#trauma holder box

[abyss-boxes]

[TEXT ID 1: “This alter is a moodbooster”]

[TEXT ID 2: “This alter is a trauma holder”]

[TEXT ID 3: “This alter is a protector”]

Basic alter roles again :)

REBLOGS OVER LIKES

[boxesforsys]

This x holds relationship trauma userboxes! Click for quality

[fraugwinska]

What about the reader found and old radio, they thought the radio was broken but it's not, it's just antique.. when they play it at night time alastor broadcast was heard first they feel something is odd.. but they love to listen to his voice, heck they even like talking to each other, because of this encounter alastor talk about it to rosie, she was happy hearing alastor telling her stories but she feel odd when alastor mention that the person he talks to is a human, Rosie giving him advice to not fall for human because they're different species, and it will make him weak etc.

Alastor feel guilty and agree with rosie advice so he's stop contacting the reader from the radio, he thinks that the reader will be fine but no the reader take it personally.. they thought alastor don't want to talk to them anymore.. it drive them mad and lead to suicide..

So yeah angst :D

Oh Anon. What have you done.

I cried while I wrote that - it took two very good friends of mine to encourage me to post it (Thanks to @macabr3-barbi3 and @mysterypotatoink). But I think it's tragic and beautiful, and honestly - I'm kinda proud of it!

TW: Psychological Trauma, descend into madness, loss of self care and suicide - please take care of yourself and do not read if you aren't comfortable with any of the mentioned! MINORS DNI

Here we go.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Leap of Faith

You carried in the last box from you banged-up minivan. The old thing barely made it to your new home. A little cabin in the outskirts of New Orleans, a little off the grid and surrounded by the peaceful and whirring bayous of Louisiana.

A fixer-upper, just like yourself.

The online auction had intrigued you the second you found it, the photos were a bit blurry and you knew it was a risk to buy a place you've never set foot in, but something in you called you to get it. The price you paid was laughable, barely making a dent in your savings. Moving states sounded scary and impossible, but you felt oddly calm about it.

You didn't have a lot of stuff to move anyway. After all, you only lived with your late grandmother, and she never really cared for material things. Your parents left you at her doorstep, never to be seen again.

Caring for her in her last, sickness-ridden years had been a no-brainer - it felt like nothing in comparison to all she had done for you - but it also had been a bit lonely.

You had your friends, if you could even call them that, but you rarely saw them - guiding your nan through the last months of her life had been demanding and time-consuming. It had left you exhausted and emotionally unavailable, and after a while, calls and texts ceased, until it was just you and her. You felt lost, as if the world was slowly pulling away from you.

When she finally died, peacefully in her sleep, you felt sad, relieved and drained.

Detached from the city you lived in.

Lost.

So you decided to sell what little you inherited, except for a few sentimental mementos, and move away from it all. To start a new life, a happier one, finally one that was truly your own.

You took the final box inside, setting it on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from your brow. You looked around the little cabin: The roof had some spots that needed a patch, and the wood floors were a bit warped, but it was all yours. No more having to share anything with anyone.

The cabin came furnished, a lot of the stuff was old, but still usable. You figured that would change once you settled in and had a vision of what you wanted and needed to buy. The thought of thinking about no one but yourself made you nervous.

But a little excited, too.

The old furniture would do for the moment, but there was a particular piece that caught your eye: an old, vintage cathedral radio, sitting nestled in between a cracked wooden box and a tarnished, bronze candle holder in a bookcase that was a bit out of place in the tiny space. With a tilted head, you stepped closer to inspect it, drawn to it by it's unique character and beauty.

It looked as well-loved as it looked well-used, the mahogany a bit scuffed, the knobs a little worn from years of being turned. But there were golden details etched into the front, and you traced them lightly with a finger, strangely touched and intrigued.

You were certain the old thing didn't work, but when you plugged it into the nearby socket, static erupted from the speakers, making you jump back. You had to smile, though.

Tonight, you wouldn't be alone. You'd have this little device and a little music for good company.

***

"I'm home!" you announced to no one in particular, as you closed the door behind you, your hands full with overfilled grocery bags full of necessities, waiting to fill your empty cabinets.

The day had been hot, but a welcome breeze of the impending night break cooled the inside of your little cabin a bit. With a quiet grunt you set the paper bags down at the small kitchenette. Your groceries were quickly dispersed, and you put on an apron you saved from your grandmother as you got started on dinner.

You hummed as you cut vegetables and boiled water. It had been a long time since you had cooked, really cooked, your nan wasn't much for eating and had no problem living off of simple soups and toast. When you opened your fridge to get some butter, your glance fell onto the radio.

A little music would be nice, you decided, and you walked over, cleaning your hands on the red, frilly cloth around your waist before you turned the dial. The soft sound of static made you hum in contempt - yup. Still works. A little turn to the left, and the room was filled with a soft jazzy tune, the melody a bit grainy, but you didn't mind that at all. You returned to the stove, swaying your hips to the beat as you worked. The music made you feel at ease, and for a moment, the world seemed to be just right.

Just as the onions began to brown in the pan, the song faded out to a voice. You turned your head to the radio, intrigued by the unusual, eccentric accent of the host. It reminded you of the old, vintage films and recordings your grandmother had been fond of - wasn't it called 'transatlantic'?. Whatever it was, it made you smile.

"Now wasn't that a kick in the head, dearest listener? I sure hope you enjoyed the little musical interlude, but it's time to return to the real show! As usual, my name is Alastor, and you are listening to the best jazz, blues and swing music that Hell has to offer!"

You blinked, a little puzzled and yet amused. "Sure is hot as hell today, strange man in the radio.", you mumbled, chuckling as you stirred the bell peppers under the caramelized onions.

"Today we have a very special guest joining my humble broadcast, it seems. Pleasure to meet you, darling, quite the pleasure!"

"Oh who? Me?" you asked, looking theatrically over your shoulder with batted lashes, shaking your head over your own silliness. You weren't used to talking out loud to yourself, or even really thinking out loud. You were always alone, after all, but the little pretend-play was fun. You laughed a bit, waiting for the host's guest to speak.

"Of course you, little dove. Who else would I mean?"

You gasped, and nearly dropped the spoon as you whipped around, eyes glued to the humming, orange glow of the radio in the dim darkness of your living room.

"What's that? You're surprised, my dear? Don't worry, you're not the only one! This is a first for me, too. Never had a human join my program. I must say, I'm quite intrigued! Tell me, what is your name?"

Your eyes grew wide, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. You took a hesitant step backwards and hit the hot stove, making you curse under your breath. Was the heat finally getting to you?

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm not gonna hurt you, cross my lil' old, blackened heart."

"I-I'm..." you began, swallowing as your fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. "My name is..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... crazy.", you mumbled, rubbing a hand over your face and chuckling a bit. You were just going insane, that's all. Must be the stress, combined with the intense heat. And lack of a companion, a tiny voice reminded you. Yes. Must be.

"Hello crazy, this is Alastor." The host laughed, together with a canned audience.

"Alastor...", you repeated, realization settling in - this wasn't a joke, or a trick of your mind.

