#processing trauma instructions

[furiousgoldfish]

How to process trauma as a multiple (a person with dissociative identity disorder, OSDD or DID), taken from the book "Becoming Yourself: Overcoming Mind Control and Ritual Abuse" by Alison Miller.

First part of processing trauma as a multiple is that you need all of the parts that are holding some memory of that event; you need the pain holders, the sensation holders, anyone who was present or saw what happened, anyone who holds even a tiny bit of memory or pain or sight or sound, needs to cooperate in order for the trauma to be processed correctly. Unprocessed trauma can be used to trigger you, to trigger your parts, in case of mind control even to control their actions, it can cause emotional flashbacks, make you feel like you're re-living it or are stuck in it, often some parts will be stuck in the moment and unable to get out. In order to process it, the trauma needs to be put back together from all of the parts, and then processed only cognitively – meaning, without any emotion or sensation involved, just seeing and realizing what had happened to you, and with what results for your life. Then, you can introduce emotion and sensation to it, and your brain can make correct connections to what kind of feeling and pain was caused by what event, and store that information properly. Once you have all of the event completely understood and all of the emotions linked to the events they were caused by, the memory should be complete and able to get stored in the long-term memory side of the brain, where it will finally start fading, like normal memories do. Once it's there, it's unable to cause any more emotional flashbacks, panic attacks, or trauma symptoms, it would become a regular memory.

Now, how to do this when you're a multiple and you have many different insiders holding parts of that trauma, a lot of them unwilling to uncover what their part of it is, some of them holding just some of the sensation and some of the pain and unaware of the rest? What needs to be done is explaining to each of them what you're planning to do, and persuading them to give their part of the memory or feeling that they're holding, because it's going to make the burden of it lighter, and they will not be judged or punished for it. For some people, this will mean working around with other parts, that are assigned to punish certain parts for showing emotion or revealing information – they also need to be persuaded to not punish or sabotage the process. The book claims you don't even need to know all of the alters, just ask who has any part of the memory and persuade them, with explanations and benefits to what you're doing, to participate.

Once you have them all in, you need to get a big box, or a treasure chest, or a big bucket, or it can be a storage box, and you tell them to put all of the emotions, sensations, pain, fear, panic, anxiety, grief, anger, sexual feelings, bonds, love, shock, terror, anything they might be holding from that event, to put that feeling into the box. I was surprised to find out I could do this, because I've never done anything like it, but I could easily feel relief when every single sensation got sealed in the box, it was almost unbelievable. Then, you all sit together in front of a projector, or a television, or in my case, I physically transported us all in front of the event, so that we could watch it all happen. This way, all parts get a complete memory of the event, and awareness of what actually transpired, instead of the small part they were holding onto. First time you watch the memory, you watch it without any feelings or bodily sensations, all of that is in the box, and if you start feeling something, you pause, and put that feeling into the box, to continue watching the event using only the cognitive side of your brain. That is the only way you can get a good idea of what happened, without getting completely overwhelmed with sensations and pain. For the memory I was processing, I even cut the sound out and put it in the box, because it was less painful to see it without hearing it.

After seeing it once, you introduce feelings, little by little, and you don't need to feel it all in full extent. It's enough to add a little bit of feeling only to help your brain to connect it to the event. Just to link whatever discomfort, pain, sensation, grief and shock is related to the event at hand, it doesn't need to be felt in full all over again. You watch the memory again and again, until you're able to connect every sensation and emotion to it's cause. If there's any part of the memory missing, any sensation or information or feeling that you can't recall, you ask what part has got it, and ask them to put it in, to find out just what is hiding in that trauma.

When you're sure as you can be that every memory is back in it's place, you talk to all the parts to hear their version of how it felt and what they're feeling and thinking about it. You see what information they've gained from it, and how it changes their view of their function, or their life experience. If some are in grief, shock or terror, you make sure to offer them comfort and bring them back from the despair of it, and show them that other, different things happen in the future, that protect you from anything like that happening again.

After you've managed to do this, you can put the entire memory into the box (or treasure chest, or bucket, or whatever you feel is most appropriate), with a little opening for the chance that some other part of it will come up and need to join the memory, and the box can be stored as a processed memory. This should help your brain to store it as a long-term memory and for it to stop causing trauma symptoms.

I unfortunately have not been able to complete processing a single memory this way yet, because I keep missing parts and pieces, and parts holding them will not come up or cooperate with me, but I am hopeful that figuring out more about my parts and system will eventually enable me to process trauma properly. The information on how to do it gave me options to do things I couldn't do before. For instance, I could approach my child insiders who are stuck in the past, and show them the events of me running away from the abusers, having another place I can live in, show them that different future is possible and that freedom is possible. For those who've been brainwashed, I've been able to show them the events where the person who brainwashed them later abandoned them, ceased their function, and later distanced themselves to the point where they no longer recognize my voice or my face. (This sadly, only put my child insider into deep grief because they depended on that abuser for having a purpose and they're now just upset full time.)

I'm sharing this for the chance that someone else needs this and can use this information. I've never seen it laid out like this before. The examples shown in the book told the story of people taking a few years to intensively work on processing trauma, and then overcoming the symptoms of ptsd, which I find incredible and hard to even believe, having the ptsd symptoms for over 10 years now.

If anyone needs this book and is currently unable to buy it, I'm willing to share the pdf privately.

[crispycreambacon]

Image Description:

Page 1. Panel 1: A close-up shot of a woman's face while she cries. The narrator says, "My mother told me, through tears," Panel 2: A close-up shot of a child with short hair and conflicted eyes. The mother says, "This is just a test. A trial from God." Panel 3: The mother hands over a cup dripping with liquid to the child as she orders, "You have to forgive."

Page 2. Panel 1: The child leans forward, sweat dripping down their face as they hold the cup and their mother continues, "You are a child of God. Your anger is unholy." Panel 2: A close-up shot of a goat's eyes. Panel 3: A pair of hands hold a knife inward like they're about to stab their own chest. They say, "Lord, forgive me. Your cup is bitter." Panel 4: The child drinks the cup, and the liquid drips down from their chin to their shoulders.

/End ID

i have so much rage in me one day i think i will explode. i dont think i know how to forgive as much as i know how to forget

[copperbadge]

Recently I ran across an article about an art center that was doing creative expression classes for people with disabilities. Not that unusual, I've encountered that and trauma-oriented art therapy before, but it was the first time I'd come across the idea since getting diagnosed with ADHD. While the class was aimed more at high-needs disabilities, it occurred to me that I could -- if I wanted -- make non-prose art about being disabled.

Outside of my work in scene design I've never been much of a visual artist because I've never felt I had the combination of "something to say" and "a meaningful way to say it", but I started to question how meaningful and complex I really had to be to just make some statements about having ADHD. I can do it in prose, after all.

So I started thinking about how you would talk, in visual language, about things like time blindness, shame stemming from undiagnosed disability, the shift in behavior that medication can induce. Ways to express my condition to people who don't experience it. I still didn't really know how to build the pieces but whenever I went to an art museum I'd think about how I might do a gallery installation. The centerpiece of my mental gallery was a pair of barcodes, one marked "Neurotypical" and one marked "Neurodivergent".

[ID: An interior view of a small booklet, with pages marked 1 and 2, showing barcodes -- on the left, labeled Neurotypical, and on the right, in slightly weirder configuration, labeled Neurodivergent.]

And then I thought, why not make a zine? Nothing you're thinking of couldn't be put in zine form instead of on a gallery wall.

[ID: The booklet continues to pages 3 and 4; on page 3 is a postage-style label reading AUTISM with up arrows on either side, and on page 4 is a QR code labeled ADHD. The QR code technically should work but it just dumps a block of text I wrote about having ADHD into a browser.]

I grew up with zine culture in the 90s and I always wanted to make one but much like with visual art, I never felt like I had the right kind of thing to say; either I had too much to say or too little, and anyway I wasn't confident that what I wanted to do wouldn't just come off as trite and obvious. But you can make a six-page zine out of a single sheet of paper, so I did: I made Helpful Labels For Strange Brains by idab zines, a division of Extribulum Press. (i--dab is a term for a cuneiform tablet that contains a royal communication.)

[ID: The last two pages feature the same image -- a cereal bowl with a spoon in it, the spoon containing a single Adderall pill. One image, however, is captioned "Wake up. Pour yourself a cup of iced coffee. Fix a bowl of cereal. It's going to be a good day." while the other is covered in a detailed ADHD-style step-by-step process for the same actions, culminating in "It's going to be a day like that."]

I'm pretty pleased with how it came out -- the art all looks intentional and it still has that "taped this together after school" aesthetic I remember fondly from the 90s. And the confines of six pages, each only a few inches square, offers a good structure to keep things clear, simple, and meaningful.

[ID: The cover of the zine, labeled "Helpful Labels For Strange Brains" in a kind of esoteric stampy font.]

Especially nice is that if you wanted to you could just hand out the flat sheet, and let folks fold it into a booklet or not -- there's instructions for folding it on the back of the zine. Additionally I have some sticker backed printer paper so I could print it such that you could literally turn the labels into real labels.

Anyway if you want it, here ya go. You can print it on a single sheet of paper and follow the instructions on the back to fold it. I thought about selling it but I do not have the spoons to do a bunch of printing and folding and shipping.

[genderqueerdykes]

Is it true that T gel is not as effective as shots are and that you cannot truly transition if you get the gel? Asking as a transmasc whos deathly afraid of needles

hello there!

fortunately, nope, that's not true! that's misinformation that gets spread around like crazy. every single person on this earth will respond differently to medications- just because one person did not receive the benefits they wanted from topical hormone gels (estrogen or testosterone) does not mean everyone else will have the same reaction!

there are folks who will get nothing out of it at all due to certain health conditions, genetics, or other factors, but that does not make the medication wholesale ineffective. there are also people who do not respond well to or process injectable testosterone- every person reacts to medications differently. it's best to take it on a case-by-case basis, as some won't get anything, but some will see the full spectrum of effects. it just depends on your body chemistry and how you personally react to medications

there are many trans people who transition with T gel only! you can absolutely fully medically transition with T gel. you are able to adjust your dose as needed, so you can tailor it to your needs just like injectable T. i took topical T for a few years and it still gave me all the benefits of injectable! including stopping my periods

i think some people struggle with T gel because they do not follow the instructions properly. i've actually met a few transmascs who shower their T gel off RIGHT after they've put it on, thinking the medication absorbs immediately. it is recommended to not shower or swim for several hours (usually around the 4 - 5 hour mark) to make sure all of the medication absorbs. if you do this and are not showing results from your gel, this is why. please don't immediately shower your T gel off! a lot of people also apply their gel to the wrong areas of the body: if you start topical T, your specific formulation will come with a guide showing you where to apply it. applying it in other areas may not work as well

it's a completely viable option, especially for people with shaky hands, needle trauma, or are squeamish. i hope that helps! topical T is not "weaker" than injectable- your skin is actually one of the areas of your body that has the some of the highest bioavailability when it comes to medications, meaning that your skin is excellent at absorbing topical medications and getting as much as possible out of them. as long as you do not have a condition that makes it difficult for your skin to absorb medications, its should affect you just as much as injectable would.

this is not a guarantee, as everyone is affected by medications differently. you may not have a condition that prevents you from absorbing medication through the skin and still struggle. everyone reacts differently- genetics, body chemistry, there are a lot of factors that can change how a person will react. it will depend greatly on who you are as a person.

usually there's not really a way to tell if it will work for someone until they try, so your mileage will vary, but the topical T is not on the whole weaker, or ineffective. it's important to talk about how it doesn't affect some people, but it's also important to talk about how it works great for many. like any medication, experiences with it will vary greatly from person to person and that's not a reflection that the medication is bad or ineffective, that's just normal for medication.

hope that helps!

