak. He does have episodes of dissociative catatonia, though, and that's what I attribute to "Dapper Time."

[to---the---ark]

This is one of my latest fanfics about MarbleHornets.

The lack of uppercases, punctuation marks and the general "format" is wanted, and it's inspired by my dissociation issues, let's call them that since I'm not sure enough of myself to self diagnose. I hope it helped me portraying what I wanted to portray.

Hope you like it.

Regards,

[REDACTED]

-

Spoiler warning: mentions of the comic book "Marble Hornets Issue 3.5 - ToTheArk".

-

HEY, SUNNY BOY, SMILE AT ME

sometimes

i remember things

messages everywhere

secrets everywhere

sometimes

blond hair

bright smile

a little bit of a fessure between the front teeth

i look for it whenever i see someone smiling

how do you smile

i can't do that anymore

the plastic of my maskface is too hard and cold

sometimes

i remember

i was

warm

-

sometimes

thoughts get confusing

codes and riddles

numbers

glitching reality

the operator

faceless creature

it stole the faces from every memory i had

virus

it infected my whole being

i can no longer be myself

i can no longer remember who i loved

who i was loved by

what love is

i am always so cold

cold as a corpse

yellow hoodie stained with red

eyes no longer bright, one missing

blood seeping through that front teeth

the ark

awaits

i didn't die yet

didn't feed the ark

sometimes

i see

the sun

riddles and codes and warmth

his absent eye is pitch black

he no longer smiles

maybe a ghost

maybe an hallucination

he talks about tim

i do not know who he is

me

talks about me

can't remember

his voice stern and cold

answers my riddles resolves my codes

he's not really dead

he says

he will stop this

will fix me

but

i am broken, i can't be fixed

i am cold

-

the day the music died

was raining

old school

dusty floor

i'll kill you i screamed

he fell

down

down

down below

blood pooling under his head

a red halo

staining a yellow hoodie

my breath laboured

i don't know what i felt

anger

fear

nothing at all

never checked who he was

never dared to

and yet

alex showed me

now he briefly smiles at me

blood seeping through the little gap between his front teeth

is he

really dead

really here

really alive

really gone

is this reality

-

my head hurts

riddles eat my brain

codes stab it with painful thorns

sometimes

i see

the sun

«I've been looking for you.»

he's offering me his gloved hand

and his warmth tricks me into letting myself be boiled alive

am i really safe

am i me

who is

me

is tim still here

is tim still me

will i ever take my maskface off

i know no safety beside him

the one who stuck with me despite my impurity

or maybe because of it

maybe he just can't leave

maybe i ruined him once again

the sun is warm

usually

i feel a spark of warmth when i grab his hand

«You are broken, you can be fixed.»

his voice is as soothing as i think i remember it was

calm washes over me

hands stop trembling

i cough twice

i sob ugly crying

clawing his hoody trying to keep him close trying to never let go i don't want to be alone anymore please don't leave

«I'm not leaving, Tim.»

i'm tim

i'm me, he says so

a masked figure

behind him

don't know that facemask

don't know

is it gonna start all over again?

is this person here to torment me again- to take him away again?

i panic

«Listen to me» he says

i do

i think i'm dying

panic swirling in my chest

difficult to breath

«Everything is normal. Everything is fine.»

i don't really remember much

vague and blurry conceps most of the time

but

college, panic attacks before an exam

his smile reassuring me, his voice saying those exact words

«I worry about nothing.»

he calms me

again

soothing voice

warmth

the masked person doesn't seem so scary anymore

not beside him

«Because nothing's on my mind.»

the sun smiles at me

for the first time since i remained alone

a path of death and loss behind me

i am

warm

-

Little explanation time, with a lot of spoilers, lmao.

The masked guy is "Skully" and the whole fic happens after Issue 3.

I think that the order of the issues is 1, 2, 3.5, 3 and 4, and I think Issue 3.5 happens before Issue 3 becsuse in Issue 3.5, Skully "absorbs" Jay and Alex, and shows their faces to Jessica in Issue 3.

I also don't think Skully "absorbs" Brian. Brian says he had escaped the Ark multiple times, leaving behind pieces of himself, and Skully clearly asks him "help us". Skully doesn't show Jessica Brian's face, also.

With all the worry and concern Brian showed towards Tim, I wanted to write what I'd love to see: Brian looking for Tim with Skully's help, and finding him. I just did that from a dissociated, broken Tim's pov. Or at least I tried to.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Bright Like The Moon: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: We Showed The World That We Exist

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Fandom: Night Hunter

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Black!OFC 

Word count: 5.1K

Summary: Kamaria Mansfield is hired at the Minnesota Police Department as an intern. Detective Walter Marshall is overworked and unsatisfied. Takes place post-film.

Chapter Summary: Kamaria and Walter play hooky to deal with unforeseen stressors.

Chapter warnings: panic attack (dissociation episode), oral sex (f receiving), finger fucking, therapy session, squirting 

A/N: Time jumps in this chapter. We’re only skipping a couple of days but it may be a little jarring. But Yada is back!! Un-beta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Cross-posted on AO3

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Kamaria’s POV

Word has spread like wildfire around the office about me and Walter dating. It didn’t take long at all for news that the grumpy bear of a detective and the new intern are fucking. We actually aren’t even doing that, yet. It’s only been a few days but the rumor mill in the police station is like a damn high school hallway. And I have Nina and Sophie to thank for that.

I swear, no one listens to interns. Like, ever. Unless it is about gossip. And I made friends with the loudest, and the actual kindest, gossipmongers. I know they mean well, they’ve made it clear they are glad that Walter smiles more. I like being the cause of his change of mood, as well.

With everyone aware of our relationship, things are kind of weird. Like, weird around the ex, kind of weird. 

It’s not like Rachel and Walter were super friendly after they decided not to date. Sometimes, and I would never tell Walter this, I feel like he felt for Rachel because she saved his life. A case of transference, perhaps?

But, they at least seemed cordial towards each other. Rachel felt enough of a connection to reach for his hand, the thought still burns in my mind. But Walter and I did have our first kiss after that, so grain of salt, ya know?

Rachel just seems like someone pissed in her oatmeal every time she walks by me. She couldn’t possibly be jealous of me. I don’t get her, honestly. Is it an “if she can’t have him, no one can” thing? Because I wouldn’t have thought she would go for pettiness. Never underestimate a woman on a mission, though. 

Walter and I agree to get to work a bit early so we could hang out in his office until I have to start work. The man may be seen as prickly by most people in the office, but it is like night and day when it comes to me. He can be so thoughtful, and so in tune with my emotions that it can be like he’s reading my mind. Which is both cute and slightly annoying, because I can never hide what I’m feeling. 

Like this morning, for example. My mind has been racing. So many things to think about, from my work to Walter to Rachel to my anxiety about dating openly in the office to what I’m going to choose to talk about in therapy today. And I can’t seem to make it stop or slow down. Which is when I feel a hand on mine. 

I look up to see Walter crouching next to the chair I’m sitting in. I don’t remember sitting down. I barely remember walking into this office.

“There she is,” he says, brushing a hand over my confused brow, “you had me so worried back there.” I notice the fear in his eyes now.

“Sometimes, my anxiety takes over and I just check out,” I mutter, looking around the office, “I remember getting out of my car and kissing you and then nothing until just now.”

“Does this happen a lot?” I hear the tremble in his voice but I don’t mention it.

“Hasn’t happened in months. I can usually sense it before other people can, though. Sort of like a panic attack, but not really because I don’t panic, I just…move? It’s hard to explain,” I ramble on, trying to get my bearings.

“It sounds like your brain is working on autopilot due to stress. I’m no therapist, but I’ve seen how stress can affect people in different ways,” he suggests, holding my hand in his, “I hope I’m not overstepping here, but a new relationship becoming public can be quite stressful. Especially when it’s in a work setting where one person’s ex is also a coworker. It’s no wonder you’re feeling like this.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I can’t deny that it is a lot,” I concede, feeling all sorts of vulnerable.

“You have therapy today around 1, right?” he asks before I nod to confirm, “And where is your therapist’s office?”

“Well, I was going to do it virtually today. But she’s close-ish. Between here and my apartment,” I answer, wondering where this is going.

“I have a suggestion, which you are more than welcome to decline. But, in my head, it sounds like a good id-”

“Baby, you’re babbling,” I laugh, stopping his rant.

“I think you should ask to see your therapist in person. We can take the rest of the day off and I could drive you to the appointment if you’d like,” he urges, “Besides, it’s the weekend. They won’t mind if we skip out a bit early.”

“Skip out early? I didn’t even clock in yet,” I remind him, still thinking about work instead of my mental health. Very typical of me.

“Perfect, then. I still have personal time to use, and you told me you were given some personal time when you signed on, so that covers today. We’ll let your manager know you’re not feeling well on the way out,” he says, moving about his office and collecting his things before realizing I’m yet unmoving, “Fuck! Did I just plan your entire day?”

I smile up at him, adoration in my eyes. “You did, but with the best of intentions,” I comment, standing up from the chair, “You’re right, though. I kinda need the routine of going into the office today and I could use a day off even if it’s only my first week.”

“Look at you, already smiling. I count that as a win,” he hums, reaching for my hand, squeezing as our fingers interlace.

We head out of the station after a short talk with my boss. Tell a man you’re having ‘feminine trouble’ and he all but shoos you out of the building. Thank God for small favors.

Walter heads home after insisting I go home to change clothes and grab whatever I needed to feel comfortable for the rest of the day at his place. Arriving home, I immediately start to pack my overnight bag. I choose to ignore the nagging voice questioning my actions. I might want to stay over or change clothes again for some reason. So, take that, Nag-atha Christie!

I call my therapist’s office and request to come into the office today. I say that my schedule has changed and I would prefer to be seen in the office. The receptionist is super sweet and lets me know she will inform Yada of the change. I hope Yada doesn’t worry. I mean, I’m slightly worried about my little episode earlier but I feel at least a bit better now.

I change into some yoga pants, a loose-fitting top, a hoodie, and some comfy old sneakers. I spot Beary Allen sitting atop my bed and resign to bringing him over to Walter’s house as well. I usually can’t sleep without him so I don’t chastise myself too much for bringing along something for comfort. 

