#though this is also just me explaining complex post traumatic stress disorder

[tazmiilly]

it is always nice to find another abuse survivor who also felt like ford's story resonated with them. it's nice to feel like there's other people who know what I'm talking about

[merwgue]

In A Court of Mist and Fury (ACOMAF), Feyre and Tamlin’s relationship disintegrates, and many fans are quick to place blame entirely on one or the other. Some see Tamlin as the villain—overbearing, controlling, and dismissive of Feyre’s needs. Others view Feyre as the one in the wrong, shutting down emotionally, and failing to give Tamlin a chance to understand her. But the truth is, both Feyre and Tamlin were in the wrong, and neither can be fully blamed for their relationship’s collapse. Why? Because they were both navigating the deep, complex waters of trauma. And trauma doesn’t just break people—it breaks communication, relationships, and trust.

Tysm for @extremely-judgemental for allowing me to post this, even though its been a work in progress for 2 days, I'm extremely grateful that they allowed me to take inspiration and use there post as a guide!!

The Silent Pact: Avoiding the Pain

Feyre and Tamlin's relationship post-Under the Mountain is one that’s built on a foundation of avoidance. After the trauma they both endured at the hands of Amarantha, they fall into a silent agreement not to discuss what happened. At first glance, this seems like an obvious red flag—after all, how can a couple move forward without addressing the deep emotional wounds they both carry? But in reality, avoidance of trauma isn’t a flaw exclusive to Tamlin or Feyre—it’s a very human reaction to extreme pain.

Psychologically, avoidance is one of the most common coping mechanisms for trauma survivors. According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), avoidance is a key symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Survivors avoid thoughts, memories, and discussions that remind them of their trauma because it’s too painful to confront. In Feyre and Tamlin’s case, talking about what happened Under the Mountain would mean reopening wounds that were still raw. Tamlin is a High Lord, a man who feels responsible for everyone, and his inability to protect Feyre still haunts him. For Feyre, she’s dealing with not only the trauma of her own experiences but the guilt of the lives she took.

It’s easy to sit back and say, “Well, they should have talked about it,” but if we’re being realistic, many of us avoid difficult conversations about our own emotions and pain, especially with those we love most. Trauma survivors often feel that talking about their pain will burden others or that they’ll be seen as weak for struggling to cope. In relationships, this can create a wall between partners who are both silently suffering, as neither wants to “break” the other with their vulnerability.

The Psychological Cost of Silence

Tamlin and Feyre’s mutual avoidance wasn’t about not caring—it was about protecting themselves from further pain. Dr. Judith Herman, a renowned expert on trauma recovery, explains in her book Trauma and Recovery that trauma survivors often experience a “double-edged sword” of wanting to connect with others but fearing the vulnerability that comes with opening up. Tamlin, as High Lord, is burdened with the expectation to be strong and unbreakable. He can’t afford to show his weakness, not to Feyre, not to his court. He believes that if he holds everything together, he can fix what’s broken. Feyre, on the other hand, feels emotionally and physically depleted. She can’t summon the energy to reach out, and the more isolated she feels, the more she retreats.

Dr. Herman also notes that trauma can cause survivors to feel alienated from others, even those they love. This is exactly what happens to Feyre—she feels like she’s drowning in her own despair, and instead of being able to share that with Tamlin, she perceives his actions as controlling and suffocating. To Feyre, Tamlin’s need to protect her feels like a cage, not comfort. She becomes emotionally numb, which is another common symptom of trauma survivors. According to the National Center for PTSD, emotional numbness, or feeling “shut down,” is a way for trauma survivors to protect themselves from being overwhelmed by their feelings.

Tamlin: The Strong Protector, Who Never Heals

On the surface, Tamlin seems like the “strong” one in the relationship. He’s the High Lord, after all, and High Lords don’t fall apart. But beneath that strength is a man who’s been shattered by his own trauma and guilt. Tamlin failed to protect Feyre Under the Mountain, and that failure haunts him. In his mind, the only way to keep her safe is to control her environment. He barricades her inside his estate, thinking that if she’s sheltered, nothing can hurt her.

But what Tamlin doesn’t realize is that his overprotectiveness isn’t strength—it’s fear. Fear of losing her again. Fear of failing again. And fear of facing his own trauma. This isn’t unique to Tamlin; many trauma survivors, particularly men, fall into the trap of thinking they need to be invulnerable to protect their loved ones. Dr. Terrence Real, a therapist specializing in male depression, explains that men are often conditioned to believe they must be the “fixers” in relationships. When they can’t fix the problem, they feel powerless, and that powerlessness turns into control as they try to manage their environment instead of addressing their emotional wounds.

Tamlin’s way of coping is to be the protector at all costs, but in doing so, he isolates himself from Feyre’s emotional needs. His controlling behavior isn’t about dominance—it’s about shielding himself from the fear of another failure. Research shows that controlling behavior in relationships is often rooted in anxiety and a fear of abandonment (Simpson et al., 2017). In trying to keep Feyre safe, Tamlin inadvertently builds a prison around her, and that isolation becomes unbearable for her.

Feyre: The Self-Destructive Survivor

Feyre, on the other hand, is falling apart in silence. She’s lost, broken, and burdened by the trauma of her experiences and the lives she took Under the Mountain. Yet, she doesn’t know how to express that pain, especially to Tamlin. Psychologist Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, in his book The Body Keeps the Score, emphasizes that trauma survivors often feel disconnected from their bodies and emotions. They may become passive or disengaged, unable to articulate what they need. For Feyre, this is exactly what happens—she feels hollow, empty, and disconnected from herself, so she withdraws from Tamlin. Instead of sharing her pain, she self-destructs. The nightmares, the apathy, the loss of interest in the things she once loved—it’s all part of the trauma she hasn’t processed.

Research into PTSD and depression shows that survivors often feel a profound sense of isolation, even when surrounded by loved ones (National Institute of Mental Health, 2021). They may believe that no one can understand what they’ve been through, or worse, that no one cares. Feyre falls into this trap—she interprets Tamlin’s controlling behavior as indifference to her emotional needs when, in reality, it’s his misguided attempt to protect her.

The Insecurity and Breakdown of Their Relationship

At the core of Feyre and Tamlin’s relationship is deep insecurity. Tamlin is insecure because of his failure to protect Feyre, and Feyre is insecure because she feels like a burden. Neither of them feels safe enough to admit that they’re struggling, and so they continue to put on masks for each other. Tamlin pretends to be strong, while Feyre pretends she can handle it all on her own.

Their avoidance of the issue and failure to communicate lead to the mutual destruction of their relationship. This isn’t because one of them was “right” and the other was “wrong”—they were both struggling with unprocessed trauma. According to relationship expert Dr. John Gottman, one of the keys to a successful relationship is the ability to repair conflicts through open communication. When couples avoid discussing their pain, resentment builds, and the relationship begins to fracture.

But for trauma survivors like Feyre and Tamlin, communication isn’t as simple as sitting down and having a conversation. Trauma creates emotional barriers that make it difficult to open up, even to those we love most. This is why Feyre’s resentment toward Tamlin grows, and why Tamlin becomes increasingly controlling—they’re both reacting to their trauma in ways that only push each other further away.

Conclusion: No True Villains, Just Trauma

So, can we truly blame either Feyre or Tamlin for the collapse of their relationship? In reality, they were both victims of their trauma, and they both failed each other because they couldn’t face it. Their silence wasn’t malicious, and their emotional distance wasn’t about a lack of love. It was about fear—fear of reopening wounds, fear of being vulnerable, and fear of losing the other person.

In the end, both Feyre and Tamlin’s coping mechanisms—whether it was Tamlin’s control or Feyre’s withdrawal—were their ways of surviving. It’s easy to say they should have communicated, but as we’ve seen, trauma complicates everything. Both were struggling to keep their heads above water, and unfortunately, neither of them could see the other drowning.

Here are some quotes from books I've done my research on!! I wanted to make sure my arguments were as clean and precise because mental health Is not something you half ass

1. On Trauma and Avoidance:

Judith Herman, "Trauma and Recovery":

"Trauma isolates; the words and feelings associated with it often remain unspoken. Survivors find it difficult to share their experiences with others because talking about the trauma seems like a betrayal of the self."

Bessel van der Kolk, "The Body Keeps the Score":

"Trauma by nature drives us to the edge of comprehension, cutting us off from language based on common experience or an imaginable past... It is as if time stops, and we are trapped in a perpetual state of helplessness."

2. On Emotional Numbing:

Bessel van der Kolk:

"Many traumatized people seem to shut down emotionally. As long as they are not being confronted with their trauma, they function relatively well. But as soon as something reminds them of the past, they may become helpless, upset, or furious."

Feyre’s emotional shutdown and numbness, post-trauma, is a common response for trauma survivors. Her inability to connect emotionally with Tamlin can be seen as a coping mechanism to avoid pain.

3. On Controlling Behavior as a Response to Anxiety:

Simpson et al. (2017), Journal of Personality and Social Psychology:

"Individuals with a high need for control often display overbearing or controlling behaviors in relationships as a way to reduce their own internal anxiety. This behavior often stems from feelings of powerlessness or fear of failure."

This aligns with Tamlin’s overprotective behavior toward Feyre, not as a way to dominate but to manage his own anxieties about failing her again.

4. On Insecure Relationships and Trauma:

Dr. Terrence Real, "I Don't Want to Talk About It":

"Men are often taught that emotional vulnerability is a weakness. As a result, many men struggle with expressing their pain or discussing their emotional needs, which can lead to controlling or distant behaviors in relationships."

Tamlin’s desire to protect Feyre without acknowledging his own emotional needs fits into this psychological framework. His need to appear strong likely prevented him from admitting his own trauma.

5. On Communication Breakdown in Trauma Survivors:

John Gottman, "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work":

"When couples avoid difficult conversations, the issue doesn’t go away—it festers and can lead to increased resentment. Open, honest communication, even when difficult, is necessary for a relationship to thrive, especially in times of emotional distress."

This quote highlights why the breakdown between Feyre and Tamlin happened. By avoiding discussions about their trauma, they allowed distance and resentment to grow.

6. On the Difficulty of Vulnerability:

Brené Brown, "Daring Greatly":

"Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection and the path to the feeling of worthiness. If it doesn’t feel vulnerable, the sharing is probably not constructive."

Both Feyre and Tamlin were afraid of vulnerability, thinking it would expose their weaknesses rather than heal their bond. This is part of why their relationship fell apart.

7. On Emotional Isolation Post-Trauma:

National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD Fact Sheet:

"Trauma survivors may feel detached or estranged from others. They may avoid close relationships or feel emotionally numb, which can make it difficult to connect with loved ones."

This highlights how Feyre, in particular, felt emotionally detached and distanced herself from Tamlin, contributing to the breakdown of their relationship.

8. On Mutual Coping with Trauma in Relationships:

Susan M. Johnson, "Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love":

"Trauma survivors in relationships often either withdraw or become overly controlling as a way to manage their overwhelming emotions. Without understanding this cycle, couples can become trapped in mutual avoidance."

This captures the essence of Feyre and Tamlin’s post-trauma dynamic—Feyre withdrawing emotionally and Tamlin becoming more controlling, both as coping mechanisms to deal with their trauma.

This was genuinely one of the hardest essay arguments I've written, I've spent 2 days writing this, that's why I didn't post anything these past few days. I hope this was precise enough and of course If you have anything to add don't hesitate to tell me! Thank you!!💞

[asukamood]

Mock Trial (fmaa2)

***

We have seen what the Creepypasta Squad were up to, so it is about time we explained where the JR trio has gone.

As I explained in earlier one-shots, Dream is a lawyer but as a workaholic he decided that he was not suffering enough and is also a teacher.

Ink and Finch are both students of Dream even though Ink and Dream see each other as friends more than anything, Ink is in his latest year.

***

Warnings: Triggered PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Synopsis: Dream ignored the commotion created by the topic and continued. “I will send you all the details about the mock trial and the fake evidence that would be used during it. Only a handful of you would be able to participate and I trust that you will settle this matter among yourselves.”

Then, he glanced at Finch with a hint of worry. “Also, you are totally entitled to choose not to participate if you feel strongly about the topic.”

***

“We’ll be having a mock trial next week.” Dream announced at the end of the class, gathering his papers. “The topic would be quite the difficult subject as it involves modern slavery.”

A few groaned at that. “What?! That is the most complex one! There are so many topics, of all of them, why this one?”

Finch, however, seemed to be glued to his words; hands curled into fists that rested on the desk as he stared into the teacher. He had been waiting for this, taking this kind of case was why he went for a law degree in the first place.

He noticed his fist shaking and he frowned at them, holding one with the other.

That is what he was here for, he could take it just fine.

Dream ignored the commotion created by the topic and continued. “I will send you all the details about the mock trial and the fake evidence that would be used during it. Only a handful of you would be able to participate and I trust that you will settle this matter among yourselves.”

Then, he glanced at Finch with a hint of worry. “Also, you are totally entitled to choose not to participate if you feel strongly about the topic.”

He turned back toward the rest of the class, the student pretending not to have noticed the staring. “If you have any questions, you are free to ask me while I’m still here, we have quite some time before the bell rings.”

Used to Finch always bombarding the professor with questions, the other students crossed their arms, waiting for Dream’s usual ‘Yes, Finch?’

However, it never came.

“Very well, you are free to leave then.” Dream dismissed them, a handful of people turning a wide-eyed face toward Finch, who did his best to ignore the stares.

It was fine, perfectly fine.

***

Finch was just on his way to get lunch when he suddenly overheard a conversation between other students. “Professor Von Licht’s comment was definitely directed at Finch.” One of them stated with disdain, causing Finch to freeze.

“Well, duh!” The other one replied, rolling their eyes. “He was definitely looking at him when he said that. Cannot see the point by the way, it is just a mock trial, it’s no big deal. Does he think he is some sort of baby or something?”

“I think it is more because Professor von Licht so obviously favors Finch. I mean seriously, he might as well be his secret child or some shit at this point!” Said one stood around the corner, hidden as he held onto his wallet a bit tighter.

“Yeah, he is definitely showing bias toward him. Hey, do you think that is why he has such good grades?”

“Now that you say it, yes! I knew that no one could get those without cheating in some type of way.” Finch was so busy listening to their conversation that he did not even notice a figure walking past him straight toward the group.

“Could you guys shut the fuck up?” A wild Ink butted in, looking annoyed. “I was trying to enjoy my lunch. Besides, I don’t think you should be talking shit about people behind their back, that’s a coward move.”

One of the students narrowed their eyes on him. “It’s none of your business. Who are you anyway?”

“You guys are talking louder than a wailing toddler so yes; it is my business. If you didn’t want anyone to butt in, then maybe you should have considered lowering your voice.” Ink rolled his eyes, one of his fists resting on his hip. “As for who I am, someone better, obviously.”

The man of the group raised his voice. “Why you--”

Before one of his companions grabbed his arm, hissing. “Stop it, Nathaniel.” She glanced back at the shorter one. “It’s Ink.”

Realization seemed to creep up and he finally gritted his teeth, letting out an aggressive ‘whatever!’ before his group walked away.

Finch flinched as the older man snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Oh uh, yes? Do you need anything?”

“Are you that Finch guy they were talking about?” He asked, crossing his arms around his chest, a sketchbook tucked under his elbow.

“I am.” He confirmed, looking down, slightly awkward.

“Next time you hear them talking shit, you should punt them in the face. Would save me the effort of shutting them up myself.” Was all he said before he walked away, not leaving Finch the time to respond.

Well, that was... an interesting encounter.

***

Today was the day.

Finch walked to the establishment as he usually would, additional bags under his eyes. He was not one with healthy sleeping habits to begin with but the anxiety excitement of seeing the sun rise today was just one additional factor as to why he had to ignore sleep.

After some convincing with his classmates, he managed to get the role of the plaintiff, the role he would hopefully be playing in the future when he graduated.

The only difference is that this time, there would be real victims counting on him to get them out of here.

He shook his head to get the thought out of his head before stepping into the auditorium.

Since it was quite early, Finch was not surprised to see that no one had arrived yet. After all, he did always make a point to be in class at least twenty minutes before the actual class started while the others would be busy trying to avoid looking at the clock.

He could not really blame them though, some of them looked like they were forced to be here.

Normally, the empty room would have given him peace of mind, the calm atmosphere working wonders on his soul. But today, it seemed like it was doing the opposite.

He tapped his finger onto the bar stool, hoping to distract himself from his tight chest with the noise. Seeing that it did little to relieve him, he opened his bag and took out the files that the professor had sent them all about the trial they would be playing for.

He swept his gaze over the details for the millionth time, muttering the information under his breath before they could be taken in by his irises. He had already memorized the whole case.

That meant he was prepared for it academically.

Finch just hoped that his mental state would follow that example.

“Well damn, you really are a mini Teach.” A voice interrupted his train of thoughts, jolting him away from his daydreaming. He looked around him, but the room was as empty as he had noticed before.

He frowned. “Who is there?”

“Look up, loser.” Looking up he did, and Finch almost choked on air as he recognized the man from before hanging by his legs from the lights.

“What the—How did you even--” Finch stumbled on his words before he shook his head, gaining back his composure. “You should get down from there, you might fall.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes before he jumped down, somehow making a perfect landing. He crossed his arms behind his head before he started walking away.

Again, Finch ended up all alone with this time even more questions than before.

Ha vaguely wondered if he should be used to this.

***

Before long, the bell rang, and students came flooding into the auditoriums. Most simply ignored Finch being there early, which had been the norm, before they all sat down in their usual seats.

It did not take long for most of them to notice the special arrangements in the middle of the room.

“Greetings everyone.” Dream walked into the room, causing most of the student body to stand up. The teacher smiled before quietly motioning for them to sit down. The first ten minutes of the class were spent like a regular one before Dream finally decided to start the mock trial.

“Have you all chosen the participants?” At the affirmative response he got, he walked toward what could be assumed to be the judge’s seat, sitting down on the chair.

“Can the plaintiff, the defendant and the jury take their seats then?” A few students stood up and walked over to the miniature courtroom, sitting down. Dream’s eyes held a glint of concern as he noticed Finch taking a seat, but it quickly disappeared to his usual stoic expression.

“We may begin then.” A religious silence swept over the room. Dream turned toward the student playing the baliff at his side, who nodded before turning toward the audience.

“Please rise.” The players stood up as requested. “The Court of the Second Judicial Circuit, Criminal Division, is now in session, the Honorable Judge Dream presiding.”

Dream smiled encouragingly.

“Do you solemnly, sincerely, and truly affirm and declare that you will conscientiously try the charges against the Defendant, and you will decide them according to the evidence. You will also not disclose anything about the Jury's deliberation other than as required by law.”