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

Does Silco Know?

I'm surprised by the number of people I've talked who believe Silco is unaware of what Singed is doing to Vander, that it is all happening behind his back. Here I wanted to go over the reasons why Silco almost certainly played a roll in Warwick's creation, and perhaps even ordered it.

Weapon of War

Silco needs terrifying, never-before-seen weapons if an overwhelmingly underarmed Zaun is to scare Piltover into submission- it's why he has shimmer created and why he instructs Jinx to create Fishbones. It is likely that Warwick is intended to be another one of these wildcards.

Money and Strength

Singed's funding comes from Silco, so it would be difficult for him to hide such an audacious project. Singed also doesn't have the strength to carry shimmer-Vander's corpse away to his lab, but Silco's thugs do.

Holding On

Silco's biggest flaw is his inability to let the past and his loved ones go, and the way he, like Jinx, destroys what he loves. Silco romanticizes the betrayal and reminisces of the time he and Vander fought together. He refuses to give up on Vander, even forgiving him for the drowning and trying to reconcile. Vander has moved on, he refers to Silco as "brother" only in the past tense, but Silco continues to call Vander brother, even after the failed reconciliation and his "death." When Silco finds Jinx on the bridge, he tells Singed to keep her alive, even insists that "she can't die," despite being warned that the process will be torturous and it would be more merciful to let her go. He can't bring himself to do this because he loves her too much, too selfishly, to give her up to death or topside. Would it be that much of a stretch to suggest he did the same with Vander?

Hallucinations

After the explosion, Jinx hallucinates Vi, Mylo, and Claggor because she knows she killed them or indirectly caused their deaths. Jinx's bomb also helped to bring about Vander's demise, and she saw Vander's corpse. Despite this, she doesn't hallucinate him- not until e9, when she is already in a severe psychotic episode and Vi yells his name. Plus, in the concept for her minigun, she has scrawled "THREE LIVES" into one of the barrels. Mylo, Claggor, and Vi, but what about the fourth? It seems that Jinx may be aware that Vander is still alive, but how could she know unless Silco also knows?

When she finally does hallucinate Vander, she hallucinates scribbles of Warwick on or representing him.

So, if Silco knows, why would he talk to Vander's statue and not Warwick?

A- Privacy

Talking to Warwick means talking in the presence of Singed, who we see in e8 Silco doesn't trust. It's bad enough before you remember that not only does Silco say that Vander, who the undercity turned against, was right all along; he reveals that he is in the same spot Vander was in and is going to make the same decision; he is going to choose Jinx over Zaun, the same choice that lead to Vander's downfall. Silco is not going to risk Singed knowing that.

B- Pain

Throughout the show, Silco disassociates from pain, both his own and the pain he causes others. You can see this from the way he romanticizes his trauma, flinches and looks away at the cat being ripped apart, and reacts to the death of Renni's child. You can also see this when he kidnaps Vander- the blank, distant expression on arrival, the way he looks down and away when Benzo dies and Vander is punched, and how his good eye shines on the verge of tears. But he doesn't cry and he never does, because in his situation, to feel pain and empathy is a death sentence- the perfect way to prove your weakness and turn your allies against you. After all, it was his empathy towards Jinx that caused him to love her, and it was his love for her that turned Sevika and the chembarons against him. If killing Vander's friend and knocking him out was that painful for Silco, imagine how much worse it would be for him to see Vander disfigured, barely alive and in a constant state of mind-shattering agony, being sliced open and pumped full of chemicals. Singed had to drug Silco to keep him from going crazy over Jinx's similar transformation. Silco simply cannot bear to face the pain that he puts Vander through.

[litnerdwrites]

Rhys being the 'most powerful hl' ultimately hinders the story. If SJM wanted the nc to be underdogs, it should've been the smallest, most unstable court.

Historically, objectively bad or unmoral people can sometimes be the best rulers while objectively good or moral people can be terrible rulers. Take advantage of this.

Make Rhysand need to wear the mask of the cruel, ruthless high lord in order to prevent the CON and Illyria from rebelling. Make both of those places have a certain amount of political and militaristic power over him that would explain why he can't just force them to do as he pleases.

Have the NC be the court with the highest crime rates, and poverty rates and Rhysand be considered a ruthless ruler. One who 'lets' amren out on the prowl to steal wealth (preferably from greedy rich nobles) but they don't know that it's redistributed into running the NC, and looking after the people.

Have Mor actually help woman but drinking and visiting the con or other cities under the guise going there to flex her power and act tyranicle, but secretly leave money, medical supplies, tickets to boats/carriages, etc. Or even instructions to their library where sa survivors heal (maybe not in the how, but somewhere else, hidden or warded).

Have Azriel and Cassian push the limits of the Illyrians, not enough to incite war, but to keep them in line. If men clip wings, have Azriel either assassinate them or Cassian publicly punish or beat them but not reveal the reason why, so it comes off as tyranny.

Make them act like villains for a damn reason, and actually accomplish things in the process, even if it's small. Perhaps even have the land itself be dying (like the dusk court centuries ago), making food harder to come by too.

Maybe even have the concept of Velaris be a legend, of the Night Court's former glory, but in the current story, be a shell of itself. This would give the so-called court of dreams something to dream about and work towards.

Have the previous rulers of the nc be objectively moral people, that were bad at ruling and created the unstable political climate Rhysand needs to navigate, while Feyre gives him new perspective. Have Elain and Nesta come in later, and help teach Feyre about politics based on what they knew from their mortal lives. Give them dreams and aspirations of their own.

Give each of the Archeron Sisters something in the NC that would cement it as their home, if that's what you want to do. Have Feyre speak with the Illyrian women, teach them to hunt, learn of their issues, etc. Have her repair her relationship with Nesta over helping them, with Nesta using the training of her childhood to help the Illyrian women overthrow the corrupt lords that insist on treating them as lesser than.

Give Feyre and Nesta a chance to learn about each other, their childhood, how neglected Feyre felt and how abused Nesta was, before coming together to reach a common goal. Then, Nesta could become a diplomat that helped the nc repair their foreign relations, giving her the chance to travel that she always wanted.

Make the humans have innovative methods of agriculture, given they don't have magic. Have Elain want to help the people of downtrodden villages and towns, teaching them about those innovative methods, to help rejuvenate the land. Still let her have trauma, but let them have their own reasons to want to stay in the nc or not stay in the nc.

Making Rhysand 'the most powerful hl' doesn't make him unique or interesting. It makes it too easy to wonder why he won't do something when he sits in a seat of power and privilege, to do it. So, take away that power. Give him something to earn. Give the entire IC a dream/vision for what the NC could be and work to it, throughout the books, instead of handing it to them on a silver platter. Make them work for it.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Fentons and the joker

So the fentons are in gothem for whatever reason, yada yada yada...BUT rather than danny its JACK that went phyco on the joker???:)

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Its just after danny revealed himself as phantom, it took some time to cope with it but the fenton parents support danny (as long as hes relatively safe) being phantom, in amity.

But right now Their in gothem, and jack and maddie are in protective mode, jazz and danny and a little annoyed since after danny revealed himself as phantom their protectiveness trippeled, usualy that wasent a problem, amity was their home, none of the ghosts really wanted to hurt danny, and they have access to resources and support when needed

But their not in amity, so if they get hurt they have limited options, and apparently jack and maddie take thay as :their children could be in danger, stay aware

Danny actually dosent mind it, he's outside of his haunt but he still feels as safe as can be

Jazz is trying to lecture them on the unhealthy coping mechanisms they've developed but that aside she dosent really mind

That was until they got a news report that their was a prison breakout

Danny and jazz are trying to keep their parents from pulling out the fenton bazookas

And jack and maddie are making sure the trackers on their children are working

Well suddenly the street is filled with smoke, there was screaming, laughing and the sounds of people getting knocked over

When the smoke clears danny and jazz are gone...

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Danny amd jazz were being held hostage by some loon called the joker

Now its bad because jazz needs to focus all her attention on keeping danny calm, he's outside in haunt without any protection, his parents are gone, he cant use his powers without outing himself again and theres a FUCKING CLOWN 3 FEET FROM HIM MONOLOGING TO A FURRIE

He's this close to loosing it and (probably) turning this clown into sidewalk chalk

The clown kept talking to the furrie but they weren't paying attention, after a certain point the clown aimed his gun at danny head...

And thats when the fenton-family-car ran through the wall, maddie took one look at the situation and started beating the everliving shit out of anyone who got in the way of her and her babys... after 5 minues all the goons were making a path for her and the other hostages are scared of this woman

Jack on the other hand saw the position danny was in, had flashbacks to danny amd freakshow, and promptly went insane

He shoved batman, tackeled the joker, breaking the arm holding the gun in the processes, and proceded to(with his bare hands) remove all of the jokers teeth, he them puller out a fenton-net, strung him up like a fish and handed the netted-joker to batman with the instruction "watch him"

Half an hour later nightwing and batman are talking to the fentons, jack and maddie each cheaking for injuries on jazz and danny

Nightwing is the one to ask

:why did you do so much to the joker? Why didnt you just disarm him?

:huh, OH, y'see my youngest danny-O over there, had some...bad experiences with clowns that left some lasting trauma...and well, no one scares my children

Nightwing gave a pointed look at batman, and prepared to show the recordings to jason

[howtofightwrite]

Was reading through your torture tag and noticed a lot of stuff that was being said seemed to contradict things that were said on the scripttorture blog... do you have any suggestions on how to clear things up? Im not sure which things to trust

And you're asking us, because they've posted once in the last two years?