I check my overnight bag to make sure I have everything I need, and some stuff I don’t need but I want to have just in case. And if I reach into my nightstand and grab condoms, then that is my business until it is Walter and I’s business. Not that I plan on doing anything, but I like being prepared for multiple eventualities. In any case, I refuse to let myself feel anything but poised for success. I also refuse to define success, so there’s the end of that.

I hear Walter’s text tone going off in my pocket and pull out my phone.

Walter Marshall: Didn’t change your mind did you, Princess?

Me: Of course not!

Me: I was just making sure I have everything

Me: Including Beary Allen

Me: 😁

Walter Marshall: The…Flash? But like, a bear?

Me: I love that you get exactly what I meant

Me: And you haven’t even met Beary

Walter Marshall: I was right???

Me: You’ll meet him soon

Me: He’s my emotional support animal

Me: I’m leaving now to come to you

You have shared your location.

Me: Now, you can tell where I am at all times

Me: Just as a safety thing

Walter Marshall: Wow ok

Walter Marshall: Thank you for trusting me with this

Me: You’re welcome

Me: Try to act like you didn’t follow my location the entire time I was on my way to your place 😉

Walter Marshall: No promises

I’m already back in my car by the time his text comes through, I know he’s gonna follow me the whole way to his house. It’s honestly adorable. I can tell he misses me when I’m not around. He likes me, and I like him too. It doesn’t take me long to get to his house and he’s standing outside when I park in the driveway.

“You failed to play it cool, Detective,” I laugh, grabbing my overnight bag and Beary from the passenger seat before exiting my car.

“I never promised to play it cool,” he smiles, reaching out to take my overnight bag from me, “Hmm, planning on staying a bit?” 

“I figured it would be best to be prepared,” I propose, clutching onto Beary, secretly glad that Walter didn’t offer to take him as well. No one has ever touched Beary besides me.

“May I address Mr. Allen directly? Or does he only speak with you?” he poses the question completely seriously.

It takes every ounce of my resolve not to melt. “You may address him directly.”

“Mr. Allen, may I call you Beary?” he waits for a response, “I just want you to know I plan on taking care of Kam during her stay here, however long that may be…Yes, of course…I wouldn’t dream of it. So we have an understanding. Shake on it?” He reaches out and shakes Beary’s tiny paw, winking at me as he pulls his hand back. If he’s not careful, I will fall so fucking hard for this man.

Walter takes my hand, kisses it gently, and brings me inside. I start to lean down to remove my shoes, but he stops me and kneels to do it himself.

“You don’t have to-” I start, before being cut off.

“I know I don’t have to, Princess,” he agrees, placing my shoes next to his, “but I want to take care of you today, so allow me to do so, please?”

I open my mouth to protest, but a stern look from Walter makes me rethink that choice and only nod.

“Good girl,” he praises, standing up to hover over me, “I know it must be hard to let someone take care of you, but since I’ve taken on that role, I plan on not having you lift a finger if I can help it. Sorry, not sorry.”

“That’s some Prince Charming shit right there,” I blurt out, there goes my filter flying away in the wind again. Luckily, Walter just laughs at that and kisses my forehead. 

We end up hanging out around his house for a few hours, having far too many snacks and too much coffee. What can I say, we’re both caffeine addicts and snack goblins. The only reason I ignore the voice telling me I’ve had enough snacks is the fact that Walter is hand-feeding me pieces of fruit. He was not kidding about me not lifting a finger. I could get used to this.

Before long, Walter is helping me put my shoes on so that we can head to my therapist appointment. He opens his truck door for me and even buckles me in, shooing my hands away. Holding my hand as he drives, he allows me to pick the music we listen to. When I joke ‘but I thought the driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole’, he has no clue what I’m talking about. I explain it away as a tv show reference, making sure to force him to watch Supernatural with me at some point.

As The Amazing Devil’s ‘Two Minutes’ is ending, we are pulling up to Yada’s office. I don’t even try to reach for my door handle, waiting for Walter to come around to my side of the vehicle. He lifts me out of the truck and I try not to smile too wide at that. Holding my hand as we cross the parking lot, he steps in front of me to open the door, allowing me to walk in first. I check in with the receptionist and we sit in the lobby holding hands again. This man likes to hold my hand, and I am not complaining about it.

I hear Yada’s office door open and she steps out to greet me. She visibly registers my hand intertwined with the man to my left. I stand, pulling Walter up with me by accident. 

“Don’t worry, he’s gonna wait out here. Let’s go,” I sputter, moving past Yada and into the office. I notice Yada isn’t following me when I sit down. I hear introductions being exchanged and silently die inside. Why does it feel like my mom is meeting my boyfriend? Wait, is he my boyfriend? Oh my God, is he my boyfriend?

Yada comes back into the room and sits in her armchair, grabbing her notebook and writing quickly in it before addressing me. “So, let’s address the elephant in the room, or should I say the giraffe in my lobby. That man is tall as hell. And very pretty,” she jabbers on, smiling away at me, “Tell me all about him.”

I go on to tell her we met, or more correctly he saved my life, just before my last therapy appointment. I mention Faye and that we haven’t met yet. I talk about being in almost constant communication since I gave him my number on Monday. We discuss how he likes to take care of me, and that he did so after I told him about the whole Christopher thing. During this, she is taking notes in her book. When I bring up my episode this morning, she looks up at me.

“So, it sounds like Walter was able to ground you during a moment of dissociation. About how long did it last?” she asks.

“For just a few minutes. I remember getting out of my car, but from walking into the station to Walter effectively ‘waking me up’...it’s just like I was watching myself move but I wasn’t totally in control.” I murmur, finding my favorite spot on the rug.

“I see, can you remember this ever happening before?”

“The last time it happened was maybe five or six months ago after I had to quit the job at the prison infirmary. It was just too stressful. And I guess I have been kinda stressed the past couple of days. Everybody at work knows Walter and I are dating thanks to a couple of friends I made. Nina and Sophie are sweet but they have loose lips.”

“Either way, I am glad you made friends,” she smiles, taking a note, “Are there any other stressors besides a new public relationship?” 

“His ex works at the station too. She’s been kinda giving me the stink eye when we pass each other. She hasn’t said or done anything. But like, she obviously still feels something for him,” I admit, rolling my eyes, “But if that chicken thinks she’s getting anywhere near my coop, she has got another thing coming.”

“Calm down, we don’t need you to be unprofessional in the workplace, no matter how she acts toward you,” she reasons, even though I only half-listen, “Does Walter know about Rachel’s behavior?”

“No, because I don’t want to sound like I’m crazy. I feel crazy. She probably just has resting bitch face?” 

“I think you should tell him about the looks she has been giving you. Get his opinion on it before you discount your feelings completely. He might be able to shed some light on her behavior, or even better, he may be able to speak with her on terms she can understand. And that don’t involve you clubbing her like a seal and hiding the body behind the police station. But you didn’t hear that from me. That’s off the record, Your Honor.” she muses, winking at me before taking notes.

I agree to talk to Walter about Rachel and we decide this will be my homework for this week. Not difficult, but still awkward to start speaking about. I mean, how do you tell your significant other that their ex is problematic without seeming territorial or threatened? Rachel doesn’t strike me as the type to try and come in between Walter and me, but I will be keeping my eyes peeled.

“So are you and Walter using protection?” Out of nowhere, Yada hits me with that question.

“Yada! We haven’t even done anything yet? Jesus, woman,” I cover my face, happy again that my espresso skin doesn’t show the heat behind my cheeks.

“Yet being the optimal word. Got it. Well, use protection. You have every right to have sex and every right to protect yourself. So, don’t be coming round here saying ‘we got caught up in the moment’. Because so did Romeo and Juliet and look how that ended,” she deadpans, throwing her hands up.

“Did you just…never mind. We will use protection. When we get to that point. I’m in no rush and I can’t speak for him, but he at least respects my boundaries.”

“He sounds like a good egg. I like him already. He respects boundaries, he’s attractive, he’s got a stable income, and he liiiiiikes you,” she beams, rising from her armchair to go to her desk.

“I’m glad you approve because I like him and it just feels right with him. We connect so easily,” I say, noticing Yada is looking at me and shaking her head, “What now?”

“You are falling for him, girlfriend, don’t you see that?” she commented matter-of-factly. 

“Shut up, no I’m not,” I answer grumpily.

“Alright, but you are,” she states, tilting her head, “There is nothing wrong with that, by the way.”

“I know. I’m just afraid of moving too fast. That’s kind of my way of doing things, and I don’t hate it but I don’t necessarily like it much either.”

“Love it or hate it, it is a part of you. And you either have to learn to thrive despite it, or work toward changing the behavior. But you know this already, Kamaria.”

“You’re right about that, but I still like the option of just complaining about it,” I confess, shrugging my shoulders.

“Either way, it is your choice. You are still scheduled virtually for next week. You have your homework, as well. Anything else you wanna gab about before we end today’s session?”

“Nope,” I say, letting the ‘p’ make a pop sound.

“Well, then I will let you get back to your tall, dark, and handsome fella,” she smiles, getting up to walk me out. We exit her office and she smiles at Walter, addressing him directly. “She has homework and it involves you, so don’t let her forget.” How she gonna do me like that?!

“Thanks, Yada,” I groan.

Walter is enjoying this way too much because he decides it’s best to pat my shoulder while saying, “Don’t you worry, I won’t let her forget.” He just smiles when I give him a glare that rivals the fire of a thousand suns. He probably thinks it’s cute or something. He holds his arm out to let me exit before him and I’m happy for this because then he can’t see me cursing his very existence. I still let him open the door for me. I also let him open the truck door and buckle me in. By the time he gets into the vehicle, I’m reaching over to hold his hand.

“Done being mad at me, then?” he jokes, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

“Feed me and we’ll see if I can’t be swayed,” I advise, winking at him.

We grab a quick late lunch and head back to his place. I take a nap for a couple of hours and am awoken by the hearty scent of tomato sauce. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep on the couch, but I’m waking up in a bedroom underneath a light blanket, Beary tucked into my side. Walter must have moved me in here so I wouldn’t be disturbed. He can be so sweet sometimes, I wonder how long he can keep this up.

I get up from the bed, leaving Beary behind and I walk out to the living room to see Walter hard at work in the kitchen. He doesn’t notice me so I sneak up behind him and goose him. He doesn’t react, as if he knew I was coming.

“What makes you think I didn’t hear you from the moment you opened my bedroom door?” he began, only turning slightly to wink at me before returning to slicing french bread for garlic toast, “I used to be S.W.A.T., Princess, so it takes a lot to get the jump on me.”