***

He should have been ready.

He should have been.

His hands were trembling on the table as they had entered the cross-examination stage of the trial.

“He said he would hit me if I didn’t cooperate.” His classmate stated before they suddenly began to blur, their figure overlapping with one much shorter than they were.

‘She’ looked over to a younger Dream, who was sitting across from ‘her’ in panic as ‘she’ desperately fought off the urge to cry. He gave ‘her’ an encouraging smile. ‘She’ took a deep breath, imagining ‘she’ was just speaking to Dream and counting ‘her’ story.

“So, I listened...” ‘Her’ voice shook but ‘she’ tried not to let it get to ‘her, gulping down before starting again. “But after I completed the task, he got mad at me and--”

‘She’ was starting to feel ‘herself’ back into that horrendous room, ‘she’ never wanted to go back there ever again. “And he took my eye-”

A desk slam made ‘her’ flinch as ‘she’ looked up toward the noise. ‘Her’ eyes widened as ‘she’ met the furious gaze of the man ‘she’ feared the most.

“You ungrateful brat!” He screamed, ‘her’ ears ringing. “You would have been on the streets if it weren’t for me!” He leaped toward ‘her’ earning a terrified scream from the child. The officers who have been stationed there jumped into action, their hands in the air as they tried to reason with the furious man.

Meanwhile, the baliff called order to the court on top of the chaos, Dream having rushed to Finch’s side to calm ‘her’ down.

“Hey Finch, why did you not object there? That was totally a hearsay!” The person next to him exclaimed, looking annoyed. At the lack of a response from the other, they turned around, only to notice his violent shaking and irregular breaths. “Uh Finch? Are you all right, dude?”

Dream took notice of that, and his eyes hardened as he stood up from the judge’s seat. “Everyone, please stay in your seat. I will be right back.” He walked over to Finch and led him away under the questioning looks of his classmates.

‘She’ sniffled as ‘she’ held onto Dream’s hand for dear life, wiping at ‘her’ tears as the noise gradually subsided. While he might have been out of view and reach now, ‘she’ could still hear him threatening to kill ‘her’ in ‘her’ head.

‘Her’ missing eye felt like it was burning.

‘Her’ breath sped up as ‘her’ sobs got louder, ‘her’ ears ringing again with the sound of ‘her’ own screams destroying ‘her’ earbuds as ‘she’ remembered getting pinned to the ground, a figure growling as sharp pain made itself known through ‘her ‘eye.

‘She’ was going to die here.

“...ch!”

‘She’ could feel the darkness staring into ‘her’, ready to swallow ‘her’ whole and leave nothing behind.

“...Inch!”

It hurt, it hurt so--

“Finch!”

He jolted awake, vision blurry and breathing haggard. Meeting Dream’s concerned eyes, he tried to say something only for his voice to be caught in his throat, choking as he felt his head spinning from the lack of oxygen.

“Finch, I need you to copy what I’m doing, alright?” Finch nodded to show he was paying attention and Dream began to inhale exaggeratingly before holding his breath. Dream kept going for a while, waiting for Finch to follow his lead.

It was tough at the beginning, but he eventually calmed down enough to breathe properly, sniffing ever so slightly. The older one handed him a tissue and he gladly accepted it, wiping at the tears he had not noticed had the time to fall.

He sucked in a deep breath before he lowered his head. “I’m sorry.” He choked out after a few tries, almost getting sent right back to bawling town.

Dream frowned. “What are you sorry for?”

“I’ve ruined the trial.” He said, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know why I’m like this.”

Dream shook his head before he cupped Finch’s cheek and made him look toward him. “The only person you need to apologize to is yourself for not respecting your own boundaries.”

He opened his mouth to protest. “But-”

“I know that helping others out of forced labor is your final goal.” Dream declared, cutting him off. “It is quite a noble one and I do encourage you to pursue it. However, there is no way you can help anyone lost at sea when you are drowning yourself.”

Finch stayed silent at that before he looked down again. “Am I... ever going to ready to do this?” Uncertainty was laced in his voice.

“Yes.” Dream responded with confidence. “You will, but first you’re going to need to help yourself first.”

“Are you sure? I mean today was a disa--” Dream held up one of his hands and he cut himself off again.

“We have hundreds of students in the same class, and you still have a few years before you finish your studies.” He stood up, extending a hand to help Finch up too. He did not even notice they were sitting in the first place. “There would be other mock trials, and there would be plenty more opportunities for you to practice.”

Finch took his hand and stood up as well.

“But you can only take advantage of said opportunities if you are healed enough to. I might sound like a hypocrite, but health must be your priority and that includes mental health as well.” Finch nodded.

“I understand.” Dream smiled in response.

“Very well, in that case, let us go back. I would also have to ask you to step down from this mock trial for now and let someone else do it.”

Finch wanted to protest but it was for the best, so he nodded anyway.

“I’m sorry...” ‘She’ sobbed against Dream’s chest, clutching onto the front of his shirt. The latter petted ‘her’ head as ‘she’ buried ‘herself’ in his embrace.

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.” He attempted to soothe ‘her,’ voice gentle. “You did the right thing; you were very brave to come testify yourself. I am proud of you Finch.”

[steveharrington]

Sarah! Happy Birthday! I recently reread "things to come" since it's a personal all time favorite, and while it's both amazingly written and structured, there was just this "something" it had that made me go gooey in every way. It took awhile to really pinpoint what it was but I realize that it's how you view and characterize Steve as a whole. I know there's a largely accepted headcanon of Steve having unhealed trauma, unhealthy habits, and PTSD (very reasonable because all of the characters have been through so much), but in a lot of the other fanfiction works I've read, his episodes or possible symptoms are depicted in a very fetishistic way. In a way he is "babygirlified", or put into a submissive role that is more like an uncomfortable caricature of who he really is. This has shown up in general works as well as NSFW work.

Everyone is free to interpret things how they choose, but I have a particular itch I must scratch since I'm a lover of psychology and the affects of mental illness on the brain. I also actually really support the adopted headcanon of the Stranger Things characters developing some form of post traumatic stress as a result of the continuous near death experiences they've faced.

A direct quote explaining Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or C-PTSD: "Survivors with Complex PTSD have a very difficult time with emotions -- experiencing them, controlling them, and for many, just being able to comprehend or label them accurately..." [beautyafterbruises.org] this website actually does a great job of explaining the affects of this illness if you ever want to read about it.

This can be labelled as Emotional Disregulation. The symptoms and reactions aren't something to be romanticized: episodes can cause one to lash out in defense, lie for fear of what "is" or what they suspect is happening (could be a physical or emotional flashback), isolate themselves to feel "safe", dissociation and a low self esteem, guilt delusions that have your entire body feeling "wrong", an inability to see yourself as anything other than bad or shameful or different even when told otherwise, issues with memory. Your brain is working on a completely different level than someone else; all the cogs working ten times harder.

And I think there's just such a human beauty to how you depict Steve [as well as the other characters] because I very much see reflections of the real side of this illness in your characterization. Intentional or not. Yes, he is flawed: he was a bully, he lies, he makes mistakes, he gets defensive, and he pushes and pushes until his body can't bear it anymore. On all accounts, it makes sense why he's so willing to give himself up at any given chance and I wouldn't be surprised if he expects the people he loves to abandon him. Steve may be damaged, but he makes up for it in his loyalty and character. He tries and tries, a protector through and through, he's understanding and soft, kind and blessed with a snarky attitude, he loves deeply and gives it his all even when it's unrequited. Most importantly though, despite Steve being a contender for mental illness in this form, you still stay true to him as a person. He isn't boiled down to be this one dimensional post it note of a character. You've executed this with all of the cast actually - they feel fleshed out and real and so so human. You emphasize the importance of connection, of care, of patience and understanding. Whether that's through his friendship with Robin, his interactions with Jim and Wayne, or his relationship with Eddie. To have true friendships, people that truly care to sit with you through the ugly side of things, it's amazing. You've written a delicious piece of literature that has so many layers; I still find myself studying how you did it. But I'm so glad you did. I cannot wait to read your newest update as I'm sure it will be just as good as the last. This message extends to @lesbianrobin since they seem to be your "partner in crime", blessed thanks to the both of you.

🧜‍♂️

THANK YOU this is so sweet and means so much to me <3 :’) i spend so much time thinking abt how everything that’s happened would affect steve, and if the show doesn’t want to talk about it then i will!!! i was also a psych major so i am glad i can at least use my degree to write stranger things fanfiction hehe

[pluraldeepdive]

System.

(Disclaimer: This is a post contains summaries of archived events that took place in the past. DO NOT harass or send hate towards anyone mentioned. Discourse will NOT be tolerated.)

In the context of multiplicity, the term 'system' most likely originated within the medical field. Very early usages can be found as far back as the 1900s. 'System' is used several times in conjunction to dissociation of the personality or dissociative identity disorder (formerly MPD or multiple personality) within many works such as Goodhart and Sidis (1905), and Janet (1907). Unlike modern usage, older sources often refer to both individual alters and the whole group of alters as systems.

This doesn't mean 'system' wasn't used for anything else, though. It's a very broad word used to describe many things, especially processes in the brain. "Multiple consciousness is not the exception, but the law. For the mind is synthesis of many systems, of many moments consciousness. The phenomena of multiple personality are due to disintegration of mental synthesis, to dissociation of many complex systems," Sidis and Goodhart describe in their book on multiple personality (1905). 

With an increase in MPD diagnoses throughout the 1970s and 1980s, there seemed to be a shift in the usage of 'system.' It became more common to use system, internal system, or personality system to delineate just the collective parts that make up the dissociative person. The term was seeing regular usage within the research and psychotherapy of dissociative disorders. As a better understanding of DID developed, treatment began to put an emphasis on seeing the dissociative patient as a system of equally important parts rather than only acknowledging the perceived 'original person', which is likely how the term 'system' came to be so important in conjunction to DID. 

To give some examples: Braun's (1986) book on the treatment of DID consistently highlights the importance of seeing a person with alters as a system. "In order to make planned interventions in the psychotherapy of MPD it is necessary to have a map of the system," explains another publication. "The purposes of mapping the system, as stated to the patient, are to get to know all the alters, to understand their positions in the system, to ensure that no one is ignored and to begin negotiations between alters on a solid footing, with a clear knowledge of everyone's interests" (Ross and Gahan, 1988).

Many Voices Press, a long-running newsletter for people recovering from trauma and dissociation, expresses that 'system' is a word frequently used within publications discussing the treatment of dissociation. In the 1996 issue's glossary, it's expresses that "the entire self (all alters) is frequently referred to as The System[.]" Following the emergence of the World Wide Web, early websites created by clinical nonprofits also encouraged the usage of 'system' in the context of DID. In 1998, Sidran Traumatic Stress Institute described a system as "all the aspects or parts of the mind in an individual with DID (MPD)" (X).

Outside of clinical contexts, the term 'system' had clearly earned an important place in the vernacular of people with dissociative disorders (DD). It played a vital role in communicating their dissociative experiences. This usage can be observed within older books, newsletters, forums, and websites created by dissociative people. "Many Voices," for example, shows that 'system' was being used by the dissociative community as far back as 1989.

Some examples:

[ID: A drawing by Jessie (part of Penny) created in 1992. The drawing is of a sailboat in the water, with birds flying in the distance. In the foreground, there is a fence and blades of grass. It’s signed by Jessie and Helpers. On the right, a message says “When memories get too overwhelming for me and everyone else in the system, we draw pictures of a peaceful safe place. The pictures help us calm down so we can process the memories more safer.” END ID]

[ID: A drawing by MS created in 1998. It’s of a person with shoulder-length hair, striking a confident pose. They are wearing a shirt with a heart on it. At the top it says “In honor of the system.” Around the person is various text that reads: “Worker’s common sense, Gladi’s compassion, Danny’s eyes + hands, Baby Pink’s smile, Mk’s heart, The kids’ playfulness, Julie’s stamina.” At the bottom it says “Strong Wise Selves.” END ID]

[ID: A drawing created in 1991 of two baby dragons and a large dragon in a forested area. One baby dragon is playing with a ball while another baby dragon is standing on a stump, holding the larger dragon’s hand. The text at the bottom says: “How does our system learn? The BIG dragons teach the LITTLE dragons! - By Sue K.” END ID]

You can view more info on terminology from the older dissociative community here. Deep diving the history of the plural community has taught me that ‘system’ isn’t a new term. It’s been used by dissociative people for a very long time.

Rainbow’s End, another older DID newsletter (published by First Person Plural), states that “the language used to describe the dissociative experience is various and individualistic.”

Following the emergence of the healthy multiplicity movement in the late 1990s and early 2000s, the context of multiplicity started to change and so did ‘system’. Radical figures who rejected psychology and mental diagnoses did not believe multiple personalities were a disorder, so they sought to detach multiplicity from DID. Part of this detachment involved people without dissociative disorders adopting the language often used to describe those disorders, save for terms that were deemed dehumanizing.

So, that’s when a large movement of people started saying they had multiple personalities and systems the same as DID, despite also saying they didn’t have DID or any dissociative disorder. You can read more about this here.

I want to clarify here, because I see a lot of misinformation about this in particular, the non-disordered plural community did not come up with the term ‘system’ on their own. It was explicitly adopted from the DID/OSDD community. Even the oldest non-disordered plurality websites often point towards DID/OSDD resources and literature where they first pulled the term (X).

What’s interesting is that even when ‘system’ was adopted by the non-disordered plural community, it wasn’t nearly as popular as it was with the dissociative community. The older non-disordered community preferred to use terms that emphasized their personhood such as household, family, crowd, community, etc. That’s not to say that they didn’t call themselves systems, though (X).

It seems like the 'system’ label became more widespread in 2012 as both the movement and the online community gained more recognition on social media platforms. You can read more about this here.

The term has definitely shifted over time. In the past, acknowledging you’re a system usually meant you were acknowledging each part/alter/headmate and taking responsibility as a whole collective. In present day, acknowledging you’re a system usually means you’re discovering you’re not the only person in your head. ‘System’ has shifted to become more of an identity in of itself, rather than an organization of identities. It’s become a synonym for multiple or plural. The focus is often on the parts/alters/headmates as individuals rather than on them as a collective. (Edit: This is discussed more in-depth in this podcast if you’re interested!)

As we all know, there is massive amounts of online discourse between those with and without dissociative disorders identifying as systems. Please do not use this post to argue over who does or does not have a right to use this term. Thank you.

[madmaddyenby]

/rp /dsmp

ok so- c!tommy. we are all aware he’s traumatized, and experiences ptsd from being in traumatic experiences, this is basically fact.  while i’d like to talk how c!tommy experiences ptsd, i’d like to bring up a thing i haven’t seen mentioned a lot when it comes to c!tommy and his trauma- c-ptsd.  also known as complex-ptsd.   it occurs when someone experiences something traumatizing for a period of time.

[image description: A screenshot of text with the words “CPTSD stands for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is a mental health condition in which a person might experience intense PTSD symptoms that coincide with other mental issues. CPTSD occurs in people who have been subjected to on going traumatizing experiences”. end description]

which, as we know, the exile arc fits the description of “ongoing traumatizing experiences” pretty fucking well.  the exile was basically just two weeks of trauma.  for a lot of reasons too, there was dream abusing tommy, tommy being isolated, tommys own depression/suicidal thoughts/bad mindset in general.   this would all be considered a ongoing traumatizing experience(s).  

ptsd is very similar to c-ptsd in how it develops, but ptsd occurs after one singular traumatizing event . (by the way, the event doesnt have to be life or death, it could be something like witnessing or hearing about a shocking event!!!)

symptoms of c-ptsd overlap with ptsd a good lot of the time, due to them both being trauma disorders.  however, there are a few differences.  here r some symptoms of c-ptsd, alot of which are ptsd symptoms that alot ofpeople with c-ptsd experience as well

reliving the traumatic experience

avoiding certain situations 

changes in beliefs and feelings about yourself and others

hyperarousal (jitteriness, being on alert, etc)

somatic symptoms (physical symptoms with no underlying cause)

lack of emotional regulation 

change in consciousness

negative self-perception

difficulty with relationships

distorted reception of abuser

loss of system of meanings

now, i’ll go over which of these fit our boy c!tommy, and how they fit for some of them atleast.  i will only be talking about the things that are a result from c-ptsd, but also c-ptsd works where it coincides with other mental illnesses a person has so.  its also important to note that within a person these symptoms might not stay the same over time, and not everyone who has c-ptsd or ptsd is going to experience it the same.   (so not talking abt how pain affects him after dying in the prison, though that is a clear sign of ptsd) 

reliving the traumatic experience

tommy’s done this with exile a few times, when revisiting logstedshire, when he saw the craters in logstedshire, when visiting dream in prison, when during the disc finale dream dug the hole and told him to put his armour in, etc etc, he’s even described himself as being trembly in the fingers near plain biomes, while visting logsted he mentioned how shaky it made him to be there, and when he visited logsted one time he had an immediate reaction to seeing a hole in the ground that came off as him reliving it. flashbacks come in from sensations during a traumatic event, like sight, feeling, emotion, etc, etc.  it seems like with these he’s experiencing more of a reliving the emotions kind of thing. 

avoiding certain situations 

i was originally not gonna include this one, but thinking about it, he kind of does in a way.   this symptom also includes keeping yourself preoccupied to avoid thinking about it, which is something c!tommy seems to do alot.  with focusing on building the hotel, and doing tasks, or grinding for supplies instead of actually thinking about it.  

changes in beliefs and feelings about yourself and others

c!tommy uh. does this a lot.  a lot of it stems from how during exile tommy was isolated and made to believe no one cared for him, and even if that wasn’t true c!tommy never really got much closure on that.  hes not really trusting ppl that b4 were really close to him, tubbo n ranboo for example

lack of emotional regulation

this can also be described as uncontrollable feelings.  this is the one i’ve wanted to talk about the most i think- because this is really fits c!tommy.  he tends to lash out alot, for example burning the flower c!ranboo gave him, there are a bunch more examples of this that include him yelling at others, that one time when he spleefed c!jack 

negative self-perception

yeah.  theres a few examples of this one, the one that first comes to mind is that time during the green festival where he was talking about how he was worse than everyone he didn’t wanna be (including his abuser, c!dream...) .  theres now when he was building his tower by the prison when he was saying he couldn’t use the cobble because it was too him, and people didnt like the cobble. alot of this i think comes from c!dream making him feel basically worthless in exile :(

difficulty with relationships

  Yeah. um.  Alot for this one!!! The first to come to mind is c!tubbo.  c!tommy and c!tubbos relationship is very very wonky, especially considering recent events with tommy feeling like he is being replaced with c!ranboo.  (which he isnt by the way! he just feels as though, which is a valid feeling for him to have :]) .  another person that comes to mind is c!ranboo.  he’s even mentioned how his and ranboos relationship goes back and forth quite alot.  its not very surprising to see that he has difficulty with relationships especially considering a lot of the reason that the exile affected him so badly was because he felt so alone and was so isolated from his friends.  another thing that comes to mind, is when he made c!sam sign that contract promising hat he’d be his best friend and protect him.  theres most likely way more that can be said here, but this is the first stuff that comes to mind.  

distorted reception of abuser

um... yeah.  this one.  this can also be described as , “ becoming preoccupied with the relationship between you and your abuser. It can also include preoccupation with revenge or giving your abuser complete power over your life. “  which is um.  yeah.  c!tommy.  he’s mentioned how whenever he’s around c!dream he feels like hes conditioned to be his friend (which. yea . he was .).  right after he left logstedshire this was very very prominent, he was the biggest c!dream apologist around (/j), saying things like “dream didnt do anything wrong” and even explaining how he wasnt sure about things when it comes to c!dream, that his mind became flip floppy whenever he thought about him.   right now, hes focused on getting back at c!dream, not fully for revenge, mainly for his friends and how he doesnt want c!dream to go around killing and reviving everyone, but the point still stands.  (this all makes me extra sad because he had gone to the prison the second time in the first place to get closure :(( )

loss of system of meanings

Systems of meaning refer to your religion or beliefs about the world.  This can also refer to getting a strong sense of hopelessness or despair about the world, which as of late mainly c!tommy seems to have.  mainly referencing in his stream where he visited dreams bunker, he was asking what the point was of finding things that made him happy if dream was just going to get out the prison and destroy it.  theres also a few things that also go with this, in one stream while he burnt down ponks lemon tree for sam nook he said  "thats still decaying, but yknow, arent we all." and that one time when he gave that hotel invitation to c!techno he was like “ahahha we could die tomorrow anyway” 

-

its also important to note that, “Any type of long-term trauma, over several months or years, can lead to CPTSD. However, it seems to appear frequently in people who’ve been abused by someone who was supposed to be their caregiver or protector. “ Which is.. fairly accurate in c!tommy’s situation.  c!dream might’ve not been a caregiver or protector necessarily but he was still someone that was looking after him yknow? 

there are most likely more things than what i layed out that show that c!tommy most likely also has cptsd, however this is just the stuff that i thought up :] add to the post if you’d like to!