"At your service, my dear.", the voice cooed. "Now, I believe you still owe me your name..."

***

You weren't crazy.

Or if you were, you didn't mind. Not with Alastor by your side - or, to be exact, in the radio on your bookcase.

After two weeks of ignoring the cursed radio after unplugging it in a wave of panic on your first night, your morbid curiosity got the better of you. You plugged it back in, and turned on the dial. Just once, you told yourself, then never ever again.

And that's how the two of you got in contact with each other once more. Alastor was as chipper as the first time you heard him, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he promised once again not to harm you, and you shared your name with him. The rest was history. He was very pleasant company. For a demon from hell.

You wouldn't classify the conversations you had with him as a real friendship in the beginning, but you did talk. Occasionally. Mostly in the evenings, when you cooked dinner: He'd ask you about your day and would pry eagerly for a little bit of gossip or new information about the modern New Orleans. When he let it slip that he lived in this very cabin in the 1920's, you weren't stopping with questions about what it was like back in his days, which he, in return, answered generously and enthusiastically.

The first few times he would try to coerce you into making a deal for your soul, casually sprinkling the offer into his small talk, but with enough blunt refusals and a few more days of radio silence (pun intended), he dropped the topic and seemed content on just talking. You, in return, found yourself relaxing into his charming company, your brain happily engaged with trying to wrap your head around him, or better, you tried to come to terms with it.

Weeks passed, and turning the radio on in the evenings became less of an occasional lapse of judgment but more of a routine you were looking forward to. You could tell the Alastor felt the same, his banter became less tense and acted, and a little more genuine.

It made your heart swell in happiness, that someone out there seemed to appreciate your company – even if that someone wasn't human.

Apprehension became amusement, and fascination became friendship. Oddly enough, you found common grounds in a lot of things: A love for cooking and good music. Preferring books over films. Red wine over white. A shared aversion of vulgarity, and appreciation for good manners.

Your nights were cut shorter and shorter, you would spend hours chatting on and on, until the deep darkness of night disappeared into a shade of blue on the horizon. Neither of you minded, at least that was what you thought. Alastor never ended the conversations with you. Either you had to say your goodbyes, or you would just fall asleep after hours of talking on your couch, and awake with a pained back to a shut-off radio. Then, after you'd realize that you would have a whole day ahead of you without hearing his voice, the loss would make your chest ache.

Two months into the 'thing', which was still a strange concept you could barely comprehend, the truth of the matter dawned on you: You liked him. Not just because he was a surprisingly amicable voice coming out of your vintage radio, a lively constant in the uneventful life you had made for yourself in Louisiana - he had become important to you, irreplaceable, even. An essential element to your life. You couldn't imagine how you'd gone so long without him, and yet, here you were, lost without him, scrambling through the hours until you could talk to him once more.

"Something on your mind, darling? You're awfully quiet today."

You held your fork and knife still above the salmon you had just been about to eat. It was the first meal of the evening in a long time where you weren't spending the entirety of the preparation time speaking to him, lost in thought about your blossoming feelings. He had gotten excellent at reading you like an open book - you should've gotten used to it after a couple of weeks of him catching on to every little change in your demeanor and knowing just what to say, when you were feeling happy, upset or nervous.

"Oh, um... no. It's nothing Al. Work had me in a wringer today."

"Is it your co-worker Susan again?" You could basically hear his eyes rolling, making you chuckle. "That name must be cursed, every single soul with that name is a menacing pain."

"Maybe,", you muttered, nibbling on a piece of the roasted fish. "This one is mostly just an ornery old bitch."

"Taking the words right out of my mouth, dear." he laughed.

There's was a comfortable pause, with just a gentle background noise of his ever-playing static and an easy, melodic tune coming from his program.

"Is that really all that preoccupies that pretty little head of yours?"

You blushed, picking at the food with your fork. "Bold for a guy who's never seen me to assume my head is pretty."

The radio crackled with pops and feedback. "Bold to assume I can't see you whenever I want, little dove." he said, his voice strangely deeper, tinged with something you didn't catch at the shock of his words.

"You... what?"

"And I can most assure you,", he purred out of the speakers, "pretty is a well fitting word to describe you."

He hummed in approval when your cheeks gained color, as if he knew his comment threw you off guard and made you turn a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't make it any less enticing.

***

"Alastor, if I didn't know better, I would say you have become smitten with this mysterious gal you're blabbing on and about."

Rosie giggled, hitting his shoulder in a playful, friendly swipe. "When will I meet her? Come on now, you can't hide her forever. Or are you afraid she'll like me better?"

She laughed, and Alastor forced a toothy grin. His long time friend was the only one he talked about you with, and he knew she was intrigued whenever she could smell a blooming dalliance, especially with a notoriously abstinent bachelor like himself. Normally, he would laugh at that thought with a healthy dose of mockery, but he found himself to be less and less aversed at the thought - if it would be you. Impossible, of course.

"Nonsense, Rosie dear, nonsense,", he chuckled, taking a large sip from his coffee cup, a heavy hand bringing up a plate stacked with finger sandwiches. "And I'm afraid you won't meet her for a long time, maybe never. Humans seldom traverse to hell in their lifetime, and who knows if the little darling will take on the trip downstairs?"

Rosie coughed in her tea, her blackened eyes wide in shock. "Human? It's a human girl you've been courting here? Oh, Alastor, you old fool."

Alastor scrunched his nose, "Talking, Rosie, talking is all we do. And yes, she's a human. I don't see the quandary in that. It's just a little fun."

"Well,", she huffed with a small, thoughtful frown. "I would've hoped for a little more sense in you." The tall demonesse set down her teacup with nimble fingers.

"You may not call it courting, but if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck, love." Rosie ignored the indignant look Alastor gave her. "You know as well as I do that such a connection is dangerous to entertain. Humans are fragile and fragile things tend to break. And when they do, the owner mostly follows. You need to break this connection off."

Rosie gave him a sad look as his ears flattened against his head. She would've been more than happy for her oldest and dearest friend to have a partner on his side, someone good and honest who really cared about him, maybe loved him even, as unlovable as he was. But she had to protect him from the silly idea of possibly falling for a living, breathing and supposedly untarnished soul, and the heartbreak that would surely follow. "Don't make the mistake of breaking your heart, dear friend." she smiled, a tint of melancholy hidden in the red of her lips.

"I think it's far too late for that."

She offered a handkerchief, but Alastor waved her off, his smile more faint and close to a frown than she's ever seen.

***

The first day where nothing but static noise came out of the radio, you were irritated but just thought: 'Maybe Alastor has something to do'.

The second day of static you grew concerned. 'What if something happened to Alastor? Was he okay?'.

On the third day, you were panicked. 'Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore! Maybe he met someone in hell, someone that he could talk to whenever he wanted and not through an old, dusty radio?'.

"Please talk to me.", you whispered into the empty room. Your knees were pulled to your chest, and you sat on your couch, eyes fixed on the radio in the bookcase. Your eyes stung with the tears threatening to spill. "Please, Al. I miss you." You shook your head, chuckling sadly. It had only been 3 days, but they'd felt like an eternity. The world had seemed silent without Alastor's constant chatter.