I'll admit, I have a fairly low opinion of them, and that's not directly their fault. For years, one of their fans, would regularly send some pretty incendiary asks our way. In fact, some of the less hostile ones were answered, and may be the posts you were looking at. Understandably, the ones simply accusing us of being torture apologists, demanding we redirect all our asks to their blog, or insisted that we should sit down and shut up, did not make the cut. With that in mind, please understand, I'm not going to go digging through their blog to refresh my memory, so some of this might be slightly skewed by the aforementioned deranged fan.

Look for the blog that does not constantly contradict or misrepresent their authoritative sources. Which is to say, if you actually pay attention to Shane O'Mara's work, it's basically what we've been saying all along.

If you're unfamiliar, O'Mara is a Neurologist who was (last I time I checked) working at Trinity College Dublin. He published a, frankly fascinating piece, called, Why Torture Doesn't Work, in which, he set about trying to answer why torture is an ineffective tool for intelligence gathering. O'Mara also had the misfortune of being the only expert who said anything close to the perspective Scripttorture wanted on torture.

An open secret about torture is that it is completely worthless for getting accurate information. This has been widely understood for centuries, if not millennia. O'Mara's question was, “why?”

It turns out, that the neurochemical trauma associated with torture, seriously interferes with your ability to accurately access information. For example: If you're being tortured, you can't tell your torturer where you planted the ticking bomb, because your brain literally can't access those memories.

Torture is evil. Yeah. No shit.

And, this is where ScriptTorture stops. “Torture is bad,” and Jack Bauer is an incredibly unrealistic fantasy, end of story.

Except, this is not the end of this.

Now, generally speaking, I don't blame anyone who wants to get off the ride here. Torture is an unpleasant subject, and wanting to stop at, “oh, it's evil,” is entirely reasonable... unless you want to write on the subject, or if you do political analysis and need to understand why people break out the torture implements.

More than that, this is where my academic background in political science actually comes into play. I'm not saying this as an Eagle Scout who had a couple overly enthusiastic hand to hand instructors when I was a kid. This is (part of) what I studied in college, and I have kept an eye on it since then.

If torture didn't work, you wouldn't see state-sponsored torture pop up repeatedly throughout history. It would not be one of the favorite tools of dictators and despots. However, because it does, and it is, simply saying, “it doesn't work,” isn't instructive or meaningful because it's clearly untrue. Someone is finding value in this, so it becomes important to understand what they are doing, and why they are doing it.

When you torture someone, the information they provide is basically madlibs of whatever leaked through their brain. They want the pain and stress to stop, and they'll say anything they can to make that happen. That often takes the form of what they think their torturer wants to hear. O'Mara's research does explain why they don't simply cough up the truth.

So, why do it?

Torture is a very labor intensive process. You (as an individual) can't, realistically, torture multiple victims at a time, and it is a very drawn out process. Some elements can be automated, your torturer doesn't need to be present at every moment, but they're going to spend hours, if not days, working on one victim. Worse, this is actually a technical profession. It's not like you can just pull in anyone off the street and get the results you want. (Though, technically, this doesn't seem to be as true, however, amateurs do have a shocking capacity to screw up torture. So, the point remains valid.)

The value of torture has almost nothing to do with the victim. It's about the message it sends to everyone else.

Torture is about mass coercion of the population. When you are the state (meaning, the government), and you torture someone, you are telling your citizens that you are willing to do the same to them, if they oppose you.

State-sponsored torture is specifically a tool to suppress political engagement. It is, quite literally, state-sponsored, domestic terrorism.

This even holds true in cases where the state employs torture to extract confessions from criminal suspects. The message sent into the general population is that dissent of any kind will not be tolerated, and that the state has the willingness and power to turn these tools on you if you draw their ire.

I get that this is outside of ScriptTorture's area of expertise, and in fairness, I probably would not have studied this with any intensity, if I hadn't taken multiple classes on revolutionary theory.

Torture from private organizations (which is to say, organized crime, and religious institutions, though cults and some other groups might fit this description as well), follows roughly similar patterns. These tend to do the same things, discouraging dissent, and establishing the organization as having power over the population (or community.) (The technical term would be to “establish capacity.” Which is to say, the organization's capacity to enforce its will. The same term applies to states, though in those cases, the state's capacity is often overestimated by its population. It's only when it starts to falter, for example through military defeats or serious civil unrest, that they really need the capacity boosting part of this equation.)

Zealotry or stupidity can create situations where you have a torturer (or, more likely, someone in a position of power ordering the torture) who believes that it is effectively compelling the truth from the victim. This (or amateurs) can easily lead into a distinct problem, which is that all of this has diminishing returns. Torture one person, and you send a loud, clear message. Torture ten, and all you've added to it is that you're willing to keep going. However, as you start stacking up the victims, you do start sending a new message to your enemies, that being, you're going to get to them sooner or later so it's in their best interest to respond now, mobilize and retaliate proactively, before you get to them. This means that a state which leans heavily on torture can easily instigate the civil unrest that exposes their limited capacity leading to a political death spiral. Alternately, if the state does have the capacity to put down the resulting unrest, it further reinforces their position (which does happen with depressing frequency in the real world.)

You're also going to create new enemies in the friends, family, and loved ones, of the people you tortured. This means that any organization that relies on extensive use of torture will, eventually, start tying a noose around its own neck. (Granted, there are a lot of social dynamics that I'm skimming over here, so it's not exactly as simple as “if the state tortures lots of people, it will result in increasing unrest.”)

If you want a partial citation for the above, you can (ironically) find it in a podcast interview with Shane O'Mara, when he explained why torture has been employed repeatedly through history. (Specifically I think it was episode 15 of Your Welcome, by Michael Malice. Though, I'm not 100% sure off hand.) Though that doesn't cover some of the more in depth elements I just discussed. Some of this is coming from a textbook on revolutionary theory I can't locate (it disappeared in a move a few years back.) Though that was more interested in the general structure of a state destabilizing into internecine conflict. Ironically, my preferred citation on torture, Fear up Harsh by Tony Lagouranis is mostly uninformative in this case, because his experiences were on the ground, rather than from a structural understanding of what his job was really doing. However, he does illustrate my comment about amateurs making even more of a mess, both through personal experiences with a few, and also through the eventual trajectory of the invasion and occupation of Iraq.

But of course, torture is evil... again, no shit. Was that really a question? And, I'm apparently a torture apologist for having a structural understanding of why evil people do evil things. Cool. Evil people don't do evil things because they're evil, they do them because they gain some tangible benefit from those acts, and they do not care about the consequences to anyone else. If you ask someone, “why do people do this?” and their answer is, “it's simple; they're evil,” that person is lying. They may be lying to themselves, but they are lying to you.

Why do people use torture? It's a lot more complicated, and unpleasant, than you'd expect at a simple overview.

-Starke

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[littlejuicebox]

Camping for beginners.

Written to sort of kill two birds with one stone. @coyote-mint this isn't Astarion soothing a baby, but it is Astarion giving Tav a break as she goes on a little, well-deserved vacation! @davenswitcher I also worked your storybook prompt in! Hope you two both like it; thanks for prompts! Special thanks to @chickywickers for helping me name the twins. :)

Summary: Tav/You are out of town and Astarion is full-time daddy duty without the nanny. In an effort to keep three children entertained, he decides upon camping in the backyard.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, parenthood, children, dadstarion, the mildest reference to sexual encounters, mildest reference to bg3 events and trauma

Word Count: 2.5K

*

Astarion is pitching a tent in the ground, cursing to himself every few moments as he goes about the task. Once upon a time, he’d had Tav or Karlach… or perhaps even an unenthusiastic Lae’zel or an overenthusiastic Wyll to assist him.

But now, it’s him and three little boys in the midsummer heat. Tav won’t be back until tomorrow morning, after a week away visiting Shadowheart and Lae’zel in the Dalelands. It’s a sunny Sunday, and Winifred, the nanny, has weekends off.

So it’s all up to papa for a day longer. He’s sweaty, tired, and pulling from deeply hidden reserves of patience he didn’t know he had until now.

Astarion thinks he has never missed his wife more in all their time together. One more day. He can do it, right?

“Gale, hold this for me,” The frustrated father directs, guiding his ever-obedient and sometimes now shockingly stoic six year old to one of the tent poles.

Gale nods and follows his father’s instructions as his little brothers scream and run around the orchard with toy swords, wreaking havoc as usual. The younger Ancunins are a tornado of scraped knees and sticky fingers at any given time. Their parents consider it a win if the twins make it an entire day without breaking something.

Evander and Finnick are naturally more wild and unruly than their older brother ever was. Astarion is painfully aware that the streak of disobedience in the duo comes entirely from him. The twins test his patience far more than Gale ever had, and in the absence of their mother, the two have become almost completely unhinged.

Tav is the twin wrangler; they are softer with her – but then, she’s always had a way with the more surly, roguish types. Her unique charm somehow soothes them into compliance. Astarion lacks the same skills and is, unfortunately, paying for it this weekend.

The younger boys are straying too far away for Astarion’s liking, and as he hammers a stake into the orchard’s fertile earth, he shouts at the twins, “Evan and Finn, you two had better get your little behinds back—“

He stops and sighs; the twins are too interested in their make-believe and paying absolutely no mind to their father and his chastisement. Astarion resumes his task and without even looking back up at his eldest asks, “Gale, will you please contain them for a moment until we finish this?”

A lazy wave of Gale’s hand, reminiscent of Astarion’s own flippant movements when he speaks, and vines spring from the earth. The tendrils wrap around Evander and Finnick, holding each of them by the torso. A second tendril springs to life from the soil and wraps around the brothers, pulling them into its embrace just as the first tendril recedes. This process continues in a domino effect until the twins are but a few feet from their father, struggling against the vines and expressing their displeasure with grunts and screams.

Astarion lifts his head from the stake and watches the scene in a mixture of amusement and amazement, and when the boys are sufficiently contained he turns to smile at his eldest, “You really are exceptionally talented, you know that, don’t you?”

Gale smiles and nods before he looks down at the ground, unable to meet his father’s proud gaze as he says, “I know, Papa.”

The eldest Ancunin boy struggled in school all last year. His fragile confidence took a huge tumble, which his parents were working to restore to the best of their ability. Gale always required softer hands in comparison to his brothers; Astarion was still learning how to navigate this difference.

“Let go!” The twins shout in unison, short limbs flailing against the vines gently containing their three year old bodies.