(also this isn’t saying that c!tommy doesnt have ptsd, he had both ptsd and c-ptsd. also i am not an expert about ptsd, cptsd, or mental health in general, if i got any information wrong let me know)

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 6) (Yoonminjoon x Reader)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn't want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer. 

Tags: Hurt/comfort, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, themes of healing, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, themes of deception, complex characters 

W/c: 10.6k

Song Rec: Hozier ~ Eden

Series Masterlist 

An informative bulletin on Hybrid sense of Smell:

Out of all of the positives that hybrids inherit from their animal dna- their sense of smell is simply unparalleled. It’s one of the more peculiar and therefore interesting subsets of hybrid behavior. Hybrid sense of smell is just like any of the other senses though, in terms of the amount of sensory information contained, it is more on par with sight than the fragile human nose. It is possible that the vast majority of hybrid to hybrid communication is completely pheromonal. most scent glands are found on the wrists and neck.  

When an owner or human initially comes into contact with a hybrid, the flush of new sensory information will be hard to parse out for most hybrids (and all but those with the most sensitive smell). At first, a hybrid will only be able to sense if you are feeling “good” or “bad” the same way we can often only tell when food smells good or bad. 

But as time goes on, and hybrids become more accustomed to the particular hormonal balance of their humans they become more adept at deciphering their emotional state through their scent. Eventually, a person smelling simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ becomes “amused” and “contemplative” or any other host of emotions.  This is one of the reasons why hybrids make intense emotional partners, as hybrids become accustomed to their owners or pack mates and they become extremely attuned. Some hybrids are even able to smell their female owner's ovulation cycle and if they’re pregnant before the owner themselves. 

Scent is one of the most highly individualized parts of hybrid society, with no two hybrids smelling exactly the same (some exceptions can be made for close siblings and twins) scent-marking behavior is something commonly seen only between hybrids and their owners, as well as between hybrids in the same pack. As scent-marking leaves sort of an imprint of hybrid's emotional state on their partner. It is also a nonverbal queue for other hybrids “this person makes me very happy- please be kind to them for me” or “this is my human, please stay away” a negative impression will also be left on a human if they cause a hybrid distress.

Of course, certain species hybrids are more adept at this kind of empathy than others, with rabbit hybrids having the most sensitive sense of smell and therefore pungent scents, and most exotic hybrids including bird hybrids and snake hybrids, having a less sensitive nose and more mild scents which are harder to discern.