“So, you’re say-” 

“That is not an invitation for you to experiment on how to get the upper hand, love,” he stops me before I go down that useless train of thought.

“You got me, I’ll be on my best behavior, Sir,” I laugh, pulling myself up to sit on the counter near him.

“Would you like a piece of bread with some tomato sauce on it, Princess?”

“Yes, please,” I pipe up, excited to taste the aromatic sauce. I watch as he grabs a piece of bread, dipping it into the sauce before blowing on it a bit. He turns off the stove and comes to stand in front of me, placing the bite just out of reach. I look at him, confusion painted on my face.

“Tell me what your homework is and you can have your treat, Princess.”

I debate pouting but I know that won’t get me that saucy bread. “I have to talk to you about Rachel. She’s been weird around me, and it makes me uneasy,” I mumble, suddenly anxious.

“What exactly is she saying or doing?” he asks, allowing me to take a bite of the bread, still holding onto it himself.

“She hasn’t said anything to me, she just gives me this bitchy glare whenever we cross paths,” I speak around the bite of bread I was granted, “Honestly, baby, she freaks me out and I don’t like the idea of having to avoid your ex.”

“You shouldn’t have to actively avoid her,” he holds the last bite of bread out for me and places it in my awaiting mouth, “I’ll talk to her. I don’t want to scare her too much. But I do want her to know you mean a lot to me and if I’m lucky, you’ll be in my life for a long time to come. She needs to suck it up and get used to it.” 

“Fuck, that is so sexy to hear you say,” I disclose, reaching up to cup the back of his head, pulling him into a searing kiss. 

I clench my thighs together as I feel his tongue invade my mouth. Strong hands part my legs so that he can slide in between them. Our clothed sexes line up perfectly and I wrap my legs around his hips. A growl rumbles from his chest to my groin. We part to catch our breath, our foreheads resting together.

“Fuck, will you let me eat your pussy, baby?” he practically moans the question and it lights a fire up under my ass.

“Please, yes,” I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck before he picks me up off the counter and walks us into his bedroom. He lays me down slowly. Kissing from my lips to my neck, nipping along the way. I gasp inwardly when I feel his hand ghost over my covered heat, my back arching at the touch.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, baby. You just relax and take what you need from me,” he whispers, moving down the bed as he hooks his fingers in my pants. He pulls them down, leaving me in my drenched panties. He kisses the fabric of my underwear before pulling those down as well.

He dives into my sodden snatch, using the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe from my entrance to my swollen nub before kissing it. My hands go from gripping the sheets to weaving through his curls when I feel him start to suck on my button.

“Fuuuuuck, Daddy, just like that,” I mewl, his growl vibrating through my clit. I feel his hands grip my thick thighs, pulling me closer to him as he eats greedily. I look down at him, his eyes are closed and he looks like he is in Heaven feasting on me. As if he could sense my stare, his eyes open and we share a heated mutual gaze. 

While still attending to my nub, he reaches up to my mouth and I suck two of his fingers, getting them nice and wet. When he’s satisfied, he leans back and licks his lips, entering my core with his spit-slicked digits and I cry out at the sensation.

“You’re so fucking tight, hot, and wet baby. Fucking perfect, I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock,” he hummed, working his fingers in and out of me slowly until I arch my back to ride his fingers.

I pull him up to kiss me, tasting myself on his lips. His fingers find my inner bundle of nerves, massaging it as his thumb circles my clit. My breathing picks up as I feel the coil in my depths tightening until it snaps and I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation.

“No, no, no. Look at me when I make you cum,” our eyes lock and I arch off the bed as my orgasm hits me full force. But this one feels different, so much more powerful than ever before. “Fuuuuuuuck, yes! Squirt all over me,” I faintly hear Walter groan those words before I realize my thighs are wet and sloshing noises are bouncing off the walls. Walter looks back up to my face and his pupils are blown wide. “You look so beautiful like this. All fucked out, tears flowing freely.” Did he say tears?

I reach up to my cheeks and feel wetness staining them, my eyes are blurry with unshed moisture. Then the emotion behind it all attacks and I begin to cry fully. I know they are happy tears but I can’t verbalize that to Walter yet and he starts to panic. 

“S’ok…so good…emotional,” I mutter, trying to let him know I’m alright. He seems to understand and nods, going to the attached bathroom and coming back with two towels. I feel wet warmth between my thighs as he cleans me, then dries me off with the other towel. He lays down next to me and covers me with the comforter and I close my eyes in contentment.

He peppers my face with slow kisses, from my eyelids to my nose to my cheeks to my lips. When I open my eyes again, Walter is looking at me with a look that definitely spells out his feelings for me. Instead of putting words to it, we just lay and bask in its radiance. I struggle to keep my eyes open and finally keep them closed.

I feel a kiss placed on my forehead and stir while I hear Walter’s soothing voice in my ears. “You did so good, Angel. Rest as long as you need to, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I awake some time later, and true to his word, Walter is still laying next to me. His soft snores are like music to my ears. I lean up and nuzzle our noses together until he stirs and opens his eyes and smiles down at me.

“Hey, baby,” he gives me a quick peck, “How do you feel?”  

“Well…so far, I feel refreshed. But I haven’t tried to walk yet,” I laugh, “That will be the true test. And I need to pee anyway.” At that, I sit up and stretch my arms over my head. I swing my legs out of the bed and stand up slowly. I take my first step and it’s wobbly as hell.

Walter gets up and helps me to the bathroom, because of course he does. He stays in the bathroom with me to make sure I don’t tip off the toilet or slip into the bathtub. I mean, at this point, I squirted all over his hand so I’m sure he can handle me peeing while he’s in the room. He even jokes that he can’t believe I have any liquids left in me. I playfully swat at him and he only grins at me.

We end up having dinner shortly after, the pasta was spectacular and the garlic toast was perfect. The rest of the night is spent introducing Walter to Supernatural. He likes how funny it is, and I feel obligated to tell him that this is one of the saddest shows to ever grace television screens. Once I say that, he vows to still watch the show because it means so much to me. 

We lay down in his bed for the night, talking about what we want to do this weekend. I mention that it would be nice to do absolutely nothing and just be lazy bums all weekend and he approves. Our weekend is spent finishing the first season of Supernatural and me answering all of Walter’s questions about the show. He is so cute getting all invested in one of my faves. And if we take breaks for him to test how many times he can make me cum in a weekend, then that’s our business.

He won’t allow me to return the favor, however. He says that this is all a part of him taking care of me this weekend. I try not to feel undeserving of so much positive attention, but I’m still a work in progress. And that is just fine for now because he is good at making me forget why I was anxious in the first place. My sweet Walter better count his days, because I am going to rock his world when I finally get the chance.

Chapter 5

**Tag List**

@enchantedbytomandhenry @astheskycries 

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @kebabgirl67 @foxyjwls007

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

[strawbhat]

30-09-24

I HAVENT WRITTEN IN SO LONG IM SO SORRY!!!! IVE BEEN SO SLEEPY T_T. lemme give u the week recap

thursday I didn't do a single thing. well that's a lie i went to my neighbours a little bit! i escorted her from the train station bc it was raining like CRAZZYYY and she didnt have an umbrella. but she got me a boo basket!! its a little thing she does every autumn but she made me one as a thanks for helping with moving!! it was sooo cute it had a blanket, like a glass stanley cup thing, loooots of chocolate and facemasks! shes so cute i almost cried for real. also we watched a little of attack on titan but then i went to bed.

friday i had college. i cant really remember ow it went i think i dissociated the whole time, but afterwards i had d&d! we finished the temple/dungeon and there was a HUUUGE boss fight! it was a wolf with antlers that was like the voice of the forest and omg it did this one attack that did 47 DAMAGE to everyone... i was scared for my life. but we won! and after that i had a SECOND dnd session with the server i joined... which wasnt that good. the dm was super nice! but the players were very uh.. meh. maybe i was just super sleepy and pissed off!

saturday... was rough. my friend moved so i woke up at like 8am (horrific for a day off) and helped her move for what like 14 hours straight? i thought i was going to die. but she bought me pasta afterwards! my legs are still killing me... i stayed at her new place afterwards too and its so nice!! i'm so happy for her that she finally has somewhere actually liveable ugh.

sunday we went 2 ikea!! another early morning (kms) but i had a nice time spending time w my friend :3 i got a desk chair and loads of cute little decor for the cats! I GOT THEM A TENT!!! SO CUTE! but yes i spent wayyy too much money and when i got home i got mylaptop out to type this and passed out instantly...

today was rough. seriously did not want to go to college. i toldmy mum about the mindfullness guy being weird and she got me out of his session today!! yay! im surprised i even went in TBH. its a miracle! i had a super rough time though, like mute all day. i felt so rude but also stop speaking to me I BEGGGG just leaf me alone T_T adhd 16 yr olds are so fucking loud. AND THEYRE ALL MOUTHBREATHERS omfg i couldve killed someone for real. but i got through it!

on the taxi home my driver was being very antivaxx nd i could not stya quiet like usual (too sleepy to keep it in) so i feel bad. but he was being a weirdo.

and then i napped when i got home! willow stayed curled up with me for like 4 hrs it was sooo cute!! nad then i had d&d again!! srsly the best session ever it was just us concluding the like temple arc! we learned sm world lore and riley got a cool blessing and we got cool items! and got so much gold! and came up with a super sick team name (the Buckanéires). and they learned rodri isnt dead! okay nerd time over. i need to go to sleep so fucking bad .

love u sooo much my sweet little princesses!

song of the day... i didn't listen to any music gimme a second

The River by Daisy Jones & The Six

[ocdaitathrowaway]

jesus christ this got a lot of responses in the little thingy so i guess maybe i should give some extra info for you guys?

yes, i am in fact a minor, as many of you have guessed. i won't be a minor for much longer. but i still don't want to state my age because it makes me uncomfortable (i kinda stopped stating my age until i knew people after i was groomed, hah)

a lot of you are recommending therapy/getting out of the house/getting away from my mother/family. i don't have the ability to do any of this, because

-for therapy we don't have money. i certainly wouldn't be able to go alone because i can't drive at all.

-due to my dad's work schedule, (only have one car) i don't really even get to go out WITH my mother very often, even to the grocery store, let alone go into activities (i also have some physical issues (wrist tendonitis mainly) that prevent me from doing the ones i've been wanting to do) or to try and socialize or anything.