When night fell for the fourth day, you were half asleep, eyes red and burning and tears still staining your cheeks. You talked for hours into the void of your house, the radio now moved to sit in front of you on the coffee table, growing more and more desperate as hours passed. Talking faded into pleading, and pleading into begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry...", you mumbled into the wooden furnishing, resting your cheek against the top of the machine, eyes slipping shut with fatigue and defeat. A dry sob slipped past your trembling lips, as your hands desperately grabbed the sides of the antique device.

"Alastor please, don't leave me alone here...", you whispered with the last of your strength, before your body succumbed to your exhaustion, your unconscious mind welcomed the darkness.

If you had stayed awake for just a moment more, you would've, maybe, heard the faint shuddering breath beyond the static rumble. But you didn't. So you had no chance at knowing that, Alastor, listening to every word, saw and heard you at your weakest, and all it did to him was stir the embers and give the blaze an opening for the flames of his anger at fate to rage.

Work had called, again. Susan of all people. Threats were made - either come back to work, or don't come back at all. You smashed your phone. It was useless anyway. What was the point without...

Alastor wasn't here, hadn't answered for seven days now. And you had spent the whole time talking, begging him to show himself, just show himself and tell you what you did wrong, just talk to you one last time and then you'd stop, if that was what he wanted. You became obsessed with the orange light of the illuminated screen, imagining the flickers were maybe signs from him.

You stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped almost anything, you just sat, in front of the radio, unmoving and unwilling to miss the smallest sign of his return.

Every single minute stretched into agony, and every breath that left your lips made a fresh tear roll down your paling cheeks, until your body couldn't produce them anymore. Then, you cried wordless whimpers and moans, even started praying to an unknown entity.

It wasn't as if Alastor owed you anything. It's not as though you thought the two of you were anything other than two kindred souls, one human, one demon, talking to each other. As a result, it wasn't like you had the right to anything from him.

It was strange to consider the connection the two of you shared: Something more than acquaintances, something closer than friends, and yet never fully crossing the line beyond it. The unpenetrable boundary dividing life and death in between.

Your eyes fell on a large, old crucifix on your wall, staring back at you with pity.

For the first time in days, you left the sofa, took it from the wall and burned it on your gas stove, watching the face of the nailed figurine slowly melt in the fire.

***

It had been eight days of excruciating, one-sided silence.

Eight days Alastor cursed his cowardice as he sat, red eyed with claws digging into his scalp, as he listened to you plead for him to talk - To answer. To do anything. Anything, but leave you alone, he heard, as if the words were spoken right in his ear.

Eight days of watching you slowly detriment from the eyes of the shadows he was able to manifest above, tugging on the very fabric of the world to move you, to keep your mind from going where it shouldn't go.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. His shadows murmured persistent reminders that he should find entertainment in your growing lunacy. He was the radio demon, after all. He shouldn't care if this wisp of a human were to perish, should laugh at your wails of agony and despair.

But Alastor never felt less like laughing. Your dried sobs and pained apologies for things you never did wrong in the first place filled his head, taunting and gnawing on him with feelings he thought he was unable to feel: Guilt and Regret.

It was as Rosie had predicted - he was becoming weak. But weakness was something that should be avoided. Had to be. He knew. Being weak, being feeble, would make him vulnerable, make him into the prey his cruel from already portrayed to the world he had to inherit. He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let his feelings for you bring him down to the levels of the sinners in hell he would tear apart and laugh while he did it.

That's why he stayed silent. Endured it, all of it, every word, cry and plea. Stayed invisible and silent, waiting for you to move on, forget him, shut off and leave the radio, never to turn the dial again. For your sake and his.

When the connection broke, on that eight day, Alastor could feel your resignation, your peace with which your pale hands gripped the electrical cord at it's base to pull. And he was suddenly filled with the awareness of something horrible, like a premonition. It set his already battered, aching heart in an ice cold grasp of dread.

His room exploded in green light as he expanded into his full demonic form, his limbs threatening to pull and burst at the stitches and his smile splitting his face almost entirely in half. He had to reach out, had to reform the connection to the radio one last time, even though nearly impossible.

You were about to do something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

***

Your car broke down just where it needed to. You took the radio out of the trunk, knocking the hood two times for a goodbye, the key safely in the ignition. Maybe some other poor soul would find and repair it, make happier memories with it.

You clutched the wooden device closer and started to walk. Indigo blue faded into black as you looked up to the sky that was sprinkled with glowing, shimmering silver dust, stars blinking in the unimaginable distance. There, but out of reach.

Just like him.

Your dry sob stung in your throat, but you didn't really feel the pain. Your eyes were fixed on the path to your final destination, right in front of you.

The Crescent City Connection Bridge was mostly abandoned by traffic at this time of night and provided just enough covered spaces to hide you from some foolish saviors eyes.

You didn't need to be saved.

You didn't want to be saved.

Because you were about to save yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the other direction than the one you were going. So, with slow but steady steps, you walked towards the middle of the bridge, settling on a place next to a metal pillar and looked over the railing onto the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River.

Alastor had told you about the river, how he loved to watch the steam boats floating on it from the radio station where he worked at when he was alive. The station was long gone, you didn't even find out where it had been in the first place, but you liked to imagine that you were looking at the same scenery now that he had been looking at when he peered out of his booth in his radio tower.

It made you smile through the tears... You were glad the end was somehow connected to him, even if it was most likely just your naive imagination.

It felt like the device in your arms was emitting static energy, prickling over your arms, hands and fingers as you caressed the mahogany wood gently, feeling as though the radio was shaking in your hands, trying to pull you back from the fenced ledge.

A quiet sob escaped your lips, turning into a giggle and into hysterical laughter. You sat down between the railing, and hugged the radio close, trying to breathe as you closed your eyes, resting your temple on the worn, warm wood.

"It'll be okay, Al.", you said quietly, your voice unnaturally hoarse and rough from lack of use and dehydration. "I'm coming. I'm coming to you.”

With one arm around the radio, holding it tight against your chest, you turned to stand on shaky legs, gripping the railing with one arm and, with one final glance at the stars above you you smiled. You heard sirens in the distance, and some people shouting from a sparkling streamliner passing under the bridge. Time was running short, so you didn't wait to put first one foot over the fence, then the other, taking a deep breath.

"I guess doves were always meant to fly."

And, with that, your body twisted, turned and leaped, falling as the light on the radio, firmly pressed against your heart, began to glow in deepest crimson and swirls of green.

Falling like an angel would descend from grace.

Part 2 for closure

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part Two

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.0k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), split POV in this one, referenced past trauma, graphic injury detail/description, mentions of gore, death, capture, and torture, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

In the immediate aftermath of the meeting, the base was a frenzy. An entire wing of the barracks was sectioned off within the space of an hour - designated solely to the newly reformed Taskforce 141.

You'd stormed off as soon as you were dismissed, retreating to the private sanctuary that was your car. You'd all received the same parting orders; all been told to go home, pack up what you needed, and return to base.

