#or maybe its all just cptsd

[sch-com]

is it even possible to be this fucked up that professionals can't agree on what's wrong. I'm guessing yes and that it's a much more common experience than I'm thinking but like damn.

[avakitsune]

It also doesn't help that I'm regressed as fuck rn and can't really get past wanting to snuggle in bed

[straycalamities]

back to self-analyzing what the fucks going on in my brainium

[puppiekit]

Does anybody else have like, this severe anxiety associated with looking up your own username... It's actually getting to me sooo bad. So bad. Existing on the internet is becoming unbearable as much as I love it. Ever since that false callout I just can't handle being perceived by others. I'll look up my user to find a specific post I was tagged in and sometimes it fr like, induces panic attacks out of me, because I'm genuinely terrified one day another false callout is going to pop up out of nowhere. I just wish I could browse the internet without feeling like, I'm in danger all the damn time. As if traumatizing me 5 years ago wasn't enough those fuckers had to go and give me a new trauma...... TF....

[thistlekiss]

.

[possibly-eli]

loving the chronic trauma of being disabled in a world that is actively disdainful towards me. gestures vaguely at all the bullshit i have going on with the HSE making it thrice difficult to get my disability allowance. and the bullying. and the education system. and the ableism from my own parents. and the ableism from people who i used to call my friends. and the general lack of understanding

[whomturgled]

is it possible to have a (hypo?)manic episode spurred by withdrawal from adderall for abt a week or so then big emotional distress and resuming Adderall (finally able to get refill) or am I just being crazy and looking for some sort of correlation/cause/effect

like its back in my system and I'm still in emotional dismay but like the Adderall seems to be helping me be calm/focus instead of all at once but then I'm also like a little hysteric almost and way too hyped and like I'M FUCKING HOT AND SEXY !!! ILL BE FINE. ITS FINE<3 FUTURE IDEAS AND PLANS AND OTHER FOCUSES and push all the negative away for now and only think of the good and finally able to stop just sobbing pathetically but now I'm having a hard time shutting up and coming up with all these ideas and projects and the only thing stopping me from a lot of impulses is the fact that im tired from the prior emotional distress which. is still present but im like. suppressing her LOL and fibromyalgia pain and fatigue flaring a bit so not quite enough energy and knowing I'm feeling a bit weird so not allowing myself to give myself the directions to do some of the silly stuff I wanna do suddenly ykwim like I'm trying to keep a hand on the reins here but by golly theyre wildin' (they being me)

also I feel like I can feel my heart and organs a bit and jittery but also I don't feel but I do but

i even started talking abt trying drugs for a hot second like what the fuck so I realized I shld table that for another time but. i kinda wanna look as hot as possible do some cute makeup look like a grungey hoe as is the aesthetic i often enjoy and post thirst traps and there's a lot of reasons that prob say a lot abt my psych but also just bc feelin myself ig ???? and wanna be likeI AM HOT ,!!!!! IDK LOL !?!??!?

[dhampir-dyke]

[icarusredwings]

Be warned. I wrote this at midnight. I have no clue what im talking about. Do you get it?

"Why doesn't this wolverine teach history? Other wolverine did"

Well, because THAT Wolverine had a Charles. Let me remind you just how fragile Logan's mental state is and just how quickly his brain can throw him into a temporary amnesia due to shock and / or panic that is triggered by his CPTSD.

The thing is, this Wolverine has a Wade. Not a Charles. Sure, Jean could probably do something to him if things got too crazy but you know just how dangerous of territory that would be. Yes, Charles doesn't have a healing factor but it was his confidence and perfect reassuring words that helped him, plus If something did happen Im pretty sure he wouldn't blame him much anyway. He knows what hes dealing with. This isnt to say that jean doesn't but I can see her panicking too much and Logan would feed off of that fear and panic and become worse.

Wade, on the other hand, is neither calm nor says the right things, BUT he can't die :D Which is a massive YES when it comes to dealing with a panicking 3+ time war veteran with knife hands. And is known to attack first ask later.

Trying to teach the kids about 'Nam, a thing sets him off. He stares off into space for a bit, Backs up and his breath gets heavy. The hairs on his arms are raised up and his pupils dilate, they widden and its as if he doesn't even remember he's a teacher.

When he starts the whole "Who are you? Where am I!?" Thing, a student (probably the oldest or one that's been dubbed most responsible) slowly just gets up and leaves to tell a trusted adult.

"Mrs. Munroe?"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Howlett is acting funny again."

"Okay darling. Go fetch Mr. Wilson for me? There's a dear."

She, calm as ever walks into the class room, standing away from the door so not to make him feel trapped, and very clearly shows her hands as she gestures the kids to leave.

Backing himself into a corner, he watches them one by one leave, Gripping at the chalk boards ledge and the windowsil, trying to balance and ground himself.

"Come now children. Quietly and slowly please. Good job. Go next door to Mrs. Summers please." Sending them to the next class room so to leave this one empty.

She stands off to the side of the room. Hands in front of her, smiling softly. "Hello Logan."

"What? Who are you?" He almost hisses but can't help but to feel not so threatened. He always did have a sweet spot for women. Maybe its their scent difference, but like most reactive animals, he's a little calmer for women. A little more trusting.

"Im a dear friend of yours. My name is Ororo. You are in no danger here." She states this practiced sentence with the same whisper of a voice.

"Where the fuck am I. How did I get here!? Did you bring me here!?" At this point he's growling.

"Logan, I assure you that no one forced you here. This is a school. You're a teacher."

"A teacher..?" Just a tad he softens, as if you had just told someone who wanted to be a vet when they grew up that they actually would become a very good vet, except the look in his eyes was as if questioning why they would ever him do that. Be a teacher I mean.

"Yes. If you would like to leave that is okay." She slowly sits in a spare chair, her leg crossing, not knowing how long she will need to play baby sitter but she hoped someone soon would alert the other staff of this. It IS a safety risk after all and Ororo knew that if he hurt anyone at all he'd immediately regret it terribly so when he woke.

"You.. you told her to go get someone. Why? Who are you getting? For what!?" Another snap, as if he thought she was trying to trick him into letting his gaurd down.

She smiles. "Your husband."

"What the fuck do you mean my 'husband'!? What are you sayin' lady!?" The venom in the way he says this makes her giggle a bit. Oh, goodness. He really did lose all of his memories, didn't he? How was the same man who once was so dastardly in love with scott to the point of shredding his heart into a gazillion pieces and is married to the silliest man alive, so internally homophobic? The irony of the thought made her laugh.