Many other tidbits of information can be conveyed through scents, weather a possible partner will be compatible for a heat/rut cycle, if they are upset and if they are injured or hurt, and their emotional state. There is even some debate that deception can be gleaned through scent (but that claim will need further research).

~~~~

- You wake with a start, started into wakefulness by a piercing shriek and then shouting. Out of all of the times you’ve suddenly woken out of a dead sleep this is by far the least violent. There isn’t anyone in your room but you, the covers overly warm, golden early morning light seeping through the windows, peaceful and idyllic. 

- it isn’t one of the times that your late husband had dragged you out of the bed, kicking and screaming because he’d found something on your phone, a strange charge on your credit card, or woken to the feel of him above you, or woken to his screaming at Namjoon. 

- You tell yourself that it’s just any other day, that this morning isn’t one of those. but your heart dosent understands that. thundering, your hands shaking. 

- The days when you wake up slowly in Namjoon’s arms- those are the best mornings. But Namjoon isn’t next to you- and somehow your heart won’t start shuddering. Namjoon isn’t here and you want him there and your mind somewhere else entirely as you shakily exit your bedroom, tying your robe around you deftly. 

- One benefit of living in an old house is that you can hear nearly everything that goes on, and you can hear Jimin's words below you “Yoongi- don’t look” 

- Sometimes- you still have days where you hate your bedroom. Days where you won’t cross over the threshold with Namjoon already there, his every presence comforting to you- willing away any bad thought that might arise, any trigger or memory. You’d painted the walls a different color- the dark green changed to a light pastel blue- but some of the memories still linger even though it looks different and far warmer than it did when it was your husband's old bedroom.

- Most of the positive change has to do with Namjoon’s presence, the countless pillows that he likes to sleep with, the fluffy throws, his organized but slightly wry shirts in your open closet, his small stack of parenting books by your dresser. It might be the same room you were hurt in, but it feels different most of the time, especially when you’ve got namjoon all stretched out in your bed, All of the peace you have starts and ends with Namjoon.

- But maybe that’s changing, maybe you find a certain calm in Yoongi and Jimin too. Jimin is the first one you see, sending you a panicked glance as Namjoon cleans his face of blood, trying to stand in front of Yoongi for whatever reason the snake hybrid looking a little paler than usual.

- You stumble to the bottom of the stairs in your thick fluffy robe, some of your hair sticking up at the back. You take one good look at the snake, rub your eyes a bit, and then turn to the cat hybrid sprawled in the grass. Your eyes are steely, unflinching as you help her up, ask if she’s okay. All the while, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin blink back the sleep from their eyes, not knowing what to do about the snake, hanging flayed open on your front door.  

- You take one long look at the snake too. All of you silent for a moment before you jump into action. “We’ll get this cleaned up before you get back with the others, wake Taehyung too if you wouldn’t mind? Tell him I’m calling a meeting before breakfast to make sure no one slips away for chores.”

- That Jimin understands, Many a time had he seen the younger and teenaged hybrids leave the table the second their plates where finished. Though he has to admit- this feels less like a prank gone wrong and more like I direct threat with the way Yoongi is blinking behind Namjoon, the other hybrid talking to him in his low voice. Hands out like they might touch him, Namjoon’s tail hanging low between his legs.

- You’re just about to turn away when Jimin grabs your arm. “There’s something you should know,” he’s quick to explain what happened last night, who kicked him out of his bed and the reason why he’d been asleep on your couch. Your mouth turns down the more he talks. “Bring Minhyung too okay? Are you okay lovely?” you keep Jimin’s hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

- The cat smooth’s out a wrinkle in her skirt and clears her butt of any dirt that might have gotten on it when she’d fallen backward, her tail flicks agitatedly “I’m okay miss, it just gave me a fright.”

- “I can’t imagine how none of us heard anything,” Namjoon says- finishing cleaning the blood from his face, thanking Yoongi for the towel. He looks a little shaken but mostly all right. “I know” Jimin agrees- “it was barely 10 feet from me and I didn’t hear it.” You grimace, still looking at the door and the snake, Namjoon finished wiping the blood off his face and you gesture for the rag.

- Jimin steps up “I’ll do it- you don’t have too” surprisingly the nail isn’t that deeply driven into the wood once Jimin gets over his initial squeamishness over handling the dead animal. Namjoon heads off as soon after Jimin gets it free to bury it in the garden. Still in his pajamas. You usher Yoongi upstairs while Jimin cleans the door of blood.

- You’ve been in Yoongi’s room a handful of times (when it was just your husband's house it used to be an office) but the dark blue walls fit Yoongi better now. His queen mattress pushed in the corner, an old ladder that Yoongi had repurposed hanging with half a dozen thick blankets and fluffy duvets, assorted space heaters and fans sitting on the desk pushed up against the foot of his bed. It’s cozy mostly- the curtains all drawn so the room feels more like a den or a cave. Dark- but warm and comforting, it feels safe even. 

- Now that Yoongi’s away from the others it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, raking his fingers through his hair and twitching a little, He can’t relax or standstill. You set a cup of coffee for him on his bedside table and linger. Unsure if you don’t want to leave him alone or if he wants to be to regroup for a second. “Yoongi” he turns and looks at you, and sometimes- like this time. It almost seems like Yoongi wants to say something to you- but just- can’t get the words out.

- You wonder more than you’d care to admit- if his muteness is selective or something physical. Namjoon wonders too, what his voice sounds like if his laugh is more of a giggle like Jimin’s or something crackling like Nam Joon.  “Do you-“ a little noise stops you, Yoongi’s hands clench and unclench by his side.

-  You reach out a hand unthinking, stopping a second before you actually cup his cheek. You and Yoongi are no stranger to almost touches, especially on his good days. Many times you’ve felt the almost brush of his hand on your lower back when you stand, sometimes you actually do feel it. 

-  You were no stranger to slight touches either, always in the secluded privacy of your garden or the house when it’s late and the curtains are drawn. In front of namjoon too. You’d linked pinky’s more than once over a bed of flowers when you were taking a break. as he fed you a sweet strawberry or green beans from the garden. The pad of his finger lingering on your lower lip for just a second too long to not be intentional.

- But never had you initiated the touch, not like this. Your hand cups his cheek and Yoongi leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. The bags under his eyes are almost black-purple. The scales under his chin feel cool under your fingers, only slightly smoother and cooler than the rest of his skin. 

- You’d asked Namjoon about it, pacing in your room after one day when you’d seen Namjoon watch you and Yoongi with a strange look on his face. You didn’t want to do anything that made him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it will always be Namjoon. You won’t leave him or hurt him- not ever if you can help it. Thought at the beginning, you feared you could hurt him by accident with Yoongi. 

- It was back when your baby bump had barely been visible- not like now when even your baggiest dresses barely conceal your bump. Nothing but a strategically placed pillow concealing Namjoon’s nakedness as he laid back in your bed late at night. Namjoon scrolling through his phone (new, a gift from you. though it will only last about a week until he decideds to try and ‘wash’ off the dirt that got on it and compeltly ruin it)

- You’d had minor disagreements over other hybrids in the past. Namjoon was mostly okay with you giving out pets like they’re one-dollar bills at the strip club. And was equally as nonplussed when some of the younger hybrids that don’t know any better cuddled close enough to you that you ended up smelling like them. But there had been one incident where one of the older canine hybrids had mistakenly scent marked you.

- Namjoon had been a little angry growling at you the second he’d smelled the fox’s scent on you and demanding you shower. Rightfully upset, he’d explained that that was practically a claiming mark. He’d been touchy and a little bit grumpy the rest of the week, an arm thrown around your waist whenever the other hybrid was around.  

- But Yoongi Doesn’t seem to upset him in the same way. “I don’t get what you’re so worried about- it’s fine- it’s not like he’s not part of our pack or a stranger.”

- You’d stopped where you’d been pacing a hole in your carpet. “What do you mean- apart of the same pack?” Namjoon sighed, tossing his phone to the side (he doesn’t quite understand that he needs to be gentle with it yet). “it’s like- it’s not the same as if it was a random farmer across the street- because it’s Yoongi and he’s one of us, it doesn’t make me feel possessive because he’s mine too you know?”

- They had been getting close recently, there aren’t many hybrids at the farm yet, and Yoongi, Taehyung, and Seokjin are the only ones who’ve stayed any length of time you’d consider significant. You’d woken alone late at night a few times in the last week and gone down to the living room lower level only to find Namjoon and Yoongi asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

- “But he’s not a canine hybrid Joonie? Don’t you only form pack bonds with other dog hybrids?” Namjoon shaking his head, ears flapping a little, “not at all, though it is rarer- and Yoongi won’t exactly feel it the same way I do, he’s still apart of this too.”

- It hits you like a truck, “you mean- you love him too?”

- You’d been meaning to ask Namjoon- if the pack bonds now extended to Jimin too, you had a feeling they did but it was probably better to ask…before anything more significant happens.

- You know that Yoongi is okay with touch as long as it’s not skin on skin and if he can control it. But you can’t not offer the affection now- not when you think it might help- not when Yoongi looks like he’s about ready to jump out of his skin with how afraid he is.

- You can tell his whole body is shivering but he doesn’t move to pull away when you lift up your other hand to slowly cup his cheek. He doesn’t move away when you get up on your tippy-toes to press your lips to his forehead. He smells soft and sweet like freshly done laundry. His hands come up too, loosely settling around your waist like he’s not sure he wants to pull you in for a hug yet.

- “We’ll get to the bottom of this yoongi, I promise” you give him one shorter squeeze and then separate. And Yoongi looks like he wants to keep holding you and also like he doesn’t. So you figure it’s best. You hover in the doorway, “take your time coming down today okay? We’ll have the meeting and then we can have breakfast up here if you’re not feeling up to being around the others today.”

- Your front door is clean, the light blue wood spotless when you come down the stairs, and By that time the cat hybrids have already returned to the kitchen. after changing into a loose knee-length dress, spotted with little flowers. It’s too hot for anything-tight today- but with your growing bump- everything feels tight. You’re only a few weeks away from the end of your second trimester, and you’re thankful that so far- you haven’t felt much morning sickness. You think you have a doctor’s visit later this week though- you’ll have to ask namjoon, he’s better at remembering that sort of thing than you are.

- One hybrid comes through the backdoor with a clutch of eggs from the chicken coop, the egg basket piled high, Jimin is with them too- holding a few eggs in his shirt- held out tight to make a basket, the cat hybrid smiles at you, “got almost 3 dozen today miss!”

- “Perfect for the frittata?” Jimin asks, unsure. “Quiche.” you and the cat hybrid correct at the same time. The three of you filing into the kitchen, Jimin careful not to break the eggs.

- A certain sleepy wolf hybrid is already sitting at your prep table, looking nervous, his scent souring when he sees you and Jimin. Jimin stays, this time crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets to watch Minhyung squirm. You sit down at the prep table across from him and pour him a cup of tea.

- He looks worried- sending a glance back and forth to Jimin and then to you. He knows what he did last night was wrong- and though Jimin can’t see any snake’s blood underneath his fingernails, the suspicion and dislike of the wolf hybrid still linger.

- But he doesn’t look like he’s trying to conceal anything. He just looks scared, eyes flicking from hybrid to hybrid, to the door and then the window and anywhere but at you and Jimin. Before the conversation’s even started, Jimin’s suspicion dissipates. While he agrees that Minhyung may be a dick, Jimin can’t believe that a hybrid would do this- they all know what discrimination feels like. Which is what makes their distaste of Yoongi particularly abhorrent.  

- “I hear you have a certain problem with how I treat Yoongi, Minhyung. Would you like to elaborate? Or maybe explain why you kicked Jimin out of the bunk room last night? Or why you left a snake nailed to my front door-“

- “What?! I didn’t- I promise that wasn’t me,” Minhyung is smart- he understands what the commotion this morning was about. By now Taehyung must have woken everyone up- must have already told everyone about the meeting. Jimin doesn’t know if they’ve ever had one before, but judging by the general tense atmosphere in the kitchen alone- it must not be a regular occurrence.

- “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Jimin, “I honestly thought you would be sleeping up here. I don’t sleep well and when you woke me up- I reacted badly.  I promise I’ll be kinder- just don’t- please don’t throw me out.”

- “It’s not up to me,” Jimin says, his voice small, he gives you a look- that he hopes you interpret as ‘it’s up to you- I’m done with this’ and leaves the room. Only to find Yoongi hovering just outside, hidden behind the wall listening in.

- Jimin hears you and Minhyung starting up the conversation again, mostly it's him speaking this time- talking about his old owner who used sleep deprivation as a tactic to make him obedient. You don’t say much, just listen sipping at your tea. Yoongi lifts a finger to his lips and hands Jimin a carefully folded piece of paper. “I don’t think it was him.” By now Jimin is used to the way Yoongi sometimes converses on paper when he needs to communicate.

- “Do you know who it was then?” Jimin whispers, Yoongi shakes his head, but there is something about the tilt of his eyes that Jimin can’t find it in him to trust. But if there is a reason that Yoongi has for lying to him- then Jimin will trust it’s a good reason.

- He goes back into the kitchen, summoning you; you stand and walk to the door so that you won’t be overheard. Teetering a little bit, you look a little shaky too like you aren’t quite awake. Maybe that’s it- or is there something else? A shakiness behind your eyes too? Jimin can’t decipher it. Minhyung stays there, sitting looking contrite and like he’s close to tears. Fiddling with his hands under the table.  

- “What are you going to do?” Jimin asks, Yoongi waiting too, his note crumpled in his fist. Namjoon comes thundering down the stairs in his work boots, looking intimidating as ever in all black. He must have snuck upstairs to change after he buried the snake in your garden. “I don’t know,” you say easily, crossing your arms over your baby bump, looking at Namjoon and sighing before you meet Jimin and Yoongi’s eyes. “Do you think he did it Yoongi?”

- Yoongi shakes his head, pursing his lips and Jimin decides that damn- he’s either a convincing liar or what he noticed earlier was just something else. Maybe Yoongi feeling uncomfortable. The buttons on his usual linen button-down aren’t buttoned right and his hair doesn’t have that usual perfectly swept out of his face look. Jimin is the only one still in his pajamas (which actually belongs to Yoongi) but he’ll try to change during the meeting.

- “If I throw him out there is a chance I could be punishing someone innocent, and if I let him stay there is a chance he could be guilty” Namjoon sits across the armrest of the old couch. “You’ve never thrown out someone before,” he says, bending down to tie his work boots.

- “No,” you say, eyes sharp on Namjoon, “but I’ve let you do it.”

- Namjoon freezes, standing up looking contrite, “I didn’t know you knew about that” Yoongi sends Jimin a panicked look; worried they’re about to witness some sort of fight between the two of you.  But you just raise an eyebrow at Namjoon looking more tired than annoyed. “I’m not angry, but this should always be a joint decision,” you fiddle with Namjoon’s sleeve, tenderly smoothing over the edge of it. “So it’s settled then?”

- “This isn’t only our home anymore” you peer into the kitchen, keeping part of your body hidden by the wall. Minhyung still sits hands underneath his thighs, his head snaps up, black ears still buried in his hair. “You can stay, I trust you know that if anything else happens…” you trail off, he scrambles up from the prep-table. “Well, I trust you’ll have more sense than that.”

- He scrambles up from the prep-table. Minhyung almost breaks his back bowing to you, promising that he won’t do anything, that he’ll be the perfect hybrid again and again before he’s off down the hill- back to change out of his pajamas.

- It’s a humid day out and it isn’t even sunny, the moisture in the air oppressive. The hybrids are sleepy- hair and ears ruffled from sleep, some of them in work clothes and some of them still in their pajamas.

- Jimin sees one of the little ones make grabby arms at Seokjin (who looks clean pressed as ever) and the alpaca hybrid heaves the young one up into his arms, where it promptly closes its eyes and leans on his wide shoulder- the perfect place for a nap. Seokjin blushes when the new hybrid from a few weeks back, the otter Hoseok, comes over to coo at the little doe hybrid. His hands smoothing up and down her spine.

- Someone gets you a step stool and though Namjoon makes a face- he lets you use it to climb up onto a table. His hands anxiously hovering around your waist to make sure you won’t fall, he whines. But you ignore his instincts to be overprotective. Jimin can see the tension in Namjoon’s arms- he seems so worried that you’re going to fall- it’s almost cute.

- “This morning, a snake was nailed to my front door.” This is greeted by a few murmurs, nervous glances, and internal cringes. You hold up a hand, and the gathered hybrids all fall silent again. “You should all understand what safety means for a hybrid, and the fact that you would make one of your own feel unsafe and unwelcome- it hurts me. Because I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of taking care of you if you’re lashing out at one of your own. Yoongi is not to blame for your hurt.”  

- Jimin is impressed by the way that you command their attention, The surrounding hybrids look scared; some look contrite, but most just look uncomfortable at being called out. They all know that Yoongi staying up in the main house and not in the barns isn’t a result of favoritism, but a necessity because of his inability to regulate his own body temperature. And even if you were playing favorites- it’s not like you don’t do the same with Namjoon?

- “If anyone has any complaints or is upset by the way I treat any one of you- you should come to me and talk about it. Not take it out on each other or my front door for that matter.” that gets a few chuckles out of the crowd. And it’s mostly the cat hybrids that have left the dishes in the kitchen to simmer rather than miss your announcement.

- After the meeting and breakfast, the four of you linger in the lower level of your house. The cleanup crew already blasting country music in your kitchen, and Jimin can see every twang of the country music irritates Yoongi and Namjoon

- Namjoon even making a small noise and rubbing his ears. You sigh, straightening out your dress on the bottom step, your hands shake a little. And you’re not the only one, Yoongi sits, his shoulders hunched. It only takes one glance up at them all for you to stop. Setting your sun hat back on the hook.

- “You know what- fuck this. We need to get out of here today.”

- All of you piling into your beat-up red truck, the same one Jimin had come to the farm in. Namjoon runs back in at the last moment to grab your purse. Yoongi and Jimin in the back two seats, a little cramped. Namjoon gets the front on account of his long legs. None of you talk about a destination as you make a three-point turn rather than try and back out of your near mile-long driveway.

- Not one hybrid lounging in the fields or moving about had given them so much as a look when you’d drove down the long hill. Pausing at the end only because Taehyung was nearby, the hybrid calling to you and trotting over to lean at your car door, his smile as happy as ever. Bear ears flickering in the holes cut out of his baseball cap.

- “Want to come with?” you offer, but Taehyung just shakes his head, “Nah my queen needs me” he tilts his head back in the direction of the bee hutches. is it Jimin’s imagination, or do you look a little crestfallen? “Need anything?” you’d proffered. He’s so tall he has to slouch to be at face level with you. Taehyung doesn't ask where you’re going, only looks as Yoongi leans over the front seat to fiddle with the radio, as if judging how affected the snake hybrid is by what transpired this morning. he flicks from channel to channel trying to find a song he likes. “Nothing really, maybe some more jars for honey if you can find them?”

- You nod softly “that I can do.” Taehyung steps back and waves as you pull out of the gates of the farm. And Jimin feels anticipation build underneath his skin. He’d rarely ever been outside of his old home before and now- now he was leaving the farm too- the destination uncertain.

- “Please don’t speed,” Namjoon says, Yoongi leans back from the radio, finally settled on some song with a low thread beat, more musical than anything else. The snake seems to vibrate with the force of the music and between that, the sound of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows, Namjoon has to shout to be heard. The wind tickles, but it’s the only relief from the muggy June heat since your air-conditioning is busted.

- You smile at him lightly; at 10am on the dusty dirt road there isn’t a sing soul with you on the road. You gun it. Namjoon grips the handle on the roof looking green, but when jimin looks over and sees you and Yoongi smiling at Namjoon’s queasy ness- his anxiety dissipates. It doesn’t matter that your truck is rusty and that you’re barely going over 40 in a 35- to Namjoon, one mile over the speed limit is breaking the law. 

- You stop at the drive-through before you get on the highway, iced coffee for Yoongi, blended lemonade for Jimin, a hot chocolate for Namjoon (a travesty when it’s this hot) and an iced tea for you. The yellow lemons in your tea Jiggling with the ice as you hit potholes with little care for your truck. Yoongi leaning over periodically to change the song. Namjoon telling Jimin what genre is playing when he confesses he doesn’t know one, “is it jazz or ska?” Yoongi holds up two fingers- indicating the second choice, Namjoon nods. 

- You look over your shoulder- sharing a special secret glance with jimin, rolling your eyes a little. Now he understands why you rarely ever play music when you work- if you did yoongi would get up to change the music every few seconds. 

- “So where are we going?” you tap your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to turn south onto the highway. “Probably not the beach, but maybe the State park? What do you think Joonie?”

- “I wouldn’t mind the state park, it’s got a pretty view” Jimin tries not to let his Disappointment show, especially when Namjoon turns to Jimin, sensing the whine that died in his throat. Yoongi nudges Jimin's foot with his own. The light turns green and you start to turn onto the highway. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

- “What!?” you and Namjoon shout in tandem, you lurch to a dead stop, suddenly turning, around instead of just turning left. Yoongi turning to jimin mouth open.  “Yeah- I’d never- I’d only been outside of like one block before coming to you?” Yoongi shakes his head as you get going the opposite way on the highway- getting into the slow lane because your truck just can’t handle going over 60 no matter how much you want it to be able to do that. “You don’t have to” Jimin tries to say; you smile when you glance over your shoulder at him. “I’m already on the highway Jimin.”

- Jimin pretends it doesn’t make his heart hurt a little bit to see you change so easily for him, the truck thudding along. Yoongi holding out the last half of his ice coffee for Jimin to try, smiling when he makes a face at the bitterness. You hold out your ice tea too, trading it for a sip of Jimin’s frozen lemonade. Namjoon offering him, but you being a little snarky, “sorry babe but I don’t think anyone but you want a hot chocolate in the middle of June.”

- Namjoon turns his full lanky body in your direction, thighs bulging out on the pleather, tipping his back and out of the window. “It just makes me unique,” you swallow, and jimin sees how viscerally you’re affected by the long line of him stretched out in the front seat of your car.