It didn't take long for you to get your affairs in order. Half an hour to sort out the meagre belongings in your rental unit, boxing up what you wanted to take with you, and setting the others aside to drop at a charity shop on the way. Not that you had much to begin with; your lifestyle was nomadic - had been since you retired. Before that, even.

You dropped your keys off with your landlord on the way back to the car, notifying them of your immediate departure. The old lady was understanding - kind, even - having already gathered the vague sense that you were military and just passing through.

Driving back through the English countryside, you kept your prized possession in the cup holder in the centre console. It was only little; a small, gold St Christopher pendant about the size of a penny on a long, thin chain. Back in simpler times, you used to wear it, the engraved disc laying over your heart. Back when you could bear the feeling of a chain around your neck. Back in the days before "Tiger" was your sole name.

God, you hated that name, though it was preferable.

It had been years since someone called you by your actual, birth name. Letting someone know that meant letting them in, and that was something that you refused to do.

Never again.

Soap and Gaz were the first two to make it back to the base. Together, they claimed the battered old leather sectional in the rec room attached to their barracks, drinking cups of tea and nattering like two old ladies in a retirement home.

"So, what do you think the odds are that she's 'the Tiger', as you put it," Gaz asks, leaning back. Despite the roguish smile on his face, the rigid set of his jaw gives away his concern.

Like Soap - hell, like most British soldiers - he's heard the stories.

Stories about men being killed in their beds in the dead of night, militias toppled within a matter of days, and enemy soldiers going missing from their posts only to be found days later in the middle of nowhere. And that's just the light-hearted stuff. That woman's ledger is soaked in red - probably rivalled only by Ghost, which is a troubling thought to say the least.

The worst story Gaz could recall was one he'd been told years ago, back when he'd enlisted. Allegedly, it detailed the incident in which Tiger had earned her nickname. It was probably an exaggeration in parts - he kept telling himself as much, trying to settle his unease at the idea of being stuck in a confined space with her for the foreseeable future.

As legend goes, her and her team were sent out on an infiltration mission, and she returned a month later as the sole survivor. For three weeks after their capture, her teammates were tortured, beaten, starved - herself included - until, one by one, they were executed. But, before they could get to her, she slipped free from her restraints and disappeared into the enemy base. For days, the militia searched for her as she bided her time, stealing food and weapons as she essentially lived within their walls. And then, when she was finally ready, she unleashed herself upon them.

Forty-three men and women died that day.

Some - the ones to whom she'd bestowed some degree of mercy - had had their throats slit; their heads caved in; their necks broken. But the others...

A small minority had done something to incur her wrath. Instead of blades, she'd taken to them with her own sharpened nails. In some instances, her teeth.

She'd butchered them like a wild animal.

Gaz had taken some time to read the report after he'd been promoted to sergeant, although most of it was redacted and required a much higher level of clearance than his own to access. The basics he'd gleaned along with a handful of photos from the militia base had told him enough: the stories were true, and Tiger was someone to be feared to the highest degree.

And - somehow - she and Ghost seemed to know one another. Well enough to have an opinion, at that.

Soap makes a noise, something between a wince and a huff, pulling him back to the rec room. Back to beige, plasterboard untouched by blood and gore. "'ah don't know, Gaz. But, based on form, ah'd say yes."

Gaz grimaces.

"An' if they've had to call her 'ere, ah'd say we're all fucked."

Ain't that the truth.

"Think she's as bad as they say?" he asks, voice giving an involuntary shudder that he hopes Soap won't catch. Last thing he wants is to look scared, especially with her lurking the halls.

Instead of answering the question, Soap shrugs and offers, "Perhaps we should ask Lt? He seems to know 'er."

Gaz nods non-committally. That'll be a fun conversation.

And then a familiar gravel-laden voice rings out across the room, sudden and harsh like a crack of thunder. "Ask me what?"

Both men twist around so fast that Gaz is surprised they don't end up with whiplash. Ghost is standing in the doorway, balaclava and hard-shell mask on, dressed in all black with a duffel slung over one shoulder. Even after years of working together, he's still a spooky bastard - creeping around soundlessly despite his sheer size.

"Tiger," Soap says in that fearless way of his, blue eyes unhindered by any trace of doubt. It's something that Gaz has always admired and been amazed by; the bold, unabashed bravery with which the Scotsman handles their Lt, refusing to coddle or humour him like other soldiers do.

The light in Ghost's already-dim eyes gutters. "What about her?"

His growl sets Gaz on edge. Makes him wonder if it's not too late to back-track on their line of questioning. If it might be safer to wait for the morning and ask Price or Kate instead.

Regardless, Soap ploughs on. "How d'ya know 'er? Seemed like a pretty explosive reunion back there."

Ghost takes a few more steps into the room, slinging the bulky duffel onto a vacant armchair. He folds his brawny arms across his broad chest, puffing it up. "There's nothing to know. I knew her once and now I don't. That's all there is to it."

Soap guffaws, folding his own arms with a grin. "'ah, come on, Lt. Tha's just begging for questions to be asked."

"All I'm going to say is that you need to watch her. I don't trust her; don't let your guard drop around her; don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you know her. Treat her like you would a hostile. That way, we might just all come out of this on the other side."

And - with that - Ghost stalks back to the doorway, grabbing his duffel on the way. His stark warning hangs in the air long after he's gone.

Both of the men listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he pads down the linoleum-tiled hallway, no doubt claiming a room as his own to brood in until Price arrives.

"Note to self," Gaz says aloud after a few minutes of silence have dragged by, "never bring up Tiger around the Lt."

You sit at your desk, listening to the sounds of the taskforce's laughter just doors away. They'd ordered pizza to the barracks tonight, and you'd stayed in your room to prove a point - away from Ghost's hollow, accusing eyes.

It's been a week since you relocated, and Kate has yet to provide any actionable information on Makarov and the plot to stop him. Meaning it's been a week of isolation, eating and training in solitude, avoiding the men at all costs. You'd caught the whispered conversations and furtive glances when they thought you weren't looking - exactly the sort of thing you'd hoped to avoid - and it made you hate Ghost all the more.

From day one, he'd done nothing but poison them against you.

Your eyes slip to the black plush box at the side of your laptop; the St Christopher pendant nestled within its protective lining.

More than anything, you wish you could travel back in time to last week and not pick up Kate's call. That way, you'd still be in your rental unit, curled up in front of the TV or jogging around the neighbourhood. You'd still be alone, but at least you wouldn't be judged like this.

It was a little known fact that your reputation was what had pushed you to retire.

Surprising, you knew, but that's just how it was at the time. It wasn't the trauma of the 'incident' but the aftermath of your return that made you consider an exit from the army. How people who had once considered you a friend looked at you with nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes, like they could still see the blood staining your fingertips and dripping from your maw. Like you were a rabid dog in need of putting down.

You'd still stayed for a couple of years before you put in your papers, aided by Laswell, who advocated from an early retirement instead of a discharge. By then, you were sick of being shunted from base to base, pushed between assignments as an increasingly shrinking number of captains agreed to work with you.