-i don't have any other family members or trusted adults i can go to. the one adult family member i somewhat trust i wouldn't trust enough for this and said family member is in another state. i don't trust adults in general, usually, though. (grooming victim moment!)

• my father is far worse than my mother in a lot of ways (racist, transphobic, demeaning, somewhat ableist, believes in eugenics, etc. maybe a bit violent? i mean he's never really hurt me badly or anything.) (i mean, he openly talks about wanting to shoot/hang/kill trans people/furries/pretty much anyone he disagrees with. one time he said he wanted to kill "my generation" and then said "not you, though. you're one of the good ones." which prompted me to be a lot more afraid of him than i was before.) and he lives here already anyways. he's a big part of a lot of my issues, and i don't dare to talk to him about any of them.

-as i stated earlier, i can't drive. i am of age to get my license/permit in my state, but i don't know how to drive, and i'm honestly kind of worried about trying to learn. i'm not sure i can be trusted to drive without potentially trying to harm myself or shutting down or just randomly dissociating. i wouldn't feel safe driving without someone else in the car to take over should i need it.

i don't have a job, so i can't make anymore money. i think some of you might've suggested online donations, but i wouldn't be able to accept because if my parents found out i was getting money from people online uhh. maybe i shouldn't finish that sentence actially.

several of you have said that cps likely wouldn't take me away if they didn't think i was in danger, or have stated that being taken away or leaving wouldn't be that bad of an idea anyways. i agree that getting out of here would be great. i was frightened by the idea for a while but to be honest i'd love to leave here, and i've contemplating running away, but i'd have to prepare a lot more before doing that. as for the other part, you might have been assuming that i'm not in danger. i think i am. i don't know if i'm in current danger but if my parents were to find out some things about me (especially the fact that i am uh. not cis. (i'm genderfluid if it matters) and a lot of my personal views) i don't think i'd be very safe anymore. (re: that part i mentioned my dad wants to kill trans/nb/etc people)

a bunch of you have recommended noise cancelling headphones or earplugs and whatnot! my headphones are somewhat noise cancelling and i wear them most of the time. it does help. i feel a lot more comfortable with them on. i don't think i'd need earplugs, though.

-i don't remember if i mentioned it or not, but they're not too fond of me wearing the headphones. i'm not sure of the reason. my dad seems concerned that it will harm my hearing, but when i listen to music i keep it relatively low (low enough they definitely can't hear it coming from them! i always make sure.) and most of the time i'm not playing music anyways. my mother on the otherhand calls them "stupid" and thinks part of why i have trouble hearing/understanding her/others (which i have had for YEARS) is because of it. i'm pretty sure it isn't because these only slightly muffle noise, and i don't really feel like there's any difference. i've had to use subtitles for watching anything for years and i don't think it's much different, if at all.

she's especially not too fond of me wearing them in public (have to, i don't particularly want to end up having any issues in the store and she doesn't want that either). i think she sees me as an embarrassment or something, dunno.

lots of you have reassured me i'm NTA and that helps a lot! i'm glad to know i'm not just overreacting or anything. i struggle to trust my judgement. i guess that's a mixture of them and me.

you all seem pretty concerned i have zero outside contact offline, and about my isolation. i don't like it so much, either. hey, those of you with friends, what's it like to hug someone you actually want to hug or be hugged by? sorry i'm a bit silly there hehe. i agree, i think it is probably pretty bad that i don't really have any knowledge of what outside life is like. i don't have any perspective on what is or isn't right and i've begun to learn it and realize a lot of things they do are bad. quite bad. (ex. "maybe my mom getting mad at me for little things like not doing what she said when i was like 4 years old and saying "i almost died to bring you into this world and this is how you treat me?" is a bad thing!")

-i was in activities outside for a little bit when i was younger, but we moved. i never really connected with anyone in them. i ended up relieved when they stopped. i think part of why i didn't like it was that my mom was present a lot of the time and it made me uncomfortable.

-i'd like to have offline friends but i'm not sure how i'd do it. both of my parents seem to want me to have friends but also don't at the same time?? idk it's weird. anyway even if i got in some group or activity or something i'm not sure how much i'd be able to connect with someone. i wouldn't feel safe telling them about my interests or identity or anything like that because my parents could find out stuff about me through them. i don't like talking to people when they're watching. which they are usually doing. i don't feel safe or comfortable doing much of anything when they're watching.

-some of you have suggested i stop being homeschooled but 1. they wouldn't let me do that, no matter how often they threaten me with it (used to threaten to put me in military schools too lol). and 2. i don't think it would be much healthier, given a lot of my mental issues. i also can't just do that myself, i don't think. is that even possible??? i can't drive anyway. and i don't know where the schools are. i have no sense of direction

a lot of you have suggested that this is abuse. yeah i agree. i think this is probably abuse. i began to figure that out after a while, but i didn't really want to call it that in case it wasn't or anything. pretty much everyone has said this is definitely unhealthy. i definitely think it's unhealthy. i don't feel comfortable being around either of them for extended periods of time. i feel unsafe or afraid when trying to fix some of my issues or do the things i need to do when they're around. usually when that happens i end up feeling suicidal. then again, i'm suicidal almost every day. except for the past couple weeks, i've actually felt a bit better recently.

bunch of you have told me that therapists Aren't So Scary and most of them aren't bad and aren't going to do bad things to me or put me on "bad meds" like my parents want me to believe. i'd like to go to therapy, and i plan to do so whenever i get out of here. i wouldn't feel comfortable going to one who is much older than me, though. any advice for that?

overall, thank you all for the advice and the reassurance and helping me realize that i'm definitely NTA and that i need to get out of here as soon as i can. this is a big burden lifted off of me, knowing i'm not in the wrong here. if anyone has any other questions i'd be happy to answer

AITA for asking my mother not to do certain things?

Let me start off by saying i'm homeschooled. I've been homeschooled my entire life. I don't have any friends offline, so I've pretty much come here to ask for outside opinions from my friend groups (online).

Prefer not to state ages, if that's okay. It makes me uncomfortable.

I have ocd, suspected autism, and either auditory processing disorder or misophonia (we're not sure which.) as well as a plethora of other issues. my mother is very aware that i have ocd (she has it herself) and i've mentioned misophonia to her several times. she doesn't know about my other mental issues, as for reasons you're probably going to see here, as i don't feel comfortable or safe telling her. (or, i've tried, and she doesn't listen, or tells me i'm "being dramatic.")

my ocd is quite crippling, to the point i've tried medication, herbal tea (chamomile seems to work a bit!), asking friends for advice, and even asking her for advice. as of the last year, it's had a grip on my life and has been quite a problem for me. i'm unable to do things i want or need to a lot, and especially struggle doing most things, even basic tasks. i'm unable to see a therapist/counsellor or psychologist/psychiatrist for personal/financial reasons.

a lot of my triggers (well, not exactly triggers for the ocd, but they stop me from doing things.) revolve around sound, especially people talking. whistling is a major trigger for my misophonia/apd, as are other high pitched noises.

my mother has a tendency to watch tv a lot, and i often ask her to not do this when i'm trying to do certain things, as it makes my ocd a bit worse, and it's often rather loud. (please note i wear headphones a lot of the time for sensory issues.)

however, when i ask her either to turn it down, pause it temporarily, or ask her to turn it off for a bit, she has a tendency to get mad/upset. to the point of throwing a bit of a fit over it, in a way that to me seems a bit attention seeking (in the bad way). she says things like "fine, whatever." and flaps her arms about dramatically or slaps her legs, or she says "i don't even wanna watch it now, it's ruined."

i'll go ahead and say she's a bit self-centered in a lot of ways. for years she has said i've "targeted" her and "treated her terribly" even though any time i was (to her) doing these things, i was usually defending myself or telling her to do something that she needed to do that had been requested for days/weeks/months/sometimes years. i also have a tendency to ask her what she's doing, either out of genuine curiosity, or because she has done something strange to me that i didn't understand. which she gets mad over.

she also gets mad if i ask if she's coming over here (i have a tendency to walk/pace in certain areas to music, it helps with stress/adhd/also helps me write/act things out. she is very aware of this and this isn't really a problem.) or ask how long she will be over here. she seems to think me asking this is telling her she can't come over, or desperately trying to get her to move. admittedly sometimes i DO want her to move, but 90% of the time i am just asking so i know if i need to move to a different area to walk or just stop temporarily.

sometimes when i am having a particular peak in my ocd/anxiety/whatever else, i ask her not to talk for a moment/few minutes, either so i can do something i need to, or because i'm afraid it will make it worse. she'll either get mad about this, or go on a tangent about "not catering to me" and saying things "the real world doesn't work like this, and nobody cares that you have ocd/issues." she has a tendency to take my issues as a personal attack on her, when in reality i would ask anyone to stop for a moment.

she has a tendency to belittle me in a sense for it. i've tried to explain some of it to her (without revealing details of my trauma she doesn't know about, as most of my ocd is linked to severe ptsd.) and she says it "doesn't make any sense" and i "need to stop" and i "need to just make myself stop." she has ocd, and knows compulsions are not always rational, and yet still says these things.

part of my desire not to go to a therapist is because of her. she claims they will either try to put me away take me to another home/put me in foster care, or drug me up on medication that will make me dull. (the other part is more personal, and unrelated to her, but to my aforementioned trauma.)

one of the things i especially ask her not to do is whistle, or make a few other certain noises (eating loud, using nail files around me, etc) because they are especially triggering to me. she'll either blatantly refuse and say i "don't get to tell her what to do" or i don't "control her" (please note i am just asking, but when i DO specifically tell her to stop, it is because she either already knows this sound is triggering to me, or i've already asked, and i'm losing my patience.) or she'll do it louder/more just to trigger me further (my father also does this. sometimes as a joke which in some ways is worse.) or she'll go on the "not catering + nobody cares" tangent again.

i know my ocd and other issues can be a bit interrupting, but i don't ask huge things of her or anyone else. all i ask is for them to not make certain sounds around me, temporarily ask them to not do something/stop doing something, or ask them to do it a bit quieter for me. please note she has the ability to watch tv/videos on other devices with headphones easily, she just chooses not to. and worse of all, they treat it like it's not interrupting to me, when it affects my everyday life in ways far worse than asking/telling them not to do something.

it makes me feel unwanted and unappreciated, and i'll admit, i've contemplated....not existing, if you will, many times over this issue and others.

i just don't really know if i'm asking too much, or if they're just being shitty. i want outside opinions on this.

so, AITA?