- Yoongi’s writes something on his notepad and handing it over to Jimin. “Yoongi wants you to know that you’re as unique as a dog sticking his head out the window of a car.” Namjoon scoffs, you laugh, Namjoon’s smirk as he looks at Yoongi is shy, and Jimin knows how that feels- the pride you feel at being known enough to be teased. “At least I know the difference between Ska and jazz now, that has to count something for uniqueness.”

- Jimin scoffs, “you gonna keep an imaginary tally or something?” Namjoon flicks his ears in Jimin’s direction, grinning, happy to be teased. “Yes- we can keep track, start being really weird like cutting our shirts into crop tops and painting them and shit,” 

- “Oh please do that,” you say, and it’s a surprisingly attractive offer. Jimin has seen Namjoon’s stomach, all hard lines, and juicy skin when it pulls up or when it gets really hot and he takes off his shirt. And he can’t say he disagrees and judging by the high blush on Yoongi’s cheeks, he dosent either. All of you laugh with the way that Namjoon blushes and grumbles and fiddles with the edge of his shirt. The puppy is just too easy to tease. 

- After some prodding, Jimin is tempted to lean his head out of the window too, and when he does he has to admit- looking down the narrow stretch of highway, eyes watering, his ears getting battered like hell because of the wind.  It is worth it, his sensitive nose catching bits of something that smells like salt and fish the closer you get.

- Even Yoongi is tempted to do the same, though he might not get the same amount of joy the dog hybrids get from sticking their heads out the window. The wind sending his hair all windswept against his forehead. Curling because of the humidity. 

- Yoongi’s tongue sticks out a little, as a snake hybrid his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as Namjoon and Jimin’s, but it’s better when he can taste the air, the saltiness thicker the closer you get to the coast. Namjoon and Jimin’s tails wag out a rhythm on the seats.

- The beach is absolutely beautiful, the waves rolling and curling light blue but stormy the further out you go, Namjoon leaves his workboots in your truck and Jimin gets his knees and shorts all dirty in the sea spray, Yoongi declining to join in the water, writes that the salt makes his scales feel sticky and sits in the sand with your and Jimin’s shoes. Content to lean back and watch.

- Namjoon holding your hand to keep you steady as you dip your feet into the spray, your dress wiping in the wind. Jimin going crazy with excitement for a moment before he kicks at the spray and chases a few seagulls. None of you brought your swimsuits but Jimin dunks his full body once you gesture for him to take off his shirt so it won't get wet. You and Namjoon seem to have enough fun just dipping your feet in the cold water- but Jimin can’t get enough of the ocean now that he’s seen it. The way the waves curl, the thunder, the sharpness of salt on his tongue.

- He gets to knee height, and then to stomach height, the water is cold and a little unpleasant, but it’s worth it for the way the small waves ripple around him. Looking down at his body in the sea spray Jimin realizes- he doesn’t have a single bruise left on his body. It’s been some time since he came to stay at the farm and besides a few scars and aches, he doesn’t have a single mark on his body from what happened to him.

- The marks that lie underneath his skin- on Jimin’s soul could never go away as easily as that- but for a moment, he lets himself believe that the water could wash away even the wounds unseen. The last few weeks have taught Jimin that it’s not that easy, but if grief is the cousin of healing then Jimin will let himself feel sad about this if it means he can hope that one day he’ll barely feel broken.

- When he submerges his body and feels the drag of the ocean out to see, he lets himself imagine that the ocean is taking something from him and dragging it to a deep place where it can weigh on him anymore. And maybe when he gets his head above water- he feels a tiny infinitesimal bit better. but only time will tell if it actually makes it better. Jimin is on his way to healing and he knows he only needs time. 

- When he gets back out, he almost stumbles in the surf and looks back at the beach, where the three of you are waiting for him. The three of you watch him separate himself from the waves. Your eyes going up and down his chest. Yoongi looking away after a moment. Writing on his pad of paper and scribbling it out angrily after a moment. Handing it over to Jimin

- “Feel better?” “Yeah- it’s” he shakes his body, ears flopping and sticking to his wet hair, the seawater beading in the sand. “It's nice in there. You should go in” “next time,” Yoongi writes. “You look a lot better Jiminie,” Namjoon says, handing over his flannel so that Jimin can use it to dry off. “What do you mean?” you stand to poke playfully at Jimin’s little poochy tummy, “you’ve gained a lot of weight you look healthy, I love it. ”

- He feels the fire in his cheeks, your words making his heart stutter. “Just one second” he turns away and hides his blush in Namjoon’s flannel, a high-pitched and very loud whine building in his chest or something like the need to scream swallowed by his throat because- ah fuck. He’s feeling something he shouldn’t be, isn’t he? But he must make some noise because you’re all laughing, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he hides his smile behind his hand.

- Before he’s turning back and handing it back to Namjoon face redder than a tomato. The other hybrid doesn’t say a thing about how it’s soaked in both water and Jimin’s scent, he Just ties it around his waist like Jimin’s scent clinging to him is the most natural thing in the world.

- You go back to the car so Namjoon can get his shoes, you talk about heading back but Yoongi isn’t ready to leave, wants to stay a little bit longer. You walk along the boardwalk; you buy some fried food that the three of you snack on, cyclone potatoes, and fried clams. Yoongi crunches into them happily, his cute little fang curling around his lip.

- Eventually, the boardwalk turns from games and restaurants into a small flea market, kitschy decorations, an overpriced Pepsi sign from the 1950s, a table made out of a glass coffin, curling horns mounted from some sort of creature. You mill about when your phone rings, shrill. “Hey Tae, what’s wrong?” you fiddle with a glass wall hanging; the stained glass fashioned to look like a cherry. Prattling onto Taehyung over the phone as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin look through the tables of knickknacks.

- Yoongi eyes a silk dress shirt- Kind of garishly patterned. As behind them, a little girl points in their direction. There aren’t many other hybrids out on the boardwalk today, so Namjoon smiles at her, his scarred lip always moves a little less than the rest of his face, and the little girl’s mother pulls her closer and moves on quickly. Namjoon’s smile falls crestfallen.

- But as quick as the disquiet comes Yoongi is making him laugh by showing him a figurine- a piggybank that looks like a butt, the crack a hole for a coin. And the moment is forgotten. Most of the time- Jimin forgets what Namjoon must look like to the others, the scars that stretch, one from his jaw to halfway up to his cheek, another across and eye, and the newer one- from his chin to his lip.

- Jimin spies a weird metal holder, a sun on the front, mostly rusty, weird holes and test tubes set up so that they can stand in the holes. The man who runs the stand comes over to him.  He’s not unkind to them, seems to be something of an outcast himself with his tattoos and gauged piercings. He greets jimin with a wide smile. “It’s meant for flowers, the test tubes hold one a piece” Namjoon smiles at him too. Sidling up behind Jimin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s warmth splaying over half his back “how much is it?”

- By now it's no secret how much Jimin loves flowers, a love both of you share (Yoongi’s thing is more vegetables). “Namjoon you don’t have too- I don’t need it” he looks like he’s about to say something, Yoongi scrawling something but before either of them can say anything, you get off the phone a few feet away. Pinching the bridge of your nose and their attention is diverted.

- You look substantially more stressed and they don’t need to ask what happened. “Apparently everything goes to shit when we’re gone, but a fuse blew in the house and now none of the refrigerators are working. We also got another call but the old owners are gonna drop the hybrid off later tonight. And apparently, a goat got into the garden but Seokjin got to him before he’d done any damage.” Yoongi looks about ready to run back into the truck at that.

- “Probably because he was distracted running after that otter hybrid again” you slap Namjoon’s arm good-naturedly. “Hush they’ve got crushes, and you remember what that’s like right?” Namjoon glances at Jimin and then at Yoongi, “yeah- I think I do.”

- As you’re on the way out you pass by the fruit section of the flea market- the place that is more a farmers market at the edge of the boardwalk. “those watermelons look good” you divert your course, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, “next thing I know her cravings are going to have me putting watermelon in sour cream soon”

- “That doesn’t seem like a bad combination at all” Yoongi makes a disgusting face, suddenly freezing when he looks over your shoulder, someone walks close to him, nearly knocking into Yoongi and his scent, disquieted and afraid fluffs towards Namjoon and jimin, they hover- instantly surrounding Yoongi while you are unaware. 

- Which is fine- you’re not a hybrid and you can’t smell Yoongi’s distress like they can, you’re distracted by the lady who owns the stand coming upfront to greet you. Namjoon shrivels his nose, the smell of cigarettes permeating and making it hard for him to smell anything else.

- He tries to waves his hands and tell Namjoon and Jimin he’s fine but they won’t listen, the two of them stand on either side of him, staying close but not touching Yoongi- keeping anyone else in the crowd from coming close.

- You start talking to the woman who looks like she owns the stand. she gives one of the watermelons a hearty slap and yoongi flinches. She’s got long black hair and a wide smile- but she looks nice. She makes a wry comment about your baby bump and the watermelons, which you laugh about good naturedly about even if it is a little rude in Jimin’s opinion. Saying that you’re not at the true watermelon part of your pregnancy yet.

- In the end- you part with 10 (for everyone on the farm- it can never hurt to have easy snacks like watermelon in storage) and a half-bushel of their assorted vegetables. As much as you want to be completely self-sustainable your vegetable garden isn’t nearly ready to support every hungry mouth at the farm, and their English cucumbers are long and hard. You look happy to do business with them all said and done.  

- The lady directs one of her farm hands, a big burly man with a bunch of tattoos to help Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi carry them back and fort to your truck. Yoongi stops you when they’re finished. Shoving a note in your direction. “There’s something I want to go do, can you give me a second?”  

- You nod, already taking out your wallet. Behind the two of you Jimin sneaks a handful of grape tomatoes into his pocket- they’re still his favorite. “we’ll get a few snacks for the drive home, take your time” he tries to not take your money but you won’t take no for an answer. Eventually shoving it in the breast pocket of his linen shirt if he won’t take it with his hands. He grumbles, shoving the wad of 20’s deep in his pocket.

- The three of you don’t think anything of it at all. After all- snake hybrids have uniquely tricky scents to parse out. So it’s no wonder why Jimin and Namjoon don’t smell the distress coming from him still. You think you notice something- but you let it slide. You’re never one to let Yoongi’s sudden mood changes affect you or take them personally.

- Sometimes he just gets too overheated to process things right. And you can tell from the way he’s listless that he’s at least approaching overheating. Getting into the car with the air-conditioning will be good for him. You make a mental note to pick him up another ice coffee.

- But meanwhile- while you’re waiting in line at a fast-food stand, Namjoon grabbing a few bags of chips off of a rack and jimin screwing around with a soda dispenser- figuring out how many different types of soda he can fit in one cup. Yoongi is being thrown into the side of a truck with a loud clang. His back hitting it and then his head jarring painfully. The sound alone sending him reeling into the dirt. But the man doesn’t let him fall. A hand savagely yanking his hair back. The unwanted contact sending shivers all up and down his body.

- “And here I thought you’d be more careful not to come so close. Did you think no one here would recognize you? We knew you where here the second you stepped out of that shitty truck.”

- Yoongi blinks, trying to keep the black spots out of his eyes. And she’s right. He did know better, the beachfront has always been their territory. Yoongi remembers the days he’d sneaked out and walked down to the beach in the middle of the night. The only time he ever felt some semblance of freedom. As long as he remained unseen and unheard she didn’t care. But today he’d been the opposite of unseen.

- He can’t respond. And Knows better than to try. His owner has never been fond of Yoongi’s voice, and she’s trained him well enough to know not to use it ever in front of her, his whole body had almost jumped out of his skin when he’d seen her, and seen you in front of her. All of the protective instincts in his body screaming at him to get you away from her to get you away from danger.  

- Yoongi might be a liar, and a filthy double-crosser, worth every bit of ire and distrust from the other hybrids. He might not deserve your kindness or your care- not even a little bit and still, he’d never let anyone hurt you.

- She kicks off a crate of peaches; her black boots clicking on something metallic in the dust, cracking into one with a pop of her teeth into the tight skin. Coming close and getting in Yoongi’s face as the man holds him there for a second more, but then releases him. Both of them know they can’t rough Yoongi up like usual- any bruises would be too suspicious.

- “Did you like my little present this morning?” Yoongi flinches and she laughs. He’d suspected but hadn’t really known for sure if the message this morning was from her. But now he knows, he’s even more afraid than he was opening the door this morning. At least he’d come when called, Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what would have happened or what might have popped up on your front door had you gone somewhere else today.

- Yoongi is a good hybrid. Years of getting thrown into walls and slapped and kicked and burned by the stray end of a cigarette have trained him well, he always comes when he’s called.

- “You have until the end of the summer Yoongi- after that if you’re not back and with what I asked for, I’ll make sure that house goes up in flames.” She flicks a lighter, starting up a cigarette that makes Yoongi’s nose twinge uncomfortably. Bad memories. So many bad memories from looks like that as she puffs on her cigarette and blows the smoke in his face.

- “It’s a cute house, especially the garden. I didn’t know you had a thing for that- maybe I’ll have you grow some kale or vegan shit for me when you get back. And then I’ll really be like little miss high brow too huh? Looks like she eats healthy” Yoongi shakes and his owner laughs. So then she has been watching him. He doesn’t let himself wonder who at the farm might be there for a reason like Yoongi. What other snakes you might have in your garden.

- Yoongi can’t be there for long, can’t be absent. But he knew from the second he met his owner’s eyes over your shoulder that she would expect him to report back. That to not come when he was called would be as good as promising violent retribution, something far worse than a snake nailed to your front door.

- She leans in close to Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t resist leaning away, as she breathes the smoke in his face, his hands shaking at his sides. He watches her put out her cigarette in the peachy pink flesh of the peach wincing.

- He knows better than to talk back now or even squirm as she leans closer, barely a centimeter from his face. Even though a hook on the side of the truck is digging into the small of his back. “Remember little viper- if I see you so much as touch them- or let out even a fucking whisper- I’ll kill them in front of you then kill you myself”

- Yoongi understands- how could he not- he’s nothing more than her plaything- her spy. Yoongi wonders what she’d do if she knew he’d already broken the first rule. No touching though there had only been a few times, your hand on his arm when he was in the middle of a heat-induced meltdown, and this morning when you’d cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

- Before anything else happens, 3 other men of her’s come around the corner of the truck, two of them hooding up the third who looks close to passing out. blood dripping down the side of his shirt. Yoongi has seen enough fights to know how someone looks when they’ve lost one. What’s more surprising is the fact that they’ve lost one here- the boardwalk is supposed to be his owner's territory. To touch her operation here- that means something significant, but even more strangely, his owner and her right-hand man don’t even look surprised.

- He struggles to put the situation together, Yoongi remembers one time when they were teenagers- back when it wasn’t his owner's gang, but her father’s. How he’d gone into a rage because some rival had decided to even vacation on their beaches- nearly unloading the full clip of a gun into their group in broad daylight.

- If they’re being pushed back- even to here, then there is something wrong- a rival gang or the police- whichever party had earned his owner's aggression this time, was surely soon to fall. But a gang war isn’t something that Yoongi’s ever seen. She fusses over the man two others holding him up, and Yoongi slides away, back into the crowd of the boardwalk. Knowing this time- he won’t be missed.

- Yoongi walks back to the car, telling himself to enjoy every minute that he has left. Because once the summer heat fades. He knows it’s all going to go away. As he walks, even as he knows there’s probably someone watching him. He stops in front of the flea market. His feet unable to take him closer to you, the closer he gets- the less safe you are. and still- he wants to be close to you- for just a little longer, so that he knows what it’s like.  

- To have a pack, a family, people who care about him and love him. Before he goes back to how he lived before he wants you to know that he loves you, loves Namjoon and Jiminie too. That he would stay if he could. 

- He might not be able to touch any of the people he wants to touch in the way that he wants or say the words that he wants to say, but he can show you all that you mean to him. At least now- before time runs out and it’s too late.

- Maybe some acts of defiance are less about trying to live, and more about making sure you have a chance to live before his misdeeds eventually catch up with him. And if anyone is deserving of some sort of karmic judgment It’s Yoongi.

- He hopes you won't hate him when you find out- if you ever do.

- It’s worth it- it’s all worth it to see the way that Jimin’s ears perk up when Yoongi brings back the flower holder from the stand for him, that and a silk bandana for Namjoon to keep his hair back when he’s working, and the little wall trinket you were looking at. stained glass cut in the shape of a pair of cherries. (He won’t know- but later- you’ll hang it in the window of the nursery of your and Namjoon’s room)

- The puppy holds the flower holder in his lap the whole ride home. Nearly getting his chubby finger stuck in one of the test tubes at one point. That nearly makes Yoongi laugh out loud. As you wind your way back to the farm, snacking on fried dough and blooming onions making Namjoon’s breath stinky enough that you press on his chest when he leans in for a kiss and eventually relents when he lets out a heartbreaking wine.

- Yoongi doesn’t let himself dream for more of this- because however long he gets he know he won't deserve it either way- he doesn’t deserve a single act of kindness from you. Let alone the kind of care and love you’ve all shown him. He just closes his eyes, leans his cheek against the open window, and lets his soul rest. Just for a little longer. All he needs is a little longer.

- Yoongi lies to himself and tells himself that the summer will be enough.

- Later that night, You’re already underneath your covers, turning restless in your too warm sheets. Namjoon lingers in the bathroom brushing his teeth. “Did you notice something strange with Yoongi today?”

- “No- why?” you fiddle with the edge of your coverlet. 

- “He seemed super tense on the way how and somehow I got it into my head that there was something more wrong with him than usual” Namjoon sets a glass of water for you on your bedside table pulls himself over the top of your bedspread. Pressing a toothpasty kiss to your mouth that makes you smile. His hand coming up to cradle your hip, thumb rubbing wide strokes over your baby bump.

- He always gets this look in his eyes. A little lost in his own love when he looks at you late at night like this. You pepper a kiss down his cheek and over his scar, making his face twitch a little-you know it tickles in the same way he knows you’re teasing him- just a little. “If you want to go check on him, I don’t mind.”

- Namjoon’s point is clear, the emphasis on check you know what he means and what he wants. The emphasis on hybrid pack dynamics, that it really wouldn’t be strange to Namjoon If you went to Yoongi’s room…and ended up spending a little time there. If anything- it probably seems weird to him if you haven’t.

- You let the moment slide, lean over to turn off the light, and kiss Namjoon a little more, his lips are hot but gentle on yours. Taking the time to kiss you without a rush for more, nipping at your neck once before he settles in- you’re getting into the stage of your pregnancy where its hard to lay on your side too much so instead- Namjoon mimics your usual position, his leg slung over your thighs, head tucked close to your shoulder.

- And he makes these cute little noises, little huffs and small growl groans that remind you of a puppy before he falls asleep. But you can’t sleep- you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom and can’t help but think about Yoongi earlier. How you thought for a second you’d seen him crying on the way home, spied in your rearview mirror, head hanging out the window and his cheeks wet. somehow your bed feels more empty than it used too. Even with you and Namjoon in it. 

- after a few more minutes where you wonder if you’ll ever get to sleep, You slip out of your and Namjoon’s bed and sneak down the hallway. Your footsteps cushioned against the carpet as you head down the hall to Yoongi’s room. and you know it’s late but you can’t leave him alone- not when you could fix it and help him.

- You knock softly; thinking about all of the times in which you try to help- on your worst days- when it feels like helping others is all your good for. nothing else in you but that, nothing to appreciate or love beyond what you can do for others because you feels so broken- too broken to be loved without giving up your time like an apology. A lot of the time it feels like you have nothing but acts of service to offer. But on those days, it’s always Namjoon, Yoongi, and jimin that soothe you without even trying,

- Your lover cupping your chin in his hand and telling you that he can’t get enough of you, that he thought about you all day and couldn’t wait to just stand close to you. The quiet care he shows you, massaging the puffy ball of your ankle. The way sometimes he’ll come up behind you when you’re fiddling with your outfit in the morning, his wide hands fisting in the sides of your dress. Making a low whine and scent marking along your shoulder so that every hybrid on the farm knows you’re his. 

- The way namjoon can tell just by looking at you if you need his help, and knows better, like today, when you need a little distance to get your thoughts sorted. 

- Yoongi’s soft companionship the way he’ll shake his head and take the heavy things from you, the roll of his eyes doing the speaking for him, “what would Namjoon think if I let you carry this on your own” or the way that he’d sometimes tap the edge of your hat with his long fingers making it bounce, lip pulling up to show his cute little fangs.

- When jimin looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the side for him. Ready to ramble on and on about whatever new thing he’d tried today. Wanting to include you in his process as he became adjusted to the world. The way that he hangs on to every word you say, following you around like a lost puppy, but you would never mind that- how could you? When he was so smitten that it made your heart flutter to be liked with such loving intent.

- You knock on Yoongi’s door, and he answers with wet cheeks, looking startled, rubbing his cheek with the side of his hand. “Yoongi, are you alright?” he shakes his head, hovering, body swaying. You can tell from the hum that the air-conditioning is on high. Not too surprising given the heat of the day, and you know it’s easier for Yoongi to make his room cool and then work up to the kind of warmth he needs then do it the other way.

- His blinds are all drawn, no light on in his room. Thought you peeked outside and sure enough- the stars were shining bright, no moon in the sky.  “Can I come in?” Yoongi looks like- fuck- this is going to hurt him, but he nods anyway. 

- He scoots over in his bed and moves one of the covers down and lets you climb in on the other side of the bed, and the covers are cool and comfortable beneath your skin, the only light in the room comes from the display panel of the air-conditioning unit and the green makes Yoongi’s eyes glow yellow. “You can tell me- something’s wrong, isn’t it? if its something I can fix you’ve got to tell me- Yoongi- I-“