To some, you were an asset; to others, a liability; to most, an unknown.

But, it was towards the start of it that you met Ghost. In fact, it was only something like three months after the incident, fresh from therapy and evals that you first crossed paths.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, freeing yourself from the tangled web that those memories weave within your mind. It's always risky to look back on that time - too clouded with emotion and fear for you to view objectively. It's safer to ignore it.

You lose track of how much time passes before there's a knock at the door of your suite, faint and hesitant.

It's purposeful, the exaggerated amount of time you take to open it. Giving whoever was sent to poke the beast ample time to escape before the door opens.

To your surprise, it's MacTavish - the cheerful, blue-eyed Scotsman from the meeting - standing in the hallway with a wide, encouraging grin. Wasting no time, he dives straight in with, "Coming out any time soon, lassie? We were starting to think ye'd starved to death in there." He nods to the room behind you, the only sources of light being the hallway and the small lamp on your otherwise barren nightstand. "Want to join us for a bit?"

The invitation lingers in the air between you. It takes another moment for it to register in your brain as a genuine offer. One of kindness, not malice.

It puzzles you.

"Why?" The simple question leaves your lips as a snarl; half-feral and significantly more impolite than initially intended. "Why do you want me there?"

Something glimmers in MacTavish's eyes. For a second, you think it might be pity, and it heats a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Because 'ah know the Lt does'nae seem to like ye, and I think ye could use some friends around 'ere."

There's a beat of silence. Then another. By the third, MacTavish is shifting his weight between his feet, that handsome grin faltering just slightly.

"Listen," you say primly, taking a step out into the hall. He retreats the same distance, eyes focused on your face as you smile coldly. "I want to be on my own. I like it that way. Beats people gossiping about me; telling all sorts of stories about my past. About how I earned my callsign." The colour drains from his face. "So, no - I don't want friends. Not here; not anywhere. I do, however, want to be left alone. I want my wishes to be respected; my personal space too. Got it?"

Balking, MacTavish nods.

You ease back into your room as he starts to walk away, heading back up the hallway towards the rec room, where the laughter seems to have dissipated. But, just before he slips back inside through the ajar door, he twists back to face you, offering a kind, "We'll be in here until late if ye change yer mind."

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you retreat back into your suite, closing the door with a firm shove. You lean against the thick wooden slab, exhaling a trapped breath from your tight chest.

Back sliding down until you meet the floor, you can't help but regret agreeing to come here. It's all starting to feel like such a huge, massive mistake.

a/n: happy new year folks! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

[syscultureis]

plural culture is being annoyed at how people always try to box systems into very specific archetypes which end up confusing people, for example:

"who can be a persecutor?"

— hosts, usually if they're a trauma holder and still in a bad environment

— littles, sometimes they might not be able to understand their trauma responses and what is ok or not

— protectors, technically all alters are proctectors, whether they actually protect or don't

— caregivers, they might want to care for alters or the body but do it in the wrong ways

— literally every other type of alter. there is no restriction on what role an alter can or can't be

.

[flightfoot]

Do you have any Felix fic recs?

Sure!

I Won't Let You by @generalluxun

After Gabriel's defeat, two individuals not party to the celebration run into each other, and find each other.

---

In the Shadows by @19thsentry-blog

On one side is Luka, 140-year-old Snake Miraculous holder and keeper of the Guardian's secrets, on the other is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a relatively newly minted hero of Paris and Guardian of the Miracle Box. Each is looking to fulfill their promises to their now gone mentors to reunite the Kwamis and keep them safe. Sounds simple--until you throw in a rocky start, the Atlantic Ocean, Félix Graham de Vanily, and a whole host of secrets…and suddenly simple becomes complicated (story of Marinette's life, right?).

---

Succession Planning by @unecoccinellenoire

Félix has absolutely no interest in talking to anyone working for his cousin's father, but Nathalie Sancoeur is determined to make her request.

---

to assess the equation of you by @marinetteplztakeabreak

“I’m not a wanted fugitive,” she said, dryly. “You could change that.” She wasn’t sure if he was joking. Wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be joking. She stared for a long second, as if she could read more into his intent in the pupils of his eyes. They stayed there for a long second, unblinking. OR: Félix and Kagami try to talk about that after credits scene in Pretension

---

Found by @trishacollins

Chat Noir and Ladybug need to tie up some loose ends. Unfortunately, one of those ends is Felix.

---

fruit filled garden maze by mooniecat3

A look into Félix' home-life in childhood.

---

Trapped by @trishacollins

Felix asks to visit Adrien earlier, worried that his twin isn't responding to him on their bond. Gabriel catches him snooping and makes some assumptions about why. It gets worse from there.

---

La nuit, tous les chats sont gris by @ninadove

In which the Cat Miraculous grants Adrien much needed freedom — even if he's not the one wielding it.

---

Felix is Fine by SortaArtsy

Felix wakes up sick, but is determined to keep it under wraps. Kagami refuses to be fooled. Feligami fluff. Implied past trauma/ abuse, though nothing explicit. Set post S5 so there are SOME SPOILERS!

---

Betcha On Land (They Understand) by @redundant-lava

As a young merman, Felix is fascinated by all things human. His father, the king of the ocean, has forbidden him from going to the surface, and Felix of course obeys. But when Felix accidentally crosses paths with a human princess, his whole world is turned upside down. What can he do to see her again? How can he escape his father’s control? (A Feligami Little Mermaid AU)

---

Eat, Pray, Duck by @trishacollins

Gabriel Agreste split his twin sons apart when his wife died, keeping one with him and sending one to London with his sister. Unfortunately, the Supreme was not willing to let this be. He wanted a matched set. Felix is a weapon, a servant of the Supreme. On a mission to retrieve the stolen Miraculous. In a world that has outlawed kindness, sometimes the most dangerous person is the one who chooses it anyway.

---

Boulangerella by @aidanchaser

Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.

[cddboxes]

Hi! There’s a few user boxes I know we wanted to request—but I can’t for the life of me actually remember if we requested them yet or not lol. Is it alright if we ask for an inbox check?

Y'all love inbox check huh /silly /pos

Sure thing, here's the inbox check:

Normal Requests

This academic is a foxkid

This alter is a serval kid and a delusion holder

THIS ALTER DON'T GIVAFACK

This system have narcolepsy

This system have epilepsy

This system have alexithymia

This persecutor loves their system, they really do

This fictive HATES THE MEDIA THEY COME FROM

This alter is a crybaby 😭

This alter misses their old friends

This alter is in a insys relationship

This alter loves /qp their silly partner <3!!

This alter loves their sibling! He's her favorite person!!

This user is a system, don't ask questions about its system

This system/user doesn't give a fuck about syscourse and wants to stay out of it

This alter is very affected by gelotophobia, do not mock them

This introject is a war survivor

This alter tends to talk a lot about themself due to NPD

This alter is Pav introject and is very attached to him

This alter is the main communication between the system's alters and the outside world

This alter helps their system with inner communication

This alter loves their silly shooting star

This system and their partner system have several couples between them

This fictive is a cherry boy!