"And that kids is how you slice someone into sushi. Rice not included-" His weapons tatics and saftey class is interrupted.

"Mr. Wilson?"

"Oh hey, squirt! You wanna learn how to disconnect someone's joints without even leaving a puncture wound?"

"Maybe later.. uhm...Mr. Howlett's scared again..."

You just see Wade running out on these kids like "I'M COMING WOLVIE!"

"What, you think it's funny!? I ain't got a husband lady! Now, Im leaving! And there's nothing you can do to stop me!" He goes to walk out the door only to run into said husband, who immediately hugs him.

"Babe!! Hi! They told me- OUCH- okay yeah I deserved that- no tocuhy I forgot."

And is stabbed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!? Get off me! Freak!"

"D'aawww!! Did you see that? He called me a freak! I hate to tell ya cupcake, but you're married to this freak. Now, what's wrOOW- Mad kitty are we? Woah there tiger! Easy boy!"

Logan looks at him, confused, stabs him again, and is trying to figure out why Wade's not dying. He goes to slash him in the head and wades like "WAITWAITWAIT NOT INFRONT OF THE KIDS-"

Mrs. Munroe, by now, has gotten up and left, closing the door and letting out a big sigh, wondering what shade of red they were going to paint the room this time.

She does a little clicky on her walkie and infroms all the staff about the situation and so for the next half hour or so, Logan's kids get to skip class and said classroom now needs a deep scrub.

And this ladies and gentlemen is why this Logan doesn't teach history anymore.

P.E. is SOOOO much easier on his mental status, and sometimes Wade joins, and he puts the whole class against him to make them work on their team building skills. Plus- it's funny to watch your husband get slapped in the head with 20 dodgeballs.

[spaciebabie]

maybe its just the cptsd talking (its always talking, Help Me) but i cannot help but continuously think about anya mouthwashing and that fucking scene between her and curly in the cockpit. i cant think of anything more devastating for an abuse survivor ta go thru. to know that people care so little for you and how you feel and the ways that you have been hurt that they will allow someone who abused you to stay on board a ship when you tell them that you want them gone. if i had been in anyas shoes i would have been pissed. and you know what!! i am pissed!! because the same fucking thing happened to me!! anya was driven to the point of fearing for her life because curly couldnt grow a fucking spine and tell an abuser ta beat it. thats what happened dude. and its so. ohhhh its such good story telling. and it rings so true as someone who has survived exactly this situation. and the way anya talks in this scene...."i know you're not going to protect me, so i might as well protect myself" (paraphrasing here) said thru gritted teeth. said thru tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. spat with venom, anger, hatred, even. and the abuse did continue. and she was right. but nobody will ever listen because anya will let anyone and everyone walk all over her because its what she feels she deserves. deep down. and she realizes that the only one who really has her back 100% is her. because everyone else who claims to care is fucking lying. and it was proven to her when curly said that he would "talk to jimmy" its rage enducing. i cant imagine what she was thinking nursing curly that whole time. the rage. the fact that his life was at her fingertips. it must have felt good. to have all that. to be able to decide if someone like him lived, died, suffered, the same way he did to her. there is absolutely no shot that she thought about killing him. she thought about it, and was probably so fucking angry and pissed, but then. as she always did as she learned to do redirected the hurt and anger at herself and took her own life. and makes me feel seen in a way that i have never felt seen before.

[tea-and-secrets]

i know this is an unpopular opinion bc this is the "cut off your friends for having a bad day!!!! theyre toxic! you don't owe anyone ANYTHING!" site but ive found the more people on here talk about shit like "loving people at their worst" and "helping their friends" and "you have to make peace with being a burden" and "the loneliness epidemic is so sad :(((" type posts the more likely they are to be a shit friend that resents actually having to help you for any reason. if you arent capable of being able to help someone thru a mental health crisis or take a risk helping someone in a bad place or in asking if someone's okay and not immediately dropping it at the extremely-typical-symptom-of-cptsd deflecting, you're not a friend, straight up. that is an acquaintance and that is fine. but acting like that's friendship is lying to yourself. its incredible that people act like this is fine on the site that constantly complains friendships arent taken as seriously as romantic relationships - maybe some people crave that romantic relationship bc it comes with an assurance that they won't be given up on as easily. for a literary culture that romanticises loyalty in a big way everyone on here loves to make up excuses to flake on it in their real life relationships with the excuse that the other is a bad person, a terrible friend, toxic, when id bet my ass they never tried to talk to them about the problems they had with them even once lol and i know everyone on here likes to say they're a people pleaser like that's some virtue and not a maladaptive coping mechanism thatll bite you in the ass and choke out all your friendships, but honestly if you can never get yourself to bring up to someone you call a "friend" that they hurt you or made you upset or made you uncomfortable, and you cut them off for that, you're a shit person. if you never once voice your opinion and fault them for not working around it, you're a shit person. if you get mad at and hold grudges against someone for violating boundaries you never once set up or even tried to hint at, or not solving problems they didn't know existed, you're a shit person. i had friends go nuclear and cut me off during the delusional haze after one of the most traumatic events in my life and it was over shit they'd apparently kept silent about for years. years. and never once tried to bring up. some of those things were things we'd already talked about and i apologized for and i thought we'd cleared the air on, but they were still upset over it and held me acting that way in the first place over my head as if i was evil for having those thoughts in the first place, and they'd never once hinted that they were holding that grudge the entire time we were "friends".

i see posts now that are like "it's sooo great to cut a toxic friend out of your life :) breath of fresh air" and i look at the notes in agreement and wonder how many of those people did what they did, refused to talk about their problems only to hold those problems against someone as black marks on their character. very few people actively want to be an asshole, most of the time just telling someone "this hurts" or "this upsets me" is enough to get them to stop and reconsider what they've been doing. i know i didnt want to. i begged you to tell me if id hurt you and you still lied to my face. why did you think id willingly want to hurt a friend? i tried to work with your symptoms, i always came to you when id been upset to get clarification, and i thought you'd do the same. what did i do to deserve that

.