- Yoongi pulls himself up to hover over you on one arm, his other hand coming up to comb back your hair, you’re stunned into silence. The words leaving your mouth as you find yourself inches away from him, the cool line of his body pressed up against yours. And you think- because you’re both in pajamas and not actually touching skin to skin- you think that is the reason why it might not bother him so much. 

- Yoongi is all lithe muscle and harsh edges, but he’s nothing more than gentle with his hands when he softly brushes over your cheek, his eyes molten gold as he tilts his chin up, his soft lips press against your forehead for just a second, the reverse of what you’d done for him this morning.

- Maybe you were both too worn out from the day’s events not too need each other’s company. He tilts his body to the side and leans up on his elbow to watch you. And you might expect it to feel strange- his body and it’s the absence of heat, but underneath the covers it actually feels comforting, cooling amid the summer humidity that just won’t quit.

- He leans in close to poke at your cheek with his nose, nuzzling with slow curling motions as if to tell you- go to sleep, and sleep you do, the coolness of the bed and Yoongi’s body supplying relief to your overheated muscles. Yoongi knows what you needed without you having to say it- the same way that you always knew what he needed. Yoongi stays close and curls around you tightly- his arm and his leg wrapping around you, protecting you both from something you might not see.

- Your last thought before you fall asleep is a question, is Yoongi’s strong grip on you- like he’s holding on for dear life, something to do with his snake genes? Or is there some other reason why his muscles and legs tremble when they hold you close like he’s afraid something is going to be able to separate you.

- Before you truly fall asleep, you think you hear a low voice say something, just a few words, but regardless of what Yoongi might have said- or if he spoke at all, You won’t remember it in the morning. 

Kofi

BONUS: Jimin’s little flower holder!

[spirit-stitch]

Review: @windvexer's Rainbow Energy Centres reading

i recently received a Rainbow Energy Centres Health Checkup reading by @windvexer and to start with i would like to say a massive thankyou, because it's probably the most useful and accurate reading i've ever received from someone else.

i'm placing the review under the cut, as it's going to be a fairly long post! but, TDLR; this was an amazing reading that wasn't too long or short, and related to every single aspect of my life. i would HIGHLY recommend!

so, to start with, Chicken (windvexer) presented the reading in a really accessible way, and i loved the simplicity of the way the reading was laid out for me.

the first section was an accuracy check. two statements were made and if they rang true, it indicated whether the rest of the reading would be accurate or not. if false, the rest of the reading wouldn't have read true.

the accuracy statements were FAR more accurate than i expected. i was told that i was excited about the future of my spiritual path (i absolutely am), and that i have a quite painful and traumatic past that is a foundation of who i am, but i rarely share this with others. this is completely true - i'm quite open about my trauma and my past but i NEVER share the whole truth of it and how much of it actually affects who i am and my worldview.

getting into the actual rainbow centres now, i really liked how the centres were named and explained so i knew what centre related to what. i was told that my crown centre was bright and clear, with little issues, and i have a good link to the universe. i'm really thankful for this because it reassured me that even though i've taken a hiatus from spirituality lately, i haven't lost the connection to it.

my psychic centre was dark and large, suggesting that i have a good awareness of energies around me but specifics are difficult right now. again, this is accurate. i used to be able to do the specifics but i've spent the past year and a half completely shutting it down due to some traumatic experiences and stresses that i've been through. again, the skill is still there, it just needs rejuvenating, i think. i was also blown away by the description of little arms and hands being seen by Chicken around my psychic centre. i rarely discuss the true way i work with energy but i developed a lot of it myself, and it's always revolved around feeling and reaching out rather than seeing. i've wanted to change this for a while and this is the perfect indicator i need that it's time to perhaps develop that a little more.

a blockage was seen around my throat centre, indicating that i struggle speaking my personal truth, and a 'metaphorical giant' was guarding my inner truth. i've spent a lot of time hiding what i think and shutting that down mainly because when my Dad died in 2021 i had to be there for others and shut down how i actually felt about the situation, because our complex relationship would have been dreadful to say to the rest of the family. i've also learnt to keep my mouth shut when it comes to IRL working, which i also started last year, as it's more of a hindrance than a help. an affirmation was included at the end of this section, which made me tear up a little before i even saw the sentence beneath it which said 'any affirmation which makes you feel like crying works wonders'. i'll be including this affirmation in my morning routine from now on.

fascinatingly (and not embarrassingly, as Chicken admitted) my heart centre was unable to be found - Chicken could see it for a second and then was zoomed away. apparently this indicates that i'm a really private person and i have a deep sense of personal protection. it's true that i hold others at arms length sometimes as (like stated in my throat centre) i have a difficult time opening up about how i truly feel, even if i pretend that what i say is the deepest part of my feelings. it's not, i just lie about it, lol. and, with having Borderline Personality Disorder, relationships are some of the hardest thing for me to keep consistent and strong. this is truly so accurate and it's something that i've been wanting to work on this year, and am starting to do.

my solar plexus centre was describe as lovely (aww, thank you :P ). it was interesting that there wasn't much to say about it except the fact that it's 'like a holodeck', showing that i can be many things in many different situations. i pride myself (perhaps a little too much) on being flexible and able to be whatever someone needs in whatever situation they need me to be that in. i am 'the stage instead of the actor' which is true, and while it's good for other people it's not good for myself. i've been reassured by this as i really want to work on being who i want to be, not who others want me to be.

then we got to the sacral centre, and this part of the reading actually picked up on an ADHD trait i've been experiencing and noticing ever since i began the diagnostic process. i 'enjoy the physical world but on a narrow spectrum' which is absolutely true - i don't find much comfort in many things, but the things i do enjoy i enjoy so hard that sometimes it's detrimental to my wellbeing. i'm not thrilled with my environment and this section is encouraging me to change my environment to something more varied and positive, again something i'm actively working on this year.

finally, my root centre was shown to have a nice deep root, and Chicken was right in saying that i have 'one primary sense of safety and security in the world' that related to my 'foundation of pain and grief' - it's myself, and the knowledge that no matter what i deal with, i can get through it and keep being myself even if everything else around me changes. the smaller roots mentioned have only just begun to develop, i think, now that i'm in a space to begin healing from my trauma, which also shows why they're small because i'm scared to have to go through the healing process to develop them more.

in the summary, Chicken told me that energy work alone won't solve any problems with my energy centres - while they're healthy and seem to work for me, any change needs to mainly come from life changes and that is exactly what i figured out in the past couple of months and exactly what i am attempting this year.

thank you SO MUCH, Chicken, for giving me a strong foundation of knowledge to build off of while i fix my life, and for such a wonderful reading. i cannot thank you enough and i'm genuinely astounded by your clearly natural gifts!!

[mynanapost]

Who am I? Who I am was a question I kept asking myself all my life. I figured lately that I am a transported tree, plant, land, and home that is always gravitized to Palestine. I am a citizen of the world and my passport is a threat to all the bordered states I visit or stay in. I am recognized for many things that I am not; and, I am labeled for many things that I disapprove and do not recognize. I am a star that is always censored and tracked by foreign militaries and intelligences. I am a unique reminder of the failure of the zionist progress towards the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians.

In this article, I am aiming to take you on a speed tour consisting of no more than 1200 words about the resistance mechanisms of a second generation displaced person living in Gaza and is originally from Yafa.

Fighting like a Palestinian is as tough to us as you might see on your headline news. Substantially different though, I promise. Hello, I am Wasim, I am Palestinian (I fight) and I want to make this world a better place. And I fight. The fear of being hated and judged as a Palestinian is as bad as your fear of missing out (FOMO). Our FOMO is usually one of three things, first, the fear of missing out on a strike of bombs in your neighborhood. We usually fear not being there to calm and assure our family that we are home and that they could at least not worry about us. Second, the fear of missing out a chance to buy groceries on a ceasefire. Third, not being awake or home to use the four to eight hours of electricity we get per day. This includes cooking, charging phones and laptops, using WiFi, heating water, and doing laundry.

We as Palestinians do not resist or fight through machinery. In fact, our machinery compared to others in the region might be the least effective. Hence, we use our words, education, knowledge to fight and resist. I will be resisting and fighting in this article as you tour with me.

My grandfather was forced out of his home by Zionists. And I resist. I resist and fight through presenting a negated history. Yafa, a beautiful place and also an occupied city in Palestine, is where my grandfather lived. He assured us to have hope. We fight, resist, and FIGHT trying to explain that we have the right to return home. He adds that one day he will take us all back home, may his soul rest in peace. My home in Yafa might now be a dancing club or even better a dating bar. Who knows but it is there in Yafa. He, my grandfather, would always say that if I would bring him a granddaughter, I shall name her Yafa. He would always say that she will be beautiful just like the city.

Visualizing my beloved Gaza is easy. North and East, we have IDF blockage isolating us from the rest of Palestine. West, we only have three miles of the lovely Mediterranean Sea where fishermen struggle for their livelihood and pray to get back home safe every day. And south, we have Egypt’s borders. Gaza is a piece of land that is guarded by the most powerful powers in the region. Well, it is not really guarded for our precious souls, but from them.

I survived three brutal aggressions on Gaza before celebrating my 17th birthday. We fought and resisted during and after each of these aggressions. We learnt how to fight by picking up the rubble and turning it into something to build with. We had nothing but rubble and a 4 digit number stating the number of deaths. We have constructed the roads of our seaport in Gaza with the rubble of destroyed buildings. We have also managed to turn the ash of coal and wood into building bricks that are used in construction buildings now with great demand. We as Palestinians fight our way through every aspect of our day through education, art, history, theatre, innovation and many more. We resist our ethnic cleansing by surviving, and then, by reproducing. We fight, everyday, endlessly.

To make it easier for everyone to visualize, I will use recently used concepts on world news to explain a long living experience. Curfew, as a concept, has been a huge highlight of our lives for as far as I can remember. Similar rules are imposed in the curfews set like the ones we all had during the pandemic. You can only leave when having an extreme reason to do so, however, you are assured that you will not be safe if you decide to leave, even if leaving means saving your life or the life of a loved one by going to the hospital.

The curfews were always there to remind us that we are occupied. Our usually failed ceasefires were similar to the end of pandemic related lockdowns. We try to secure food, for God knows when the next time we might have the option of leaving the house. However, unlike social distancing post-lockdowns, we hug and kiss our beloved ones knowing that it might be the last time we do so. The next digit number by one of us.

We live with post-traumatic stress disorders (PTSDs) as if they were our closest friend. These PTSDs are censored to the sound of planes, the sound of screaming, the sound of explosion and anything similar. They also adapt as part of our human nature as they develop to assure us, when being abroad, that the planes flying above us are not the same ones that were once attacking us. The PTSD is also quite conscious during New Years and other big celebrations when we do not realize that the fireworks are noises of happiness. It is exactly how we used to lie to assure our younger siblings that they will be safe. (+18) Their shock realizing the sorrow might be as bad as when children of western side of the world discover that Santa Clause is not real. (+18)

I believe most people living abroad during the Pandemic have gone through a slightly similar experience of the Palestinian’s daily struggle. Not being able to go back and feeling unwelcome in their home because there might not be space. And not being able to go anywhere else because you will always be a suspect holder. Yes, we are always suspects; accused of having a terroristic mentality. Unfortunately, we could never disprove their false accusations with a certified document saying that we are negative to their biased misconceptions. I would wait for a week and pay the 90$ for this certification. When you are a Palestinian holding dual citizenships, life changes; as I hear from my brother and witness my friends not having to stress a lot before entering any check point. Being respected and accounted for human rights are things they encounter after traveling with their other citizenship.

You could always be concise and go straight to the point. Why don't we stop fighting or why don't we just accept the peace talks. Well, lately we have been accepting of almost anything, but people would still see us as terrorists. Nonetheless, there is nothing concise about this struggle besides the daily headline news mentioning the number of dead and injured due to a “conflict”. I would have to explain all the intersections and the cross-borders and their history to be able to go through the complexity of my beloved Palestine.

In remembrance of Murid Barghouti, “Palestinians have a unique story that's similar to none of the stories of others, but one at the same time because what is shared is huge: the sense of loss, exile, being displaced, being oppressed, being voiceless, being of a negated history and geography”. - may his soul rest in peace.

[cafedanslanuit]

✦ • ° *.  — Ｓａｅｒａｎ＇ｓ　Ａｆｔｅｒ　Ｅｎｄｉｎｇ —  . * ° • ✦

chapter guide  |  chat with me  |  maybe a coffee?

summary: Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

chapter warnings: [check chapter guide for story warnings] mentions and/or descriptions of night terrors

c h a p t e r   f o u r   —   it’s not like me to be so mean you’re all i wanted

“Are you sure about this?” MC asked as she stepped into Jumin’s office. He closed the door behind her and sat on one of the sofas, inviting her to do the same.

“I already told you it’s more than okay. We have an interior designer but I… I am discontent with how this office looks. I want to change it and you need a job, what’s there more to ask?”

“I guess you’re right,” she replied with a smile, taking out a notebook from her purse. “I guess I was just worried you would have a problem with your father about hiring a different interior designer.”

“Not at all, I made all the normal paperwork C&R asks for a new employee, like a background check and some other revisions. You will also get the benefits freelancers get from our company, in case you were wondering.”

MC shot her eyes up at Jumin. He looked back at her, his eyebrow slightly raised. The silence between both of them became thick, the notebook on MC’s hands trembling slightly

“You’re worried about what I saw on the background check,” Jumin rationalizes, crossing one of his legs over the other one. MC nodded, her eyes darting from her notebook to the man sitting in front of her. Never before had she felt so vulnerable with someone from the RFA.

All this time, she believes only Saeyoung knew about it, since he was a hacker. She had done the best to hide her steps, never commenting on anything she shouldn’t have, knowing that even though Saeran was a better hacker than Saeyoung, he trusted her enough to not dig around her past and she planned to keep it that way.

She would tell him eventually, she had told herself. When she was ready.

“You shouldn’t worry about that. It’s not like you did something wrong,” the man in front of her said. “By your reaction I assume no one knows? Well, Saeyoung probably does. Does Saeran…?” MC shook her head. “I see. Well, he won’t hear it from me,” he assured her. “You can stop worrying about that.”

MC stayed in silence for another moment and then opened her small notebook with a long sigh.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want cats somewhere?” she asked with a small smile, to which Jumin imitated her.

“I actually do. I’ve been thinking about getting some cat pottery. I’ve found a couple of those at a designer website that seem to be a good fit.”

“Can you send me the link, please?” she asked, taking a note. “I will try to see if they still have them.”

The rest of the conversation fluctuated between casual conversation and ideas about Jumin’s new office. Even though she tried her best, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone else knowing what had happened a few years ago. She wasn’t ready to tell everyone (and a part of her was sure she would never be) and now she felt as if Jumin was finally looking at the real her. The way he talked to her was the same, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something was bound to happen at any second, that if too many people knew about it, somehow history would repeat itself.

Jumin insisted she returned home with Driver Kim and, as soon as she jumped out of the car, she went straight to the kitchen. Distract yourself , had been the clear indication she had been told whenever her thoughts were too much. She put her earphones on with music on high volume as she followed the recipe.

Distract yourself , she repeated the words someone else told her before. No. She didn’t get to break down at something that didn't happen. Jumin didn’t question her about it. Hell, Saeyoung had never questioned her about it. Why would she allow herself to feel like this?

No, she deserved to feel like this. She had the right to feel scared, she had the right to feel whatever she wanted to feel. It had happened a while back, yes, but it was not going to happen again. She felt her chest tighten. It was not happening again. Just because people knew didn’t make it any different. She wasn’t in the wrong, she hadn’t done nothing to feel shame about what happened. It was okay, she was going to be okay, she was--

She felt a hand over her shoulder and screamed.

“It’s me, it’s me!” Saeyoung said, raising his hands in surrender as you took your earphones off. “I’m sorry, I asked you something and you didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

MC shook her head. “It's okay. You just startled me, that’s all. Not used to you being without  the leg cast.”

“How did it go with Jumin?” Saeyoung asked carefully.

“Oh, it was okay. He has some ideas so maybe I’ll work on that later. I have to bring him a proposal by the end of the week,” she explained. Saeyoung nodded and waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. He understood.

“I was just going to ask what you were planning on cooking today,” Saeyoung said, his tone playful, trying to lift her mood. “Honestly, I’ve been so blessed since you started taking care of the food around here. God listened to his humble server and said: You! You deserve good food!” he joked, pointing at a corner in the kitchen. MClaughed. “And I was there, choking on a Honey Buddah probably, agog, aghast,” he said, running to the same corner and playing himself. “Thankful. Blessed. Touched by God’s light and MC’s cooking.”

More laughter erupted from MC as Saeyoung kept joking around. The door opened and they both saw Saeran entering the apartment, hands on his pockets and a dull expression on his face.

“Saeran! I made dinner,�� Saeyoung beamed.

“I made dinner,” she corrected him, elbowing him on the ribs playfully. MC looked over at Saeran and smiled at him. “It’s going to be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

“I don’t want it,” Saeran muttered, leaving his keys on the small coffee table. Her smile faded and she did the best to bring it back up.

“Should I save you some for later?”

“No,” he said, avoiding her gaze and heading over to his room. The smile on her face finally vanished and she felt once more a hand on your shoulder. Saeyoung looked at MC apologetically and she shrugged, trying to rest importance to what just had happened.

“I’m guessing you do want some?” she asked and he immediately nodded with a smile.

“Please, I’m starving,” he sighed, putting a hand on his neck theatrically. You giggled and went back to your cooking, listening to Saeyoung rant about something he had seen on a movie the past week.

You had never been so thankful to have him.

…

Apparently, decorating an office with little cat motives while also maintaining a professional look was harder than MC had expected. She had been up all night in her room looking for new furniture and items she could add, drawing and drawing Jumin’s room in her pad and checking the photos and measurements she had taken earlier over and over again.

It felt good to finally be back to work again. After months of thinking only about religious cults and Saeran’s recovery, she knew she needed to get back on track. She had been without a job for about two months when Saeran had first contacted her to try out “an app”, and thinking she hadn’t many job opportunities before and rent wasn’t going to wait for her, she had taken it.

And now there she was, four months later trying to get back on the saddle.

MC clicked the next page on the website and a pop up of a blonde woman offering her help navigating the website made chills run down her spine. How long would it be until she could stop thinking about Rika? She took a sip of her coffee and let out a long sigh.

She still couldn’t believe Rika was found unimpeachable. Her attorney had brought a psychiatrist to the court who claimed to have assessed her as she waited for the trial. Apparently, Rika had been through her fair share of trauma as a child. Thanks to Yoosung, MC already knew Rika had been adopted by cruel parents and judging by what she’d seen at Mint Eye, she was sure Rika wasn’t in her best mental state. The updates MC read online didn’t provide any video of the trial itself as some subjects were private, but the source did confirm Rika was practically delusional. She had talked about a childhood friend named Mika, who she claimed has given her the idea for Mint Eye. But when Rika’s attorney tried looking for her, he discovered said Mika had died at the brief age of ten years, just a couple of years after being adopted.

Apart from the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder the psychiatrist had diagnosed Rika with, it seemed Rika couldn’t differentiate real life from her imagination anymore. The psychiatrist claimed she also had a complex personality disorder that could take time to correctly diagnose. The information presented on trial was enough for the judge to find Rika unimpeachable and sent her to a mental facility to spend the rest of her days.

The night she read those updates from the trial, as she rocked Saeran softly to help him sleep again after a nightmare, MC let herself cry again, torn between the feelings of wanting her to suffer and trying to understand she hadn’t been in her right mind from a very young age. As she looked through the window, she thought about V. She remembered Saeran mentioning V had been a victim of Rika as well and her heart broke by how much suffering he had been into while also being kind to her during the days MC spent at Mint Eye.

MC closed her eyes and wished V were healing as she was thinking about him.

A loud crash startled her, making her look at the door. Another crash and screams followed and she quickly stood up, recognizing Saeran’s voice immediately. She opened Saeran’s room and found him tossling on his bed, eyes closed and face damp with sweat.

“Saeran, wake up,” she whispered, standing on the edge of the bed. “Saeran, baby, it’s a nightmare,” she said in the softest voice possible, grazing his arm with her fingertips.

The door opened again and Saeyoung entered, his honey eyes widening at his brother screaming on the bed. He quickly jumped on the bed, ignoring MC’s protests and took Saeran by the shoulders, sitting him up.

“Saeran, wake up!” he said, shaking his shoulders. Saeran’s teal eyes opened and Saeyoung smiled again. “Hey, it was a--”

And that was when the first strike hit.

Saeran had punched Saeyoung in the face, who had fallen on the bed backwards. Saeran hit him once more as his brother tried to cover himself. MC gasped loudly and quickly latched herself on Saeran’s back, trying to restrain his arms the best she could.