This alter is a Noriaki Kakyoin fictive

This Noriaki Kakyoin fictive is dating a Jotaro fictive

This alter loves emeralds

This alter's artstyle is a bit different from the others

This alter loves their boyfriend!!

This alter is really gay! He loves boys!! GRAAAHHH

Please, also use the name " Tenmei " with this Kakyoin Fictive!

This alter loves fronting, even tho they don't do it that often

This alter is a sweetheart and tries to be gentle with their friends and partner

This alter loves joking... He might act silly :p

This system/subsystem daydreams a lot

This system/subsystem loves thinking about the future! (sarcastic)

This system/subsystem GENUINELY loves thinking about the future!

This alter has a subsystem that is very covert to them

This alter cannot communicate with their subsystem

This alter loves being a host!

This alter enjoys wicca practices

This alter speaks french in the headspace

This alter have their own space in the innerworld

This fictive is more connected to other characters from their media than their source itself

This fictive is dating another fictive, but is scared of talking about it because their source's shipp is considered problematic

This alter loves Vittorino

This alter tries to mask their disorders so others won't be bothered by them

This alter wish they could see their partner more :<

This alter is a otter!

This alter is clingy 😊

This alter is devoted to their partner and is perfectly happy about it!

This alter loves talking to his boyfriend/partner

This alter loves talking to his boyfriend

This alter loves drawing

This alter gets sad when his boyfriend/partner is not near him

This alter bakes a lot as a coping mechanism

This alter makes "literally me" jokes a lot, and refers to their source character as them, but is aware they are an introject and not actually the character!!

This alter is a factive, but they are insecure about it due to several factors.

This alter struggles to show emotions

This alter seems blunt/rude but doesn't mean to come off that way

This alter holds severe religious cult trauma

Don't bring religious cults around this alter

This introject is a nun and feels guilty about it

This alter loves their dino-dragon boyfriend!

This alter is a Hot Pants Introject from Jojo's bizarre adventure

This alter loves pink

This alter is hypersexual and feels religious guilt because of it

This alter loves fruits

This alter needs someone older /ref

This system has introjects from acting roles they've played

This system is embarrassed about their fictive’s sources/pseudo memories. So don’t ask about it.

This alter has insomnia, so brain fog is inevitable.

This alter has a strong need for justice

This alter has a strong need for justice and may have strong reactions, please understand they mean no harm

This alter holds a lot of the system's OCD traits, please be careful with them

This system has experienced abuse from another system, and has a hard time opening up in collective communities because of this

This collective's fragments attach very easily onto characters from media

This system wont shut up about will wood, sorry not sorry

This EC-DID collective has very complex functions and structure, please be patient

This EC-DID collective uses the term because it feels comfortable to them, not to seem superior over others

This EC-DID collective has a really vivid and large innerworld. Some of us get lost in the hamburger dimension /j

This system's special interest is SAW

This system is protective of their special interests, do NOT say you like our special interests more than us.

We call our headmates Apprentices. Please also refer to them as apprentices when possible.

This system's apprentices sometimes say faggot , yes we can reclaim it.

This system struggles with psychosis symptoms & delusions , do NOT say 'delulu' around us.

This apprentice doesn't agree with what he did in his source. Do not connect him to his source.

This system's special interest is 9-1-1

This system is delusion-prone

Recolor / Edit Requests:

This alter is a massive f slur [2 Recolor requests]

This alter is kleptomaniac and can take some things, keep an eye on them [Recolor request]

Please use this fictive's both names instead of just the main one! he loves both of her names [Recolor + edit request]

Please use this fictive/introject's both names instead of just the main one! she loves both of her names [Another edit request of the same one]

That's all! We have almost 40 ask in the inbox so it's pretty full huh

[calidum-astra]

system intro

Hello everyone! We are the scelestus collective.

☆Host Name/Bodys Name: Parker

☆Panromantic Asexual Transmasc

☆Bodys pronouns are he/him

☆Our body's age is 25

☆Blog Focus: Discourse, Fandom, Aesthetics

☆Interests: Writing, Art, Sims, ARGs, Music, Paganism, Horror

We have elected to not identify the kind of system we are but we are happy to answer questions about our experiences. That being said, we are an inclusionist and support everyone and anyone no matter how they identify. This applies to syscourse, queer discourse, etc.

Below the cut are introductions to each of our head mates. Our ask box and dms are open! Please feel free to interact with any of us. We love meeting other systems.

☆Name: Nova ☆Age: 35 ☆Gender: Cis man ☆Pronouns: He/Him ☆Roles: Co-host, persecutor, socialiser

☆Name: Nora ☆Age: 35 ☆Gender: Trans woman ☆Pronouns: She/her ☆Roles: Caretaker, Protector, Trauma holder, Back up

☆Name: Hunter ☆Age: 25 ☆Gender: Cis man ☆Pronouns: He/him ☆Coyote therian

☆Name: Piers ☆Age: 30 ☆Gender: Nonbinary Man ☆Pronouns: He/him ☆Roles: Symptom holder ☆Cat therian

☆Name: Violet ☆Age: 15 ☆Gender: Cis woman ☆Pronouns: She/her ☆Roles: Archiver, Trauma holder, Memory holder

[sewers-headmates]

Hello, may we please get a blueycapsules Michael themed headmate? We've filled out the form to the best of our abilities. The blank spots can be filled in with whatever you chose. /nf

If possible, may we also get a user box with #CE9FD0 as the border and text color and with #6F3B71 as the background color. Finally, could it have text that reads, "Mikey made this post."

Thank you in advance! Here's the form.

First Name: Michael

Last Name: Afton

Nicknames: Mikey, Mike, Maikol

Age:

Gender: genderqueer

Pronouns: he/him, rot/rots, party/parties, it/its, bun/buns, candy/candies, sundae/sundaes

Sexuality:

Species: human

Source: blueycapsules

cisIDs:

transIDs:

trisIDs:

Paraphiles: plushophile

Other Labels:

Appearance:

Custom Android: Michael Afton

developer note: here you go! honestly the more we look into it to make headmates the more we realize how much we truly hate blueycapsules au /nm

anyway norman helped me out

First Name: Michael

Last Name: Afton

Nickname: Mikey, Mike, Maikol

Age: chrono 20, trans 16, permaTeen

Gender: genderqueer

Pronouns: he/him, rot/rots, party/parties, it/its, bun/buns, candy/candies, sundae/sundaes

Sexuality: gay (mlm)

Species: human

Source: blueycapsules

Roles: trauma holder, soother

cisIDs: human, pale, british, brown hair, gray eyes, NPD, anger issues, ADHD, destructive, asocial

transIDs: transHarmful, transAbusive, transStarPupil, transFangs, transPointyEars, nullDeath, permaAlive

trisIDs: trisASPD

Paraphiles: plushophilia, AAM, consang

Other Labels: ambi

Appearance:

here you go! i hope this is good enough! feel free to change whatever you want

-mod jimmy & norman

Order Complete! Enjoy Your Android!