[fictionkinfessions]

I've seen enough asks on here about the topic, so I just want to say:

If you identify as a system, GO GET THERAPY. Being a system is not a "normal" human thing and it definitely means you need fucking therapy. You can't just call yourself a system and call it a day. You cant just say you're KINNING, either, because the kin community goes back decades and it is bigger than some teenager on tumblr picking up kins from your mutual's posts. My honest, genuine opinion is that anyone with 100+ kinds or alters IS NOT ACTUALLY A SYSTEM. You are just young and impressionable and the world is in shambles right now and theres a sense of comfort in being someone else. Everyone wants to know who they really are and you will NOT figure it out until you're in your 40s. If it brings you comfort, fine. But go get therapy so they can tell you how to ACTUALLY cope with the real world instead of using "escapism." Escapism is not the answer to your problems and you still have to deal with them.

I say this as a person who felt inhuman since before I was 10yo. I even told my dad about it back then. And I've been watching the way the "community" has changed over time. You are not a polyfragmented system if you have 100+ kins, you are just trying to find an identity that fits you. Kinning nowadays is a good FIRST STEP. But I cannot stress enough that CPTSD, autism, and ADHD mix together to cause dissociative episodes. Maybe you should all look into it and find peace with yourselves before adding a new kintype to your list

All of this being said, yeah I do think having a bunch of kintypes is fine. It's okay for one alter to kin a handful of different people and shift between them. But you do not need individual listings for each separate one. You do not need to make a new proxy with pluralkit. I see people confessing to only seeing a character ONCE and kinning them. It doesn't work like that. Take some time to think about it. Its IMPORTANT to figure out if these similar kins are actually just the one person instead of assuming they're someone new. If you actually had 100+ kins (that you treat like individual alters) you would not be functional

...

[sweaterface]

IM LITERALLY SO SORRY I HAVE TOO MANY QUESTIONS… some are asked by my friends and they’re using me as a pipeline to u… ❤️

TONI HAS LORE?? what is he.. i mean i expected it but what exactly IS his lore??

noticing tonis style change from when he was in his band to his job, what happened?

my friend thought toni was trans, w no spoilers… is he implied to the topic of gender questioning

what is the disaster based on?? i personally thought it was 9/11 but i didnt want to take drastic measures

has lawrence been depressed before the disaster

is there a reason to why toni is so godamn happy

is lawrence a teenage girl internally

does lawrence have any other disorders other than cptsd and depression

GIVE ME MORE DOG MOM AND CHILD STUF… THEY ARE SO ADORABLE I ❤️ UR CHARACTERS..

would they listen to the talk tuah podcast/j

what are their aesthetics

AGAIN SO SORRY I PUT SO MANY QUESTIONS IM JUST SO CURIOYS IM SORRY… ty for your patience ❤️

hi! and no worries, i love answering any questions that im able to

1. more shall come to light eventuallyyyyyy but all i can rlly say is that hes my favorite out of him n lawrence

2. same answer as b4 ^ but in college he was in a band before getting hired to work in entertainment . theres more of an internal character change in between him in college and him now, i stated on twt but ill say here that the next big ewlat thing im working on rn will focus on toni a little bit more than lawrence, since my film had to be more lawrence centric

3. when it comes to my charas or stories i never give like solid yes or no answers when it comes to anyone being trans , unless something is explicitly stated . i am a subtext enjoyer… but i believe a characters gender is always up to interpretation if this makes sense . it always makes me happy when trans ppl tell me “ur character looks like me!” so if u see any of my characters as trans , go right ahead!!! :+)♥️ 🏳️‍⚧️

4. the disaster is based off of a lot of things, but yea, my parents telling me about 9/11 and how im gonna have to tell my kids about things like covid influenced my film a lot

5. my boy was born depressed

6. yes :)

7. absolutely heather mason was actually a big inspiration for him

8. yeaaaaa but i havent worked out any specifics just yet, but cptsd and depression are the biggies

9. OH i never thought of making more mom and dog stuff! they are very cute so maybe theyll pop up again sometime soon!

10. NO

11. hmm. this is a tough one ill come back to it eventually bc its kinda broad

OFC i hope my answers were of substance

[trashybread]

I'm posting this in a sleep delirium but do you kno what the cod fandom desperately NEEDS? Cliche 2015 wattpad AU fanfiction plots. You don't know how much you need it until you start thinking about it.

I need a psychiatrist Soap going into his new job at a mental asylum and meeting Ghost and other patients like gaz, price, everyone. Need makarov to be the boss. Ghost being the crazy but helping soap gain everyones trust. Need soap to start questioning if theyre actually mad because strange things keep happening and they're always right (I've been thinking about this one for days) doesn't even need to be a mental asylum, just a mental hospital. Gaz with a PICA, Ghost with psychosis or schizophrenia, price with severe OCD, roach maybe w/ cptsd so he's muted bc of it? maybe he acc got forever 14yo mentality not the infantilizing way but forever the apocalyptic phase and v sweet THEREFORE no one worries abt Talking secret matters w/ him around cuz he's basically a kid, he wont tell anything ever ... Right.

Or one where gaz finds a number in the gay bar bathroom stall (there's number and "amazing head and advices") but its a dead number so he starts venting like once a month to the voicemail and one day someone does returns. Make it spicier and its actually his neighbor. Make it even SPICIER and his neighbor KNOWS IT but it just doesn't click to gaz so now he's stuck between the phone guy "Johnathan" and his divorced neighbour Mr. Price. It all ends when he gets in big money trouble and calls Johnathan in a last hope alternative to save him and price shows up out of nowhere to get him hmmmffhfmmf

COFFEE. SHOP. ALTERNATIVE. UNIVERSE. WANNA MAKE THIS EVEN COOLER??????? SUPERNATURAL COFFEE SHOP. YEAH. Roach works in this coffee shop that actually has supernatural beings visiting but to normal human eyes it's fucking empty. The coffee shop is completely hidden unless you search for it really fucking hard and Ghost, weirdo that he is, is livid to find this empty coffee shop away from traffic and human noises. He always wonder how they can keep the business going with one client (him)

UNIVERSITY AU!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!??? JOCK X NERD. ROOMMATES!!!! THEY HATE EACHOTHER BUT HAVE TO DO A GROUP PROJECT TOGETHER AND END UP GOOFING AROUND IN THE OTHERS HOUSE AND BECOME BFFS. MAKE IT ANGST BC JOCK (Sorry! Soap vibes..) DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE NERDS FRIEND AND THROWS HIM UNDER THE BUS. DON'T WANT ANGST???? MAKE IT SO JOCK STARTS ACTING LIKE A GUARD DOG AFTER THAT. MAYBE IT RUINS HIS REPUTATION BUT HE HAS HIS NOW BOYFRIEND.