“Saeran, it was a nightmare!” she yelled. She could hear Saeyoung’s grunts underneath his brother and she wished she had more strength than Saeran. “You’re safe! You’re not in Min Eye, you’re safe!” she assured him, using all the force she had to restrain his arms, stopping him from hitting Saeyoung any further. “Saeran, you’re safe!”

It took Saeran a moment to stop his movements. His body immediately tensed up and MC figured out he had noticed Saeyoung’s body underneath him. When she demeaned safe, she let go of his arms, which fell limp against his sides.

“Are you okay?” she whispered and looked at Saeran nodding slowly.

“What happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Saeyoung got up from bed and MC noticed the faint stain of blood on his cheek. He put his hand over Saeran’s shoulder and shrugged nonchalantly.

“You had a nightmare, but it’s okay now!” he said with a grin. Saeran looked up with a grimace.

“I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I hardly doubt she did,” Saeran muttered, his head leaning to MC’s side. Saeyoung dismissed him, moving his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Gonna get cleaned up, try to get some rest, bro,” he said, leaving Saeran’s room.

Without a word, Saeran got back into his bed and even let MC put the sheets over him. Her face was full of concern and he realized for the first time, she was quiet after one of his nightmares. She would usually talk to him, trying to get his thoughts to stop swimming around like they were in that moment.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, making her eyes look at him. She quickly nodded.

“I held you back, so you didn’t hurt me,” she replied, putting a strand of his hair behind his ear. “But don’t worry about that now. Did you take your pill before falling asleep?”

Saeran nodded, watching MC’s lips purse.

“They will start working better soon, I promise,” she whispered. Saeran watched her lean down as she always did to leave a kiss on his forehead but stopped herself. His chest ached. “I’m still working on that Jumin project, so I’ll be awake for a while. Knock my door if anything happens, okay?” she asked him sweetly and he nodded once more.

Battling with her intense desire to stay, MC stood up and left Saeran’s room without looking back. There wasn’t anything in the world she wanted more than to stay by his side until he fell back asleep but she also knew he needed to get better without the need to have her around. He couldn’t depend on her, no matter how much she was craving to go back and snuggle up with him, trying to chase all his nightmares away.

There was also the lingering concern about Saeyoung.

She found him in the bathroom, trying to pour alcohol over the wound on his cheek. She stopped him and made him sit on the toilet gently, trying to assess the damage. Thankfully, his cheekbone didn’t seem to be broken and the wound on his cheek was small, so there wasn’t the need for stitches. MC started cleaning it up in silence with a cotton pad, taking her time.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. She quickly shook her head.

“You didn’t know. But in the future, when he gets those night terrors… you need to wake him up gently. Works best on him or he gets confused and sometimes violent,” she explained. A move of her hand made Saeyoung hiss. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Duly noted,” Saeyoung tried to smile, but failed. MC some cream on the other cheek, hoping it didn’t bruise too much.

“Just give him some time, please,” she asked him softly.

“Don’t worry for me, MC,” Saeyoung grinned. “I’m okay.”

MC wished she believed him.

previous chapter | next chapter [tba]

[rpmemes-galore]

How to write a character with PTSD / C-PTSD:

*disclaimer:  this is entirely based on my own, personal experiences with PTSD. it’s to serve as a basis and guide, but not a firm rulebook for writing it. different people can have different symptoms, at varying levels of severity. PTSD is also often tied with depression and / or other generalized anxiety disorders.This will be extremely personal, and has the potential to be triggering to anyone who has suffered abuse / noncon, or has ptsd / c-ptsd.

WHAT IS C-PTSD? 

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD; also known as complex trauma disorder) is a psychological disorder that can develop in response to prolonged, repeated experience of interpersonal trauma in a context in which the individual has little or no chance of escape. --- wikipedia

C-PTSD is a subset of PTSD. Whereas PTSD is mostly associated with a traumatic event that only lasted for a short amount of time, or only once  ( eg. car accident, sudden loss of a loved one, ect. ) , C-PTSD has to do with prolonged traumatic events  ( eg. ongoing abuse, imprisonment ).   And depending on the severity and conditions of the prolonged event, those suffering with it can have varying symptoms and levels of symptoms. For this guide, I’m going to be focusing on the PTSD / C-PTSD that I, personally, struggle with: severe, caused by abuse and noncon. References from MAYO CLINIC

INTRUSIVE MEMORIES:

Recurrent, unwanted distressing memories of the traumatic event: Unlike in Hollywood, flashbacks do not have to be full-blown reliving of the event  ( though, it can be ), but rather small, often disconnected glimpses of memories that strike while going about your daily life. Things that can trigger it are smells, sounds, or the sight of something connected to the traumatic event. It can be benign as the sound of someone walking toward you, or bad as someone getting in your face and shouting at you. And what triggers you one day may not trigger you the next.

Reliving the traumatic event as if it were happening again (flashbacks): In my personal experience, this is much harder to come back from than the smaller glimpses mentioned above. This is a full reliving. As far as you’re concerned, you ARE back in the trauma. You ARE back in that house, in that room, with that person... you see them, hear them, they’re in front of you, and you’re that defenseless child, again. This often leads to a panic attack, even after you’ve returned to reality.

Upsetting dreams or nightmares about the traumatic event: Can’t talk about this one much, because I specifically taught myself to lucid dream due to nightmares I used to have... but, that was a long time ago. I do remember they would not be perfect recreations of the event. They’d be disjointed. Often would involve people who hadn’t been there at the time, or random details would be mixed up or completely wrong  ( for instance, instead of standing in the kitchen, you might be out in a field. Multiple events could be happening at once, with no coherency. )  And I do remember waking up suddenly, in a sweat... and sometimes avoiding sleeping for DAYS just to avoid having those nightmares.

Severe emotional distress or physical reactions to something that reminds you of the traumatic event: Similar to the first point, this can also be caused by sights, sounds, smells that you recall from your traumatic moments, or, sometimes, even just from the place where your trauma happened. Unlike the glimpses of memories or full flashbacks, these are disconnected feelings, usually fear, anger, betrayal... and in response to something that might seem silly to someone else. For instance, for me, I have a severe reaction to flyswatters. What is a simple tool to someone else, that they have no issue touching, I can’t even go near. Hands start shaking, I can’t breathe, I tense up like I’m going to be hit.  And similar to that, the sound of someone raising their voice, even happily or not toward me, fills me with immediate dread.      note: this can lead to being a pleaser. desperately trying to avoid upsetting anyone because you’re terrified of people who are upset, whether it’s your fault or not. 

AVOIDANCE 

Trying to avoid thinking or talking about the traumatic event: Self-explanatory on the not wanting to think about it.No one likes to think about things that upset them. As far as the not talking about it goes, it can have a lot to do with shame. You’ve been trained to think it was your fault you were treated so badly, and telling anyone else, means you’re admitting that you were bad and deserved it. And you’re afraid they’re going to agree with your abuser. Or they’re going to gain up on you with your abuser... even if there’s no rational reason to believe these things, the thoughts are still there. 

Avoiding places, activities or people that remind you of the traumatic event:  This can lean toward the extreme... specifically going out of your way to avoid things. Cancelling plans if it might be even slightly related to your trauma, such as a person from that time being there, being in a place --- or sometimes even being near a place --- that reminds you of your trauma  ( like a store you went with your abuser ) , or refusing to take part in something that you and your abuser did together. This can even extend to tasks around the house. For instance, if housework was something tied to your abuse, even marginally, you might avoid doing dishes, or washing the floor.  

NEGATIVE CHANGES IN THINKING AND MOOD 

Negative thoughts about yourself, other people or the world / Difficulty maintaining close relationships / Feeling detached from family and friends: Self-esteem plummets. You have a lot of trouble trusting others, or believing that they truly want the best for you. You have trouble believing that you have any potential, or that you’re capable of doing anything... lose trust in your own judgement and second guess everything you do. You ignore red flags. You constantly need validation in your choices. You feel like someone else needs to second any decision you make. Nowhere feels safe. Even going out of the house is a struggle, and you’re scared and uncomfortable they entire time, like you’re waiting for something bad to happen. 

Memory problems, including not remembering important aspects of the traumatic event:  Feeling like there’s a grey area or the memory being fuzzy, even when you specifically try to recall certain moments. This can lead to doubt, and wondering if you even have trauma.  ---- And not only that, but if your abuse involved gaslighting, you lose faith in your memory of the event. You start overthinking. You doubt whether or not you were even abused. You think you might be remembering things wrong, misconstruing things, being unfair to your abuser. 

Lack of interest in activities you once enjoyed: As PTSD often goes hand-in-hand with depression, you can experience the same symptoms, including lack of motivation or interest, even in things you genuinely enjoy. For me, I LOVE writing. But, actually finding the motivation / energy / confidence to do it is hard... even on good days, it’s a fight to get myself to sit down and accomplish anything. 

Difficulty experiencing positive emotions / Feeling emotionally numb:  Good feelings feel bad. That’s the only way I can describe it. Things like happiness or satisfaction feel... wrong. Like, you’re not supposed to be feeling them. The way I’ve had this explained me to me is: your brain is so used to feeling bad emotions that feeling anything positive is foreign. it’s easier to stick with what you know, no matter how hard it is.  ----- You can have moments of complete emotional nothingness. You disconnect from your feelings completely. The world around you doesn’t feel real. The people around you don’t feel real. It’s like being in really terrible VR. 

CHANGES IN PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL REACTIONS:

Being easily startled or frightened / Always being on guard for danger:  You’re always jumpy. It’s like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, or waiting to be hurt or yelled at. 

Self-destructive behavior, such as drinking too much or driving too fast:  This can also extend to self-harm in many forms ranging from cutting, to holding hot objects... ( the most difficult part is when you feel dirty inside and feel like you need to cut or burn it out. It’s an overwhelming feeling that’s very hard to beat or calm yourself down from. )  or just neglecting yourself, like not tending to cuts or scrapes. And you feel like you deserve them. You tell people not to worry when you get hurt because you’re used to it... and, because it’s you that it’s happening to, it’s okay.   Other forms can include substance abuse, alcohol abuse, or even --- consciously or unconsciously --- seeking out abusive relationships just for a sense of normalcy. 

I hope that this guide helps you. And if you are struggling with PTSD, yourself, please don’t be afraid to reach out and find help. You are loved. And your worth is NOT determined by what other people have done to you. 

[memoirsofabasicbitch]

The thing is, I’m not entirely sure I remember how to dream. How to write. How to imagine anything independently of a world created by someone else, in their mind.

I’ve grown so used to hanging my dreams on what other people have created for me that I don’t know if that person is still in there.

That weird little girl, who peeled acorns for squirrels, and walked in circles over and over and over again on the roots of the big oak tree. She had a big imagination. She told herself all sorts of stories.

Was it just because I couldn’t play the other games? Too slow - reflexes and running. Too weak - climbing, throwing, running, playing.

(Or was it because I wasn’t allowed to — couldn’t — play those games? I have a few dim memories of trying to play and being sent away. They’re dim though. I stopped asking.)

Or was it simply that I was filling time? Waiting until I could go back into a world I could navigate a little better than the playground?

Sometimes, though, I was waiting. Hoping, really.

More than a few times.

A lot.

I hoped, I thought, maybe - maybe if I walk in the right way, I’ll hear the trees laughing, like Anne told Diana about. Maybe they’ll talk to me. Maybe a faerie will come creeping out from a little crevice and wave, winking. Maybe a squirrel will come crawling down the wrinkled bark while I watch, and take the little heap of acorn meat I’d left for him. Maybe there’s a tiny scrap of magic somewhere in the world that I just haven’t found yet.

I haven’t had dreams for a long time. That’s what happens when your dreams have expiration dates. I’ve already missed most of mine.

Never really even came close.

I had a “schedule” that makes me want to cry to think of it. Meet someone in college or shortly after. Get married by 25, so we would have a few years together after college. Have our first child by 27, because mom always said I should start having babies by 30 if I really wanted to have more than one and space them out.

I’m 28. I’ve never had a real relationship with anyone, romantic or platonic. I’ve never had a best friend who would place me on the same importance as I would them.

I have borderline personality disorder. I have adhd. I am on the autism spectrum. I have depression and anxiety so severe they cripple me. More than one of these things may be false. The symptoms are nearly indistinguishable once you have more than 2. No one will give me a straight answer, and no two doctors can agree.

Added onto years of emotional and mental abuse - which is what it was, wasn’t it. Maybe because I’m autistic, maybe it really was that bad. Neglect, sure. Public humiliation, that happened too, I’m pretty sure. Being told flat out that I was stupid and fat and ugly and I was lucky to have any friends at all so maybe I should just shut up and sit down before I ended up with none.

I’m pretty sure that happened. I don’t really remember it though. I don’t really have any memories at all.

Supposedly that’s something that happens with “complex post traumatic stress disorder,” which generally crops up when a person is systematically ground down for a long time until there is nothing left but the stories they told themselves when they tried to explain to the fake audience in their head who they were. How they got that way.

I don’t know who I was, who I could have been if I hadn’t had the life I did. Maybe my memories are skewed.

My therapist didn’t seem to think so, but she also sometimes seemed to think I was full of shit. That’s probably me reading too much into things again. That’s what I do.

Was it really that bad? I remember a lot of screaming, and crying, and hiding, and wishing I was dead or that someone would just hit me already so I would have something to say, to tell people other than “they yell at me and make me cry and sometimes they grab my arms and shake me and sometimes they tell me they’ll throw me out onto the street to fend for myself and sometimes they tell me they love me so much they’re so sorry and then sometimes they cry”.

But how much of that was me? How much was that my perception of things? Am I really that crazy, or have I really been gaslit that much? Is it gaslighting if they didn’t even realize how much pain they caused you, which is why they say “it wasn’t that bad stop exaggerating”?

Did I imagine all of it?

If I did, if I didn’t, what was real? What had the weight I felt it carry? What should have been a minor blip in my life but instead metastasized into a catastrophe?

I don’t know. Maybe I never knew. Reality hasn’t ever been my friend.

Fantasy is so much better.

It’s painful now, though. To read some of these stories, these books I used to adore.

Stories about Mature Adult Women of 25! Whole! Years! Going on adventures and meeting their soulmates and having wonderful happy lives.

I’m spiraling. It’s late. I’m tired and a little high, wishing I was higher and maybe I wouldn’t be so bored.

Bilbo was middle aged, wasn’t he? When he went on his adventure? He had an adventure, and then he came home and had a long, rich, happy, lonely, bitter life. Hmm. Perhaps the one ring is not the best foundation for a guiding principle.

I went to law school because I’d come to the end of every plan I actually had. (You don’t really plan for a future when you’ve been suicidal since before puberty.) I figured I’d get to read and write at least reasonably interesting things, make good money, maybe even make a difference.

I’ve been a paralegal for the same law firm I worked for right out of college for two years now and I have never felt more like a shambling corpse.

When I graduated from college, I couldn’t get a job. Could I have tried harder? Sure. Is executive dysfunction a bitch? You bet.

So I worked for a family friend’s law firm. Personal injury and medical malpractice. She’s the mother of my older sister’s oldest best friend and has employed all of my mother’s three daughters.

She’s also a heinous bitch and a terrible boss. Her employees have a shelf life of about 2 years. I’ve hit my expiration date. Once you’ve audibly cried during a phone conference, you’re really near the bottom. Once she decides you suck at your job, there’s no coming back. Either you quit or you get fired. She prefers when people quit so she can blame them and not feel guilty. So she just increasingly treats people worse and worse until they quit in self defense.

I worked for her for a year. It was awful. I became an alcoholic and gained 25+ lbs.

I decided to go to law school.

I moved to New Orleans.

I made friends. I had an apartment all to myself. I had a life I actually enjoyed.

Then I graduated.

And I couldn’t get a job again.

(Of course, all of this is underpinned with my cyclical periods of intense illness, often accompanied by being hospitalized and missing long periods of school. In college and in law school, actually.)

(All the cocaine and drinking didn’t help either.)

(Ah, New Orleans. How I miss thee.)

So I ended up at the same firm again. Living with my parents. Again.

Then I passed the bar.

Now I’m doing the same work as my younger sister, for the same amount of money. (When she graduated from her masters program and was unemployed for 6 months, I convinced my boss to hire my younger sister again, and my sister to work for my boss again after a semi-disastrous summer job.)

(To be fair, while I’m technically a licensed attorney, she has a masters in education, so it’s not like there’s a massive education disparity here.)

(It doesn’t help that I’m barred in a different jurisdiction than the one my firm typically works in, so there aren’t any cases I can really work on as an attorney, and then on top of that my bosses don’t want to pay for malpractice insurance for me so I’m not allowed to practice as an attorney or put that I’m an attorney or call myself an attorney or even put in my letterhead that I’m licensed in the District of Columbia.)

Then there was a pandemic, and I decided I probably shouldn’t try to make a huge life change during a pandemic.

The pandemic is still fucking here. Nearly. Two. Years. Later.

So I guess I have to make a new plan.

Can I be a lawyer? I guess we’ll see.

I don’t really want to, though. I’m burned out and I wasn’t even practicing.

I want to move to a beach and write a novel and actually have a life I enjoy.

The problems with this plan are numerous. Not only is inertia an incredibly powerful enemy of mine, but I’ve lost all imagination.

I cannot imagine a future in which I am happy. Will I kill myself? Probably not, at least not for a long while. I’ve thought too long and hard about the long-lasting, far-reaching repercussions it would have. (Say what I will about my family, at least it’s always been clear that my death is NOT an acceptable outcome.)

I want to find my imagination again. I want to be able to imagine not only a future in which I am happy, but other futures, other worlds. I want to be able to dream, not only for me, not only for reality, but for unreality. I want to create worlds in my mind again, and allow them to take whatever shapes they wish.

I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if all those horrible teachers, all those “peer editors” in fucking elementary school were right, and my story ideas are hackneyed and overwrought.

Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they were wrong. Wouldn’t it be nice, to start writing, and to find that my imagination didn’t go so very far.

It’s been hiding in the intertwined branches of a birch grove, slim and tall and ringing with laughter. In the space between stars. Down the path shaded with wisteria and jasmine and honeysuckle, where the scent and the heat and the humidity are so thick you can feel the heavy perfume coating your lungs. Tucked away, safe, waiting to peek out. Waiting to creep down the wrinkled bark of a huge old oak and wink at the little girl playing among its roots.

I hope it is there. I hope I can find it.

I’ll keep you posted.

This is my own personal void to yell into, after all.

[maklerkasselblog]

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[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty One

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

February 1st, 2019

Patton wished, not for the first time, that he could just escape this house and never return. He loved his mom, honestly, he did. But Charles made loving her feel hard. Because she always sided with him and that meant he and Virgil were always the troublemakers, even when Charles provoked them.

Granny was calling their mom over and over, asking for help or something, and Mom didn’t want to help. Charles kept telling her to ignore Granny and she’d go away, but he knew Mom felt guilty about it. And as such, she was much quicker to get angry, to get upset, to point fingers.

Patton knew that Granny needed help, and he didn’t understand why Mom wouldn’t help her. After all, didn’t family help each other when they were in trouble?

July 14th, 2019

Patton was absolutely delighted that Dad’s parents, his grandma and granddad, were staying for the weekend. It had been ages since he had seen Granny, even though she wrote them when she could, it was hard with their mom pestering her for Patton and Virgil’s location. And to have two grandparents from one parent, well! That was really cool!

They talked a lot, mostly asking questions to him and his brothers to get to know them. But sometimes they’d talk beyond small stuff, and let Patton talk about Legos, or Virgil about the Goosebumps books that he loved. And when Logan talked about Jack and his other friends, he’d get this spark in his eye that made him look truly alive. Even Dee got to talk about snakes. The only one who didn’t speak much was Roman. He sat in a corner of the living room, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. “What about you, Roman?” Granddad asked. “Is there anything you really like?”

Roman ducked his head. “I like fairy tales, and theatre,” he muttered.

Logan’s head snapped up from his phone. “Wait, you’re going into eighth grade! You’re going to my high school after this school year!”

Roman looked confused. “Yes?” he said, phrasing it like a question.

“Our after-school drama club is unbelievable!” Logan said. “I’ve worked tech on stuff when the sound booth has issues, and watching those kids act? It’s amazing. You should try out for the fall play, you’d love it!”

Roman looked vaguely interested, but uncertain. “You sure? I probably wouldn’t get that good a part...even if I do well in the middle school play this year...”

“No, that’s the best part of this whole thing!” Logan exclaimed. “There’s two sets of actors! The actual people, and then their understudies. And if nothing happens to the main actors, the understudies still get to have a part, because the school rotates who plays what show on what days! So you might not get to do the Friday night show, but you could always do the Saturday matineé!”

Roman’s lips twitched into a smile. “That sounds nice,” he admitted.

“It’s super fun,” Logan said. “All my friends try to get me to perform, though I prefer helping the techs. Too much attention on me makes me stressed.”

“I can understand that,” Roman said.

“Most people don’t,” Logan replied, “So I thank you for trying to empathize.”

Patton shot his hand up and asked, “Do you know what play they’re doing?”

“Not yet,” Logan said. “Usually they don’t announce that until the beginning of the school year.”

“Oh,” Patton deflated a little. “I was hoping that I could figure out what the play was so I could help somehow.”

“Well, we could always make our own play,” Logan said with a shrug.

Patton blinked, trying to make sense of that sentence. “We can?”

Logan nodded. “I know how to write screenplays, it can be done.”

Patton grinned. That sounded amazing! “Can we do it today?”