(id put a tl;dr in here, but i don't really know what to put. feel free to do it for me. also, i know this was kinda long, but i needed to put some extra things in, sorry if thats like an inconvenience or anything!)

(adding my sideblog here so i can get notifs, @ocdaitathrowaway)

What are these acronyms?

[robitherat]

what’re some mh fanfic recs ? been trying to get back into reading more of em

am I allowed to plug my own AO3?

no but forreal tho, there's so many good ones im just gonna link my favs from my AO3 history (Note that most of these are Jam fics because im a basic little bitch and love my comfort couple okay)

putting a keep reading bc i added a LOT lmao

"Next to You" I think this was one of the, if not the absolute first fic i read for mh back in like. 2017/18? It's a wingfic/ angel and demon AU, and I'll admit its not the absolute most fantastic piece of literature, but it's a classic in my heart so

"One Day" Very Very adorable jam fic, post mh domestic bliss, there's chickens and disgusting amounts of fluff. Read It.

The entire Hotel Hopping series by rebiTV. Still semi-patiently awaiting the next upload because Oh My God. Just the usual hotel shenanigans. Some are funny, some are angsty, and the most recent post to it left us with a cliffhanger that i think killed my soul a little bit in the best way.

"3:27 am" A super well-written fic depicting Jay Going Through it. The whole thing is basically Jay dissociating, so slight warning for that, and it's kind of trippy to read but honestly it's so good dude.

"Lazy Mornings" This one's a Bram fic featuring some fluffy cuddling of unknown origins. Good little light read and one of my all time favorite fanfics ever.

Pretty much anything by jaythewriter, their work is fucking phenomenal and I rlly wish they'd post again honestly but also yknow. stuff happens. I'll just re-read all their works again instead.

"Don't You Hear Me Howling" Another bram one, this time featuring the Masked Boys and how complicated a relationship can be when your partners don't remember you when they wake up. It's super well written and makes me sob every time i read it <3

"Farm Boy" Super soft and sweet fic about Jay kind of remembering his love for farm animals when he and Tim have to stay in a barn for a night. TW for implied animal death (maybe? it's up to interpretation) but I swear it's an honestly really well-written soft fic that makes me feel so many feelings. I also just realized this is another from jaythewriter but yknow what it's so fucking good im keeping it.

"All The World Is Green" Honestly i don't even wanna describe this one you just have to read it. I promise it's worth it.

"CALL IT BLACKSTAR, CALL IT PAINSTAR" OH MY FUCKING GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IF YOU'RE A POLYHORNETS HAND READ THIS IMMEDIATELY HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD

"Never Write Lovesongs On The Ukulele" Collection of vignettes of Tim reminding Jay that he's in love with him. love

"To Cut The Taste" Very Early in the hotel hopping days, basically just an awkward conversation Jay and Tim have about Tim's trip to a gas station

"For The Loneliest Blackout" Super trippy to read, very dream-like. Highschool (?) AU with t4t jam and a whoooooollleeeee lotta metaphors. or just one really long metaphor.

"scenes from a movie" god okay iw was looking for this one for like an hour oh my god. Of all the fics ive read this one honestly sticks with me a lot just because of how fucking cool the writing style is to me. I loveeeee vignettes so much and this is one of the longest vignette fics ive read. it's so so so sos o good please read it it has a happy ending

"Build Your Own Noodles" and "Potato Cakes" Both by the same author, both brim, both adorable pre-canon fluff.

"who took heroin, then sleeping pills, and who lies in an alabama hospital" TW for bug imagery and also mention of spider bites. Listen I have entomophobia and arachnophobia so anything with bugs freaks me the fuck out but this is really well done and honestly just the way that it's handled is so fucking fun to read.

The Lost Time series. theres only two stories and theyre both great. A little funky to read because it's, of course, about jay and tim losing time and forgetting stuff about each other. I think there's some?? implied sexual content??? but it's not explicit and otherwise i don't think there's any necessary warnings

"Patterns of Safety" Basically just Jay and Brian bonding over having OCD. I fucking looveeeeeee Same Brain type fics and also jay and brian both having OCD scratches my brain. No One In This Series is neurotypical

"Starting Over At The End Of The Line" Finally a multichapter fic. I promise I read things other than oneshots i promise. N E ways this is pretty much a polyhornets everyone lives AU featuring Brian's lovely gay aunts. You'll notice I commented on almost every chapter because i Love THis Fic SO Much

"No One's Ever Going To Treat You Right; You're Attracting The Wrong Kind" This one isn't a shipfic actually!!! It's sort of Tim's spiraling reaction to finding out what Jay's been hiding from him and the events that lead up to the meeting in the parking lot. The imagery is sooooo fucking good in this one, it's honestly kind of disconcerting the way it's written just because of how In-his-head Tim is the whole time. it's soooo fucking good it's so good.

"psalm 38:8" OKAY LAST ONE this is a great one to end with. It's pretty much just Jay's introspection on his own standing with religion and also hopeless pining that maybe isn't so hopeless after all.

OKAY THIS IS REALLY LONG NOW LOL I HOPE YOU ENJOY MY PERSONAL LIBRARY OF JAM FICS BC IM INSANE ABT THEM

[dodo-begone]

Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

[scholar-of-imagination]

Everybody Hurts (Criminal Minds)

An (unnamed) team member worries she may be developing schizophrenia and turns to Reid for reassurance. ONESHOT.

Read on FF.net HERE

Reid liked it when they got assigned to the same facet of a case together, even though it was usually only to the M.E.’s office (since they both had a background in science).

For one, she always let him drive. Usually, he was perfectly content to let Hotch or JJ or Prentiss or even Morgan to take the wheel; in fact, it wasn’t until he was 26 that he finally got his license, which took Morgan bullying him into it and then Garcia and Gideon patiently taking him out to practice for several months before he felt ready to take the test.  

But even though he passed on his first try – driving was all physics, after all – he still felt self-conscious and inadequate when performing the skill in front of most of his team members. With her, however, he felt authoritative and capable and … oddly protective. Plus, it was nice to practice with someone he knew wasn’t going to mercilessly rib him about his unrefined and occasionally unorthodox technique.

For another, they didn’t always have to talk. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy their discussions – he did – he just also appreciated an opportunity to mull over the facts of a case without the additional responsibility of holding up one end of a conversation.

He also liked getting a chance to listen to her (rather extensive) music library. She always had a cable and her iPod tucked neatly into one of the front pockets of her backpack – he remembered once how she had raged on about how streaming services were taking away our ability to “own” music – and, always after first asking if he was ok with both music and her selection, would play anything from classic 60s rock to (highly curated) current pop hits to Broadway showtunes.

Today they were driving through the rather remote country town of Lamar, Pennsylvania, the mountains surrounding them forming distant walls of brilliant fall foliage and R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People bridging the amiable silence between them. Although he doubted anything would come of it, he was on high-alert for her to bounce some personal problem off of him. Despite the unspoken rule against inter-team profiling, it was such a reflex for Reid that he has long ago noticed that his friend tended to gravitate towards this album when she was feeling particularly existential. Furthermore, today she wasn’t exhibiting any of her normal I-know-this-song-so-well-it’s-a-part-of-me behaviours, such as head bobbing and enthusiastic air drum solos. Neither was she asleep, with her head either wedged between the headrest and the door or balanced precariously on the seatbelt, which often happened in situations like today where back-to-back cases on opposite sides of the country left them all nauseatingly jet-lagged.

So he was partially prepared when she turned to him to ask: “Reid, do you ever feel…not real?”

“What?”

“Sorry; I said d’you-”

“No, don’t worry; I heard you. I just wanted to make sure I understood.” Whatever Reid had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Regardless, this was a potentially delicate question. If she meant what he was now greatly concerned she meant… she was in the right age group, after all… but he hadn’t noticed any symptoms in her…

“Ok, ummmm, I know this sounds a bit daft, but do you every worry that this isn’t what life is supposed to feel like?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if being in the FBI was what I was meant to do with my life.”

“That’s sort of it. I guess… I always expect experiences to feel a certain way – like maybe feel grown-up or something – and I know it’s not logical to know what a new situation is going to be like but I still end up feeling… disappointed, somehow.” She rushed on, “I’m sorry to dump this on you; I was just really worried that if I tried looking this up on the internet I’d get too freaked out.”

By now, Reid had relaxed a little: this didn’t sound like dissociation or delusion. He almost smiled to himself; of all the things one might not want to google, there were probably very few of which he would be a prime resource. Violent crime being perhaps one of the very rare exceptions, he through ruefully.

“Well, just because I haven’t felt like that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Statistically speaking, of the roughly 7.753 billion people in the world, it’s likely that someone else has.”

“But that doesn’t make it normal! There are hundreds of thousands of unsubs, but that doesn’t make killing other people normal! I guess I’m just…” – a heavy sigh, steeling herself – “… can someone with schizophrenia know they’re developing it?”

Damn her medical background.

“I know, I know; I’m not paranoid or having hallucinations or magical thinking. I’m not seeing messages for me on TV. I don’t think I’m having delusions, although I’m not sure how I would know about that. As I said, I’m sorry to dump this on you.” She looked ready to burst into tears at any second.

Reid let the silence hang in the air for a moment, allowing him to collect his thoughts and for the last notes of “Monty got a Raw Deal” to fade away. He watched as she reached over to make the song replay, and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth again. Although he would never admit it out loud (even to himself), he thought it was cute the way she would sometimes listen to a song she particularly liked on a seemingly endless loop. It felt like something he would do himself.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t noticed anything I would be worried about.”

“It does a little.”

“You don’t have any family history of schizophrenia, do you? Remember, it’s highly linked to genetics and would be exceedingly rare for you to develop it de novo.”

“No, I don’t, but I’ve seen loads of people with it; it’s not impossible!”

“Actually, your data set is faulty, as it’s been heavily influenced by sample bias. There are going to be a higher number of people affected if the population you’re using is medicine and criminal justice.”

“You’re right. And ‘loads’ might be a but of an overstatement anyway.”