COD fandom needs to tighten up! No more souless 4k pwp oneshots. Let's remember our roots.

[ficbrish]

Smoke Rings

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 13th - Spring Cleaning]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, cptsd, blood, alcohol, weed/mushrooms, smoking, sex while high, post-battle scenery, gore, death, hanging reference, an unserious small dick joke, vague reference to past incest and CSA

After the game, but before the epilogue, Astarion and Vistri find a new home in the Underdark.

END GAME/POST-CANON SPOILERS!

Exhausted and ragged, they looked at each other in disbelief and clasped hands.

Their last enemy had been cut down; the fortress finally won.

“I believe we have a home now, darling.”

Astarion’s voice was strained from shouting, and moisture clouded his ruby eyes. His words echoed hollowly, but they were real.

A home, in the Underdark. That kind of life had been snatched from Vistri at the vengeful end of a serving fork. Dear Uncle Hurzeth really should have learned to shut his mouth, but like most religious men, he wasn’t known for his humility or impulse-control.

Vistri’s name and birthright burnt to ash upon his funeral pyre; stuffed in the gullet of his perverse corpse. In seizing justice, retribution wrapped around her own throat like an executioner’s noose, diminishing her to the life of a wandering Surface vagabond. Never to have a home in the violet gloom again.

Until the Nautiloid came along playing matchmaker and diviner of fate.

Their homecomings were each other’s exiles. As she reunited with the permanent dark, Astarion was banished to it. All that illithid nonsense allowed the sun to lovingly grace his skin without burning it to cinders. Now sans tadpoles, or the sacrifice of seven thousand other vampire spawn, his bright star once more turned to poison.

Luckily, Vistri was all the sun he ever needed. She dwarfed the real one in comparison to how she brightened his days and left a pleasant tingling on his skin. Its daylight cast shadows, while her spotlight chased away all shade. Its radiant touch whispered and dissipated rather quickly, hers shouted and echoed endlessly.

And even when it was the other way around, Astarion turned Vistri’s prison into a sanctuary. Maybe it was Sune herself who blessed them, for the love they found taught them the true meaning of home.

Standing back to back in the blood-soaked corridors of their brand-new ancient fortress, all they’d really gained was an address.

And a place to keep their stuff.

And host parties at.

…And for teaching and protecting all the others who’d broken from Cazador’s heavy chains.

Tiredly they turned and fell into each other’s arms, bracing themselves against their weariness. The rush of battle still flared through every muscle as their heightened senses filled with nothing but the other. Relief vibrated into a livid need, so furious at death that it came alive.

Her whimper wouldn’t have been half as charming if she wasn’t so completely oblivious to it building in her throat. He dwarfed it with a moan, taking her lips tenderly between his.

Breaking apart, she sighed and swore, “I’d let you take me over these corpses.”

“Wouldn’t be very sanitary though, would it?”

She giggled senselessly and twirled from his embrace to survey the room. Unsuccessfully clearing the ecstatic happiness from her lips with a smirk, she said, “It’s a fucking dump.”

Astarion threw his head back and laughed with such relief it sounded like sobbing.

Having carved a path of carnage all the way from the gates to that final corridor, they had a clear way back to the others. The halls seemed a lot longer when they were fighting their way through them. And populated with more vampires.

At some point along their macabre stroll, Astarion suddenly stopped them. “But where are all the spawn?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps they’ve met up already?”

Uneasy shivers skirted his neck. He felt them despite being just out of reach. It was enough of a warning for him to suggest they continue carefully, slowly. Even if there was nothing to worry about, a little caution couldn’t hurt.

The reason for his misgivings became apparent as soon as they approached the courtyard. Apparently everyone had met up already. A veritable feeding frenzy played out before them. Ravenous spawn were covering the cadavers like carrion. It was like the Shadowfell had descended, warping them into a Domain of sickness. The risen dead devouring a small village.

They thought they’d learned everything to know about the Dhampir, but clearly their education was just getting started. Astarion was one vampire, and that’s all they were used to. This was a horde. No stranger to the sight of him ripping off a bandit’s head and drinking from it like a chalice, Vistri still froze in fear at the scene before them.

Growling instinctively, Astarion stepped in front of her. Territorial feeders, the spawn were spaced like pieces on a freshly set lanceboard. Even so, the crowd was denser over by the gates, where most of the carnage was concentrated. His siblings feasted among them. He couldn’t help the sense of superiority that dawned on him at the sight.

He might not have ascended at Cazador’s death, but in observing his brethren’s lowly acts, thought himself lord of them all. The blood they supped on was dead and dull, no matter how fresh and warm. Astarion had Vistri. He didn’t steal, because she gave. She came to him willingly, and her blood ran with drow and dragon, so vibrantly full of life it was as powerful as a storm.

Vistri pitied them. How hungry and desperate, how alone they all were. She looked at Astarion in a new beloved light. He was the one who brought them together, the one who would guide them all to be better. 

Astarion was the first one to get away, to learn to control his nature. He was the one who killed Cazador. He was the one who broke their chains, giving them another chance. He was the one who had something to teach all the rest.

He felt such a bitter disgust; none of them should ever be this desperate, this starved. Feed, he thought proudly, looking out, Feed to your fill. They’d do better than animals and cooling corpses soon enough.

Realizing they were senseless of anything but the bleeding bodies stacked in front of them, Astarion scooped Vistri into his arms like a bride to carry her across the courtyard.

“You will not be afraid in your own home. I’ll make sure no one gives you a reason,” he said it so surely, it was more a statement of fact than a promise.

As he walked past the growling, slurping spawn, Vistri hid her face in his breast like a nervous child. The world was dangerous and threatening, but she was safe in his arms. Still, the relief she felt was full-bodied when they passed under arches and retreated into the fortress.

He carried her though the blooded halls of time-forgotten stone, unsure of where he was headed. Just somewhere else away from the others, away from the marks of battle. Astarion searched until he was satisfied he’d found a corner that could be entirely theirs. It took him far down the corridors, climbing stairs where he saw the opportunity.

Arms aching, he gave up on perfection and settled for what seemed like it would do. As they crossed the chosen chamber threshold, he kissed Vistri’s cheek and said, “Welcome home, my love.”