[cherrie-garden]

this is a headmate positivity post because i can do what i want

i am genuinely SO PROUD of lloyd right now

a lot of you guys might know that we recently started up a system hot takes blog (steaming-system-takes for anyone who isnt familiar). a message we got in our ask box today was honestly leaning more towards a hate take than a hot take and was accusing another blog of "angry ranting" in a call out post about another hot takes blog (thats recently been deleted) while complaining that one of our submission rules on our blog was that we wouldnt post anything that had misinfo. essentially the anon was going on a tangent about how we should be posting sources to debunk misinfo instead of.. not spreading it?? i guess?? idk we still dont really get where the anon was coming from tbh (im obviously summarizing and paraphrasing but you can find the post in question on the sideblog if youre curious)

so we see this ask and theres a part at the end of it that was basically saying "be careful or youll be next" (which you should NEVER say to anyone, thats shitty) and our paranoia was starting to spike because, you guessed it, saying shit like that can trigger someones paranoia

heres where lloyd comes in. lloyd is one of our trauma holders. he saw the ask, noticed that we were getting paranoid, saw how fucking pissed i was about the whole thing, and decided to take it into his own hands. he sat there for maybe 45 minutes??? writing out a response to it as best as he could, explaining that the blog isnt made for debunking misinformation and that the person who made the original call out post had a right to be angry about it. even though we were dealing with both paranoia and my lash-out, he still managed to successfully confront it and as a result help us calm down about it

even with all that shit working against him, he was able to defend us. he was able to de-escalate everything and handle it maturely. and as a protector i couldnt be more proud of a non-protector headmate being able to stand up for us like that

i fucking love my headmates, man. theyre all so capable and theyre all sweethearts (at least the ones ive met so far). anyone who fucks with them is gonna get their shit rocked in the worst way possible istfg

[silken-threads-bah]

May I request an alter pack based on Vox from Hazbin Hotel, using the longer template? Maybe one that disconnects from/is distant from source and was abused by Val if you're comfortable with that?

Here's your request. I'm not sure if I separated them enough from source or not. Feel free to take and leave whatever you'd like of course. - Scott

TWs: mentions of abuse.

Name: Vox, Vex, Cyber, Zed, Varian, V, Vee

Age: ageless (adult but without an age)

Pronouns: it/he (possible neos include zap/zaps, cy/ber, ze/zir, byte/bytes, terra/terras)

Gender(s): boything, masc mechanica

Orientation: demiromantic + biromantic (masc preference), asexual

Source(s): hazbin hotel (not very connected to source but has some memories)

Role: traumaholder, anger holder, info manager

Personality: easily irritated, prone to thinking the worst about everyone cy meets, would rather act first and push people away rather than getting hurt, has a sensitive side and longs for close companionship despite its irascible nature. As a trauma holder, it struggles with flashbacks and reacting poorly to circumstances that remind it of what it went through in his source. Due to this, cy remains fairly withdrawn from people ber doesn't know even though byte is desperate for companionship.

Interests: coding, gaming, scrolling through reddit posts, getting lost on wikipedia

Extra info: has negative memories from source due to abuse he faced from Val. Despite these memories, byte is fairly disconnected from source.

Likes: the color blue, math, solving problems, reddit, loud music, dark spaces

Dislikes: nature, being too hot or too cold, pop music, moths

Emojis/signoff: 🖥,📺,💙

Quirky/silly fact: will sometimes finish zir sentences with a "bzz" or "zzt" over text and when he speaks there's often the sound of TV static.

Kins: cyberpunk (the aesthetic), old TVs (the box ones with antennae)

Appearance: can be both its source appearance or a human one. The human one has shaggy teal or blue hair, an eyebrow piercing, a constant scowl, heterochromia that he covers up using sunglasses.

Faceclaims: I included the source faceclaim plus a picrew.

[furiousgoldfish]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cloudmail-bah]

Wait pretty please a Kokichi Ouma (Danganronpa) who helps with our Saiharas trauma of Amami? (In source he was a bad person, host has trouble even looking at his name, won't go into it), and uses mostly "cringe" / object names? Pronoun hoarder, if that's okay! Feel free to deny, as this is complicated and maybe a little dark, have a nice day!

i tried my best and had my friend help! but i'm very sorry if i wasn't able to get the vibes right >x< /gen

☁️ Requested Package 📬 Kokichi !!

💌 headmates may not turn out exactly as the information below! that's perfectly fine, pick and choose what works💕

Names: Kokichi, Socks, Rocks, Arson, Acrylic, Aki, Bee, Kai, Clay, Dream, Pages, Glitches

Pronouns: hx/hxm, shx/hxr, zh3/h3r, glitch/glitches, kandi/kandi, scene/scenes, emo/emos, rawr/rawrs, fluff/fluffs, paw/paws, cringe/cringes, juicebox/juiceboxs, NES/NESs, SNES/SNESs, N64/N64s, DS/DSs, xbox/xboxs, pong/pongs, mine/mines, craft/crafts, pvp/pvps, 7zee/7zees, arcade/arcades, hyper/hypers, sparkle/sparkles, bead/beads, glow/glows, party/partys, nostalgia/nostalgias, party/partys, rawr/rawrs, XD/XDs, :3/>:3s, T-T/T-Ts, ☆/☆s, ★/★s, 🧦/🧦s, ♟️/♟️s, 👾/👾s, 🧃/🧃s, 🥤/🥤s

Genders / Orientations: demi-boy, pupgender, sillypupgender, arcadegender, rainbowstargender, boyprincess, plurgender, clowngender, locugender / demisexual, gay (mlm), queer platonic(?)

Ages: 16-19 years old

Species: human

Roles: Emotional Processor, Knight, DNI holder, Comforter, Internal Therapist, Personal Caretaker

Sources: Kokichi Ouma from Danganronpa

Likes: juice boxes, reading, old / new video games, sweets, arcades, cosy clothes, blankets, music, movies, puzzles, buildable figures, word puzzles, riddles, fanfics, being cringe and free, dates (platonic and romantic)

Dislikes: getting dirty, doesn't enjoy messes, violence, bad people

Personality: Blunt, Mischievous / Playful, Compulsive Liar, Childish, Protective

Faceclaims:

Extra: favourite colour #5a5184 !!