“Probably. How about I make you a deal?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“I’ll promise to tell you if I’m concerned you might be headed towards a schizophrenic break if you promise to tell me anything else makes you worry about it. Trust me, this isn’t something you should have to deal with on your own.” The song trailed to a close again and he hit the replay button as she wiped the still unshed tear from her eye.

“Deal.” She flashed him a quick smile, sighed heavily, and leaned back in her seat, eyes closed and looking as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm?” He looked over but her eyes were still closed.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

Findings

A/N: Welp! Despite saying I'm done with reader fics, here I am. A short angst and fluff Waffle House date with Obi-Wan that is somewhat of a sequel to this fic. (Note that the original fic isn't a gender neutral reader)

Warnings: trauma implied, age gap implied, minimally edited at best

Pairing: Obi-Wan x GN reader

Word Count: 1.2 k

It’s four in the morning, and it’s every bit as magical as Waffle House usually is. You look from the man squashed next to you on the same side of the booth (you always asked him to) to the other clientele in their varied states of misery, and you wonder if you two stand out.

Or perhaps you fit in perfectly, the lack of sleep obvious under both your eyes and his. Does anyone plan to be at Waffle House at four A.M.? Or does everyone just find themselves there?

That’s what tonight is: A series of findings. His text found you awake, your response and recommendation found him amused and ready.

You find affection, now, in his eyes when you steal another side glance in between bites of the most mediocre toast you’ve ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with.

Obi-Wan has placed his paper napkin on his lap and is using his knife to neatly press more syrup-soggy waffle onto his fork. “I’m surprised at your remembering my partiality for this place.” His voice is still sleepy, deeper and more lingering between his words.

You swallow your bite of grits. “Am I so bad at remembering it warrants surprise?”

“No, it’s not that. Rather that I didn’t think it was something that would stand out to remember.”

“Oh, it stood out all right. I kept trying to picture you here but…” you shake your head and smile into your orange juice glass for a sip.

He tilts his shoulders to you. “But what?”

Even now, in a dark blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants, he somehow looks like a J. Crew loungewear ad. “Let’s just say it’s easier to picture you sipping on a martini in a… speakeasy or something.”

“I’m so pretentious I’ve somehow landed myself in the twenties?” His tired eyes awaken slightly behind his glasses with a hint of mischief.

“Not pretentious, exactly. Proper is a better word. Well-mannered.”

As if on cue, a piece of his waffle falls from his fork into his beard. You can see his upturned lip between the blots of his napkin. Once it’s remedied, he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours. “I’m so glad you think so.”

A warm silence falls over the two of you, and you take in the room while you continue eating. The windows are frosted over; the only little bit you can see outside is dark. It gives the feeling that this is the only place in the world.

The line cook in charge is so tired and unamused she seems to float, unaffected, above the few orders she gets. The other cook has his headphones in as he stirs the eggs for much longer than necessary, and he only pretends to listen when the woman says something, referring instead to the paper orders.

There’s a man waiting for his to-go order, leaning against the window under a light fixture that’s adorned with forgotten gaudy Christmas decor. He scrolls through his phone and glances up to the counter every so often, not truly concentrated on either task.

Next to him is a jukebox.

“You don’t happen to have cash on you, do you?” you ask Obi-Wan. He sets his chocolate milk down and lifts a brow at you.

“I will eat your hashbrowns if you select ‘What’s New Pussycat’,” he says with the admonishing teacher voice that always makes your cheeks warm.

“The thought did cross my mind, but I will refrain.”

“In that case, you don’t need cash. I believe there’s an app you can use.” He points to the digital screen on the jukebox with the instructions.

You fiddle with your phone until Bing Crosby’s “Let me Call You Sweetheart” washes the place in song. At first, it’s uncertain if it fits, the crooning notes bouncing along the greasy corners and syrup-sticky tables and booths. It’s so unflinchingly sincere in a bubble of cynical dissociation you almost mourn on its behalf.

Obi-Wan looks at you in that piercing way, and you watch a decision settle on his face right before he stands and offers you his hand. You know what it means, he’s asked you a few times before, but never in public. You take another glance around the room and its unaffected inhabitants and take his hand.

His large hands have taught you all sorts of lessons of warmth and security and pleasure and trust. You don’t know if yours have taught him anything in return, but they’ve held him in the grief he can barely voice. You’ve learned of his brother more in the emptiness of what he doesn’t say than any information he volunteers, but you know enough to know it’s the reason he can’t sleep. It’s the reason you know he recognises your grief too, why you’re both painfully awake when the rest of the world sleeps. Indeed, he’s known earthquakes.

You can’t fight each other’s demons, but there’s something to be said for what rests for you both in the other’s hands.

Grief grows next to unlikely things, and you often wonder how it can share the same soil as love. It’s asked you to walk alone many horrible, necessary times, but tonight, it asks you to dance it together.

Your bodies fall into familiar closeness, his hand on your lower back, your hand probably where it shouldn’t be on his arm, and you let him lead you into slow rhythm. When he presses his lips softly to the side of your head, you close your eyes and allow yourself to sink into the tenderness and smell of his skin on his clothes.

“Now who’s landed in the twenties?” he whispers close to your ear.

“Thirties, technically.” You’re pressed so close, you know he can feel you smile against him.

“Do beg my pardon, we can’t all be sentimental jazz experts.” He pulls back enough you can see the entirety of his face, and it fills your heart with an ache of fondness. His eyes have those creases behind the rim of his glasses that accompany his joy, right above those circles underneath from the opposite. “I suppose it’s appropriate that even in this timeline your music taste is a decade younger than mine.”

How he can talk and dance, even if it’s slow and leisurely, you’ll never know. You almost lose the movement of your feet trying to retort, “Is that a compliment or a complaint?”

“Neither, just mere observation.”

You have to fully look down to watch your feet as you say, “I’ll remind you of that, that you’re just observing, the next time I get to DJ.”

“Tying my tongue of both compliment and complaint? Whatever will I do?”

You look up at him pointedly but have to look away the moment it leaves your lips. “You’ll think of something.”

Obi-Wan gives a conspiratorial “Hm,” and tilts your chin slowly to place his lips to yours. You deepen it, tasting everything distinctly him plus the addition of syrup. When you pull back, he lets out a sigh that chokes on itself in that telling way. “Will you stay with me tonight?” His voice goes so, so quiet when he asks for anything. The night is already morning, but it’s still dark to him. Of course you’ll stay.

The evening has been a series of findings, more than anything, perhaps, is the courage to keep loving and living in the midst of grief and the impassive echo chamber surrounding.

[soullikethesea]

I didn't have the energy to write about it before, but I did... something.

I researched the shiver symptom and I'm pretty sure it's a conversion disorder. I couldn't find much information or resources about it, but one said that it's common in dissociative disorders, abuse survivors, alexithymia, and females. Woohoo, I check all the boxes... 😵‍💫 Anyway, most of that info is not super helpful, but the alexithymia gave me the idea to try to represent the feeling in other ways. That is usually how I deal with it: drawing, music, collages, pretend play, etc.

So I did. And really soon I was at the trigger memory. I decided to do parts work with it and it turned into a rescue mission.

It took a lot to pull it off, but I did it. And the shivers seem to have reduced!!! But I also think it has to do with general high levels of stress (work, ahem). I remember that I had other conversion symptoms when I was in high school, like fainting, hearing that would just give out on some moments, vision that would stop working, etc. That went away when I had therapy for a while.

I'm a little bit sad that I did the work alone (again), but I also know that this is usually how I get things done. It's just too scary to do with another person present. It needs too much focus on the inside.

It still feels shaky inside, so I don't know if it will last. But I sent the voice therapist a message about the symptoms and said that I want to wait with having our next appointment until I've talked about it with my therapist, and possibly have processed the next bit of trauma. (Since it's so hard for me to successfully process things, that may be a really high goal). I'm still glad that I cancelled this week's appointment and that I was honest with her.

The voice therapist actually replied right away, saying that maybe it's good that I'm getting at the core of something and that she already thought more was going on. She also said she's open to discussing/talking with my therapist. Soooo... that's pretty good, right?

Now that it's all sinking in, I mostly feel sad that my body always has to make things so extreme. But apparently that's what it takes before I listen to it. :/

[ultrabright-flashlight]

This ask game (link)

I'm asking u all of these questions simultaneously

Here it is

1. Do you have an inner world?

Sort of but not really. It’s kind of a void in there. There’s a hidden passage to Narnia but I ain’t found it yet

2. Is there some sort of organization to your parts?

Tbh I’m not quite sure what this one means, autism mode activate

3. Do you experience your disorder as overt or covert?

A little overt. I do mask a lot, but I don’t really try to hide symptoms that often cause it’s not like anyone will figure it out anyways

4. How do you experience communication from parts?

We don’t(/hj). Next question

5. Are there parts that are able to communicate more than others?

I think that would be Renity tbh, but she just doesn’t do it much

6. What is the best grounding technique you’ve discovered that works for you?

Honestly we still don’t have a reliable method to do that

7. What’s a resource you found you can trust?

There have been resources in the past but i don’t even remember them,

8. Do you have any fictional introjects? What is that like for you?

Furan and Seven are both introjects of the player character from their respective source games. Furan was a customizable character so when we play that game it’s like ‘oh look it’s her’ /pos. Seven’s source character was a fixed non-customizable character and whenever we play that games it’s like ‘oh look it’s her’ /neg

9. When did you find out/realize you had a dissociative disorder?

Since recognizing and naming Lucy back when I was 12/13, the suspicion of DID kept creeping up every now and then. I always dismissed it cause I thought ooo it’s so rare there’s no way. These are just different personas I act out as long as you ignore it was never acting. Spoiler alert when I was like 17/18 I think I gave in and started doing research and took therapy seriously. It was actually DID the whole time. I wonder how well I would be doing today if I listened to those suspicions from the beginning, since I recognized an alter when I was a TWEEN

10. What does denial look like for you?

Denial usually comes from me, the host. I just wonder if I actually made them all up.