She giggled as he set her down with an, “Ooof! ”

The room was too spacious to be a closet, and contained no hints of its purpose. There were chairs everywhere, some broken, none matching. A desk was placed haphazardly near the middle, or maybe it was a table. Wooden crates were stacked to the side in a disorderly way, like they’d been quickly stashed and forgotten. Vistri wanted to open them immediately. She spilled out of Astarion’s arms and tumbled towards them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here!” she said, rubbing her hands together. She hit one with an ice cantrip.

“Careful!” he chuckled as the air around them chilled and wood cracked.

The crate didn’t open, the side just sort of froze.

“Blast!”

Spotting the way Vistri frustratedly pulled her foot back for a kick, Astarion picked her up and pulled her away. She fussed in his embrace like an angry cat.

“By the gods, you’ll break whatever’s in there,” he chuckled, “Let me do it.”

Vistri crossed her arms, “Fine.”

Alas! There was wine. After he put her down, he pried the crate open with one of his knives, revealing dozens of bottles inside.

“I could have done that!”

He chuckled warmly, “My dear, you would have shattered them.”

Hopefully it was good wine, because every bottle was the same. Knife still in hand, he twisted off the cork and tested the first sip. 

His face screwed up with bitterness, “Just give it a little time to breathe.”

Tittering at his reaction, Vistri yanked the bottle from his grasp and took an impatient sip. “It’s not… entirely rubbish,” she said, warily giving her judgment with a thoughtful expression.

“Give it a minute!” he laughed.

Defiantly, she took another sip.

“You little minx,” he smirked, snatching the bottle back. After setting it down on the floor, Astarion looped his fingers with hers. He sighed against her lips before kissing them. Vistri forgot all about the wine, even as their tongues tasted of it.

“Astarion,” she said, and he thought she was just saying his name until she continued, “Is there something else I can offer you to drink in the meantime?”

Her offer brought to mind the courtyard below. He was better than that because she allowed him to be better. She barely let him say it first, always begging to be drunk. In the way that other lovers would ask, Have you eaten today? Vistri tilted her neck and inquired if he wanted a bite.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

Vistri jumped blissfully into his arms. Her heart beat ecstatically in anticipation as Astarion brought her over to that table in the middle of the room. She felt like a cloth being draped across it. Her legs opened as he climbed over her.

Before he pierced her with his fangs, she pulled him into a rough kiss. His thigh pushed hers wider apart. He felt himself grind into her, his hips swaying in tune with hers. Their song eventually spilled off her tongue, and Astarion moaned too, making it a duet.

“Bite my lip,” she suggested.

Smiling, he submitted to her suggestion, as gently as he could. With the point of his fang, he sliced her open, groaning as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. Astarion feasted like a king among peasants. Vistri wriggled willingly, longingly under him. She kissed him as he sucked her lip and nibbled it, coaxing her nectar to trickle forward. While part of him reached a point of satisfaction, another starved. Ravenously, he pushed into her mouth. They passed her blood back and forth on shivering tongues.

“Astarion,” she sighed as he let go of her lip, and this time she was just saying his name.

Their fingers tumbled with their lacings; their knuckles clashing together in the rush to free themselves from their leathers.

“Can—?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

It felt like laying claim; to each other, this fortress, their power, and life itself. The tight, stretching ache of one another ripped through their senses with the thrust of his hips. Pleasure sighed through every pore, rushing like a white river over their skin.

Ecstasy erased their sense of self, dissolving them together in its realm. They were safe now. They could spend their lives this way. They were home.

Free.

Little did they know that table had been stashed there over a weak leg. It gave out from the power of their movements, and the whole thing collapsed. Shrieking as they fell, it turned to laughter as they realized neither were hurt.

“Are you okay?” she laughed, and he kissed her in response.

“I almost broke my dick!” he cackled breathily.

Vistri got up first, still giggling, and offered a hand, “Careful, you’re surrounded by wooden stakes.”

She was little help with how weak her limbs were, both from the edge of fulfillment, and their sudden shock that’d blossomed into overwhelming hilarity. They burst into another round of it when he slipped and almost fell back into a broken table leg. Vistri had to catch him with her spectral mage hand.

Stumbling over the trousers they’d pushed down to their thighs, they chased each other to another corner of the room. Astarion caught her and spun her around into an innocent kiss that easily descended into depravity.

His arms felt like mush and their muscles begged screaming for some rest, but Astarion lifted Vistri up again anyway to push her back into the wall. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, taking care not to leave bruises as others did. He hadn’t asked for that yet. But at his command, she’d tighten into a vice-grip and leave behind a physical reminder of their embrace.

Gravity turned the wall into a bed. Like the arches bearing their new home, they found a force and a balance when pressing together that held up their wary, rutting bodies. Staring into Vistri’s violet eyes, Astarion found himself falling into the abyss.

“Wait,” he absently whispered, slowing his movements.

Caressing his cheek, worry infecting her tone, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

His chuckle was a growl, “More like too right.” He kissed her and groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Trapping her hips against the wall, he held them still and started to gradually rock his. Only allowing as much as the tip was a delicious torture.

“More,” she groaned.

As her desperation serenaded his ears, Astarion could feel her tightening and shivering around him, begging to fill her completely. He wanted to give in as much as she did. Controlling her was sweet, but controlling himself was even sweeter. His denial was power, and it subjugated both of them.

“Cum for me first, and I’ll give you more.”

Faster, he pumped in and out, growing in tempo until her screaming rang painfully in his ears. She was already on the verge of it, and seemed to let go at his command. Her pulsing pleasure was rough on his tender head, overly sensitized from repetitive penetration. Love and vice sparked through him and a wonderful pressure built behind his eyes.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As Vistri surrendered to ecstasy, she dragged him along like a sweeping wave. She was still tapering off the feeling when, unable to wait, he finally buried himself to his root.

Unintelligibly crying out at his thrust, they quickly lost themselves. Gazing eye to eye, they saw past reds and purples into the depths of their exposed hearts. It overwhelmed them, like a cleric beholding their god. Together, they fell into fulfillment with a swooping terror that felt like losing one’s balance, and crashed into a brand-new plane of existence that banished all fear and held only the two of them.

Once they were back to reality, within these unfamiliar walls of their new dwelling, they sunk and sat up against the wall, holding each other tight. Vistri nuzzled her cheek against his and sighed with spent contentment.