They look like mirror images of one another, down to the dark wavy hair parted in opposite directions and vitiligo patches splattered across opposing green eyes. Evander’s is on his left eye, Finnick’s is on his right. Together, they look like a Rorschach Test.

Astarion’s patience is gone; part of him considers leaving the duo trapped in the vines until Tav returns. He narrows his eyes at the youngest Ancunins, pointing accusingly at them with the hammer, “You two asked to camp outside, and after very insistent pleas, I agreed. So if you don’t want daddy to pack up this entire thing and take you both back into the house, you are to stand there. Quietly.”

Finnick, the younger of the twins by a few minutes, wrinkles his nose in displeasure at his father, “Mean, daddy.”

A slow, long exhale escapes Astarion as he stares at the surly three year old with furrowed brows.

“My child, you have no idea how mean I can be, now hush so that your brother and I can finish this,” Astarion instructs, and then returns to work pitching the tent, ignoring the frustrated whines and protests from the twins all the while.

*

Around the small campfire, the Ancunin boys roast marshmallows on sticks as Astarion reads a tale from one of their story books. Apple is, as almost always, curled up next to Gale. The eldest Ancunin boy sneaks the dog marshmallows and his father pretends not to notice.

If that’s the most rebellious Gale ever is, so be it. The twins are a different challenge, entirely.

The story is all about slaying dragons, knights in shining armor, damsels in distress… the usual. The topic is exceptionally boring to the father of three, given all he’s experienced, but he’s gotten used to pretending this ridiculous droll is highly entertaining and throwing his voice for his kids amusement. 

And, plus, if the twins are entertained, they aren’t causing mayhem, which is all Astarion can ask for tonight. Tav will be back in less than twelve hours, he reminds himself.

All hail his wife, Lady Ancunin, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, and the hero of this household. 

This weekend has Astarion regretting any moment he might have taken her for granted or not shown enough appreciation for her.

While the father of three continues to read, a sudden rustling at the edge of the orchard catches everyone’s attention. The three-year-old twins instantly cling to one another in fear and Apple’s head snaps up to peer towards the possible threat.

“Werewolf!” Evander shouts.

“Vampire!” Finnick continues.

Gale giggles and shakes his head, “No… it’s a raccoon. I can hear her. She smells the food.” 

Astarion’s nose wrinkles in distaste as his silver-haired son takes his plate of leftovers and meanders toward the edge of the property, but he chooses to remain silent and let his son feed the vile creature. With Gale around, it’s a wonder they aren’t overrun with vermin and rodents galore. Though, the feral cat colony the little boy single-handedly created is likely keeping the other animal population at bay.

Gale places the plate down, whispers something to the raccoon, and returns back to the campfire, nestling his head into Apple’s side as he settles back into the dirt.

“Papa… there aren’t really vampires and werewolves out in the woods… right?” Gale questions, his eyebrows shooting up into his forehead in concern as he thinks.

“Perhaps not in the woods right here…” Astarion responds, trying to figure out how to be honest with his children without frightening them entirely, “But they do exist… I’ve killed a vampire before.” 

At this the two younger Ancunins gasp and Gale shoots back up to sitting, his green eyes widened in shock as he asks, “You’ve killed a vampire before?” 

Astarion chuckles. Sometimes he forgets how little his children truly know of his past. He shuts the storybook in his lap closed and nods, a small smile crossing his face, “I have. Your mother helped me. Would you three like to hear about it?”

“Yes!” The boys all shout in unison, all coming as close to their father as they possibly can.

“Very well,” Astarion agrees with a grin, and then he launches into the tale of fighting Cazador, mindful to keep everything as child-friendly as a gorey battle can possibly be and leaving his enslavement entirely out of the picture. The children will learn about that later, he thinks, but now is not the time.

The boys are wholly captivated by their father’s tale until the twins begin to drift off, slumped against one another. Gale is the only one still awake when his father finishes the story. There is a moment of quiet at the end as his eldest reflects upon all that was revealed to him.

“Were you scared, Papa?” He finally asks, his fingers threading into the curled fur on Apple’s back.

Astarion nods in response, “Of course, Gale. But… I think you cannot be brave if you don’t feel a bit scared, first.”

The eldest Ancunin boy sighs. He has feelings about this that he has not yet been able to put into words. Gale’s general kindness and gentleness is such a stark contrast to many of the kids at school; he’d gotten himself into more than one scuffle. He was perceived as an easy target, because he knew better than to use his powers on the other children. As a result, Gale often simply let the other children attack him, not ever wanting to hurt anyone, even if it was in his defense.

Astarion had, more than once this year, gone to the school and threatened to retract their donations if the issue was not resolved. One of the child’s parents had been hit with a lawsuit after Gale returned home with a black eye. But come the start of next term, there was a strong chance this behavior would continue.

He and Tav had both lost countless hours of sleep over this very topic.

“How do you know…” Gale starts, and then stops with another sigh, staring up at the stars as he tries to find his words, “How do you know when it’s time to fight back?”

There is a moment of silence as the older elf considers this question. How do you know?

“If someone doesn’t listen when you ask them to stop, that is how you know, Gale,” Astarion responds, finally, his hand coming to ruffle the curls upon his eldest’s head, “And if someone is hurting you or someone you care about, and they refuse to stop when you ask them the first time, that is all the permission you need. Your mother and I will always agree with you if you are protecting yourself or your brothers in defense, little prince.” 

The silver-haired six year old nods with a yawn, his fingers still curled in Apple’s fur.

“Now come on, let’s get you and your brothers inside the tent for the night,” Astarion directs, picking up one of the twins and holding the flap open for Gale. He gets the two boys settled before returning to retrieve the remaining one and calling for Apple to join all four Ancunins. 

The fire is left glowing its final embers as the men all drift off to sleep.

*

You find the tent in the orchard after returning to a house filled with only your regular employees. Winifred, the nanny, and Pascal, the steward, are both clueless as to where your children and husband are this morning. When you enter the backyard, a snuffed fire and Apple keeping guard outside the tent not more than ten feet from the manor signal you’ve found your family.

You crouch and open the tent flap, only to be greeted by an adorable image. Astarion is on his back, one twin clinging to each leg and Gale nestled into the crook of his arm. All four of the Ancunins are still sleeping, seemingly exhausted from the night before. 

“Good morning, my little loves,” You greet in a soft murmur.

Astarion is the first to open his eyes and smile at you as he sits up, expertly maneuvering himself around three sets of other limbs.

“Welcome back home, Tav. We missed you. I think that perhaps I missed you the most.” Astarion greets, leaning forward to press an affectionate kiss upon your cheek and grabbing your hand to give it a squeeze.

“No, me!” Evander protests through a yawn as he scrambles to wrap his arm around your arm.

“No, me!” Finnick echos, sitting up and pushing a cluster of curls from his face to grin at you.

“I think it was me, mama.” Gale calls softly, his head still resting upon the pillow, eyes still shut.

You chuckle in response to this ridiculous argument before standing and lifting the tent flap entirely, “I missed you all, too. Alright everyone, let’s get inside for breakfast. I’m making pancakes.” 

A clamor of excitement from the Ancunin boys fills the orchard as your children exit the tent and begin the short journey back toward the house. Apple is running after them, her tail wagging excitedly because she knows she will get whatever leftovers the boys cannot finish.

As the children disappear into the house, Astarion grabs your hand with a mischievous grin, insistently pulling you into the tent with him.

“My love, the boys–” You begin to protest, but your husband cuts you off with a kiss pressed against your lips as his nimble fingers quickly shut the tent behind you.

“It’s Monday, surely Winifred is already in, hm?” Astarion questions, his mouth already trailing kisses along your neck, “She can handle the trio for… oh, twenty minutes?”

You gasp as the elf’s fingers slowly trail under your dress and up your thighs to grip at the flesh around your hips. And then you turn to meet your husband’s face as he pulls you into a kiss. Being in the tent reminds you of old times out on the road, all those years ago, and you quickly fall under the Astarion’s spell, just as you had back then.

Your husband breaks away from the kiss and begins to pull your dress over your head. He grins and roams his eyes over your body when you’re left in nothing but your underclothes, “And… not that it’s a competition, little love. But I maintain I missed you the most.” 

He doesn’t leave room for response as he pounces upon you, eager to show you just how much he missed you this past week. 

Less than twenty minutes later, the twins are back outside the tent, screaming impatiently for pancakes as an apologetic Winifred calls after them from the porch. Astarion groans and is forced to throw his trousers back on with a whispered, “We’ll finish this later tonight, hm?”

And then he’s climbing out of the tent, corralling the two younger Ancunin’s back into the house and buying you a moment to throw your dress back on before exiting yourself. 

When you enter the kitchen, Astarion has thrown his crumpled shirt back on and is already starting the pancake batter among a chatter of excited storytelling from the boys. Winifred is forcing the twins to wash their hands as they speak about the raccoon they thought was a monster and Gale asks you to confirm the two of you really killed a vampire.

At this last part you shoot Astarion a questioning look and he shrugs while flashing you an apologetic smile. He looks like the twins when they’ve been caught breaking something. You know you’ll have to follow up later, but for now, all you want to do is focus on your little loves.

They all missed you, and you missed them just as much. Perhaps more.

But it’s not a competition.

[romanoffsbish]

Affirmations

Natasha Romanoff x R (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Trauma (Red Room) | Sources say you might cry.

Healing—well that’s a family affair, 🥹💕 | WC: 2,618

Heavy at times, but super hurt / comfort — fluffy vibes. Probably the sweetest fic I have ever written tbh

"I am smart," your daughter repeated with a grin, eyes hopeful for some reassurance. "You are so smart and."

"I am kind," she remembered, and you beamed, not even needing to speak the next one either. All you could do was place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

———

"I a-am b-b-beautiful," she stuttered, then she took a calming breath before going on, voice a lot more steady this time as she softly said, "and deserving of love." Her gaze was however focused on your face, you smiled then gently twisted her head until she was solely staring at her reflection, she flashed you a nervous smile. "Again baby, but this time try to mean it."

Arabella nodded, "I am beautiful," her voice held a soft veil of conviction, "and I deserve forever love."

"Now all at once," you gently commanded, a proud smile on your face for encouragement. Arabella matched your confidence as she did as you instructed, then she turned and jumped into your unfolding arms.

"Always remember your worth love, people in this world will try to tell you otherwise but if you hold onto your heart you'll never perceive their lies as truth."

Natasha had watched the entire sequence from the moment you entered the house with the crying child. Her best friend Darla had dropped her for a popular girl who just transferred to their school, and in the process of doing so she called your daughter ugly.