11. What are some denial busters that work?

Switching. Just a simple switch, someone else takes the front for a bit and proves they’re real for the ten thousandth time

12. Do you have any other identities that make your experience with your dissociative disorder different?

I don’t think so. But it’s possible autism is affecting it, and I’m just so used to it that I don’t realize

13. What is a song that always brightens your mood?

I have a few, actually

My Castle Town - Toby Fox

You Are The Moon - The Hush Sound

What Is My Life - The Gregory Brothers(yes this is the Jacksepticeye song)

The Smile Song from My Little Pony. I don’t feel like being ashamed of this. If my smile is all it takes to make the little pink pony happy then that’s what she’ll get

Gold by Jeff Williams(from RWBY)

14. What ANP’s are around the most? How do they differ from each other?

I’m gonna be honest I don’t know for sure if any of us is an ANP or not

15. When parts are working together in your life, what does that look like?

Basically just doing the things we’re best at so the others don’t have to. Conflict resolution and comforting people for Nameless, giving advice for Renity, etc

16. How does having a dissociative disorder affect your relationship with the people closest to you?

That’s pandora’s box and I’m not opening it

17. If you could tell someone questioning whether they have DID/OSDD one thing, what would it be?

If it’s a stranger, I’d tell them to be kind to their alters no matter what if they have it. If it’s a friend I’ll tell them they can always come to me for help

18. What has your experience with therapy been like?

Id rather not answer this one tbh

19. How do you experience gender?

£€#*}*<^>’h$(84£}*[..

20. Are there dichotomous views on your gender expression?

Kind of yeah. Some of us like to be more feminine, some of us like to be more androgynous. One of us wants to transition

21. What kinds of decisions do you check in with parts before making?

The biggest thing is decisions that will drastically affect relationships, such as ending a friendship or starting/ending a relationship

22. What would the perfect day look like to you?

A day with my friends where I don’t run out of energy, and maybe the others in my system finally get some recognition and love, since they tend to be left in the dark and disconnected

23. Do you make time for other parts to do things? Why or why not?

Since voluntary switching isn’t a skill we have(the exception being Renity), no. But everyone’s welcome to do what they want when they front as long as it’s not harmful

24. Do you get involved in syscourse? Why or why not? Has this changed over time?

I used to be heavily into the syscourse scene. There was a lot I was able to mentally handle but eventually it just got too braindead for me. I still hold the same views, but I’m not going to fight over it

25. What is a piece of misinformation about DID/OSDD you want to clear up?

GOD that’s a lot. I can’t really decide honestly

26. When would you tell someone about your DID/OSDD? How do you explain your DID/OSDD?

I tend to just let my friends know. I’ve gotten shameless about being mentally ill lately, plus anyone who’s mega ableist about it has no business being in my life anyways. I don’t tell people outside of friend circles, though

27. What does your support system look like?

I assume this means support for my mental health. My fucking computer. Video games with my friends. What more could I ever want?

28. Have you met other people with DID/OSDD online? What was it like?

I have a friend who has it and I also mod a server for systems. It’s fucking liberating man, to have other people around me who actually Get It. Even if I don’t say much about my own system, I feel understood when I listen to them talk

[tomatowielder]

mega-list of ideas for coping with distressing voices

these are only offered as possible things to try if ur hearing distressing voices... everyone is different & everyone’s voices are different. you know you better than anyone else knows you. if you need to modify any of these, or reject any of these as actively unhelpful for you, that’s ok. 💜 feel free to add your own.

use this however is most helpful for you - i’m sharing what helps & has helped for me. so in no particular order:

Name your voices. Sometimes when they’re all just nameless forms, it can be hard to understand what’s going on, and they can feel scarily omnipotent. I found naming mine helpful for kind of containing the experience & getting to know my voices. If you ask some voices will name themselves.

Visualise ‘safe spaces’ for your voices. If you ask some voices might create their own safe place. Otherwise, you can imagine somewhere real, like sometimes I ask one of my voices to go to sleep in certain bits of a room. Or you can imagine . If you really can’t be disturbed for a length of time, you can try leaving the radio on for them, visualising them relaxing, and tell them when you’ll be ‘back’.

Draw your voices. (Or create a pinterest board for them.) One of my voices used to say things that were horrendously graphic and distressing, and I used to try to block her out all the time, so she got more aggressive with trying to get a reaction from me. Drawing her, and everything she said, whilst very difficult to do, helped it feel more manageable, and helped me pick out themes in what she was saying.

Are there any kind voices you can draw on as allies? If you have a voice that’s kind to you, you could try asking them for help. To stand up to other voices, to comfort you afterwards, etc.

Planning in advance what you might say to distressing stuff. Does a specific voice say really triggering, threatening things with an authoritative tone? It might help to prepare for the voice, and how you might respond. Often being aggressive to aggressive voices can trigger more aggression from voices (voices will lash out if they’re insulted) - how can you be polite but assertive? An example I’ve heard is “bless you, but I don’t want to do that” for commanding voices. But your response will be unique. 

Set a time to listen to your voices. If voices aren’t listened to, they can get louder and more hurtful and graphic to try to get your attention - it can be a vicious cycle. But, if you engage with some voices without support, it can turn into them playing games with you and playing on your insecurities. It might help to strike a balance - set, say, half an hour a day, let the voices speak, and genuinely listen. After the time is up, you go back to doing what you usually do.

Try asking a trusted person to talk to your voices for you (this is a technique called voice dialoguing). Voice dialoguing was honestly the foundations of my recovery, and mostly conducted by my lovely partner. It’s where you sit in a different seat, and someone else speaks to your voices and you tell the person what the voices say, and you often do this multiple times. You decide what feels safe, and you debrief after. The person has to be non-judgemental about voices, and not frightened of voices. There’s information on voice dialoguing here: https://openmindedonline.com/2018/10/14/talking-with-voices-article-and-video/

Try some peer support. Maybe there’s a hearing voices group in your area? https://www.hearing-voices.org/hearing-voices-groups/find-a-group/ If not, there’s a lot of us on tumblr - hit us up and vent here. You don’t have to carry this alone.

Are you listening with anxious intensity bc they’re saying particularly distressing things? When my voices are calling me worthless or useless, or saying graphic things, or telling me a shameful secret only I know, I can completely drop what I’m doing, and LISTEN with such anxious intensity because I NEED to know I’m bad and evil. Sometimes it helps to notice I’m doing this and “let go” of the anxious intensity. I don’t need to powerlessly obsessively listen just because they’re shit talking me.

Physically soothe yourself to soothe screaming voices. Hearing screaming? Try hugging yourself, or giving yourself a face massage, or telling yourself it’s OK, or whatever it is that soothes you. When I soothe myself, I usually inadvetedly soothe the crying or screaming voice. Sometimes overtly comforting the voice helps too, even if it’s coming from very far away.

If you’ve experienced trauma, voices might be carrying memories you don’t remember or don’t feel strongly about, so they can’t be kind to you - you dissociated whilst they (the voice) stayed. Some voices remember things I don’t. Some memories I have I remember, but I don’t feel traumatised by them - but my voices really do. They have to be aggressive and violent towards me, because a) if I got close to them, I would remember too, and they’re protecting me, and b) they resent me for not remembering it whilst they do. Whilst this doesn’t immediately help how cruel they can be, it helps me have some compassion & acceptance. 

Imagine a protective spell. I used to imagine a pink, sparkling sphere of healing and protection around me, and nothing could get in and hurt me. I was totally safe within this sphere. I was really into D&D, so I statted it too - 1000000000 AC, resistant 10000 to negative energy, etc. On my worst nights this helped.

Have a grounding object. I got a stone from an enjoyable vacation I had, and also an amethyst and a teddy, and I used to curl up into the fetal position and GRIP them. If you’re into this stuff, you could charge the objects with healing energy, anything else that makes the object feel more grounding. (This post is about hearing voices but also if you have visual hallucinations & feel brave enough, throwing something through the hallucination can help.)

Experiment with earplugs, sound, and space. Everyone’s voices are so unique - some get louder in big, echoey buildings, some get louder in small spaces, some shout above background noises, some blend in, some get louder with earplugs, some get quiet. Experiment! Go to different spaces and ask the voices if they can talk. Put different (&no) background sounds on. Use earplugs. See if anything feels more or less comfortable.

Experiment with distractions. When I was strugglling 24/7, the only quiet I would get would be during a good film and I NEEDED that. You can’t use distraction all the time - voices will catch up, and ignored voices tend to try to find ways to not be ignored. But I’ve found it necessary to find some breathing space. Films were that for me. There could be distractions that work best for you.

Hide! It’s OK to hide. It’s so OK to hide. It’s not a negative coping mechanism. Under the desk is my favourite place.

Complete a Maastricht interview. I am continually surprised by how little I know about my voices & how helpful I find it to know my voices more. The Maastricht interview is a series of questions that facilitates more self understanding - it might be triggering, so it might be useful to prepare yourself. Look in your local area to see if you can do it in person. If not, voila! http://www.hearingvoices.org.nz/attachments/article/59/Maastricht_Interview_for_voice_hearers.pdf (fwiw I’ve not done it yet but want to lol & I’ve met voice hearers who it’s helped.)

You’re not dirty or wrong for a voice saying graphic and horrible things. <3 It’s OK to hear graphic and disturbing voices. It’s not a reflection on you. It’s OK and normal to hear these things. You deserve safety & kindness.

If your voices get loud in new or anxiety provoking situations, give them some detailed advanced warning. Voices don’t always know what’s happening, what year it is, etc - they’re not always oriented to our reality. Saying, say, “I am going to a job interview on Saturday. Here is what is going to happen on Saturday: ...” can help them, so they don’t get anxious and take it out on you.

Start the small steps of building a collaborative relationship with your voices. Is your voice telling you to kill yourself, others, and that you’re worthless? Obviously, don’t do these things lol - but it might help to ask the voice if it has, say... a preference for a TV show, or a food. Something that doesn’t hurt you to accommodate. It can start the small steps of building a good relationship to take small preferences of the voice on board.

Educate your friends so they can be kinder to you. I like this talk! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syjEN3peCJw Most of my friends who were frightened of me & my voices were much more understanding after watching this. But you choose your resources. 

Accept that it’s ok to be distressed by them and it’s ok to struggle to cope.. Give yourself as much slack as you can. Hearing voices can be so gruelling. It can be isolating and lonely and PHYSICALLY exhausting. You don’t have to do it all. NONE of us can be ‘super-copers’. It’s OK to need rest, and to cut yourself some slack.

Honourary mentions for https://www.hearing-voices.org/ & https://www.intervoiceonline.org/ & https://understandingvoices.com/ c:

[stellocchia]

This is part 5 of the Comprehensive Analysis of c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship during the Exile Arc

Part 1 -  Part 2 -  Part 3 -  Part 4

So, this time I’m condensing together 2 streams, so It may be slightly longer then Parts 3 and 4... 