“…You know you don’t have to stay,” Astarion said, his voice a shaking heart, “I-If you no longer wish to.”

The dreams already dying in his eyes in anticipation of his fears made her chest physically ache. Vistri caressed his beloved face without thought, just a need to save him from the horror.

“Oh, Astarion,” she chuckled sorrowfully, “Oh, my love.”

He closed his running eyes and felt her lips land softly across his cheekbones.

“I want you,” she whispered on his face, “All I want is you. Only you.”

Unable to bear witness to more of her affirmative words, he stopped them with a long, thankful kiss.

Her rare heart sat clearly in her expression. It was gift-wrapped, tied with red string, and addressed to him lovingly; his name written along the side.

“How dare I doubt you?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, “How dare you!”

Others still haunted their ability to convey and receive messages of genuine love. Having already pushed their limits, they sat embracing one another in pleasant silence.

Until Astarion muttered, “Almost forgot!” and got up to grab the wine they’d left over by the door.

Vistri excitedly ran after him, light on her feet like a fey.

Raising the bottle high between them, he toasted, “To our home.”

She took a smiling sip, then passed it back to Astarion. Swallowing felt like making a vow.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, no bitter flinch present in his expression after his swig.

“You were right,” she smirked warmly, “Some things are all the better for waiting.”

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

They figured the hard part would be the conquering, but that was more like Spawn City Tutorial. After the initial looting and corpse-burning, there were some celebrations. Then the real work came. Starting with turning the captured fortress into a real home. Scrubbing, mapping, sweeping, dusting, assessing masonry needs, livestock needs, stocking, mopping—Cleaning! Cleaning!

“Cleaning! Enough cleaning!” Astarion exclaimed one evening.

Vistri giggled wildly as he wrestled her for her scrub brush. Their excited shouts bounced sharply across the barren, ancient stone. Successfully snatching it away, he chucked it out of the nearby window.

Running over to the sill, she chuckled, “Darling, we’ll have to fetch that.”

He scoffed, “I’ll make Petras go fetch it.”

“You can’t always bully Petras,” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!”

Turning to Astarion with a cheeky smile, she leaned against the window and asked, “Do you remember this chamber?”

His pout overturned into a devilish smile. He knew exactly which chamber this was.

“Oh, I think about it daily,” he smirked, joining her over by the window.

He couldn’t read the expression in Vistri's eyes, they were so far away, but her distance seemed filled with possibility instead of escape.

“We have a house,” he repeated, just to hear it out loud again.

“We do! We have a house!”

Flinging an arm over her shoulder, Astarion looked out and surveyed the scenery below with his beloved.

“Well,” she stated shakily, “We did it.”

She turned to him with a beaming expression that shined so bright it was like the sun sat right here in the Underdark gloom. More than joy, there was want and adoration screaming through her eyes. To be its witness, no, to be the direction in which it was pointed, made his undead heart skip happily.

Their old tower loomed over the glow of wild mushrooms like a proud lord. Who knows how many had peered through the same window. Who knows if they would be the last, or if others would eventually come to conquer them too. Who would they be? And what would they think, looking out over the same shades of grey?

“I like it because it’s ours,” she said. Astarion shrugged her closer and blessed the side of her forehead with a rough peck.

He pulled something from his pockets with his free hand, “Do you have a light, my dear?”

Gale and Halsin weren’t the biggest smokers, but they were inventive ones. What started as a few collaborative pipe blends turned into a shared hobby, and they took to it with the enthusiasm of two middle-aged men who had recently discovered model chariots. Before parting for the Underdark, Waterdeep, or the Shadow Curse-no-more Lands, they’d left the remaining team with tears, bear hugs (figuratively and literally), and a few packets of pre-rolled parting gifts.

Instead of filling for a pipe, their masterwork blend was artfully wrapped up into a smokable stick, like a cigarillo. The casing was as well-crafted and loved as their herbal fungi blend, made of dried fruit peels and layered in with rose petals that were kept magically fresh.

Vistri asked them what the blend comprised of many times, and although it was no secret recipe, she’d always ask once the stogie was already lit. There was a bit of timmask dust in there for sure, but the herbs were lost to the blurry memory of their excitedly recited list. The elevated joy that sparkled in Gale and Halsin’s eyes as they spoke stood out to her more than their words.

“You have the most brilliant ideas,” she smiled.

“I know,” he smirked, placing the stick between his lips.

Astarion leaned over as she snapped her thumb, making a small flame shoot out of it in the way Karlach taught her. Cupping his hands around it, he met her fire and inhaled. Tufts of smoke blew out the end of the cig, and drifted in tendrils from Astarion’s nose like a dragon’s breath.

Taking it between two noble fingers, he passed the gift from his lips to hers. Vistri smiled and took an eager pull. She coughed on her exhale, making Astarion giggle.

More than euphoria, the instant effect brought a giddy sort of security. Nothing was wrong with them or the world, a state they’d only found in each other’s embrace. It was nice to live in for a little while, and taught them existence isn’t inherently bad or painful.

Looking out the window, Astarion remarked, “I don’t think Petras could even run that far.”

Vistri’s chortle was so sudden she almost snorted, “Of course he can!”

“Poor fucker would get lost and need a break every few steps. Unless he had Dalyria with him, of course. Then maybe the five minute walk would be such, and not turn into a tenday’s journey across the yard.”

Too thick in the midst of giggling to answer, Vistri went for another puff and ended up choking on the smoke.

“Heavens! Are you ever gonna learn how to hit that?”

Over a series of coughs, Vistri fought to speak, “Astarion! ”

He grabbed the open wine they’d snuck into their cleaning session and handed it to her, “Have a drink of something. You sound awful!”

Suppressing another cough, she took a defiant swig.

“Good. Now pass that my way—Not the wine! You keep that. That funny, little cigar.”

As he took another puff, Vistri regained her breath and said, “It’s too small to be a cigar.”

Astarion, being Astarion, heard small and cigar in a sentence, and jumped on the cliche, “My, my! Imagine being told its too small to be considered a willy.”

“Astarion!—And don’t you dare take another jab at Petras! Poor Petras.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Petras in that regard!”

“Because you know,” she said, raising her brow and reaching for the cig, “I bet he has a big—”

“Can we not talk about my brother’s Todd Johnson?”