When she heard the words leave Arabella's trembling lips she nearly left on another mission, but she chose instead to do what she does best, spy from doorways.

It amazed her just how quickly you were able to bring your daughter back to herself. To instill in her a sense of confidence and love that many kids only dreamed of. Natasha felt a brief flash of envy trying to consume her when she saw herself amongst the crowd of unloved. Then she really looked at you both and rebuked the notion, that was then, she needed to focus on the now.

"Oh look," you gasped to alert your daughter to the guest you'd locked eyes with through the mirror. Your wife flashed you a smile that spoke of guilt and hope. "Mama has been watching us this whole time."

Natasha saw the traces of sorrow in your eyes but she moved passed the need to talk it out as she stumbled forward and settled into the both of your open arms.

"How long did you know you'd be home today?" The redhead shrugged and mumbled, "Only a few hours."

It wasn't a lie, you'd walked in only minutes after her, unaware that she had made it home days before she was expected to. The redhead never knew exactly when a mission would end as the bulk of them came with sliding timeframes based on multiple factors.

It wasn't her fault that a standard two week mission only takes her one, but you hated it regardless of how true her reasoning was. The impromptu nature of the arrival always made it impossible for you to tend to her. Which wouldn't bother you as much if she wasn't going out of her way to stop you from doing it.

As she pulled away from the embrace she saw you were about to offer her assistance but she was saved by the tiny girl in your arms who yawned. On days like today, when your daughter was emotionally drained, she was ready to go to sleep before you could prepare dinner.

"I'll be okay detka," she pressed a kiss to your lips then pulled Arabella from your arms for a proper embrace.

"I missed you," she yawned while melting into her mama's chest. "I missed you too sweetheart."

"Night mama," she pressed a sweet kiss to Natasha's nose then rotated back into your arms. "Sweet dreams princess, I'll see you in the morning for cartoons."

Once your daughter's smiling face was out of sight Natasha's smile fell along with her shoulders. The mission she went on was only over so soon because of the total catastrophe it became. Tiny miscalculations on the bases end led to her team evacuating the wrong building, then by the time she knew it was too late.

You knew it was best to give her time to herself, so after you prepared a snack for your daughter and got her settled into bed you began to clean the house. Ears perked up to the sounds above, and after three long hours you finally sighed in relief as the water shut off.

Natasha had zoned out after the conditioner washed out of her hair, she stood there beneath the freezing cold water in a daze until she felt her tired body sway. Once she got out she tended to her wounds, some of which were already healing and that infuriated her.

Why should she be able to walk away with her life?

When her hollowed eyes met their reflection she sighed, and she tried to remember her therapists words, "survivors guilt is natural, but don't listen to the temptation, you have a family who needs you too..."

Natasha could feel the darkness creeping in though, so she decided she would try her hand at your method.

"You are smart," she tried to mimic your earlier words, but it left a bitter taste on her tongue. If she were, then the intel she received would've never mattered, if she truly had the power to be a hero she would've known.

The next phrases were followed by the same self deprecating thoughts. What good were kindness and beauty when you were meant to be a ruthless soldier? It was in her DNA to be efficient, yet she failed. It was like her mind split in two as she muttered, "you are a monster," with clear disgust and overwhelming anger.

Then she stumbled back and shook her head, "n-no." Her mind ran wild with memories of her youth, "I-I didn't have a choice," she whimpered, and that was when you knew it was time for you to step in for her.

"Stand up Natalia," you firmly commanded and the redhead fell in line in seconds. It broke your heart but you knew you needed to be strong; firm in tone and command so she'd mean what she was about to say.

"Repeat after me," you steadily spoke, "I am not bad."

Natasha repeated it but her gaze was far away.

"I am not a bad person," you rephrased, and just like before she struggled to say it with any feelings. You sighed, "I'm not a monster." Her body stiffened, which was odd as she'd already been stood straight as a board. This time, she refused to repeat the words.

Natasha never lied, and that broke your heart, but you didn't falter in pushing her towards owed forgiveness.

"I am human," you paused, "not marble." You felt the way her spine slightly slumped as she repeated your words with a hardly noticeable, but never for you, shaky voice. You noticed everything and that was how you knew your beloved wife was about to have a real breakthrough on the never ending road to healing.

You smiled softly as her eyes finally met yours, the both of yours glistened beneath the blinding bathroom lights. Hers were merely glazed, but yours were pooling in the corners as you spoke, hopefully speaking directly to her soul. "So I'm allowed to break."

"Oh god," she cried, hands clutching the marbled sink as she had to keep herself from collapsing. You were prepared for her to fall so you had wrapped your arm around her waist, spun her then pulled her into an abrupt hug. Trying to calm her nervous system and to shield her sobs for the sake of your sleeping daughter.

"It's okay my love," you tried to reassure her but she shook her head and only sobbed harder. You took the queue then to focus on physical reassurances instead. Holding her even tighter and kissing her face, usually atop of her cheekbone to catch the fresh tears, a silent way to tell her that you'd take her pain if you could.

Natasha felt even guiltier when she caught on. "I-I couldn't save them all," she confessed into the cotton of your shirt, body shuffling in vain because there was no way possible she could get any closer to you.

"You were alone?" She shook her head and you soon hummed, "then why do you shoulder all of the blame?"

"I'm an Avenger—I was the one in charge, and..."

"You are human."

"I am enhanced..."

"Enhanced metabolic rates doesn't mean you had the ability to save them all, and we both know you don't need me to tell you that Natasha. You are brilliant."

Before she could continue to bicker with you she was stopped by your lips pressing hers shut. Natasha melted into your sweet touch. No matter the case you were always gentle with her, even when she wasn't with you. If she was angry and shouting you'd quiet her with a kiss like this, you were patient and rarely yelled back.

It's what helps her to become better for the sake of your daughter. As she processed her feelings, some for the very first time, you only ever offered her patience. You were the light at the end of her tunnel, giving her everything that she could ever dream of and more.

"I-I," she really wanted to take you on but she was too tired to fight against the warmth of your love. Her body once again melted into yours and everything felt like it was settled, but the peace of mind was short lived.

"Mama, are you okay?" Arabella sniffled from your bed, and the both of you looked up to see her crying. "Baby, what are you doing here and out of your bed?"

You coaxed your wife to keep calm as you firmly held her hands so she could still feel you there while your attention was focused elsewhere. "I heard a scream and thought there was a monster next door. I was coming to get mama so that she could fight it off for me."

Natasha squeezed your hands and sat up to face her, uncaring that her face was a mess of irritated, red splotches. On the journey to wellness it is important that you don't hide the process from your loved ones.

They can only understand you if you show them...

"Come here honey," Natasha called out to her and she immediately shuffled over and into your lap, her eyes were stern as she stared into your wife's broken pair.

"Mama needs to remember her worth," she huffed to you directly and you refrained from chuckling in her face as she looked like she meant business. "Yeah, I suppose she does—are you up to lead her through it?"

Arabella nodded her head then stood, pulling Natasha off of the ground and right over to the mirror. You left them to their moment and slipped off to the kitchen.

When you got back to the room with the tray of snacks you nearly melted into a puddle. Your daughter was sat on the counter, her tiny hands cupped around her mother's face as she told her even more phrases, it was as if she knew exactly what Natasha needed to hear.

"You are brave," then she paused so her mom could say it back. It continued on, the two in their own world as you watched your wives heart mending in real time.

"You're an Avenger," she spoke with a soft smile that only grew as her mom teasingly groaned the words.

"You're my hero," she beamed, "my super mama."

"Oh wow," she huffed shakily, "I love you so much."

"I love you even more than the Barbie movie mama."

Natasha chuckled, "wow, I must be special." Your daughter innocently nodded and you watched as Nat pulled Arabella up and into a tight hug, one of her arms loosened as she approached you without even looking up, you didn't hesitate to slip into her hold. "My greatest loves, you fit perfectly in my arms..."

The three of you remained in a tight embrace for a total of five minutes before your intuition was proved right. Natasha's stomach roared, then Arabella's followed.

"On the bed, pick a movie while I clean up some."

Natasha handed your daughter the remote then went on her nightly patrol, her hand never too far from a hidden weapon—just in case. Once she knew the lot of you were safe she grabbed the drinks you had left on the counter and returned to join you both in bed.

Arabella happily took the chilled capri sun from her hands then reached into the snack pile for a cookie.

"We are watching Encanto," she cheered and your wife fell into your unoccupied side with a hushed groan. "You and I both know she'll be out in twenty, then you can turn on Moonraker and I can finally sleep."

Natasha pinched your side but you only chuckled, and in about fifteen minutes time you had proved her right.

Your wife watched as your daughter, in the depths of her sleep climbed atop of your body and settled down. It warmed her heart to see the love that your daughter expressed even without the need for consciousness. She pressed a kiss to her cheek then moved to hover her face above your stilled one, waiting for you to bite.

Hook, line and sinker—it only took seven seconds for your eyes to crack open and your lips to perk up. The woman gently kissed your lips and if the both of you didn't desperately need to sleep she'd have continued.

Natasha's kisses lowered, pressing down your jaw until she could feel your racing pulse as she settled her face into the crook of your neck, where she slept the most.

With the tv playing on mute you found yourself drifting off as the flashes of light brought you a weird peace. You were settling into it just fine, "Y/N?" then you were being startled. Your entire body shivered as her rasp tickled the thin skin of your neck, once she kissed you in apology you found it in you to urge her on.

"You are the most beautiful partner I could have ever been blessed with—your love is the atlas of my hope."

"That was a really dramatic way to tell me you love me," you teased, voice grumbly as you fought sleep.

"Goodnight," she groaned and you giggled, "Your love is the atlas of my hope too Natty; I adore you, truly."

The redhead nipped your neck in retaliation but it was a ruse as her hand intertwined with yours atop of your daughter's back, nestled beneath the fluffy blanket.

Healing was a process that Natasha never expected to occur in her lifetime, with the blood in her ledger she always thought she was undeserving. Then there you were, at the ready to wash her hands clean in your personal oasis of understanding and righteousness.

Natalia Romanova was a victim of her circumstances, built only to lay waste to entire regimes, her story however was the greatest one to topple. All because she met a couple of people who saw her heart. Natasha Romanoff was a woman who was painfully reborn, whose entire purpose now lay beside her, at peace.

"I am not a monster," she finally repeated, just after you slipped off to sleep. "I am worthy of this love."