Also from here on out as usual we will be talking exclusively about the characters unless stated otherwise and we will be treating some heavy themes, so keep that in mind

So, first stream we’ll be talking about is: TommyInnit Is Actually Depressed in Exile

So, as I mentioned at the end of the last one, once the party stream was over Tommy seemed to dissociate and go underwater until he had only one air bubble remaining and then logged off. This stream starts with Tommy drowning and being extremely confused as to how that happened. Also Tommy moved to the second fase of his exile Minecraft skin.

“I held a party and the only person who showed up was Dream. But it’s okay because he’s great! He’s- he’s cool...” 

*Tommy sees a Tubbo statue holding a ‘Your Tommy’ compass* “Tubbo is the reason that I’m out here... ‘Your Tommy compass’? Dream told me that Tubbo lost his compass!” (once again absolutely trusting what Dream says)

“If Tubbo wanted to be here then he could come here and he’s chosen NOT TO! Even if he didn’t get fucking invited to the party, which he did! He’s not shown up once... not to say ‘hi’, not left a gift, not left me anything... he’s just been... Tubbo” 

“Everyone keeps coming to me out of pity and no-one comes in just to say ‘hello’, no the only person who’s- *long pause* the only person who’s done that is Dream... he’s the only person” (this is a bit of an insight on Tommy’s mindset regarding others)

So, now the mailing chest has been moved to underneath Tommy’s bed, because Dream kept intercepting Ranboo’s and Tommy’s mails. Also Ranboo writing “Jesus Christ Dream is scary” in this mail is a mood.

“You know, if it was Tubbo that got exiled, which he wouldn’t have in the first place, everyone would be visiting him everyday. Even if I was the president and I was the one who had to exile him I would have visited him everyday, everyone would have... if the roles were reversed... but the roles aren’t reversed” 

It’s interesting that by now he has internilized that Tubbo would not have been exiled because he’s much more obedient when Dream never cared about that (he did care, but only to the extent of: Tommy not following his orders is the most probable reason for Dream’s obsession with him). He would have pushed for the exile (also known as Glorified Kidnapping) no matter what sooner or later. If Tubbo was the one to be unfortunate enough to attract Dream’s obsession nothing would have changed from that point of view, except, would Tommy have been as afraid of visiting Tubbo as Tubbo was of visiting him? 

Also then Tommy tries to make 2 Screaming Stations. One near the sea and one in the neter (coincidentally directly above the two liquids he almost died from in exile). Neither of them worked, the nether one only resulting effective once a ghast shot him. Also this is the stream where Tommy drops Jack Manifold into lava (though he had no idea that that was a canon kill) and Jack kindaps/kills Tommy’s pumpking girlfriend as revenge? It’s a weird one. Another thing to point out is that Tommy just doesn’t wear armour at any point.

“Why did I just do that? Why did I just kill him?” *joins Jack vc* “Listen, I’m really sorry” (just to specify Tommy did apologize multiple times right after doing it, since a lot of people seem not to remember how things went)

“For some reason I just can’t let it out... why can’t- why can’t I scream?” (said right before a ghast fireballed him and he screamed)

After that Ranboo comes to visit. Tommy also breaks a bit more of the Nether path and then he makes the signs: “You are now entering Logstedshire, population: 1″ and “You are now entering Dream Smp, Happy Place. They’re all happy. It’s not quiet, just happy”. 

“Aside from maybe Dream” *seeing Ranboo* “And also I guess a bit Ranboo no-one’s came to visit me and when they have they’ve been live so that they can go ‘Oh he’s in exile guys, come and look at this! Come and look at this!’” (a good canon interpretation of this is that Tommy is feeling like a carnival attraction as he put it a while ago. Also Ranboo is now his strongest connection aside from Dream)

“I would actually go and get pets since pets are the best thing for sad people, but so far all my pets have just been used to be tortured in war so I don’t wanna- I don’t wanna put them through that...” (that’s a really f*cking grim take that just so happens to be true that was shoved in the middle of a random stream...) 

“Ranboo I’ve had a bit- you know ‘cause Dream isn’t on?” “Mhm” “I reckon I’m gonna- I’m gonna- one day Ranboo I’m gonna fight back, but for now he’s my only friend. Other then you” “Heh, yeah... wait!” “What if I make a little... heh a room”

This bit is quite an important one: Tommy’s first (and last) real act of rebellion against his situation. He’s still confused about it because he thinks of Dream as a friend, but he knows that his situation cannot last forever and that he will need to fight back at some point. He never gets to build a sort of “resistence in exile” type of thing, but he does manage later on to snap out of Dream’s control.

“I’m not gonna fight back now, because I owe everything to Dream. He comes and sees me and he gives me armour sometimes and he makes me happier and he gives me his trident” “Isn’t he the reason why you’re in this situation?” (now Ranboo is the one who took on the role of the one poking holes in Dream’s retoric)

“I made a bee sanctuary or whatever it’s called” “Oh shit! Can I come and see it?” “Oh yeah when you- you come back. When you’re allowed to come back. Which hopefully will be soon” “Oh... you’re like the others” (I’m not entirely sure how to interpret this exchange, but it is the point where Tommy starts loosing trust in Ranboo)

“Apparently Tubbo got a compass” “Yeah! Oh yeah the compass... it got accidentally, like, it was very terrible timing with a charged creeper” “He let it go?” “He didn’t let it go!” “He let me go?” “No he didn’t- he didn’t purposefully let it go, he wouldn’t do that” (this conversation is very much NOT about the compass...)

“But Ranboo, listen, at some point I’m gonna have to do something about this and I don’t know if that’s gonna be... someone’s gonna die” (pretty sure he’s referring to himself there...)

“So recently my buddy Dream has been doing this thing where he um- it makes sense though! Because I’m not in his land anymore, but he ta- he takes shit from me so I need to make sure that I keep them in that chest down there” (it is indeed quite typical for victims of abuse to justify their abuser’s actions and that’s what we’re seeing)

“Everyone in this world you think cares: probably doesn’t”

“You didn’t come to my fucking party Ranboo and I invited everyone!” “You did?” “I didn’t, I didn’t, Wilbur did! And everyone could have came and you didn’t” “Wait what do you mean? There was no invite!”

So, up until now it was of course only speculation that Dream had tampered with the Party invites, but, of course, this is the first proof we have of that fact. Later on Ranboo reiterates his point during the Bedrock Boys Arc, since this time Tommy was still too hurt by it to actually try and listen to him.

“I know that, whatever happens, I’m not gonna be here forever. Wether it’s in exile or wether it’s just here [alive], I’ve no idea how long I’ve got left” (in case it wasn’t obvious: Tommy in exile was suicidal)

“Ranboo everyone always tells me I was the- the- the hero of this server, the one that came and fucking fought Dream and the only one that ever spoke against him but... maybe I was just- maybe this was just meant to be...” (Tommy also very much resents the idea of being a “hero”)

“Doesn’t Dream, like, take your armour? Is that what you said?” “I don’t know I just- hey man, I just follow the boss” (Ranboo was quite aware of at least part of what happened in exile)

We then have Tommy labeling his chasts: ‘don’t let yourself down’ and ‘keep calm and carry on’ and stored away 13 enderpearls. Also closing speach, because it was really good:

“Is it worth it Ranboo?” “What? What worth it?” “Is this [trying to fight back] even worth it?” “I’d say it is. I mean, it’s gonna be tough, it’s gonna be- I mean, I couldn’t even imagine it, but it’s definitely gonna be worth it in the end when you can come back” “In the end...” “I mean at the end of your exile” “*sigh* It’s never gonna end”

Moving on to the next stream we have: Tommy's Exile Is Coming To A Close, which just so happens to not be about Tommy’s exile ending, despite the title, but just about Tommy getting EVEN MORE depressed...

Once again, this stream only has Tommy and later Ranboo and Niki in it, and it’s not too important, so I’ll try to be quick about it. 

The stream starts, once again, with Tommy drowning. This time a bit further away from the coast.

“I don’t think I’ve got very long left. I’m not getting better. I’m not (...) and I- I can just feel it: if this- if it keeps on going how it is right now, if- if this keeps on and I keep being alone and my only friend *pause* is Dream, I don’t have very long- I don’t have very long left” (his mental state just literally plummeted after the failed beach party)

Tommy builds the Thinking Palace and the second Nether bridge to Logsteshire (out of cobblestone and lime green concrete, though he wanted to make it out of clay, how’s that for subtle symbolism?) during this stream. Also, may I point out that Tommy is canonically aware of his eyes becoming less and less blue? Also the response mail that Tommy writes is quite worrying here:

*Tommy falls into water* “Why did I just do that? I don’t think I- I don’t think I chose to dr- *sigh*” (pretty sure this is another instance of dissociation)

“How can I be with other people and still feel so alone?” (that’s because loneliness has nothing to do with how crowded a certain place is and more to do with feelings of alienation)

Either way the stream ends with Niki and Ranboo helping Tommy out with the bridge a bit and that’s it! 

“‘Please speak to Tubbo’? My time with Tubbo is come and gone. He had weeks to come and visit me. He chose- he chose against it. And that’s okay... that’s okay” (we have a second time fram indicating that it’s now been definitely over 2 weeks in their time, considering the last time we got one it had been 13 days)

I reckon the next post will be 3 streams together (since the Mexican Dream and the Drista one are... mostly non-canon and I don’t remember Quackity’s visit being too serious) and then I’ll make one on the final one and that’ll be it, I'm pretty sure...

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale! 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29:  You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place. 

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement. 

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!” 

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time. 

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!” 

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds. 

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table. 

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal. 

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed. 

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate. 

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years. 

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket. 

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.   

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer. 

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting. 

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched. 

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath. 

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug. 

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute. 

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing. 

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went. 

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet. 

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table. 

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis. 

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. 

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. 

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now. 

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was. 

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now. 

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma. 

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that. 

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay. 

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all. 

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof? 

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND. 

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in. 

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone. 

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket. 

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies. 

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back. 

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself. 

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better. 

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers. 

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands. 

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard. 

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda. 

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid. 

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued. 

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food. 

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little. 

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought. 

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…” 

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster. 

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness. 

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions. 

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while. 

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process. 

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas. 

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist. 

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

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