She could barely breathe, “Todd Johnson?! ”

Wrestling her for another smoke, Astarion fell into her laughter until his ribs started to ache. Growing weak from it, he gave up the fight and sat back wiping his eyes. Vistri finally passed it over, grinning victoriously.

He placed the dwindling cigarillo between his teeth and flashed a smile to meet hers. Then with a cat-like pounce, suddenly bent to throw her over his shoulder. 

Upside-down her cackling reflected off the floor and continued bouncing between the ceiling and walls. Most of the furniture that was in the room previously had been dumped or moved elsewhere. Sound carried louder and longer than it had the day before, making their laughter haunt the stone like specters.

They could have been a thousand lovers.

“Sit with me, darling,” he cooed, his words slurred with the cig still tucked between his teeth. Halfway gone, it was now just a little longer than his fangs when fully-retracted, about to bite.

Two other chairs remained, but he chose their favorite. Its upholstery had a fresh, weathered look that reminded them of Astarion’s old clothes. Well-tended to with a consistent, loving hand, its rich fabrics held on despite their decay. It made them wonder which discarded body in the courtyard those hands had belonged to.

At least their life’s work wasn’t wasted. Lovers now took it as their preferred perch. They sat so lazily on it, it seemed to swallow them.

With another puff, Astarion released a thick ring of smoke into the air in front of them. Vistri rewarded his trick with kisses to his cheek and a round of applause, delighted by the way it slowly floated by.

“Every day your mouth shows me new wonders.”

“Does it?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss with a raised brow.

“Mmmm, it does.”

Placing a hand along her hip, he commanded, “Face me.”

Moving to straddle him, Vistri turned and settled over his lap. Her thighs spread wide over his; her knees sunk into the cushion cracks. The way she centered her balance over his middle sent another kind of high coursing through their senses. Reaching for the stick smoking in his hands, she wove her fingers into his to smoothly steal it.

A glint in her eyes, she inhaled. Letting the smoke slowly crash over his face, she leaned in to place her mouth on his and blow the rest of her hit into it. Astarion moaned, tasting her under the heavy scent of burning plants.

“How considerate of you,” he exhaled, grinning.

“I try my best.”

Pushing her hair back, Astarion looked suddenly thoughtful, “Do you ever wish it were just us?”

“All the time,” she chuckled, “But they need us. You know they do.”

He raised his eyebrow, “To their credit, none of them have tried to steal a bite.”

“I think that credit is due more to my magic and your promised fury.”

“Maybe a little of that too,” he smirked.

Warmly, she planted a kiss on his forehead. A silent, I’m so proud of you.

As reluctantly as Astarion played it, Vistri knew he relished his new role. It was important to him to be better than Cazador, but more than that, she knew he needed them all to get better together. That’s just the type of person he was, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Another smoke ring danced in the air above their heads. Then a series of smaller ones.

Vistri was beaming at him, “Look at you, love. So amazing.”

“You’re very high.”

She snickered, “No, I’m not!”

“It’s okay, my dear,” he chuckled, “I’m right there with you.”

They broke into ugly laughter that clashed like two very different songs being played poorly on the same stage. Their ridiculous levity sounded like the echoing cries of some cursed reptilian god.

The stone thanked them for silence when Astarion took her lips between his. With gently rocking hips, he showed Vistri the extent of his desire. She was wanted, needed. Craved.

“You make me feel like a king,” he whispered along the crook of her jaw. Then chuckling, he continued, “I know how it sounds, of course. But I don’t know other words to say it. Not now.”

Her hands glided over his chest, rubbing it in absent-minded patterns, “I am a most willing subject.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, knowing the answer from the warble in her voice.

At the nodding of her head, Astarion untied his laces. He watched Vistri take another inhale of their dying nub. Cool air defied the heat he felt in the oven of their laps as he pulled his twitching dick free of his breeches.

The old robes she wore allowed for easy access, and she adjusted them to tent over their laps. Pulling one hand in through her sleeve, she caressed his cock. Pressing his silky skin against her rolling hips, Astarion gasped pleasantly at the brushing of her lace knickers. He brought a hand of his own to keep under her robes. His finger gently traced its patterns, feeling her labia thicken under it from his gradual strokes.

Vistri hadn’t planned for a moment like this. She figured she’d feel better wearing such plain rags if her finest knickers hid beneath them. The delighted surprise in his expression almost disappointed her. He should really know her better by now.

Rubbing each other under her robes, they passed the last of their treat back and forth with their free hands. On the final pull, Astarion brought her close to share it. Her exhale turned into a kiss; his tongue shyly met the tip of hers.

“Is it all right?” she asked, “We’re quite intoxi—”

He didn’t even mean to interrupt her. The consideration in her query was a splash of oil on his fire, further igniting the blaze.

“It’s all right,” he kissed her, “Are you all—”

“Yes,” she nodded, still unbelievingly grateful for his returned care.

Her eager hips rolled into his teasing finger. Arousal coated the inside of her knickers. It was beginning to soak through to his skin. He moaned, and pulled the bunching lace tight so her folds spilled over the sides, swallowing the string of lace between them. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed his head against her wet skin and the rough line of lace that ran down her middle.

“I could burst just from this,” he sighed.

His finger slipped under the lace, pulling it taught like one of his bows. Upon releasing it, her cry sounded in tune with its smack. She was caught prey, waiting only for death.

Placing her roughly used knickers aside, he lined himself up against her soak. As he pushed in, Vistri lowered herself to take in his length. Gasping from the squeeze and stretch, their high made every familiar ecstasy ten times brighter. Riding each other’s waves, they sunk into multiverses of gluttonous sensation.

“Shit. You feel like magic.”

“I am magic.”

Chuckling together in their embrace, their rutting didn’t cease.

It got faster. Harder.

Deeper. Like they were digging to the core of each other, prying open the gilded chest that housed their very souls.

Climax came over them so strongly it made their lips pull back and shiver. Pulsing together, their shouts dissipated to whines; bliss stuffing their throats.

Fighting overstimulation, they maintained a slow rocking of their hips. Not wanting to stop. Ever. His seed started to spill out of her from their movements and pool over his balls. From whence we came, we shall return.

Astarion thought the joke was too delicious not to share.

Pointing to the mess, he recited, “From whence we came, we shall return.”

Vistri laughed so hard, she tripped going to fetch them a fresh rag.

They made out after casually cleaning each other up.