Sign offs / Emojis: 🧃, 🎱, 👾, ♟️

[bhaalitsm]

⠂⠀⠀⠀Hero show 醒めないでよ DOKIDOKI 抱きしめて oki doki 視線は heart Hit する sing a song LA LA LA love⠀⠀⠀ ⠂

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒ .⠀Klan Children of Bhaal⠀⠀ㅤㅤ⟢ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤshe/he/thou ⠀ㅤ⏖⠀ㅤ20. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀BPD ﹒ DID ﹒ AUT

⠂⠀⠀⠀Hibikaseru izure sumikko no innen o subete Hazama nureru hodo ni imi o koboshite tsutaeta Nokori tamae...sono "shimi" ⠀⠀⠀ ⠂

══╬  Hi! You can call me Dikke or Di, please don't use plural terms unless prompted, I prefer to see myself as a person with DID rather than just as a system. My disorders are influential but I don't want them to define me ─ I am only interested in interacting with 17+ people who are not chronically online, if the discourse can't exist in the real world I really don't want to hear about it . . . my system is very persecutor heavy, introjects are not their sources, etc etc etc. I am an OA cult survivor so tag content around that for me if we're muts!   🌾    ) I have a lot of interests, some of them being : anything horror related, dead by daylight, attack on titan, attack on time, uma musume pretty derby, fear and hunger, atarashii gakko, baldurs gate, skylanders, hotd/got, the boys, idv, coryxkenshin, reverse 1999, brain rot mascot horror, dandys world, cod, figure collecting, until dawn, mouthwashing, and more obviously 𓂃🚬 I kin Brian and Stewie Griffin and I'm kinda like if Charlie from smiling friends was mentally unwell, my friends describe me as "a frat boy if he was a lesbian." I'm also a wasian jew and do talk abt sinophobia in online western spaces sometimes so erm . . . . my prns.cc and carrd

⠀⠀⠀⠀ꕀ some frequent frontiers of mine are ; 🍾 Avery, me, the host ︵ she/him Levi, the addicted one, trauma holder ︵ he/him Emil, the dogist boy, trauma holder ︵ he/wag Acunín, 11 year old elf, prpr ︵ he/thon Merithe, my nicest alter, cohost ︵ she/hx Homelander, exactly how he sounds, trauma holder ︵ he/him ᛝ🧺 I am diagnosed, my alter count is around 11. I'm not here to debate syscourse I'm more interested in making sure misinfo for CDDs isn't spread- yes, this includes the 'I'm 12 and have 1400 distinct alters and also have hcdid' this isn't meant to be mean, I support self diagnosis but some of the claims I see, mostly said by minors who aren't very educated in the disorder they claim confidently to have bother the hell out of me, like just don't include the disordered part PLEASE if you parrot antisemitic conspiracy theories as opposed to using updated terminology like OA just don't interact with me, I'm a cult survivor and I'm not gonna surround myself with peoples who's main source of info is satanic panic.

𐏐With the serious stuff out of the way, here's some more abt me! My flags are below (ask if you don't recognize any) as well as some user boxes that are silly I also occasionally reblog terms/flags I identify with check #⚢ My IDS

If you made it down here let's be friends! I need to interact with more adults w DID/OSDD etc ♡⃕ ⠀⠀⠀  🧟‍♂️    ) I do NOT have a DNI, if anything makes me uncomfortable I will just block and move on like a regular person <3

[rabbits-foot-reqs]

NFWMB Pack

[Pt: NFWMB pack]

Name(s): Cain, Jericho, Shepherd, Ares, Calcifer, Hunter, Harley, Fenrir, Judas, Josiah

Age: 18-25

Pronouns: he/him, hy/hym, h1/h1m, we/us, ze/zem, ni/nem/nis, hei/heir/heirs, bite/bites, bone/bones, scar/scars, wor/ship, ash/ashes, dust/dusts

Gender(s): man, boything, dagger, falseprophetic, altarthing, lycantrans, monachoric

Sexuality: demirose, bisexual

Species: human, werewolf

Race: black/african descendant

Roles: avenger, protector, prosecutor, harboringer, trauma holder, love holder

Likes/interests: going for walks in the rain, reading, thinking, boxing, folk/alternative music, protecting those he cares for

Dislikes: being disturbed, his partner(s)/friend(s) being hurt, being threatened, being tricked, loudness

Boundaries: do not provoke hym, do not judge heir, do not threaten anyone scar cares about

Fav/associated song: NFWMB - Hozier

Sign-off: -🌪🌾🐾

Source: NFWMB - Hozier (songtive)

Faceclaim:

Made by: mod 🖖🏽

Requested by: anon

✺✺✺

[the-silent-fellowship]

Binded to the Mind

Binding of Issac AU

[PT: Binded to the Mind | Binding of Issac AU]

Hiiiiiii, system here who has a obsession with the Binding of Issac and have had this HC/AU idea for a hot minute so ima post it here ig. I would on the fandom blog we have but I like to explain shit with system terms and I’d rather not have system demonizers find it easier.

Anywho. Too the basics! (It’s long so go under the cut)

Firstly the systems host and assumed original is of course, Issac. Issac is the oldest known headmate in the system yet is the youngest within the headspace. Most to all the others are adults, teens, or older kids. The system is spiritive-heavy with a lot of figures seen form the Bible or at least heavily influenced by it. The system is Traumagenic…if not obvious why. Listed bellow this is general info about each character!

Order: Name, Pronouns, Gender, Roles

Issac, He/Him, Genderfluid, Host (autism creature)

Magdalene, She/Her, Transfem, Co-Host & Main caregiver (A caring woman who shows affection to all)

Cain, He/They, Male, Co-Host & Main Protector (one of the first formed he kinda just sticks out. New York accent)

Judas, Only Name, Unknown, Charge(link) (formed and immediately tried to gets mothers help before being pushed away)

??? (Blue), It/They, Unknown, Urge Holder & Trauma Breaker (formed during the chest incident)

Eve, She/They, Demigirl, Urge Holder (…no comment)

Samson, He/Him, Male, Protector & Anger Holder (after a bit they got so mad that they like swore at their parents)

Azazel, Any, Genderfluid, Janusian(link) & Ex-Co Host (a chaos gremlin who needs a leash)

Lazarus, He/Him, Male, Shock Absorber(link) (tends to be the one at front when they get hurt. He hates it$

Eden, All Pronouns, Pangender, Mood Booster & Symptom Holder (she is one of the few who knows about most of their disorders but like tells no one)

The Lost (Casper), It/Its, Agender, Sadness Holder & Fear Holder (Formed during the chest incident and thinks that they are dead)

Lilith, She/Her, Transwoman, Parental figure & caregiver (she was formed during a time when the parents where fighting and she acts as a form of getting a healthy parent relationship)

Keeper (Cuddles), By name, Non-binary, Comforter & Archivist (Keeper in this AU is based off a toy Isaac has that formed into a headmate)

The Forgotten (Skulls), They/Them, Nonbinary, Masker (The soul acts as a backup)

Bethany, She/Her, (trans)Woman, Religion Holder & Persecutor (Bethany is the only member who actively attempts to hurt the body as a act of punishment due to the religous beliefs)

Jacob & Esau, He/They, Systemgender(link), Protectors & Trauma Holders (The two are mentally linked so can be accounted as the same. When they are separated they end up having self districtive actions)

Tainted characters in this AU are just the aftermath of the system leanring and processing their trauma. So in the beginning of the AU it takes the story but makes it that they end up not dying due to the chest. The mother realizes she fucked up and tries her best to rekindle a relationship with them. She ends up getting suggested a (Christian) therapist who believes they are possessed .

Later on they do find a better one and are able to diagnose them with what they are. They go though the motions to figure out who everyone is and process everything!

If you’d want to see more please let me know! I really love the concept of plural TBOI and I know there are others who HC the charaters as such! If anyone has questions feel free to put them into the ask box! (Also we may do doodles for it)

(Tag being I mentioned this like a bit ago to you @dove-tears)