“I don’t see why not, provided Grandma and Granddad are okay with it,” Logan said, looking to their grandparents.

“I have one condition for you five working on a play,” Grandma said with a smile. “I want you to work on it here, so your grandfather and I can see your creativity at work.”

“I have another condition,” Granddad said. “I want to see the play when it’s done, even if it’s just a silly videotape that your dad sends us.”

Patton jumped up and down and looked to Logan hopefully. “Can we work on it now?”

Logan looked a little exasperated but chuckled all the same. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll grab the laptop.”

The laptop was a recent gift from Dad and Ami to Roman and Logan, informing them that they could only afford one laptop at the moment, but if the boys shared well enough there could be a second one in the near future. If Patton was lucky, and Logan and Roman had finished whatever work they were doing, he’d sometimes get to play games with Virgil on it.

Logan left the room quickly and Patton bounced where he stood. Writing a play would be so cool! He couldn’t wait to see what happened!

When Logan returned everyone started talking. “We need a concept for the plot,” Logan said.

“We need to figure out who everyone will be in the characters!” Roman said.

“I think we should figure out a setting first,” Virgil volunteered.

Patton watched as the three of them talked over each other, until Dee jumped on the table and waved his hands like crazy. Everyone turned to look at him and he signed, “One thing at a time.”

“Dee’s right,” Patton said. “What should we start with?”

Logan, Roman, and Virgil each said what they were saying before, at the exact same time. Patton frowned and looked at Dee. He had no idea how to solve the problem of everyone wanting their way to be the right way. Suddenly, it struck him. “Why not figure out a theme?” Patton asked. “If we can figure out a theme, then we can figure out the other three things faster!”

The three stared at him, until Logan laughed and tweaked his glasses. “You’re pretty smart, Patton. Okay. What should our theme be?”

“I vote family!” Roman exclaimed. “We could make a play about our stories!”

“Or we could do something where a family fights dragons or aliens!” Virgil said.

“Why not both?” Patton asked. “Brothers who were separated because they’d be too powerful together, and they find out about each other and save the world!”

“That sounds so cool!” Virgil exclaimed.

Dee clapped his hands and grinned.

Roman clapped Patton’s back. “That’s not a half-bad idea, kid!”

Logan thought about it, and nodded. “Okay, I can work with that.”

They all sat down on the floor and suggested ideas, which Logan would dutifully write down on the computer. Patton noticed their grandparents whispering to each other, but they were smiling, so he didn’t think too much of it.

It had to have been hours that they worked, deciding to go with Patton’s idea and then starting to write a story. Roman came up with the biggest ideas, which Virgil would point out might be a bit too complex for them to pull off, and Logan would scale them down to manageable size. Dee would occasionally add his two cents to what they were doing, but was mostly happy if he could play an antihero, to use Logan’s words.

When they finally stopped, it was because Dad and Ami came into the room asking where everyone was, because they had called that dinner was ready and none of them had heard it. Roman promptly answered, “We were fighting aliens in the play we’re writing,” and left it at that, as if that explained everything.

“Right...” Dad said, glancing at Ami. “Regardless, dinner is ready. We should eat it before it gets cold.”

They all went into the dining room and slowly started eating. “So, can we get context for this play?” Dad asked.

“We were talking to our grandsons about what they liked to do, and Roman brought up the fact that he enjoyed theatre. Logan said that he liked the theatre group at their high school, and when Patton asked if he knew what the play would be this upcoming year, Logan said no, but they could make their own,” Grandma summarized. “And these boys are amazing, Emile! They were all so creative, figuring out what to write and how to scale it down to something they could do with five actors! You never told us that they were so smart!”

Patton blushed a little and all his brothers were also in varying stages of embarrassment. “It’s not such a big deal,” Roman protested weakly. “I create crazy stories all the time.”

“And I’m usually the one who drags him back down to Earth,” Logan said.

“I was just trying to be realistic with what we could do,” Virgil said.

Patton shrugged. “I think it’s kinda a big deal, if only because usually the five of us don’t all work together like that.”

“But the fact that you don’t see it as a big deal means that you are talented,” Granddad said. “I would go so far as to say extremely gifted.”

“No way,” Roman said, scratching the back of his neck, as Logan tried to not choke on the water he was drinking. Virgil looked like he had just swallowed a frog.

“The boys still aren’t used to high praise,” Ami said, looking extremely amused. “No matter how many times we compliment them, they try to play it off. I don’t think you’re gonna be successful in getting them to accept your words, Dad. Much as you try.”

“Think I’ll have better luck?” Grandma asked.

“No,” Patton said. “I don’t think the others will be convinced that what they’re doing is a big deal, at least not for a long time.”

“But you disagree?” Grandma asked.

Patton shrugged. “I don’t think it’s as big a deal as you’re making it, but it’s not nothing, either.”

Grandma grinned. “You’re the mediator of the group, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Patton said. “Usually I just say something ridiculous enough to get Logan and Roman to stop arguing, but sometimes I actually add my opinions.”

Everyone continued to playfully argue about whether or not the play was a big deal, long after dinner. When Dee started yawning, Dad took him upstairs to get ready for bed. When he came back downstairs, Granddad haltingly signed, “Can I hug you?”

Dee looked surprised briefly before he nodded.

Granddad smiled and hugged Dee gently, and Grandma kissed his forehead when Granddad retreated to the couch. Dee walked up the stairs to his room, looking dazed and shell-shocked.

Patton glanced at Virgil, who was reading a Goosebumps book. “Do you think they’re gonna do that to everyone?” he asked.

“Everyone who accepts it,” Virgil said. “They’re leaving early tomorrow morning, so they’re saying goodbye now.”

“Oh,” Patton said. “You know, Granny would hug us goodnight, but Mom didn’t do that for a while before we ran away.”

“I know,” Virgil said. “I was there too. It’s nice to have people who care, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Patton said softly. “It’s weird, but it’s nice.”

Virgil looked over at Patton from his book, and Patton was surprised to see the amused smirk on Virgil’s face. Virgil almost never was this expressive with Mom, and it still shocked him to see Virgil come out of his shell. “You say that a lot. Things are always weird but nice to you.”

Patton shrugged. “Maybe one day it’ll stop feeling weird, but today’s not that day.”

Virgil shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, I get that feeling a lot, too.”

They shared a smile before Virgil went back to reading and Patton continued to listen to Dad and Ami talking to Grandma and Granddad about everything that had happened over the past few months.

Patton stretched and yawned, and hopped off the couch, gathering the attention of all the adults. “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” he announced. “I’m kinda tired.”

“Can I get a hug before you go upstairs?” Granddad asked.

Patton nodded and walked over, hugging Granddad tight. He smelled like wood shavings, and Patton wondered if he did any woodworking in his spare time.

When Granddad let him go, Grandma kissed him on the forehead too, and Patton giggled. “I like you both a lot,” he said.

“We’re honored to hear that, Patton,” Grandma said. “Go ahead and get ready for bed, we’ll see you soon.”

Patton smiled and nodded, and headed upstairs. He was grinning the second he was out of sight. Grandma and Granddad were super nice, and he hoped that he’d get to see them again soon. When he was around them, he felt truly loved, which meant he could add two more people to the list of people he had as good people in his head. He couldn’t wait until that list was too long to remember.

[residentgoodgirl]

It would be easy to imagine that after participating on a reality show, one either returns to television via all-star spin-offs like the Challenge or simply resumes their “normal” life. A recent article in the New York Times about Real World: New Orleans alum Preston Roberson-Charles, however, highlights the difficulties cast members can face after filming. After some of his particularly unflattering behavior made air, he received a lot of negative feedback — but more importantly, his mistakes were now searchable online. The digital footprint of his time on the show made it almost impossible for him to find a job, leaving him homeless for two years. While an extreme example, his story did not surprise me; as a former cast member on the MTV reality show circuit, I have seen dozens of participants experience similar consequences after their time in the spotlight.

At 18 years old, I was cast on The Real World’s sister show, Road Rules, and ultimately participated in seven seasons of MTV reality programs. For me, a white, perky blonde, the show provided an income, adventure, and (mostly) positive attention. Most of my seasons were filmed before the rise of social media, and I largely avoided being GIFed and memed. Participants who are portrayed as aggressive, promiscuous, or villainous, however, can struggle upon returning to their life, leaving them caught in the strange state of being semi-famous, yet alone. And people who lack financial resources or misbehave on the show (at the not-so-subtle behest of producers) are often forced to choose between entering the cycle of reality appearances or risk financial devastation. We don’t hear the stories of reality TV trauma, though, unless they end up in a “Where Are They Now?” listicle or their mugshot or death announcement makes it onto TMZ.

Some cast members experience financial woes, health issues, professional frustrations, and substance abuse relating to their appearance on television, and are left with few resources to handle the challenges (no pun intended). This is particularly true for people of color, LGBT folks, and women on the shows who are often portrayed as accessories to the main event, while the white, straight, cis men are heralded as the shows’ unofficial heroes and mascots.

—

The mythology of reality tv begins with Mary-Ellis Bunim, the executive producer of soap operas like As the World Turns, teaming up with news producer Jon Murray who pitched a documentary-style program by promising, “[Producers] were not going to step in. We will chronicle what happens to [the cast].” The mix of soap opera drama with documentary voyeurism was a hit.

The Real World made a name for itself as a groundbreaking documentary series, both in its inclusion of people from underrepresented groups and its unflinching portrayal of controversial subjects including abortion, gay rights, and racism. The early seasons included the show’s signature drama, but seemed to have a higher cultural purpose. The creation of its competition spinoff coupled with the mainstream success of Survivor and other series changed the tone and direction of the franchise. Producers felt the pressure, and cast members paid the price.

Producers control every aspect of the filming environment, and when they perceive a lull in the action, they accuse us of being boring and “not making the most of the experience” — which is code for: “Do something interesting.” These implicit directives lead to fights, hookups, and bullying among the cast.

When placed in an environment where bad behavior is incentivized, cast members often exhibit unsavory behavior, and the magic of editing exaggerates the high-intensity personalities. If the behavior is scandalous enough there can be consequences in terms of professional viability and personal relationships in real life, but those concerns seem insignificant from inside the bubble. Additionally, cast members receive mixed signals regarding their behavior. Contracts include punishments for violence, yet the physical and verbal fights that arise are used to promote the show. Furthermore, violent cast members are often invited to return for subsequent seasons. What is punished in the moment is often rewarded in the long run.

Much of the drama, violence, and sexual activity on The Real World and The Challenge results from heavy on-set alcohol consumption. Producers forbid the use of recreational items like books, phones, computers, playing cards, and crossword puzzles, but they provide virtually unlimited amounts of alcohol, which creates a frat-house atmosphere that naturally acts as a lubricant for hookups and other shocking antics. This party lifestyle isn’t restricted to the house, however, as high-profile cast members are sometimes paid thousands of dollars to do “bar and club appearances” after their show airs.

Nate Blackburn, who appeared on The Real World: Seattle, claims his wild on-camera persona as the life-of-the party bled into his real life. He felt pressure from fans to be an exaggerated version of himself off the air, which led him into years of drug addiction and alcoholism. “Drinking and being funny and just being wild was my identity from of the show, and people knew that,” Blackburn says. He also describes a deep insecurity that he would hide with drugs and alcohol. “I felt like if people really knew who I was, they wouldn’t like me…so I had to put on that mask.” Blackburn eventually got clean, and now works full-time helping other people get sober.

Not all cast members are as lucky as Blackburn, however, as the deaths of Joey Kovar (The Real World: Hollywood) and Ryan Knight (The Real World: New Orleans) demonstrate. Kovar told the Chicago Tribune that part of the reason he was cast on the show was because of his “honesty about using drugs and partying,” which raises questions about the ethics of such a casting decision. Knight also struggled with addiction, and ultimately died of an accidental overdose after filming Season 26 of the Challenge. According to a source quoted in the Boston Herald, ‘“He felt stuck, like he was just waiting for the next Challenge.”’

The system of recycling the cast members like Knight who provide the best (and most scandalous) storylines encourages the individuals with the fewest resources in real life to misbehave as a means of job security. The “all-star” re-casting process occurs on numerous competitive reality shows like Survivor, The Bachelor, Top Chef, and RuPaul’s Drag Race, and if participants see reality television as their only potential income, they are more likely to behave in a way that will ensure future invitations. That behavior is also what makes it more difficult for them to thrive in the (real) real world, creating a vicious cycle.

The producers of these shows are also under pressure to stand out in an ever-growing sea of entertainment (reality tv and otherwise), so they must continuously up the ante to ensure “the most dramatic rose ceremony ever” or “the most difficult final challenge.” To create drama, producers often push cast members to their physical and emotional breaking point.

The physical challenges, while exhilarating and potentially financially rewarding, have their drawbacks, and they leave many participants with injuries that extend beyond filming. In the last few Challenge seasons alone there have been broken bones, a ruptured spleen, dislocated fingers, and one person was knocked unconscious, fell 30 feet into water, and was filmed floating lifeless until he was pulled out and taken to the hospital (this was used as a promotional clip for several weeks before airing). “Minor” injuries are treated with ibuprofen and eyerolls from some producers who refer to contestants who request care as “high maintenance.” The “perfect” injury requires an ambulance (great for on-air suspense), but doesn’t result in a lawsuit or death. Less severe injuries interfere with production, but don’t provide story.

One participant who experienced a life-changing injury was Tim Beggy, who originally appeared on the second season of Road Rules and returned for several seasons of the Challenge. Beggy was an accomplished marathoner, triathlete, and Ironman competitor. That all ended, however, after a Challenge elimination round gone wrong. He was placed in a enclosed triple-pane glass box suspended in the air and, to win that week’s challenge, had to punch his way out faster than his opponent. Beggy explains, “I don’t believe the game was tested properly…because as the broken glass piled up, it chewed through the ‘protective’ gear, and turned my knees and patellar tendons into hamburger meat. For up to a year later, I would get large bumps on my knees, pop them, and glass would come out. I went from a guy running marathons to the old man limping from one ill-fated Inferno.”

For many, however, the worst pain is not physical, with many cast members experiencing emotional and psychological difficulties related to their time on television. I am among the many who was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety due to my time on the show and a violent encounter with a cast member off-set. My psychologist equated the experience of filming the show to the Stanford Prison Experiment, which explored questions of power, torture, and relationships using unethical means. But because television shows are under no obligation to be ethical, the methodology of their social experiment is designed to create the same effects without concern for the well-being of the participants. Other cast members have experienced PTSD as well, and Frank Sweeney (Real World: San Diego) sought counseling after the show (an option less available for cast members from lower socio-economic backgrounds) and said coming off the roller coaster of tv created a “complex post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Beyond addiction, injuries, and mental health concerns, cast members encounter logistical difficulties. Some legally changed their names, others paid to have their Google search results scrubbed, and many avoid social media in an effort to regain control of their lives, careers, and identities. Some were told by potential employers that they were not hired because they appeared on the show. In an age of branding, many companies don’t want to be associated with “trashy” tv stars. I was told I was rejected from a law school despite having competitive scores and credentials, because my presence would be a distraction to the other students and would “lessen the credibility” of the institution.

Reality creators often frame the experience as an “opportunity” for participants and a “springboard” to bigger and better things. Unfortunately, for many of us, it’s a springboard into an empty pool. At best, our time in the spotlight becomes a story we’re forced to retell at cocktail parties. But having an edited version of your best and worst moments on national television can leave some participants vulnerable to financial and emotional ruin. For many of your favorite tv “characters,” things don’t truly start “getting real” until they are home picking up the pieces of the reality wreckage without a camera crew to document it.

The casual viewer may imagine that being on a reality show is just a parenthetical aside within the larger story of someone’s regular life — a brief, if exciting, pause from the narrative, from which you can quickly resume normalcy. The truth is that these experiences are our real life. They aren’t separate. We form relationships and rivalries and experience pain and redemption, and it’s all on the public stage. People aren’t interested in listening to z-listers bellyache about the difficulties of being famous for nothing, but the reality (!) is that producers and networks get rich off the personal narratives of the casts then leave them worse off than they found them. We become your memes and gifs while we’re being diagnosed with PTSD and filing for bankruptcy. Your guilty pleasure is our literal reality, and it’s unseemly to whine about the price we pay — even if the experience leaves us broke and broken. As it turns out, fifteen minutes of fame can be expensive.

[sclfmastery]

Headcanon: the Simm!Master is Neurodivergent (and probably on the Autism Spec)

(click on the word “neurodivergent” for a succinct explanation of the neurodiversity paradigm) Key: ND = neurodivergent.  

Initial disclaimer: Though I identify as neurotypical, I am also chronically physically disabled, so it is important to me to demolish ableist ideology. So. In NO WAY does the ND (neurodivergent) state of this character justify, explain or cause anything he does that is considered “evil.”  IN. NO. WAY. On the contrary, people who identify as ND are more likely to be victims than perpetrators of violent crimes. 

This headcanon has developed slowly over the entirety of my portrayal of this muse (so it’s taken two years to come to this conclusion).  It’s important to note that this idea does not originate with me, but is pretty precious to a number of ND Doctor Who fans ( @natalunasans , you asked me to tag you <3).  Initially, fellow Master muses  presented this idea to me, and I rejected it largely out fo fear of seeming to imply ideas counter to the above disclaimer.  I have since come to realize that it is possible to portray the Simm Master in such a way that separates his mental illnesses out from his moral reprehensibility.  

This is of course complicated multiple times by the fact that the Master likely also has more than one “Personality Disorder” (a veritable worm-can of issues that psychologists still debate in praxis), as well as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

Why do I think that the Simm Master is ND? For the following reasons drawn from canonical context: 

--Low empathy, NOT to be confused with low compassion (though he has that too, but that’s a learned and morally based character flaw).  People who are ND tend to have difficulty relating to the affect (emotional state) of others in parallel situations, beyond an intellectual recognition of said emotions.  They experience confusion and challenges in this regard.   --Difficulty with innately grasping social cues and expectations.  The Master is an expert politician, capable of reading and manipulating others to his will, it’s true.  But anyone who identifies as ND, if they are also intelligent and perceptive, can learn these skills, and mimic them in social scenarios the acceptable behavioral formulas of which they have memorized.  Not only does the Master love to dress up in elaborate disguises to thwart his adversaries, evincing a love of artifice in general (see the entire Harold Saxon persona, as well as Mr. Razor), he Master  also shows that, when he is not trying to rehearse the “script,” he is extraordinarily intrusive, aggressive, and blunt, and not always for the sake of being intentionally cruel.   --Hyper-fixation and obsession.  Not an inherently bad thing at all. But the Master’s ability to, say, spend ten years fooling one companion of the Doctor into fulfilling his revenge scheme; or comprehensively grasp the entire complex socio-political structure of earth so well that he can win an election as a major world leader; or build an entire nuclear arsenal as well as a floating fortress city in under  two years; and so on and so forth, not to mention have a literal addiction to a childhood best friend turned rival, without the capacity to tunnel-vision.  

--The “Savant” trope.  While it’s a HUGELY over-used and HUGELY exaggerated quasi-myth, there is allegedly a group of people who are ND, often identified as people with Asperger Syndrome, who are amazingly gifted in narrow academic, scientific, or artistic fields.  I’m on the fence about this one because the Master is gifted across the board, and this could easily be a matter of having an unfathomably high IQ (Intelligence Quotient), which exists in an entirely discrete dimension from ND traits.  

--So-called “infodumping.”  He does it.  Not always, but he loves to describe, in intricate detail, his plans and plots, and is that always just a case of bragging? Maybe, maybe not.   --Difficulty grasping personal boundaries.  This one is trickier, and may have to do with a so-called “Personality Disorder,” or otherwise an Attachment Disorder, more than being ND.  But fixation on the Doctor: need I say more?  

--So-called “naivety”.  Now I’m not a huge fan of the way that the media infantilizes ND people (see Sheldon in “Big Bang Theory”) so this is another one to approach with caution.  But a willingness to suspend disbelief is present in the Master at the oddest times: see his history of watching earth children’s television and believing it’s real, or his belief in the very far-fetched, fantastical “four-part gun” that Martha claimed to use to kill him.  

--Difficulty regulating emotion under duress, or recognizing it in oneself.  The Master can manipulate the emotions of others easily, but he seems to have tremendous difficulty recognizing his own fluctuations. He has self-soothing techniques that are evident in canon, such as that odd tic of twisting his head in a circle on his neck, when he is overly excited OR overly upset, but these seem to be unconscious mechanisms.  And more often than not it leads to emotional explosions on his part.  

--Hyper-stimulation (due to the “Drums”) leading to emotional agitation and exhaustion.  This is actually the biggest one imho.  The Master is so often keyed up, manic, aggressive, and angry because  these are very common emotional side effects of ND hyperstimulation, which basically means that the five senses are sending the brain an excess of information and it just shuts down, overwhelmed.  A deafening four-beat rhythm that started suddenly in childhood, that no one else can hear, that isolates you, that never leaves you alone, and that has mnemonic triggers to a moment in your youth when you felt like an inconsequential failure? Pretty sure that’d do the trick. 

Thoughts, reactions, tag-ons welcome!!!!