[sukunasun]

Thinking about Geto who would have never thought he likes to be called daddy. Outside of being a real parent ofc. It’s unexpected. As Reader tries to work with the recently adopted twins to ease their trauma and get them ready for school via play therapy, they attach themselves to her easily, hungry for a maternal figure in their life. Whenever Geto sits in the waiting area for the session to end, Mimiko and Nanako blast out the door and Reader somehow always refer to him as daddy in their presence. “Oh, look, daddy is ready to pick you up”, “Go, tell daddy how good you two were”, “Come on, show these drawings to daddy”. And it has him in a chokehold. The word just sounds so good from her mouth. So good he might try to rizz her up. And he couldn’t care less about that it’s unprofessional for reader to fuck a client’s parent. For him it’s a challenge. A challenge to hear that word again. Just for him and nobody else.

why it sounds so good has less to do with sex but necessity. the assurance that he—single father of two with no experience, no status, and not a dime to his name—is a protector, capable and conscious of his life. no longer the smart-talking teen or charismatic cult leader with plans for world domination.

he thinks it shouldn't feel this good to be relied upon when he's barely thirty and buckles under pressure to make ends meet. three part-time jobs and it's still not enough. the stress of juggling priorities and responsibilities is immense. his wants and needs set aside. which is probably why his self-esteem tanked and he constantly feels like a failure. making mistakes, trying again, learning and re-learning the basics. how to cook, how to clean is more important. ultimately, 'how to parent' isn't a step-by-step process.

despite that, you don't see him differently. in fact, you admire him for it. "it can't be easy but you're doing a great job, the girls love you so much," you say, with clear eyes and unwavering affirmation—then asking his daughters in a fond and friendly tone—"isn't daddy the best?"

there are so many meanings to a word and he's aware you're only referring to him as the father of his children because making that distinction is important. it helps the girls get accustomed to seeing him as a parent, not just the person who's saved them. he won't jump to conclusions. he respects you after all. sweet sing-song voice and a heart of gold are just a bonus, you've helped his girls, you've helped him.

still, the novelty doesn't fade, and neither does the sentiment. the pride that blooms when he hears it ringing in his ears, resounding in his chest. he's daddy. geto rarely seeks approval. only compliance, obedience, and maybe servitude on a rare occasion...but praise and recognition? it's too hard to pass up when it's from you.

although, the sexual connotation lingers. curse his dirty mind filled with filthy intentions. he'd only just gotten the hang of keeping his composure around you, carrying conversations with ease while pushing those obscene thoughts away. they beg for his attention as much as your instructions do, 'remember this and that...' gets lost while pulling himself together before you catch on. eye contact and all smiles as he memorizes your face.

he's going to need it later. or whenever he requires a little help. his imagination works wonders but he's also a stickler for accuracy. your lab coat hides modest sweaters and long skirts, maybe a loose-fitting t-shirt when you and the girls play outside. he can't picture your figure underneath when nothing is revealing. not the heft and weight of perky bosoms and a full ass, the dip and curve of a waistline, part of him—all of him—hopes he'd be the only one who gets to pry those layers off you, unveiling that secret side.

your glasses give it away, shielding the same lewd thoughts of your own. he notices your wandering eyes coveting his body, feels your rapid heartbeat on the side of his arm when you're pressed close. he's well aware of the effect he has on most women, but especially for someone like you who tries so hard to resist.

as weeks went by, his plans to tempt you were coming closer to reaching fruition. "daddy talks about you a lot," nanako whispers as she lets you in on a secret and mimiko nods in agreement, her voice lowered too, "mhm, daddy said you're very smart and pretty."

they wouldn't lie about him, so you smile and take their word for it. falling for giggling faces hidden behind tiny hands. you reply, "that's so nice of him, please do thank him for me," for confidentiality's sake, because you wouldn't want geto getting embarrassed.

besides, there are rules on keeping them at a distance, they aren't your only clients, growing attached would make things difficult and you're starting to see the effects of it as the days go by. for all that talk about 'being professional' you spend too much time thinking about their daddy outside of these walls.

"you shouldn't give him preferential treatment..." says the receptionist, not hiding her cheshire cat grin. she's been watching you like a hawk since he walked in and made an appointment—it wasn't his body, or his face that caught your eye, both beautiful and modelled after a dream but once the shock has set in and you observed him closely, the scene has stuck with you since. his daughters are twins, both dressed well for the weather and there are no signs of distress in their expressions. they look at him like he's their favourite person. wide, shining eyes and a giddy-ness in their steps. he keeps them close to him, "no wandering around, let's not get lost," he said, sounding assertive but gentle at the same time. they nod, holding onto his pant leg on each side. the way his posture straightened tall, his expression serious as he filled out forms, requiring no assistance should you add, with the details when often most don't even remember birth dates or blood types.

most do the bare minimum but he stood out then in a suit, "i thought it was important to make a good first impression," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. it's hardly a formal occasion but the thought is appreciated when he looks so stunningly handsome. the other single mothers who come by seem to think so too. some bring him leftover bentos and homemade curry. you always thought they'd charm him well enough given that he's single—a fact you're surprisingly way too relieved about—but he remains happy and perfectly content as a bachelor.

the receptionist continues, pointing out these tiny changes you make to your routine—fixing your hair, using a new perfume, your voice pitches higher around him, repeatedly checking your reflection in your compact before his arrival—it's just as evident to you, the woman who's always been unbothered with keeping up appearances. "aw...does someone have a crush on daddy?" she pouts childishly.

"i like all my clients equally," you correct her, "and i don't see him that way. if anything, i just think he's a great parent is all. he's always on time for sessions and applies what we've learned. he's shown exceptional effort."

she wiggles her brows suggestively, "i bet he's exceptional in other ways too...if you know what i mean." ugh. just when you think it couldn't get worse.

"that's none of our business and we shouldn't be discussing this, it's very inappropriate," you know better than to jeopardize your position. you've worked hard for this, spent weeks gaining the trust of two very sweet and adorable girls, it's not worth considering an illicit affair. yes, an affair, because that's all it'll ever be when he's got too much on his plate.

"tsk, you're no fun," she swats you and your hardened face away, deciding then to finally get back to work, but not before she gets the last word in, sighing longingly, "i wonder if he'll ever marry..."

you admittedly do too. fantasizing about being his wife has become a habit and you like to think he'd make room for you, raising the girls together. there wouldn't want for anything because he gets shit done. so responsible and decisive. it's all about taking the initiative, unlike all the other lacklustre men you've dated before. he'll make plans and treat you to nice things. no excuses, no need to soothe bruised egos. it would be nice to be taken care of for once. so much so that it would be easy to relinquish control. all you need is a taste of submission.

geto isn't afraid of a challenge. not even if you play hard to get. how you'd like to step on his toes, a dominating figure who puts you in your place, you wouldn't make it easy for him when he doesn't cower at the sight of a well-made woman.

that night, you barely make it pass your door before your clothes come off. biting your lip and holding back a moan, feeling a heat rise in your belly. tonight isn't about getting it over with but to last as long as possible. or at least until you get to the good part without coming all over your fingers—imagining his weight pressing down onto you. legs folded up and resting upon broad, sturdy shoulders. feet lifted with no purchase, you can't do anything but take it as he thrusts slow and steady, feeling your tight walls clamp down. milking him for everything he's got.

your fingers slip in and the stretch barely measures up to the real thing as you mimic every drag and pull of his cock. you don't worry about size or shape because it belongs to him. how often you've thought about the weight of it on your tongue, dripping precum down your fist. you'd strip him out of his lame harem pants, his pressed trousers, those god-forsaken gym shorts that drive you crazy. taking him down your throat when it's hot out and he's just finished one of his many night shifts. you heard he's working at a restaurant now. oh he'd smell like grease and noodles but you couldn't care less. your mouth begs to suck him off. after all, it's the least you could do when daddy works so hard.

"shh, you wouldn't want the girls waking up," he'd warn, but doing just the opposite to keep you quiet. it makes your legs shake, craving it all the more. i'm sorry daddy, lies on tip of your tongue, you whisper it out into an empty bedroom. save for the sounds of the squelching, slippery mess you make.

he's vocal but not dramatic, he doesn't rush into things, and takes his time to talk you through it. "i know it feels good, i've got you, i'll make my baby come," his baby, you love the sound of it. his voice wraps around you like a cocoon. so secure you could let go, give in to him, submit. he'd tend to your pleasure more than his own. let him take charge, let him make full use of your pussy like he owns it. maybe he'll punish you if you disobey.

glasses askew, hair frazzled, resolve in shambles. your tears spill, they burn your cheeks. i can't, i shouldn't, you chant. it doesn't matter that his cock stretches you out deliciously, or that he sneaks a hand to wrap around your neck, you can't let this man make you lose all your inhibitions and better judgement. your mind races, wet and sticky fingers pumping faster, there's a ringing in your ears and you hear your own breaths huffing out, your pussy clenches and for a second, it feels like your orgasm might slip from you the more you hold back.

how real he appears in your mind's eye, "daddy, daddy, daddy please," you whine, cry, scream. a familiar wave builds and wrings a knot in your stomach, your clit throbs and your fingers jam themselves against that spot deep inside, wishing it was him prodding you with vigor. you're so close you think of his broad back, his sweaty neck, his veiny arms around you so tight. holding you hostage as he gently coaxes you towards the edge. "that's it," he groans and you swear you hear it above you— "come for daddy," and you're crumbling and coming undone at the seams, not the least bit sated or sure of facing him again the next morning.

[indigochromatic]

Some Basic Advice About EMDR for Systems

(drawing on our own experiences, reading about it, and comparing notes with our therapist)

This is mainly aimed at systems who are considering doing EMDR or planning on it, but want to know what the process is like and what to look out for, with some personal experiences sprinkled in.

Under the cut, because I talk a lot:

General Concept

I think the big picture in our experience is that EMDR is/was like…an intensifier for the kind of headspace/internal system interaction processing work that a lot of systems do naturally, at least a little, especially if they have decent internal communication. This has both upsides and downsides/areas to be cautious about.

A lot of EMDR pre-work (often called “resourcing”) is about making sure you have a good toolbox of “mental tricks/techniques” to be able to handle unexpected intense emotions, feelings, and/or imagery etc that often comes up when you get into trying to work with traumatic stuff. This is in my opinion very important, and something your therapist should take at least a few sessions to talk with you about even if you already have good tools for it already, just to make sure they know your strategies and you’re all on the same page. Also super common and normal to spend some time developing extra ones if needed—stuff like “the box” for temporarily containing crisis emotions when needed, having a mental “safe space” that you can come back to, etc. Also, EMDR specifically tends to often be a little rigid/scripted in the types of visualizations and metaphors you’re “supposed” to use, but in my opinion a good therapist should be flexible enough to adapt to equivalent images/techniques you may already have (like, “imagine you’re viewing the traumatic memory on a movie screen, or out the window of a train going through a tunnel” is a common instruction; if, say, your headspace has a lot of fantasy elements and it makes more internal sense to be viewing the memory via…scrying in a dish or something, your therapist should be down with you doing that instead, if you want to).