Passionately, like lovestruck teenagers who’d just discovered it. Loving words and adoring vows came tumbling out of the hot ache. Promises for this new life; dedicating joy to each other’s names.

As sudden as it started, it stopped. Their furious need became a tight embrace, like fingers grasping the edge of a cliff. Beating together in sorrowful song, their hearts found an impossible happiness; a new music.

“I think I rather like this room,” he said in a tone that was light despite its heaviness.

Humming pleasantly, Vistri nuzzled into his chest, “Let’s make it ours then.”

A room of their own. Their chambers.

“We already have," Astarion chuckled, "A couple times, in fact.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

If the M6 had any mental disabilities (OCD, Autism, ADHD...) What do you think they would have?

Brainrot's Arcana Essays: M6's mental health conditions

@hewwo-its-floof .... this probably isn't where your ask was heading, but here's an essay! XD I've actually been turning this concept over in my head for several months now, so you'll see what I could see each of them having but you'll also see why I haven't unpacked it much ^.^

(cropped because this is long and addresses each character)

I'm going to be totally honest and say that I'm extremely hesitant to focus on diagnosing fictional characters beyond lighthearted headcanons. From my own experience of having multiple diagnoses at different times, people and characters tend to be fairly complex in the way their nature, nurture, and mental health interact with each other. So while it's really fun and in many ways healing and validating to see our experiences and habits reflected in a loveable character, it's easy to fall into a trap of confining ourselves or a character to the diagnoses we're focusing on.

Asra, Julian, Muriel, and Lucio, for example, all have the kind of lived experiences that you could fully expect would result in CPTSD. Asra's parents disappeared while they were a young child and they experienced the extended trauma of growing up homeless on the streets. Muriel experienced that same abandonment and homelessness, and then that gets layered with his experience in the Coliseum. Julian has clear memories of the trauma of being shipwrecked, losing his parents, and trying to care for his sister as a young boy, plus the apprenticing he did as a teen treating soldiers on active battlefields. Lucio has a similar traumatic background with the amount of time he's spent in combat and the kill-or-be-killed world he grew up in. Portia doesn't have any memories before the grandmothers at Nevivon, but that doesn't erase her body's memory or the chances of second hand trauma from her closeness to her brother. Nadia didn't exactly have an easy childhood, but we aren't aware of any traumatic incidents before adulthood.

All that to say, there's multiple ways to interpret behavior that reflects a mental condition that doesn't match what's considered "normal." Asra can seem ADHD coded - we've seen them fixate on curious puzzles, completely zone out and forget what they're doing, and turn their living space into a cozy state of chaos. That looks a lot like ADHD! But, that could also be the trauma coping mechanisms of someone who likes to live with the luxury of having a space covered in their things without fear of them being removed, or focusing solely on things that make their brain happy in an unpredictable world. Or maybe Asra's just a naturally curious person who finds chaos comforting and spends a lot of time in their own head. Maybe it's a combination of all of the above feeding into each other in different ways!

The same goes for the other three - does Muriel like a more isolated lifestyle because of the trauma from crowds in the Coliseum? Does he like to keep his own heavily guarded space and set routines from living on the streets? Or are those autistic traits, seeking out a space that isn't overstimulating and doesn't require masking? How much of that is natural introversion and a general preference for calm, ordered spaces? He could be a combination of some or all of those things, but he's still himself regardless. If we were to focus on just one, we'd risk leaving the rest to fade into the background.

Julian has one of the stories in which MC plays a very direct role in addressing his mental health. He depends on them heavily to help him find new purpose and a new way to live. You could almost say that MC helps "fix" him, but this doesn't involve losing a lot of the things that make him so messy - it mostly involves helping him dial it back enough so that it's no longer unhealthy. (for example - he drinks as a coping mechanism, but the solution isn't for him to never touch alcohol again. he still drinks and has a fun time, it's his need to self-isolate and self-destruct that really needed to be addressed) He can still be loud and flamboyant and entertaining without having to pin his worth on how much validation he gets from it. Could those super high highs and low lows be signs of bipolar disorder? Maybe, but whether it is or not, Julian's wide range of emotional expression is core to who he is.

Lucio is his own special case (I mean, the story starts out with him as the villain). The plot of his route is his transformation. It could be easy to read narcissism into a lot of his behavior, and if that's a diagnosis his character was built around, it would make sense! It could also be easy to argue that his tendency to idolize himself is a response to growing up in a world where he had no control and felt constantly unsupported and ignored. But the focus isn't on bashing how he sees himself as much as it is on teaching him accountability around what he does with that. Lucio at the end of his story still has a sizeable ego, still sees himself as a protagonist, and has no qualms about being good enough for MC. However, he's gained experience acknowledging his own flaws and mistakes and it's enabled him to seek out a fresh start.

We could unpack Portia and Nadia too - is Portia's super competence and hard working nature born out of the pressure to be strong and steady for her traumatized older brother? Did that cause the hyper responsibility that kept her adventurous spirit in Nevivon way past her childhood? Does her annoyance with her older brother's struggles come out of frustration at never being able to process her own difficulties in favor of playing therapist for everyone else? Are her loudly cheerful attitude, tendency to fill her day with work, and love of escaping into books all masking techniques for chronic depression? Maybe all of that is true, but it's accompanied by a conscious decision to be optimistic and a genuine love of caring for other people.

We could speculate about the source of Nadia's insecurities for hours - what did her old dynamic with Lucio look like? Where did her hesitance to get involved and try to fix a broken system come from? What caused someone with such a focused personality to make firm decisions and express deep doubts at the same time? Does her quest for influence come from a desire to implement improvements or a need for control? Maybe her love of precision, good omens, and controlled environments are a result of OCD, or maybe she's just discovered what it's like to have her confidence shaken and this is what it looks like to move forward.

I've processed my own share of eating and mental disorders, dysphoria, neurodivergence, disability, and trauma. Some of my diagnoses only lasted several months, others took decades to work past, and a few of them I know will be with me for the rest of my life. They help explain a lot of how I function, experience the world, and interact with others as a person. But those conditions and experiences are only part of the amalgamation that makes me who I am, who I've been, and who I'm becoming. I don't care to completely define myself by certain parts when the sum of who I am is what's going to decide my story, and I like extending that mindset to the stories, people, and characters I interact with as well.

I hope that makes sense, and sorry for the unexpected essay!!

Cheers, friend -

brainrot