As for the sessions themselves, a big thing we don’t hear articulated a lot is that, in our experience  and that of some other folks we know, EMDR has a tendency of being…like, sneakily intense: It doesn’t necessarily hit you all at once in the session, which may just feel like “ok, that was Some Therapy Work but I’m chill”, but then over the rest of the day and maybe even the next few days, it’s not uncommon to keep feeling a lot of emotional intensity/vulnerability, having more intense “internal conversations and/or realizations”, etc. For this reason, EMDR is generally supposed to start with a very mild memory-to-process, like 4-5 out of 10 max.

Notes of Caution and Stuff to Keep In Mind

Especially for folks who already heavily dissociate from emotional trauma, it’s super easy to think you’re “going too easy” only to find that the memory has a lot more emotional baggage than you realized—really go easy on yourself when you start, EMDR is like psychology power tools and you absolutely can hurt yourself. (We’ve heard from plenty of systems who had bad therapists who did not adequately support them in doing EMDR, and absolutely fucked them over by starting too big and retraumatizing the hell out of them— this isn’t meant as fear-mongering, especially if you really like and trust your therapist, but just genuine “hey, EMDR can be very volatile stuff, which is part of why it can be so helpful, but also means that it’s important to not skip out on the safety precautions and self-care”.) What this means in practice is often stuff like: (our recommendations at least) - trying to schedule breaks/easy days immediately after - possibly getting someone to drive you home, especially if you know you’re going after a Big Thing, because the dissociation hangover immediately after can be pretty real - start with a memory that feels "too easy", and scale up if a week later it still felt trivial/like you’re fully over it, because it’s way easier to ramp up than try to do damage control.

Our personal experience, in tl:dr form, was that it felt like the core of the technique was really useful for us, and mirrored some of the most useful instances of self-processing we’d had before while also kind of serving as a “shortcut” to it—but, it was pretty intense and we didn’t really like/fit well with the therapists who we were working with at the time, which is why we stopped (didn’t want to keep doing an emotionally intense thing with folks we didn’t trust).

Finally, a bit about EMDR and "maybe I'm plural but I'm not sure, and/or may not have great in-system communication": yeah, this is a case to be especially slow and careful, for all the aforementioned reasons; what my instinct/recommendation would be in those cases is to: 1) make sure you learn a lot of resourcing techniques 2) try to check in with yourself(s) frequently and with compassion/intent-to-collaborate, "ask the inside of your head how it's feeling" and even if you're not sure whether the "reply" was just your own thoughts or a headmate, listen and try to engage with/respect those responses and emotions 3) if you start getting warning signs/back-off signals/sudden intense feelings, listen to them and lighten up, pause the session if you need to, do some self care etc, even (especially) if you don't know why you felt that way and it seems 'odd/random', and really you're super curious about what's going on and just want to figure it out. Like...you and the inside of your head and/or other system members are trying to navigate a complicated D&D maze together, in the dark, and you each only have part of the map--so you have to work together and trust each other, especially listening to warning signals even when your "part of the map" doesn't show anything to worry about there. And the more you work together and trust each other, the better everything gets, including therapy work.

When it's "Death By A Thousand Papercuts"-type Trauma Instead

If you're not sure where to start because there aren't a lot of obvious "Big Bad Memories" that feel like they adequately explain the issues you're having, some recommendations:

-> First, note that "no Big Bad Memories are immediately coming to mind, idk" is super common in systems and also in CPTSD, way more than I think most folks realize, so know that you're not alone and also that it doesn't mean you don't necessarily have stuff deserving of help and support.

-> So yeah, there's kinda two things imo you can try. The first is, if your therapist is on the more flexible side, you can try doing EMDR with either "this specific memory wasn't too bad, but it's representative of an ongoing pattern or theme that wasn't great" (say, loneliness at school or something, and you pick a specific lunchtime memory, which wasn't really That Bad in the moment, but you were kinda sad and/or upset about it and it feels representative of the overall trend you're trying to process/heal). Or you can try just doing the EMDR process on the theme itself, at the abstract level, and see what comes up--again, I'd really recommend starting with a much lower-stakes issue/theme than you think you need, just because it's really easy to underestimate, especially for systems and other folks whose brains dissociate a lot. (And especially if you know your system has episodic amnesia--e.g. event-amnesia/blackout amnesia--as well as emotional amnesia.)

The second is, there are other "more flexible" types of similar somatic therapy techniques (brainspotting is the name of another one, and there's more I can't think of rn) that might fit better instead-- tldr, totally worth asking your therapist about the whole situation, and asking what they'd feel most qualified for/comfortable with, in my opinion. You don't need to be doing Specifically Exactly EMDR to do somatic trauma therapy, even though EMDR is one of the more well-known modalities for it, and finding a version that feels right and not like you're forcing anything is really valuable (and you're not 'being picky' if it takes a while to find one; you're allowed to want to find one that feels right).

[theworldoffostering]

This is your friendly political reminder:

1. We have a child who immigrated to the United States. It was difficult to do so, and my guess is those of you referring to people as “illegals,” don’t have a very good understanding of the cost or the process. Additionally, there seems to be a severe lack of compassion and understanding that human beings are human, and we are called to love one another. People are suffering all over the world. Jesus did not call you to “take care of your own.”

2. We have three children in the local school district with IEPs. I’ve spent most of the fall vigorously advocating that they get what they need WITH their IEPs in place. Those of you looking to see the Department of Education dismantled might be lucky enough to not need any of the safeguards that we need in order to ensure that our children can learn. Five of our kids went to HeadStart. One is currently receiving a Pell Grant for college. Please step in alongside me to attend IEP meetings, drive my children to school to receive services (today alone I will do 12 pick up/drop offs at four different schools), or offer private tutoring in the form of specially designed instruction, tutoring, or OT, all of which are needed.

3. Five of our children came to us through adoption. Being anti-abortion while trying to strip away all of the things our kids and family needs in order to stay afloat with our children that are very much alive, but need additional help in various areas (like healthcare and education) is inconsistent at best. Please volunteer to help me out at home. Many people are single issue voters, but are not actually taking kids into their home that survived birth, but don’t have a home in the world. We are managing mental health diagnoses, former police contact (monthly at one point), a prior CPS investigation (now closed), complex medication management, attachment trauma, the inability to spend time together as a couple, and so much community judgement. It’s hurtful. I am an all-in parent, but it’s impossible to do alone.

4. All seven of our kids have utilized state insurance, and currently six of them have it. It sure saved us financially when we had a child that needed to be life flighted to a hospital with a fractured skull and brain bleed. It has also allowed for countless in-patient stays for mental health.

5. Being a foster parent for 16 years has unfortunately provided me with an up close seat to see the impact of sexual abuse on children and teens, some of whom are now adults. Sexual assault is never okay. Being willing to overlook sexual assault as a means to justify the end, is also not okay. Ever.

Policies have real impact on real people. This fall has been one of the hardest yet for me as I work to meet everyone’s needs both personally and professionally. Our family is already isolated as is often the case when trying to walk through life against the grain. Last fall a local family (a mom in her 40s) told one of our older daughters that their entire church here in town hated me, and that I needed professional help. (You may report back that I do have a therapist because anyone processing this much secondary trauma over 15 years needs one.) This is awfully difficult stuff to endure in a small town both as an adult, and a child, and yet endure we must, because there is no other choice.

Hate breeds hate. Please choose differently. We are just trying to survive in our small corner of the world here. It’s already incredibly challenging, and would be less so by having people to circle around us to support us, love us, and encourage us. At the end of the day, isn’t that what most people need?

[copperbadge]

It is wild to me, not in the "I don't believe it" sense but in the "what must that be like" sense, that one of the biggest issues facing neurodivergent people (and people with trauma) in emotional regulation is naming your emotions and feeling them.

Like, this is a genuine issue, this isn't a metaphor or some kind of weird fakery, to the point where almost every psychological practice everywhere is like "Well the first step in managing your emotions is knowing what they are" and they give you like, "feel wheels" and emotions lists and stuff. We spent an hour solid on this idea in DBT class and I was genuinely baffled. I thought I must be missing a step, because I am always extremely aware of what I'm feeling for every excruciating second that I'm feeling it.

Like, surely there must be more than just saying "I feel [name of emotion]", I must be interpreting that instruction wrong. But nope, lots of people just have problems naming what they're feeling. And I get it! Lots of my friends have this issue, it is real!

But not one of mine. Which I guess makes me an outlier (again).

It's starting to become an issue in that there's no branch around it. Every guidebook to emotional regulation eventually cycles back around to "Name your emotion, allow yourself to feel it, connect with it in your body, and if none of that works, your therapist can help" but that last bit is like an offsides rule, everyone knows it exists but nobody knows how it works. And there's just...nothing else out there, when those don't work so you sidestep around them you're just in a field of static. There is only one real recipe for processing your emotions and if your souffle comes out flat you're just kinda fucked, I guess.

Disheartening. I can see why so many people self-medicate.

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 7

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

Mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy test

Your mind raced with a torrent of thoughts and fears as you sat in the bathroom, the pregnancy test boxes clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon you, each passing moment tinged with uncertainty and apprehension.

Caila's reassuring embrace offered a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling within you, but deep down, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that everything would not, in fact, be okay. The prospect of facing such a life-altering possibility alone filled you with a sense of overwhelming vulnerability.

As you retreated into the bathroom, you found yourself confronted with the stark reality of the situation. The instructions on the test boxes lay before you, a series of simple steps that held the power to confirm or deny your worst fears.

With trembling fingers, you opened one of the boxes and carefully read through the instructions. The process seemed straightforward enough, but the weight of its implications bore down upon you with a crushing intensity.

Stripping away your clothing, you settled onto the toilet seat, feeling a wave of unease wash over you. The simple act of counting to seven seconds suddenly felt like an insurmountable challenge, each moment stretched to an agonizing eternity in your mind.

Despite the anxiety coursing through your veins, you summoned the courage to proceed, allowing the stream of urine to fill the container as instructed. Each second felt like an eternity, the pressure mounting with each passing moment as you willed yourself to maintain control.

With shaky hands, you dipped the test into the urine, watching as the liquid spread across the surface, carrying with it the weight of your hopes and fears. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself clinging to the fragile promise of a future yet to be determined, praying for a glimmer of clarity amidst the overwhelming chaos.

The expletive escaped your lips in a hushed whisper, the weight of the revelation bearing down upon you with an unbearable intensity. Panic surged through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you as you struggled to process the reality of the situation.

Positive.

The word echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each repetition serving as a cruel reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. You felt as though the ground had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you adrift in a sea of fear and apprehension.

Tears welled in your eyes as you clutched the positive test in trembling hands, the weight of its implications pressing down upon you like a suffocating blanket. How could this be happening? How could something so life-altering occur in the blink of an eye, shattering the fragile illusion of stability you had worked so hard to maintain?

Your thoughts raced in a frantic whirlwind, each scenario more dire than the last. How would you tell Bradley? How would you face Jake? The prospect of navigating this turbulent journey alone filled you with a sense of overwhelming dread, the enormity of the challenge ahead threatening to crush you beneath its weight.

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, a small voice of determination whispered within you. You may not have all the answers, but you refused to let fear dictate your future. You would face this challenge head-on, drawing strength from the knowledge that you were not alone.

With a deep breath, you rose to your feet, the weight of the positive test still heavy in your hands.

---- As you entered your home, the weight of the pregnancy tests in your pocket felt like an anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Bradley's presence greeted you, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow and the gentle touch of his hands as he pulled you into a comforting embrace.

His hug was a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil, offering solace and reassurance as tears spilled from your eyes. You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace as he guided you to the couch. With a tissue in hand, he offered you a lifeline to wipe away your tears, his steady presence a source of strength in your moment of weakness.

But when words failed you, when the magnitude of your revelation threatened to consume you whole, you reached for one of the pregnancy tests, the silent messenger of your reality. As Bradley's gaze fell upon the test, comprehension dawned in his eyes, his shock mingling with a fierce determination to support you through this unexpected journey.

Though a myriad of emotions swirled within him, anger was not directed at you, but at the unseen force that had left you in this state of uncertainty. He longed to protect you from the harsh realities of the world, to shield you from the consequences of someone else's actions.

As you sobbed in his arms, his words of comfort rang out like a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Chick, everything will be okay. I'm here for you, till the end," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

But amidst the comfort of his embrace, a nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind. What about Jake? How would he react to this unexpected news? The uncertainty of his response loomed like a shadow over your newfound sense of security, casting doubt upon the fragile foundation of your world.

--The next day--

Jake was in the process of unloading his gear from his locker when Rooster stormed into the room with an air of agitation. His abrupt entrance caught Jake off guard, prompting him to inquire about the source of Rooster's evident frustration.

"Rooster, what's got you all worked up?" Jake's curiosity was piqued by his friend's uncharacteristic demeanor, especially considering Rooster's typically laid-back nature.

Rooster's response was unexpected, as he revealed that Anna, Bradley's sister, was the cause of his turmoil. The mention of your name sent a jolt of concern through Jake, his thoughts immediately turning to the incident in the Hard Deck. He couldn't help but wonder what could have happened to leave you in such a state.

"She told me something the other night," Rooster continued, his voice tinged with anger, "and she seemed really shaken up about it. But it's got me pissed off. She took a damn pregnancy test, man."

Jake's mind raced as he processed Rooster's words. The mention of a pregnancy test sent a shockwave of disbelief through him. He knew that he was the only one you had been intimate with, so the implications of the test were clear. But Bradley hadn't mentioned whether the test was positive or negative.

As confusion mingled with concern, Jake couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the outcome of the test, he knew that he needed to reach out to you, to offer support and reassurance in your time of need. But as he contemplated the situation, one question echoed in his mind: What had led you to take a pregnancy test in the first place, you guys were always safe?

"W-was it positive?" Jake's voice trembled with a mixture of anxiety and disbelief as he sought confirmation from Bradley. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and Jake's composure faltered despite his efforts to remain calm.

Bradley's response was heavy with resignation, his weariness evident as he rubbed his hands wearily across his face. "What do you think? My little sister is pregnant, Jake," he replied, the words carrying a weight of their own.

The reality of the situation hit Jake like a ton of bricks, his mind reeling with a flood of emotions. He couldn't bear to simply stand there, paralyzed by shock. Before anything else could be said, Jake made a hasty retreat from the room, his actions spurred on by a sense of urgency and the overwhelming need to find you.

As he sprinted down the corridor, he could hear Bradley's voice calling after him, but Jake's sole focus was on reaching you as quickly as possible. Every step propelled him forward, driven by a desperate need to talk to you and offer whatever support he could in the face of this unexpected turn of events.

--- Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you as you returned home from another day of filming. Nausea had plagued you throughout the day, and all you craved was a much-needed nap to sleep off the sickness. As you dropped your belongings by the door and slipped off your shoes, you made your way to the couch, longing for a moment of respite.

Lying on your back with limbs splayed out like a star, you stared up at the ceiling, succumbing to the pull of sleep. However, the tranquility was shattered by aggressive pounding at the door, jolting you awake. Blinking away drowsiness, you stumbled to the door, your head spinning for a moment before regaining focus.

The sight that greeted you was unexpected—a blonde, green-eyed Texan storming in with urgency written all over his face. Before you could even process the situation, his grip tightened on your shoulder, his voice urgent as he demanded, "Anna, are you pregnant?"

Shock coursed through you. How could he possibly know? But then it dawned on you—Jake worked with Bradley. Your heart sank as you realized your secret had somehow reached him. Taking a deep breath, you managed to nod in affirmation, confirming his suspicions.

Jake's demeanor betrayed his inner turmoil as he withdrew his hands from your shoulders, running them down his face in a gesture of stress. His forehead glistened with sweat, his expression pale and tense. Despite the gravity of the situation, he remained remarkably composed as he sought confirmation, "It's mine, isn't it?"

You met his gaze, unable to mask the uncertainty in your own. With a nod, you confirmed his fears, uttering the words that sealed your fate, "It's yours, Jake."

His reaction was not what you had anticipated. Instead of anger or frustration, he simply nodded, processing the information silently. His calm demeanor left you at a loss, unsure of what to expect next. As you braced yourself for his response, he surprised you by asking another question, his voice steady despite the weight of the revelation.

Jake's question hung in the air, pregnant with anticipation. As you nodded in affirmation, the weight of his words settled over you like a heavy shroud. You were indeed the mother of his future child, a reality that both terrified and astounded you.

Expecting a flurry of emotions or perhaps even his swift departure, you watched in bewildered silence as Jake turned away. But to your surprise, he didn't leave. Instead, he closed the door behind him before turning back to face you. His eyes bore into yours, and before you could comprehend his intentions, he closed the distance between you in a single decisive move.

A wave of shock washed over you as Jake's lips met yours, not with the casual familiarity of previous encounters, but with a passion that ignited something deep within you. The intensity of his kiss caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless as you surrendered to the unexpected rush of emotion.

In that fleeting moment, as the world seemed to fade away, you found yourself reassessing everything you thought you knew. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing was clear—this kiss had changed everything.

tagging:

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[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

Take what resonates and leave behind anything that doesn't. Always be open to new perspectives, homies. 🖤🩶🤍

PILE 1 (Anubis)

Deity: Anubis

Crystal: Black Tourmaline

Astrology: Taurus ♉️, Scoprio ♏️, Leo ♌️, Aquarius ♒️

Anubis calls to you, pile 1. His message is telling this pile that people-pleasing isn’t going to make people who have already decided that they don’t like you, like you. You could be the sweetest, most ripe and deliciously sweet mango. Some people just don't like mangos or are allergic. You cannot force everyone to like you. You cannot manipulate them out of their pre-made decision. I know it hurts to be rejected, especially if you have ADHD and experience RSD because of that condition. Put your headphones on to drown their voice out. Their opinion of you does not matter in the long run. Their opinion does not make you bad. Their opinion does not reflect an accurate description of who you are. Let them be a hater. No one can take away your halo. Anubis asks you to turn your attention to more important matters than what people think of you.

⛓️🪓🔪🧱📸🧰🍕🧯🚢🥁🎸❤️‍🔥🖤🎯🎳🏓🕷️🥊🍿🥤🥩🕳️🦨🌶️🌹🔥🐞⚔️🌡️⛑️🚨💣👺

PILE 2 (Loki)

Deity: Loki

Crystal: Moldavite/Agate Geode

Astrology: Gemini ♊️, Virgo ♍️, Sagittarius ♐️, Pisces ♓️

Loki calls to you, pile 2. They are telling me you are an absolute bad bitch. You are kicking ass and taking names fr fr. Loki wants you to know they recognize how much work you have done. They are saying you don’t really see yourself clearly. Your self-esteem is pretty low. Look at what you have done so far. If it were anyone else wouldn’t you be proud of them? They want to appreciate all that you have accomplished. You are strong, you are beautiful, you are healing. Be proud of yourself. They also tell me that you have no need to worry about what might happen but are also letting you know there are more lessons on their way to you. You are almost done with the cycle and Loki is protecting you as you complete it. They are saying the finish line is almost upon you! Follow your intuition. Trust yourself. Trust the divine. Allow change to flow inward. You are gonna continue to be a badass bitch. 💚

🪖🧑🏽‍🎤🐸🪲🦜🐉🐲🎋🎍🥬🥑🫑🍡🧃🍵🪀🏄🏽‍♂️📟🔋🔫🪛🧪🦠✅♻️🈯️

PILE 3 (Hekate)

Deity: Hekate

Crystal: Dalmatian Jasper

Astrology: Aries ♈️, Cancer ♋️, Libra ♎️, Capricorn ♑️

Hekate sings to you, pile 3. She is telling me you have recently discovered a divine ability. It is a massive change of perspective honestly. It explained a lot of unanswerable questions you have experienced in life. You are learning to wield this ability and use it to benefit you. It is an inherented ability passed down from generation to generation. Hekate is telling me that your next step in learning how to use this skill is processing emotional trauma or physical trauma. She wants you to know she understands that pain for what happened is not something you can “get over” but she is instructing you to process that pain. To sit with it and understand it better. She knows how hard that can be. She will be with you in this transitional period. Healing is necessary if you wish to use this ability to its greatest potential. Before you go diving straight into the pain though. Hekate asks that you go slow. Do not use this ability too often until you have done the healing you need to do. It could be damaging to your connections if you use it before mending your wounds.

💜☯️🗝️🔭🔮🔌📞💻🎥🎆🍆☔️🪻🐾😈👾👽🕶️🦄🕸️🍇🪁🎮🛞📱🖤